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logicstolemyfairytales · 4 years

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Chapter 5 - The Gift

“...so that’s everything. I should memorise the path to the house by next week.” I explain to the detective at the cafe.

She nods and continues to write down notes in her book.

“Fascinating...and their power...they call it ‘the power of creation’?”

“Yes. they state that they can create materials with it out of nowhere, but other than that, I have no idea what the constraints of their abilities are. I’ll see to it that I try to pry some more information out of them.” I explain.

The detective closes her book and looks at me.

“That’s good. Maybe you can find proof on how the anomaly destroyed the building. After that, we’ll be done.” she hands me an envelope, most likely with the money. She tends to change the ‘packaging’ every week.

“Done?” I repeat.

“Yes. I think one more week, and you’ll no longer have to do this.”

“That is good to know. Thanks.” I stand up.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be going home.”

The detective gives a dismissive wave, and I walk out of the cafe. I quickly make my way home, and walk inside. Noticing two pairs of shoes at the front, I deduce that my parents are home from work.

“I’m home.” I announce. I hear noise coming from the kitchen, and see my dad poke his head from behind the wall. When he notices me, he smiles and walks over to greet me.

“Ah, Rookie! Back home I see. What have you been up to?” he asks.

“I was with the detective, dad.” I was about to give a casual hug, but my dad puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

“Your scarf…” He mutters.

I look down and realise that my scarf has several holes and tears in it. Most likely from that...beast biting onto it. I was in such a rush to meet up with the detective that I hadn’t noticed.

“Oh...I ran into a small ‘mishap’ while with the anomaly.” I explain.

“Did they do that to you?” My dad looks concerned.

“No, they were the one who helped me out.”

“They did?” my dad looks off to the side, and his hand falls off my shoulder. He seems to think for a moment, and then turns to look at me.

“Brooklyn, if this person protected you...are they as bad as the detective says?” he questions.

I think about what my dad says. Sure, the anomaly helped me, but...I have no evidence proving that they did it out of good will. Or bad will, may I say. My dad is a free-thinking logical personality, so the desire to assume the most logical answer as true isn’t as strong. Instead, he prefers to write the whole idea in his head and analyse every possible outcome. However, this makes him prone to being open to unreliable ideas.

“I can’t trust the anomaly dad. Sorry.” I say, looking down.

“Well, at least hear their side of the story before making a conclusion. And don’t they have a name?” my dad mentions.

I look up into his eyes. They do have a name, I remember. But I’ve rarely addressed them in the past few weeks, so the name is foggy in my head.

“...I’ll try to refer to them with it more often dad.” my dad smiles gratefully, and walks back into the kitchen.

“Your father’s a bit busy right now, but make sure to talk to him later, ok?” “Alright. I’ll be in my room.” I make my way up the stairs and enter my room. I take off my coat and scarf and hang them on a coat hanger, and place them into my closet. Then, I turn to my bed and lay down. Looking up at the ceiling, I think back to my chat with the detective.

One more week, and you’ll no longer have to do this.

One more week. And then after that, I return to my old life. I’ll go to school, make new friends, learn the basics, and go home. The anomaly will never be mentioned again in my life.

I’ve finished my mission.

And yet...I feel so unsatisfied with that idea.

I have so many more questions. Ever since I’ve met the anomaly, my curiosity has only grown stronger. And to learn that in just seven days, I’ll have no excuse to be around them and ask questions?

It...upsets me.

And I hate the fact that I don’t understand why I’m so upset.

I sigh heavily in frustration, and close my eyes.

I’ll talk to them tomorrow.

The next day comes around, and I’m standing, waiting for the...wait, what was their actual name?

I thought about what their name actually was last night, but the name still hasn’t come up. I know it starts with a ‘Cr’, but other than that, I can’t remember. Frankly, it’s embarrassing.

“Hey Brooklyn!” I come out of my thoughts to see that the...anomaly is standing next to me.

“Hello, Cryssss….” I draw out the name, struggling to remember. Was it ‘Crystalline’, or ‘Crystoph’?

“...’Crys’?” they repeat, looking confused.

“Yes…?” I start to sweat. This is it. I’ve just ruined my chances of another chance to talk to them. However, when I look at them, they smile.

“Snrk!” they snort, and I blush.

“Is that a nickname? How cute!” they exclaim. I internally sigh in relief. Looks like I got close enough to their name.

“Can I give you one too?” they ask, looking hopeful. I huff quietly.

“I suppose...that’s fair.” I mutter in defeat. Here we go. Now I’m going to have to live with some ridiculous name for a week.

“I think just ‘Brook’ would be nice!” they chirp.

I do a silent double take.

“Wait, just ‘Brook’? No random additions, no unique twists? Just a basic shortened version of my name?” I comment. The… Crys nods.

“Yeah! That’s why it’s good for you. I had the feeling that you'd prefer it that way.”

‘Brook’...it’s not bad, i guess.

“...I’ll live with it, then.” I murmur, looking off to the side.

Crys chuckles, and I find myself getting slightly flustered. Then, I remember a question I had wanted to ask about yesterday.

“Erm, Crys...about that beast, yesterday…”

“Do you mean Borez?” they recall.

“Uh, yes. Are there more of those in the forest?” I question.

“Nah, it’s just only him.” they reply. I sigh, relieved.

“Thank goodness, because- “

“There are other majenaries you should watch out for, though.”

…

“What.”

Crys looks shocked.

“Oh, sorry! Did I forget to mention that there are other majenaries?”

“What in the world...are majenaries?” I ask.

“Majenaries are these weird creatures that live in the forest. They have an imaginary look to them.” suddenly, their eyes lit up.

“How about I show you a few, Brook?” I start sweating again.

“Will any of them try to eat me as well?” I worry.

“No! Well, some, but I’ll make sure we don’t come across those.” Crys places a hand on my shoulder.

“And if we do, I’ll protect you. What do you say?”

I think about the offer. Learning about these creatures has nothing to do with what the detective has asked of me, but my curiosity is piqued. Plus, I may get the chance to see Crys use their powers.

“Sure, but you better keep that ‘Boris’ away.”

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise he won’t touch you.”

“...fine.”

“Then let’s go!” Crys grabs my hand and leads me into the forest.

We travel away from the dirt path, and deep into the eastern side of the woods. As we walked, I noticed all these strange creatures appearing from behind the trees. The colorful and strange plants that I had seen before had also become more prevalent. Crys would occasionally stop and point out a creature to me and explain a bit about it. On some occasions, they would hold the creature and show it closely to me.

All the creatures that I was seeing were...bizarre.

There was this small snake like creature with colorful bands and a head that looked like a pearl. It was the length of a shoe, and had retractable antennae that it used to attach itself to items and feel its surroundings. Crys let the creature wrap around their arm, and explained that it was a ‘parasorm’. Apparently, these creatures had the ability to attach themselves to other creatures and feed on ‘emotions’. I guessed that they most likely fed on some form of hormones. The thought of the parasitic creature just sitting on Crys’s arm worried me, but they reassured me that ‘skittles’ was friendly. They asked if I wanted to touch it, but I politely refused.

They showed me a few more creatures. There was this lizard like creature that had some sort of shell called a ‘spiraled dragon’. Then there were these rodent-like creatures that shared a long furry tail and were called ‘melders’.

The most peculiar one though was the ‘dereel’. Like the name slightly suggests, it looked like the mix between an eel and a deer. It had the body of a deer, but it’s neck was long and colorful, as well as its tail. Crys mentioned that the creature had both lungs and gills, and that its weighted hooves allowed it to walk under water. I’ll admit that these creatures were rather...interesting.

Now, Crys had walked away for a second and returned with an odd creature gripping at their arm. I walk over to it to get a better look.

It looked like a funny koala with claws for ears.

“this is a koalutcher! They use their ear-like appendages to hang onto branches. They’re also really fluffy.” Crys explains. I stand back, and open my head, sifting for information. I finally land on the page holding memories of a koala.

“It looks very much like a koala.” I start to explain, but I'm interrupted by Crys dashing over to me with sparkles in their eyes.

“Whoa! You can open up your head and see stuff? That’s so cool!” they exclaim.

I flip another page filled with information about the town.

“Well, yes. As you can see, I can quickly recall information in my memories- ” I suddenly feel hands grabbing my face. Crys is looking onto my open page with awe.

They’re...really close.

“How does it work? Can I flip the pages?” ask they speak, I feel their fingers slip under my page and grip it.

I freeze up, and start to flush. They’re...really really close. I start to tremble slightly.

“Your pages are really soft!” they comment, starting to turn the page.

I snap out of my stupor and push Crys away, quickly snapping my head shut.

“U-uh…” I trip over words.

“That’s a bit to close...for me…” I mumble, face all red. Crys looks at me with concern.

“Oh, did I hurt you? Was that uncomfortable? I-I’m so sorry!” they babble out apology after apology. I raise my hand to signal them to stop.

“It’s ok. Perhaps...we should meet up tomorrow, and stop for today.” I suggest, trying to get rid of the flush on my face. Crys nods, but their face still shows guilt.

“Ok, but I’ll make it up to you, ok?” they take my hand, and for the first time, I’m oddly aware of their contact with me.

They lead me out of the forest, and wave goodbye before leaving. I turn away, and feel that my face is still hot.

“Get a hold of yourself…” I whisper to myself, and walk home.

Crys wasn’t lying about paying me back. The next day, I walk over to the park to see that they were there earlier than I was. When they turn around, I notice that they have a small cardboard box in their hand. They see me and smile. Then, they extend the box out to me.

“Here you go!”

“A..box?” I stare at it. Crys snorts.

“C’mon, you know I mean what’s in it.”

I take the box and open up the lid. I was slightly surprised to see a scarf. The scarf was a rich dark blue color, and had a similar design to the one I had ruined the other day. I pull it out of the box. It’s very soft.

“A scarf?”

“Yeah, to replace the one you had torn by Borez. I hope I nailed your favorite color. Navy, right?”

I just blink, shocked.

“I-it is. How did you know?” I question, genuinely curious.

“Well, you’re always staring at stuff of that color when we go walking, and even though your bookmark isn’t navy, it’s a pretty dark blue.” they explain.

“You guessed my favorite color with that?” I exclaim. “And yet, I don’t even know yours after asking so many questions…”

“Hey Brook, Can I try tying up your scarf?” Crys asks. It was a weird request, but maybe I can get a request back.

“Only if you show me what’s under the hood.” I declare. Crys looks surprised, but huffs in amusement.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask about it...deal.” They take the scarf from my hand and start to wrap it around my neck.

I find myself being hyper aware of their proximity. I start to blush. I feel Crys’s hands brush against me, and I feel my heart pound.

What’s going on?

W-What’s happening to me?

“Done!” Crys states, and steps away from me.

I feel my heart start to calm down. I look down, and realise that they’ve tied it so that the ends of the scarf hang in the back.

“What do you think?” they look at me expectantly.

“It’s...convenient, I suppose. Now, your hood?” I remind them of their deal.

“Ok…” they raise their hands and start to pull off their hood.

“But it’s nothing special.” as their hood falls, I find myself gasping quietly at the sight in front of me.

“What?” they ask, noticing my reaction.

“Your hair’s a bloody mess!” I blurt out.

Their hair was a soft light blue, but the hair itself was completely in disarray. Bits and pieces were poking out at every angle.

“Really? I thought that it wasn’t that bad...I don’t really notice…” they flick their hair around in an attempt to improve it, but to no avail.

“Please tell me you have a brush.”

“No, but I can make a simple one. Why?”

“I have to fix that disaster.”

“Uh, ‘Disaster’? Ok...” the symbol in their eye appears, and I try to look at it as quickly as I can. It looks like an eight pointed star.

