#six paragraphs because i'm wordy

[sophia-sol]

The progression of my work on my website over the last week or so, as documented on mastodon:

one

heeheehee I get to learn JAVASCRIPT now via the method of just diving right in there! (aka. downloading the zonelets starter pack to use for formatting my website, and digging into the script to see what I want to change!)

awww opening the zonelets css stylesheet and it feels so comfortably familiar! I love how much work I put into understanding css, via creating an ao3 personal theme!

also, seeing how these files all work together, the javascript and css and html, I understand the relationship between what you do with each of them far more. It makes sense to me now! the structure of building a site!

two

I'm learning things about filezilla…I'm learning things about website structures….I'm learning how bad ao3's html download files are.

three

I have one entire fic posted to my website! YESSSS!

I'm doing my best to divorce from ao3 my sense of what structure and language I should be using in the various preamble that goes with a given fic. I don't need to use the same categories of data, and I don't need to call things the same thing! and I don't even need to have the same sections on every fic if I don't want to, if something isn't relevant for that fic!!

four

I made one entire change to the javascript for my site, and it WORKED, I am so powerful 💪

five

I'm just so emotional about the people of the smallweb who code their little projects and then give them away freely - with instructions! - so that others of us can build our own little projects! My website, the main site and the linkding instance, couldn't be what it is without the help of many people, friends and strangers! 🥹

six

I keep going to my website and shrieking a bit internally. it looks like a website!!!

seven

for most programs, there's not enough customization, I can't make it behave in ways that are useful to me, and it's endlessly irritating

visual studio code: I got u bro

I'm actually intimidated by the notion of scrolling through all the customization options of vsc, damn!

eight

look how many fics I have posted on my website now!

this listing page still has some tweaking to do for maximum clarity of reading/skimming over the info, but this is still great progress!

I am a firm believer of the web design principle of "if people have to focus to figure out how to find the info they're looking for, the problem is with the design rather than the user" and I'm not out of the woods yet

nine

OKAY I think I've got my fandom list page looking a lot more clear now, via tweaking my use of whitespace! hooray!

ten

oh my god. I just realized. the "zap colours" and "zap stylesheets" bookmarklets I use semiregularly are…..snippets of code. that I now know approximately how to read! and could edit to get slightly different results, if I wanted to!!

the world opens up to you, when you learn things about coding!

eleven

things I want to add to my website:

theme-picker, so people who do better with dark mode etc can still comfortably browse my site

comments on fanwork pages and blog pages

table of contents on fic pages so you can easily jump down to the section you want to

all the rest of my fanworks - 12 fics are up but that's not nearly everything!

BIRD SHRINE.

and all of this is very doable! so exciting.

twelve

omg I submitted a feature request to linkding and LATER THE SAME DAY a fix is committed:

between this and the default guest profile stuff I am soooo excited for the next linkding release

thirteen

I've started to write up a podcast recs page for my website because I figured that would be cool content to have. but I forgot. how wordy I can be. and HOW many podcasts I listen to.

my original plan was just a list of podcasts. my second plan was to include a sentence or two about each one, as context.

my current document has multiple paragraphs per podcast. most podcast descriptions are between 150-200 words each. and I have so many podcasts to go!

fourteen

my list of fanworks by vibe is now posted to my site!

also posted: just my faves of my fanfics!

and a history of the fandoms I've been in!

fifteen

…and the next linkding release is OUT NOW. today! hot damn. ok. ok. I am not prepared, it's usually not this quick between releases!

I hope I have time soon to dig into this and get my instance updated!!

[rhythmic-idealist]

Hi all. Some of you know my partner @crimeronan - maybe for her original fiction, her fanfiction, or her assorted queer/polyamorous/chronically ill life blogging.

If you do know—or know of—Kitkat, you might know them as a resource, or as a writer, or as that person who has been known to sit down and write six paragraphs of advice to the scared young person in their inbox. Perusing their blog I see people trading autoimmune stories, younger queer and polyamorous people asking questions about what it's like to be in your mid twenties and settled into those things, and people who found stories who resonated in ways stories don't always succeed at.

Or maybe not! That’s my platonic partner of four years. Happy to introduce u.

If you ARE aware of Kitkat, you might know that she recently FINALLY got an initial appointment with a rheumatology clinic. This after a big medical mystery that’s spanned over two years and taken them to the ER more times than anyone can feel good about.

The good news is that things are FINALLY moving forward. Kitkat has posted a lot more about that entire saga, if anyone is interested, but the main thing right now is that there are test results that are usable in a diagnosis, there will be a diagnosis that is usable in treatment, there are follow-up appointments in the very immediate future that will do a lot of good. It's all kind of astounding after the amount of time it took to get here.

The bad news is that their car broke down.

To say the money situation is already tight would be, though I’m sorry to put it like this, understated. Kitkat makes most of her money from freelance writing, and, first of all, is a fucking wizard at it in ways I don’t understand. But she recently lost her biggest consistent clients when— and she was told this outright— those clients switched to ChatGPT.

Perhaps more to the point— they're often too sick to work. They've pivoted to gig economy delivery jobs, but that is an enormous physical demand on ANYONE’s body, let alone when you’re severely sick.

So that’s where the financial situation is at right now.

I do slot into this, so to give you the story on that: I’m moving to Oregon to live with my partners next month, and will be contributing to the household income then (which is why I'm moving so soon). But I was originally planning to finish trade school first and move in January 2024, so everything’s very last-minute, and a little haywire. I now have at least one job interview lined up in town, but I won’t even be in Beaverton until mid-August, and this auto repair bill is due now.

Basically: because of this auto repair bill, they’re not going to be able to make rent. I expect we as a group will probably be okay once I’m in Oregon and more established/able to help out with the household income, but things aren’t there yet, and this isn't money we're going to be able to make back later.

Kitkat's been too sick to work consistently for so much too long, and that's why they need to turn to community support right now.

(I know Tumblr is famously not a "meet every goalpost before deserving help" website, and I think a lot of fundraisers with less explanation than this deserve support. I'm just a very wordy person. Thanks for bearing with me.)

Kitkat has limited mobility and is going to need to get to upcoming appointments, and speaking honestly, also just really needs access to a car to make things like groceries feasible. She’s not the only one in the apartment with limited mobility or chronic pain. Add to that the gig delivery jobs as a main source of income right now, and this is a necessary bill, just one that is sky-high relative to the income trying to tackle it.

So, you know, hello. I've brought a couple of fundraisers onto Tumblr in the past on other people’s behalf. This time I’ve gotta ask on behalf of my own found family.

The bill has come out to $717.80.

As of now, rent money has been used to pay it—the car has been repaired now, but that money was for rent and daily expenses. There is already financial assistance in play, particularly Medicaid. As it stands, because of this bill, they're not going to make rent.

To account for GoFundMe's fees of 2.9% + $0.30 per transaction, the goal is set to $750.

If you’re in any way able to give, the link is here: https://gofund.me/c0f9d7fe

Otherwise, a share goes a really long way.

Thank you a ton for reading this far. Times are hard all around, so please know: this post is an appeal to those among us who have disposable income and are looking to donate some of it.

Thank you.

$1,323/750

Date posted: July 27th, 2023 Updated: July 28th, 2023

[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 3/24/19: The Broken Bits- Interlude 3

Fydelia, 22 years ago

Annabelle reentered the ballroom, her cheeks warm from the whiskey and the wonder of the evening. She’d just run into Drake and Liam, sneaking back downstairs to steal more desserts. The two boys had frozen in their tracks when they realized that they’d been spotted, but Annabelle winked at them, her lips quirking up into a grin. “Your secret’s safe with me, trouble makers,” she whispered, ruffling both of their hair. Liam laughed and Drake even caved in and gave her a smile from beneath his messy dark locks. She caught Drake watching, mesmerized by his parents twirling on the dance floor as she looked over her shoulder. Before she could turn back around, Bastien’s arms came around her, his lips by her ear.

