#the colors look so bland tome

[crystalmagpie447]

grrgbhrfwnd

something about this looks so dull to me

idk

EEK @garbagechocolate muahaha

cough

also @nomsthecat

[mwolf0epsilon]

Crazy idea that I figured right now. Thomas dosn't hear like someone that would get married, even with a person of his kind (g r u m p t y) so, Allison is a witch (cannon btw).. love potion? Sorry is pretty funny for me.

Summary: One of Allison's more peculiar interests turns out better than she expected, if only because of a slight mistake.

---

[[MORE]]

If questioned on the subject, Allison wouldn't exactly call herself a witch. She had an interest in witchcraft, sure, but she herself was not an expert nor a professional on the arts of ancient beldams and shamans.

She was, however, the owner of a vast and ever growing collection of tomes that were the aglommoration of such olden knowledge.

Of these powerful tomes came the biggest of her fixations: Potion brewing, more specifically the refinement of elixirs.

It was amazing what a few select ingredients could produce if you were to extract or prepare them in a certain way. From all natural remedies to combat the effects of illness, to powerful poisons and even blends that could condition the mind to do certain things.

It was an art that could be used to do as much good as it could do evil, and Allison knew a few select witches of the past had indeed done evil when others scorned them so. To the detriment of those that had been pure in their intentions, as were many of the victims of the Salem Witch Trials.

But Allison wasn't looking to do much with her knowledge besides sate her curiosity and test a few interesting blends. Most went into helping those around her anonymously...

A few drops in a cup of coffee and suddenly Jack's bad cough was gone. A whiff of her perfume, and Sammy was a lot calmer than he'd been a minute or so ago. Even a few delicious homemade cupcakes got everyone into a creative rut that kept Joey off their backs.

She was benevolent in her actions... But... There was one particular blend she wanted to try for more selfish reasons. A love potion of a sort, composed of natural aphrodisiacs and calming herbs.

One she hoped to try on the object of her affections, a man that had such an impeccable work ethic that she doubted he even knew she even existed (which was odd as most men often buzzed around her like bees to a flower, because of her attractive features). It frustrated her to no end that Thomas Connor was a difficult person to understand, or to get close to.

Her previous experiences with past boyfriends had always been quite linear, so the mysterious engineer being so hard to read was baffling. No man nor any woman should be a puzzle so hard to figure out, and her lack of progress on this matter only made her feel more attracted towards him.

So here she was, trying to find Mr. Connor's coffee mug, ready to slip him an all natural drug that would definitely turn his gaze towards her... You know, like some degenerate wench...

"Oh you've sunk low Al... You've sunk very low." She murmured to herself as she looked through the shared cupboard. There was a myriad of different mugs that were unique so as to distinguish them from someone else's property. A lot of people in the studio were against sharing their cups after all, thus this fun little measure that definitely wasn't making it hard for her right now.

She knew the mug with brightly colored polkadots was Norman's, as it was a silly play on his last name (one Mel had started as a means to poke fun at him). She also knew the white one with intricate depictions of songbirds and forget-me-nots was Sammy's (a gift to him from his sister apparently), and that the bright green one with stocky writing on it was Shawn's (Mr. Flynn was, after all, fond of yelling 'Top o' the Morning to ya' to everyone at the earliest hours of the morning).

But, for the life of her, she couldn't find a mug that she thought might fit Thomas's personality at all... They were all varying degrees of either pretty or silly and none really screamed his name. Not until she squinted and found one that was bland enough to be a no-nonsense GENT employee's pick.

A simple black mug with absolutely nothing extraordinary about it, sitting besides a white mug with paw prints on it (likely Wally's as he had a fondness for dogs).

Taking that bland old mug, she proceeded with her plan.

-

By 9 AM sharp, Allison was a bundle of nerves. She'd prepared Thomas's coffee separately before making everyone else their own mugs to avoid suspicion. Then she'd set out a plate of cupcakes (some vanilla, some chocolate) to make it seem like an innocent little gesture rather than the shameful and depraved act that it actually was, and greeted everyone on her way out of the break room.

Morale was great that morning, but so was her increasing guilt... She shouldn't be meddling with what others felt, especially not trying to bewitch her crush into liking her for a brief moment. Yet here she was, hoping to bump into a drugged up Thomas Connor and get him to praise her in some form.

Her need for validation was... Rotten. She hated it, she hated that she'd gone to these lengths just to feel like someone genuinely cared for her rather than her good looks.

So when she did find her crush at last, she didn't feel so good about the plan anymore.

"Allison could I maybe speak to you for a second?" The gruff voice of Thomas Connor wasn't particularly loud, at least not louder than many of the other employees in the music department, so she jumped slightly when he approached her quietly during her break from recording.

"I... Yes certainly." Her stomach felt like it was doing flips as she followed the taller man, considering her options here. She could lightly reject any advances he tried to make in his state of unknowing inebriation, admit she may have slipped something in his coffee, or even straight up lie and say there was weed in the cupcakes... But, instead of doing anything, she resigned herself to the fact the next words out of his mouth weren't going to be genuine.

"I wanted to thank you." Thomas began as they'd gotten out into a quieter hall with little to no movement. "For always trying to brighten things up a little here at the studio. Drew's been a right pain in the ass, and it really sets off a chain... But here you are, getting up bright and early to bake cupcakes and brew everyone a cup of coffee, being the most genuine and selfless person at this damn madhouse..."

The guilt was excruciating, and Allison felt herself blush slightly as her eyes began to sting. He likely thought it was humility on her part.

"Hey, no need for that. Just stating the facts Miss Pendle..." He smiled, really smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Thomas Connor had this shy little smile that started at the corner of his mouth and just barely exposed his front teeth a bit. "I was wondering... If maybe I could pay you back. With uh... With lunch?"

"I..."

"I understand if you're busy, it's just... I'd just like to be able to repay your kindness in kind. Lunch for an impromptu breakfast seems fair... And it's well within our schedules I hope..." He added. She couldn't bring herself to decline even if she knew she should.

"It... It sounds good to me. Uh... Wednesday?" She shyly suggested.

"Wednesday." He nodded in agreement. "Best we both go back to work now, before Lawrence has a fit..."

"Yeah... Thank you Thomas." She smiled sadly, watching him as he nodded her way. Her smile vanished once she noticed him bring a mug up to his lips. A white mug with paw prints on it.

Once he took a sip from his coffee he went on his way, leaving Allison in a confused state. On one hand, her crush had genuinely just asked her out and that was amazing! On the other... Who's coffee mug was it that she had drugged then?

-

Henry groaned as he hung up his phone for the 20th time that day. Whoever the hell was calling his landline only to breathe heavily into the speaker as he questioned them, was really starting to aggravate him.

Damn kids and their stupid pranking antics... He had half a mind to call the cops!

[haledamage]

Cafune for Kai/Aloth/Iselmyr?

“Good book?”

“No,” Aloth said through clenched teeth. “It really isn’t.”

Kai glanced over his shoulder, skimming the page he was on. The writing was cramped and tiny and what looked to be Eld Aedyran. It looked like a historical tome and was dry and bland even by academic standards.

She leaned a hip against the arm of his chair and brushed her fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. He leaned into it, eyes drifting closed in response to her gentle touch, so she did it again. “We’ll find them, darling,” she said softly. “It doesn’t do either of us any good for you to torture yourself with academia hunting for them.”

Aloth relaxed minutely, tension falling from his shoulders, and he dropped his head to her arm. Kai pulled him close and kept combing her fingers through his hair, the dark strands slipping through her hands like silk.

“I just know the answer I’m looking for is in this book.” His voice was slightly muffled, but carried less frustration than it had before.

“Maybe it is. It won’t do you any good if you work yourself ragged looking for it, though.”

“That has got to be one of the most hypocritical things you’ve ever said to me,” he said dryly. He paused, then added, softer, “Kai, how long has it been since you last slept?”

“A day. Maybe two.” He glared at her, and she felt color rise in her cheeks. “Maybe three.”

He gave her a stern, challenging look that from anyone else would have put her immediately on the defensive. From Aloth, it just made Kai feel guilty for disappointing him.

Then his frown broke, to be replaced by a tiny, affectionate smile. “Iselmyr has been suggesting we tie you to the bed and force you to sleep.”

“I doubt Iselmyr would have any intention of letting me sleep in that situation, darling,” Kai said, voice low and warm.

Aloth blushed scarlet, but the brief, playful twist of his lips told her she was correct in her assumption. She could see the war between Aloth and his Awakened half in their eyes, though neither of them said anything out loud. Then Aloth abruptly pulled away from her, hair falling to hide his face.

Kai chuckled. “She’s just going to tell me what she said later on.”

“Perhaps,” he squeaked, voice high and nervous. “But that’s later. I have work to do, I can’t be thinking about…” he trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence, and she let the subject drop.

She slid to the floor to kneel in front of him and brushed his hair back from his face again, waiting patiently until he met her eyes. “Don’t overwork yourself, okay, darling? You aren’t alone in this.”

“I know.” It was almost a whisper, soft and sweet and a little awed.

She tucked his hair behind his ear, then let her fingers trail down the line of his jaw. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. I’ll see you in a few hours when I inevitably give up, and then I’ll take over the reading for a while.”

Aloth looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually he just smiled at her. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He nodded and Kai smiled widely. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then climbed back to her feet. “Okay. Good night, darling.”

“Good night.”

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 5: The Morning After

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 5/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Four+

Chapter Six+ >>

----------------------

Severus felt the late morning sun on his face as he gradually swam back to consciousness. The delectable memories of the night before swirled through his lucid dreaming and he dreaded to open his eyes. He knew that if he did he would be back in his wretched house at Spinner’s End, looking up at the pesky water mark that he could never quite remove from the ceiling of his bedroom. He kept his eyes stubbornly closed, trying to continue his dreaming, but he was awake enough now that that was impossible. He ran his hands experimentally over the bed and, while he was alone in it, he realized that the sheets were smoother and finer than his sheets at home. The bed was softer and smelled faintly of lavender. He opened his eyes and a smile spread over his lips as he saw Miranda’s airy bedroom rather than his own gloomy chamber. 

He heard a pleasant clatter of pans and dishes through the closed door and smelled a mixture of tea, coffee, and sausage. He stretched languidly and got up to dress. He took his time doing up the buttons on the front of his frock coat and idly studied the room as he did. The bed stood under the window that was letting in the sunlight. There was a bookshelf on one wall filled with novels and poetry and a handsomely carved cherrywood armoire standing on another. The final wall was covered with children’s drawings inscribed with the names of the various artists and dedicated to ‘Auntie.’ A framed piece of needlework with the inscription ‘From Mama’ hung in the middle of this gallery. The embroidery was a nicely executed border of roses surrounding a piece of Latin prose: ‘Nisi Dominus ædificaverit donum, in vanum laboraverunt qui ædificant eam.’ He scoffed at the sentiment and turned to the mirror hanging on the back of the door. His hair was a bit tangled from the previous evening’s exertions and he did what he could to neaten it. He turned and considered the bed for a moment. The twisted sheets both pleased him with their implications and irritated him with their disorder. He was toying with the idea of returning to the bed rather promptly following breakfast, but he decided it would be more entertaining to scramble the linens again rather than to leave it thus. He flicked his wand and the bed made itself up neat as a pin. Satisfied, he emerged from the bedroom to find his partner in crime. Miranda was standing by the stove, flipping omelettes with the efficiency of a short-order cook. She wore a long blue sheath dress and her feet were bare. Her hair flowed over her back, restrained by a copper colored scarf as she cooked. He approached her and pulled aside the curtain of her hair to drop his lips onto the back of her neck. She made a sound strikingly similar to a purr but said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to eat if you’re hoping for another round. For some reason, I forgot to have dinner last night. I can’t imagine why.” She smiled impishly over her shoulder at him. “I suppose I can overlook such weakness this once,” he replied smoothly, returning her smile.

She handed him a plate of omelette and sausage and they convened at the table which was already set with toast, butter, marmalade, tea, coffee, and The Daily Prophet. They ate and read in companionable silence and, if she spent much of the meal running her bare foot up his leg, he certainly wasn’t one to complain about it. When they had demolished the food and were loitering over coffee and tea, a bell over her desk started ringing loudly.

She glanced up from her half of the paper and gave the bell an annoyed look. “I’m going to have to answer that,” she said. “It’s my father trying to check in and he’ll think I’m dead if I don’t talk to him. It’s been a few days since I gave report and I don’t want him to send someone looking for me.” She smiled at him and went on, “Would you mind terribly pretending you don’t exist for the next few minutes?” “Are you saying that you’re ashamed to have your father know that I’ve stolen your virtue?” he teased. She laughed and kissed his cheek lightly. “I knew you’d understand.” She went to the desk and took a small mirror out of one of the drawers, then she headed into the potions closet. He returned to the paper but, as the closed door did not completely muffle the sound, he could not help overhearing her conversation. “How are the Royals doing, Papa?” she was saying. “I can’t get a paper or anything on the radio about them over here.”