The faint glow appears, and I see a simple comb appear in Crys’s hand. They hand it over to me, and I start to brush through the mess of hair. I start at the bottom to get the knots out, and work my way up. Eventually, the stray clumps of hair are redirected, and the knots are all gone. When I step back and look at my work, I see that all the hair seems to have settled down. It still has bits poking out, but it was most likely due to the way the hair was cut. Crys combs a hand through their hair and smiles.

“Wow, this is so much better! I could barely comb my fingers through it without them getting stuck a while ago. Thanks so much!” they flash me a big smile, and my stomach flutters.

“Y-you’re welcome.” I avert my eyes.

“Never thought my friend was a hairstylist.” Crys jokes. I turn back to them.

“...Friends?” Crys looks back at me, and flushes a little bit.

“W-well, I thought...sorry. We’ve been hanging out for almost two months, and…” their voice slowly fades, and they look down, seemingly disappointed.

Looking at their expression, I feel my stomach start to squeeze.

Why does their expression make me feel so...Bad?

“well...I suppose that we are friends…” I mumble quietly, but Crys hears it. Their upset face quickly shifts into a smile.

“You really think so? That means so much!” They step forward and hug me tightly. My stomach starts to flutter again, and I panic.

What is this feeling?

Why is this happening?

Am I sick?

“Hey Brook, how do you feel about staying over at my place for the night?” I almost miss the question.

“Stay over at your place?”

“Yeah! I know you’re still wary about me meeting your parents, but would this be ok?”

Staying over their place….it would give me a chance to observe them at night, and I could investigate their house. It’s the perfect opportunity.

Then why do I feel so uncomfortable thinking about doing all that?

...Nevermind.

“It should be fine.” I answer.

“Cool! How’s...the day after tomorrow?” they suggest.

“It works for me.” Crys smiles, and turns away, heading back into the forest.

“See you then!” they holler out, and disappear behind the trees.

I wave goodbye, and start walking back home.

I don’t like it when I don’t understand something. Especially if it’s about myself. These unknown reactions to Crys are completely foreign to me. For Crys to make me feel uncertain of myself…

It's starting to make me really irritated.

#art #original #original art #original story #original stuff #brooklyn #crystal #story #drawing

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angryangryaces · 5 years

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Poison

The air smells of rain, burning fuel, and the countless small poisons that circulate in the city, and my scars ache in the cold, a filigree of pain tracing out the lines of my skeleton. My damned, addicted brain is hissing for me to press the button. I don’t listen to it. I throw my bag into the transport and pick a seat.

“Caller” walks us through the job on the way in. It’s straightforward: get in, grab a prototype from the testing labs, get out again. Minimal casualties, which is why he told us to bring hammerblow rounds. Ideal for a pack that doesn’t want to make the news.

One of the others looks at the chain holding my gun to my wrist. Must be a rook. They’ll learn. You can always tell a seasoned wolf; they stop looking at your little tricks and secrets and just let you get on with your job.

As we come in for a landing, I pull my hat down and make sure my kerchief is going to hide my rebreather. Combined with the goggles and the coat, it should be almost impossible for the watching gargs and other cameras to tell who I am. I’ve already checked my gear: submachine gun, machete, grapnels, a few kinds of blasting charge, a couple of different poisons.

***

The windows break the neon light from outside into rainbow fragments, which play over my coat. The stylised illustration of a winged figure giving gifts from heaven isn’t spiritual; it’s marketing. The gifts being dispensed have brand logos on them for the corp’s subsidiaries.

One of them has the stylised atom of Nucleus Energy on it, and my scars flare into pain for a split second. I know it’s psychological. I grit my teeth behind my collar and carry on.

Phase one is a cakewalk. “Caller” had some inside intel that this part of the building was going to be low-security, and that seems to be working fine: the rook, who I’ve learned is called “Mooch”, is keeping the cameras under control, looping some footage so none of them pick us up. It’s not going to last forever, but it doesn’t have to; we’re not under any given eye for too long, and most of the gargs are outside.

The next corridor is wrong. The walls are riddled with bullet holes and carved with a filigree of blade marks. The mutilated bodies of corpsec guards are everywhere, limbs wrenched from their sockets and throats ripped out. Even through my rebreather, I can smell blood and gunfire, mingled with another smell: a thick, animal musk.

I’ve heard the rumours – everyone has, everyone knows this is happening, no matter how hard corpsec try to suppress it – but I hadn’t expected to see it here. You never do, right? It’s always a friend of a friend that runs into this shit.

This is going to suck.

***

“Mooch” is the first to pull the trigger. Not wise, exactly, but I can’t blame them; the dead guards are mute testimony to how deadly these things are, and it’s not like a full pack in tac gear is exactly subtle. Within seconds, everyone else has joined in. Hammerblow rounds patter off its hairy, gore-spattered skin like rain. A couple of them provoke flinches, leave a mark, but don’t slow it much.

It looks like someone took a very large, feral wolf and mashed it up with a man. Its head is mostly canine, although its teeth are larger than any reasonable animal’s, but the rest of it is chimeric: its apelike stance and powerful arms are human, or at least close to it, but its tail and hair are lupine, and its clawed hands aren’t really either. It’s also covered in blood and shreds of what might, once, have been a corpsec uniform.

It howls in fury and leaps at us.

***

According to “Mirai”, it’s all the fault of the veins and the other rich bastards. Says some conspiracy site put her onto it. Supposedly, the reason corpsec guards are so loyal to the veins, so weird and bootlicky, is that the labs figured out some kind of gene treatment, isolated the stuff from dogs that makes them so loyal, and the suits give it to the When it goes too far, they change, when the scum at the top finish draining their humanity.

“Sigismund” says she’s full of shit. Genetics don’t work like that, and even if there was some secret tampering going on, it’d be more likely to lead to cancers than monsters. Mind you, he thinks it’s magic, so I’m not sure how reliable he is on the science. (He’s got a wild set of ideas about that, too. According to him, the beasts are nature unfettered, lashing out at the corp-choked world in a violent frenzy. Says he’s trying to figure out how to use that power constructively. Hasn’t gotten anywhere yet.)

Right now, though, the cause isn’t particularly critical. It doesn’t matter if it was made by mad science or black magic or if creatures like this are just a thing now. It’s bearing down on me, and there isn’t much I can do to stop it.

I hit the button.

***

Not a literal button, of course; jek doesn’t use physical controls. Instead, I mutter the activation phrase, and a pain like cold fire stabs into my veins as the injectors pump poison into my bloodstream. My whole body convulses, and the cold fire begins to heat up. The part of me that’s given in, the addict in my mind, it tinges the whole process with an edge of lust that shames me. Even so, I’m not stupid enough to pick this fight without it.

The effect is almost immediate. My gear feels like it’s made from cotton candy. My original bones would have already shattered from the convulsion, but the substitutes are doing their job. My vision fogs around the edges, but it’s almost supernaturally clear at the centre – I can make out the beast’s individual hairs, and the shattered remnants of a corpsec radio headset dangling from its neck like a collar.

I give it a burst in the face before it hits me. I can tell it felt the impacts, but it barely slows before tackling me to the ground and knocking my gun out of my hands. Fine by me; the bullets aren’t helping much anyway. The others will have to go on, take care of the mission while I fight. It’s probably best; jek isn’t just physical, and it’s poison for a pack. Nobody on jek is a team player.

The force of the tackle rolls us into the last corridor, but my armour protects me from the impacts. Coat’s not going to be salvageable, though; it has claw marks in it now. Without the jek, I’d have been knocked a lot sillier than I am.

As the beast lunges for me, I bring up my machete. It doesn’t dig deep, but jek-fuelled muscles drive it through the skin. The beast’s blood is surprisingly bright – what little of it comes out, anyway.

It seems to have decided I need to be tenderised before I’m eaten. It scoops me up and slams me into the wall. My goggles dim; the beast has its back to a window, and the neon light from outside would be streaming into my eyes, so they’ve compensated.

Then it all comes to me at once: the window could be my solution here. The beast is recovering quickly; it’s already stopped bleeding. I’m not going to win this one-on-one, and if the pack know what they’re doing, they’ve already headed for the objective. I have to do something unexpected.

I fire one of my wrist grapnels. It hits the window, and the motors whirr. It’s designed for heavy loads, and after a frozen moment while it calculates the weight, it retracts, dragging both of us into the window.

The beast is surprised, but not enough to disorient it. It thrashes around, its rage twisting metal and driving tinted duraglass out of its sockets.

The window gives way, and we both go over the edge.

***

On impact with the wall, one of my charges goes off unexpectedly. My spine doesn’t enjoy it, even through the pain-deadening haze of jek, but it doesn’t do serious harm; it just blasts a chunk out of the wall and flings us into traffic. The beast sinks its jaws into my left arm, and I let go of my machete; it disappears, never to be seen again.

As we tumble, I try and find some weakness. I can’t go for its eyes with any kind of accuracy, its bones are nearly as tough as mine, and even striking at the stomach only seems to make it angrier.

Our descent is bluntly interrupted by a corpsec lighter. Our impact with the cockpit shatters the duraglass canopy, so we must have been going down pretty hard – but, fortunately, the beast hits it first. The impact solves two of my problems at once. First, while landing still hurts like a bastard, even with jek, the beast takes the brunt of the impact. Second, the beast’s breath is laden with pink froth. After a moment, the rage flees its body, and it goes limp. Probably had some of the canopy driven into its lungs; not a pleasant death, but a final one.

The lighter skews wildly off-course, and I realise after a second that the pilot is either unconscious or dead. Corpsec lighters do have autopilots, but some people prefer the personal touch or are worried about reprogramming (a valid concern; “Mirai” once sent a half-dozen corpsec troopers on a routine patrol out of state as a prank), so not everyone uses them.

I don’t have a chance to get to the controls, but luckily, we’re headed towards a window. The pain in my entire body worsens a step as I see a giant Nucleus Energy logo, and then we hit.

***

I stagger to my feet, somehow still conscious. It’s almost impossible to break my bones now, but my right leg is definitely not as straight as I remember it being.

The window in question was right next to a meeting room, apparently. A stunned silence hangs in the air, but in a few seconds – even ones drawn out by jek – people are going to start yelling and running.

The big logo on the wall confirms it. This is a Nucleus Energy office. The bastards whose strontium leak cost me everything. Their poison had seeped into my bones, forced me to get them replaced. Left me with a debt I could only pay off by taking wolf jobs here and there. All my scars, all my wounds, this growing addiction to jek – all their fault. I can’t tell if I’m hurting worse because I know it’s them, or if my body is already redlining my pain receptors.

My jek-focused perceptions show me that one of them has a refrigerator briefcase here. A vein, then, carrying his supply of transfusions around with him. I can’t tell which of the others are veins, but they all might as well be: even if they haven’t had the treatment, they have the same kind of mind. The suits in this city are all the same: cold, bloodsucking bastards, they only care about themselves. The veins took a treatment that would strip their empathy and didn’t even notice. Even before that was developed, they gutted the land, poisoned the water, pumped fumes into the air. We’d be better off without them.

The weight of my gun dangling from my wrist is still there, and with jek reflexes, I could do a lot of damage here. Start at the door, work my way across. Even a vein’s boosted body can’t take a good hit to centre mass, and none of them look to be wearing much armour.

It won’t solve much, but it’ll be a little less poison in the city’s bloodstream.

#short fiction #chrome wolves #cyberpunk #werewolves #I was working on a setting idea and this came out

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years

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Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Sebastian!

You have been accepted for the role of EDGAR BONES! We really enjoyed your application! We especially loved how clearly we could see your Edgar throughout. His personality was vibrant and real, as was the way he fit into his family structure. His family section was well-detailed and brilliant! We hope to get an Amelia soon to see their sibling relationship thrive! We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Sebastian

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: CEST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I am in my last year at university, so I don’t have many classes to attend during the day. I do need some time to focus on my dissertation, though, and I do enjoy going out with my friends on weekends, but you should receive at least a couple of replies every three days.

