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pengychan · 5 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 11

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: On one hand I'm sorry for the delay of this chapter, but on the other hand I got to post an Easter-centric chapter on Good Friday and I'm not that sorry. So, uh, happy Easter? Art is by Dara and @senoraluna!

***

“Why is the dog here?”

“Because Miguel wanted to help and he follows Miguel everywhere.”

“We’re in a church!”

“This is an attic.”

“Of a church!”

“Look, it’s not like we let the dog do his business in the chapel,” Ernesto pointed out. Padre Juan made a face that he supposed meant he was conceding the point, and made sure to stay several steps away from the dog, who was sniffing enthusiastically the floor, only to sneeze out clouds of dust. That place was going to need a serious clean-up, Ernesto thought, gaze pausing on the table on the far end. He could see some empty basins, and bottles. “Not fond on dogs?”

“Not especially,” the gringo said a bit pointedly, walking up to the table. “They’re boisterous, unhygienic, and they carry--” he trailed off, stilling. “Good God, a Brownie!”

“A what?”

“An Eastman Kodak Brownie!”

“Can you go back to speaking Spanish?”

Padre Juan turned, and Ernesto was so startled by his expression - he was grinning like a child, he really was - that at first he didn’t notice the aluminium box he was holding. “This camera,” the gringo said, holding it up. It caused Miguel, who was still struggling to contain Dante, to light up.

“Oh! Yes, that’s Padre Edmundo’s camera! Everyone was curious about it because it doesn’t have a tripod like his old one.”

“It’s far better than I was expecting. This will make everything much easier,” Padre Juan said. He looked down at it, wiping the dust off it with his sleeve. “I had a camera much like this, Father bought it as a gift when I turned--” he trailed off suddenly, and his gaze turned oddly blank. It was such a stark contrast to his unexpected giddiness it made something in Ernesto’s stomach clench. Beside him, Miguel looked confused.

“So, uh. These are commonplace in the States?” Ernesto asked, not really caring to know but wanting to say something to snap him out of it. Luckily, it worked: the question seemed to shake Padre Juan out of whatever thoughts crossed his mind. He nodded, the smile back on his face.

“Yes, quite. These were a huge commercial success - it’s the No. 2 Brownie, see? An improvement on the original I used to have, that one was made of cardboard with artificial leather. Still, it served me well - astonishing in its simplicity. It uses a simple meniscus lens, the shutter is integrated-- see? And the viewfinder! My old one did not--”

“I think we get the picture,” Ernesto, who knew precisely nothing about cameras aside from the fact you’re supposed to pose in front of them, cut him off. It seemed a better thing to say than ‘it’s all Greek to me and I really don’t care’.

“What do you need to get it to work?” Miguel asked.

The gingo looked around. “Film-- number 120, I believe. Kodak produces specific film for each specific camera. Hopefully there will be some of that around here, too. Not much point in having a camera you have no film for. I am amazed to see one of these here.”

“We don’t live on the moon, you know,” Ernesto grumbled, but he was still too taken aback by the absolute glee on the gringo’s face to be too annoyed. He hadn’t seen him that excited over anything before. And really, a weirdly excited Father John was easier to deal with than the sanctimonious ass he generally was. So, no complaints.

For now.

***

“Run this by me again - we’re supposed to pose and look holy for the gringo.”

“Sister Sofía! Padre Ju-- John has a name and you’ll be using it! Have you learned nothi--”

“... Did you almost call him Juan, Madre?”

“A-absolutely not! I have enough respect--”

“He keeps calling you Mother Gretchen.”

The remark caused Madre Gregoria’s wrinkled face to twist for a moment in the darkest scowl Imelda had ever seen on her - and that was saying… a lot. “Well, he’s a priest and--”

“An insufferable ass,” Padre Ernesto supplied, causing the old bruja to nod.

“Yes, accurate.”

Héctor smiled a little. Behind la Madre Superiora, several nuns covered their mouths to hide a smirk, or coughed. “Really now, Madre?”

A shrug. “Well, he is the parish priest. Who am to argue his judgment?”

Padre Ernesto laughed. “Your trust moves me. To answer So-- Sister Sofía’s question, yes. He thinks some photographs would help convince… whoever there is to convince that we’re really deserving of some support. Which we need. Like, a lot. No objections there, right?”

No, of course, none at all; Imelda wasn’t surprised. Their situation was not yet desperate - donations had helped them buy some more food - but it was serious, and they needed funds to ensure a steady supply of food until… well, until harvest, at least. Or until that war was over.

“So, he’s going to take pictures during Mass?”

“Among other things, yes. So, let’s all act like good Catholics and--”

“We are good Catholics,” Imelda said, maybe a bit more pointedly than she should have, and entirely ignored the glare from the Mother Superior. Padre Ernesto, however, didn’t seem fazed. Considering that their first proper introduction had happened while they both turned up at a guy’s place to beat the crap out of him, Imelda would have been surprised if he were.

“Yes, of course, but you know how the gringo is. Let’s keep him happy.”

“He’s impossible to make happy,” Gustavo muttered sourly from his corner. It was the only contribution he’d given to the meeting up to that point, and Imelda barely held back from rolling her eyes. She noticed that Héctor’s own eyes twitched upwards for a moment before turning to her, sharing with her an exasperated look. Look who’s talking.

“This is still worth a try,” Padre Ernesto was saying, his voice calm but devoid of the usual warmth. “Let’s pose for nice pictures, so that he can argue for us and get us the money.”

“You mean charity,” Héctor said, causing Padre Ernesto to raise an eyebrow.

“Was that such an important distinction to make?”

“Makes us sound better.”

“... Point taken. We need charity, so let’s all behave and watch--”

“I’m not gonna watch my mouth,” Chicharrón loudly informed them all, despite having never been spoken to once. The old gravedigger seemed entirely unaffected by the looks he got from all nuns present, herself, and Héctor. He shrugged, leaning back on his seat, peg leg stretched before him. Imelda sort of liked him, but right there and then she’d have happily strangled him with a rosary. “Words aren’t going to show on photos, no?”

“... Fair enough,” Padre Ernesto replied. It was the voice of a man who’d decided to pick his battles, and that the one at hand was not worth fighting. “Not to worry though, I don’t think he will want to photograph you specifica--"

“Padre Ernesto should be in the photos,” la Madre Superiora spoke up suddenly. As everyone fell quiet and turned slowly to look at her, she had the good grace to look embarrassed and shrugged. “Well, he’s… appealing.”

“He is,” the Delgado window - who was mainly there due to the fact telling her anything was the quickest way to make sure the entire village would know it by dusk - nodded in agreement.

As all nuns suddenly looked down as though very interested in their shoes, some of them coughing again, Imelda shot a quick glance to her left. Sofía was staring at the Mother Superior like she’d never seen her before, while Padre Ernesto looked unfazed. If anything, he seemed flattered: the smile that followed was much more of a grin.

“Well, as the parish priest, I suppose that cannot be helped,” he said. “He will want to take pictures of the children at Mass, so make sure all those in your care look at their best.”

“Well, not too much at their best,” Héctor muttered. “Last thing we need is for some Bishop in the States to decide we don’t look like we’re in enough trouble to get the money.”

“Charity,” Padre Ernesto corrected him, elbowing his side with a grin. “Makes us sound better, I think you said.”

Héctor laughed, and it was… nice to hear. All their meetings had been about such serious matters lately, Imelda had found she missed his laugh. “Right. Charity.”

“Also, he will take pictures of the Palm Sunday procession tomorrow, so you better be the best Jesus you can be,” Padre Ernesto added, and Héctor smiled.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Get ready to do the same for el Vía Crucis, too.”

Héctor’s smile faded in a confused look. “... What? Who decided I’m going to--”

Padre Ernesto waved his hand, putting an arm over his shoulders. “I did, just now. I’m sure you’ll do great. Can someone ask Prospero to get to work with the cross?”

“I already did, Padre,” Gustavo said magnanimously, and grinned in Héctor’s direction. “I told him to make it as heavy as the one our Lord had to carry,” he added, gaining himself a blank look from Héctor. It took all of Imelda’s self-control not to grab her crucifix and hurl it to his face.

“Oh, how generous,” Héctor said drily. Gustavo shrugged.

“For realism.”

“Of course.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Padre Ernesto said, smiling at Gustavo as he let go of Héctor’s shoulders. “Great thinking. You should be given a part, too.”

That caused Gustavo’s own smirk to waver. “A-ah, that would be kind of you, but--”

“Oh, I insist! You earned it, after all. You’ll be Simon of Cyrene, helping out Lord carry the heavy cross,” he added, and Héctor had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh; Imelda could see that even from a distance. She almost smirked herself… until Padre Ernesto spoke again. “And Ime-- Sister Gisela, you’ll be Verónica.”

Santa Verónica, the woman who wiped Jesus’ face clean on his way to crucifixion. The thought made her falter a little - it seemed something too… too intimate to be doing. As she opened her mouth to protest, she didn’t notice Héctor’s foot suddenly landing on Padre Ernesto’s, causing him smile to become forced. “I’m… touched, but maybe someone else-- la Madre Superiora--”

“Ay, la Madre Superiora should be Holy Mary, I’d say,” he cut her off, and tilted his head towards Madre Gregoria, whose cheeks were quickly reddening.

“Oh-- that would be-- a honor, but--”

“No buts, you’d be amazing,” Padre Ernesto replied with a wave of his hand and a wide, charming smile. Imelda could distinctly see Sofía rolling her eyes. “The other Sisters can be the women of Jerusalem. Would that be all good with you?”

As the sisters in questions nodded - several of them glancing in Imelda’s direction with knowing smirks and making her wish to kill Padre Ernesto, all of them and herself in quick succession - Padre Ernesto smiled.

“All settled, then,” he exclaimed. “Just act at your best starting tomorrow, and Padre Ju-- John will immortalize it. Any questions?” “Juanita doesn’t like cameras,” Chicharrón declared.

It took Padre Ernesto a clear effort not to roll his eyes. “We won’t involve your rooster more than strictly necessary - just make it crow three times before el Vía Crucis starts, for drama. Anything else? No? Wonderful. Now go and spread the word. And most of all, smile for the camera.”

***

“Are you ready or not?”

“Yes, yes. Just… give me a minute.”

“It’s an old donkey, Héctor. Are you seriously afraid to climb on a donkey?”

“It’s not that, it’s… Ceci did a great job on this tunic, but it doesn’t help and the wig keeps getti-”

“Por Dios, just get on this damn burro!”

“Hey! Careful how you speak to Jesus!” Héctor grumbled, finally sitting on the saddle. He wasn’t a good rider, be it on a donkey or a horse, and it sure wouldn’t kill Gustavo to be a bit more patient. As a response, Gustavo scoffed.

“You’re just playing a part, cabrón.”

“Do you kiss you mamá with that mouth?” Héctor snapped back, only to of course regret it the second it left his mouth, as Gustavo’s frame stiffened. He remembered suddenly of all the times, when they’d been kids, when Gustavo had repeated over and over that he was not an orphan like them, that his mamá was alive and would be back for him soon, any day now, any day now.

Mierda.

“I-- lo siento. I didn’t mean--”

“Just get going,” Gustavo snapped, and suddenly smacked the rear of the donkey, which bolted forward. All right, it didn’t quite bolt, but it set out at a quicker pace than Héctor would have liked, heading towards the main road where, he knew, all of Santa Cecilia was waiting with palm branches… and, in Padre Juan’s case, with a camera.

Make us look good, Padre Ernesto had said, but it was easier said than done, clinging as he was to a trotting donkey. Maybe if he pulled just a little on the bridles, he could make it slow down before he made the entrance and--

“Woof! Woof!”

“Wha-- Dante?” Under Héctor’s stunned gaze, Miguel’s dog appeared - seemingly out of thin air - in front of the donkey, who abruptly slowed down, clearly taken aback by the dog walking ahead of it, head turned back to Héctor rather than towards the path ahead. With a sigh of relief, Héctor smiled.

“Gracias,” he called out. He straightened himself on the saddle, made sure the long wig was still in place, and headed down the main road and into the town.

***

The whole arrangement was… picturesque, John had to admit.

People stood on both sides of the road, waving blessed palm branches, dressed up in their best clothes - which were… quite colorful, but he could allow that. After all, Jesus’ arrival to Jerusalem was a day of celebration; he would talk to Father Ernest about having people wear something slightly more subdued during the Via Crucis procession on Good Friday, later.

For now, he would take pictures.

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” Father Ernest said, his voice smug as it could be. Normally, John would have reminded that pride is the root of all other deadly sins-- but right now, he was too focused on capturing what was happening before his eyes. Father Edmund had left behind a good amount of film, but it wasn’t infinite, so he had to make each shot count.

The parishioners with the palm branches - the people of Jerusalem celebrating Jesus’ arrival in their holy city, less than a week before turning on him, choosing the life of a criminal over his and sending him to his death. Click.

Brother Hector - a slightly unconvincing Jesus, though no for lack of trying - waving at the crowd as his donkey kept going, over the palm branches thrown in its path, towards the main square and then the church. Click.

“Maybe he should have cried.”

“... What?” Father Ernest blinked. “Why?”

“In the Gospel according to Luke-- never mind. The other three didn’t mention it, anyway.”

John moved along the road, taking more pictures - a child on his father’s shoulders holding up a branch, a little girl throwing hers right before the donkey, a woman crossing herself, the twin boys who had organised everything smiling so widely, Mich-- Miguel with them; there was chatter and cheering and laughed, none of which the camera could capture.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

By the time they reached the parish, John was smiling, holding tightly onto the camera. He took another shot as Brother Hector dismounted, the church in the background; a couple more as Father Ernesto joined him, smiled, patted his shoulder. Another one as they smiled at the children from the orphanage, crouching to take something - flowers? - from a few of the little girls. They both looked so at ease, making the children laugh, and John took more pictures.

Click. Click.

Father Ernest laughed at something a boy had said, and he turned towards him, the smile still on his face. He looked positively delighted, and John’s finger froze on the shutter, heart leaping in his throat. To his relief - and a pang of something that wasn’t relief at all - Father Ernest’s eyes moved to his left, where Miguel was holding up a basket full of donations. He hadn’t been smiling at him, after all. His heart sank from his throat down to his stomach. What he felt now was not quite lust, but something similar and yet different, and even more terrifying.

Focus, focus, focus. A few more pictures, just a few more. Do your duty.

He took several more pictures, trying to keep himself from turning the camera towards Father Ernest - but of course, when he developed them in the attic, he found he appeared in most of the shots. He told himself that was normal - he was the parish priest, he was there, that couldn’t be helped. He could almost convince himself of that, really. Just almost.

That day’s photos developed, John forced himself to tear his gaze away. He excused himself from dinner and went to his room, to deal with his affliction in the only way he knew.

***

“All right, we’re good to go.”

“We look nothing like women of Jerusalem,” Imelda muttered, adjusting her headdress. Of course they couldn’t change in different clothing - as nuns, they had to keep wearing their robes - which made including them in the Via Crucis procession especially stupid.