There was a whistle of disapproval and a deep male voice replied, “Not good, pixie, not good. The Yanks pummeled them last night. They’ve been on a losing streak for a while now. They don’t get their act together soon, they can forget about the playoffs.” “Hmmm, maybe I’m glad I can’t witness it then.” “I sure wish I couldn’t. Did you finish the paperwork on the Islington case?” “Yes Papa, and I swear they make it more complicated every time I do. I don’t even want to think about what I’m going to have to go through after the next case.” “Better you than me. It looks like you’ve got a lot of work rolling in over there. Do you want to stay?” “I think so. I have enough to keep me busy through the first quarter of next year at least. Honestly, I wonder if there’s something stirring things up. That vampire was harder to catch than he should have been and I usually don’t have a waiting list this long. The Minister of Magic himself approached me yesterday and wants to meet about something.” “That’s my girl, hitting the big time. You behave when you meet with him, do you hear me? Don’t be telling your dirty jokes just to act cute.” “Papa, I do know how to behave when I want to. But where do you think I got my material in the first place?” “Don’t go blaming me for things that are my fault. Watch your back. I’ll talk to you soon.” “I won’t, and I will. Love to Mama and the rest.” She came back into the room and replaced the mirror in its drawer, but she was frowning a bit, as though she were pondering something. She returned to her seat at the table and asked, “You don’t happen to know of anything that might be stirring up a load of Dark Magic over here, do you?” It was an innocent question, and if she had asked it of another wizard, he would have shrugged and shook his head. However, Severus was unfortunately very aware of who was behind the rise in Dark Magic in England at the moment. He kept his eyes on the paper and his expression blank. “No.” “It is strange, though. Usually there are only a few cases in a given year in England. And the darker creatures that I’ve been rounding up are stronger than I would usually expect. There must be something egging them on.” She sipped her coffee and went on, half to herself, “I’ll have to do some digging. Who’s that Headmaster at your school? Albus Dumbledore, isn’t it? Do you think he’d have time to meet with me? I imagine if anyone had his thumb on the pulse of magic in Britain he would.” “Albus Dumbledore is a very busy man.” He stared unseeing at the paper, his mind starting to go down an unpleasant path.

“Hmmmm. I seem to remember some incident in the fourteenth century where St. Patrick’s Purgatory at Lough Derg opened a bit wider than usual and all sorts of things got out. I wonder…” Her voice trailed off and she wandered over to the bookshelf, scanning the titles. Eventually she picked out an enormous leather bound tome and scooted some dishes over so that she could open it on the table. She started leafing through the aging pages, completely unaware that Severus’s expression was darkening. This had been a mistake. He was a thirty-five year old wizard, and one would think that he could enjoy the favors of a willing female without any terrible consequences. However, he was Severus Snape and nothing good ever happened to him. He was embroiled in a plot to bring down the Dark Lord. He spent his days teaching the ungrateful child of his murdered love and her wretched husband, and his nights playing the role of a faithful Death Eater. One false move, one unguarded thought could bring instant, painful death to himself and any number of other people. And really, how much did he know about Miranda Rose anyway? Who was to say that she wasn’t some sort of trap set for him? Merlin, he hated his life. He sighed and decided it was best to end it quickly. He hoped that she wouldn’t cry or do whatever embarrassing thing women did when their lovers jilted them. He set down the paper and said in a cool voice, “I think it is time I were leaving.” She closed the book and looked up at him with a smile. “You don’t have to leave. I can do this later.” He stood slowly and summoned a bland, cold expression. “I don’t think you understand, Miss Rose. This was a mistake that will not be repeated.” She arched an elegant eyebrow at him. “Oh?” “You’ve been a charming diversion, but I’m afraid I simply do not have time for any more such foolishness.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her bare feet on the table. The skirt of her dress slid up her legs, exposing them to the thigh. She took out a cigarette and lit it, her face a mask of amusement. She blew out a long line of smoke and murmured, “Goodness me. The dreaded morning after attack of scruples. I’m disappointed in you, professor. I had thought your moral code sufficiently flexible not to be bothered by them. What a shame.” Her mocking tone angered him in a way tears would not have done. He could not help trying to take her down a peg and said silkily, “Perhaps my moral code is not the problem. Perhaps I was simply dissatisfied with your performance.” She smiled nastily at him. “Please. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such a pathetic display of eagerness and gratitude as you provided last night. How long had it been? A year? Five years? Ten?” “What a disgustingly vulgar trollop you are,” he sneered. “Sticks and stones, professor, sticks and stones.” She swung her pretty legs off of the table and sashayed to the door. When she reached it, she opened it gracefully. “This is a door. Feel free to use it.” “I sincerely hope that your next mark separates your obscene head from your indecent body,” he snapped as he stalked out of the cabin. “From your mouth to God’s ears,” she returned. “Have a nice life.” She slammed the door after him and angrily started cleaning the breakfast mess. She scrubbed the dishes without magic in order to better vent her anger on them. What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d seemed perfectly fine and even rather amorous this morning. Then he’d suddenly turned cold and nasty for no apparent reason. And really, even if he hadn’t been completely thrilled with their encounter, there was no call to be an ass about it. Hadn’t he ever heard of a one night stand? She finished the dishes and stalked into her bedroom to air the bed clothes. It was her habit to do this most days, and she definitely wanted to do so today. She had no desire to sleep on sheets that smelled like that cold fish of an Englishman. She jerked open the bedroom door and stopped short. He’d made the bed. Men never thought to make the bed. She sighed and opened the window, letting in the breeze off the Channel. She flicked her wand at the bed and the linens pulled themselves backwards and hung on an unseen clothesline, fluttering gently in the wind. She sat down and stared out the window without really noticing anything. It had been a lovely night. She thought she had hit rather close to the mark with the gist of her insult this morning, but there had been nothing pathetic about him. They had both been a bit awkward and sloppy at first, but they had soon managed to remember how everything worked. Indeed, he had seemed so intoxicated by the heady drug of rendering one’s partner helpless with pleasure that she had half wondered if he had ever experienced it before. She felt a bit sorry now for being quite so cutting with her tongue, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be seeing him again and that was that. She supposed she really should get to work. There was research to be done and potions to brew and bullets to make. She got up, intending to be virtuous and start with the potions—her least favorite—but a particularly delicious waft of sea air blew in through her window. She changed her mind and went to pack her leather messenger bag instead. Bathing suit, towel, sun hat, novel. She braided her hair, put on her sandals, and headed down the the village. A little sun bathing and a swim in the Channel would be just the thing. She could be virtuous tomorrow.

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Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Four+

Chapter Six+ >>

[forestwater87]

Gwenvid Week Day 5

Day 5: Community Appreciation / Favorite AU

To celebrate the amazing Gwenvid community, I took the really fascinating Ghoul AU that @color-theorist (or @color-theorist-art ) created, which has no explicit Gwenvid as of yet, and then somehow accidentally created several pages of momgwen with very little Gwenvid in it. Oops. And probably fucked up the lore. Double oops. Oh well, I hope y’all have fun anyway! :)

It wasn’t anything like Buffy, was the first thing Gwen realized about fighting monsters.

For one thing, it was a lot less fighting -- she wasn’t exactly built for dealing out pain -- and a lot more researching. And not in weathered tomes blanketed with a thick layer of dust with crinkled pages full of secrets. Sure, there was some of that, but ghouls in particular seemed to be a relatively new phenomenon, or were just so uninteresting to the ancients that they didn’t bother writing about them. Mostly it involved trawling internet forums and trying to arrange interviews with the leads who seemed the most promising. Which in itself required a great deal of convincing paranoid heroin addicts that she was neither a ghoul intent on devouring their flesh or a member of the government who would haul them off to Super Guantanamo. All that work, only to have her work dismissed by every publisher she’d recommended it to, and a pointed recommendation by the History Department chair that it would be best for her career at Sleepy Peak Community College if she found another subject to focus her studies on.

“‘It’s really all about the branding,’” she mimicked quietly, shifting her weight in a futile attempt to get comfortable. ”’Just call it “folklore.”’ That’s academically dis-fucking-honest, Mr. Bishop.” Gwen grabbed her bag from where it was dangling off the arm of a marble angel and hauled out a binder and a flashlight. “I’m the only professor under thirty who hasn’t gotten the fuck out of here after three months, Mr. Bishop. This shitty school wouldn’t even have a goddamn newspaper if it wasn’t for me, Mr. Bishop. Fuck, this is cold,” she muttered, glaring down at the polished granite with distaste before sliding down onto the grass, leaning back against the tombstone she’d just climbed off of. “I’m doing important work, here.”

Gwen opened the binder, eyeing the hand-drawn map of the Long Sleep Cemetery and tracing the scraggly line of bright red X’s that marked out fourteen ravaged graves, then flipping to a map of the entire city, which was covered in yellow dates around the church, hospital, and veterinary clinic. She glanced from these to the mausoleum she was staking out, like the ghoul would just appear there if she looked hard enough.

“Come on, asshole,” she said, flopping back against the tombstone and turning off the flashlight. “I know I did this right, so just show up where you’re supposed to.”

It was crazy, she knew all that. Knew her meticulous tracking of local robberies and vandalism looked from the outside like the scribblings of a madwoman fraying her last nerve. It was why she took so much care in repackaging every piece of evidence into a series of respectable, ponderous, academic -- boring, if she was being perfectly honest with herself -- books.

A series of respectable, academic, unpublished books.

Because this was all crazy. Believing in undead monsters that needed to consume the living (or recently-dead) was crazy. Objectively, she was probably rather crazy.

The thing was, she was right.

She just had to find a way to prove it.

“You’re not good at this, are you?”

Gwen jumped at the voice and whipped around, brandishing her flashlight in one hand and her binder in the other -- before she overbalanced and had to drop both, catching herself before she fell flat on her back in the dew-drenched grass. “Whaatherfucke --”

So. Not much like Buffy at all.

Her attacker was thin, stretched out and lanky like a very short Slenderman. As he stepped around the gravestone and moved towards her, his eyes reflected the light from a nearby streetlamp like a cat’s, gleaming out from underneath the dark hoodie that obscured most of his features.

Human eyes don’t glow like that.

She snatched up her flashlight and flicked it back on; she tried not to shine it in his face, but he flinched away from it anyway, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. The light revealed a narrow brown face that was sickly yellow underneath the eyes and nearly gray in the hollows of his cheekbones. “Kids aren’t supposed to be out after ten pm,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She took in the teenager’s slouchy grace, the way he walked as though every movement was both naturally easy and indescribably exhausting.

“No one’s supposed to be in the graveyard after it closes, but that didn’t stop you,” he replied, slumping against the marble angel and watching her with those unnerving catlike eyes.

She’d found her ghoul.

Gwen drew herself up, standing so she could look down at him. “I have permission,” she lied. “I’m conducting research on the series of grave-robbings in the last few wee --”

“My dad’s a cop with really shitty password protection. You don’t have permission for shit.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re one of those nuts who wants to hunt vampires.”

“Ghouls aren’t vampires,” she corrected before she could stop herself, the pedantic need to be right temporarily overpowering her common sense. “Blood is evidently not an essential component of their diet, and -- you know what, this is a stupid conversation and I’m not having it.” She settled back against her tombstone and turned her gaze to the mausoleum her ghoul was supposed to be raiding instead of making snide comments about her profession. “Go get your dead person snack.”

The kid jolted, and she watched his look of horror out of the corner of her eye. “How the fuck --” He shook his head, a shock of floppy black hair escaping the hoodie and falling over one of his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She pulled her binder back into her lap with a small grunt of effort. Christ, this thing was getting heavy. “Whoever’s been raiding the cemetery’s been really smart about it,” she said, refusing to look up at him. “Always hits it just as the attention is beginning to die down -- pardon the pun -- and always far enough from the others that the area is totally isolated. But they do it without making it look like a pattern.” She glanced up at him, a little gratified to see him leaning over her map curiously. So this was what validation felt like! “I’d been wondering how they knew when to sneak back in here, but . . . having a dad in the police force might do it, if the cop was dumb enough.” She turned to another section of her notes, an alphabetical list of everyone in the SPPD. “I knew I should’ve paid more attention to their families,” she mumbled, flipping through the officers. “Which of you is the idiot with an undead son?”

“Hey, fuck you!” he snapped, stepping away from the binder and back to the marble angel. “You can’t just go around calling people monsters because they’re wandering around a graveyard. Hell, that makes you sound just as much like one of those things as me.”

Gwen ticked off on her fingers without looking up from the police directory: “Alarmingly thin, glowing eyes, a bit of a nasty undead pallor -- bet people are constantly asking if you’re sick --”

“Again, fuck you.”

“-- and a tricky-but-predictable pattern of raiding cemeteries, morgues, and . . . have you been eating dead animals?” She glanced up at him then with a frown. “I didn’t know ghouls could do that.”

“They can’t,” he muttered, kicking at the grass, “but it was worth a shot.”

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. This was her first legitimate monster sighting! She wasn’t crazy! “It’s all circumstantial, of course. You never really know if you’ve got a ghoul or just someone with, like, lupus. But the cat-eye thing was a big tip off. Also, you know, hanging out in the cemetery when no one in their right minds would go anywhere near the place.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she cringed. “Yes, fine, I heard it.”

“So you’re like an expert in useless information no one gives a shit about, huh?”

She thought about getting offended, but he was kind of right. At least, a boatload of publishers would agree with him. “Yeah . . .”