ANYTHING ELSE: No triggers, no worries. I did have a few not so enjoyable experiences in roleplay groups recently. Especially in those I joined after they were already open for a while; the players had become very clique-y. I’m not someone who just drops out of a roleplay or looks to victimise myself, at all, but I do tend to feel uncomfortable easily when my ooc-messages or replies get repeatedly ignored. It’s an anxiety thing, I’m sure I’m not alone with this, but I thought to warn you, just in case you notice me go shy in the group chat or the like. :)

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Edgar Bones

AGE: 28

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis male. He/Him. Bisexual.

About the latter he might actually be rather open. The knowledge that homosexuality occurs in many animal species was already found in the 70s. I can imagine that Edgar definitely did his research, found out about how his feelings were therefore very natural, and moved on. The same goes for gender. He might himself feel comfortable in presenting himself as cis male but he knows that gender is mostly a construct and nothing to get too hung up about. Though, even though he knows a lot about sexuality and the chemistry behind love, he’d never flaunt it anywhere, where it wouldn’t be safe or where too many people would be watching. He’s also never really been deeply in love. He’s a serial monogamist, because he does enjoy (or rather, crave) the company of other people, and he would never say those relationships were meaningless to him, but the truth is, he firmly believes that his twin is and will forever be his only soulmate. Romantically or not is not the point, but he knows that he’ll never connect more deeply with anyone than Amelia.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: I retract my FC changing request, haha. I realise I don’t care too much about the look of people, let alone fictional roleplay babies, to hassle you into making another graphic. And Lindsey Morgan is perfect as well, so there’s that. If, however, a future applicant for Amelia wishes to change her FC and they find a better fit for Edgar as well, I would be willing to talk about it! :) As long as they are not changed into white FCs.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

When the house you stand in is more brightly illuminated than the outside world, you can’t see anything through the window. You must turn off the light behind you to see the world before you, even if that means that the world can’t see you back anymore.

Edgar is by nature an incredibly curious person. He gobbles up knowledge as though it’s milkless cereals, one after the other, in with it, chewing, chewing, chewing ceaselessly. What he really wants to do with that knowledge comes later.

Often he connects it. Finds two topics that seem oddly unrelated and finds the answer in one that the other had the question to. He likes seeing the small in the big, how every microcosm is reflected by the macrocosm, how there’s no singularity in the university, everyone carries the patterns of galaxies within themselves.

And he likes to philosophise about it, even if it leads to nothing or has no practical use. Getting him to talk is like opening a treasure box, the whole universe seems stores between his brows. At times he writes it out, mostly in epigrams, like the one up there, of which the title is his own name, but he doesn’t consider himself an artist. Art needs an audience to become art, and he doesn’t want one.

That’s why it’s not easy to catch him share his knowledge to its full extent. Only when he truly believes that you want to know more of what he has to say than vise versa, he will share, otherwise you’ll just be left puzzled as to what thought caused him to this sudden outburst of ideas, or this creative plan that seems to have come out of nowhere.

He’s laid-back and quiet, not because he doesn’t have anything to say (and sometimes well-kept thoughts do slip over his lips) but because he knows that it’s easier to observe if people don’t notice him. At times he can be quick-paced and full of energy, and it’s in those moments that you see how all his knowledge comes into play. But even then he doesn’t perform. He just does the thing for himself and lets you be around.

Although curiosity-driven and intelligent, he’s not cold-hearted or arrogant. At all. He’s a calm fellow, always ready to lend you an ear, and if you ask for it, perhaps even advice. He doesn’t care much for the sound of his own voice but he knows to raise it when it’s needed. His sense of justice is very much active, and so is his wish to treat people kindly. This too is caused by his holistic view of the world – to be smart also means to know how other people feel and how to explore your own freedom without endangering theirs. He is empathetic, even if he doesn’t (always) go out of his way to show it or put on a great act to prove it. Sometimes he does, though, when he notices the other person needing it, and those proofs of affection can be as colourful as unconventional as brief.

Most people might not see much in him at first, maybe even doubt how he stayed in the Order for so long, but that’s because unlike ex-Gryffindors and ex-Slytherins, he has no urge to brag about any of his assets. But if they sit down with him, really get to know him, bit by bit, they’ll discover the fabulous world of colours that all Bones store in their hearts.

The bio emphasises that after Hogwarts, he grew into disregarding rules. I think the reason why he didn’t use to do this is because rules serve a purpose, don’t they? They make sense, in at least one way or another. Don’t go to the Forbidden Forest. Why? Because it’s dangerous. But with the rise of discriminating laws, the discrepancy between what was ‘lawful’ and what was ‘right’ grew. And if it’s not right, Edgar won’t follow it. He still studies laws and learns them so well until he knows every possible loophole, but he doesn’t respect them blindly just because they’re laws.

This being said, those lines he always made himself stay in, they still exist. No, they no longer overlap with rules and the ministry’s laws, but his life is still full of them. It’s difficult to rid yourself of old habits, especially those that have served you so well for so many years, that became a part of you, that directed your every move and every thought for so long. Lines such as: No more than three coffees a day. No leisure time until you’ve responded to all your mail. No unprotected sex. But also lines such as: Check oven, lights and plugs at least twice before leaving your apartment. Always bring a pen. If you stay up after three am, it’s too late to go sleep. Those are the rules he doesn’t tell people about, only obeys in silence because they might be founded in logic, and yet feel oddly irrational… Perhaps because they’re not always there, because they fade when he’s got the company of someone he trusts, because they get much, much worse, the longer he goes without seeing Amalia.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Bones were a privileged family, wealthy and yet not dishonourable.

The Bones name was carried into the Wizarding world by a Muggle, back when most Wizarding names were still pure and unheard of by Muggles. Seraphina was a young witch, just out of Hogwarts, when she decided to marry Caspian Bones, her oldest childhood friend. She was beautiful, she could’ve had anyone, the richest, most prestigious pureblood families would’ve sent forth their sons, but Seraphina chose Caspian, the Muggle, the farmer’s son, the boy who had held her hand before they knew this was something improper, who had shown her how a simple life could be as happy as one decorated in silver, and taught her to tell her secrets to the bees, who had always helped her escape from her parents’ claws and society’s demands, so they could be free together, just for a while, just for a night. She was his long before he even knew, and she was certain, as she walked down the Muggle-styled wedding aisle, that she would not run, would not hide, but that she would fight to make the Wizarding world a more accepting place.

She fought so that her parents would even look Caspian in the eye, fought for her children to be accepted into Hogwarts (they were allowed in, of course, by the ancient laws of Hogwarts, but that doesn’t mean the school board didn’t frown upon those halfbloods), fought to prove their magic was no less powerful than a pureblood’s, fought, eventually, even in court, demanding for justice. And all the while she fought, she was loyal by Caspian’s side, who might not have understood much of all this, but he certainly supported her and never regretted his decision to marry her. And one important lesson he gave his children, and taught them to give it to their children one day as well: “Remember that the first obligation of those who are free, is to ensure other people’s freedom as well.”

For generations and generations, almost every Bones born was a Hufflepuff. And proudly so, too. To understand one’s highest value to be the protection of those in need, – the fight for justice – not because of the gold and admiration that comes for a fight won, but because it ensures a fair, equal world? How would that be something shameful?

The family therefore received a particular place in the eyes of the Wizarding World. On the one hand they well regarded, appreciated for their values, even if the means to get there always seemed rather strange and unexpected to most people, on the other hand, became a clear outsider to the society of purebloods and those halfbloods who still thought of themselves closer to the pure Wizarding world. The Bones neither cared for money other than spending it on charities, nor caring for their (or others) blood status. Every new Muggle was warmly welcomed as a true relative and carefully introduced to the Wizarding world. And even when Squibs were born, there was none of the ostracism like in pureblood families, or even like in some halfblood families. Their values were clearly defined, but incomprehensible to many, and the family gained a reputation that was more about the wild outbursts of ideals and unorthodox ways of fighting for them, then about the relatively steady values that drove those acts of bravery.

And so it came that those values were taught to every Bones child from a young age on. Manners, ethics, history, the art of conversation; long before they made it to Hogwarts they already spent their days in classrooms, studying how to respect and show respect to others, learning to put others before you, burning the Bones family values onto their hearts. But ‘Seraphina’ means little fire, and it is difficult to tell a firework which colours it has to burst into.

Edgar, Amelia, Dell and Colter were the well-beloved offspring of Laura and Jorge Bones (and indeed, Jorge took, after Laura’s eccentric demand to keep her name for the sake of its importance in the British Wizarding World, her name. He didn’t mind too much, proving himself to be quite the fit for the Bones family. Having travelled the world (though always staying in the magical realms) he was quite the peculiar case in his youth. Now that they’re older, both Laura and Jorge are way more focused on keeping the values of the Bones family alive, caring deeply about the well-being of everyone around them – even if perhaps still showing it in their surprising and unexpected ways).

Born in the old Bones Manor in which even Seraphina had already grown up, all four children were of magical capabilities and all four showed a good heart from a young age on. But like every Bones, they also showed an insatiable need to express themselves. To become their own person, to be more than just their family name. They were constantly driven by their curiosity, and at first it was as though both, Edgar and Amelia, were too driven by the discovery of themselves and the world to be true Hufflepuffs, showing more prominently traits belonging to Ravenclaw. Creativity and freedom of expression, that was what they were all about. But eventually Edgar seemingly took the back seat, letting his sister be the firework while he became the audience of her beauty. What not many people knew, perhaps no one, really, except for Amelia herself, was that while she ran off during lessons, dinners, and curfew, searching for all the possibilities this world held for her, he covered for her. Protecting her. Becoming the one who his parents considered reliable, so that they would charge him with duties and responsibilities so that she could be free.

This doesn’t mean he wasn’t the one to light her fuse at times, or that he disliked her games of fire, but that he loved her too much to see it dowsed. In all honesty, he could’ve watched her for hours, listened to her speak about what she had lived through out there, and never interrupt, never cease asking for more, softly, hoping to prompts paragraphs out of her with a single line of his.

It also doesn’t mean that he was any less creative. But he learned to express this creativity in the shadows, in silence, shielded from the watchful gaze of their parents and society. Books became his escape. While Amelia was out there in the real world, he plunged into the worlds authors had created, and eventually even dabbled in creating such worlds for himself on paper as well. He learnt about the universe from the realms of the library, at first focusing on the stories of the Wizarding World, but eventually, when all books seemed exhausted, moving on to the stories of the Muggle World. His eccentrism was quiet and only for himself, not meant to serve a greater purpose but to still his hunger for knowledge.

One could’ve said that his wish to protect the sister was indeed driven by loyalty, but really, it was admiration and the wish to see just what she was going to do next. And for that, he simply had to be the good son. Please his parents, please his teachers, please those who had so long shaken their heads at the iconoclastic family. And if he was being honest, he never felt half as restricted by it all as most people might’ve assumed. He liked learning about rules and seeing just how far you could go without overstepping them, without drawing attention to your ways. It was a game with no winners and no one to watch him, no one to admire just how well he played it. What did it matter that he was often overlooked, his parents’ eyes and attention always on his siblings, sometimes out of exasperation, sometimes out of pride, if he could be just who he wanted without anyone interfering or giving their two Knuts?