“Well, neither will anyone else,” Sofía reasoned, and handed her a piece of linen with a smile. “Here you go, Verónica. Make sure to wipe our Lord’s face nicely.”

Imelda took the linen with a scoff and a suggestion as to where to put it that was unbecoming of a novice, or any kind of lady in the first place. Sofía just grinned.

“With Lent almost over with, I’m really hoping to have Antonia see to that.”

“You’re the worst nun I have ever met.”

“And I want to keep the title, which is why I’ve been trying to get you out of here since day one.”

Wait, what? “You have some nerve, trying to imply I’d somehow be worse--”

“Assuming you’d be better? That’s pride.”

“That is common sense!” Imelda snapped, only to get an angelic smile and a pat on the hand.

“Temper, novice. A good nun holds her temper,” she said, all sweetness and light. Madre Gregoria’s voice was the only thing that kept Imelda from using the linen cloth to strangle her.

“Let’s get going, everyone-- you chattered enough! Silence is virtue!”

“Yes, Holy Mary,” Sofía muttered with a roll of her eyes, and Imelda felt like strangling her a little less. Maybe she’d settle for a smack, later, away from witnesses. Right now, she would just focus on the procession and getting that nonsense over with.

She really hoped the gringo would get them some funding from his church in the United States as he said he would, because it was the only reason why she put up with any of it.

***

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“What kind of Jesus can’t endure a bit flagellation?”

“The kind that’s just pretending to be Jesus, Cheech. And that’s unnecessary, anyway. No one’s gonna see a thing until I step out.”

“Was trying to get you into the character,” Chicharrón muttered, but there was a smirk on his face when he left the sacristy, leaving him standing there with the cross - it was really heavy, dammit - across his shoulder. Of course he was smirking, Héctor thought, adjusting the crown of thorns - not real thorns, thank God, which was what he’d have gotten if Gustavo had a say in it. Why had he let himself be talked into it?

“You’re looking good,” Padre Ernesto muttered, and grinned, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, heading off to steal hearts.”

“That’s… not exactly what this procession is about,” Héctor pointed out, only to be ignored.

“Now, when you come across Verónica, make sure to look as tired and suffering as you can. And put those eyelashes to work. Don’t make my perfect casting go to waste.”

“Hijo de puta.”

“What?”

“... Praise the Lord,” Héctor muttered. Padre Ernesto laughed.

“That’s just what I thought you’d said.”

***

This is so stupid.

The thought kept circling in Imelda’s head as her hands clenched on the linen cloth she was supposed to use to dry Héctor’s face. Jesus’ face, really - that was how she should think of it. For as long as the procession went, Héctor was meant to be symbolically represent the son of God, so it wasn’t his face she’d be wiping, not really. In a way, it made sense.

… Except that it didn’t, who was she kidding? She got stuck into that stupid role because Padre Ernesto didn’t know any better - she refused to consider he had known about the implications because he was the parish priest, por Dios, for all his eccentricities he wouldn’t do a such thing - and now she would have to wipe Héctor’s face.

Which wasn’t supposed to be a big deal at all, but it was and she rather resented that.

This is ridiculous. It will take a moment. I’ll do it, and it will be over with.

The cheering went up, and Imelda looked down the road to see that Héctor was staggering forward, rather good at feigning exhaustion despite the fact he wasn’t carrying the cross: that was currently being dragged by Gustavo, as the angriest Simon of Cyrene Imelda had ever witnessed. Despite everything, it made her smirk a little.

Serves him right.

Of course, all too soon he had done his part and he quite literally dropped the wooden cross right back on Héctor. He staggered - Imelda suspected it wasn’t an act at all now - and kept walking, dragging the cross… until, of course, he paused before her.

He looked… awful, really: his exhaustion hadn’t been an act. Panting, all sweaty and wig askew, with hair stuck to his face and neck, he sure looked the part of the suffering man condemned to death. Nothing especially pleasant to look at, and yet…

… And yet.

Héctor looked back at her, and he seemed to freeze for a moment. There was nothing unusual about her appearance, she was sure, but his eyes were wide and fixed, jaw slack like he was looking at something incredible. He looked mesmerized-- something in her stomach twisted-- oh God, she had to do something.

Imelda leaned forward and went to wipe his face - gently, carefully. To her relief, his eyes closed a moment. One more moment of that gaze, and… she didn’t know what she’d do or say, and she she was glad she didn’t have to find out. When he opened his eyes to look at her again, he looked oddly lost - then he recoiled when Imelda sharply tilted her head - go ahead.

He staggered away, wavering a little more than he had before. She watched him go on for a time, dragging the cross. Some distance ahead were the other sisters, as the women of Jerusalem, but Imelda refused to look their way, keeping her gaze fixed on the cross. Any moment now he would have the second fall, then… then… wasn’t he supposed to fall about now, before reaching her sisters?

“Fall, Héctor,” she heard Miguel muttering, perfectly audible somewhere the left. “You must fall!”

Something that looked suspiciously like Chicharrón’s peg leg shot shead from somewhere in the crowd, hitting Héctor behind a knee and causing him to finally fall for the second time. Only a couple more stations, and then he would get to the point where Jesus would stripped of his clothes aaand no, no, she had to turn her thoughts to something else entirely just about now.

Imelda looked down at the linen cloth in her hands, face aflame and all to aware of several pairs of eyes fixed on her.

***

“Everything hurts.”

“I think you did great.”

“Everything hurts everywhere. I was not supposed to fall off the cross. ”

“But you absolutely nailed it the second time. Heh, nailed, get i--”

“Suffering is the meaning of the Good Friday, Brother Héctor. Certainly your pain is nothing compared to what our Lord went through.”

Padre Juan’s voice seemed to lower the temperature in the chapel by several degrees, causing Héctor to still, hand halfway to his aching back, and Ernesto to roll his eyes. Whatever magic finding that camera had worked on the gringo, it clearly had ran its course: he was even more standoffish than usual, lately, and ate his meals in his room rather than joining them.

He spoke little with anyone, and with him even less; he was stiff even in the way he stood, and when he sat he hardly even touched the backrest. It made Ernesto wonder what exactly had crawled up the guy’s ass and died, but he decided to try being civil.

“Taken good pictures?” he asked.

A sharp nod. “Quite,” was the curt reply. No more details, no giddy talk about the photos he’d taken and how good the camera was. “No, I’d like to use this chapel for its purpose and pray.”

Héctor and Ernesto glanced at each other with one clear, shared thought - the hell is wrong with him now? - and it was Héctor to try again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us--”

“You’re welcome to join me in prayer, if you can be bothered,” Padre Juan snapped, kneeling. He did so slowly and stiffly, and maybe Ernesto should have wondered, but he did not: he was just too annoyed. Padre Culo Blanco could be an ass all he wanted: Ernesto was done worrying for him. He had no idea when or why he’d even started worrying in the first place.

“Maybe later,” he muttered, and turned to talk out of the chapel, gesturing for Héctor to follow him so that they could talk more about the very obvious look he and Imelda had exchanged during the procession.

Neither of them noticed the way Father John’s features twisted in a pained grimace as he braced his elbows, leaned his forehead on his joined hands, and prayed in silence.

***

“You know, you were close enough to kiss.”

“I am not hearing this.”

“I’m sure you thought of it.”

“I did not!”

“You were turning red, Imelda.”

Oh, damn her. She couldn’t deny that, could she? “... I wasn’t thinking of kissing him,” she finally muttered. After all, it was not a lie. She’d been thinking of him nearly naked.

Far from discouraged, Sofía raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what were you imagining?”

“None of your business. Are we done now? We have priorities here,” Imelda snapped, putting some more rolls of clean bandages and disinfectant - she could even get her hand on some morphine, in case someone needed to dull the pain - in what had been a fruit crate long ago.

“Yes, yes, the medical supplies. Viva la Revolución. We can still talk while we do this.”

Imelda groaned. “And do we absolutely have to?”

Sofía grinned. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, we do.”

***

“This is awfully unnecessary.”

“First time seeing la quema de Judas?”

“The-- the hanging and burning of some puppet is-- unbecoming of such a solemn occasion!”

“I’m pretty sure they do that somewhere in Europe, too. Feliz Sabado de Gloria.”

“That doesn’t make it appropriate!”

“Look, we’re burning Judas. We’ve got more than a few reasons to be sort of pissed at Judas.”

“That thing doesn’t even look like him.”

“... What, you knew him personally now?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Padre Juan grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at the scene before him. The effigy of Judas was hanging high, on a rope stretched between two houses at the opposite sides of the plaza. Truth be told, it looked an awful lot like Victoriano Huerta; it was clear to everyone as it was clear to the gringo, but of course none of them said as much aloud.

Plus, at least they hadn’t made him white as someone had suggested only half-jokingly at one point. Ernesto felt the gringo had no reason to complain there. “Not taking any pictures?” he asked, lightly elbowing him as he kept watching the crowd all around the effigy parting to allow Miguel to walk up to it, head held high and all solemn-eyed, holding a burning torch.

Padre Juan scoffed, stepping aside. “I’m supposed to try making the lot of you look virtuous.”

“Burning evil is virtuous. I think. The Church did that a lot.”

“Dark and ignorant times,” was the sour reply. “Evil is to be vanquished from our lives each day, every day. There is no need nor point to make a… a spectacle out of it.”

Ernesto rolled his eyes and turned to retort, but words died in his mouth when he noticed one of Padre Juan’s hands had slipped under his sleeve where, he knew, this fingers were now running over a thin raised scar. His mouth was pulled in a tight line, skin even paler than usual; Ernesto paid no mind to that. Only minutes later, he’d wish he had.

I tried to raise my arm to shield myself of the rightful punishment. They did the right thing.

“... Well, you know. It’s a bit of a distraction for what’s going on,” he muttered in the end.

“Comfort should be sought in prayer, not with these-- fetishes,” he pointed out stiffly, but he let the matter drop. Not that Ernesto would have heard him either way, because the next moment two very familiar voices reached him.

“Hola, Padre!”

“Like our Judas?”

Ernesto glanced down at Imelda’s brothers, and grinned. “Love it,” he said. It was true: he liked the idea of watching the face of the bastard who’d had him drafted in that damn army go up in flames. He liked it a lot. “Padre Juan here was just saying how impressed he is,” he added. The gringo stiffened, but the boys paid him no mind.

“Thank you for letting us put fireworks in the effigy!”

“Ah, you’re wel--” Ernesto trailed off, brain finally catching up. By his side, Padre Juan looked extremely alarmed. “Wait-- I didn’t give you permission to stuff fireworks in it!”

The boys gave him two wide, identical grins.

“But you didn’t tell us not to.”

“Ah. Mierda.”

“Father Ernest! Langua--”

The rest of the tirade never happened, because Miguel had set fire to the effigy of Judas and that was it. A loud crackling noise, followed my whistles and smoke, caused the crowd in the plaza to back away from the effigy - but none of them seemed scared, or even particularly surprised, which Ernesto supposed could be put down to the fact most of them knew what to expect from the twins.

Flames enveloped the effigy, and more bangs rang out, greeted with cheers and laughter. Judas, aflame, rocked on one side and then the other before yet another bang caused it to jolt; the rope holding it up gave in, and the remains fell on the ground, jolting with each subsequent crackle to roaring laughter - including Ernesto’s own.

“That was great!” Miguel exclaimed, seemingly having popped by him out of nowhere after setting Judas on fire and dropping the torch. “Wait, where is Dante? Aw, I think he got scared…”

“There was-- nothing great about it!” Padre Juan snapped. People around them were already rolling their eyes and muttering to one another, bright smiles fading. “That was an awfully irresponsible and-- and blasphemous--”

All right, enough. He wasn’t going to let him sour the mood for everyone, so Ernesto forced himself to smile. “Hah! Come on, it was funny. Lighten up,” he laughed, and slapped a hand on his back.

John screamed.

It was unexpected, and loud enough to make everyone fall into a stunned silence. Ernesto stepped back, struggling to understand what the hell had just happened, just as the gringo took a staggering step forward and then sank on his knees, trying and failing to hold back something that sounded much like a sob. His skin, already even paler than usual, was now chalk white; he wheezed like all air had been used up for his cry.

“Pad-- Father John?”

“What is it?”

“Is he all right?”

“Come on, it was just a pat!”

“Is he pretending?”

“He’s got to be, it was nothing!”

“What is it with gringos…”

“Ju-- John?” Ernesto called out, still taken aback, and crouched. Father John Johnson was hunched over as though in immense pain - eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched and face reddened. It was alarming as it was, but seeing tears escaping the corner of his eyes made it worse. “What is it? That wasn’t me, I didn’t-- can you stand up, or…?”

“Make way,” someone spoke, and suddenly Sofía was there, crouching next to him. “What did you do?” she hissed.

Ernesto blinked. “Nothing! You saw it, it was just a--”

“I'm not talking to you,” she cut him off, giving Padre Juan an exasperated look before glancing back, at the crowd around them. Miguel and the twins looked completely lost, and a few men were moving closer, Héctor first of all.

“What happened? Is he ill?” he asked, eyes shifting to Ernesto like he thought he had an explanation. And he didn’t… but someone else did, or so it sounded like.

“It's nothing serious,” Sofía replied. “Call doctor Sanchez to the parish, we’ll take it from here.”

“N-no, I don’t need--” Padre Juan mumbled, but no one bothered to listen. Sofía glanced at Ernesto, who nodded and grabbed the gringo’s arm, passing over his shoulders before he stood. The idea was to help him walk, but he was so limp he pretty much had to carry him.

Only once they got to the parish, with no one else around and Padre Juan seemingly semi-conscious, did he speak again. “So, what is the deal with him? You sound like you know what the hell is going on and I’d really appreciate being filled in, because--”

Sofía sighed. “I think this idiota whipped himself raw.”

“What??”

“Explains the shriek when you gave him a pat. Don’t ask why, I have no clue whatsoever,” she added, entirely unaware that Ernesto did, in fact, have a clue. More than just a clue, really.

I need penance, he’d said. Prayer is not enough, he’d said.

“Crazy gringo,” he muttered under his breath as he carried him inside, hoping he hadn’t fucked himself up too badly.

***

“Not a bad place to be, huh? God, I was never in Veracruz before and I already love it.”

“Mph.”

“Oh, come on. It’s much better than marching under the sun all day. Getting stationed to Veracruz is the best thing that happened to any of us since this damn war started.”

“It’s the best thing that happened to me since your wife, Sergio!”

“Shut up, cabrón! At least I have a wife!”

“And who knows who else has her now!”

There was laughter, a couple of glasses thrown on a background of drunken singing. It made Santiago scoff, and he finished his own glass, sitting on the stone steps a little outside the cantina where half of his battalion spent much of their time, drinking and boasting and doing little else. He stared down towards the harbor and the sea, a thoughtful frown on his face.

Discipline had never been all that great, with so many of his comrades having been picked up from the streets or out of prisons; however, it was quickly getting out of hand now that they were there - supposedly to defend Veracruz in case the Constitutional Army decided to attack.