He looked back over at the mausoleum thoughtfully, and she couldn’t help but be curious. “Does it taste good when it’s been dead for a while?” she asked. She was sorely tempted to grab her pencil and notebook, but that might scare the kid off. “I’ve read it’s not supposed to be as . . .” Nutritious just felt gross, in this context, so she let the sentence trail off.

He shrugged. “A little bland, but I kinda like it better. Got this weird kind of . . . cheesy aftertaste? Not like I’ve had cheese since I was a kid, but like that really smelly stuff rich people put on everything.”

“That’s pretty disgusting.” She couldn’t quite keep the note of appreciation out of her voice. (She’d always been a sucker for gory movies.) “So what’s with the change?”

“What’re you talking about?”

That was in her other binder. Gwen rustled through her backpack until she found the right one and opened it up to a spread of newspaper clippings. “All the killings. Two this week, three in the last two months. I haven’t put a map together yet --” and god, she already felt tired thinking about it, “-- but they don’t seem to have any sort of pattern. I figure it can’t be you because, well, all my research suggests that if you were eating fresh kills you’d be a lot more . . .” She gestured vaguely at him. “Alive-looking.”

He bared his teeth, and if they were sharper-looking than normal she was almost positive that was just her imagination. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

She didn’t, but that was beside the point. “So do you know who’s doing this?” she asked, scrambling to her knees and finally giving in to the urge to grab her pen. “Can you tell me? I interned as a police sketch artist, so even if you just describe them I bet I could --”

“You expect me to narc?”

“They’re killing people!”

“Eh, I --”

“Max?”

They were both blinded; squinting past the flashlight, Gwen could barely make out a male figure. The newcomer lowered the light, stepping forward. His eyebrows drew together as he took in the scene: a kid lounging on a tombstone, having a conversation with a woman kneeling in the damp grass surrounded by open books and binders. “What are you doing out here? You know it’s past curfew!”

The ghoul -- Max, it seemed -- rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s not like you’re gonna arrest me. I just saw this weird lady sneaking into the graveyard and wanted to see what she was doing.”

As surreptitiously as she could, Gwen glanced down at the list of police officers in her lap, comparing the smiling photos to the grim-faced man shaking his head at Max. Officer David E. Greenwood. On the force for about ten years. According to some gossip she’d scribbled in the margin, he’d turned down the opportunity to become a detective a few years ago, holding onto his lower-paying desk job for the sake of his --

His son.

“Miss?” Greenwood waved the flashlight, dragging her attention back to the conversation. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave the --”

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled, shoving her work back into her bag. “You know, I should get a special pass or something for doing research,” she said, more to herself than to the officer.

He cocked his head to the side, looking for all the world like a big puppy wearing a police badge. “Well, I’m afraid we can’t do anything like that, but I’d be very interested in learning what you’re researching!” He frowned. “Actually, you look familiar . . .”

“I used to be the department intern,” she said with a shrug. She was a little older than Greenwood, so it wasn’t like he’d have been working there to remember --

“Oh, Gwen! Yes, of course I’ve heard all about you!” He took a step forward, like he was about to wrap her up in a hug, before his smile dimmed a bit and he coughed lightly into his fist. “Mr. Campbell speaks very highly of you! He’s been saying he wishes more people would be willing to work for no money, but I’m sure he just meant that you did such a fantastic job! You work at the college now, right? You know, I’ve been meaning to take some classes but I just haven’t had the time --”

“Dad,” Max interrupted, “it’s cold as fuck. Can we just go?”

“Right! Sorry, Max.” He shot his son -- though they really looked nothing alike -- an apologetic grin before turning the smile toward her. “If you’ll just follow me, ma’am. Goodness, isn’t it lovely out here at night? Sometimes I wish . . .”

When they were outside, Max broke through Greenwood’s stream of pleasantries. “Hey, can I talk to her for a second before we go?” When they both shot him a confused, surprised look, he shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, hunching his shoulders defensively. “What? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Greenwood hummed thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gwen.” He shook her hand enthusiastically.

“You too, officer.”

“Please, call me David!” He winked, then strolled along the outer cemetery wall until he was well out of earshot, his hands clasped behind his back like a military at-ease. Max scuffed his shoe along the asphalt; Gwen had dealt with enough students to know not to push him, so she watched the clouds slide like molasses along the sky and waited.

“You know a lot about this stuff, huh? Like, it’s useless, but you still have a lot of research.” She nodded, watching curiosity wage war with misanthropy across his face. Finally he blurted out, “So can I read some of it sometime? I mean, it’s probably mostly bullshit, but . . .”

She’d given up on carrying copies of her books around with her, on the off chance that someone might be interested if it came up in conversation. “I’m usually on campus at noon,” she said. “Stop by my office. I’ve got a couple things you could borrow.” She fought to keep the eagerness out of her voice, but the thought of her self-bound books actually being read by someone was way too exciting.

Even if that someone was a moody undead kid with the most improbable home life she’d ever heard of.

He nodded, a little awkwardly, and started to walk away before she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you gonna be all right without eating?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t the first time.”

Gwen hesitated. It could get so so fired, but . . . “Listen, I work some nights at the hospital morgue. Just like, processing bodies and stuff.”

“I thought you were a professor.”

She sighed. “Adjunct,” she admitted. “Only part time. Anyway, I can’t always . . . like obviously we’d have to be really careful, and there’s no real good way to . . . but if there’s actual murderous ghouls around you probably shouldn’t be so hungry they’ll kick your ass or something --”

“How did you make offering help come out so insulting?” Max sounded impressed. He glanced over his shoulder at David, then raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “We’ll work something out, yeah. Beats digging up coffins all night.”

David meandered back in their direction. “Would you like to be walked home, Miss Gwen? It’s not safe to be out alone at this time of night.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, sure.”

She knew how dangerous it was. Had written hundreds of pages on the subject, in fact.

But it was nice, for the first time in her life, to feel like she’d actually accomplished something useful.

“Dad wants you to come over for dinner again.”

Gwen jumped; Max had an infuriating tendency to just appear in doorways without a sound, usually when she was deep in concentration doing something else. She thought maybe he enjoyed scaring her. “I have class tonight,” she said, taking the book he held out, “but tell him thanks.”

Max slouched into the chair on the other side of her desk, watching her dig through her books for the next one in the series. Over the past few weeks he’d been going through her research, and while his habit of writing corrections or commentary in the margins -- with pen, no less! -- was unbelievably annoying, she was making more progress in two months than she had in years. “Second time this week,” he observed.

It took her a second to realize what he was saying. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I appreciate it. Seriously, make sure you thank him for me.” Dinners with Max and David were a little awkward, mostly because only David seemed to really want to be there, but it certainly beat microwave dinners in front of her computer.

“I think he likes you.”

She made a dismissive noise. “He likes everyone,” she said. In fact, she’d made it a personal goal to hear him say something unkind about somebody. It was unsuccessful so far, but she had faith. She handed him the next book, watching him turn it over in his hands appraisingly with something almost like nervousness. It was one thing to have someone read your life’s work -- it was quite another when the person reading your work was also literally the subject of it.

“So you’re gonna stop by after class, right?”

“I -- no?” Sure, sometimes Gwen did, if she’d forgotten to give Max something or if David’s texts had seemed especially plaintive; she got the sense that his life wasn’t as sunshine-and-rainbows as he tried to make it seem, and watching TV or sitting out on the porch after Max had disappeared into his room wasn’t much of a sacrifice. But it wasn’t a habit or anything. “Maybe I have shit to do.”

He snorted. “No you don’t.”

She didn’t, but she didn’t need to be reminded of the life she didn’t have by an obnoxious kid who literally had no life.

When she didn’t respond he stood up, tucking her book under his arm. “So I’ll tell Dad you’ll be by after class. And I’m gonna be at Neil’s tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Ugh, don’t make me say it. It’s fucking gross.”

Gwen watched Max lope out of her office, wondering if he was aware that he’d just told her his father was lonely. And that it worried him.

“For fuck’s sake, just go out already!”

Her pen jerked a scraggly line across the paper, jagged and uneven like the sudden spike in her heart rate. “Why can’t you knock, you shitty excuse for a Halloween monster?” she growled, shoving her notebook aside and glaring up at him.

He set her book on her desk with surprising gentleness for someone who reportedly didn’t care about anything. “First, Dad is so goddamn annoying, and if I have to hear him talk about how ‘sweet that Miss Gwen is, don’t you think so, Max?’ one more time I’m gonna eat him. Second, it’d probably be easier to sneak me food if you were dating, since it’d be less weird for me to hang out with my stepmom.”

“I’m not going to ask David out so it’s easier for you to feed,” she said, bristling at “stepmom.”

“No, you’re gonna do it because you keep staring at him like a creep whenever you think he’s not looking. That’s third, by the way,” he continued, holding up three fingers. “The only thing more annoying than him being all moony and stupid is you being all moony and stupid.”

“That . . .” is not true was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to say it. The problem was, she’d gotten accustomed to spending more evenings a week at the Greenwoods’ house than her own, and had started to find it more comforting. Which didn’t mean that she was interested in David, of course, but she’d been . . . surprised, by him.

By his genuine interest in her, and his support of her research even though it clearly made him uneasy. (Which was fair; “hey I think those murders you’re investigating are undead monsters” was a pretty uncomfortable thing to talk about, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to listen.)

By how he remembered stupid little things, like her favorite foods, and how even when he was thoughtless and absent-minded it never seemed to piss her off the way it should.

By his horrible sense of humor and his worse taste in TV shows. By how his eyelashes were longer than hers, and framed his eyes so prettily. By the freckles she could only see when they were sitting thigh-to-thigh on the couch, or when he pulled her in for a goodnight hug. By --

Well, fuck.

“Everyone I know is a fucking idiot,” Max groaned, tugging her out of her heart-attack-inciting epiphany. He ran his hands through his hair -- glossy and sleek because he’d eaten last night; everything about him was glowing and lively compared to usual, making him look almost human -- and stood. “Don’t even bother getting me the next book. You can drop it off with Dad tonight.”

“But he didn’t invite me to dinn --” She cut herself off at the look of pure exasperation he gave her, one that implied he couldn’t even deign that with a response.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered, slipping out of her office.

“Okay, I know I basically made this happen because you’re both too dumb to function, but I’m hating every second of this. I take it all back.”

David practically leapt out of Gwen’s chair, almost knocking her out of his lap and face-first into a concussion courtesy of the corner of her desk. “M-Max! What are you doing here?!”

She just sighed, adjusting her position so she wasn’t in danger of falling and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “He does this.”

“I’m a student, Dad. I belong here.” He held up the binder -- Gwen’s most recent book in the making -- with a sharp, sarcastic grin. He was looking a little gray and drawn, and she made a mental note to grab him some intestines or something that wouldn’t be missed at work that night. When he was looking sick like this, his inhumanness stood out in stark relief, like the crisp lines of his teeth that were too big and too pointy for his supposedly-human mouth.

“In high school! Why aren’t you in class?”

He shrugged. “Lunch break,” he said. Gwen and David exchanged a look, because neither of them knew if that was true. It’d been a while since either of them had been students, after all. Dropping the binder on Gwen’s desk, he retreated to the door like he was afraid to coming too close to them. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“Um . . . lunch break,” David replied weakly, his face flushing.

Gwen picked up a stress ball and lightly tossed it at Max’s head. “Get out of here, you little shit.”

“I hate you both. See you at dinner,” he said casually, ducking out of the office and letting the door bang shut behind him.

David sighed, shaking his head. “Do you think he looks sick, Gwen? I’m worried he’s coming down with something.”

She winced. “Probably a 24-hour bug. Bet he’ll be fine tomorrow,” she said, ducking her face into the crook of his neck and kissing behind his ear. Sometimes she couldn’t fathom how someone who knew about ghouls could miss the fact that his own son was one.

But then again, David wasn’t an academic, and he certainly wasn’t trained in this kind of thing. And he had a tendency to ignore red flags when it came to people he cared about.

It was one of the things she loved most about him.

[simplebearperson]

AFK, BRB.

Discord let out a long and loud sigh as he melded himself onto his couch. "There's absolutely NOTHING going on right now! This is it, this is how I disappear. Again!"

As much as he desired to pester his favorite Pegasus, Fluttershy was out of Ponyville, doing her annual visit with the Breezies. Spike was busy with Twilight and the school, as well as Big Mac with the apple family orchard, so they were all out too. For once in his millennia of being (somewhat) alive, the master of chaos...had nothing to do. At all. And it was making him worry for his well-being. The other ponies were just...too mundane and so...so ORDINARY and uninteresting! It wasn't his fault they were so...bland. But it was their fault for not being a reliable source of entertainment, but he found it within himself to forgive them. I've grow oh so exponentially since finding friendship, I never cease to amaze myself. Maybe I should write a book about it.

Discord drummed his digits along the arm of the couch, sighing once more as he let his eyes roll...out of their sockets to the ground below, making squeak toy sounds as they did. "Confound those breezies, taking up valuable time that could be much better spent with-- Hellooooo~. What is this doing here?"