“There you are,” he said, his fingers trailing down her bare back. “I’ve been looking for you,” his eyes narrowed as his lips turned upwards. “Dance with me, Belle,” his voice was low and primal, his breath warm against her skin. Goosebumps erupted up and down her spine as her arms came around his shoulders. He was wearing a sleek, dark suit, different from the more casual gray one he wore when he was on duty. She tucked her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, running them against the back of his neck, knowing that when she touched him there he’d close his eyes, a breathy hiss coming from the back of his throat at the light contact. She pressed her lips to his while his eyes were still closed, felt his palms press against her back, pulling her into him and towards the dance floor.

Later, a melancholy jazzy tune played as couples swayed slowly, bodies pressed close together. Annabelle rested her cheek against Bastien’s lapel, her fingers clasped in his big, strong hand. This is what I want, she’d thought, listening to the gentle thrum of his heart. Just this, just him, without all the rest. “Bas,” she picked her head up as fireworks burst in the sky outside. Partygoers streamed out onto the balcony to watch as red, gold and purple sparks lit the night to welcome in the new year. “Bastien, would you leave it all behind? All of this... the guard... the palace... would you leave it behind... for us?”

Bastien looked around and realized they were alone on the dance floor. He brought his eyes back to hers and she thought she saw something there, something like disappointment, but it was gone in a flash. “The guard is my life, Belle. It’s all I’ve ever wanted... what I’ve worked for... look at Jackson and Bianca. Look how happy they are. We could have that, Belle, and I wouldn’t have to leave the guard.”

“You’d never be safe,” she burrowed back into his chest. “And i’d always have to worry... and what if we had children Bas... children who could lose their father...” she thought of Drake and Savannah and took a shuddering breath. “Cordonia isn’t as safe as it used to be anymore. I love it here, Bastien. And I love you. And I want a life, a family with you. But I can’t do it while you’re in the guard. I can’t marry you to become your widow.” I don’t want the glitz or the honor or the fairytale. I just want him.

“I’ll think about it,” he said after a long pause where he’d pressed her closer, running his hand up and down her spine. He lifted her chin with the fingers that had been tracing her face and found her lips, kissing her with every ounce of Love he had, hoping it was enough to keep her. They’d gone home that night and he’d fallen asleep quickly, leaving her to fold his discarded suit before it turned into a mess of wrinkles. As she picked it up off the floor, something fell from an inner pocket and clattered to the hardwood with a tingling sound. A glint caught her eye as she bent to retrieve a stunning diamond ring, her eyes darting to the sleeping man on the bed, her breath sticking in her throat as her heart swelled painfully with love and sorrow and hope. He was going to propose, and she’d given him the ultimatum so he hadn’t. He was ready to give his heart to her, just not ready to give up the guard. She suddenly felt guilty for asking. Annabelle tucked the ring back into his jacket and tried to forget it existed as she curled her body around his in the bed, gently kissing the spot between his shoulders. Just this. Just him. It’s all I want. A tear slipped down her cheek as she slipped into sleep.

Tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @mind-reader1 @jovialyouthmusic @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mfackenthal @mkatschoicesblog @drakewalkerisreal @jlouise88 @drakesensworld @gibbles82 @iplaydrake @speedyoperarascalparty @bobasheebaby @carabeth

[theladyragnell]

Dear Nell,

I have seen mention of the Compliment Parties and I was 100% wondering about the logistics/mechanics of one? How do they Work? Because I'm not saying my friend group needs this, but my friend group might need this.

Oh man, I highly recommend them as an institution, or even a one-off! A lot of things are very variable as to what's going to work with a given friend group's culture, so I will start with the most important non-negotiable and then talk about how it works for us.

Consent is very necessary. Complimenting and being complimented, as it turns out, can be really really vulnerable. Every time one of us is being brought into the spotlight, or at the start of the night, we ask the person about to be complimented if there's anywhere they want focus or anywhere they want to avoid. Sometimes, anything goes. Sometimes, one of us will say "I don't want compliments about being good at my job" or "I'd prefer compliments about things I have created rather than me as a person." If someone is deflecting too many of the compliments, we ask if we need to redirect or refocus. We check in at various points to see if the direction we've gone down is one that's scratching the itch of the person being complimented. We ask if they're feeling satisfied before we stop.

It feels weird and awkward, as the complimentee, to turn down certain kinds of compliments. DO IT ANYWAY. Sometimes the wrong compliment can hit a really tender spot. Sit with yourself and say "If someone says I'm good at my job, is it going to remind me of a toxic work environment? Am I going to be able to believe my friends who love me and believe what they are saying if they tell me I'm a good person, or would I rather get a compliment I'll believe about my creative work?"

That aside, a Compliment Party works something like this:

1. Somebody calls for one, and we schedule it in.

2. We always do our compliments in the groupchat, because none of us can handle looking at or hearing our friends be nice to us. Ask your friends what mediums will work for them! Does it need to be an asynchronous party where you all write a paragraph or two about each "attendee" and send them by email? Do you want to hang out on someone's couch and do it there?

3. Generally, we compliment one person for a while before moving onto the next, not necessarily on a time limit, just when one complimentee feels better and satisfied we move on. Because we are wordy people, the three-person group we do this in can take several hours. If you have a larger friend group, you may have to set time limits, or do several sessions. If we have to leave someone out, or just do one person for a quick round when they're really in need, we make a point of going back and finishing the round at a later date, and I highly recommend that, because if six people are there and only four get compliments, that can leave a really shitty and unsettled feeling even if it's for totally normal reasons like "human beings need sleep," so it's good to plan for how to handle that in advance.

4. There's no format or anything for the compliments! The complimentee is ganged up on and mercilessly complimented. Generally there are responses--some amount of deflection is normal and fine, but if there's a lot, ask about a refocus. When the complimenting seems to reach a natural stop, check in, ask if they're satisfied or if they need a little more. If they need a little more, generally we ask if there's a specific area that would really scratch the itch and focus on that before wrapping up.

5. Not official, but we tend to find it satisfying, as we wrap up, to do some general compliments about our friendship group as a whole, and how great we are at compliments and playing Dungeons and Dragons and everything else we choose to do. (And some Compliment Parties are really just yelling about how great friendship is!)

So that's how we do them! And I hope that if your friend group does something similar, you'll find it as rewarding and good for you as we do.

[bettsfic]

betts, any advice on how to get butt in chair and words on page when the non-writing parts of life seem to always get in the way? i'm a grad student in a non-writing field (counseling) but writing has always been one of my great loves. in high school I wrote all the time, finished multiple nanowrimos, but for the past few years I've barely written at all even though I think about my characters and plots literally every day...

unfortunately, the energy to write is a finite resource. if you’re using your creative, verbal, or intellectual energy to get through school, there’s not going to be enough left over to write. but it’s good you think about your characters and plots. that tells me your creative energy is still there, but the task of getting it on the page is where you might be worn out. 

here are some general thoughts/tips that might help:

instead of typing on a computer, or even writing in a notebook, try writing on notecards. task yourself with filling out one notecard at the end of each day about the creative ideas you had. write out scenes or dialogue or whatever snippets came to you. keep them in a box, and then, when you’re done with school and have refilled your energy well, you can start a new project by going through your notecards. 

write summaries instead of scenes. sometimes when i’m tired, i don’t have the energy to make images in my head and transfer those images onto the page, but i do have energy to break out a plot. so, try writing the summary of a story instead of the story. again, you’ll have all of this stuff waiting for you when you’ve got less on your plate. also, it’ll stretch your story plotting muscles.

find an accountability buddy. ideally, this person would also be a writer and you could do sprints together. schedule a time the same way you would to meet a friend for coffee. start a timer for 15, 30, or 60 minutes and write as much as you can. when the time is up, check in with each other to see how many words you got down. it also helps to do it over zoom and keep the mic/video off while you’re writing, and turn it back on when your time is up. if your buddy isn’t a writer, maybe you can find someone who has a goal too, like cleaning or drawing. the idea is, you schedule time together and check in on each other’s progress. i did this with a friend when i started querying agents, and i wouldn’t have begun that process otherwise.

take a week to assess your energy cycles, particularly in regard to the verbal part of your mind. what hours of the day do you feel most wordy? every hour, jot down a note about your energy. then after a week, take a look at the kind of patterns that emerge. if you have the most energy in the morning, then start scheduling a writing hour a few mornings per week.