When he was sorted into Ravenclaw, after a long conversation with the Sorting Hat, though not as long as Amelia’s, he silently rejoiced. His family was a little baffled, especially his mother who had always been convinced he would be another one of those Bones who carried the family name with the selfless values on their sleeves, not caring that they wouldn’t shine half as brightly in the history books as their wild, untameable counterparts. You know, the kind of Bones who were good, but didn’t do much to express that goodness in the world, unlike all the others whose personality was like pots of colours splashed into every dusted-in tradition to make sure the world would be changed for the better. But Edgar liked it, he did. Up there, in the tower, he could look down to the world, breathe the cold air of his own, quiet, personal freedom and play with the lines of all those rules without anyone paying attention whatsoever. Up there, he wouldn’t have to mingle with all those people and their lack of answers, and disappear in his books and learn more about the worlds – plural – with no interference. Up there, the stars were close, and his ever-dreamy gaze went up, eventually beginning to even search for the knowledge that no books held ready for him.

OCCUPATION:

Journalist for the Daily Prophet.

No, he doesn’t agree with the opinions served by that paper, no, he doesn’t get paid nearly enough, no, he doesn’t really care. What matters to him are two things: 1) That he can decide on his work hours himself, allowing him free time for the Order without having to take holidays. 2) That he gets free theatre tickets. Besides, whenever he does show up in his office, even by merely writing and editing the arts section, he still hears of the latest news before they’re even printed…

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

I like to think that Edgar is somewhat of an important piece of the Order. He’s been there for a long time, so he doesn’t just know the rules and which of them are especially important to respect, but also the people. The people who are still with him, the people who aren’t. He remembers their victories and the mistakes that made them fall. And he’s not just plainly observant but actually knows what he’s looking out for. Weak links or strong assets hidden beneath inexperience. It worries him that the Order is no longer what it used to be, and he embraces the new recruits, even though wary of their means. Logically, he’s all for taking more aggressive measures now, but the fact that they have never tried to be as reckless and unforgiving as the Death Eaters, means they have no proof is can work. He just wishes they had more time to think it out, make sure there’s not another thing they can do first because going straight to terrorism.

Maybe this undecidedness and his tendency to act on his own behalf based on what he thinks is the best thing to do in that moment, makes some Order members wary of him. He understands that it’s difficult to 100%ly trust a pillar when it could leap away any moment, so he always tries to be as reliable as possible. What he is certain about, though, is the fact that he won’t quit. He firmly believes in the cause, and perhaps even that they might be the last chance to save the Wizarding World.

Also, I like to imagine that while to everyone else, it came quite as a surprise that Edgar joined the order back then, for him it’s doesn’t feel out of character at all. After all, he’s always been a Bones, and he’s always been a Bones in the shadows of everyone else. The Order couldn’t be more in the shadows if it tried, and this way of theirs to change the world without anyone knowing exactly who is doing it, feels quite like him.

And yes, he would like for Amelia and perhaps even his brothers to join the Order too, because he knows their hearts are in the right place, and he knows they are incredible at practical magic, spells, defence, all that. But he’s gone all his life staying in the shade so they could be out there changing the world with their colours. The idea of them actually joining the Order scares him. What if they’re not meant for the shade, what if something happens to them? He’s protected them for years, and now he’s supposed to be the reason for putting them in danger? Or worse: for dowsing their fire?

SURVIVAL:

He’s mostly stayed in the same apartment for the last two years. Before that he lived with his girlfriend, and before that he was yet in another apartment by himself, and before that he lived with yet another girl, and so on. He doesn’t like to be alone, and he hates silence, so he always stayed near the city centre, always close to his friends at the Deli, the Pub, the locksmith, always ready to go out and either find out some information or lose someone who is following him. Though this didn’t happen too often. I like to think that Edgar is so inconspicuous (to people who don’t know him) that he was never on the ministry’s radar. Perhaps once or twice, in all those years, but he’s working for the daily prophet, and his boss bailed him out of trouble every time, confused why someone would suspect this random, mediocre, simple friend of the arts of something as impressive as being part of an underground organisation. On the other hand, I also believe that he is very talented when it comes to duelling. Though not the most powerful wizard ever when it comes to inner-magic-force, and certainly not the best student at Hogwarts, he is incredibly creative when it comes to using spells. That’s what makes him so talented as a wizard. There’s never a situation where he’s been too slow to get the Order out of troubles again, by thinking fast and by surprising his opponent. Unorthodox methods have proven themselves as the most sustainable, and he constantly works on new ways to surprise Death Eaters. Perhaps this is why he is intrigued and terrified of the younger recruits: because he has seen his plans work in the past, but now realises bigger, more up-front measures are needed. Bombs just seem so crude.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Albeit not a Hufflepuff (though he never corrects people when they assume it), Edgar does care about other people, and he is quite loyal. If a friendship breaks, then because there really was no other choice. And considering that most of Edgar’s true friendships are all people from the Order, this means they must’ve either betrayed the Order, or died. Sure, things aren’t easy in the face of war. There’s tension, and conversations slip too easily into heavy territories, but Edgar’s been in it for so long now… He barely remembers it any different.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

Romantically? Nothing planned at all! I do enjoy the idea of exploring Edgar’s need to be around people, to live off their warmth while he sits in the dark, but who those people are entirely depends on the players and the characters’ chemistry.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Edgar is walking right on the line.

The line between receiving prejudice and being with those who are prejudiced. He’s neither white, nor straight, nor pure-wizard, but he can pass as all those things if he absolutely has to. And that’s because at least one half of him is all this.

His mother (Laura Bones) is a white halfblood from upper class Britain, whose family has, despite their appreciation and respect of old Wizarding traditions, always welcomed people of all blood into their midst and was famous for breaking the rules of typical pureblood behaviour, always doing what they think is the right thing to do, no matter the means or noise it would cause. His father (Jorge Bones, né Centello) is from South America, where the Wizarding Community is more closed-in on itself, so even though he is a pureblood and knows fairly little about the Muggle world, he doesn’t carry the arrogance and prestige to his (maiden???)name as British pureblood families do.

Edgar has got enough knowledge from both worlds to let himself fall on either side of the line when he has to. Talk with colleagues at the Daily Prophet about inherent wizarding affairs. Speak in perfect English to receive better credit on his Muggle apartment insurance. Talk about the beautiful curves of a woman’s body with his friend’s brother. Easy.

If he were to converse deeply with someone from either side, though, it would become obvious that he is mostly playing pretend. Of course he has a vast theoretical knowledge on the worlds, and even chose to live in a Muggle apartment close to an entrance to Wizarding London, but the truth is, his practical knowledge lacks terribly. Certainly, he knows how to buy underground tickets, has ridden cabs before, and since recently he even owns a microwave! But the fact that he has always learnt about the worlds from books, from his safe spot in the shade, it did rob him of the practical experiences. So it’s not at all a bias or prejudice he has against Muggles or Muggleborns, but a vivid curiosity the way a zoo-goer would feel about the animals. He has read every book on lions, yes, but if he were faced with one, it wouldn’t be granted that he knew what to do. Pretend, of course, copy what the instructions in the books said, no eye contact, no quick motions, and definitely no running away!, but it forever remains pretend, not intuition.

And this goes for both sides of this line of his. Conversing in English, he always has Spanish sayings coming to mind. Dressing in Wizarding fashion, he always longs for the more comfortable Muggle trousers. He moves in both worlds, easily, with no one paying too much attention whether his ways are intuitive or adopted, but it does make him wonder, sometimes, on which side of the line he really belongs.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I particularly like that the RP is neither 100% canon nor 100% AU. The fact that it bases itself on the canon years during Hogwarts gives it a great base to work with, but the fact that the rest is up to us, frees me from the stress of finding a way to go a certain direction.

I also really liked the bios. All of them felt very interconnected, as though the plot in the future will always inherently be influenced by the plots of the past. It makes me hope that my Edgar will serve at least in some other character’s development and I won’t have to feel too useless haha

What I’m most excited about is rewriting those famous character’s history and seeing just how much we can, perhaps, influence the plot drops and story.

Less important, but very honest, I’m also excited about Edgar. I don’t think I had a character like him yet, and I’ve been roleplaying for many years. I like to imagine him very studious, serene, reliable, but then with bursts of creativity and colour allowing for fun adventures.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

- Concerning only Edgar and whoever wishes to participate: As previously stated, I’d love to explore Edgar’s need to be around people, and how he can become very dependent on others (even if he seems so detached and easy-going when one first meets him). I’d also like the very briefly mentioned nuances of OCD to be addressed, though I don’t plan on making this a very noticeable trait of him. People not close to him will definitely never know. - Concerning other characters not mentioned in the bio (and these are only ideas, they will not happen if the player doesn’t consent): Alice Longbottom: In her bio it says Caradoc Dearborn is the only one who makes her trust and stay with the cause. Considering how Caradoc and Edgar are friends, I’d like to explore what could’ve happened between Alice and Edgar. Certainly his spontaneity could’ve gotten her in trouble at least once – Perhaps it will again? Benjy Fenwick: Seems to distrust Caradoc – and also just generally a bit too … follower-ish for Edgar’s taste. Of course he’ll be civil and try to get to know him better, but for now he doubts that the Order is the right thing for him. One needs brains, hearts and willpower to fight in this war. A plot idea here could be Edgar forcing lots of ways to get to know Benjy, but also, if he does prove himself worthy of the Order, to take him under his wing.

ANYTHING ELSE?

I think on the Enneagram, Edgar is a 5. It makes sense for his wings to be a 4 (driven by the poetry of life) when he’s at his best and happy, and a six (craving guidance and becoming quite over-protective) at his worst. Heh.

Also I hope it came across clearly that the eccentric way of the Bones family are especially eccentric through the eyes of those who stick to traditions too furiously. Those who are also open-minded might smirk a bit about their “weirdness” but not in a dismissing way. They’re not ridiculed or complete outsiders. Sure, they have quite the wild means to express their values, but the values in themselves are good-hearted (Bones supposedly coming from the French word ‘good’, right?) and not at all far-fetched or ridiculous as a Lestrange or Black might believe it. If anything, their colours are akin to the colours of the students in 1968. Sure it might look crazy from the outside, but it’s not necessarily random, or coming from a place of pure mania. If the hippies wore loose clothes, their hair long, and ‘ethno’-patterns, then because it was comfortable, an expression of freedom and a love for the whole world. Not just because they thought it would make them look iconic. And the same goes for the Bones. As Amelia’s bio says, sure, she’s curious but it’s not an empty curiosity. It’s driven by /something/. And this something, in the Bones family in general, means to leave a mark on the world not because it’s pretty, but because of what it could mean to future generations.

#homenumaccepted #marauders rp #marauders era rp #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay

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thedeviljudges · 6 years

Text

the world falls

or a labyrinth au - where billy’s the goblin king, and steve’s the motherfucker who figures him the fuck out.

They all sound like cackling hyenas, the mirage of guests laugh-drunk within the fantasy Billy’s created. He hopes they thank him later, sweet gifts of praise for his kindness, but something tells him that despite his grace, the castle will be left in a chaotic mess anyway.

In elegant shades of pearly blue sequins, Billy adjusts his coat, rakes his fingers through softs curls, preening when they fall back into place. The music is a soft lullaby traipsing down the hall; it calls his name, and he’s lucky no one demands his presence, that no one would willingly disturb him unless it was urgent. He only shows his face when he wants, and tonight is more than a special occasion.

His guest had taken a bite of the peach; the stupidity of the stragglers on the outskirts of town had won Billy this round, offered the fruit with little explanation, and the labyrinth’s guest had taken it.

Billy thought his opposers would hinder his determination in keeping the wish he’d granted, even though the little fuck that’d been wished away - that Billy had taken back to his castle in mindful grief - never shut the fuck up.

It was more pride than anything else. Billy kept his promises, refused to revoke them because the stupid boy who’d made the deal with him, the Goblin King, felt a substantial amount of regret.

It would be no matter. The clock continues ticking, Billy flicking his gaze upon the hourglass, each grain of sand another second, a minute, an hour of time that lapses in his favor.