One of his detached eye balls caught a glimpse of a black cable beneath his couch, one that was unfamiliar. Certainly not from any lamp he owned anyway. He blinked a few times as his body shrunk down to the size of a dust bunny and observed this new finding. Discord gave it several light tugs, trying to hear for where it was coming from. If the aforementioned lamp broke as a result, well, more power to it. Literally. That's how the thing works. Several more tugs, harder this time. To his surprise, there was an answering tug right back, making Discord pitch forward from the force of it. Grumbling to himself, he follows the cord to a very slight nook where the carpet meets the railing of the wall.

"What in blue blazes?"

Discord dug his feet into the floor and pulled at the cord with all his might, trying to pull in whatever was at the end of it. He immediately regretted everything as the cord took on a serpentine-like shape, hissed at him and coiled around his body, yanking him down into the nook.

A sudden cry of alarm rang out as Discord felt himself collide with something at the other end. Something that was solid and...fuzzy??

"Ohhh...what the what was..?" A voice that was not his own spoke out. "Oh! Well, this is new."

Still stuck to the cord, Discord felt himself being lifted up. He shook the dizziness from his head, trying to stop his vision from swimming long enough to see where he was and who he was with. He was met with a beige wall of fur, with yellow eyes and a black mane tied back. Also, rectangle spectacles. What's this? Another draconequus?? They looked slightly irked, to his confusion. And super fluffy.

"Heya, could ya do me a favor, neighbor, and quit pulling on my power cable please? I'd really appreciate it."

Discord seemed to become more alert at their words, surprise turning into indignation. "P-Power cable? Do you mean to tell me that you're asking me to stop pulling on your power cable? When you're the one mooching off MY utilities?"

Discord snapped his talons and poofed the cable away, a scowl on his muzzle. The other draconequus rolled their eyes (said eyes remaining in their head) and held up a massive bear-like paw, taking an invisible hold of Discord and bringing him along into their home. "I never said it was your utilities I was using, you old coot. Your home is connected directly to the chaotic dimension."

As they ventured further in, Discord took note of the bare tackiness of the other creature's home. Normal furniture, normal kitchenware, normal...everything. And what was that black device they were holding onto in their other paw? "Then what was your cable doing there in the first place?"

They settled down in, what Discord perceived as, the living room, where he was released onto a simple brown couch as the other drac planted themselves onto a black leather recliner that sat in front of a...box? Adjacent from Discord sat. "You're directly nestled comfortably in the chaotic dimension, whereas my home is, literally, between dimensions. Like that awkward little crevasse between the fridge and the stove. I need chaotic energy to live here. Hence, where the cable came in. So it isn't...mooching off you, per se. It's more of...mooching through you."

The other drac adjusted themselves in their recliner, bringing up the black device in both their paws and began moving their thumbs, bringing some sort of character to life. Above the character was a light blue name that read "Sorbet". Said character was currently running around (or smashing around, if that fist was any indication) in a place where metal characters were, some of them the same color blue and others were a bright red. Discord looked around and saw thin cases with titles and strange characters on their fronts and observed each of them. "'Overlook'? 'FellThrough'? 'Final Fantactics'?? What kind of tomes are these? They look...too flimsy to be actual books, and there's no pages. OR pictures inside! And what kind of name is 'Sorbet'?"

With a light, annoyed breath, the draconequus stopped their character and regarded their guest. "Those are my games, not books. And well, 'shaved Ice' was already taken, so I used the next best thing. Not a safe thing to do by the way, I advise against using actual names in a console."

"Con...soul?"

Sorbet dragged her paw down her face as she groaned. "Right. I forget. All of these things you see here", she points to a small monolith looking thing (router), the "tomes" in Discords' hands (cases) and to a big square black box (console of choice) by the even bigger, slimmer box (50' flat screen) on a book-case like display. "All of these things are from one of the dimensions I frequent. They're just so much fun!"

A mischievous grin spread across Discords' muzzle and Discord poofs atop Sorbet's head. "So all of these...doohickeys are from another world, in a way. Is that what I just heard?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if I could do it, I thought we all could. Made sense anyway."

"So, there are...other worlds to wreak havoc on?"

"From my experience, yes." As they spoke more, Sorbet began moving the sticks beneath her claws. In turn, the massive character she controlled moved the way she moved it. It suddenly stops as Discords' face showed up in place of its own head.

"So then Why aren't you out sowing chaotic oats throughout the worlds?! You're just...sitting there, taking control of these...heroes?? Ugh, such tasteless attire this one has. Why take control of them when you can just hop right in and make your own fun! I mean, where's the fun in playing fair?~"

With a grumble, Sorbet reached her paw into the screen and pulled out Discord, then resumed another game. This time playing as a female character with scary looking hands. Perhaps it was a harpy. "Look, I get it. Believe it or not, I have done some chaotic stuff in my greenhorn years, but...there's something relaxing about playing through a visual story line or just blowing up stuff in a simulated scenario! Well, for me anyways- OH, C'MON!!"

Discord looked to the screen with a start. A big metal...thing just got destroyed while she was spraying gold at them, after which she too met her demise at the hands of some laughing explody guy and a big, pink haired angry looking female. "I WAS RIGHT THERE HEALING YOU, YOU GOOB! SPAM ALL YOU WANT, I WAS RIGHT THERE DOING MY JOB!!"

She hears a snort of amusement from her guest, and Sorbet purses her chops. "Oh yes, real relaxing. Mm-hm."

"Here", Sorbet paws over a thin, rectangle device with another game on it to Discord. "Try this one out. All you have to do is touch-and-drag the cards. So simple, even a relic like you can get it."

Discord arches his white brows in confusion as he reads the title. "'Heroes of the Hearth'? What kind of-"

"Just give it a shot! If you can complete one game, then I'll take you to one of the dimensions."

"That's it? Just one? Bwahahahahahahaa!! Be ready to have a chariot for me, I have very demanding...demands when it comes to traveling."

"Oh yeah", Sorbet tosses out from over her shoulder. "No chaos magic allowed!"

"WHAT?!?"

"Hey, If I can play these without magic, then so can you! Unless, you can't, that is. I understand completely if you need a handicap. I just thought the actual master of chaos could...y'know, do it. Ack!"

In a literal flash of magic, Discord is glaring daggers at Sorbet as he presses her muzzle, snout-to-snout, in a challenging manner. "Very well, you're on!"

Sorbet watches as Discord plants himself onto her couch and hears him grumble as he tries to tap and slide his paw across the screen. She chuckles to herself and resumes her own playing. That oughta buy me some time. Now then... A digital voice announces the start of another game, displaying two separate rows of names. One in particular name, on the red side, makes Sorbet narrow her eyes and grip her controller. We meet again on the battle field...Moonlit underscore M4R3*!

-End

Author's Note:

* This was a made-up name for this fic, and is not related to any [known] player, though I wouldn't doubt it.

[quickeningheart]

Nine

     Alley muttered to herself and punched the button on the elevator, waiting for the lift to carry her up to another floor. This was the fifth ride she’d taken so far in search of the elusive Main Office, and her nerves were about shot. And it was totallyStoker’s fault. He’d had her so turned around that she’d taken off without remembering to grab the GPS out of Priscilla’s glove-box, thus leaving her to find her way to the Chicago Institute of Art and Design without so much as a road map to guide her.

    After two hours of battling downtown mid-afternoon traffic, getting turned around twice (once going the wrong way up a one-way street), stopping at three different convenience stores to ask for directions, she’d finally made it to the main campus located three miles outside of the actual city. Only to be faced with another conundrum: the campus really was huge. The four buildings on the campus were huge. And only one of them contained the offices where she was supposed to fill out the final papers to turn in for the start of her school year.

    On a whim, she’d picked the biggest building that was located the furthest from the gated entrance, which had thankfully been the right choice (according to the random student she’d asked in passing). But now that she was in the place she was supposed to be, she found herself confused and lost all over again. The large floor layout maps hanging on the walls by the elevators and escalators were proving less than useful. Big red dots with the words “You are here” graced every one, but the maps themselves were all wrong, and didn’t seem to match the actual floor plans at all. So no matter where Alley supposedly was, she couldn’t help feeling like she was supposed to be somewhere else altogether!

    The elevator dinged, the door slid open, and she stomped out of the lift and turned right … only to run headlong into a wall of books and poster tubes, hard enough to knock herself flat on her ass. There was a startled yelp from behind the book-wall as it promptly came tumbling down, scattering tomes and tubes all around her. And the tall, skinny man who’d been holding them blinked owlishly at her from the wire-framed glasses that had been knocked askew on his nose.

    “I am so sorry!” Alley cried, scrambling to her knees to help pick up the scattered books. Her entire body was flaming with mortification. “I wasn’t looking and I knocked into you and I am just so sorry,” she babbled.

    “No worries,” the man grunted, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t exactly looking where I was going, either. What with the books blocking my view and all.” He offered a crooked grin, soft gray eyes smiling down at her through an unkempt mop of sandy brown curls. “You okay?” He offered a hand to help her up, which she gratefully accepted. “No broken bones or anything?”

    “Nah, I’m fine. How about you?” she replied. “I hit you pretty hard.”

    “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s used to being knocked on his ass by girls.”

     The man heaved a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes as a woman dressed all in purple and black joined them. She smirked at him and kicked a poster tube out of her way with a well-worn engineer boot. “This your new method for picking up women? Play the injured puppy and get them cooing and drooling all over you in sympathy?” she teased.

    “Don’t you have some kittens to eat or something?’

    “I upgraded my diet to pig hearts this week. More protein.”

    Alley watched the two of them banter, fascinated. They were as different as two people could be. If she had to put a title, he was classic preppy nerd while the girl was clearly the punk-goth type. In normal society, these two would hardly take time to look at each other, much less interact like … well, a lot like her and Charley did, actually.

    “Are you two related by chance?” she blurted, and felt herself blushing all over again when the pair stopped talking and turned to face her. Goth Chic had gray eyes, too, she noted, heavily made up with dark shadow and liner. And she suspected that under the cherry-red hair dye, the girl’s natural hair color was also brown.

    “You’re good,” Goth Chic commented. “Most people don’t figure it out on the first try. You must have an annoying brother, too.”

    “I’m an only child, actually. But my cousin and I get along pretty much the same way,” Alley explained. “So, you’re siblings?”

    “Yeah, we’re twins. Can’t you tell?” Goth Chic’s voice was so bland, Alley couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

    Preppy rolled his eyes and smacked his sister across the head. “What the birth defect means to say is her name is Constance Archer. And I’m Christopher.”

    “Call me Chex,” the girl put in. “If you call me Constance or Connie, I'll be forced to kill you. You can call him the Mutant Hobbit.” Another smack over the head from said Hobbit. “Okay, fine, call him Chris.”

    Alley laughed. “Alley Davidson,” she said. “Freshly relocated from Florida. And you’re from?”

    “Oh, we’re born-and-bred Illinoisans,” Christopher replied with a grin. “Chi-town residents for the past ten years. A little town called Penbrooke before that.”

    “They call it a town, but it’s more like a speck of dirt on a map. You know, the kind you try and scratch off with your fingernail.” Chex demonstrated by scratching the air with a black-painted nail. "Oh, speaking of maps, I probably should tell you, the maps on the walls? They’ve been switched around.”

    Alley’s brow furrowed. “Switched?”

    “Yeah.” Chris nodded at the map behind them. “That one says Atrium floor, but the Atrium is actually in another building. This is the Hospic floor. Who knows where that map ended up.”

    Alley’s jaw dropped. “No wonder I can't figure out where I am!” she huffed. “What morons went and switched the maps?”

    “Just some prank from the senior students,” Chex said with a shrug. “The frat houses tend to pull crazy shit like this to confuse the hell out of the newbies. Congrats. You can consider yourself officially initiated. Welcome to college. Just like high school, but with a lot more drinking.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   After picking up the rest of the books, the twins guided Alley to the correct office located on the first floor in the back of the building. They seemed to know their way around the place pretty well, and when Christopher told her why, she was astonished. “Your father is the dean?” she repeated.

    “Yeah, but don’t hold it against us,” Chex deadpanned. “We can’t help who we were born to.”

    “So you know this place pretty well, huh?”

    “We’ve been running around these buildings since we were kids. I always wanted to attend school here,” Chris told her. “My sister is here because her other option was Military boot camp, but the food is better here.”

    “Ah.” Alley grinned. “That would be those pig hearts you mentioned?”

    “And let us not forget the kittens,” Chex added. “So, what’re you majoring in?”

    “Well, because my parents absolutely insisted on me picking something I can make a real career out of, my major is graphic design. But since I’m not sure if that’s what I actually want to do, I’m minoring in creative writing and music composition, and looking into a few possible art courses for next semester.”

    “Sweet. Another writer type. I dig it.” Chex offered a high-five, but hastily reconsidered when she nearly dropped her armload of books. “What’s your preference? Novels? Poetry? Essays?”

    “Well, I don’t really know,” Alley admitted. “I’ve mostly kept journals and stuff, and I’ve written some song lyrics here and there, a few poems. But since I’ve never actually let anyone read any of it, I don’t know if they’re any good or not.”

    “You write music?” Chris asked.

    “Sort of. I didn’t take a lot of music classes in high school, but I do know my basics. I took piano lessons for eight years. I’m in the beginning course for music composition. I think it’d be fun to try writing my own songs.”

    “Do you sing, too?” he asked hopefully.