set a very low daily word count goal. i had a friend whose goal was to write six words a day. she could always write more! but every single day, she had to write six words. so try six, or ten, or a hundred. maybe just a sentence or a paragraph. that way, even if you’ve had the worst and most exhausting day of your life, before you go to bed you can still jot down the minimum of your however-many words.

make your writing space beautiful before you start writing. make a cup of tea and a snack and take a picture of the #writingaesthetic. i never put much stock the appearance of where i wrote or what i wrote with, but i went to a residency last year where the idea was, if you’re in a beautiful space, you’re inspired to make beautiful things. and they were absolutely right. having my own studio in a tricked out apartment overlooking the cutest town i’ve ever been in was really very inspiring. 

sometimes writing isn’t actually writing. bear with me here. i think it’s more productive to engage your creative mind by doing writing-adjacent activities than it is to stare at a blank page unable to write at all. so if you can’t write, try making a playlist, aesthetic, or pinboard for your story. shop for an outfit your characters would wear. do anything that involves engaging with an alternate creative medium.

i don’t really ascribe to a “write every day” mentality even though that’s what i do for the most part. sometimes i’ll write every day for months but it won’t feel like i’ve written anything because none of it sunk its talons into me. what i write may be interesting or challenging and i may enjoy it, but it won’t feel like bled onto the page. it’s just keeping up the habit. which is all to say, it’s more important to write a little bit that you care deeply about and feel proud of than a ton that means nothing to you. (admittedly the ideal is to write a ton that means a lot to you, which is a situation i find to be very rare, and when it happens it’s great for a month or two and then it starts to feel like i’ve eaten an entire cake in one sitting -- good for a long time, until it’s suddenly too much). everyone approaches writing differently, and everyone’s relationship with writing changes over time. keep experimenting, and take notes (mentally or otherwise) about what works and doesn’t. 

i hope this helps! best of luck to you!

[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 3/31/19: The Broken Bits- Interlude 4

A/N: Sorry kids, not a full chapter, but please enjoy this interlude from Bastien’s perspective! (hoping to have the thursday/sunday posting schedule back on track this week!) 

Fydelia, 22 years ago

“Captain Walker?” Bastien sat across from Jackson in the older man's study, a glass of bourbon in front of him. He'd had something on his mind for days, turning over and tumbling, scratching at his every thought, but he wanted to wait for the right time to bring it up. Their ritualistic Friday night meeting in Jackson's study seemed like the only time.

Jackson raised one eyebrow and looked up at his protege as he finished folding up the cuffs of his sleeves. He deposited his cuff links on  the desk, and pushed them away from the edge, toward a framed photo of Drake and Savannah by the lake behind their home. “You see the time, Bas?” he tilted his head toward the clock on the wall. It was ten past midnight. “You see the sleeves?” He rolled his shoulders foreward, exposing his forearms. “I'm Jackson, now, got it?” He sat back in his chair, sinking into the leather with a sigh as he reached for his glass. “Now, what's got your gears turning over there?” He made a circular motion with one hand as he raised his glass to his lips.

Annabelle's face flashed behind Bastien's eyes as he blinked, grabbing for his own glass and an excuse to stall. She'd been insistent that things in Cordonia were becoming more and more dangerous, the general unrest growing from a hush to a whisper to a loud discourse over the course of King Constantine's reign. When she'd arrived, she believed what the tourism industry wanted to- that Cordonia was a picturesque fairy tale, a place so beautiful that nothing bad could ever happen. She'd let herself believe that Bastien's job couldn't be all that dangerous- afterall, when they'd met, he hadn't even been required to carry a firearm. That had changed, as had the frequency and variation of the training drills the King's Guard had been running. Bastien knew it worried Annabelle, knew that she had exactly one fear. She'd made that clear on New Year's Eve when she'd asked him if he'd leave the guard, and he saw how that fear changed the color of her eyes, heard how it altered the pitch of her voice in ways he'd never seen. He'd noticed little things, leading up to that night, now that he could look back with perspective- little things like the way she'd held him tighter in her sleep, like he might evaporate before she woke up; like the way her sketchbook was changing from a portfolio of blossoms and vines, to one of severe birds of prey in grays- Little things that added up to quite a sum. “Jackson,” he took a breath, broaching the topic. For Annabelle. “I...I want to propose to Annabelle.” Bastien held up a finger, sitting forward quickly to stop Jackson from reacting. There was more to be said. Jackson took note and sat back, letting him continue. “But she's made it clear that she won't marry me while I'm in the guard...while I'm as highly ranked as I am...She thinks Cordonia's gotten dangerous and...” he sighed and shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “Well, I've told you about her brother, and...she'd scared. I just... was Bianca ever scared? Did she ever...ask you to leave? To...quit?” He leaned his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the man before him, hoping he had all the answers.

Jackson took a long pull from his glass before setting in on  a cork coaster. He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles before he steepled his hands, palms together, pointer fingers extended toward the bottle of amber liquid on the shelf. “You know why I drink Bourbon, Bastien? Why I drink American Whiskey and not Scotch or anything else for that matter?” It was a rhetorical question, but Bastien shook his head anyway, eyes on the bottle. “It's because that's what Bianca's father drinks, and he gave me permission to marry his daughter, so he must be right about everything, right?” he winked. “Bianca had no idea what to get me for my birthday, the first year we were together. We'd only been seeing one another for a few weeks, and I insisted that she didn't need to do anything, that my birthday wasn't that important and that we still had to get to know one another. She of course, protested, and ended up getting me a bottle of this,” he gestured again towards the bottle. “Now, I was always a gin guy, myself, until Bianca forced a birthday gift on me.” he laughed, seeming to recall some memory of him and his wife before she held that title. “You're probably wondering where I'm going with this.” He took another sip of his bourbon. “Truth is, I'd do anything for Bianca. She shaped my life, she gave me my family. She's my partner in this world, she's my other half. If she asked me to? Yes. I'd leave the guard. But I know she'd never ask me to. That woman,” he smirked, blowing out a breath through his nose. “Is stubborn.” He set his glass back down. “But I couldn't live without her.” A serious flash flicked across Jackson's face. “Could you live without her, Bas?”

“No.” The answer was out of his mouth before the question was completely asked. “No,” he said again with a shake of his head from behind his glass. A hot wave rushed through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way that Annabelle was the rhythm of his heart. “She's everything, Jackson...she's...she's my world.” He thought of the way she smiled, of the way it felt when she kissed his shoulders, his back, of the way she looked with paint on her hands and in her hair. “But...the guard...” he shook his head again, brows knit close together. “You'd really walk away? From the promises you made?”Jackson had simply raised a brow and nodded and Bastien knew he was serious. 

He thought for a few beats, weighing Jackson's words; both said and unsaid. His mind wandered to her, picturing her lying in their bed, clutching his pillow, her long legs taking up as mush space as possible, long orange hair spread out in swirls across the sheets and her face. He wanted her, like that, every day and every night and every moment in between. “Maybe if we catch the Sons of Earth...maybe if we get Eamon Krass...things will die down again...and she'll see...it'll be safe again....” Jackson hadn't responded, and Bastien cleared his throat before checking his watch. It was nearly one am, and suddenly he wanted only to be where Belle was, with this arms around her, holding her close while he had her to hold. He stood, abruptly, drawing Jackson's attention. “I've got to get home...” He said absently, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I...Thanks, Jackson...for listening, for...thanks...” Jackson tipped his glass to Bastien as the younger man headed for the door, his feet unable to catch up the beat of his heart.

Tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @mind-reader1 @jovialyouthmusic @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment@mfackenthal @mkatschoicesblog @drakewalkerisreal @drakesensworld @gibbles82 @iplaydrake @speedyoperarascalparty @bobasheebaby @carabeth

[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 4/7/19: The Broken Bits- Interlude 5

A/N: this week’s Interlude answers a request from @bobasheebaby for :

Fydelia, 22 1/2 years ago

Annabelle paced the pavement outside the hospital, arms hugging her chest for warmth as the day turned to night, the air temperature dropping with each new star that blinked into view. She kicked at the curb, scuffing the white soles of her canvas sneakers. She’d been waiting inside with Bianca and the kids, but once they got the news that everyone was going to be fine, Bianca had taken off. Annabelle couldn’t blame her; Savannah had fallen asleep in her lap an hour ago, and Drake was fighting sleep with all he had, only making him crankier. It had been a long day for all of them, made longer by the trip to the E.R. She sighed and wiped at her exhausted eyes before combing her fingers through her hair, curls made wilder by the salt water and sun. The day had started out so differently than how it had ended.