He clears his throat, tongue wetting the bottom of his lip in anticipation for what he might find.

Billy leaves his decadent room, wide double doors groaning as he approaches them. The guards at each end of the hall stand stock still, but Billy notices the way their spines crack when they shift, their height inching taller when they witness his presence.

Through the hall and down a spiraling staircase, Billy takes the long way around. The music and rambunctious laughter bleeds through the walls, muffled but alight with joy Billy sneers at.

He takes these moments in stride - but mostly for himself; the quiet echos of his boots hitting the ground beat alongside the pounding of his heart. There’s a sense of peace, tranquility brought through being alone. Billy doesn’t have moments like these often, not when in charge of a kingdom.

Not when he’s busy granting wishes no one is thankful for.

Dismissing the weariness of his duties, Billy approaches the ballroom. The doors are shut, sealed if he were being vindictive. Through the crack in the bottom of the door, he sees shadows dancing across the floor. Elegant steps and beautiful trim brushing ankles in a harmonious dance the people of his kingdom, and generations before him, have kept alive.

Billy snaps his fingers, feels magic pulse beneath his skin as it’s unleashed, as the doors swing wide open, revealing his grand appearance. The musicians do not stop, fingers nimble and quick in picking up the rhythm, and while hundreds of beady eyes balk at the sight of him, they do not stop spinning.

They do not stop for Billy when the uptick of his smile transforms his features.

They do not stop when he joins the floor, a gentle sway in his step as he acknowledges his subjects with the bow of his head.

The room around him, just as he’d imagined and wished into being, is covered in tapestry. Ribbons fall from the ceiling, from the curvature of the windows, displaying the light of the setting sun, the houses that surround his castle.

He wanders through the crowd, slowly, feels the hum of music lighten his body with every pluck of string. There’s little to look at. Billy created it all, imagined it into existence, but the glitter and sparkle that decorates his home isn’t what he’s used to.

The castle hangs itself in tarnished gray bricks, dull in a way that drags eerie stories out of its visitors. Redecorating has never been a priority, but the glow in the room, the revelation of difference gives him a fresh breath of air, makes him itch in that familiar need of adrenaline.

It comes and goes in waves, usually when Billy leaves, granting wishes during the witching hour. The buzz from being drunk off of it is enough to fulfill the hungry need inside of him clawing for entertainment, for a life beyond the walls of the only place he’s ever called home.

Billy isn’t a masochist least the beast is drawn out of him, but he enjoys the sick anguish people posses when they’re in his presence.

Like now, the crowd has no worries, but it doesn’t mean they don’t eye him with suspicion. Billy doesn’t keep himself locked away in the tower unlike his father before him. He weaves in and out of town, through the castle, and throughout their lives like a guardian on the rocks of damnation. To possess magic is a rarity, a gift of ordnance his mother proclaimed he’d use wisely, but in times like this, when meager threats runs loose, his agitation can be felt for miles.

When Billy spots him across the room - that meager threat he’s been toying with - his smile turns ravenous, outrageous, plucked right off the wall of emotions. Billy watches his guest stumble amongst the crowd with little elegance the night is reserved for.

Dolled up in a pretty little white number, ribbons in his hair, glitter melding with the high points of his cheekbones, Billy catches those brown, doe-eyes blinking back at him, swirls of black confusion clouding his vision.

Billy dips around a woman in a dress, hiding in plain sight.

Again, his guest stumbles, runs into another pair of dancers who block his path, apologies slipping from his tongue. Billy plays cat and mouse, pacing the outskirts of the dance floor until he’s caught under the gaze of the one man who’s determination might be the death of him.

The music changes in between their dance, but the hiccup between the end and beginning doesn’t phase Billy as he shuffles along the floor. Gathering his wits, he bows in front of a woman, chances taking her hand until she’s in proper form.

Billy leads them around in slow circles, fingers curling into the small of her back. He thinks this is what the castle would’ve thrived on were his parents alive, finding a suitor for their son next in line for the thrown. The body before him is nothing more than a stunned woman, however, and his patience runs thin when her feet catch his, when his guest finally picks him out from the crowd.

Slick as a cave-dwelling snake, the tight hold on his elbow prevents him from moving. The low timber of a syrupy sweet vibrato fills his ear.

“May I have this dance?”

His partner bows out without a word, or maybe Billy blocks it out in favor of turning an arched brow towards the source of havoc his city has endured. Since this boy’s appearance, whispers have grown stronger in the villages - all about the stranger from an otherworldly land, the one who’s challenged Billy for all that he has.

As if he’d roll over for a human boy, Billy knows the final maze will snap them all into place again. The disruption will stop; the whispered rumors will cease to exist, and the only threat he’ll have to worry about then is death.

Billy doesn’t answer the question presented to him, but he does slip his hand into the warmth of another’s. Steve shows no sign of hesitance in Billy’s presence, hadn’t the moment Billy proposed the labyrinth’s game. It’d been accepted upon entry as Billy couldn’t have an outsider from another world on goblin soil without reason, and Steve had all but asked so sweetly for Billy to undo the one thing he could never.

“I would tell you that you look like a dream, but you don’t even try to fit in.” Billy leads their dance because it’d be stupid of him not to, and for all of Steve’s gracelessness, it seems he’d saved the best for Billy. He glides where Billy takes him, light feet propelling them across the ballroom in a flight of hardened feelings.

“I’m not here to fit in.”

The unspoken reason falls short. Billy can’t - and certainly won’t - admit that his visitor doesn’t fit in because he’d snapped his fingers and led a rebellion. He’d twisted the arm of the goblin peasant who’d chosen Steve over the Goblin King, and that in itself, was treason.

There have been many moments Billy’s shown mercy; heavy is the hand that holds all the power, and he’d learned from the mistakes of his father.

Instead of pure punishment, he gave an ultimatum: present the fruit or die begging.

Under the swath of music, Billy hums along with it, regret pilfered by rational. No one claimed Billy had the upmost moral, but his convictions permeated the villages, not one to retract from a given command. Amusement flushes the apples of his cheeks, then, the perk of realization crossing his mind as his eyes scatter across weather-weary skin.

“But you do tonight,” he eventually replies, supple and soft, pressing forward until the pink of his lips brush against the shell of Steve’s ear.

He’d given him this, at the very least, when Billy felt the first bite of the peach, when he’d grinned wickedly from atop his thrown. The special occasion called for much more than the tattered, lazy clothes Steve had been wearing since his arrival. The dusting of glitter across the boy’s cheeks fading down into the sharp line of his jaw, particles leaking across the broad width of his shoulders.

Billy knows the sequins on jacket rivals everyone’s clothes, however. What would a party he hosted be without his extravagance shimmering in the light of the ball, of the waning sun, and certainly in the presence of a boy that looks way too good for Billy’s blood-thirsty appetite?

“Is this you trying to impress me?” Steve asks after a quick pivot, surrounded by couples who refuse to leave the floor. They’re the only two that don’t wear a mask, and Billy knows the contemplation, the hesitation that comes with reading the room incorrectly. Born of purpose or just plain mishap is anyone’s guess.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” In the distance, Billy knows the hourglass is running. He doesn’t need to see the grain of sand falling, falling, falling into the dunes below. It lives in his bloodstream, the challenge sealed in a pact between the labyrinth and he, and because he’d always been destined to be king, he’d made his fun in other ways, tested both of their limits, found riddles and games that sought to upend the status quo.

“The lengths you’re taking to keep me from reaching the center is questionable,” Steve replies, tilting his head. It makes Billy think twice - the illusion he created, the room torn between wasted time and abundance, flickers in his mind’s eye.

Surely Steve isn’t as cunning as Billy. He’s tripped over himself enough times in the maze not to easily win the game Billy has set - unfair and to his favor as it may be.

“So much effort in keeping me here,” Steve finishes, the corner of his mouth curved into a devilish smile. He’s taken a page out of Billy’s book, catches him off guard with the rotund implication, the double meaning read so blatantly clear.

“Is that what you think?” If anything, the flicker of hesitation won’t show. The shadow of doubt remains to be seen anywhere near Billy’s shoulders. “You won’t solve it in time.”

Steve scoffs, fingers gliding over the lapels of Billy’s jacket. “I know you want me to take the easy way out,” he says, voice weaving beautifully between the silvery notes of the music, "but I think you like that I’m here. When was the last time someone solved your puzzle?”

“They haven’t,” Billy insists, but the dread is creeping in slowly, building into a crescendo the music won’t hit tonight. He tells himself Steve doesn’t know, couldn’t know even if he tried, but Billy feels the lie in the back of his throat. The sweet tinge of the labyrinth speaking to him lets him know the truth.

“Because you trick them.”

“Because they’re stupid,” Billy says, hissing his annoyance into the face of someone too smug for his liking. The air shifts, dancers staggering away from the unbridled king as hostility creeps into his bones. The familiarity of panic is comforting, but Billy breathes and continues hiding it behind the eclipse of his dignity.

“Tell me,” Steve says, brown eyes unrelenting under the weight of Billy’s stare. Their dance has slowed, untimed, uncalculated with the heart of the melody in the room. “Has anyone made it this far before? Do you always entice them with grand gestures?”

He’d grit is teeth if the moment allowed, but Billy’s sure Steve would hear it under the guiding voice of susceptibility. “This isn’t for you,” he insists, except his voice caves - betrays him from the rot of spite that sinks his gut down to the floor beneath his feet.

His weakness shows through, just a slight in his demeanor. It’s all Billy needs to know - needs to feel - to understand that his cruel intentions have been mocked, have been seen for the shortcomings they were.

Billy’s grip loosens around Steve’s because he thinks he can salvage what’s left of his masterpiece. The hourglass is like a chiming clock ticking in his ear - if only he’d held out a little longer. Those few seconds that slip by are all Steve needs, and Billy feels the shift when he attempts pulling away.

Steve tugs Billy back into his orbit, knees knocking together from the force of his gesture. He smiles, not unkindly despite the hospitality he’s been given, and then he pushes them both forward.

Billy only takes one step back - only to catch his fall, and that’s enough to sway everything out of his favor. The room stops abruptly; the labyrinth laughs deep within the recess of his mind, and Billy frowns when the light of the masquerade shifts into an unpleasant shade of blue.

“Isn’t it?” Steve’s brow shoot up, arrogance written across the lines of his face. The corners of his mouth curl into whimsical delight that far exceeds the wit Billy gave him credit for as heat rises up his neck, slow as a sloth yet burning like molten lava.

The insults Billy wants to bite out - canine teeth sharp as any knife - fail to hit their mark as Steve slinks away from him in the blink of an eye. He reaches, but brings nothing back, empty-handed in all the ways that fucking matter. Billy spins on his heel, searching for the only man in the room without a goddamn facade, with pretty, white ribbons tied in his hair and resilience tapered across the back of his hands from the slap Billy wasn’t expecting.

When Billy finds Steve across the room, he watches as he approaches the only mirror that encompasses the wall - the manifestation of his veneer, the reflection of the truth within the glass. Billy’s chest tightens with certainty, with questions that drag his mind through every obstacle he’d put in Steve’s path.

There’s no way he could’ve known. The fruit from the garden of eden had been plucked by his own hand, magic twisted into his core, through its veins until Billy was satisfied it’d been infected.

Steve fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket, glancing around until he spots what he’s looking for. Billy witnesses the impulse, the flair of inevitability that licks up Steve’s limbs.

Without a second thought, a white chair is chosen as the instrument - discarded, unused, now finding purpose. Steve lifts it into the air with ease, swings it directly at the mirror until it shatters, until the world shakes and upends - until Billy’s illusion is nothing more than wilted tapestries, broken streamers, ribbons, and the muted foundation of his castle.