    “What’s with the twenty questions?” Chex nudged her brother. “Trying to recruit her for your little band?”

    Alley raised her eyebrows. “You’re in a band?”

    She must’ve sounded skeptical, because he drew himself up, looking a little wounded. “It’s nothing spectacular, just a garage band I put together back in high school, but we get decent gigs on weekends and stuff,” he replied. “It’s a lot of fun. Hang out, play good music. Get paid for it, even. Since we graduated, though, some of the members have left. The drummer headed to Oxford and our female lead singer is attending Juilliard. We’ve still got our bass and guitar players, and I sing and play the keyboard.”

    “That’s cool,” Alley said.

    “We’ll probably hold auditions for another keyboard player and singer once classes start. See if we can get some interest. It’d be great to keep the band going, if we can.”

    Chex cupped a hand to her mouth and added in a stage-whisper, “That’s a hint for you to show up and sing.”

    Chris mimicked the move. “She’s just mad ‘cause we won’t let her join. She can’t hold a note to save her life.”

    “Butthead.”

    “Birth defect.”

    “Awww, you guys love each other so much,” Alley teased. “Almost makes me wish I had a brother, too.”

    “Don’t. You’re better off,” Chex said blandly.

    Alley laughed. “So what’re you majoring in, Chex? You like writing, too?”

    “Connie has wanted to be a professional writer since she was old enough to pick up a pencil,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t get her started on the subject or you’ll never get her to shut up again.”

    “Don’t mind him.” Chex pulled a face at her brother. “ His ultimate goal in life is to be our dad’s personal Mini-Me. He fully plans to take over the position of dean when Pops retires.”

    “That’s not set in stone,” Chris muttered, blushing a little. “But it’s sort of a position that’s been passed down in the family since the school was founded. As the oldest son—”

    “As the only son,” she cut in with a snort.

    Chris shot her a brief glare before turning his attention back to Alley. “Our family founded this school,” he explained. "We don’t own it, per se, but it’s always been the Archer sons who have taken the position of dean.”

    “It’s got something to do with the founding father’s will or some sort of legal shit like that,” Chex put in, waving a dismissive hand. “Even though there’s a board of directors and all sorts of officials these days, they can’t kick an Archer son out of the position, unless he willingly steps down.”

    “So, when Dad retires, I’ll be taking over as the dean,” Chris finished.

    “Wow. That’s kind of nice, knowing you’ve got a career path all planned out for you.” Alley pursed her lips, considering. “Unless … you don’t want to be the dean? Then I guess it’d be kind of a pain in the ass.”

    “No, I’m willing to step into the position, but it’ll be after Dad retires, and since he’s only in his forties, that won’t be happening for awhile.”

    “So, what do you plan to do with yourself in the meantime?”

    “I’m majoring in musical composition, the advanced classes. I’d like a career in music. Maybe become a pianist, or even a teacher. It’d be kind of fun to teach classes here, actually.”

    Chex snorted. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, my brother really loves this school.”

    “Oh, like you’re one to talk.”

    Alley grinned as she listened to the twins’ bickering, which only ended when they finally reached their destination. “The offices are right through here," Chris announced, pushing open a set of swinging doors to reveal a posh waiting room.

    “The dean’s office technically closes at five,” Chex said, “but being his kids gives us certain advantages.” She flashed a cheeky smile at the secretary and sauntered down the short hallway as if she owned the place, stopping before a closed door. “Hey, Pops, you in?” she called.

    “C'mon in,” came a deep voice from the other side. Chex pushed the door ope and stepped into a large, richly furnished office with Chris and Alley bringing up the rear. “Got those books and posters you wanted,” she grunted, dumping her armload onto the mahogany desk. The dark-haired man on the other side glanced up from his ledger, gray eyes crinkling with a smile.

    “Thanks, kids.” His eyes fell on Alley. “I’m sorry, young lady, the office is closed now.”

    “Um,” Alley began, but Chris hastily stepped in. “She’s with us,” he explained. “She got lost trying to get here because someone went and switched all the floor maps on the walls.”

    “Again?” Mr. Archer rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t we just go through that last year?”

    “Better up the security, Pops.” Chex took her brother's armload of books and unceremoniously dumped them into an empty armchair. “Tricky bastards, those seniors.”

    “Language, Constance,” the dean sighed.

    “Sorry, Sir.” She didn't sound sorry at all.

    “Alley has some more papers she needed to sign. Think she could do that real quick? After all the trouble she had getting here and all…” Chris prodded.

    “Sure, sure. Have Mary pull the file. Alley, was it? You can sit at the table out there and finish what you need. I just ask that you be done by six thirty. That’s when Mary has to leave.”

    “Oh, that’ll be plenty of time. Thank you, Sir,” Alley replied gratefully, placing the poster tubes she was holding on the chair beside the books. She stood awkwardly, wondering if she should bow or curtsy or something, and settled for a polite nod as she turned to follow Chex back to the waiting area.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Half an hour later, Alley was on the final paper, filling in her new address. She jotted Charley’s house phone down as a temporary number until she could buy a cell phone. She considered who to put as the emergency contact. Her parents were on the other side of the States, so they were out. Charley was the only person she knew in this city, aside from the mice, but she could hardly use their names. She wasn’t sure if they even used phones. Probably best to leave it blank for the moment. She could always fill it later.

    She glanced at the twins, who had for whatever reason decided to stick around; Chris had made himself comfortable in an armchair, absorbed in a well-worn copy of what looked like a science fiction novel.

    Chex lounged on a loveseat with her long black-and-purple-striped legs resting against the back of the couch and her bright red hair brushing the ground. She didn’t seem to care that her short, black-lace tutu skirt had ridden up her waist and now rested in a frothy pile on her stomach. Or that her upside-down face was slowly turning the same shade as her hair as her booted feet danced in the air, keeping time to whatever song was playing on her iPod. She completely ignored the disapproving glances both Mary and her brother kept tossing at her; if anything, they only seemed to encourage her as she drummed the air with her purple-gloved hands, body squirming as she danced on her back. Alley found herself grinning, wondering if she could convince Chex to come shopping with her for a new phone that week. She had a feeling that, despite their very different appearances, the two of them would get along swimmingly.

   A disturbance from the front of the waiting area caught her attention, and she looked toward the front desk, where three men had entered the doors and were casually strolling toward them, ignoring Mary’s frantic attempts to stop them.

    “Aw, shit,” Chex swore softly. “The Purple People Eater’s back.” She quickly flipped herself around and patted down her skirt, snatched a photography magazine off a nearby rack and hastily flipped it open. She didn’t seem to notice it was upside-down. “Keep your head down,” she hissed to Alley. “Don’t look at ‘em, don’t draw attention to yourself, and whatever you do, hold your breath. ”

    “Hold my—bwoaaarph,” Alley gagged as a most awful stench suddenly hit her like a brick to the face. She choked, one hand coming up to pinch her nose shut as she ducked her head, staring through tearing eyes at the forms in front of her. The three men passed them, and she dared to glance up for a better look, then did a triple-take. Purple People Eater was right! He was the largest man she’d ever seen. And he was dressed in the most glaringly purple pinstriped suit her eyeballs had ever had the misfortune to encounter. His greasy black hair was slicked back in some semblance of a coif and he carried a cane in one white-gloved hand. All he needed was a Tommy Gun and he’d be the epitome of the classic 1940s mob boss.

    He noticed her staring, gave her a cold smile that sent a chill shivering up her spine, and sauntered down the short hallway to Mr. Archer’s office. The two henchmen following him, looking more like typical thugs on a street corner than anything, didn’t even glance her way. She watched them go, wondering why in the world she felt like she’d seen him before.

    As soon as the office door opened and shut, Alley released her breath and gasped for air for a moment. “Holy hell,” she hissed. “Did somebody drop that guy into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

    Chex burst out laughing and reached over to slug her brother in the arm. “See? I told you I wasn’t the only person in the world who watches Labyrinth!”

    “Well, we all must have some flaws,” Chris sniffed, shutting his book.

   “Says the guy reading The Man Who Fell to Earth for the umpteenth time.”

    “It’s a classic book!”

    “And Labyrinth is a classic movie!"

    “Guys!” Alley snapped her fingers to get their attention. “Focus. Who was that?”

    “Trouble,” Chris grumbled. “He’s been coming around lately. Dad says he’s been trying to convince him to sell him the school or something. He wants the land around it.”

    “Yeah, he seems to have it in his head that Pops owns the place and has the legal authority to sell out, or can convince the board members to sell out, or something. I dunno, the guy’s a nutball.” Chex circled her temple with a finger.

    “Well … hasn’t anyone called the cops on him or something?”

    “Won’t do any good.” Chris ran his fingers through his tousled curls, mussing them even further. “His thugs are there for show, but he hasn’t actually gotten violent or anything so they can’t toss his fat ass out. Dad wouldn’t, anyway. He prefers to keep the peace and try and talk things out.”

    “Yeah, he’s stupid like that,” Chex muttered, earning a glare from her twin.

    “Besides, we think he sort of owns the police. He lines their pockets and all.” Chris rubbed his fingers together.

    “He’s got some weird-ass cheese name,” Chex added. “Like, it really fits him, though.” She glanced at her brother. “What was it? Muenster? Pepperjack?”

    “Limburger,” Alley said quietly, as it abruptly hit her where she’d seen him before. In Throttle’s memories. “That’s Lawrence Limburger.”

    “Yeah! That’s it!” Chex laughed. “Smelly cheese for a really smelly guy!”

    “How often does he stop by?” Alley asked.

    “I dunno. He started coming around about two months ago. Once or twice a week, I guess. No big deal, really.”

    “No, listen, this is a big deal.” Alley shook her head. “That guy, he’s dangerous. He’s—” She stopped, struggling to think up a way to explain how dangerous. She doubted the truth would get her anywhere but locked up in a nuthouse. “He’s mafia,” she finally blurted. “He’s a boss in the mafia, and he’s buying up property all over the state to strip-mine it. He seems focused primarily on Chicago, though. My cousin, Charley? She’s been harassed by Limburger for years, trying to buy out her garage, or take it by force. She’s managed to resist, but only ‘cause she’s got some good friends helping her out. If it wasn’t for them, she’d be out of business by now. Possibly worse. He has gotten violent with her in the past. If something isn’t done to stop him, he’ll start using force to get what he wants here, too. Trust me on this, okay? I believe my cousin.”

    The twins stared at her, wide-eyed. Even Mary had stopped what she was doing to listen.

    “But, when he first showed up, Pops called the cops on him, and they didn’t do anything,” Chex finally said. “I mean, they said they couldn’t do anything.”

    “Never mind that he was legally trespassing, showing up after-hours without an appointment and even making veiled threats,” Chris added. “That’s why we figured he’s got the police in his pocket. They could’ve done something otherwise.”

    Alley chewed on her lower lip. “I gotta get back,” she decided. “I’ve been gone too long, anyhow. Charley needs her truck back, and I want to talk to the guys about this. Her friends, I mean. They can probably help, and the cops never even need to know.” She gathered the paperwork and slid it back into the folder, taking it to Mary.

    “You two should get yourselves home,” the secretary told the twins. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay and make sure Mr. Archer gets out safely. I’ll call security in to escort him if I have to.” She took the file from Alley and nodded. “Welcome to the Institute, Miss Davidson. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself here.”

    Alley flashed her a weak smile. “Well, can’t say it won’t be interesting, at least.”

Next

[ravenwolfie97]

here’s the 100% official timeline evolution of my tome oc!

1. my very first design, basically just my persona character from 2012 but with magical storm powers

2. a minor design update for TFA (my TOME Fan Animation) since the original was incredibly bland. now it is slightly less bland

3. my original TOME season 2 design that i sent in to kirb to put in the show. added the jacket to look cooler and add detail, changed the pants to green bc i had a pair that i wore a lot and i liked it better, and the ahoge/antenna hairstyle was changed bc i was annoyed by it

4. kirb’s official sprite from TOME S2! it was an overall more saturated and bright sprite, which fit with the color theme of the season. what was revolutionary about this one in particular was how he combined the dark blonde hair with the blue-gray wolf fur to make that grayish-purple! it ties together with the wings, too, which i had issue with at first since they were so small, but i got used to them and ended up liking them a lot

5. my adaptation of the sprite! i messed with the colors a tad, but mostly kept it the same

6. a personal update to my persona/tome oc! it was an experiment, an attempt at a rebirth, but i wasn’t sure if it was gonna stick. now, i can’t get enough, i love this design!

kirb even drew it as an icon for me two years ago on his birthday stream!

and speaking of kirbopher...

7. the official tomerpg overworld sprite! i loved the addition of the ear tips and tail color matching the fringe, just to make it all go together!

and now...

8. the only good colored/digital version of their new design!

and that’s all for now! they’ve come a long way, for certain. i couldn’t be happier with their evolution

[serenitylost]

Hi all! I’m new to the fandom, but figured I’d jump right in with a bit of fanfic.

It’s a little late (ended up being longer than I planned), but this is for Julian Week @thearcanaweek, Day 1: Plague.

(Read it here or on AO3)

Julian paced restlessly, back and forth, back and forth, running long fingers through his hair. There had to be something more, something he was missing, something he had overlooked.