She’d been thrilled to attend the Regatta that year, having missed the previous year’s due to her R.A.A. fellowship schedule. This year, she’d be seated in the stands with Bianca and the Walker children. She’d come to see the Walkers as family, and was excited to be spending the day with them in the fresh air and sunshine. She much preferred these types of events to the more elegant affairs, feeling more herself in denim than dresses. She’d brought her sketchbook with her, eager to capture the colorful flags, billowing sails, and crystal clear, rippling water. Balancing her book on her knee, she let Savannah lean in close to watch as boats appeared with a few swipes of her pencil.

As the races went on, she’d intermittently caught glimpses of Bastien and Jackson as they scanned the crowd and kept close to the royal family. She’d winked and waved at Bas as he stood behind the little princes, Liam and Leo waving excitedly back thinking she’d been waving at them. She’d pulled her lips into a grin at their happy little faces, at the wink that Bastien had sent back to her with a twitch of his own lips. Cloudless sky. Golden sun. Good company and a heart bursting with love.

It had all been dashed when suddenly, in the break between the last race and the award ceremony, she’d watched as Bastien’s metallic eyes locked on to a man carving through the crowd and heading towards the King. He’d shouted something to Jackson, and in a flash they’d sprang into action at once coordinating the evacuation of the royal family- Jackson barking an order to another nearby King’s guard member- and tackling the would be aggressor. Annabelle’s breathing stopped and her heart beat in her throat as she watched the man she loved engage with the attacker- watched him take the man down, landing painfully on his shoulder. A flash of silver caught the sunlight as Jackson expertly stripped the man of his gun, all as the crowd gasped and screamed and fled- all but she and Bianca, too rooted by anxious fear to move or even breathe. She felt Bianca’s white knuckled grip on one hand, felt a frightened Drake tugging on the other, but her eyes were stuck on Bas. Even as she watched him and Jackson subdue the attacker with ease, her head swam with what could have happened, her stomach dropped. It had been a whirlwind from there on out as she and Bianca were lead by other members of the guard to the hospital where Jackson and Bastien would be taken to be treated for the injuries incurred in the incident.

Annabelle leaned against the concrete pillar outside the emergency room door and sighed. She’d run through the gamut of emotions from terror and anger to sadness and finally, relief. Bastien had suffered a dislocated shoulder and cracked humerus- nothing requiring surgery or stitches, but he’d be in a sling for a few weeks as the bones reset. She couldn’t help but think of how things could have gone, but the rush of relief was almost just as hard to handle, wiping her out with how her emotions had swung so drastically. When the door to her left opened, she lifted her eyes to the stars, silently wishing that this would be the one and only time she had to wait for him like this.

“Belle,” he approached her slowly, knowing that she’d been worried and scared. “Belle I-“ they had a lot to talk about, but she could t hear it now. She cut his words off with two fingers against his lips, with her eyes holding his. She felt his breath catch as he swallowed what he was going to say, and she licked her lips before they crashed to his. Her hands came to his face as she whimpered into the kiss, his uninjured hand resting on her hip. Whatever he had to say, whatever there was to talk about, it all could wait for the sun to come up in the morning. For now, for the day they’d had, she needed this; needed his lips on hers under the stars, needed to feel his heart beating close to hers, needed the relief of this moment and the hope that it would never happen again.

Tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @mind-reader1 @jovialyouthmusic @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @gardeningourmet @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mfackenthal @mkatschoicesblog @drakewalkerisreal @drakesensworld @rainbowsinthestorm @gibbles82 @iplaydrake @speedyoperarascalparty @bobasheebaby @carabeth

[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 2/17/19- Interlude 17: Around the World

Tragedy Strikes at Cordonian Royal Engagement Ball: Rebel Faction Known as The Seven Devils Attacks Court at Ramsford Estate Leaving Four Dead and Multiple Wounded.

Those were the headlines around the world as the sun came up on the morning after the ball. News outlets of every kind reported on the death of King Constantine Rhys, on the attempted assassination of Prince Liam. Some channels had coverage of the rebels- the ones that remained, as recently revealed daughter of the late King, Erika Manderly; former founding member of The Sons of Earth, and one of Cordonia's most wanted men, Eamon Krass; and the American, whose true role in all of this was still a mystery to most, Alex Miltner had all been killed in the attack. Anton Severus, Lady Kiara of Castelsarreillan, and former member of thr King's Guard, Micah Sarks (real name: Krass- son of Eamon Krass) had been apprehended, though their condition was being reported as “unknown”. The seventh member of the rebel faction, Cordonian National Times reporter Will Odgen had remained in custody the entire time, and was reportedly cooperating with the investiagtion.

There were interviews with some of the attendees of the ball that had escaped safely. “It was the most terrifying night of my life,” one of the suitors, Lady Penelope of Portavira was quoted. Lady Hana Lee of Shanghai and Lord Maxwell Beaumont were both among those interviewed. They expressed worry for their friends and their king- worry for the state of things in their country. Some details were shared by the King's Guard and Cordonian law enforcement, but they weren't sharing anything specific.

People all over the world were waking up to this news. Sipping a cup of coffee, maybe holding a bit tighter to their loved ones before heading off to work like always because it didn't really concern them. Others were coming home to the news from a long day at the office, or catching it as it interrupted the baseball game they were watching at the bar. They might talk about it for a moment, but then the Mets were back, still losing to the Phillies, and a groan would go through the bar at the game as the forieng news was forgotten.

But in the private wing of the hospital, a prince was waking up a King; was learning of his father's death and his step-mother's injuries; had remembered being betrayed by the woman he thought that he loved; had been told that in the room next door, his best friend still had not woken up. And in that room, Claire still clutched Drake's fingers in hers, the fingers of her other hand absently stroking his forearm, careful not to disturb the tubes for the I.V. She'd not taken her eyes off of him since she set foot in the room, and she didn't plan to until he opened his. Behind her, Bastien tried not to question every decision he'd made, and every detail he'd authorized and every step he'd taken and in what order. To these people, the news mattered.

In a window seat in Paris, a woman sat looking out over the city, tears slowly slipping down her cheeks as she listened to the reports. She hadn't seen him in almost twenty years, but every time there was news from Cordonia, she listened for his name. Still alive, she thought, as a feather-light flutter of hope flickered in her heart and a parakeet chirped at her from its cage. In a small New York City apartment, a bartender sat staring at his phone, waiting for it to blink with his best friend's name. Waiting to see whether he'd be hearing her voice, or speaking with Olivia again. How could his be happening? He wanted to ask himself. But Daniel wasn't naive. Bad things happened to good people sometimes. He just thought that by now Claire had had enough of that. Across the city, a single mother pressed the redial button for the tenth time as she bounced her son on her knee. The man's phone rang and rang and rang but his voice never answered. She took a deep, shuddering breath before dialing the only other number that mattered to her in Cordonia- her brother's. She hadn't spoken to him since the morning that she left, and it seemed that that wasn't changing any time soon. It rang and rang and rang before a pre-set automated answering machine picked up. She set her phone down and cradled her son to her chest so he wouldn't see his mama cry. In a small bar in Arizona, a young girl with long blonde hair plucked at her guitar as she got ready to take the stage. Her eye was drawn to the small screen behind the bar, and the ticker that was running below the news story. “American suitor Claire Berkley listed among those injured in the attack at Ramsford, Cordonia”. Brielle felt the room spin as she read her sister's name. To these people, the news mattered also.  

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 3/17/19: The Broken Bits- Interlude 2

Paris, 18 years ago

Annabelle slammed the sleek black receiver into the cradle, swearing in French. “Putain!” She spat the word as the receiver bounced off the cradle and clattered onto the counter top. She was livid that the woman had resorted to calling her at work, knowing she’d have to answer. Her father had done the same the week before. The two of them were too much alike; both too sneaky, too selfish and backhanded to have ever been able to find real life long happiness together. They each wanted to be the one responsible for making her return to the states- just so they could lord it over the other. She seethed as she righted the phone, raking one shaking hand through her long copper hair.