The hanging clock in the tower chimes off in the distance. Steve has three hours left until he loses, but Billy doesn’t hold an ounce of threat - yet. He stares at the remains of the mirror, careening past confused goblins wrapped in glittered clothing, until the reflection - in all its cracked glory - is gazing back at him.

Billy grins wide, a little manic. The image in the mirror waterfalls into another, to Steve who’s found himself in the junkyard with nothing more than a scratch on his temple.

Reaching forward, Billy touches the mirror, tracing the lines of Steve’s panicked face, such a far cry from the tenacity he’d shared with Billy. It leaves him cool, like running water over a heated burn - but Billy enjoys this, enjoys Steve and the persistence he brings.

Like a shark in the water, Billy loves the taste of resilience.

Of feistiness.

“If only I could keep you, too.”

#x #harringrove #labyrinth au

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dekujin · 4 years

Text

Real Inside (FNAF!Rumbelle AU): Chapter Thirty Two Part 1

Synopsis: Rumplestiltskin’s origins seem to be coming to light, but how is an animatronic with no memories prior to Avonlea to handle the possibility of learning his past? With the glimmering hope of this mysterious ‘Merle Linden’ being able to repair him too the animatronic must come to a decision-either to face his fears of the unknown or to put a stop to the email and hide the truth from his dearest.

Warnings/Notes: Well... Hey... If it hasn’t been a while-like one year and almost five months. Going to keep the notes short. In the time working on this chapter I’ve battled perfectionism, writing blocks, about twenty drafts, and bad life events-all which have made writing this chapter a nightmare. Then I took a long break, went to working more on my original project, and now with some extra free time I decided to finish up the first part of chapter Thirty Two.

Why post a chapter in parts? Well, until I defeat the evil that is this chapter I need to make myself commit to what I’ve written (least end up with another twenty drafts). Plus this chapter is going to be huge and when it is finally complete the finished version will be posted here, AO3, and FF.net.

Also no warnings for this first part, just some angst and comfort. :)

Chapter Thirty One

The longer he stared the faster and harder his whirling diagnostics ran.

Even then he couldn't find the error to explain the strange 'numbness' seeping into his processors. All the while Rumplestiltskin's eyes refused to blink as he sat stock still before the unchanging screen, willing it to prove what he saw was wrong. With his mind spiraling into a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts he didn't hear a low creaking sound starting up that wasn't coming from anywhere in the darkly lit room around him that now seemed so far away.

Realization hit him minutes later as a flurry of warning messages breached his coding. With a loud gasp he reactivated, his mind probing his body lighting fast to find that the sounds were coming from him! The servos in his limbs were straining with tension-like they were being crushed by unseen forces. With a muffled cry from his plated throat he forced the parts to release themselves, filling the air with several sharp metallic pops. Immediately they retracted back to normal operations while Rumplestiltskin's body jerked then sagged into his chair.

The mechanical man's metal slats for eyelids blinked upon trying to compose himself, feeling like he’d been scorched inside and out. After a few minutes he noticed his clawed hand still clutched at his vest and dropped it into his lap where it continued to tremble. Wits regained he became aware of his surroundings too with him in Belle's apartment seated at her messy table before her laptop. Further events of the day came rushing back like a rewinding video tape. The images sparked-of Avonlea's unwanted guests asking for Belle's aid, babysitting the nosy mutt Wilby, and Ruby discovering him which had almost been a complete disaster.

It was this unforeseen circumstance in front of him though had him wondering if he was still malfunctioning from his earlier fault. Ensuring he wasn't he drew his glowing gaze back to the picture of his past self displayed on the laptop. There on its screen remained the far too real image of him deactivated in that unknown place of machines and tools his memories couldn't for the life of him place...

Right above the final line of this email sent from a mysterious 'Merle Linden'.

'What does the name 'Rumplestiltskin' mean to you?'

Reading it over and over proved what he was seeing was no error induced hallucination. "Belle... She did it-she found a lead... Someone who knows about me and who has been near me before Avonlea... This man might have the key to uncovering my past..." Rumplestiltskin spoke out loud, his inflection sounding hoarse for something with no breath.

Doubts at this supposed lead immediately hurled themselves through his mind, but they weren't because of Belle's research. His dearest might have poorly concealed what she was doing, not that she was trying to, but she was far from incompetent unlike most humans he'd watched in his years lurking in Avonlea’s shadows. He knew first hand how clever, resourceful, and efficient she could be when she had her mind set to something. After all she'd managed to patch his voice box without any proper technical training save reading some introduction to basic machinery textbooks!

No, his rising uncertainties were derived from having waited so long in hopes for an explanation to his creation and origins that had never come.

That made it beyond strange that after twenty eight years thinking he'd never find out...

This was his chance.

Which made it all the more terrifying.

Unable to sit a moment longer Rumplestiltskin stumbled out of his chair, hitting his hip against the table hard enough in the process he almost upended his prior work cleaning up after Ruby’s mess with Belle’s various folders and papers. Instinctively the machine froze, his age old fear of being heard having him jerk his head in Belle’s direction. A surge of relief filled his hull, for his dearest remained undisturbed snoring softly on the couch under a cozy blanket cocoon. Due to the amount of alcohol she'd ingested with her troublesome friend he was sure at this point that she would be out long into the remainder of the night.

Rousing her for work later would be difficult, but at the moment he had far more pressing matters to deal with.

Wild waves of energy continued to course through the animatronic's wriggling cables as he went to pacing in place. All the while his flighty hands went to kneading at his sides in longing for the comfort of his spinning wheel not far off. He couldn't get himself to go to it, not when so much was going on in his programming that he couldn't get a simple thought straight! Since he'd never allowed himself to think of this moment occurring he realized he was horribly unprepared! What was he supposed to do now? What did this opportunity-if it was that, mean for both him and Belle now that someone out there had proof of their involvement with him?

But why had this 'Merle Linden' been involved with 'Rumplestiltskin' in the first place? What did this man know about him and what was it that he was sure Belle would want to know? How long had Mr. Linden had him in that location in the photo, in that 'state', and had he worked with the more mysterious ZOZO or was he in-fact ZOSO himself ?

Rumplestiltskin's amber eyes squinted in the darkness at the notion. No, the two couldn't be the same person from the way Mr. Linden structured his email, mentioning 'seeking answers' for himself. If they weren't the same person why then had ZOSO gone to this man? Hadn't he been the sole creator of this 'great technological advancement for mankind' he'd claimed in the letter to Mr. Getto?

Recalling the other lines of the email the imp’s pacing grew all the more rapid that the soles of his boots threatened to leave holes in Belle's hardwood floors. One key factor he knew now though was that this Mr. Linden claimed he'd built the other animatronics brought to Avonlea before 'Rumplestiltskin'. Belle had used them as the catalyst to search out aid in the first place which had been a very smart move on her part as not to risk his or her safety. That meant Mr. Linden couldn’t be his creator nor that ZOSO had stolen him from the man since he and the other animatronics brought to Avonlea at the time were leagues apart in technological capabilities.

Yet, if Mr. Linden hadn’t built him or had any part in his construction would he be able to repair him? That was Belle's main intent in this whole endeavor, and of course he wanted answers to the many mysteries about his past. First and foremost he wished-for very obvious reasons, to prevent his body from breaking down any further than it already had. All the more he wanted this 'evil' seemingly imbedded in his programing removed so he wouldn’t risk hurting anyone because of it overtaking him, especially Belle... Never again.

All these things stacked on top of one another kept bringing back the confusing problem at hand.

'Why was this Mr. Linden involved with me!'

Stopping his pacing Rumplestiltskin let out a low groan of frustration with one cuffed hand rising to cover half of his scaly face . Vicious anxiety was digging hard at his systems all while the apartment walls he'd begun to call home failed to bring him their usual comfort.

"ZOSO and his ZOSO protocol-the mystery of my attachment to 'Forty-Four'... My branding of '01-A', 'Lazarus', and the strange song I know without a name... Will he even know what any of that means? What if he knows next to nothing at all and we risk our safety trying to find out?” Rumplestiltskin nervously asked the open air as if hoping it would reassure him on the matter.

It didn't.

None of these things brought forth any hopeful notion at all.

From there the darker insinuations twisted deeper into his sparking components where they drew forth a terrible possibility from the back of his mind.

What if this Mr. Linden wanted nothing more than to take advantage of Belle in her search for answers ? Rumplestiltskin's fingers curled with his claws ready to sink into such a fiend while inside his hull countless cords went to writhing like furious snakes. Maybe this was all some ploy to trick her! Had he'd been looking all this time to find 'Rumplestiltskin' in order to steal him back? To get ahold of him to-to... To tear him apart and figure out ZOSO's prototype? Or maybe he wanted to use him as ransom for money against Belle or ZOSO if the man was still alive out there?

As much as he wanted to believe that none of these were plausible he couldn't say they weren't. There were already two men who were making a move to go after Belle to get to him for what happened with the break in at Avonlea. The dark haired one-the one in charge, had voiced no qualms about hurting her in the process from the way he'd spoken that night outside Belle's apartment. Terrible imaginings of this mysterious figure using Belle too-hurting her even, forced the animatronic to hold in an inhuman growl deep within his voice box.

"No, I can't allow that! I can't allow Belle to get hurt anymore because of me!" He hissed at the shadows lingering in the corners of the living room. As if daring anything from within them to try to make a move he bore his gruesome dagger like teeth that made him look like the mechanical monster he was inside and out. "Belle's safety is my priority above my own life ! Her safety matters more than learning about my past or getting repaired! No matter what I must ensure Belle is unharmed ! But If I do not get repaired... If my 'faults' are not fixed... How can I keep my promise to her?”

‘To be with her always...’

He'd fail that promise in time if things didn't change-like the one he'd made with the boy he'd once known-

Wait...

The boy-His boy!

Up until that very moment Rumplestiltskin hadn't added him into the equation, but now the faint hazy image of a child with brown hair, dark brown eyes, and beloved red shoes became all he could see. A new plethora of possibilities opened forth, causing his trembling segmented hands to draw towards his chest and kneaded wildly.

What if this Mr. Linden was who he said he was and he knew something about the boy tied to his past? If Mr. Linden had his name or where he might be in general all these years later the chance to find him might be more than a flimsy pipe dream ! The fact that this alone might ensure seeing that boy again had the meek ember of hope within him after so long burn back the dread coursing down his wires. If he were to ignore this email and what it might bring he'd be forfeiting an attempt to keep his vow to return to his side!

Stock still in light of this revelation the mechanical man stared straight ahead, imagining a world in which he could have this and everything he ever hoped for. Could a mechanical monster like him with his bloodstained past actually have a happy ending? One with him being with Belle, having a fixed body and mind, and standing once more at the boy's side-now a man, as he apologized and made up for all the years they'd been torn apart?

All of this sounded too good to be true or plausible let alone what he deserved with his sin rusting in his insides.

The working parts in his throat bobbed when a new prick of fear began creeping its way inside. He wanted to reunite with the boy so badly-like how he wanted to be with Belle, but what if Mr. Linden knew about the boy only to tell them of some unfortunate fate that had befallen him? What if in seeking the answers he found that the boy who'd been hidden and taken from him was long gone from this world? It could be possible this boy all grown up was alive except he wanted nothing to do with him! Maybe he'd even hoped to escape the mechanical monster tied to his past!

The boy might know things he'd done too before his current memories-awful, terrible, vile things that would make Belle repulsed and flee him altogether.

Rumplestiltskin's mouth quaked, his fear rushing up through him despite a warning flashing through his systems of damage at the corner of his eye sockets. The little sparks that shot forth sizzled out before hitting the floor much like his hope did.

"N-No... No! I'm not-even if I had d-done such t-things I-I'm not that machine anymore! But, if I’ve done terrible things… Belle will never forgive me… And he-that boy-he will never forgive me... If he's even alive! If he hasn't been taken from me forever!”