The wholly-insufficient ray of sunlight that fell through his small window was beginning to color and fade, the bars casting long, dramatic shadows across the cell. Another day nearly gone, another day without a cure. And he was beginning to think…

No. He stopped in his tracks, shaking his head vigorously. He couldn’t think that, he couldn’t give up. Not while so much, so many, were depending on him. Lucio could go to hell, but Julian wasn’t about to let the rest of the city follow him there.

He swept back toward the small desk, covering the distance in less than two strides, and slammed his hands on its surface. He glared down, eyes boring into the mess of papers and tomes as if he could draw a confession from them by sheer force of will. There had to be something here.

A sharp knock on the thick wooden door made him jump, his focus broken. It was followed by the loud clang of metal on metal as a bowl of something-or-other was shoved through the small flap. His dinner.

Julian sucked in air through his nose and blew it out in a long gust, fluttering the loose edges of paper on the table. He closed his eyes. His hands were trembling. He should eat.

The food was horrible of course: mealy and bland, some sort of homogeneous porridge with barely enough nutrition to keep him alive. He ate quickly and tried not to taste it any more than he had to.

Once finished, he returned to the desk, the stirrings of an idea beginning to nag at his mind. It was probably stupid, certainly dangerous, and more than likely wouldn’t work, but-

There was a metallic thud behind him, a heavy key turning in a heavy lock. He spun to face the door. What…?

The hinges squeaked in protest as the door flung open. Dust motes flailed in the fading light as the air shifted. A guard stepped briskly into the small room.

“Count Lucio has requested your presence.”

He was ushered unceremoniously into Lucio’s quarters, flanked by two guards. The room was much as he remembered it - too warm, too gaudy, and smelling just a touch too sweet.

And there was Lucio, sprawled in his bed, only able to sit (mostly) upright by virtue of the headboard and a half-dozen plush pillows that supported him. He looked absolutely terrible, his face gaunt, his eyes plague-red and swollen.

The Count grinned at Julian as he entered, a wicked smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Jules! Come in, come in. It’s been too long.”

Not nearly long enough, Julian thought, but plastered a smile on his face and replied, “That it has. I do hope you’ll forgive my rudeness, my lord. I would have stopped by earlier but I was, ah...detained.” His smile grew a little wider, proud of the joke despite himself, despite everything.

Lucio did not look particularly amused, his cruel grin unwavering. “And how is your research going? Surely you must have something for me by now?”

“I, ah... well. I have been working tirelessly, of course, and er -” Julian coughed nervously. “I- I’m afraid I still need more time.”

“Useless as ever,” Lucio sneered, his grin quickly morphing into a scowl. “But I knew that already.” He glared at Julian for a long moment, ugly displeasure coloring his plagued face.

Julian chewed his lip in worry. Why had the Count brought him here? What more could he possibly ask of him? He opened his mouth to speak, but Lucio cut him off before he could.

“I trust you have everything you need?” That wicked grin was back. “Your quarters are to your liking? You have-”

“Actually, I ah - it would be a great help if-”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Lucio snarled.

Julian fell silent. God, why did this man have to be so difficult?

Lucio cleared his throat weakly. “As I was saying. I just wanted to make sure that you’re comfortable.” Julian wasn’t sure, but it seemed that something in his expression grew even more wicked as he spoke. ”Are they feeding you well? How was your dinner?”

Julian waited a beat, but it seemed this particular question was not rhetorical. “Ah, well, the food is marvelous, of course. My compliments to the chef. Though if I’m being entirely honest, the bolognese could use a touch more parsley. Maybe a side of braised carrots?”

Lucio just grinned at him. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and-”

“You? Thinking?” Julian couldn’t help himself.

“-and,” Lucio continued, glaring, “I’ve realized something. I’ve realized that, despite everything I have done to help you, you still lack the motivation that you need to cure this goddamn plague. And I’ve-”

“I can assure you, my motivation is-”

CRASH.

Julian ducked just in time as a glass flew past his head, shattering against the wall behind him. Wine ran down the wallpaper like blood.

“I told you not to interrupt me!”

Julian swallowed, frowning.

“Where was I?” Lucio rubbed at the bridge of his nose, just above where it crinkled in a snarl. “That’s right. I’ve decided that it’s time I take it upon myself to offer you the motivation that you need.”

That...didn’t sound good. Julian fidgeted and glanced around at the guards beside him. He found he had a distinct dislike for the direction this meeting was going.

“And that is why, though it pains me so,” Lucio continued, grinning widely, “I have had your latest meal infected.”

Julian blinked, fixing his eyes on the Count. “You...what?”

Lucio’s expression dropped, all at once looking thoroughly annoyed.

“Infected, you slow-witted waste of breath. With the plague.”

Julian was...Julian was speechless. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Did he hear correctly? He worked his mouth in the empty air, grasping for words.

“I- you...what did- how...I can’t- why would you...what is- what is wrong with you??”

Suddenly his mind was racing. His meal was infected. He had eaten it, eaten all of it. But- but it wasn’t that long ago, really, maybe it wasn’t too late. If he could get his hands on an emetic - there was ipecac in the palace store…he could get it out of his stomach…

Julian’s feet began carrying him towards the door nearly of their own accord. Maybe, if he could only...

“Hold him!”

And then there were hands on him, dragging him back, a guard at each arm. He flailed against them, suddenly desperate, thinking only of what he could do, how he could stop this…

It was no use, of course. His opponents were strong and well-trained, and in mere moments he was pulled down to his knees before the Count, arms hopelessly entrapped in the guards’ grip.

He was panting now, head down, staring wide-eyed at the ground before him. What the fuck was Lucio thinking?

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

Julian grimaced and drew his gaze up to meet the Count, an almost painful feeling of disgust twisting in his stomach as he registered the lazy, smug smile on his face.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Lucio drawled. “Because you’re going to find a cure. That’s what you said. That’s what you promised me.”

Julian had made no such promises. For all he knew there was no cure; it could very well be impossible. And if it was...Julian glared at Lucio as the dread began to well up within him.

If it was...then he would die.

He set his jaw, his expression ablaze as he addressed the Count. “This won’t help you. This won’t help anyone. The weaker I get, the less I’ll be able to- to study, to think...to do anything. I’ll be useless to you.”

“Then you’d better hurry up, don’t you think?”

Lucio was still smiling, his eyes glinting with self-satisfied victory. Julian could argue with him all day, but...but it wouldn’t matter. The realization hit him in a wave of nausea. Despite his frantic mind, despite his desperate hope of stopping it, reversing it somehow...he knew. He knew in his gut that it was already too late.

“You...you’re sick,” he choked out.

“I am, Doctor Jules, I am. But now, so are you.”

[duskylory11]

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[samurulantis]

Alternate Ending (Maybe if he never met Isen?)

(Decided to go with a slight alteration. Thanks for the ask @nati-kun!)

(Alternate Ending - Samuru never left home with Isen)

So many years had passed since Samuru made a very vital but mistaken choice. He fondly recalled the plucky Hyur he'd met during his brief dabble with magic, who saved him from a hoard of angry imps on that fateful day. Even if Isen had brushed him off rather quickly, Samuru had been determined to follow him and learn more about someone he viewed as strong and confident; Two things he severely lacked in himself. When Isen offered for Samuru to go with him, the Elezen had nearly jumped at the chance.

Yet this time there would be a difference. His father would forbid Samuru from leaving, with a Hyur of all things, to go against what he considered Gridanian values. Instead of standing up to the man who intimidated him so greatly, he decided that perhaps father did know best. This rogue was all but a stranger to him, and maybe he was better off to stay home. Even when Isen protested to this choice, Samuru held his ground fast. This was for the best, it had to be. His father wouldn't lead Ru astray, would he?

With a huff, Isen had turned to take his leave of the Arcanist with jelly for a spine. Ru stood on his porch and watched as the rogue marched off until he disappeared into the thick forest, leaving him behind.

Samuru snapped out of his daydream, recalling that very moment from eons ago. He adjusted himself in the bar chair, adjusting the uncomfortable Woodwailer uniform with a wince. How he hated the damn thing, yellow certainly not his color. He adjusted his ponytail and reached down to grab his bow and quiver, rising from the seat.

"Hey Lantis, your shift done for the day?" Came a nearby voice. The Miqo'te woman was dressed in the same uniform, a co-worker it seemed.

"Aye. I am about to head back to my apartment, pet my cat and just sleep until the next Astral era." He'd mumble, waving a hand in the air as he took his leave. He had long since abandoned his ambitions of being an Arcanist, following the command of his father to pick up a Gridanian profession.

Samuru had always felt clumsy with the bow, his fingers covered in callouses from the hard wood and constant tugging at the taut string. Now and then he could hit his target with decent accuracy, but more often than not he was put on grunt duty due to how inept he was. This was cause for a great deal of mocking from his comrades, a miserable day to day existence.

Arriving at his modest apartment, he'd toss that acursed bow and quiver into a corner haphazardly with a grunt. "I hope they randomly burst into flames." He'd grumble while letting his hair down from that dreadful ponytail. A quiet 'meow' came from under Samuru's bed, a tiny calico cat emerging to greet the frustrated male. He'd scoop her up and cuddle her to his chest.

"I hope your day was better than mine, Grace." His brows knitting as he gave her head a little smooch. "I'll feed you in a moment--" His words were cut off as he heard a knock at the door, turning with a squint. "Who in the seven hells?" He put the cat down and turned to open the door, now face to face with an Elezen man.

"Arthurioux...I didn't expect you today. Please, come in." Stepping aside so the rather well to do male could step inside.

"Samuoux." Arthurioux said rather plainly, which caused the beauty to cringe. How he hated his birth name, and yet he knew his father would kill him if he ever changed it.

He recovered though, stepping forward to lean in for a kiss. He was promptly stopped with a single gloved finger smushed to his lips, standing there with an awkward blink. He'd lean back and look at the male in confusion, a man who bled arrogance and looked down on his smaller counterpart.

"Ahem, yes sorry." He'd state as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I fear I come with some unfortunate news. It seems that we must end our relationship. My parents have decided that I should be with someone a bit more...refined." His words cold, lacking any depth or care for the one whose heart he was breaking.

Samuru stood there in stunned silence, staring at him for what seemed like an eternity. "Surely you're joking. We've been together for the better part of a year. My father adores you and Gods know that is a rare thing. How can you be so empty about this situation? And what in the fucking hell do you mean 'more refined'?!" He grit his teeth, balling his fists as a fire ignited behind the oncoming pool of tears.

"This is it exactly, such foul language. Really Samuoux, you're too old to be using gutter slang like that. My family has already introduced me to an Ishgardian noble and he has been rather delightful. What is it you have really done with your life other than play puppet to your father, as good a man as he may be?" Arthurioux stated boldly, huffing at the upset man. "If you wish to only do things halfway, then I am sure there is some bar dweller that'll suit your fancy."

"How dare you!" Ru shouted, grabbing the nearest book at his disposal, flinging it hard at the source of his misery. It knocked him right in the head, causing the man to stagger and give Ru a look of shock. "You don't like gutter slang? Oh you're about to get an earful, you half-wit fop!" He'd continue to advance, grabbing another book to start whacking Arthur with with each seething sentence that left his mouth. "I didn't much care for you anyway! Yes, that's right...I thought you were a pretentious, boring, unmotivated spoiled brat. Oh and would it KILL you to participate in intimacy, rather than laying there like a dead rat?! I've seen corpses with more enthusiasm than you. Oh and one more thing, I don't think the way you laugh is cute at all. It sounds like an obnoxious trumpet struggling to play underwater!"

"Sam--" He tried to interject as he was beaten back toward the door.

"No, shut up. You don't get to speak over me anymore, or parade around like some big shot. You're nothing, do you hear me? NOTHING! Now get the FUCK out of my home. I never want to see your bland, stupid face again!" Promptly shoving the flabbergasted noble right out, slamming the door in his face.

Ru stood there for several moments, huffing angry breaths while clenching his make-shift weapon in his hand. Eventually he managed to take a seat, cupping his face with his palm and letting out a sob. How had he gotten here? He couldn't understand why his life had fallen into such utter misery. It was then he glanced at the book he'd grabbed, his brows knitting when he read the title. It was one of his old Alchemy books from his youth, a tome he'd long since put away and forgotten. He feathered his fingers along the spine, biting his lower lip as a realization finally hit him.

With a new flash of determination he promptly rose from the chair, throwing off his uniform to change into a comfortable shirt and pants. Once his cat had been fed, he'd grab his satchel and rush out the door. He was done being a welcome mat, and certainly done with being told what to do. As much as he hated to admit it Authur had at least one good point; He was a puppet to his father. Now he had many years of neglect to make up for, and only one person was on his mind now. But how could he hope to find the rogue now? Long gone, disappearing into obscurity with no real direction to start with. Yet Samuru couldn't stand to live one more day like he had been.

His search began where he'd last seen the man almost two decades prior, which turned up very little. Weeks passed, traveling from one side of Eorzea to the next. The name 'Isen Yumemiru' was either met with confusion or disgust, many not wishing to speak about it before moving on. This left Samuru frustrated, but he wouldn't let himself give up. Not again.

Shortly after arriving in Kugane and once again being turned away, Samuru flopped down at a table with a wince. "This is hopeless..."