“Mon dieu, Belle,” Brigette’s voice startled her. She hadn’t heard the gallery owner, her friend, come in, too wrapped up in the heated argument she was having on the phone. “I’m proud of your pronunciation, mon petite oiseau, but what’s got you so angry that you’re shouting and swearing like this?” Brigette fixed her walnut eyes on Annabelle, her gaze made more severe by the way her hair was pulled back into a high and tight bun. Long strands of onyx and amethyst crystals dangled from her neck, knocking together as she crossed her arms over them.

Annabelle sighed. “I’m sorry, Brigette” she leaned back against the counter, crossing her long legs in front of her with a shake of her head. “That was my mother. I haven’t been taking her calls at home so...” she raised her hands in defeat. Brigette blinked and leaned her elbows on the counter. “She says she wants me to come home. Says she doesn’t understand what I’m doing... what I’m waiting for...” she scoffed, looking down at her left hand. He’d wanted to place a ring there. He’d asked her. She flexed her ringless fingers. “She said ‘it’s been three years, Annabelle, he’s not coming’.” Her clear voice dropped an octave as her throat tightened. What her mother probably didn’t know, was that the Cordonian Royal Family had just completed a trip to Paris. As captain of the King’s Guard, Bastien had been on the trip. She knew; she’d seen him in the background of the newspaper photographs. He just hadn’t come to her.

“Bastien,” Brigette stated. Annabelle nodded and sniffed. The French woman peeked at the sketchbook next to the phone, at what Annabelle was working on: a series of hawks in black and grey, swooping gracefully, sharp eyes shining with lifelike energy. She focused again on the young woman in front of her. “And, do you want to go home? Do you think he’s not worth waiting for anymore?”

Home. Annabelle thought about the word and realized she had no idea where home even was anymore. Boston? Fydelia? Paris? Those were just cities that held pieces of her life. There was only one place she’d ever felt at home. She closed her eyes and imagined his arms around her, imagined she hadn’t said no, hadn’t run from her fears. That feeling was worth waiting for, and she knew she’d never find it in anyone else. Her heart would be homeless until it found his again- but it would be worth it. The words she’d written to him were inked in her memory indelibly: “Find me in Paris, Bas, I’ll wait for you there”. She shook her head, bringing one hand up to deliberately swipe away the tears that had formed. “No,” she said in answer to Brigette’s question. “I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

Brigette nodded and stood. “Alright then,” she said, “in that case,” she reached up and tucked Annabelle’s lustrous hair behind her ear, patting her on the cheek, “you tell that Salope not to call my gallery and bother my little bird anymore.” She smiled and kissed Annabelle’s cheek before heading into her office. Annabelle looked down at her sketchbook, at how he was in everything she drew, everything she saw, everything she felt. She’d wait as long as she had to, wait for him to leave the danger of his position, the shackles of his duty. She’d wait as long as she had to to be home again.

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 3/10/19: The Broken Bits- Interlude One

A/N: so just like in LTLA I’ll be using these six paragraph (because I’m too wordy for six sentences) interludes to look at different aspects of the story.

Paris, 20 years ago

“They all have gray eyes.” Brigitte flipped through Annabelle’s portfolio, water colored sketches of men and women, old, and young, surrounded by ferns and flowers and sparrows flashing past. All the men looked like him- what he looks like now, what he might look like some day, as a grandfather, his face lined with worries and laughter. All the women and girls were a perfect blend of her wild, orange mane and his metallic silver eyes; all the daughter they could have had at every age of her life. Annabelle fidgeted uncomfortably, straightening her skirt. “Who has gray eyes, mon petit oiseau?” Brigitte cast her own nut brown eyes warmly across the table as she continued to leaf through.

Annabelle looked out the small front window of the almost hidden gallery that had become her true home in Paris. She’d stumbled into Brigitte’s door almost a year ago, lost and wide eyed, upon arriving in Paris, looking for a job- any job. Brigitte had drawn her long black shawl around her shoulders and looked appraisingly at what the cat had dragged in, eventually nodding and offering her a job on the spot. She’d swept and cleaned the gallery, polished the frames and occasionally helped customers if Brigitte wasn’t there. But what Annabelle loved most about it was simply being with the art- surrounded by beauty in different forms and colors. On the days when everything was blue and she could barely drag herself from bed, being in Brigitte’s gallery made life a little lighter. Lighter. That’s what she was trying to become by selling these sketches. “The man I love,” she said blankly in answer to the question.

Brigitte kept her eyes on Annabelle as she flipped the page in the portfolio. She’d been there for Belle through her loss shortly after settling in Paris, but she hadn’t pried or asked a single question about the baby’s father. Annabelle had been grateful for that, but she felt it was time for her to talk about him, and the woman studying her collection of work was about the only person in the world she trusted. Aside from him. She turned back towards Brigitte just as her eyes dropped to the last piece.

Annabelle inhaled sharply. She’d forgotten that one was in there. She sat up straighter and reached tentatively across the table, fingers outstretched towards the page. Her heart beat out of rhythm painfully before dropping through her rib cage. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry... this one’s” she squeezed her eyes shut to cut off the unexpected tears, blinking them open again stubbornly. “This ones not for sale.” Brigitte let go of the page and Annabelle gingerly took it, letting her eyes fall over it for a moment before tucking it into her bag, remembering what she felt as she drew it.

It wasn’t a man who looked like him, it was him. Bastien, the only man who’d ever hold all the pieces of her heart. She’d captured his eyes and the shape of his chin and the curve of his lips perfectly, hauntingly. He was holding a bundle of white roses, a muted pink blanket wrapped around them, gazing at them longingly, cradling the bundle like a newborn. She’d sketched herself in black and white, her hair blowing in the breeze, her head resting on his shoulder and a faceted tear falling down her face. A mournful dove flew overhead. Their little rosebud that never was. The moment of shared loss she’d kept from him.

Brigitte stood, closing the portfolio. “They will fly off these walls like little birds,” she said, reaching down to cup Annabelle’s chin, causing her to laugh through the strangled tears she was contesting with. “I think some wine for us my darling? And you can tell me about this man with the mysterious eyes.”

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six: 2/10/19- Interlude 16: Cordonia

warnings: violence, character death 

Alex stood beside Anton in the darkness waiting for Eamon's signal. He was still in mild disbelief that this whole plan was working; that the group of nobles inside the Ramsford Estate were so gullible that they truly believed that Micah's distraction was the extent of what the Seven Devils had planned. He still had doubts that he'd so easily be able to bait Drake, that he'd so easily be able to finally have Claire to himself again. He was still in mild disbelief that this Lady Kiara could be trusted to carry out the most integral part of the plan. “What's in it for her, though?” He'd asked Anton. “Why would she just throw away her chance at becoming Queen? Why not just marry the Prince?”

Anton had explained that Kiara's family had been feeling slighted by the crown for decades. He told him about King Constantine's repeated empty promises to sponsor the Castelsarreillan Arts Program, the repeated empty promises to pass pieces of legislature that Kiara's parents had fought for on behalf of their people. “So, you see, Kiara is a black swan, a spider in disguise. She'll gain his trust, his love, and he won't see her coming. And she's not throwing away her chance at being Queen. If she lives, she'll rule by my side as my Queen. We can trust her. She is still highly motivated.” He adjusted his glasses habitually. “I know how to keep my people motivated. Kiara wants power, you want your girl, Erika, Micah and Eamon want revenge, Will wants to print the truth...Everyone wants something. And I know what everyone wants. Trust me, Alex, the plan will work. By the end of the night everyone will have their prize. The Walkers and Rhyses will be dead, Claire will be yours and the Crown will be mine.