With his cries increasing the imp’s hands floundered before going to tug at his wiry coils of hair in his distress. Already inside he could feel the hint of another fault fast approaching, leeching onto his strung emotions currently being pulled into a million different directions.

"I can’t l-loose Belle after everything… I can't risk her getting hurt if we go through with this either! What do I do? If I chose either path I could put everything I love and have in danger, and if I don't choose to go after this I-I might never get another chance to understand what I am! Or get repaired, or find that boy! What if he does want nothing to do with me or this Mr. Linden is hoping to trick Belle? I don't know-I don't know-I don't know!”

“Rumple?”

Rumplestiltskin jerked violently back to full height when the sudden soft voice caught him off guard.

Whirling around in confusion and fear he looked to Belle's couch where his hinged jawed gaped in shock. In the low lamp light was Belle sitting up with her blanket and blearily looking back at him from beneath her runaway mass of auburn locks. Both her eyelids drooped enough that if she'd let them close back up she’d be fast asleep in an instant. However, that brilliant blue of them didn't waiver with their confused if exhausted intensity aimed his way.

Damnit! H-How long had she been awake! Shame bit at the machine-he'd gotten so lost in his panic that his thoughts had spilled out loud and because of that he'd woken her up! A few moments too late Rumplestiltskin recognized as he stared back with wide fearful eyes that he had to have looked a frightening mess standing there from her perspective, muttering madly to no one. From the flicker of worry across her sweet face-she had to be assuming he was having a fault again-

Without warning his beauty threw her blanket aside then in a clear attempt to get to him while he let out a shrill yelp.

On swifter limbs he darted across the room, grabbing both her arms gently in the process, and managed to stop her before she had the chance to get to her feet.

"Are you okay? I... I'm... I-I thought I just heard you yelling... When I woke up I saw you standing there looking really freaked out... Is something going on? Are you suffering a fit?" Belle's hoarse voice asked in a flurry of barely cobbled together thoughts that pained him to hear.

"NO! N-Nothing is going on! I'm all right! I'm not faulting-I promise!" Rumplestiltskin belted loudly on instinct, startling both Belle and himself that they both flinched back. No! The last thing Belle needed was to be freaked out, and he knew he wouldn't be able to conceal the truth if she did.

With that in mind he let go of her arms to flaunt his mottled segmented hands about, struggling to regain his usual impish form.

"I-I was just-ah, upset-over-ah-ah-um-Wilby! Wilby! Yes! That's it! The pesky mutt managed to-ah, drool over some of the wool you got me! How disgusting-the nerve of that pooch! See! There's no need to worry-everything is perfectly fine! You can go right back on to sleep!"

The poorly fabricated lie did nothing to convince Belle from how her gaze bore through his metal plating. Of course she wouldn't buy such a miserable excuse! Belle knew him far better than that by now to which the imp halted his flippant movements...

And suddenly a good question raised itself in his mind.

Why was he trying to hide what was going on from her in the first place?

Rumplestiltskin flinched for the second time in his uncertainty when Belle didn't hesitate to reach towards him, taking in fistfuls of his silk shirt sleeves. The strength in her grip was impressive to behold for someone who looked to be on the verge of passing out. Given his prior assumption she'd be out cold all evening due to the days events and her bit of drinking he'd once more failed to factor in her stubbornness. Said stubbornness now had her swinging her legs over the side of the couch while her blanket crumpled into a pile near their feet.

“Rumple, what's really going on? You don't look like you're faulting-both your eyes are whole unlike when you loose control.” Bell declared with an urgency and understanding to her tone-one that refused to allow him to back track for another excuse. "I remember us laying here together not too long ago... I don't know how long ago that was, but I was in your arms... My head is spinning a bit... But! I know you were fine before I fell asleep, so please, tell me..."

“It was just-uh, Belle-there's... I-I-I-” Rumplestiltskin floundered, his voice glitching in his inability to find any foothold.

Because what the hell was he exactly supposed to tell her! Tell her he'd been snooping in her business and opened her email without permission? Or how about how someone had sent her proof of them being tied to his past! Then there was the evidence of just that-a picture of him before Avonlea still visible on her computer screen! How could he even begin to speak when right behind them an email that could tell him everything he wanted to know about his past self-be it good or beyond terrifying, something she'd see and one that would could change everything he had left without him being able to stop it!

'But Belle deserves to see that she has a lead! She's worked so hard on this-how many nights and emails has she spent doing this all for my sake? Yet, if she goes through with this she could put herself in danger-I’ll be putting her in danger!' The whirlwind of thoughts had the animatronic stiffen before her, his entire green-gold hull freezing under her fingertips. 'No! I can’t allow that! Belle cares too much about me-too-too much that she'll do anything if she thinks it can help me! I can't let her know and she doesn’t know it exists for the time being-maybe I can just delete the email! I have all the information stored inside so it won't really be gone! That way she won't see it, and if I can cover this up I can buy some time...'

It seemed a simple enough plan despite feeling like the most daunting task in the whole world. However, he had to do this! He needed more time to process all of this information and better think of a way that wouldn't risk her life and its stability! Already she'd gone and done too much for something as miserable as him with him being able to offer her nothing in return! If he did this instead-if he kept it from her-it would ensure she wouldn't pay anymore of a price for being involved with him!

Protecting her, even if it was with a temporary lie, was the right thing to do if it meant she wasn't endangered...

It was right... Regardless of the promises he'd made to to Belle in the passing months... To be truthful and open with her...

How she'd said he was her equal through and through...

This was what he had to do... Right?

Feeling like he was being split in two the animatronic awoke from his inner turmoil, determined to go through with it no matter what. However, his silicone face flashed with strife-the mission faltering immediately, at seeing Belle's own features soften into something so... So...

Sad.

With a single look he could tell she saw the wild coursing fear within him even if she didn't understand it. Perhaps she could tell he was trying to hide something from her, but why then... Why did she look at him like that when she should have been angry at him from failing her again? Maybe he'd been wrong in thinking not to tell her, maybe he... NO! He had to do this-he had to protect her! Protect her from himself, and the world, and anything that'd try to harm her because she dared to care for something as wretched as him!

Desperate to gather his wits he tried to escape her grasp only Belle's grip-gentle and strong, refused to relent against his feeble tugs.

"Rum, it's okay-calm down, relax, please." Belle's soothing tone somehow reached him around the frantic clattering of his shaking limbs.

Both her tired eyes looked upon him with such warmth despite how he was trying to run away like he always did. No, he didn't always run away. In time he'd come to try and be better for her, and inside against the dread and guilt he knew that he really didn't want to escape her at all.

Belle let out a soft exhale of air as she gave him time to ease the rapid quivering shooting through his body. "I can tell you're scared right now-really scared, and worried how I'll react to whatever this is that has you freaked out. I want to know what's wrong, but right now all I want to do is make sure you're okay... You're safe here with me right now... If we were in immediate danger you would have woke me up on purpose."

To his surprise she let him go then, her small delicate fingers slipping free of his arms and silk sleeves. Stricken by the calmness his little knight eluded-such a contrast to the hurricane battering the plates of his chest, he reacted in turn by grabbing both her hands in a desperate need to keep touching her. Another flash of concern crossed Belle's face before she slipped her pink fleshed hands better into his golden-green, intertwining their fingers together. As his need to flee dwindled a sound of pained relief escaped his voice box. How her touch grounded him time and time again back to reality and away from the paranoid dark trappings lurking in the depths of his programming.

"See. Everything is fine... You're fine, and I'm all right. It's not the end of the world or us right here right now no matter what it is that is troubling you."

Then Belle gave him a smile-a little fragile thing, that undid him entirely, especially with her holding him like he'd break under her grasp if she wasn't careful. At that Rumplestiltskin's silicone face crumpled with pitiful whimpers slipping through ragged mossy teeth.

Why?

Why after everything they'd gone through was he still trying to push her away?

While his fears about her safety were justified-he wanted to protect her above all else, the whole truth wasn't that fear alone. Unable to lie to himself any longer he faced the heart of the matter-of how he was afraid of facing the email and how it would change all that he knew for better or worse. After years of the constant same routine he'd become too used to nothing ever changing. Having lost so much from a single poor choice he'd made that day he'd hurt that child by accident... He was afraid of anything upsetting what little life he'd managed to carve out-even if it meant being holed up in a tiny hidden room and isolated in a family fun center. Any opportunities of something more he'd thrown away if there'd been the slightest chance things would go wrong or what little he had left be ripped away.

Until she had showed up that is.

Belle... From the moment she'd entered Avonlea everything had changed-he'd changed.

When she'd first gotten hurt because of him he'd taken the chance to help her-the best decision he'd made since that night he'd helped her as a child. He'd risked talking to her too and in turn proving his existence to ensure she was all right. After fearing he'd finally be exposed and torn to pieces he'd gained something instead he'd never expected he'd have... A friend. In time he'd risked growing closer to another being, letting her know him despite all the horrors that he was, and in turn he got to know the most wonderful, intelligent, funny, and beautiful person in the world. Then unbelievably he'd chanced being with her despite what had happened with the break in, had gone after a lost boy, and then had journeyed across Storybrooke to reach Belle despite how he could've been found out.

And in doing those things he now had a companion he loved dearly, more friends than he ever thought possible, and now he lived in a real actual home.

Every risk he'd taken, through the hiccups and failures along the way, had only brought him further out of the dark and more into the light. Hah! Real light too! Sunlight he'd not stood in for twenty five years! All of this had been because he'd allowed himself to trust Belle. If it wasn't for putting his faith in her, for believing in her, he would still be trapped in that same darkness, loneliness, and hopelessness.

Most of all though he needed to do this because Belle deserved better of him! Better than the cowardly machine he'd once been hiding the truth from her beneath the false bottom of a metal tin! Never again did he want to disappoint her like that or see her face carved in such heartache and hurt at finding out his lies. They'd made vows in the months they'd become friend to confide in one another through thick and thin. Even when they disagreed on things she still understood him and had his back when others in the past had abandoned him!

Under soft moonlight and Belle's kind affectionate gaze it was there the voice begging him to run from her, the email, and everything vanished in an instant.

Whatever would come from this he wanted to be brave for her and himself as they would face this-together.

Like she always had intended.

Overwhelmed by his many emotions Rumplestiltskin's servos buckled, and with a heavy 'thunk' he dropped to his knees before the couch. His metal hull loudly rattled in the process as he felt ready to collapse altogether. Damn, he still hadn't charged and his battery was running on the verge of empty, something he could feel sorely now from his grumbling sluggish processors. Belle let out a worried gasp right away before winding her arms under his shoulder plates to hold him up. Slack and limp he had to be far too heavy for her to bear, yet, she did as she pressed him tight into her small form.

Being in her arms like that-he knew he'd made the correct choice at the relief he felt upon holding her weakly back. Unspoken understanding flittered between them in the minutes that passed in comforting silence, and in time his body stilled. Yet, the two of them continued to embrace with Belle making it very clear that she had no intention to let him go.

"I'm sorry, Belle, if I frightened you... I didn't mean to-I got caught up in my programming and..." Rumplestiltskin murmured weakly in time with his twitchy fingers kneading her shoulders to draw strength. "I should have just told you the truth right away or told you I was scared instead of trying to lie. No matter what I don't want to keep things to you anymore-I don't want to hurt you, but... I'm the same coward I've always been-I'm sorry-I truly am."

Feeling so ashamed at what he'd almost done the mechanical man hide himself into the crook of Belle's neck. She'd forgiven him so many times already surely her patience and willingness to let go of his failings would run dry. That was far from the case as in a very Belle like fashion the woman in his arms simply let out a light amused laugh that eased the whirl of his anxious overworked parts.