What a joke. Most of the men here couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag.

Not that anyone really expected to fight, with Carranza’s forces far enough not to be an imminent threat; by all accounts, they had little to nothing to worry about, and yet… and yet.

“A peso for your thoughts,” Nando spoke somewhere behind him, and then he was sitting on the steps by him, a shot glass in each hand. He handed one to him. “As long as it’s not something on how we should be down south looking for de la Cruz, in which case I don’t want to hear it.”

Santiago let out another scoff, but he did accept the glass. “I’m thinking a bunch of children in a wooden cart could overpower us if they show up right now with all men drunk.”

“Oh, come now. They’re away from their families and celebrating Easter, and no one is coming.”

“We’re getting too comfortable.”

“And you’re too uptight. Come on, drink-- ah, look, midnight! Feliz Domingo de Pascua.”

They toasted, drank, and Santiago made an effort enjoy the uneventful Easter in Veracruz as much as he could, trying not to think of of how wrong it was, not having Beto there to enjoy the relative peace with him.

And trying to ignore the gut feeling that it wouldn’t last.

***

[Back to Part 10]

[On to Part 12]

***

A bit of extra art by Dara:

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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trcshpark · 5 years

Text

introduction.

- ̗̀ –– ( tom holland, twenty one, cismale, he/him. ) hey, is that alan myers over there? rumor has it, they’re one of those townies. they’ve lived in erith springs for their whole life & are currently working as a bookshop clerk. i’ve heard they’re pretty wayward, it’s just too bad they’re also dull-witted. they remind me of worn down combat boots, the sun setting over a hushed trailer park, late night gas station food. ̖́ -

it’s fran here again! & this time i’m bringing you my much less than friendly, borderline recluse, idiot of a boy! i’ll leave some potential connections below for you to take a peek at & maybe spark some inspiration for plotting as well as go over the basics. i’m always available through ims or discord for those who ask for it! this is going to be significantly shorter than elijah’s.

so, alan is something else. a piece of work if you want to be nice about it. he’s not the best of people & he’s never claimed to be. he’s harsh, rude, very insensitive to how others are feeling ( often times the case is, he doesn’t know or he doesn’t care ) & can overall be somewhat of an asshole. but that’s mostly because he’s definitely not a people person. he enjoys his own space, the number of friends he has is slim to none, people generally know not to approach him.

& what’s the perfect job for someone who’s not a people person, you might ask? a book store clerk, duh. alan is definitely not thrilled about his job, but he’s been working there for so long that the job is the last thing he complains about.

he works for a family owned book store that’s renown for it’s collection of comic books & graphic novels. it’s about the only book store in erith springs you can find such an impressive collection. so, naturally he has to deal with ‘nerds’ all day long. he doesn’t see what the big deal is-- he doesn’t like comics himself. or so he claims. it’s not like he’s been reading them since he was a kid ( not that anyone knows of ). he doesn’t like to be associated with something so childish & ‘stupid’ as he likes to put it.

if it wasn’t obvious already, alan was definitely the type to bully kids & take their lunch money in high school. he didn’t have many friends by choice, but it never helped that people were either afraid of him or just didn’t like him as a person. he got into fights. a lot. the amount suspensions he had rivaled his actual attendance.

he has a temper on him-- he’s very easily irked, angered or annoyed. but that can often be surprising for those who don’t know him by reputation. at work he holds a generally stoic expression, monotone voice & nonchalant disposition. but of course, if he does appear otherwise-- it’s usually a look of annoyance, or a simple warning for someone to back off & leave him be. either way, he never looks like someone you want to be friends with.

he’s not all bad. he’s just someone who holds a lot of anger in him & isn’t always sure how to express himself. on that note, though... his one outlet is & always has been working out. he spends a lot of time jogging around town or working out on the beach. or hogging the arcade punching bag at the amusement park. he’s just a big idiot.

his life is all work, fighting & hookups. honestly. he doesn’t sleep around half as much as people claim he does, his reputation definitely argues otherwise, but he’s at least somewhat selective. depending on the day. he can be charming when he wants to be.

alan lives with his parents in a trailer park across town. it’s a good while away from the center of the town & the beach, but he walks to work every day. he doesn’t bring people home with him. partly because he’s never had anyone to really bring home-- & partly because he’s embarrassed of where he comes from, even though it’s common knowledge where he lives. it’s been the topic of many fights over the years.

when it comes to his looks, he’s a very ‘baggy ripped jeans, worn down combat boots, low side tank tops’ kind of person. his hair is messy, he’s almost always got a bruise or cut lip & does give the overall vibe of someone you don’t want to piss off. he’s got a few tattoos here & there too!

basically, he’s a punk idiot whose self worth fluctuates more than the weather. he’s also not the biggest fan of the amount of attraction the town gets, especially around summer, so that never helps anything. fun fact: he also goes by junior. mostly.

CHARACTER ARCHETYPES.

50% the rebel –– the rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind, & bucking the system, if that means getting their point across.

the warrior. warriors are brave & attractive people who are willing to put themselves on the line regardless of consequences.

the wild man. wild men & wild women are the most outrageous of rebels. these are the people who are in touch with the side of themselves that doesn’t want to settle or be forced into any box.

the criminal. because rebels by their nature push at boundaries, they can easily go too far & break the law.

the fighter. sometimes a rebel becomes too aggressive in their various pursuits, & turns into a fighter who won’t back down & won’t stop arguing.

the don juan. charming, fun, well-mannered, & sexually attentive, don juans make the game of seduction fun for women who have their own rich & romantic fantasy lives as well as self-confidence.

32% the royal –– when the royal walks into a room, they command attention. they are the one in charge, & they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

the brat. because they are used to pampering & don’t know how to do things for themselves, royals can exhibit childish behavior in the form of tantrums & unreasonable demands.

the vampire. like bram stoker’s count dracula, who fed on the lifeblood of others while living in a regal manner, royals can be a drain on those around them.

the bully. when it becomes so easy to take advantage of one’s position, it takes a certain amount of discipline to fight the urge to debase the reputation of self & family.

the destroyer. the destroyer manifests in vindictiveness & an unchecked fascination with wreaking enormous destruction on enemies.

18% the athlete –– the athlete's focus & drive are unparalleled. staying healthy & being fit are paramount to them ( as for winning, that doesn't hurt, either ).

the outdoorsman. outdoorsmen ( & women ) are physically fit, environmentally conscious & adventurous. they are resourceful, unmaterialistic, & appreciative of nature’s quiet beauty.

the bully. the danger with living too much in your body is that you can end up using it to bad ends as well as good.

the tomboy. tomboys don’t play games. they are straightforward, honest & concerned with getting things done in the most direct way possible. they are also refreshingly lacking in vanity, & bring a freshness & vigor to socially formal situations.

CONNECTIONS.

friends. i know, i know. he doesn’t have many, but he does love the ones he has!

ex - almost. someone junior got close enough to ( somehow or another, whether that was because they quickly became friends or it was a ‘no strings’ hookup that quickly got tangled ) that they almost began dating, only for junior to get scared & completely drop them without warning.

childhood friends. someone who junior was best friends with as a kid & drifted apart from over the years. not for any particular reason other than growing up-- or maybe not.

hookups. pretty self explanatory! they can be current, old or in the making.

crushes. unrequited from either side or completely mutual! getting junior to admit he has feelings for someone is a long road, but it’s not without a few pit stops along the way. there’d be banter between the two as a result of it! especially if someone has a crush on him & are infuriated because-- him, really? of all people? i have to like him?

#*introduction #erithsprings.intro

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fanesavin · 5 years

Photo

The first arrivals for the coronation are spotted at the docks and the games are begun.

[ Part 1 ]

Miguel had been travelling for awhile - he had just gotten the invitation to the coronation recently - soon after deciding to return to the Forty Isles. So he made his way to the Capitol and sent his fleet on it’s way back home, Miguel kept only two of his crew with him, that was more than enough for him. The over-sized broadsword at his hip and the way his muscles popped when he crossed his arms usually stopped any trouble before it began. That meant that Miguel de la Cardero Reyes Ojeda Lopez was waiting at the docks when his older brother arrived. There was an apple in one hand, and a smile on his face as he joked with his remaining crew and discussed the possibilities of the coronation. For all the world he looked like a silly young man, someone who hadn’t had the time or the capacity to be bitter - not yet. Though his demeanor was light, his eyes were sharp, and as soon as Iann set foot on the docks Miguel grew tense.

His mocking smile faded once his casual survey of the docks made Iann spot his youngest brother. The little two-faced oaf (Blessed Lupita please forgive) was on the bottom of the rock staircase that would lead up into the Capital walls. He looked sweet and jocular and approachable - and Iann knew quite well he was none of these things. He felt a warm surge of pleasure to watch Miguel’s shoulders bunch ever so slightly, when they met eyes. Miguel was subtle, but Iann could handle that at least. He’d been handling it for about 30 years now. He strolled over, wide sweeping steps that forced the fishmongers to go scurrying aside for him. He got closer, giving one of Miguel’s similarly tense men a cheeky wink, as he nipped the apple from his brother’s hand, and bit into it. “I didn’t realize they remembered to give you an invitation. Nor did I realize you would bother to attend, my little brother. The Sea Awaits,” he added, as a belated formal greeting.

Miguel smiled at his brother - he had lost count of how many layers of subterfuge they were playing, how many games they ran at once - and he couldn’t tell if his smile was real or fake. Did he love his brother? Maybe. But did he love other things far more…? “Fortunately, I was within reach of their birds. And on my way back to the Forty Isles, the rest of my fleet has gone on ahead. I can go home with you, right Iann?” He couldn’t very well say no, not when the travelling son wanted to return home. “Good weather for sailing,” he gave the formal response as he smiled up at the warm sun and the few fluffy white clouds. “Good weather for a coronation too!”

The sound of a voice called down from the ship, a woman dressed up in decorative armour standing on the edge. It was clear from the way she was standing that she wasn’t there by her own choice. Nor were the men standing around her entirely friendly. ‘If you insist on bringing me here, I would suggest you get me off of this damned ship,’ Collette called down to the man prancing about and calling himself all sorts of titles. She didn’t care that he was talking to another man. Their titles were pathetic.

Iann instinctively smiled back, then congratulated himself for letting his little brother set the tone. Or did Iann already do that, by taking his apple? It tasted like fish and tar, but Iann ate it anyway. “My flagship is your servant, little brother,” Iann said in an offhand way, although he remembered quite well what happened the last time he let his brother board his flagship. This time, Iann wouldn’t eat any of Miguel’s supposed delicacies, no matter what intriguing foreign land he liberated them from. Before Iann could talk about the coronation though, he heard a call up from the deck of the Freewind Flagship, and his idle smile turned into an amused (if slightly tense) grin. “Ah - come little brother - come meet my prize.” Iann motioned for Miguel to follow, and he eschewed the gangplank his Officer offered to put down for the Lady. “No, no. Put her in the crate casket,” he said, motioning to the pulley. A rope was thrown down to him for the pulley. “Like cargo. White Lady, if you would be so kind as to sit in the casket and I’ll be happy to bring you down to the docks.”

Miguel didn’t have the energy to mourn the loss of his apple. Instead he over thought what its theft could mean. Did Iann trust food from Miguel again, did Iann trust food that Miguel didn’t want to give? It was information that could be useful to him and he filed it away for later review. There wasn’t any poison in store for his brother, not anytime soon. Not of origin from Miguel at least. He had other plans for Iann. “Prize?” One of Miguel’s eyebrows went up and he glanced toward the Freewing Flagship. He heard the woman’s voice but he didn’t see her. “What did you do, Iann?”

Collette’s jaw clenched and she made no movement for the longest moment. She glared daggers at the man even as she relented and sat in the crate like a hound. She swore that any degradation she would face under this man’s thumb would be returned a thousandfold. She hadn’t killed better men just to become an bauble.

Iann looked haughty and stern, losing his cheer for a brief moment as he gazed at Miguel with a somewhat pitying look. “I’m doing what is my right, Miguel,” he stated, soft and calm. The cheer was back when he felt the casket shift under Collette’s weight. “And you know the legend of the White Woman of the North, hm? This lovely thing claims to be her. I found her and she is mine. A good omen, wouldn’t you say?” And a beautiful claim to tout in front of Miguel no less, hopefully give his little brother landlubber legs at the implication of Iann’s gain. “You know what? It is good weather to sail today, you’re right.” He carefully lowered Collette down to the docks, and then extended a hand to help her out of the casket. “My Esteemed Lady, may I present my youngest brother - Miguel de la Cardero Reyes Ojeda Lopez of the Forty Isles.

Miguel’s face tensed for a moment, but then he gave a tight smile to the supposed White Woman of the North. She could be an invaluable piece in the fight against his brother - Miguel had no doubt about the hate in her eyes. Miguel ducked his head in greeting, but made no move to touch her hand in the usual way to greet a woman. "My esteemed lady. Just call me Miguel, I’m at your service. What may I call you?”

She would have been easy to spot once she got deeper into the capital having a small group of followers and escorts. Not that Cassandra felt she needed the protection particularly, but things got a bit more difficult when you brought your toddler to the coronation. But she had her reasons. When she spot sight of the familiar ships Cassandra moved her horse down towards the docks, at first just watching the brothers from behind in quiet. Her expression was placid listening to them and even watching the ‘prize’ that Iann brought down like cargo. Cassandra sighed and shook her head, still atop her horse with Adeline’s pony not far behind, “And so the grand reunion begins.” She called out, “It’s amazing what a coronation can do. Even for the brothers of the Forty Isles.”

Collette ignored the hand of her captor as she climbed from the crate. She didn’t even look at him, her eyes trained on the man he was trying to introduce her to. 'If you’re blood to this fool, then you are likely little different.’ She finally glanced at her captor. 'But if you’re half as skilled, you may call me White. Or War.’ Collette was for friends. And in this place they were few and far between.

Trust Cassandra to bring a horse onto the docks. Iann had seen her out of the corner of his eye (how could he not, sitting on her beast) but waited until she deigned to acknowledge them. In truth, he’d learned to appreciate the Grand Lady of Summerset, and despite her ailing House it was a good match between her and Juan Carlos. Their poor middle brother never wanted to rule or fight or anything other than travel and raise a family. But what lit Iann’s dark eyes up was the sight of the little Princess on her pony. “My Lady,” he said with a flourishing but quick bow to Cassandra, but then he stepped closer to Adeline. “Ahhhh, my beautiful angel. Such good things I’m rewarded with and I’ve only just set foot on land. My beautiful little niece,” he cooed over her. His love for her was as immense as his love for his own children; in fact, there was one moment where Iann had tried to steal her out of Summerset to join his own brood. Cassandra had stopped him then - and that encounter had been a valuable one that made Iann only love Adeline more, and even love Grand Lady Cassandra as well. She knew that her daughter was enchanting. He ignored Collette’s insults - they were normal by now and pedestrian at best - and then made more introductions, glad to hear Collette tear his brother down as much as she tried to do him. “Lady White, this is Queen Cassandra of Summerset, and her little Princess, my niece Adeline. And Miguel’s niece as well, I’m sure.”