Eamon's signal caught their eyes from the tiny rectangular basement window. Three short flashes of light from one of the guards' torches. Eamon had blown the grate from the window, freed Micah, and the two of them had dispatched the two guards in the room before taking care of any others in the hallway. They were to leave Erika and Will behind so they wouldn't get in their way. Alex and Anton made their way to a side entrance that the Krass men opened from the inside. The timing had been perfect, and the two men entered the Great Hall just as the third of the suitors had been announced. Eamon silently took out the few guards while Alex slid up behind Claire, clamping a hand over her mouth and holding his knife to her throat. “Don't struggle, sweetie,” he whispered in her ear as she wriggled in his grasp. “Feel that?” He gritted his teeth and hissed as he pressed the point of the knife into her throat. “That goes right through your jugular if you don't do exactly what I say, got it, sweetie?” Claire whimpered and nodded, tears spilling from her eyes as Anton sidled up behind Kiara, placed a kiss to the back of her neck, and assumed the same position that Alex had taken with Claire. The four of them moved into the ballroom as Eamon blew the final charge to bring down the chandelier. Constantine Rhys. Check.

In the fray Alex caught sight of that filthy stable hand, Drake, and felt a sneer pulling ta his face. “Here he comes, your fucking knight in shining armor. You know he's going to die, right Sweetie? He's going to die for you and you're going to watch.” He pressed the knife deeper into her skin and she cried out- from pain or fear he didn't know nor did he care; it pleased him just the same. On the far side of the room he saw the man that he knew to be Bastien apprehending Micah. Knew that jackass would get himself caught, he thought, before looking to his side and watching Kiara bury her blade between the Prince's ribs. Liam Rhys. Check. Anton had slumped on the ground in a growing pool of blood, but Alex didn't care. Just here for my own revenge anyway, he thought, returning his eyes forward.

He had just enough time to curse himself for taking his eyes off of Drake before the man's hand had clamped around Alex's wrist, wrenching the blade away from Claire's throat, freeing her. “No! Fuck!” he heard himself gasp- he'd doubted Micah. He'd doubted Kiara and Erika. He couldn't believe that he was the one who would fail. His mind went blank as Drake ripped his arm behind his body at an angle that destroyed his shoulder, feeling every tendon pop and tear. He was forced to drop his knife. He could feel white hot hate rolling off of the man on top of him, and an animalistic instinct to protect Claire. Love. He didn't understand it but he knew that that's what it was. This idiot loves her and he's going to die for it. Just like me. He saw Eamon lining up his shot behind Drake as Drake took Alex's own knife and used it to slit his throat, finishing it. End of the line.

As the life drained out of him, Alex felt something like peace come over him. He knew, deep down, that he would never get through his revenge on Claire Scot-free; knew he'd end up in prison or dead, and from experience he was glad that this was the route things had taken. Drake stood, leaving Alex to die behind him as he made his way closer to Claire. With his last breath on his lips, Alex saw Eamon fire, heard Claire scream. He closed his eyes as another bullet lodged in Drake's back, as Bastien emptied one into Eamon's skull. Alex's lips curled upwards as Claire fell to the ground. Drake Walker. Check. Alex Miltner left the world with a sick smile on his face and the sounds of screaming in his ears.  

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @jovialyouthmusic @mind-reader1 @endlessly-searching-for-you @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerrosenberg @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mkatschoicesblog @drakewalkerisreal 

[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six: 2/24/19- Interlude: Cordonia

Leo paced by the door at the airport, his personal security detail standing near the rental car desk; close enough to spring into action but far enough away not to draw any attention. He adjusted his baseball cap to hide his eyes as he let out an impatient huff. He understood the need for all the extra security measures, understood why he hadn’t been able to speak with Liam over the phone after the article about their half sister came out; after the threats were made public and the ever present danger surrounding the crown was amped up. But since he’d heard the news of the attacks at Ramsford, on his family, he’d been unable to think of anything other than getting to his brother. He checked his watch. The car Bastien sent should be here in... he looked up through the plate glass windows as an official looking black SUV pulled up to the curb. He glanced at the man by the Avis counter who nodded one and mumbled something into a discreet earpiece. Leo shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and, head down, strode out to the vehicle, barely feeling the rain that pelted him.

Sitting in the back seat he tried to slow his racing thoughts. What do I say to him? I should have been there. He took his hat off and ran his large hands through his blonde curls, down the back of his head to rest behind his neck. Do we talk about Dad? About... Erika? What if he won’t talk to me at all? I abdicated, left home to deal with all of this alone... he dropped his hands and shook his head, angry at himself for being selfish. Doesn’t matter, I just need to be there for him. The landscape flew by, the sky colorless with rain clouds, and after what felt like hours and seconds at the same time, they had pulled up to the curb at the hospital. Leo exited the car and met Bastien at the private entrance to the wing that Liam’s room was on. Bastien clapped him in the shoulder, his quicksilver eyes full of empathy and smudged with exhaustion. “Good to see you again,” he said. “Your brother’s room is this way.” He motioned for Leo to follow him with a tilt of his head.

Leo could see Olivia, Maxwell and who he believe to be Lady Hana Lee in the small waiting area ahead. He was glad that Liam and drake had so many people in thier corners, but he needed to say something to Bastien before there were others around. He reached out and put a hand on the older man’s arm. “Bas,” Bastien turned. “Thank you,” Leo said, hoping he was conveying as much sincerity as he felt. You’ve always done all that you could for our family, to keep us safe.” He took a breath, eyes darting over Bastien’s shoulder to where he knew Liam’s room was before flicking back up to meet Bastien’s. “I know my brother is only here because you got to him when you did, Drake too, so... so thank you, Bastien, for everything.” Bastien simply nodded but Leo knew that his words had been received.

After greeting the others briefly and asking how Drake was- “ Not completely out of the woods, but he’s awake and doing much better and he’s got Claire by his side so he’s in good company” Maxwell explained- Leo was aware of Claire. He’d read about her in the news, had seen her picture, but he also knew better than to believe what he read. He knew that if DrKe had let her in that there was far more to her than he could possibly glean from an inaccurate news article. He was glad that his friend had someone to help him through all of this. Drake had been there for Liam in Leo’s stead for years and in many ways. Leo was thankful for Drake, and so he was thankful for this Claire, and looked forward to meeting her. But first he had an important visit to make.

He took a deep breath as he entered his brother’s room. Liam’s eyes were closed. He looked so much younger than Leo remembered, surrounded by I.V.s and confined to a hospital bed. He closed the door softly behind him and closed the distance to stand next to the bed. As he reached the bedside, Liam stirred, his blue eyes opening, cloudy and slow to focus from the medication. Leo held his breath as his brother blinked once, twice, and then he saw recognition in Liam’s eyes and he let the breath back out. “Brother,” He said, sinking into the chair that Olivia and Bastien had been taking turns in. “Liam, I’m here, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, was t here when you needed me, but I’m here now... I’m sorry” he reached for his brother’s hand and felt Liam clasp it with more strength than he appeared capable of.

Liam cleared his throat with a small gravelly cough and shook his head slightly, as much as he could without setting it spinning. He knew that he and Leo had a lot to talk about, had so much to share and mourn and heal, so much to say to one another. He knew that the last two days must have been Hell on Leo, as much as they’d been on Liam and on all of them. But as the King of Cordonia he had to put his country first and there was something big that he needed to consult his brother on, something that would shape and change the future of their country. “Leo,” he said slowly but clearly, it’s all going to be alright, brother. I...” he paused and considered his next words. He’d been thinking about this since the threats started. “Leo, I think I know what I need to do to save Cordonia.”

. . . . .

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 2/3/19 - Interlude 15: Cordonia

Scowling, Micah sat between Will and Erika, the three of them cuffed to hard, cold metal chairs. The dank smell, dim lighting and rough, stone walls around them told him that they had been taken to what used to be the dungeon of the estate back in the medieval days. His eyes scanned along the wall in front of him. They fell upon a small window near the ceiling with thick wrought iron bars clapped across it, confirming their location. Perfect. Right where we're supposed to be. He looked to hos left at Will and saw that the reporter turned rebel was nervously spinning the wedding band on his finger. Shit, Micah thought. He's gonna talk. He's regretting this, thinking about his family. I knew it should have been my father instead of him. He tapped his fingers against the arm rest of his chair, as much as he could with how tightly he was restrained, and the sound caught Will's attention. Micah fixed him with a steely glare, full of warning of what would happen should he do something stupid. Like talk. Will shakily nodded and swallowed the confession Micah knew he was thinking of making, closing his eyes.