"Excuse me." Piped up a voice of an older man, who approached the table where the Elezen sat. "Sorry but I couldn't help to overhear. But did you say Isen Yumemiru?" He asked. He was an older Hyur, dressed in poor man's attire and obviously knowing a hard life.

Samuru nodded quickly. "I did. Please, no one else will talk to me. I've been searching for weeks and I just want to know where he is, that's all." He stood shortly after, giving the old fellow a desperate look.

"Sure, I can take ya to him. Follow me lad." He murmured, motioning over his shoulder. Samuru didn't hesitate, nearly tripping over himself to do as told. Sure this could've been a ruse or a trap, yet he didn't give a damn. It was the best lead he'd had and he was going to take it.

The pair walked for sometime, heading into the countryside just outside of the glorious city. Entering a local cemetery, the look of confusion on Ru's face began to morph into worry. When they stopped at a particular headstone, his fears shifted into reality. Isen's name was crudely carved into stone, with his birth and deceased date. It was only months prior that he had met his end, and this left Samuru in a state of utter disbelief.

"Not really sure how someone as sweet as you knew him." The old man began, letting out an annoyed sniff. "He was a pain in my arse. He'd come into my bar and start shite almost nightly. Good with the ladies, but bad with just about everyone else. He was a bitter bastard, barely cracked a smile unless he was piss drunk. Most knew not to fuck around with him, he killed without hesitation. Seen it with my own eyes, y'know?"

Samuru swallowed thickly, clutching a hand to his throat to try and contain the lump that began to form there. "H-How...how did he...?" His voice cracking, still reeling from the shock.

"Die? Ah, prick finally picked a fight he couldn't win. Tried to take out five big ol' brutes at once. Managed to get a few of 'em before he got a knife to the throat. Honestly if I didn't know any better, I'd say he wanted to die. He was always miserable y'know, guess he had nothing to be happy about. But anyway sorry fer yer loss if he was important to ya. No one ever really comes here to visit the tosser. If yer here though, maybe there was something redeemable about him after all." With that the old man turned to take his leave, thinking his job here as done.

Samuru stared down at the stone for a long moment, taking in a shaken breath as the harsh realization came through. He'd never be able to find Isen, not like he knew him. Even if the brute was still alive, he likely wouldn't have been the same scrappy Hyur he'd met so long ago. Slowly Samuru lowered himself down on his knees, bowing his head.

"I realize this is twenty summers too late, but I'm so sorry. I wish I had gone with you that day, more than I can express. I don't know where I would've ended up, or how my life would've gone. But surely it had to be better than where I am now." He'd frown, wiping moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I...I was too late. I wanted to find you, one way or another. Oh Isen...what happened to you? I knew you were troubled, but never could I have figured how much. Did you have anyone love you, or care about you? I would have...I would have tried so hard." He felt himself choke up, gritting his teeth as he fought the sorrow. "I've never forgotten you, and I never will. Please don't feel alone anymore, I'm here now. I'll come visit you and bring flowers. No one...should be abandoned. This I promise here and now. I am going to live my life how I desire, and do the things that make me happy. I'll be a puppet no longer, if for no other reason than to honor the man who saved my life."

He pushed himself up to stand, dusting off his pants as he tried to compose himself. "So thank you Isen. Even if you never once believed it, you have done good in your life. You rescued me twice." He'd lift his head and move to step back. "Farewell old friend, until we meet again." He then turned and took his leave of the lonely gravestone, his heart heavy and yet somehow still hopeful.

[empiricalwritings]

The Metallic City

@theawkwardladyjay@i-shall-do-something

This year was going to be simple. The Light of Creation fell only a few miles away, and the planet seemed to be peaceful. The task of retrieving the light was left to Magnus, Taako, and Merle. The trip was expected to last no longer than a week. The light fell into a large city, so someone there must know where it was. After a few, short minutes, the trio was all packed up and ready to head out to the city.

“Don’t waste any time getting it, okay?” Lup ran to the departing pack before they left. “Taako, Barry and I have something we want to do this year, and we need your help with it. So, hurry and don’t get yourselves killed.”

“Sure,” Taako sneered, “As long as you promise not to die too.”

Lup gave her twin one last hug before the three set out to the city. The road to the city was bland and long. Trees and other plant life was nonexistent, and the ground was covered in massive metal plates, welded together like patchwork. There were no animals in sight. Not a single insect. No life at all. The only thing to give the world any charm was the pipes. They resembled trees, tubes emerging from larger ones in fractal patterns. Some of these “trees” were several Magnuses tall, according to Magnus. The amazing thing was the sounds. The pipes had hundreds of holes in them. When a breeze came in, strange yet beautiful melodies would surround the trio, mesmerizing them.

“I hate this place,” Merle groaned after only an hour of travel, “There’s no green. No nature.”

“The music’s kind of nice,” Taako remarked.

“I guess.“

The city was gargantuan. The metallic buildings reached beyond the range of sight. A maze of glass tubes connected the buildings on several high stories. There seemed to be people walking through the pipes and into the skyscrapers. The travelers were the only people on the ground level. There were freshly painted roads and sidewalks but no people in sight.

An immense grin grew on Magnus’ face. “Piece of cake. Let’s split up and meet here in an hour. Go!” Without warning, the man charged westward.

“Well, fuck.” Taako shrugged and set off in the opposite direction.

Left to himself, Merle muttered under his breath and started to the north.

Magnus foraged over half of the city in less than twenty minutes. His energy didn’t falter once. Yet despite his efforts, he couldn’t find the Light of Creation. After circling his area three times, Magnus finally slowed his pace and made his way back to the entrance of the city, defeated.

Taako had it easy. He took his sweet time exploring. He figured Magnus would search the entire city in under ten minutes, so why bother giving too much effort? After turning the first corner, there it was. The light was sitting up against one of the monolithic towers. After a sigh of relief, Taako scooped the orb under his arm and looked around for something to waste the next hour with. The bottom floors of the buildings were abandoned. There was nothing but boxes and dust. Taako looked around to find a way up to the other stories, but there was nothing. Naturally, Taako searched the boxes for vulnerable treasures. Junk. Just a bunch of antiquated or broken junk. Now, he was bored. With nothing else to do, he decided to make his way back to the entrance to the city.

Merle pouted as he half searched for the light. His focus was on the planet. How could it survive without plants and animals? Where was everyone? How much longer did they need to stay? His mind dwelled more on these questions than his mission. The troubled dwarf was lost in his own thoughts when he noticed something green.

Emerging from a small crack in the metal plating was a young sapling. Merle ran over to the plant to confirm its existence. It was real, and it was growing. Without thinking, he retrieved a type of pick from his bag and began to peel back more of the cold steel. After several minutes of work, the soft soil was revealed. Merle paused to admire the presence of the rare nature. In the midst of his serenity, two mechanical arms descended and grabbed his shoulders, carrying him up into the clouds.

An hour passed, and Taako and Magnus were waiting for Merle at the entrance.

“I knew he should have stayed at the ship,” Taako mumbled, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“Should we go find him?” Magnus was worried. He knew Merle only made bad situations worse, and without them, he could really cause issues.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just a little lost. It’s a big city.”

“Well, I’m going to find him.”

“Be my guest, but Taako’s good out here.”

“Come on. You would hate it if we left you.”

“Fine. But, as soon as my life is in any kind of danger I’m gone.”

With that, the duo set off to locate their missing cleric. They had searched for what Taako described as hours when they spotted a tool belonging to their friend on the ground. Before either of them could say anything, a pair of metal arms caught them and hauled them off to the sky.

Taako and Magnus woke up to find themselves in a circular room. In the center of the room was Merle, sitting at a large desk. Lining the circular walls of the room were two levels of rings. Magnus and Taako were seated on the upper ring alone. The lower ring was completely filled with people. After closer inspection, the pair noticed the people had no hair, no facial features, and no arms. The figures were a pale grey color and they wore thin, delicate clothing.

“Merle Highchruch, the dwarven cleric of another world, you are in direct violation of our established laws. You were discovered aiding the growth of an invasive threat to our way of existence. We are now in the process of evaluating to what extent you will be punished.”

Merle sat in silence as all the figures turned pages in the tomes in front of them. Taako and Magnus were unsure of what to do. After a moment of stillness, the figures turned to look at the pair above them in unison.

“Taako, Magnus Burnsides, you are both familiar with the accused, correct?”

“Nope, I have never seen this gu—”

“Give our friend back!” Magnus interjected, rising to his feet.

“Very well. You will act as officiators of the truth. You will confirm whether the accused’s statements are truthful or not.”

“No! Let him go!”

“Now, Merle Highchurch, were you or were you not interacting with the plant?”

“Yes.”

All the heads turned to the pair above, waiting for confirmation. Taako shrugged his shoulders, and it seemed to satisfy the figures.

“And, what was your intention in doing so?”

“To set it free of course!”

Another shrug from Taako.

“Then you confess to your crime?”

“Yes.”

Magnus jumped to his feet again. Before he could make his objection, more metal claws held him, Taako, and Merle. He featureless beings rose from their seats. “Merle Highchurch, by the authority of this council, you are sentenced to two days of re-education and community service. Your sentence will begin at sunrise tomorrow. A room has been prepared for you, and another room is provided for your companions. Dismissed.”

The arms lifted the trio up and out of the room and out of the building. Merle was sent to the southwest side of the city while Taako and Magnus were taken to the east. The pair was dropped off on a balcony that led to what looked like a reception office. Confused, they were greeted by another figure at a desk.

“Welcome, residents, to the temporary housing tower. Your room is 32F. That’s the room labeled as F on floor 32.”

“Sorry, friend. We are not staying here. Where’s the exit?”

“Unfortunately, the law requires you both to remain in the city until Merle Highchurch’s sentence is complete.”

“Hell no! I’ve got plans!”

Taako turned on his heels and marched toward the open balcony.

“How exactly do you plan on getting down?” Magnus scorned.

“Oh, I don’t know. Magic maybe. You know, like a fucking wizard?”

At the edge, Taako turned to the figure at the desk, flipped it off, then jumped back. After a few seconds, two arms plunged from the sky down to the elf. Moments later, Taako was lifted back up to the balcony, a dejected expression on his face.

“The room better be fucking amazing,” the helpless wizard scowled.

The elevator that took the duo to their floor was silent. Taako continued to complain but to no avail. When they finally reached their room, Magnus tried the door. To their surprise, it was unlocked. The room was fairly large. It was well kept and organized. It resembled more of a small house than a single room. There was only one issue: there was only one bed.

“Dibs!” Taako exclaimed as he dived onto the bed.

“Only one?”

“Yep, and it’s all mine, sucker!”

“Well, I’m going to see about getting some food. Enjoy your bed, I guess.”

The evening was uneventful. Magnus found fresh cooking ingredients in the kitchen, but Taako refused to let him cook. After a fantastic meal, the pair was ready to sleep. Taako stuck to his claim of the bed.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Well, the floor is open, my dude.”

With a sigh, Magnus gave in. He took some blankets and a pillow and set up a bed on the ground at the base of Taako’s bed. Taako couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for leaving his friends on the floor, but there was no way he could go back now. No one slept well that night.

The following day was slow. Taako and Magnus wandered around the city to find anything interesting. Most of the buildings were off limits to them, and the ones that weren’t were boring or filled with overly priced services.

Merle didn’t have it much better. The re-education didn’t do much, but he knew what the system wanted him to say. The service was a different story. It wasn’t difficult physically, but it was complicated. He often did things incorrectly, yet it didn’t seem to count against him. The metallic planet had relatively short days, each lasting only twelve hours. Because of this, the evening arrived sooner than expected. Merle was confident he could survive a few more hours of pointless punishment. Taako, on the other hand, had to make a decision.

“The bed’s all yours tonight, okay?”

Magnus was shocked to hear this. Taako wasn’t the type of person to give anything away.

“Really?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll just bunk on the floor.”

“Why? You can just sleep on the bed with me. I’m not going to hog it.”

“Sweet!”

Before Magnus could make his way under the covers, Taako jumped in and made himself comfortable. With a small chuckle, Magnus climbed in as well. They both drifted off to sleep in a matter of minutes, Magnus holding Taako like a teddy bear. Taako snuggled into Magnus’ broad chest in return. Together, the pair slept soundly and woke up the next morning with renewed charisma.

The next day passed by quicker than the day before. In a blink of an eye, Merle was released from his imprisonment and rejoined his party at the entrance of the city. Merle missed the two idiots greatly and wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“Let’s get out of here,” The dwarf sighed upon meeting the pair, “I’m sick of this disgusting place.”

The trio, reunited, exited the city and made their way back to the ship. While Merle couldn’t wait to see the hunger end the world, it held a special place in Taako and Magnus’ hearts for the rest of the year.

[jodybouchard9]

7 Genius Ways Folding Screens Can Be Used in Your Home

Spiderplay/iStock

Folding screens may conjure up visions of an old-timey boudoir, but these versatile dividers can come in handy in the modern home, in ways you might not have imagined.

“I wouldn’t use folding screens as a literal screen that you saunter behind in order to ‘slip into something more comfortable,'” says Justin Riordan of Spade and Archer Design Agency.

Instead, designers use folding screens for a variety of purposes, both practical and decorative—they can transform a space, conceal clutter, or just add visual flair.