Miguel raised his head and nodded at Lady White. “Then I’m pleased to meet you, Lady.” As he brought his head up he saw the small love of his life riding her pony next to her mother. Miguel wanted control of the Forty Isles, that was true. But another truth was that Miguel couldn’t have children in the traditional way. Iann had already sired plenty. But he would pass the Isles to Adeline, or her children - when the time came… if the time came. Miguel nodded to Cassandra. “At your service, sister.” And then his face lit up even more, turning him into a cheerful, jovial uncle. “And hello darling Adeline!” He stood close to his brother, crowding the little princess, fawning over her.

Collette turned to watch the woman on the horse and clasped her hands in front of her. It was alienating to be so far away from the colder places of the North and without a weapon. These people seemed at home here, even if it wasn’t. Collette neither knew nor cared about that. She just wanted to go home, free to fight.

Cassie smiled briefly to her brothers-in-law, lip curling just a bit more as Adeline received the attention she was so used to, but while the brothers cooed over the princess Cassandra looked a bit more intensely at the lady Iann had brought out. Her brow furrowed, and she got off her horse approaching Collette just a few steps closer. The stories of the white woman of the north were not overly common in Summerset, but Cassandra knew of them none the less. She gave a brief nod to the other woman in greeting. If she really was the White Lady, there was something a bit more ethereal to her than any of them. “I don’t know how he managed it.” Cassandra spoke. “But certainly we can do better than a cargo hold.” Her eye narrowed slightly, “Even apparent heirs forget their manners, time to time.”

'Even I can be bested by numbers, it seems.’ Collete glanced at Iann then back at this 'Queen’. 'And I’ve never met a man who remembers his manners.’ Though she seemed stiff to Cassandra, she offered a rare but courteous and restrained smile.

Iann hoisted Adeline off her pony, covering her in soft beardy kisses. “Seeing you makes me miss my own,” he confided fondly at Adeline, who looked nothing like her father, or his own children. He handed the pony’s reins to Miguel to keep the animal calm, as he continued nuzzling the child. And he watched Cassandra and the White Lady make their acquaintance. “She is my guest, but sometimes I like to tease her,” Iann said, smile crinkling his eyes. “She is free to wander where she pleases of course. But Lady White will return to me, once this is all over.” War indeed. War had no place in a city aching for peace. She was uncomfortable, so far away from her cold home. Among people who craved anything other than more battles and bloodshed. If she was who she claimed, she was an intriguing thing, if a little singular-minded.

Miguel fumed a bit at being handed the pony’s reigns. But he could be patient, he would get a chance to snuggle Adeline too. Instead he stepped toward Cassandra, the Lady of Summerset and smiled just as sunnily as her title. “Is there any new of your husband? I would be grateful to hear about my brother…”

“Too true.” Cassandra laughed at Lady White and her comment, she turned slightly watching Iann take the young girl down from her pony, her lips thinning for a brief moment, “I don’t see what you need her for.” Surely, if Iann had been strong enough to overpower her, it’d make the Lady somewhat a moot point. She took in a breath being asked about her husband and returned to the horse waiting patciently behind her. Cassandra pet the beasts nose soothingly and shook her head, “Very little. He does as he likes and this…crusade is something of a pet project.”

Collette remained silent, even as her captor claimed she had some freedom and the woman claimed that she was useless. It prickled under her skin to think that this minor setback was enough to crush the image she had earned for herself. It was insulting that she was defeated but even more insulting that she was no longer considered worth showing off. Turning away from the group, Collette started her way along the docks.

“Ahhhh Juan Carlos and his righteous crusades…” he sighed; and yet he turned a blind eye to the requests that came from Juan Carlos to the Forty Isle Treasury, to fund his soldiers and crusades. What did it matter? It kept their middle brother busy, and Iann and Miguel were both constantly bringing new treasures back to the Forty Isles to keep them well-monied, well-positioned. That was one thing he could credit his youngest brother with at least; the boy had an eye for precious things. Just as he did; and so in response to Cassandra, he tactfully handed the daughter to the Princess’ governess, and then replied simply, “I need precious and rare things, and the Lady White is precious and rare.” He watched her turn and stride away, her head held high. “There she goes. Watch how she strides - proud and beautiful, no?”

Cassie watched as Collette did practically marched away. Cassandra could hardly blame her, but if she was as far away from home as everyone was eluding, Cassandra didn’t know where Lady White could possibly be finding any solace. Still, she decided to follow suit, and stepped back up into her horses saddle, “Well, I’m going back towards the castle. I’ve had enough sea air. You’re welcome to join.”

The colour of Collette’s hair drew people’s attention to her to the point that the fishermen whispered behind their hands. She felt exposed. Battlefields where she was a ghostly flash of blood and silver were one thing. Bustling docks were another. Especially dressed as ostentatiously as she was.

“I shall be along shortly,” Iann announced, glancing at Miguel out of curiosity to see what his brother’s plans were, should he choose to announce them. “I have some business to attend to on the Docks.” He really did mean it, too. The Forty Isles had their businesses forged on all ports and dockyards along the coast of Bluesprings, as well as lands beyond.

Miguel nodded. He had explored the Capitol plenty. And while he loved the salty air, he was ready to explore the castle. “Then I shall accompany our dear sister and niece to the castle.”

Collette glanced over her shoulder at the upperclass group as they split off from each other. Small mercies that her captor hadn’t insisted on dragging her away from the frankly unpleasant and dull docks to be shown off, yet. She returned her attention to some shells and dried seaweed snacks a little girl in rags was trying to sell her. 'I’ll take them all.’ But as she reached for her purse, she remembered that her captor had taken that from her, too. So she unclipped the golden brooch pinning her cloak and offered it to the little girl. 'Take it. Please.’

Prelate Theodore closed his hand over Lady White’s wrist, not threateningly, but to forestall the child eagerly snatching the brooch. “Perhaps some payment that would be of less … foreign currency for the young one,” he said, letting go again. “Please, allow me.” He opened his own purse and pressed three clover-minted coppers into the girl’s grubby hand, her eyes going round as she thrust forward her shells and snacks in return and scampered away calling for her mother in a high, excited voice.

Collette tensed upon feeling someone’s hand enclose around her wrist, half expecting it to be her captor. But when she heard an entirely different voice and accent. She glanced up at the stranger, her jaw flexing. Her swallow was visible. She barely had time to reach out before the basket was shoved into her hand. Tugging away from the stranger, she stepped back and clipped her brooch back on in silence. When she looked back up at him, she flicked her chin up in defiance. 'The brooch is doing nothing of worth. At least the girl would’ve benefited.’

Fane was unaccustomed to the warmth of Kingdoms such as these - sun was an infrequent occurrence for those hailing from lands further North in the realm. Shielding his eyes against the rays he studied the lay of the city limits before glancing at a few of the advisory companions that had joined him on the trip South. There wasn’t much for himself that he’d brought, his were a relatively simple people but there were some goods for trade regardless. “I’ll see you at the Castle nearer the ceremony, don’t concern yourself with my whereabouts before then” with this he stepped onto the plank leading to the docks glad for the welcome feeling of solid ground under his feet and not several tonnes of unstable oak. Warm food and drink would be a welcome relief after the journey.

Prelate Theodore inclined his head, clasping his hands behind his back. The neat, stark lines of his heavy clergical habit in charcoal brocade made him look like a solemn raven, his voice modulated and precise. “The brooch would benefit the charity box of the Cloverry, should you be inclined; in the hands of that child, it would only have drawn the attention of bigger, more predatory eyes.” He regarded Collette for a moment before saying, “Do you hail from the North, Lady? Is it the coronation that has brought you so far from home?” Prelate Theodore accompanied his own questions with a polite introduction. “I’m Theodore Aynesworth, the Prelate of the Cloverry.”

Collette kept her chin up, unwavering under the judgemental gaze of a powerful man. She’d faced powerful men before. 'The North is my home.’ She glanced towards Iann only to find that he’d disappeared into the crowd of fishermen. A small mercy. She then turned back to this 'Theodore’. 'Then take the brooch.’ She slipped it back out of her cloak and thrust it towards him. 'Help the people.’

Fane glanced at the rush of colour and noise around the docks figures of all shapes and sizes busy dealing with several other far more notable arrivals than he. He drifted in the crowd, mindful of his purse attached securely to his belt his free hand resting on the hilt of his blade non-threateningly. Until he noted the familiar garb of one individual in conversation with another young lady. Gravitating towards them he purchased an apple from one of the merchants and approached taking a bite from the ripe fruit as he observed the interaction with the woman curiously.

“Very generous of you, Lady.” The glitter of the brooch disappeared into the dark cavern of his purse, which he snapped closed with a sharp click. “Especially in these times when there’s hardship everywhere.” The Prelate looked over the ships in the harbour, giving Collette space to maintain her dignity; provincials, unaccustomed to the way that the clergy carried themselves, often got defensive and felt they were being judged when they were simply being … observed. The Cloverry valued very highly the qualities of observation and analysis in its order. In looking around, Theodore caught sight of a more familiar Northern face, and his own austere expression creased into a smile. “Lord Savin!” he greeted the war hero. “Here, I have one of your countrywomen at hand. Come, stand next to her and radiate some of that chill in your bones.”

Fane finished chewing a mouthful of apple pulp and swallowing it down before inclining his head out of customary politeness to the two individuals. “Prelate, quite the occasion to bring us all together wouldn’t you say? Who would’ve thought we’d live to see a unification such as this,” his eyes turned then to the women introduced as one of his own though he stepped into the circle. “The North eh? Any region in particular? I may know of it.”

“Praise unto the Whole,” Theodore intoned crisply; despite his devotion to the church, he wasn’t one for long, groaning prayers and invocations. When speaking with Lord Savin, however – a man whose House had been of stalwart support to the Cloverry – a nod towards piety was expected and welcome. “The Highest Raj and the Quiver of Houses will require all of our dedication and commitment. Are you planning any significant time spent in The Capital, eh?” That would mean a sizeable entourage of House Savin. And the Prelate liked to stay informed of any tradewind shifts in the demographics.

Collette watched as the holy man took the brooch without question and wondered about where exactly that wealth would go. Trickle down the lines without ever touching the ground? That was the way she’d heard such men gathered their wealth. She turned to leave, only to be pulled into another meeting with another person. She tipped her chin when the newest stranger addressed her. 'The North. There’s no need to split hairs.’ She didn’t want to address the fact that it was the entire North she’d called her home. Nor did she wish to address who she really was when that meant exposing that she’d been defeated. She reached into her new basket and picked out some seaweed to taste.

“Aye, praise be,” he answered in kind. His House over the generations had members belonging to the Cloverry and Fane himself had a healthy respect for the faith even if he wasn’t particularly so devout himself. The Prelate was a powerful figure in his own right. “That he will,” because how long would a King last without the support of his followers? “But no, I don’t plan to stay for an extended period of time. These climates are far too temperate for me and mine… We’ll likely be burnt to a crisp by morrow,” he smiled in relatively good humour all in all even if it likely would be the truth. “Well the whole North is as good as any, and I suppose you feel similarly? Can’t wait to return to the Northern wilderness eh? M'lady?” He wasn’t sure of her name so he stuck to general titles for the time being.

'I don’t think I’ll be returning to the North anytime soon.’ Collette wanted to, though. With all her heart, she wanted to walk the icy fields again. She wanted to feel the bitter chill against her cheeks. But some men would rather cage beasts then let them wander free. 'But I would hope to,’ she said, offering the Northerner a politer smile than she’d offered the Southerners around here.

Prelate Theodore watched groups of servants make their way from the docks towards the courtyard of Bluesprings Castle, carrying chests emblazoned with House crests. “Looks as though more banners are arriving,” he remarked, flicking a stray twist of jute from his shoulder as some porters went past him bearing roped-up boxes. “It’s not going to be the most lavish of ceremonies considering the coin put aside for restoration and relief, I warn you both – but then again, Northerners never do care for anything too elaborate, do you?” Theodore purchased a gold-striped pear from another child hawking its wares, polishing the fruit against his sleeve. “I’ve heard stories, Fane, that you’ve one cousin who freezes all his wine before serving it at banquets. The way that the North intended, is that the reasoning?” The Prelate smiled at Collette as well to include her in the conversation, but didn’t press any further interaction with her, instead taking a neat bite out of his pear.

Maya counted the boxes again and then a third time. She huffed a sigh. Someone had forgotten to pack the spices. If she was to bake what she had been ordered to they would have to purchase more at the marketplace, which would be expensive. Something was going to get their ass kicked when they returned to Blackspire. For now though the only thing to do was speak to her master about it. When Maya approached he was in conversation with a man and a woman. She curtsied and said, Beg pardon Lord Savin, sir, madame, there’s a bit of a problem with our baggage.“

"No?” Fane studied the young lady with a curious eye wondering why she might not return back to the lands of their people but now wasn’t the time to ask. Perhaps if he ran into her at a later point he would inquire more. “Well, we shall be returning after the festivities and if you are in need of transport there will likely be space - a few of our party wish to remain in the Capitol for a while longer.” An open invitation never hurt he supposed but he’d have to learn more. Fane’s smile grew a little wry at the mention of elaborate festivities, “I know little of the ostentatious ways of life so a simple affair will suit me just fine, but aye, my younger cousin likes to chill his vintages. Though I wouldn’t say it’s the way they intended it, more to contrast the warmth of our food.” Speaking of which one of the kitchen staff that had come with him for the event came up to him, “excuse me a moment Prelate, m'lady…” Turning to step aside for a moment just out of earshot of the former gathering “what appears to be the issue Maya?”

Collette turned away from the strangers and headed towards the stairs towards the larger city but caught herself as her foot touched the bottom step. She glanced around to find her captor. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew his men were following her. No one would let a trophy wander off alone. Not when his brother knew her true nature. Instead, she turned to sit on a small rickety bench beside the only tree and patch of green that lived beside the dock.

“Please, Lord Savin, attend to your business. I’ve matters of my own that require attention.” The young woman who’d come to speak to her master seemed concerned about whatever it was, and by the time the Prelate turned to leave them to talk, Lady White had departed without another word to apparently go sit by herself. He tucked that piece of interaction away, heading from the docks back towards the Castle.

With business finished, Iann strode down the docks to take him back to the stone stairs, leading up to the Capital walls. He noticed Inquisitor Savin, who seemed occupied with his own affairs. There was also a Prelate (the name escaped him; they all looked the same to Iann: boring and austere) who Iann gave a polite nod to in greeting. A glance at one of his men (Knight Harrison was attending to his own squadron on the Freewinds, and would join Iann later) who nodded a chin over to where Lady White was sitting and sulking. “Prelate,” he said, pausing by the Prelate. “She is my guest,” he said, without any finery or preamble. In that decorative finery he’d tricked Collette out in, he knew she stood out, and likely caught the Prelate’s owlish attention, even if it was just briefly. He walked over then, not minding if the Prelate followed or not. “You didn’t get far, my Lady,” he said with a bland congeniality. He offered an arm. “Come, it’s time to see Bluesprings Castle. I know you hate everything that isn’t covered in ice and snow, but the Castle is something of a marvel. It’s stood here for over a thousand years, through all sorts of wars, even the old ones with dragons. Nothing has destroyed it yet.” He looked over at the Prelate in case the owl had something else to add; the Cloverry loved their endless details and dates of history.