Micah turned next to his right, to where Erika had slumped against the arm rest of her seat. She was breathing heavily and uneasily through her nose, a strained wince distorting her face. That beautiful face. The face of a princess. A better choice than Anton. Micah seethed as his eyes fell to the bandage around her right bicep; to the scarlet stain seeping though the stark white gauze. She'd been shot in the arm to force her to drop her gun, and the agonizing sound that she made pulled the trigger on Micah's own gun as he shot back at Derrins- his former King's Guard mate- hitting him in the leg and taking him down. Derrins had been brought upstairs to have his wound cleaned, stitched and properly taken care of. For Erika, they'd simply poured alcohol on her arm and wrapped it up. No stitches. No medication. Sweat was beading on her forehead and every few breaths she let out a groan, but her color wasn't bad and she wasn't unconscious, so that would have to be enough for now. Just another hour or so...

The crackle of a radio interrupted his thoughts and snapped his attention to the two guards in the room with them. Aikens and Hawthorne. Aikens grabbed his radio from his belt and held it to his ear to hear the voice on the other end. “Dining room is clear. Everyone's been moved to the ball room. T-minus 43 minutes until the suitors are announced. Final sweep of grand hall is underway. Prisoner status?”

Aikens looked right at Micah, right into him, a satisfied grin on his face. “Manderly's patched up, all three are restrained, none of them are talking much...Should I change that?” Aikens sneered at Micah before he released the button on his radio to speak with his prisoner and not his direct report. “Because I know who I would start with.” He kept his eyes on Micah and closed his fingers tightly around Erika's bandaged arm, pressing his thumb to where he knew her bullet wound was. She shrieked and let out a moan that made Micah's breathing go ragged. He turned to Erika and struggled against his cuffs, reaching for her. Aikens laughed coldly as he let go of her arm. “Don't like that, do ya, kid?” he spoke into Micah's face, using the nickname all of the Guard had formerly used for Bastien's young assistant. The radio crackled back to life and the Kings Guard Captain's voice came through telling Aikens to stand down, that he'd get them talking later. Aikens growled but responded with “Copy,” and walked back to stand next to Hawthorne.

“Take it easy, Aikens,” the older, more experienced Hawthorne said, laying his hand on the younger guard's shoulder. “Wwe just have to keep these assholes in this room for the next two hours, and then we'll get all the answers that we need, yeah?” Aikens nodded in resignation and Hawthorne clapped him on the shoulder again. He knew that Aikens was incensed over the fact that Micah had betrayed them all- had betrayed Bastien; every member of the King's Guard respected their Captain, and Aikens was taking it almost personally that Micah had thrown away the mutual respect that Bastien had for all of his men.

Micah and Aikens spent the next 41 ½ minutes locked in a staring match, angry, bitter, hateful thoughts raging like storms inside both of their minds as Erika moaned softly and Will huffed and sniffed. Towards the end of those 41 ½ minutes, Micah felt a slow sneer spread across his face. His eyes flicked again to the thick, black bars on the window, to where he knew Alex had strapped one of two devices just the day before. The sneer grew as he thought of where the other was strapped- above the chandelier in the ballroom. He heard the distinct sound of shouting coming from outside the window, then the unmistakable sound of an unconscious body hitting the ground, and footsteps, growing louder as they crunched in the gravel near the window. “Hey, Aikens.” The man glanced at Micah while Hawthorne kept his gun trained at the window. “You're gonna be sorry that you put your hands on her,” he cokced his head towards Erika. “You're all gonna be sorry.” Before Aikens could respond, the bars flew inward and glass shattered with the force of the explosion. Micah grinned wider as his father's face appeared in the window and another BOOM from upstairs ripped through the air.  

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 1/20/19- Interlude 14: New York

Daniel had a hard time focusing at work after his phone call with Claire. Luckily, Ruby had been able to pick up his slack, serving all the customers while he absently wiped glassware and tried not to be sick. Claire had been trying not to sound scared, he could tell, and it made him feel even more helpless than he actually was. He'd been tempted to leave Keagan's, head to JFK and hop on the next flight to Cordonia. And what, Dan? He'd asked himself disdainfully, You're gonna take down Alex and a group of rebel assassins and save Claire? You? A whole team of trained security guards is struggling and you're gonna be the one to save the day? Idiot. Instead he'd made her promise to call him when the ball was over, when she'd be safe and clear and free to leave the clutches of the nobility and the threats that came along with being caught there. He checked his watch- it was 2:30 on Saturday morning in New York, closing time. That meant it was 9:30 am in Cordonia. The ball, Claire told him, started at 7pm and could go later than midnight, but that she'd not planned on staying past twelve. “Totally going to Cinderella it,” she joked, trying to lighten things. He sighed. It was going to be a long wait.

Ruby put her jacket on, buttoning the big toggles on the front of her navy pea coat before donning her cross body bag. Just as she was about to wave goodnight and stick her earbuds in, dancing her way out into the night, Dan looked over and called out. “Hey, Ru?” She snapped her head over, throwing her curls bouncing. “I, uh...you know, with everything going on with C, I don't really wanna go home just yet. The Hippo's open 'til 4...wanna grab a couple beers?” He shrugged and she cocked her head to the side sympathetically. They'd gotten drinks one or two times, but The Hippo was always where Dan and Claire went- it was their birthday spot, their celebration station, the watering hole where they took their sorrows for drowning. The fact that he was inviting her there meant something, meant that Dan didn't want to be alone and Ruby didn't want him to be either. There wasn't anything at all between them but she liked him, as a person, as a friend, and she wanted to be there for him in any way she could. She'd nodded and smiled, following him out the door as he locked it behind them.

The door jingled at The Hippo as they stepped inside, and Dan scanned the bar for the familiar face of his favorite bartender, V. He pulled a stool out for Ruby and climbed into the one next to her as Jay, the other bartender he and Claire had seen there occasionally, walked over to greet them. “Hey, Dan, who's this? Where's C?” The two slapped hands, Dan leaning over the bar.

“Hey, Jay-man,” he said as they released their grip. “This is Ruby,” Ruby smiled and said a polite hello, and Dan gestured for Jay to pour them two beers. “She took over for Claire...she's uh... on a vacation of sorts.” Dan shrugged. “Where's V tonight? Everything okay with her? Jay passed them each a beer and they clinked them together before taking a sip.

“Vanna? She was here earlier,” Jay leaned his elbows on the bar and rested his chin on his knuckles. “Something came on the news and bugged her out. She totally freaked, said she had to leave and call her family. Something about some foreign assassination threat at some ball somewhere in some fairy tale fuckin place?” he was shaking his head. “I mean seriously, can you believe shit like that still goes on these days? Kings and princes and courts and shit?”

Dan whipped his head up to the television and his blood ran cold. It was some kind of European newsfeed with coverage of the events unfolding in Cordonia. There she was; Claire with Drake in a grainy photo through a window. The image changed to a young, blue eyed man kissing a beautiful, raven haired woman. The picture in picture image showed live footage of a reporter stationed outside of the royal palace, another screen showed a reporter stationed outside an estate in a place called Ramsford. The scrolling tape along the bottom talked of political threats, of damning royal family secrets, rumors of who the prince would choose, rumors and leaks about a rebel faction called the Seven Devils, and their plans to infiltrate the ball, and carry out their plans to end the lines of Walker and Rhys. “Hey,” Jay said, looking up at what had caught Dan and Ruby's attention. “Hey, is that C?” Yeah...yeah, it is. That's Cinderella...

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six: 1/13/19 Interlude- Cordonia

The article came out the morning of the Beaumont Bash, the last social event of the season, and the night that Prince Liam would announce who he had chosen to be the future Queen of Cordonia. Bastien woke to the news alerts on his phone, buzzing on the bedside table of his guestroom in Ramsford. Reluctantly he left the dream- it was so rare that he dreamed of her anymore, his subconscious knowing better than to let her in, knowing how hard it always was to leave her behind and bring himself back to reality. With everything that had been happening, now was not the time for distractions or heartache. He blinked her copper hair and blue eyes from his mind as he cleared his throat and sat up, reaching for his phone. He ran a hand over his face, dragging it across the salt and pepper stubble that covered his chin, exhaling as he prepared himself for today's headline. Nothing could have prepared him for what he read. His smokey gray eyes went wide and he cursed under his breath. It was not something the King had ever mentioned to him, and yet he had no doubt in his mind that it was true.