"Hey, hey, it's okay... I'm not mad in the slightest. I could tell you weren't sure what to say, but whatever it is that had you scared must be something really painful or frightening to talk about, so take your time."

Belle’s fingers took to rubbing at his back and scalp through his untamed coils of hair after she spoke. It was a sensation he could barely register with his metal body and leather vest but he appreciated it with an electronic hum.

"And you are certainly not a coward if I have anything to say about it. Though I want to be sure, do you really want to talk about it? You know you don't have to... I can't lie and say that I'm not worried, but I respect you and like anyone else you have the right to say no anytime you want... I... I just don't like seeing you hurt..." A few moments of odd silence passed from Belle's voice cutting off, and with concern Rumplestiltskin drew back to look at her face that was all scrunched up tight. "S-Sorry, I'm still feeling that wine-ohh god my head... Bad time to pay the price for that... Still, Rumple... Know that I'm here for for you, always."

Truly all had been forgiven when she happily-also tiredly, snuggled further into him leaning over the couch as awkward as the position was. Yet, he felt more balanced than before, and so the equally exhausted imp let out a gush of air, his crooked slab of metal for a nose brushing against her hair.

While he refused to keep the truth from her any longer he still had one last dilemma at hand. Considering she was worn out and needed to get in as much sleep as she could before another round of work telling her right now such... Ah, 'exciting' news might not be the best. No doubt if she found out he'd be dealing with a jittery twitchy security guard forcing herself to remain awake for the rest of the 'day' and surviving by consuming five cups of coffee in a row.

As amusing as the image of Belle bouncing off the walls was Rumplestiltskin had to shake his head. "I promise that I will tell you, dearest, but before I do I really should let you get some proper sleep. We still have quite a few hours until our shift at Avonlea, and you need it."

"N-No! I'm good! I'm-theres-no way I could..." After another moment to stop stumbling over her words Belle resumed. "I don't need to go back to sleep right away! Besides, I don't think I could anyways when I know you're upset."

Having half expected such a response Rumplestiltskin 'tsked' before wracking his systems on what to do. An idea hit him shortly-one which had him smirk in a way that had Belle squinting back at him like she was wary of what he was about to say.

"Of course you wouldn't give up unless I told you-how troublesome you are my wonderful knight. In that case how about we make a deal? Surely we can come to an arrangement we can both agree on.” The animatronic offered, feeling far more his impish usual self than he'd been the last few minutes. All the while his clawed segmented digits playfully brushed up from her waist to her arms, and to his delight causing a wondrous pink hue to fill her cheeks. “If you promise me that you’ll go back to bed and that we’ll deal with what comes later I'll tell you right now. Does that sound fair?”

At that Belle sat there appearing to think it over, her bottom lip tucking itself between her teeth out of habit. For a moment more he wondered if offering a deal wasn't the smartest decision on his part either given how sharp her intellect was-wonderfully so, to his joy and annoyance. His beauty could easily have them going for hours arguing as they each tried to weasel the outcome better in their favor. Luckily after a minute of contemplating on her part Belle's shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Okay, I promise I'll go right back to bed once you tell me, but you have to tell me everything right now.” She vowed, but as her blue eyes sparkled from the golden glow of his own that it was his turn to squint, trying to make out if some scheme was lurking there within them. When his systems couldn't find one he just eerily giggled, causing her to huff out a tired laugh in turn.

“The deal is struck then!” Unable to help it he tapped the end of her nose with a clawed finger that sent the peculiar pair giggling further.

How strange though that in the span of a few minutes he'd gone from feeling absolutely terrified to feeling such peace? And while he'd have to explain everything to her-its own terrifying prospect, he felt he could face this far easier now with her there at his side. Still, the parts in his throat tightened together as he mentally prepared himself, causing him to nervously shift his upper body in her lap in search of her touch.

"Alright, ah, so a little bit after you just fell asleep I got up up as I wanted to let you rest, and while I was cleaning up some more from Ruby's visit I noticed that your laptop was still open. I went to shut it down but saw your email was open and what was on the screen." He noticed his beauty's awareness heighten the further he spoke, and soon she looked like she hadn't been dead asleep ten minutes ago. "You got an email from someone about your research into Avonlea’s old animatronics. Someone by the name of 'Mr. Merle Linden of a 'Merlin's Machine-Nations' if that rings any bells. He claims to have made the older animatronic models installed before me at Avonlea, and about something else..."

Belle immediately shook her head as if lost to what he was talking about. "No! I don't recall ever talking to someone under any username or information like that... What did they have to share though? Did they have proof of their construction of the older machines? Oh! Did they mention something about you or a machine with that same label on your neck-'01-A'!”

"It’ll be better if you see it for yourself..."

Swiftly Rumplestiltskin drew back and at sensing her rising urgency got up from the floor to do just that.

Quickly snagging up the abandoned laptop from her desk-whose screen had gone dark, he brought it back to his beauty. Belle's features lit up with an adorable blatant curiosity that he almost forgot the horror the email had brought him at first. Wordlessly she held her arms out for the computer like the many children he'd seen in his time at Avonlea awaiting their first birthday present and she wasted no time in shifting her focus from him to it when he handed it over. From there he crouched beside her again, waiting in tense silence for her reaction as the screen's light lit back up with the press of a key.

The tap of her finger on the trackpad, her soft breathing, and his parts clicking in his chest were the only sound amidst the room for a short while. It was in the glint of her blue eyes he could see the screen scrolling up and down-her reading the email's text over and over and over likely. By this point he was nervously fiddling with the edge of her draped blanket between his claws, plucking with the upmost intensity at every and any stray thread.

After what felt far too long he glanced back up to see her shocked face staring at the unexplainable picture of him in the past. So many thoughts filled his metal skull in wonder to what she was thinking seeing him like that. What did she think seeing him so new and fresh to the world, truly looking nothing more than a slab of mechanical parts? In fact he began to fret that she was the one faulting when she remained frozen in place. Cautiously he reached over and touched the back of her hand, and Belle jerked back to reality at this before twisting her head to meet his gaze that illuminated the astonishment slathered across her fair countenance.

"Rumple... T-This man, he knows you... He worked with you-he had to have... This is..." She trailed off, sounding lost for words much like he'd been at first.

"I-I know this has to be rather intimidati-"

"This is incredible!”

In the blink of an eye her laptop was haphazardly thrown onto the other couch cushion before Belle threw herself into his arms. Rumplestiltskin let out small inhuman cry, and in trying to protect her ended up falling back with a loud rattle onto the floor. She went down with him, landing on top of his hard body, leaving them a heap of entangled flesh and metal. With his systems scrambled to pieces he laid there stunned while she busily buried her face into the collar of his vest, giggling like she'd received the best news of her life.

“-We did it! We found a lead! Rum, this is amazing! Everything we've been working towards is right here-I can feel it! We have to follow up on this! Oh, but we have so much to do first-to figure out! I'm so excited! This could get you repaired! And who knows what else this man knows about you too! There's so much to learn about him-if he is who he says he is-where this 'Merlin's' place is-we've got to get started right now!”

Her words overrode his shock from how fear gripped at him in the same sudden spiraling panic he’d felt earlier. No-this-she couldn't! It was too fast to just-

Before he could be swallowed up by his doubt she sent him into a different kind of shock by suddenly leaning in and peppering his scaly green-gold face with kisses from chin to cheek to the point of his scaly nose. Everywhere-every inch of him, was covered in Belle, and rosy lips, and kisses against mottled unsightly metal. He was lost at that point-so utterly lost in euphoria and confusion that he could only emit soft confused sounds begging her to not stop.

Belle paused after pressing a desperate kiss to the joint of his hinged jaw and bumping her forehead into his. Her hair made a curtain around him from the rest of the word while he blinked rapidly, reeling back from sensory overload to behold her sweet face. Unlike him her wondrous face was flushed bright red with eyes alight with joy-a sight so beautiful no picture could ever duplicate. He melted further under her in every sense, feeling helpless beneath her hands pressing him down into the floor. In the soft lighting Belle looked all the more heavenly, and Rumplestiltskin-for all his usual mastery of words, could do nothing but look upon such loveliness captivated and mesmerized.

Then his systems snapped back into action, reminding him with urgency of what she'd exclaimed.

"W-What! A-Absolutely not! We had a deal! Y-Y-You are going to bed first! No exceptions!" He squawked through his fluster, but as if it wasn't bad enough he was pinned and practically loving it Belle just playfully rolled her eyes.

"Look, I'm not going to rush into this like you think I will. This is a delicate situation, and there are too many ways this could go wrong if we aren't careful, and I won't go into this blindly if it risks you. Yet, this could be the path to helping you finally be free of those faults-to let you have your life back."

Belle's breathing hitched for a moment, cutting her voice, and he could see the emotion sparkling in her eyes-tears of happiness lacing her eyes. Rumplestiltskin could offer no rebuttal as her words soothes the very center of his being. Again he’d been so wrong to assume-she was wary too of this email, wanting nothing but their safety. Yet, she looked at it so differently than he did, and he felt more that light of hers seeping and drowning out the darkness surrounding him.

"I promise you this Rumple, we are going to take things cautiously and we won’t do anything you don’t agree to. This is about your past after all too, so you call the shots, sound good?” The softness encompassing Belle’s features shifted just a little as she spoke, changing into something devious to his surprise. “However, while I will keep to our deal tonight you never said anything about me having to go back to sleep... The perfect time for me to get started on our research."

Rumplestiltskin's eerie eyes flashed bright in their sockets, his data banks replaying their prior conversation only it was too late to see the loop hole now.

Belle... She... She'd been playing him for a fool this entire time!

A smirk crossed her face as realization dawned on the imp-one so cunning and sharp that he had to wonder who was the true trickster here.

"Y-You're not honorable at all you know that! Finding a way to twist my own deal back on me-truly I would have thought better of my knight! No one breaks a deal with Rumplestiltskin! I-I-" Rumplestiltskin bellowed from where he lay in embarrassment, but it was hard to hold onto that ire when Belle grinned as she snuggled her body better atop him as if it was the most comfortable place in the world. "I-I... Suppose... You staying up a little longer would be... Tolerable..."

Belle chuckled faintly at his weak response, sounding rather pleased and if ever the mechanical man ever felt a fool it was now more than ever.

Yes, he’d been one for many a reason tonight, but if his dearest looked this happy, well, he'd happily loose every deal to her.

With a gush of air out his plated throat Rumplestiltskin closed his metal eye slats in defeat. Belle's reaction had turned out better than he'd expected given her insatiable curiosity, and while so much lay unknown ahead of them with the small woman pressed into him he felt more prepared for what may come. The email, the picture, that man... No matter what it brought he wasn't going to let anything more be taken from him and Belle wasn't going to loose her happy ending as he’d do everything in his power to make sure they both stayed safe.

Yet, he grumbled a bit as he wrapped Belle into a deep embrace, drawing her closer to him in the soft darkness of her living room and light of her now neglected looking laptop.

Because he knew the first thing he'd have to do when they got to Avonlea.

He was going to have to make a lot of coffee.

#This first part is a bit long but there was important Rumple growth I didn't want to gloss over.#Plus Rumple freaking out over the email was to be expected.#Rumbelle #Rumbelle Fic #Real Inside #Animatronic!Rumple #SecurityGuard!Belle #Rumplestiltskin #Belle French #Once Upon A Time

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spellnbone · 5 years

Text

bio

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Edgar Bones

AGE: 28

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis male. He/Him. Bisexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Bones were a privileged family, wealthy and yet not dishonourable.

OCCUPATION:

Journalist for the Daily Prophet.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

SURVIVAL:

RELATIONSHIPS:

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Edgar is walking right on the line.

#{ it's rotten work }#bio

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