Collette only looked up when her captor approached with is undying enthusiasm. It would almost be charming if it weren’t on the face of a viper. She stood, straightening out her decorative outfit. 'I didn’t want your spies to become panicked. We all know what they’d do it they thought they lost me.’ She offered the slightest ground by taking his offered arm and following him. 'Castles are only as good as the men inhabiting them.’

Prelate Theodore kept pace with the Driftwood Heir, giving the man a sidelong look as he claimed responsibility for the Lady White. “Your guest seems discomfited by the warmth of our Capital,” he said, letting Cardero read into that should he desire to. Still, he was headed in the same direction that it seemed Cardero was, and chimed in as if on cue: “–in fact, the cellars and catacombs beneath Bluesprings Castle were built with coldmarble stones from the North, quarried and transported here in Fell Year 64.”

Right on schedule. Iann listened with quiet amusement as the Prelate prattled on as if he simply couldn’t help himself. He was surprised that the White Lady took his arm, but didn’t consider it a win; in fact, he almost hoped it was a strategy. The only thing that had thus far made him doubt the White Lady’s claim as the legendary Woman in White, was that she behaved utterly like a commoner. Brutish and unsubtle, like a hammer rather than a knife. Then again, perhaps that was why the commonfolk’s name for her was The Commoner’s Warrior. “Yes, yes, you are only concerned with honour and integrity, and so on and so forth,” he said to the White Lady, tiring of her proselytizing, as if she were the only one in the world who could ever possibly understand those concepts. For a month now, it was all he ever got from her. “She’s from the North, no House affiliation.” That much was obvious, Iann believed, from the way she spoke and carried herself. “But I do love a good bit of driftwood, as it moves between the currents.”

Collette raised a brow at Iann, a sound of almost maternal or mentorly disapproval leaving her. He seemed not to understand exactly what she embodied. Nor had he seen her in her true glory to judge her so. Her defeat had been the work of men who didn’t know the meaning of honour. 'My Northerness doesn’t affect my appreciation for anything. Nor does it stunt my intellect.’ Her eyes flicked to Fane as if making a point. Everything was a battle but not everything required a strategy.

“Have you been insulted, my Lady?” Iann asked, mild and surprised. “A thousand sugar apologies on a golden plate. Unless of course, you disapprove of such extravagance. You two would like each other, if you actually managed a conversation. Both very attuned to the acetic as the only worthy way of life…” he frowned slightly as he looked down at the Lady’s armour. “Where’s your brooch gone? Did you lose it, my Lady?”

The Northern woman continued to ignore him, cold as her land of origin, but the Prelate hadn’t become one of the highest of his order by being rattled at rudeness. Or judgement. “The Lady has very kindly donated her brooch to the work of the Cloverry,” he interjected at Cardero’s question. “She hasn’t lost it as she navigates the currents, have no fear.”

Collette eyed Iann for a long moment. 'You’ve insulted me by taking me from my home. I doubt anything you could say could insult me anymore.’ She glanced at the Prelate, her fingers ever so slightly tightening around Iann’s arm. 'The clothes you’ve put me in are already worth more than the commoners of this city put together. The brooch will feed a hundred families.’

Prelate Theodore said mildly, “Alas, we in the South haven’t adopted the practice of calculating the worth of our people in clothing and jewels. But your generous gift will be portioned most carefully to those requiring the aid of the Cloverry, and the High Raj.”

“You see?” Iann said, as the Lady once again plunged into another lecture, as if it were all just that simplistic, and she alone had clarity of mind. “She talks of nothing else, just as you do, Prelate. Perhaps she can join your order.” That last bit was entirely a joke, and patted The White Lady’s hand as they reached the city walls. “I’m glad to hear that I can no longer insult you. I suppose the only thing left to do now is praise you.”

'Mercy,’ Collette said, her mouth twisting in a way that could’ve been considered a slowly growing amusement. 'I would die if you praised me.’ She watched the Prelate as he told her the people would benefit from the brooch. Good. She had hoped the real people down in the streets would benefit. 'Perhaps you wouldn’t be trying to defeat your own brother or kidnapping poor defenceless women if you shared my beliefs.’

“I don’t want you to die,” Iann said, in shock that was both surprised by her tease, but also the truth. He wanted to ask if she even could die, but didn’t want to ask that in front of the Prelate. Instead Iann laughed. “Defeat my brother? I’m afraid you misunderstand, dear Lady,” he said, with a nod at the soldiers who opened the doors for him. “What beliefs are those? We have a Prelate here, and he enjoys hearing the ideas of belief. Prelate, if she accidentally blasphemes, take it in the good spirit of the day and don’t throw her in your nunnery.” Iann was joking again, in that last bit. The Cloverry, despite the Forty Isles not being particularly affiliated with it, was certainly not known for its oppression. But to reassure Collette he added, “Unless you’d prefer a nunnery over my company.”

Prelate Theodore hadn’t minded the Driftwood Heir amusing himself by pretending to matchmake the clergyman and the Northern woman – Cardero was known for his puckish sense of humour – but the Lady White’s insistence on believing herself the only person with noble intentions wasn’t quite as entertaining. “I’m certain she would find our nunneries beneath her notice, and most unpalatable to her tastes,” he said, giving the two of them a smooth bow. “Please, if you have any needs prior to the coronation ceremony, don’t hesitate to ask.” And then he diverted down a narrow corridor, heading to a meeting with the Ever Widow. There was much for them to discuss.

Collette made a face when Iann told her that he didn’t want her to die. It was usually the opposite sentiment men she’d faced held. But then again, he was the first to ever succeed in defeating her. 'I’d pity the nunnery that tried to contain me.’ She was about to tell Iann and the Prelate her moralistic and honour bound ideals when Iann was drawn away.

Maya took a step with Lord Savin to the side. She stood with her back completely straight, a habit of her childhood that she had never broken. “It seems the porter forgot to load the spice box. I had intended to check myself the baggage before we left, but I…” she hesitated. It likely didn’t matter to him why she hadn’t double checked the baggage. “I apologize sir. I’m afraid as well that this means I will have to ask for coin to purchase spices at the market here.”

Fane didn’t particularly mind being pulled away from some conversations if the importance was great enough. He frowned upon hearing the dilemma at hand, brow creasing as he exhaled. “Well, I would have thought we’d be here a little longer before I was parting with my coin, what spices do you need? And how much do you think you’ll need for them? Perhaps we can see if an arrangement can be made with a few of the nobles in town, they’ve likely all brought some of their own wares to trade while they’re here.”

“Ginger, nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon,” Maya replied. At the idea of making some arrangement with other nobles she shook her head before she could think better of it. Quickly she added, “I’m likely to get a better price and with fewer strings attached if I simply go to the market. I shouldn’t need more than seven and even then I expect to bring you change.”

Fane hummed under his breath but really these were antics he didn’t typically involve himself with. “If you’re sure,” Maya had been in his employ long enough for that he trusted her enough for such trips. Though where he might have typically told her to take the spare the blunder made him a touch less forgiving. “Very well, I’ll give you eight and bring me the change back when you have what you need,” taking his coin purse he counted out the necessary coin and held it for her to take. “I’ll walk with you some of the way. I need to familiarise myself with the city once more…”

Maya nodded. She was certain. While from what she had seen of Lord Savin he didn’t often play the game of politics. The unfortunate thing about that game though was that people didn’t always ask if you wanted to play. This was especially true at an event such as a coronation. It was better for her to simply go down to the market and avoid any potential strings that might come with an arrangement with another noble. “Thank you sir, ” she said with a dip of her head rather than a full curtsy as she took the coin. Her brows furrowed when he suggested they walk together. “You wish to walk with me sir?” she asked. Despite her months in his employ she did not know him well. Like most nobles he didn’t fraternise much with the servants. She worried a little, what he might be implying by his willingness to walk with her seemingly as an equal.

Fane was more or less correct in her measure. Navigating the murky politically tension fraught waters of the Capitol wasn’t wasn’t one of his favourite pastimes. And while Fane didn’t spend much time with the staff, he did make a relatively concerted effort to know those who worked or served him in some capacity. It wouldn’t do to completely ignore their existence considering the well-being of his house was founded on the well-being of the people that served it. So as she questioned what he said he looked at her strangely, “no need to look so shocked lass, we’re headed in the same direction,” he said by way of explanation with a nod to the main road leading up from the docks. “I assure you, I don’t plan to lurk like your shadow, I merely thought it made sense since we were both headed the same direction…”

Maya did fully curtsy this time. “I apologize again sir. This may be forward of me, but I have served for lords who had no interest in getting to know their servants in any capacity,” she explained before muttering to herself, “And some who took too much interest in it.” She began to walk in the direction of the market. While she was curious about the lord, she knew better than to ask questions. For one it was not her place as a kitchen girl, even one close to becoming the head of his kitchen. For another she might reveal too much in the questions she asked and force herself out of job and home yet again.

Fane waved a little in a fashion to say the repetitive curtsying wasn’t overly necessary nor was he particularly fussy about such matters. “No need,” as always when he spoke it was calm and to the point though he did grimace a little at her mention of Lords being too interested in getting familiar. “I have no doubt you’ve had bad… experiences… But you have no cause for concern on that front, not under my employ…” His slightly sombre expression eased a little into something that for a Northerner could almost be described as being friendly, if not that, kind at least. “I take the stance that if the people of my House know me and mine, it’s only fair I know them and theirs in turn… It’s a lot of people, aye, but it makes for an honest and happier home in my opinion and that’s all I seek in this world.”

Maya made a mental note that he did not stand on ceremony as much as other Lords she had worked for. In her mind, that was more dangerous. It made it easier for her to slip. There were still more than few lessons from her short lived childhood that tended to expose her. She noted too his grimace at her mutter about lords as well. In truth, they had more to worry from her than her from them, but she made no mention of that. “A honest and happy home?” Maya asked instead, “Is that all you desire milord?” Despite his earlier wave off of her curtesy she went with the formal title considering her impertinent question.

Fane let his attention wander a little as they departed from the waterfront and started towards the city gates. The city hadn’t changed overmuch since the last time he was here but it was best to re-familiarise himself with the layout regardless. Despite the royal affairs there was still more than one sign of the hardships the city’s inhabitants had been through. He was brought back from his observations by Maya’s question, “aye, I’m not for the complexities of the Capitol.” He was simple in that regard, some might call him dim or lacking in ambition but in his eyes he had all he needed to get by already.

Maya considered his answer for a moment. She considered too her motto, not the one emblazoned on her family crest but rather the one she had personally adopted years ago. There was no peace in power. “But are the complexities of the Capitol for you?” she asked, switching the subject and object of the sentence.

Fane considered Maya’s turnabout question. “Wouldn’t you say that’s the same question just turned about though? So surely the answer would be the same…” Perhaps it would be, perhaps not he couldn’t rightly say. “You’re rather quick aren’t you?” he’d known quite a few members of his household and while they were all skilled in their own way there was something different about Maya. He just couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

Faye had received the summons to the coronation just as every other House had. The raven that had brought it to her hadn’t lingered. The missive had been dropped into her tower unceremoniously after the flapping monstrosity had shit on her floor, cawed at her, and then left without so much as a by your leave. She nearly tossed it into the fire. What care did she have for what went on in the capitol? They cared little for what happened in the marshes. Besides, the last time her family had decided to show their faces, they lost their lives for. Her mother, grandmothers, aunts. All swept up in the fervor of rage and violence that had been sweeping the land for ages. Burned after being captured in battle for their supposed dalliance with otherwordly forces. Which wasn’t the truth at all. Her family were healers. Always had been. And people still came. Rarely these days. But enough that Faye could still get news from town. Most often she didn’t like what she heard. But now, in the end, Faye had decided to go. Who would recognize her anyway? Her only distinguishing feature was the color of her eyes. Otherwise she wore black on black, with a fur-lined traveling cloak, a small, silver circlet around her brow, and a long dagger at her belt. Her horse was sturdy and a deep, dapple grey. A fine animal, he was eager for the trip to town, unlike his mistress. Faye made her way along the marshland paths until she came to the outskirts of the city. Pulling her mount to a halt, she hesitated only a few moments before spurring him onwards towards the capitol.

Maya shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t consider it the same question,” she said, “You may have little interest in the machinations of power, but that doesn’t mean other people don’t see you as threat to theirs. No one ever asks if you want power. They just assume you do.” She immediately that she had said too much. Servants didn’t know about this sort of thing. She might still be able to explain it away though. “I don’t know about quick sir, but it has been said that I may be too clever for my own good,” she replied and adding a shrug said, “But I always figured that was because I was better at haggling.”

Fane looked at the kitchen girl long and hard, far too smart on such matters to have an honest opinion about them and her choice of words? “Machinations 'eh? I’d say you use fancier words than I do. But you’re right, they don’t… Which is all the more reason for us to see this ceremonial business tended to and return back so we needn’t concern ourselves with such plots and conspiracies.” Fane’s lips curled a little as they walked along the road, “hm, perhaps so.”

Maya swore internally. She really should be better about this. “I’ll admit, sir,” she tried to explain, “I heard the last Lord I worked for say it and thought it might make me sound clever.” With a nod, she added, “But I agree, the less time spent in the Capitol perhaps the better. If you have much use for my opinion sir.”

Faye cantered her horse up the road and around the bend, slowing when she saw two travelers on foot. She didn’t recognize them, though she hardly knew anyone anymore. Faye almost stopped to speak to them, but they were deep in conversation. So she merely took her horse in a wide berth around them, nodding a small greeting as she passed.

Fane wasn’t entirely convinced by Maya’s excuses, but if she felt inclined to make them then so be it. “You thought right in that instance,” he agreed deciding that perhaps it was best to go along with whatever she was up to for the time being. “I don’t plan to be here any longer than I have to… of that I’m certain,” the sound of hoof beats drew his attention and he looked up towards a mounted traveller passing by who seemed to take time enough to nod in greeting. Fane found himself watching her curiously and returning the small dip of his head.

After a while, Iann left the White Lady to her own devices. Showing her as a prize had quickly turned sour, as she herself was not particularly lending herself as a trophy, despite her catching beauty and the decorative armour he’d put her in. He had to rethink his strategy, and there was nothing more that helped Iann centre his thoughts than taking a stroll through a busy port city. Port cities were the most cosmopolitan, the most busy and alive with energy from across so many lands. He was a Prince, but it felt nice to be anonymous for a bit, even here in the Capital on this auspicious trip. It felt familiar - and the Capital was larger than most cities in the world-yet-known. “Inquis–” Iann called out when he spotted Savin (the man was tall enough and towered over most) but he was interrupted when he almost walked into a horse curving his way. Or perhaps the horse almost walked into him. “Whoa -” Iann said, reaching out sharply to catch the horse’s bridle and bring it to a sudden pause. “Careful, now.”