King Constantine’s Illigitamate Daughter Comes Forth: Says no Rhys Will Wear the Crown Again. His blood tingled in his veins as he read an interview with a woman known as Erika Manderly, a woman claiming to be King Constantine's daughter, conceived during his own social season. Bastien knew the way that some of the noble men took advantage of the fact that they had so many suitors competing for their hand, how some of them sought to sleep with each woman before making their choice. He didn't doubt that Constantine could have been one of those men. The article went on to highlight other ways in which the tradition of suitors presenting themselves at court had been taken advantage of: women being passed around to friends of the eligible bachelor, monies being spent to entertain, dress, feed, transport and otherwise provide extravagant experiences for the suitors, unfair favoritism based on attraction and not what might be best for the country. Quotes from this Erika were peppered throughout, lines about how she had tried to seek out a relationship with her father, how she wanted to meet her brothers- how the King had turned her down, cruelly, in her words.

The interview went on to ask why she had chosen now to come forth. Why, after all the years of silence, working as a maid in the various estates throughout the country- Applewood, most recently, and Bastien cursed to himself again realizing that she was the maid his background check never came in on- why she would suddenly come out now with the truth. Bastien felt it all click as he read her answer. “Because now is the right time. Now, there is someone that I can stand behind, someone that all of Cordonia can stand behind. Someone who will bring justice back to Cordonia, will bring an end to the perversion of its traditions, will listen to the commoners and the cooks, the maids and drivers and the bastard daughters. Now, Anton Severus has returned to Cordonia, and No Rhys will wear the crown again.”

Anton Severus. He knew that name. The Severus family, along with the Nevrakis' had been responsible for the last rebellion. They'd joined with the Sons of Earth in an attempt to overthrow the Rhys dynasty. All three families had been integral in the foundation of Cordonia as a country, but the Rhys line has been ruling since the first days. Occasionally the other two would rise up and try to take what they thought was theirs, however the Rhys line had always prevailed. Not without casualty, not without sacrifice. Bastien remembered the way the last rebellion had ended, with Eamon Krass, leader of the SoE taking Jackson's life, with Bastien taking Eamon's son Avery's life, the King and princes escaping, the queen, Liam's mother not being so lucky. Wait. Bastien sat up, dropping his phone as a cold realizition crept into the back of his mind. He concentrated hard on the face of the young Avery Krass, the first man he'd ever had to kill, reconstructing the way his eyes were set, the shape of his nose and the color of his hair. It was unmistakable. Avery, in his memory, looked just like Micah. Micah Sarks. He rearranged the letters in his mind. Sarks. Krass. Micah was Avery's brother...Eamon's other son. Eamon had never been caught. Some of the Severus line had gotten away. The loose ends of the last rebellion were coming for their throats.

Bastien returned his eyes to the article, noticing that there were pictures included- pictures proving Erika's claims that the season was being manipulated. There was the picture of Drake and Claire at his cabin, the one that had been placed in the box, and below it, an even more disturbing one- the two of them sitting on his front step, the box in his hand. Bastien felt his nostrils flare as he realized someone had been there the whole time, watching them panic, playing games. He realized then that they'd fallen right into their trap. The whole thing with Alex was a distraction ploy. Anton was letting his twisted accomplice draw their attention while he set other gears in motion...reaching out to Krass, recruiting Micah and Erika...recruiting the reporter who'd been running the negative articles all season...Bastien felt his mind itching to connect all the dots. Seven Devils, they were calling themselves. Anton Severus, Alex Miltner, Eamon Krass, Micah Krass, Erika Manderly- he glanced down at the article to read the reporter's name- Will Ogden...that was six. There was still someone out there, someone he was missing. His eyes returned to the article, to the last few pictures that depicted what Erika referred to as “favoritism due to attraction”: Liam and Lady Kiara, holding hands, leaning close, and, in the last one, sharing an intimate kiss through the window of Liam's private study at Applewood. Claire and Drake weren't the only ones being watched.

Bastien bolted from his bed, scrambling to get himself ready. He dressed quickly, forgoing a shower. His fingers deftly fastened his cuff links, routinely tied his tie and pulled his jacket over the taught muscles of his shoulders and back. The phone buzzed again and again as more news outlets picked up on the article, and members of the King's Guard started waking up to what he'd just read. He left his room, heading to the study that they'd set up as a security base for their stay, knowing that it was all going to come down to tonight. The article was more than an expose. It was a warning- a threat and a promise. No Rhys will wear the crown again. Those words echoed in his mind. He had to ensure Liam's safety. He had to ensure that these devils were caught. He had to ensure that he hadn't thrown his chances with Annabelle away to stay and protect the Rhys who would wear the crown next, and he had to ensure that Jackson's son wouldn't die the way he did, that Claire wouldn't have to endure what Bianca had. The weight of the day settled heavy on his shoulders, and the sun hadn't even begun to rise.

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[likethetailofacomet]

Sunday Six 12/30/18 - Interlude: Cordonia

The events of the past few days sped through Micah’s mind like a film reel set to high speed, pausing on all the missed chances. Ever since he’d relayed that message to his father regarding Anton’s wish for the end of not only the Rys Dynasty but also the Walker line, he found it hard to share close proximity with Drake. He’s right there, he’d find himself thinking, fingers tingling, palms itching and sweating, crawling with wanting to find the gun on his belt and aim with precision. He’s right there, I can end it now, he told himself as he bandaged the man’s hand, as he held the door open for him and forced smiles at him. He’d thought it might make his father proud, taking it upon himself to make a move. But he’d also thought how it might make Eamon Krass furious, stealing the kill that he was promised, and he’d thought about Anton and his strict adherence to plans... which was why he couldn’t understand the man’s allowance of Alex to keep going after Claire and drawing attention. I could take care of her, too, then Alex would have nothing more to fuck up. It would be so easy... he felt his hand curl into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

Kiara straightened up, standing from her stretch throwing her long midnight braid over her shoulder. She strode across the training space to where Micah stood, his hand white knuckled around his water bottle. “What’s on your mind, Micah?” She inquired, tilting her head, her eyes soft but inquisitive. “Looks like there’s more going on up there than self defense strategies.”

He took a swig of his water, keeping his eyes on the woman he’d been sworn to protect, serve, train. They’d been running knife defense drills all morning, and it was a good distraction from his thoughts. But during their water breaks all he could think of was how easy it would have been to eliminate both Drake and Claire out at that cabin. No one would even know for days. He didn’t understand the point in dragging it out with Alex’s games- the box on the steps being the latest one. “Just going over the next sequence before we start, my Lady,” he answered.

She crossed her arms in front of her, tilting her head from side to side until a slight pop came from her neck. “Well, I’m ready when you are,” she assumed a ready stance, right foot slightly in front of her left, knees bent and hands raised in front of her face. She was a natural at this.

Micah grinned, tightening the cap on his water and setting it down. He knew Lady Kiara was well above his station, but he couldn’t deny his attraction to her. A welcome distraction indeed. He grabbed the practice knife in his right hand and reached out, lightning fast with his left, latching onto her thin wrist and spinning her into him. His right arm came around her front, pressing the rubber blade to her throat. He walked her forward until she was in front of a training dummy. “Take the knife from me, my lady, and kill him,” he nodded over her shoulder at the dummy.

Kiara exhaled slowly, closing her eyes before running through the disarming sequence they’d drilled for the first half hour. She dug her fingers beneath his grip on the knife, bending one finger back until he released his grip, catching the handle with her other hand. In one motion she pulled down on the finger she still held, and swiftly aimed the knife at the dummy, jabbing it in the side. “Very well done, my lady,” he said, a sly smile on his face as he adjusted her placement of the blade by wrapping his hand around her wrist and guiding it slightly upwards. “Slip it right here... right between the ribs.”

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