Here are seven ideas that could make this convenient home accessory your new best friend.

1. Hide a flaw in a room

Erect a screen to obscure less-than-lovely details.

Beverly Solomon Design

A shoddy paint job, cracked plaster, or a window that looks into a dark alley—all are prime candidates for a folding screen. Use it to cover up whatever ugliness you’re dealing with, recommends Beverly Solomon of the eponymous design firm.

“Our home is 160 years old and has pipes here and there, so rather than spend a fortune rearranging the unsightly plumbing, we put this screen up to hide it,” she explains of the above photo.

And when organizing pros can’t tame certain piles, a folding screen is the answer.

“I placed one in a home to carve out some space for a person whose spouse was on his way to becoming a hoarder,” notes Julie Corracio of Reawaken Your Brilliance. “The screen gave the woman her own space so she wouldn’t have to look at his mess.”

You can also conceal office equipment (printer, scanner, shredder, that tangle of cords) or little-used exercise gear (we’re looking at you, StairMaster).

2. Frame a bed

Moroccan details bring flair into the bedroom.

Wayfair

Renters can rejoice! They no longer have to lug heavy, unwieldy headboards up the stairs. Riordan recommends the above pick ($280, Wayfair.com) to place behind a bed, which not only creates a headboard but also adds texture to the room.

A fabric screen is another smart headboard option, particularly if it’s padded underneath (it’s softer to lean on). A mirrored folding screen can also work in the bedroom or dining area, as it’ll reflect light and make a small space appear larger.

3. Use as large-format, inexpensive artwork

Let these fabulous fish swim on your walls.

Wayfair

Folding screens can become large-format, inexpensive artwork, reports Riordan.

“Whenever I’m faced with a huge wall or hallway to cover and low funds, I turn to a folding screen,” he says.

This fish screen ($99, Wayfair.com), for example, can be taken apart and hung as a series of paintings, he adds.

4. Define a space while allowing light in

Paper screens are great for letting light through.

Hayneedle

While folding screens are great to help define spaces in an open floor plan, what if you don’t want to sacrifice light? Problem solved with this rice paper screen ($80, Hayneedle.com), which allows light to filter in, keeping your room feeling airy and bright.

“This is my favorite look when you have a small space and you want to create two distinct areas, such as a spot to eat and another to watch TV,” explains Coraccio. This pick is also lightweight and easy to slide from room to room.

5. Add style to your outdoor space

Casual rattan hits the right outdoorsy note.

Wayfair

You don’t have to limit your screens to the home’s interior.

“Depending on the materials in the screen’s fabrication, you could even use it in your garden,” notes Solomon.

This rattan screen ($113, Wayfair.com) would also look great at an outdoor soiree; for an extra festive feel, drape the screen with twinkling lights or a sign that welcomes guests.

6. Add a pop of color or detail

Instant library!

Home Depot

The genius behind folding screens is that they’ll allow you to add a pop of color or detail to an otherwise bland area. In this case, a lack of bookcases isn’t a problem when your screen displays tomes for you ($96, Homedepot.com). You could also seek out a screen with cork or blackboard material as inserts so you can post notes, write lists, or hang inspiring photos in your home office or kitchen.

7. Jazz up a kid’s room, or hide clutter

Your tot will flip for this wild screen.

Amazon

Of course you’ll want to hide that mountain of toys, laundry, train table, and art easel with a screen, but you can also get creative with a screen that matches your child’s interests.

A kid who’s into dinosaurs or other animals might dig this look, above ($129, Amazon.com). And check out screens with attached hooks to hold bathrobes and jackets, or ones with sewn-on pockets so your children can stash their Lego bricks, paper dolls, and other small toys.

The post 7 Genius Ways Folding Screens Can Be Used in Your Home appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

[zacknano17]

Day 11 : words 20,025 - 22,086

In which, Taako has an out of body experience.

Rebekah reaches over and touches a strand of Taako's hair, even as he draws back as far away from her as he possibly can.

“Taako, dear, you are the research,” she says.  “When it comes to go time, I only get one chance.  So I need to practice first.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he puts in nervously.  “Wait.  At least tell me what you're going to do?”

“Well, that would sort of ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?”

“Okay, but like I pointed out, I am a pretty dope wizard.  And I'd really like for whatever you do to me to, uh, not kill me?  So lay it on me, brocephus.  I'll do whatever I can to help.  I've got not reason to lie to you.”

It is an honest offer, because he really doesn't want to die, but he is also hoping for that good old villain monologue to buy a little time. At some point, Magnus and Merle might notice he is gone and not coming back, and while he doesn't count on that happening anytime soon, a guy can hope, right?

“I suppose you don't,” Rebekah finally says, rubbing the side of her face.  She looks a little...forlorn, he thinks.  Maybe even a bit scared.

“Illusion magic is...just that, an illusion,” she says.  “You can create just about anything you can imagine, with enough practice, but it'll never be anything more than a fake.  And this monocle claims that it can make these things real.  It does, for the most part.  You saw the flowers I made you.  They were real.  But...you can't create everything with an illusion.  Sometimes, you can only create the pieces, and not all of the pieces.

“Taako, I want to show you my greatest creation.  You're a wizard, and you'll appreciate how much work I put into this.”  She takes a step back and glances off to the side, were Taako can't follow her line of vision.  “Alfonso, could you come over here, please?”

The dark haired elf man Taako had seen in the lobby earlier walks into the room and goes to stand next to Rebekah.  There's something off about him, something that Taako hadn't noticed when he had see Alfonso upstairs.  Something in his expression, or...the lack of one. That's it.  His face is bland, lacking in any spark of life.  He looks almost...bored.

It clicks, after a moment.

“Wait, this -- you made a guy?  What the fuck?  You can't just make an illusion of a guy and then make him real!”

“It's not just any guy, Taako,” she says, gently taking Alfonso's hand. “And it isn't just as easy as that.  I had to study for months to understand all the intricacies of elven anatomy, and I had to study photographs and...remember.  I tried so many times, but there was always something wrong with the illusion.  Until finally...finally, I got it perfect.  And the monocle made him real.”

This Alfonso had been a real person once, in other words.  Taako feels a little sick.

“Who was he?” he asks.

Rebekah smiles, her expression rueful in a familiar sort of way.  “He's my husband,” she says.

She takes her wand and conjures up an image in the air, looking much like the portraits hanging all around the house.  This one is a little different, though.  It shows Rebekah and Alfonso holding hands and smiling at each other.  Rebekah is in a simple but lovely gown and Alfonso in a suit that seems a little worn but looks terrific on him. The image moves, showing the area of the wedding.  It's a modest affair, set in a lovely park.  The flowers are sparse, but placed so well that it didn't matter.

Rebekah's expertise with the decorations is evident, even if it isn't as extravagant as the weddings that she does now.  It's easy to see that she is truly good at her job, not just good at faking it with the help of a Grand Relic.

“What happened to him?” Taako asks, because you don't just fucking make a guy if the original guy is still around.

“He died.  About a year ago.  There was an accident...”  She stops herself, waving a hand dismissively.  “It doesn't really matter, does it?”

He supposes it really doesn't.

“Anyway, you might have realized it already, but Alfonso here...isn't right. I made a mistake,” she continues.  Alfonso continues to not react. “You see, you can make a perfect body with illusion magic, but a body isn't a person, it's just...a container for someone's spirit. This isn't Alfonso, this is just...a doll.  He moves and acts like a person when he is told to, but there isn't any of what truly made him Alfonso in there.”  She gives Alfonso another rueful smile and pats his hand gently.  “Don't worry, my love.  We're going to take care of it soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Alfonso says.

That is odd.  Taako is pretty sure this guy had an accent the last time he heard him speak.

“There's no illusion magic that you can use to make a soul, Reebo,” he says.

“I know,” she says.  “And anything I made would be imperfect at best anyway.  You can't truly know another person's soul, through and through, after all.”

“Please, please, please tell me you're not going after the real thing? Please?  I cannot fucking deal with this again, my dude.  It's like the shittiest idea anyone ever had and you fuckers keep doing it,” he groans.

She actually looks surprised for a moment.  “What?”

“Look, lady, you're not the first person who had someone they loved die, and you're certainly not going to be the first person to fuck with necromancy to try and fix that.  You're not even the only person I met in like the last couple of months.  Fuck, can't you assholes just leave well enough alone!?”

“I knew you wouldn't understand,” she says, turning away slightly.

“I understand just fine.  It's you who doesn't get it.  There are rules about this sort of shit for a reason.  What do you plan on doing when the fuckin' Grim Reaper shows up for your bounty, huh?  The Raven Queen keeps track of this shit, you know.”

“As long as I have this,” and she taps the monocle, “I don't fear the Reaper.”

Taako groans.  Looks like they were going to be dealing with another bounty hunter for the Raven Queen soon.  He hopes it's Kravitz again, so they don't have to worry about the whole “you've died eight times” bullshit all over again.  Also, because Kravitz is real nice on the eyes.

It occurs to him that he still doesn't know why he's here.

“Okay, sure, that's your ass on the line, not mine,” he scoffs.  “So what do you need me for?”

“You're the test run,” she says.  “I needed someone with magic, although I admit a sorcerer would have been better.  And I wanted a vessel where he would feel comfortable for the duration.  You have noticed he looks rather similar to you, haven't you?”

“...is that why you told me to go back to my natural color?”

“Hm. Well, yes.  But it really does suit you.  Anyway, I should get back to work -- ”

“Wait, hold on.  You said -- you -- you're gonna use my body for what now?”

“An experiment, basically.  I have to make sure this is safe before I try it on Alfonso.  Don't worry, I've done a lot of research, and you'll probably be fine.”

“Probably? Fuck that.  Fuck you.”

“Right. Well, I think I've gotten enough information to go on now.  Thank you for that nice conversation,” she says, ignoring Taako's struggling.  “Very informative.  I think I'm ready to begin now. Oh, and Taako?  If this doesn't work out, I really am sorry.”

The Oculus glows, and Taako feels the world collapse around him.  He feels himself folded down and in, down and in, until he is very small.  And then he no longer has a body.

The infraction in Waterdeep is really something of a minor one, but Kravitz' last job ended with him losing every single one of the bounties he had been after.  For some, it was excusable.  The three strangers with the absurdly high death counts could be pardoned for the time being, even just on a technicality.  But really, he should have at least taken in Lucas Miller, and losing his wager for Noelle Redcheek's soul, even just for a short time, had been rather embarrassing.

At any rate, the Raven Queen is not exceptionally pleased with his performance as of late, and so he has been put on the much dreaded tracking duties.  A number of dangerous necromantic artifacts are constantly being created and circulated throughout the Prime Material plane.  Tracking them down and disposing them is considered a low priority for the servants of the Raven Queen, as liches and evil necromancers cause far more damage than some idiot level 2 wizard trying to read a Necronomicon.

And Kravitz is reasonably certain that, if a lich is discovered in his general vicinity, he will be called on that job.  It's just that there hasn't been one.  And so he's tracking down the sale of a very illegal necromancy grimoire to a benign business in Waterdeep.  It's boring, and also, he can't find it.

There is something odd going on in this business, though.  He can tell that much after a brief reconnaissance mission.  The magic being used here is abnormal and far too powerful for the little halfling wizard who runs the place.  He has taken the opportunity to take the appearance of the employee he sees the least.  Even if his information had been wrong and the grimoire in question is not here at all, it's probably worth a look.

He thinks, just for a little while, that he might be barking up the wrong tree, until he watches Taako “I'm going to tentacle your dick” the Wizard waltz in through the front door and mention an appointment.

He can safely assume, then, that something is up.

He has since done some reading up on what it is that the Bureau of Balance is.  If one of these Grand Relics is being used in Wedding Wonders, then that does explain the strange feel of the magic being used here.  The house doesn't reek of necromancy, so at very least, it isn't the Relic associated with that.

The Relics are as dangerous as rumors say they are, and he is willing to give the agents of the Bureau of Balance some leeway, even if they are working in the same area.  With any luck, the three of them will clean up the place, and Kravitz will be able to take the tome out of the inevitable wreckage and be on his merry way.

It probably won't be that easy.  And if he's being honest with himself, his disguise, while clever, has a good deal of potential for going wrong.  The large orcish man had caught him red handed going through the front desk.  Taako's ruse of pretending (?) he was getting married seems uncomfortable, but it had certainly gotten him in the door without much issue.

He retreats upstairs for the duration, easily picking the lock with his magic.  The basement is the most likely place to look, usually, but that's where the man he stole his appearance from resides most of the time.  The attic seems empty and used mostly for storage.

When he finally comes back down the stairs onto the main level, he hears voices from the lobby.  Aha.  There are the other two -- Magnus and Merle, if memory serves.  Here, he might want to step with care. Merle lost an arm because of him, after all.

Still in disguise, he ghosts the area, not wanting to get too close and give himself away.  The orc had seemed quite confused by his presence earlier, and he doesn't want to announce his presence until he knows what it is he's looking for.

He nearly has to jump back up the stairwell, though, when suddenly the orc is leading Magnus and Merle toward the basement door.  No one seems to notice him, although Merle does pause near the door for a moment.  Kravitz metaphorically holds his breath, and then Merle moves on.