Fane hadn’t been anticipating the sudden change of events, he’d heard someone call his title only to see the woman on the horse almost careen straight into the man Fane recognised a moment later. “By the Gods,” he muttered under his breath telling Maya to go on to the marketplace and get what she needed and to find him later. Checking the street was otherwise clear, it was, he hurried over towards the scene of the commotion scanning Iann first and then the woman on the horse and then back to Iann where he held the horse by its reins “are you hurt?”

“I am alive and well,” Iann replied, making quick tutting noises at the horse. The thing about being out in public in the Upper City was that they were mostly left to their own devices among the wealthy merchants and artisans. A lot of bowing and respectful greetings as people hurried on their way. But at the same time, Iann always knew these people were on the lookout for drama as well. Even in the waning of the long war, people still felt an anxiety about their lives and livelihood. And the only way they could expend that energy was by watching Nobles fighting duels, arguing in the streets, clashing their swords, trodding over each other with horses, and so forth. Excitement, once removed, with beautiful Lords and Ladies. The war was certainly painful, but it also provided so much conversation among the commonfolk; and the drama of the nobility was often a good a distraction from the pain of their own humdrum lives. So Iann knew people were watching both warily and almost eagerly, hoping for no altercation, yet also hoping for an altercation to talk about tonight over their suppers. He wasn’t in the mood to humour the people, not today and not with the Inquisitor. So Iann smiled widely, and looked Savin square in the eye. “It’s good to see you again, old friend. And I do mean old,” he said, joshing Fane even thought he knew Fane was hardly bothered by his age. In one way, Iann envied him that legendary long life. In one way. “This horse and her rider only nudged me.” He spoke casually, but he didn’t let go of the animal’s bridle just yet.

“Is this the point I’m expected to attempt to say that’s a relief in a believable fashion?” where his expression around less familiar faces was more stoic here it was a touch more animated, humorous in his commentary of the Crowned prince almost being laid flat on his backside. Perhaps another Lord would have bowed or genuflected but Iann was something of a wayward friend of the Savins so Fane felt less compulsion to show the typical and customarily expected posturing most nobles went through the stages of showing. Plus, considering how many of the man’s bastards were around the city of Mistveil Fane figured he had some right to addressing the man in such a fashion. “And there’s the expected retaliation,” he chuckled moving to grasp Iann’s forearm while patting him on the shoulder with his other hand. “Not old enough just yet to almost be sat flat on my ass in public at least. Now that would be an entertaining tale over dinner.”

Faye’s horse jerked it’s head and snorted as someone caught hold of his bridle. He danced sideways, shaking his head to try and unhook whatever creature had latched onto him. Faye took him in hand, frowning down at the man holding her mount’s reins. “I’d let go of him if you wish to keep your hand. He doesn’t care for strangers.” She looked over as the tall man who’d she’d passed a moment before came over. “No, m'Lord.” Faye tipped an eyebrow at the exchange between the two mean, already regretting her decision to travel here from the marshes. “His,” Faye corrected the man holding her stallion’s bridle.

Fane let his attention go to the woman on the horse, who he now could look at a little more closely. She wore no visible sigil or crest denoting any particular house or affiliation in particular, curious. Fane made it his business to know the houses of most lords and ladies and considering the circlet she wore she was clearly of descent from some house in particular. But what caught his attention most of all was the colour of her eyes. Something that had him tilting his head just a fraction as he peered up at her. “Glad no harm came to you m'lady. Though it’s a shame you didn’t sit him down in that puddle over there… now, that I will admit would have given me a laugh.”

Iann was about to laugh, enjoying Fane’s idea of banter. The man was hardly theatrical about it, but it was there if one chose ti to be there. Iann always liked that Savin gave people the option to see humour in his words, or not. Their choice - granted Fane’s nature, status, and height also tended to clout people’s choices. He said nothing as Fane mocked him openly to the strange woman, and her not-so-veiled threat to him, as she then demurred to Fane in the same breath. Interesting. Iann released her horse, and took a step back, his eyes watching Fane carefully, as he did.

Danny rushed after Iann, having become distracted by some of the rumble. He had been here after all, when the fighting was at it’s worst. Still it didn’t excuse abandoning his post. Armour making loud metallic sounds as he moved he eventually caught up, breath heavy as he stopped. “Apologises, my lord.” He looked over the scene, unsure of what he had missed.

“Not to worry, Ser Harrison,” Iann replied, not looking at his Knight; he could hear the man coming from a mile away. He bowed to the stranger woman and gave the Inquisitor a polite nod, then turned to address his Knight. “Have your men been successfully dispatched?” he asked, referring to the Naval Knights who Harrison commandeered on Iann’s Flagship.

Faye pointedly moved her horse to the side as he was released. “Thank you, m'lord,” she nodded curtly to Iann. She was out of practice with the formalities, and even more out of practice with being looked at as if she were not some frightening oddity.

Fane had sense enough to know where the limits of a situation typically lay. He might not have a mind for the scheming that went on behind closed doors but he had a good approximation of how to diffuse or in certain situations escalate things as and when he wanted to. Fane’s humour in this case was mostly an attempt to balm this woman’s apparent prickly nature. Mostly because she was mounted and Fane would rather not have himself or Iann trodden on. It would be an awful political mess to sort out to explain how the prince had ended up trampled on his watch. As one of Iann’s knights arrived Fane looked over to him curiously wondering how he hadn’t yet boiled alive in his plate. Though as the woman addressed Iann as m'lord he almost snorted instead saying quietly, “your royal highness.”

Danny observed the woman, bowing as Iann did, his head coming far lower however since it was of his station to do so. “Yes, My Lord,” Danny nodded gently, his breath catching quickly, he’d been in far more dire situations in his attire. Running beneath the sun was only temporarily exhausting. “They’re moving as we speak.”

Iann overheard the strange woman’s words and then Savin’s quiet correction, but didn’t acknowledge it. The last thing he had any interest in was incurring anyone’s threats, or Savin’s insults. He shook his head at Danny. “You’re so red,” he commented, pitying the pale-skinned man for his ability to burn. It reminded Iann of Savin himself, when he’d visited the Forty Isles. The first and last time the poor Iniquisitor had done so, despising the heat and appalled by the sun. “Very good, Ser. And please, change into your formalwear,” he said. He’d asked Danny to do so before, but the Knight was so intent on guarding and protecting, he insisted on being in his full plate armour. He really did look magnificent though, large and gleaming in the sun. And that unfortunate plum-red face. “Or at least keep your visor down.”

Faye glanced at the taller man as he made a sound that sounded like he was choking. She even opened her mouth to ask him if he was alright when the words 'your royal highness’ hit her ears. Faye blinked, then frowned. She looked at the man who’d snagged her horse, then at the panting knight next to him. Ah. Faye cleared her throat. Well, if there wasn’t a better way to thoroughly fuck herself before she even got into the capitol, she had no idea what it was. “Apologies, Your Highness.” Faye dipped her head in a more appropriate greeting. “It’s been some time since Ive left home. I didn’t recognize you.”

Danny’s skin burnt with ease but he was use to it, he had stood where they were now a burnt to the point of his lips so dry they cracked open and bled. This felt like little to the man and so he did as Iann’s second suggestion requested. “Of course, My Lord,” he agreed and placed his visor down so that the man did not have to look upon his burning face. Unfazed by this request he stood diligently behind his master as he recieved another apology. Clearly he was widely respected.

Fane observed Iann’s interaction with his knight both admiring and certainly not envying the man’s present choice of attire. Broad chest and barrel armed he was clearly a stalwart fighter. But his attention was far more taken by the woman mistakenly addressing Iann as m'lord. Raised a hand he rubbed a hand over his chin, “and where would home be for you m'lady? I don’t think we caught your name…”

Iann turned slightly, surprised by the woman’s need to apologize. He’d held her horse to prevent it from careening into him further and he’d only received unadulterated hostility in return. He regarded her calmly for a moment before asking, “And why should you recognize me?” He was about to ask where home was, but Fane beat him to it, which was perfectly fine. She certainly seemed more inclined towards the tall Inquisitor anyway. She wore no symbols of identification on her black on black wear, nothing to identify her for any particular House. The circlet, however… Iann’s eyes widened slightly and his breath caught, but he didn’t say anything, curious to hear how she would answer. If she chose to answer at all.

“That’s because I haven’t given it,” Faye said evenly to Fane. “Nor have you asked for it.” Her violet eyes slid to the prince. “One should always recognize nobility.” Feeling slightly put upon, Faye was uncertain how she would be received. But not answering a direct question might raise suspicions where none seemed to exist. “The Wildwood Marsh, m'lord.”

Miguel had accompanied Adeline and Cassandra to the castle. He saw them settled, settled himself, and changed into a more rugged outfit. It made him look like an upper class mercenary - someone who could walk freely between the different tiers of the city and be unbothered by most people. His broadsword ever strapped to his hip. He walked alone, without the two members of his crew, he had temporarily added them to the guards and servants of Summerset - to better take care of Adeline. It was easier for him to defend himself after all. He continued his exploration of the Capitol and kept his eyes out for his brother. Eventually he stumbled across him - along with a few other familiar faces. One an incredibly surprising face. That of the enigmatic and sightly eccentric Faye Lacroy.

"Good man,” Iann murmured to Harrison, when he heard the visor clinking down. It would be better that, then the Knight jogging all the way back down to the Waytried Docks to change on the ship. He could do so later. In the meantime, he could sweat in his armour, as was befitting a Knight’s role. Still, Iann was silently pleased by the near bull-headed determination of Harrison, ever since he’d sworn fealty to the Forty Isles. Iann had yet to determine if he was of any long term value, but thus far Harrison was at least true to his Knighthood. And when the woman announced that she’d come from the Wildwood Marsh, Iann was tempted to look over at Fane at that moment. However, he wasn’t sure if Fane would look back at him. The Wildwood Marsh, though. That could only mean one thing, although Iann had yet to see those legendary purple eyes. So instead, Iann spoke very carefully. “If you please, my lady, entering the Core City on horseback is reserved for Knights and soldiers. We tend to walk there, or if you prefer a palanquin, I can summon one for you.”

Fane paused when the woman spoke of her home, and while there was no major change in his outward demeanour there was perhaps a tad more curiosity with which he regarded her. Of course he’d heard the tales, never believed them entirely but considering the battles he’d fought in the past you could never entirely discredit legend. But every legend began and ended in fiction, until you met the true source of such stories and here was the well of many a haunted tale. “The Prince is right…” he sounded a touch apologetic, “we were on our way towards the upper Keep if you were headed there. Perhaps your mount could be stabled and tended to while you are here in the city?”

Faye took a moment to judge the requests of the prince, just as she took a moment to judge the looks she received from both him and the other man as they recognized her it seemed. “Yes. I think that would be favorable. I am certainly no knight.” As the Inquisitor spoke Faye nodded, “it appears I am, if you’d point me towards the stables, I can see to my horse.”

Iann saw his brother - or more specifically he caught the look on Miguel’s face when he saw the strange woman on her horse. It was a look of plain, raw recognition and Iann then took a further step back from the woman and her horse, suspecting that the more people who’s attention she caught, the more inclined she’d be to flee. Which was the last thing Iann wanted, of course. “Inquisitor, she favours you, and this lowly Prince - and his illustrious ass that you waxed so kindly over - is only in her way. Please,” he bowed to them both, with a flourish of his hand to allow them to pass. Then he knocked on Harrison’s armour and was sure to proceed behind the woman and her horse and Savin as well, as he crossed the yard towards his little brother. “Yes, I know who that is. And yes, that is she.” He frowned, and looked down at his shorter brother. “Tell me a truth, Miguel - have you met her before?”

Danny stayed the farthest back from the group, so far as he could tell they were all men of means and had made the woman their companion so he was by no means inclined to interrupt there conversation with any words of his own. He would remain steady, watching for what was around them to make sure Iann was safe.

Miguel smiled at his brother. “I always speak the truth to my esteemed brother.” And it was true, in his own way. Miguel had never told Iann an outright lie, Iann so seldom asked the right questions. “Truly, I have met her.”

Cassie When Cassandra had finally made it to the castle she had to spend a little while settling into her the chambers allotted for her and her daughter. She was eager to see the rest of the castle, it’d been ages since she made it to the capitol after all, and more and more people were arriving. The toddler loathed to let her mother go, but after changing out of her riding gear Cassandra left the rooms and followed the noise of footseps and conversation. She had to pick up her pace slightly to meet the cluster of people outside, glad to see Iann, Miguel again. But she caught up to Danny first since he hung back slightly – “You think they could have decorated a bit more huh?” She muttered with a smirk, “The trip wasn’t too taxing”.

Putting his arm around Miguel’s broad rounded shoulders, Iann steered him towards the Keep within the Core City. The keep was close to the Bluespring Castle, but not close enough that it didn’t have its own fine selection of taverns. “Come, you must tell me everything,” he said, and then looked at Harrison. “Ser Harrison, please keep us company,” he said, as if Danny had any other place to go. Almost as soon as they started walking again, Cassandra appeared to make her usual arch comment on something she saw to criticize about the Forty Isles way. As he opened his mouth to gently retort (gently, because they were siblings by marriage, and he meant her no ill-will), but even as he did, someone ran by and bodily picked up Cassandra, whisking her down the street towards the Lower City. “Ser Daniel!” he yelled, breaking into a run to follow the kidnapper before they reached the infernal rat-maze that was the Lower City.

Danny looked up to where Iann was, making sure his lord was not looking back before he lifted his visor to take Cassandra in. He had spent most of the trip over looking at her when he was not actively doing his duties as commander of Iann’s navy. Those moments were few and far between but had distracted him greatly. “Not quite enough for the travel required to come?” he asked her. His pace picked up so himself and Cassie had joined Iann and his brother, feeling unsteady about the request, but that unease was replace with genuine fear as someone grabbed Cassandra from beside him, taking her off towards the lower city. He did not need Iann to say anything, responding on instinct he chased after her, the exhausted running from before not at all like the adrenaline rush he had now, his feet coming down firm onto the stone path, his stride strong. Catching up was no challenging but stopping them while they held Cassie was, not wanting to injure her in the process. So rather than remove his sword Danny removed his helmet, hitting the man over the head with the strong golden metal.

Iann caught up soon after - his keen, angry eyes spotted two people watching who turned to run, as Daniel’s helmet cracked the kidnapper’s head with a loud SNAP. The two who ran were clearly the kidnapper’s compatriots, and Iann pulled out two knives from his sleeve, throwing them towards the men. One hit a man in the back, the other glanced off a building just as the man slipped around a corner, likely clambering over a wall to get into the Lower City. “Curses,” he breathed, then turned to pull Cassandra out o the fallen man’s grasp. He didn’t hold her for long though, knowing by now that Cassandra was perfectly capable of standing on her own. “Don’t kill him yet,” he said to both Cassandra and Knight Harrison. “Who are you?” Iann demanded of the kidnapper, hauling him by the collar and giving him a shake.

Danny had not intended upon killing him but stayed silent about this, turning to Cassandra instead, looking to her to see if she was alright, or if she was perhaps in shock from the sudden taking and releasing that had happened.

Miguel was about to say something to Iann when the excitement bubbled up and he sprinted after Cassie and the kidnapper on instinct. Iann’s dependable knight was quicker though. And then Iann took over the interrogation. So Miguel paid attention to his sister, he lightly touched her hands and pat her arm. “Are you alright, sister? Nothing hurt, I hope.”

Cassie was about to respond to Danny when she felt the arms grasp and yank at her from behind. She gasped loudly, quickly escalating into kicks and screams as her assailant attempted to whisk her away. They didn’t get much of a chance though, and Cassandra was thankful for not only Knight Harrison, but her brothers in law that followed. Her heart was racing as she was placed back steadily on her feet, curls tumbled and out of place from the capture. She breathed, staring daggers down at the thief, “I’m fine.” Cassandra spoke coolly. “I just forgot about Capitol life, is all.”

“This has happened to you before, Milady?” Danny said, the formal addressing of her strange on his tongue. He had rarely been around female royalty, it had just never come up before and Danny would not have been shocked if he’d been using it incorrectly this whole time but Cassandra had politely allowed him to be.

“Ser Knight, go make sure that other man is dead,” Iann instructed Harrison to inspect the man who Iann had thrown a dagger at. He glanced at Miguel, who was hovering close to Cassie, as was Harrison. The kidnapper who Iann held managed to cram something into his mouth, and then he began to froth. “What is this - Miguel - ” Iann beckoned his brother, because his bother was more familiar with poisons than he was. “Miguel!” But it was too late, the man was near death. Before he died, he yelled, “FOR HOUSE KESLEY!!” And then he died. Iann stared at the dead man in his hands, knowing House Kesley was an old rival of Summerset. A minor house, but an old one. Iann seethed, and sneered. “House Kesley. I will kill them all. We shall lay waste to their lands.”

Danny nodded to Lord Cardero and moved over to the man he had thrown his dagger at, he was not quite dead but as Danny leaned down and pulled his master’s dagger out his lungs quickly flooded with blood and he died. “He is dead, Milord, I doubt House Kesley got as much as they intended out of this.”

“A long time ago.” Cassandra answered quickly, trying to look closer at the man who had grabbed her. He didn’t look familiar, and she was slightly comforted to know that perhaps, she was not grabbed for being recognizable as well. But then it was clear, this was some sort of retaliation, and her blue eyes darkened slightly. “Not to bright on House Kesley to do this at coronation.” Cassie stiffened, she’d raise hell with complaints if she had to.

Miguel’s eyes narrowed and he crouched by the remains of the would be kidnapper, apparently allied with House Kesley - but why would he yell that if the mission was a failure? It didn’t bring any honor to the house. He stuck one finger in the froth and took a demure sniff. “Mmm,” he glanced up at Iann from where he was crouched. “Not so quickly, brother. There are certain doubts I have. Why would he proudly name his house at a failed mission? As Cassandra says, why at the coronation? If I had to guess, I would say someone was trying to cause trouble today. So close to unification.”

“Thank you, Ser Daniel,” he said, then looked at the knight. “Your quick-thinking has kept the Grand Lady safe,” he proclaimed. It wasn’t necessary to explicitly say that Daniel had performed well - the fact that the Grand Lady was safe, made this point clear enough. Onlookers gawped in fascination, and this time Iann let them enjoy the 'show’. He was angry - livid in fact, at the audacity of his kidnapper. To the point that he wasn’t seeing straight, he was only wishing for revenge. Until of course both Cassandra and then Miguel offered insight that pulled logic over Iann’s rage, like a soft wet sea blanket. Iann looked from Cassandra to Miguel, then back at the dead man. “Of course. Of course, you’re right. So close to unification…” his mouth twisted in a different sort of anger. “House Kesley might try to kidnap Cassandra for some petty ransom, but they would never do something as treasonous as splintering the Quiver at a coronation. Hm.” He thinned his eyes. “How much trouble do they intend to cause, I now wonder.”

Danny only saw the pure leadership that came from his lord, each one of them deciphering what had occurred. This was not something Danny could understand, only capable of brute force and battle strategy. Things like kidnapping were beyond him. “I am glad you did not have to suffer than again,” he said to Cassie.

“Why not spoil the coronation?” Cassandra posed the question. “It’s not as if everyone supports the appointed Raj.” This she had no fear in saying, because what had just happened was clear proof. “People will always favor one house over the other. But I say we let those back at the castle know of the riff raff. As soon as possible.” She crossed her arms, and not because she was overly concerned for the other nobility visiting the castle, but because it was clear to her at least, whoever was prepped for the throne didn’t know how to properly scout their city. She didn’t say this though, and only nodded lightly in thanks to Ser Daniel. For once, she wanted the surprised stares away from her.

Miguel thought abut that for a moment, with pursed lips. Cassandra’s assessment was fair, and her plan was sound. He nodded. He wanted to explore the Capitol some more, but if Cassandra was going back to the castle he would accompany her. “Right, whomever is in charge of such things needs to know.”

“I will feel much better having you in the Keep,” Iann said to Cassandra, and gave her an apologetic look for saying it, in case she rolled her eyes. But she had just been kidnapped, after all. “Let’s go quickly. Ser Daniel, if you would be so kind as to lead the way - with your sword.” The knight could keep his sword drawn for as far as it took to get to the Core City, at least. And it should be enough warning, as well as Miguel’s muscles and both Iann and Cassandra’s respective glowers.

Danny drew his sword as requested of him. These seemed like such extreme measures for an event that was meant to be filled with joy and community and Danny’s heart fell at the prospect of all of this not doing as well as people had hoped. The war had been devastating, returning to that would only hurt people. Still, if it was for Cassie’s protection, then he would not object, leading their was back to the core of the city.

Cassie harrumphed at Iann’s comment and tilted her head towards him, “Yes well you see, that’s where I was headed originally when he just came out of no where and grabbed me.” Cassandra sighed as Danny did what Iann requested, she too thinking it was a little over the top. At least in front of the commoners. There was no need to strike fear into their hearts as of yet. “I really am fine. I should have been watching.” She upturned her palms, “I’m not used to the crowding. But I hope you know,” Cassie arched her brow, “I’m not going to be locked away in some tower.”

Ciara sat sitting in the courtyard with a couple other Ladies, working neatly on stitchwork and chatting idly as they worked. Around them, servants bustled, moving furnishing and barrels, but always giving the ladies space for their work and their privacy. There were mice who knew themselves to be , and those that didn’t - these lovely specimens of the gentry were just that, oblivious to the careful craft of her questions and answers. But a small gesture from one of the maids had her looking up, towards the front gates of the courtyard. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” she said, and when they demurred, she walked over to the source of interest, as Lord Iann, Miguel, and Grand Lady Cassandra arrived just beyond the castle gates, with a knight armed. “It seems the day has hardly started and you’ve had some adventure.”

Miguel stuck close to the group as they made their way back to the castle gates. His hands were twitchy and knees stayed bent. No one would be catching him off guard again that day. “Perhaps a bit too much excitement…” he looked to his companions, his brother and Lady Cassandra. They could explain what happened. Cassandra, and unfortunately Iann, knew him well enough to know that his air of jovial buffoonery was a ruse. But Lady Florent didn’t need to know that.

“These aren’t my towers,” Iann said blithely glancing upwards at the thick, austere towers of Bluesprings Castle that only peeked over the Core City walls. He offered a brief, grim smile at Cassandra. “My towers on the Forty Isles are actually fit for a Queen.” As they crossed the gates and entered the calmer, quieter (but still busy) courtyards of the Keep, Iann exhaled and relaxed. Somewhat. He nodded at Daniel, who could sheathe his sword now. And the moment he turned to the left, the Burned Lady herself was suddenly upon them. Iann smiled immediately, and bowed. “Lady Ciara, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She wasn’t really; Iann could never keep his eyes off the scars marring her face, tracing down her jaw and under the cloth of her dress. He didn’t look at them due to rudeness or even curiosity, but just an acknowledgement of their existence. Why not see it for what it was? They made her so unattractive, and yet so compelling at the same time. “So you’ve heard what happened in the Inner City. News travels fast. My dear innocent sister-in-marriage here, part of some…yet-undetermined elaborate captivity plot? Here in the Capital?” He huffed in slight frustration. “This displeases me,” he stated, with a sense of expectation.

Cassie laughed, “A captivity plot. Imagine that.” Cassie smoothed her dress, “That’s only for individuals who pose a threat.” She laughed again, because at first glance it really was a hysterical idea. “But it was someone from House Kesley. You may want to look into them.” She advised bitterly. “And if you find or know any other information, do keep me informed. I’m clearly being targeted.” Her lips thinned again at the very idea, “People might think BlueSprings was up to something if more nobles are threatened.”

“News travels so fast it is rarely more than smoke,” Ciara replied, looking from Iann to Cassandra. “I’m sorry to hear that isn’t the case this time. Are you all right, my lady?” She was smoothing her dress and in good enough spirits to be furious, something which boded well. She said nothing of the assassins she’d detected early in the morning, the ones who were dead in the lock by mid afternoon. “It has been a while since i heard from House Kesley, but I will endeavor to find out what I can for you, my lady.” Their displeasure was also noted, well and loudly received, just as was Miguel’s kindly disposition. “We’re all here for peace. I hope you find more of it now that you’ve reached here.” We’re here for peace - that was Avitej’s line, not hers.

Miguel nodded. Ciara’s words were enough for him, for now. “Your concern is appreciated,” he said pointedly at Ciara. And then he turned back to Cassandra and Iann. “I’d like to check on Adeline, if that would please you dear sister.” He knew she was guarded well in the castle - the little princess had far too many titles and too few years to not be guarded well.

Iann regarded Cassandra as she both laughed it off as not being important enough, and then also pointedly said she was being targeted. “Perhaps that is the point of this attempt,” Iann murmured, although not trying to include it as part of the conversation between the two women, or to Miguel. He only spoke to himself, and then rubbed his forehead, his furious frustration growing. He’d arrived in the Capital under Sharma’s request, the Cloverry’s invitation and the promise of unification and peace. And if this botched (and now that he thought about it in retrospect, terribly executed) kidnapping attempt had happened to some other distant House, it might’ve been piquant but easily dismissed news. But it didn’t happen to some random House; it happened to his brother’s wife, and Grand Lady of the fading Summerset. “It is good to see Bluesprings Castle. I enjoy its beauty.” Iann’s tone was curt and abrupt, which didn’t quite match his pleasant words; but the words were as much true as the aggravation he tried to shift away from. Unthinking, he gave Miguel a nod of permission, as if Miguel had ever taken Iann’s orders or heeded his permission

“Yes, I certainly hope I find more peaceful surroundings my remaining trip.” Cassie repeated back to Ciara, clearly still if not shaken greatly annoyed that the kidnapping took place at all. “I’m only glad it happened early on.” At least Cassie could be weary early on, rather than caught off guard much later. “If there are extra gaurds in the castle, I’d like to request them outside me and my daughter’s chambers, at least for the night.” Miguel and Iann might jump to offer their own knights of course, but she felt Bluesprings somewhat owed her. “I’ll take some rest and uh-“ Cassandra sighed, touching her hair as if to ground herself, “Check on Adeline as well.”

The guards would be provided; Ciara would ensure it. She was too powerful a person to trifle with, and besides, from what she knew, Ciara liked her. “Enjoy your rest,” she replied, and then it was just her and lord Iann. “I look forward to see the castle and capital grow in the coming years.” She replied, and gestured for her to walk with him. “How fare the Isles?”

Iann watched Cassandra trailing after Miguel, wondering if she was more bothered than she showed. He tried to relax, but it was difficult. And it was tempting to rub his shoulders, but Iann wouldn’t in public, and certainly not in front of Lady Ciara. “Thriving, as usual,” he said, tone as breezy as an ocean wind. “My children have all left home now. The youngest has a ship of her own. A trireme, really; but she’s taken her crew far. To Promise Harbour, last I’ve heard.” Iann never tired of talking about his children; and aside from his eldest being a Ward of House Savin, he never worried that the politics of Bluesprings would affect them. “Have you ever seen Promise Harbour? It’s beautiful; but the people there are even more enchanting than the sights…” He hummed, and smiled, trying to distract himself. “I spent six months there once, and never left the Harbourmaster’s Palace.” He looked at his boots as they walked. “But enough about me and the stars of my life. How do you fare, Lady Ciara? Dare I ask, or will I be disappointed by the answer?”

“I have not, I have heard many great things about it.” Ciara did not miss the implication of his tone, and was not considered chaste enough to pretend to hide it. “The Palace must have been truly exceptional indeed, to keep you so long.” He asked about her and she smiled. This was the custom. Polite question after question, and the game of words Iann played so well. “Perhaps nothing so grand as wayfaring children, but this tenuous peace has been good for us. My sister has secured a new trade route with Greywald, and Snowdonia has opened their mountain passes. My sister has become grandmother, thrilled with her spring child.” There was no story about her, and that was by design.

“You live such a full and busy life, Lady - and yet still no husband?” Iann said with a bland smile, considering Ciara said nothing of herself. But really, he was thinking about Snowdonia opening up their mountain passes. His Isles dealt in trade routes - and even ones landlocked in Greywald held interest to him as it provided alternate routes and therefore competition for his merchant people’s trades. He hummed. “Perhaps it’s time that I secure a second wife,” he mused, even though only the Potentate-King of the Forty Isles was allowed multiple wives. And technically his father was still alive. “Do you think your sister would agree to an alliance? The Greywald sister. Unless she is one and the same with the grandmother one, in which case…” He shrugged. “Older women dohave more experience.”

“We all find ways to serve our families, do we not?” Ciara replied in kind, and watched the seeds she’d planted grow in his mind. His response was so typical of many men here. You did not make allegiances with women, you married them. Over and over. Some houses allowed polygamy - hers did not, although there were plenty of mistresses with just as much power. She had been raised by four women, all of whom her father had used in his bed and in his politics. “I’m afraid my sisters are all married, although they will be honoured that you suggested it. We can discuss trade deals after the coronation, if you’d like.”

His first marriage was political. He loved his wife, but not with much depth or passion. He loved his children more, and left his wife to her own devices, following in the steps of his own father that way. But duty was what it was; the marriage pulled her House out of ruin, and made the Forty Isles richer. His middle brother married strategically as well; maybe love was there too, but he had, by traditional definitions, married up. The lands of Summerset’s glory was faded during the war, and the Germaine name made a great and powerful allegiance for a brother who would never amount to much. Miguel had yet to marry; but as his two brothers, it was expected that whatever choice he made, it would be of benefit to the kingdom. So Iann snorted at the idea of her sisters being already married, since other people’s marriages hardly ever deterred him from getting what he wanted. He treated this in jest, but all he could think of now, was Snowdonia pass. What perfect time, this sister somehow finding this new trade route, and the mountain pass opening, just as peace was on the cusp of Bluesprings. How utterly convenient. “Well, if they are unavailable then we shall just have to marry each other,” he said, to shift the topic and make it more obviously silly. He wasn’t truly being silly, he was playing the game.

#got au #aka look at me backtracking to the first scenes so we have everything #got scene

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omgmusiclove · 6 years

Text

An Introduction of Sorts

So...I finished an Hetalia one-shot that has been languishing around. Hope you enjoy!

Title: An Introduction of Sorts

Main Character: America

Secondary Character: Juan Ponce de Leon

Mentioned Character: Native America

Implied Character: Spain

Summary: Little America meets Juan Ponce de Leon in 1513 in the region now called Florida.

Early morning dew on wet grass was the best feeling in the world. It made your bare feet feel cool and slippery being able to squish together the damp dirt under the grass between your feet. It also made the grass smell and look good. It was like seeing millions of crystals against the rising sun.

This would be the last few times he could enjoy this as rising temperatures accompany the oncoming of summer. In the middle of the day, April would bring hot humid weather which really wasn't that fun to play in unless you were in shade or water. Little America got on his knees and felt the grass with his hand. The water would splay around his hand and evaporate quickly as the sun started taking its spot in the sky, the beautiful dawn turning into broad daylight slowly.

America crawled a little bit more on the grass. He would find all sorts of things when he crawled around. Like insects, mud spots, tiny creatures, and his favorite-worms. Worms were a sight to behold. They never died if you played with them to hard and accidently tore them apart (like America tended to) since they would just become two worms. They felt really squishy and cool and never bit you like some spiders and ants. Worms were America's favorite pastime and he found a little patch of them.

As time went on and America spent his day laughing and giggling with his worm friends, the ocean started losing its “quiet” sensation. The Atlantic was always one to be wild and have crashing waves but you could always tell when the waves started sounding different. Instead of following through, the wave would be interrupted with a smack against hardwood. A ship was breaking its way through the Atlantic heading to shore unbeknownst to America.

He didn't quite realize that anyone was coming until the ship hit shore, crashing against the hardened sand. Looking up, America saw a huge sleek wooden ship. It had majestic sterling white sails that covered the top of the ship and a huge intimidating flag that had four squares of castles and lions...things that America never really noticed or saw before.

The men (and there sure was a lot) ranged from light skin like his own to a little more olive skin color. They were tall and trimmed looking men wearing breeches, stockings, long overcoats over a simple shirt, and some of them even wore hats. Many of the ship men looked rather plain but some of them especially one figure stood out with more elaborate clothing that shined against the sun. Who were these guys?

America, being little enough to hide amongst the grass parts that were growing tall, hid himself. He crouched down into a little ball resembling a cat and peeked through the grass fields watching as the men started getting off of the boat and onto shore. America could hear them speaking in some language he couldn't understand and never heard of. It wasn't nation speak that he was inherently born to know but it wasn't the one of the native tribe languages either. These new voices were exotic sounding different from each man: hopeful, excited, curious, commanding, demanding.

There was one voice who stuck out the most. The man with the most elaborate clothing yelled over the group in a commanding leadership type way. He seemed bold and very forthright about his ambitions. It reminded of America of the leaders from the various natives. This man must lead them.

The men after hearing the instruction of whatever the lead man was saying starting going out into the fields away from the shore and started exploring. Each went different directions in a group, their voices exclaiming things in awe about this new world they were seeing for the first time.

America crouched himself together a little more not necessarily knowing what to do. He had overheard of new people coming to his lands from Native North America that was the other personification of the native peoples here and where his other brother whom he never saw lived in the north. Native was talking to other tribe's leaders of news from the South America and Caribbean tribes of people coming from the ocean on boats and cultivating their land. Some of the stories had sounded horrific with some tribes being conquered or used as slaves.

It had sounded scary to America and he didn't quite understand a lot of it. One thing is for sure, there was bigger nations out there somewhere older than him and they were not probably as nice as Native was to him. Could these guys be from one of those bigger nations?

Heavy boots clamped down on the now dry grass near his hiding spot catching America off guard. The man looked around and said something strange when he heard a little squeak that America couldn't stop in time. America closed his eyes and tightened his mouth shut trying not to be caught by this weird beast. The boots came closer and closer until America felt one on top of his head. It pushed down a little bit causing America to move quickly on instinct and consequently do a somersault that landed him on his bum.

Blue eyes and brown eyes looked at each other for a long while, just staring. America could see that this man was definitely one of importance because of his lavish cloth that draped him. It resembled the high level leaders of the Natives except without feathers or paint or bow. This man had silk, well-kept hair, and a sword. The man's eyes burned a hole through his emotions flitting through them a mile a minute. America shivered. Something inside him, an inner voice, was telling him that this man was not a nation. The way his eyes were staring showed various states but especially one of surprise of finding people on this land. It gave away a flair only a human could possess. A nice little curious touch to the human persona.

The man grunted and crouched down to America reaching a hand out to to keep him steady. America not really wanting to be touched by someone he didn't know used both his hand to grab the intruding appendage and push it to the ground. The man was startled a little a bit and uttered a word that sounded like a curse.

“You are a strong baby,” he murmured under his breath. A toddler shouldn't have been able to do something like that. Not a normal human toddler. He looked back at America curiously and wondered if this baby was special. Like the man that was always beside the royals. A special person...a personification. America not really understanding the man's tongue kept his hands on top of the others.

“What are you doing here?” America asked in broken nation speak. He was still young and not having much contact with other nations, his speech was not exactly up to par yet. Even though he had deduced that this man was human he figured that this was going to be the best choice for communication. He most likely did not know any native tongue and nation speak had words from all sorts of languages. He could probably understand at least some of them.

The man raised a chiseled eyebrow at the weird gibberish. He didn't comprehend many of the words used there.

Sighing, the man said, “Me llamo Juan Ponce de Leon. I am here on exploration from Spain. You being here shows that there is people here.” He smirked in an amusing way. “You are not a normal human are you little one?”

America's eyebrows went down in confusion. What was this...Juan person saying? He caught one thing from that gargin, his name.

America didn't know what else he should do and uttered the most intelligible thing that came to mind. “Huh?”

Juan's mouth dropped the smirk and turned into a frown which was followed by a silence. Everything was dead around them except for the distant ocean waves beating against each other in a competition.

Then like a geyser sprouting its water from its whole, Juan fell into a fit of laughter. It was jovial and heavy. It caught America so off guard that his grip on Juan's hands lessened which enabled Juan to break free. His freed hands immediately covered his belly as his laughter continued almost growing silent. America's face grew a wondrous shade of red across his cheeks. He didn't exactly know what he did to cause this man to laugh so heavily. He simply just couldn't understand him....he never really seen anyone from the Old World.

Juan was finally able to regain control of himself and cleared his throat. He got back up on his two feet and straightened out his lavish clothes. His stately eyes looked down upon America and his mouth formed into a patronizing smirk.

“You don't understand me...,”he stated. Then his eyes looked up onto the landscape. Scouting out the surface, America's land was new, clean, fresh with new resources that have never been abundantly used or even discovered. It was like looking at heaven's virginal angels-pristine and immaculate.

All his to exploit.

Juan's eyes landed back on America with a look of greed. His smirk turning from patronizing to hungry.

“You have never seen one of us huh? A European from the Old World. The way your land looks, little one, means your people live like savages. An uncivilized group.” Juan sneered, eyes leering. He bent down to pick America up and cradle him like the little child he was. America was too stunned to do anything other than let him be cuddled but the cuddle wasn't warm. It wasn't like Native's cuddles. Native's cuddles were warm and comforting. He knew he was safe from the world with Native's strong arms around him. This guy's cuddle was cold. Like a barren winter wasteland. There was no warmth in Juan's cuddle and at no time did he feel protected. America knew he had to do something.

The little child started writhing and wriggling around uttering little whiny noises. A kitten trying to get out of the bigger cat's grasp. Juan looked down and gave a patronizing smile.

“Oh, little one. You can't escape from me. You will help us bring new riches to Spain!” Juan started walking back to the ships where he would be able to gather his men. Catching young America was the first step (already completed) and the child could help them navigate the unknown lands and deal with the indigenous savages. This child would not grow up like them.

When they got to the ship, the soldiers automatically surrounded Juan ready to serve. One of the men noticed that Juan was carrying a bundle that was struggling to get out of his grip.

“What do you have there, Commander Ponce? A baby?” asked one of his men.

“There are people here? Asked another.

Juan looked at the man and scoured over the rest of soldiers and stated, “this is no ordinary baby. When I saw him, he showed too much intelligence and strength to be a regular human baby. This young one represents this new colony we have found here.”

Silence rung around the group. It was always interesting to the humans to hear about those special people. Most humans saw these “special beings” throughout their lives but always convinced themselves that it just had to be another person. Other humans knew better and believed in the nations especially if their late family has seen them in the past. Then there were high ranking humans that dealt with the nations on a regular basis. Subsequently, there were humans that did not necessarily believe Juan and those that did. No one dared to dissent or consent, though, to the commander.

“He will come back with us. It would be lovely to show the royal family that a newborn colony personification has been created. Vamanos!”

Juan led the way and headed towards the ship’s dock. His men followed after him.

Little America was scared. He started screaming and squirming in the conquistador's grasp. He did not want to go to wherever this man was taking him.

A squirmish had ensued between Juan and America. America was an abnormally strong country and, even was he little, he was able to play with the bison and swing them around just using his bare hands. America decided that he needed that strength now and started kicking and clawing and yelling out. Surprised by the burst of pure strength, Juan let go of the baby nation and America fell to the ground, shaken but unharmed. Juan, realizing that he needed to use force, grabbed his sword and quickly swung it at the child’s arm making a warning cut that went from America’s upper arm arm to lower arm.

America cried out from the pain not expecting the sword to come out. The blood was a small trickle (the cut was not that deep) and the blood was fresh and hot. Tears started rolling down America’s eyes and he looked up at his torturer with teary eyed fury. He was angry that this big guy that came from lands elsewhere had the gall to try to force him to go back with him. He wouldn’t allow himself to just be used as a toy to exploit.

Very swiftly, America grabbed onto the edge of the sword, new tears forming from the cuts it gave his hand, and yanked hard. The force of the yank was so much that Juan Ponce fell face forward onto the ground with a very grueling thud. He groaned and when he was finally able to lift his face, it was covered with dirt and grass. His head was pounding with pain from the fall.

America now in control of the sword, grabbed hold of the hilt and pointed it towards Juan.

“Leave now! I am not afraid to use this,” America shouted. His young voice was strong but not quite steady. It had a slight quiver to it that might have loosened the punch of America’s words.

Juan looked at his circumstances. He had lost against a baby! A little baby, not more than two years old, was now holding him at sword point. His pride was severely hurt. His men had just witnessed him lose against a child- not even a full grown nation! Oh, how he wanted revenge but he would have to bide his time. Juan, for once in his life, decided not to push his luck.

Staggering to his feet, Juan put his hands up and looked at the child.

“I will leave you now,” he stated. America just kept his gaze and held the sword at Juan’s face.

Slowly, walking backwards not daring to turn his back on the child, the great Juan Ponce de Leon was forced to retreat. He left behind his sword and finally turned his back when he got close to his men.

“Sir, are you okay?

“Si, head back to the ship and get it ready for sail. We have a lot to tell our superiors,” Juan ordered.

Looking back at America, who now had put the sword down, Juan vowed to come back and colonize this little nation. He would get his revenge and this little nation (no matter the strength) and the savages that live with him will not be able to withstand the army that he would yield.

He would, personally, make sure that this New World would be his.

#axis powers hetalia #aph america #fanfic #aph spain #aph native america #historical fiction

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dwtspd · 6 years

Text

DWTS S27 Week ONE!!! Nights 1+2 review

Man, when I saw Tom I suddenly felt like it had been AGES since I watched this show, then I realised, I didn’t even watch the athlete season. My friends told me it’s not worth it so I will probably never watch it.

Idk how the two-night thing is gonna work out so this is a combined post.

Night 1

Mary Lou Retton and Sasha Farber - Cha cha okay, was that video package kinda short? Also maybe it’s cos I’m not American but I’m soooo over all the “yay USA” themed dances. Anyhows, Mary Lou is a former US gymnast who won gold in 1984, the first US woman to do so. No mention of her current embroilment in the USAgym-gate. Okay, she can definitely remember steps. She needs to work on timing and also getting those latin shapes. 6-7-6 T19 huh that’s kinda harsh?? Might have been 1-2 pts higher if she went later I think.

Milo Manheim and Witney Carson - Cha cha Sorry Milo, but Zombies aiiiin’t that great. In case anyone doesn’t know, Zombies is a cheesy af DCOM musical. I really like his energy though. “Tell me about yourself.” “I’m still in school.” I love that. It’s quite refreshing cos we don’t get young male contestants as often as the girls. Whoa, he has those hips! I don’t think his limbs were as messy as the judges made it sound. His legs looked a little awkward during the cha-cha walks. That aside, this dance was so fun to watch! 7-6-7 T20 “That’s good, that’s good!” Witney tells him. Again, I think he could get a tad higher scores if he went later.

Evanna Lynch and Keo Motsepe - Foxtrot OMG Keo’s reaction was priceless. Evanna probably needs no introduction, but anyway, Luna Lovegood. She wanted to go to dance college, but was rejected so DWTS was the next best thing. I think the song did them in, but I found some of her movements too sharp for a foxtrot. She has nice frame and did something weird with her hand once. Definitely has potential. 7-5-6 T18 oooooh Len that was harsh. Tom, the correct term is he who shall not be named.

Speaking of, I like the new green glitter score background.

Danelle Umstead and Artem Chigvintsev - Foxtrot Danelle is a blind alpine skier but gosh she has good footwork and lots of grace. Her shoulders came up a bit and I think she had to adjust her footing going into the spin. When I saw the opening, I was like “Artem is making her walk down the steps to him??!!” At least they went down together. I think her and Artem will be a very nice, friendly, genuine partnership. 6-6-6 T18

Side note: I really didn’t need to hear “Rise Up” again.

Bobby Bones and Sharna Burgess - Jive Bobby is...a lot of things. I’ll say entertainer. His main schtick right now is his country radio show. Guy has boundless energy, I’ll give him that. Jive suits him. He had to point his feet, and the footwork was real rough. If he was judged for enthusiasm though, he’d get a perfect score. 7-6-7 T20 yeah that’s too high. I think the judges got a little high off his energy. I think he should be sitting at a 16-17.

Juan Pablo Di Pace and Cheryl Burke - Salsa Juan Pablo is an actor most recently from Fuller House and Mamma Mia. Uh huh, here’s the sexy hot couple of the season right here. It took really long to get into actual salsa though. Some of the moves looked unpolished and uncertain, but he had a sense of timing and can move. his. hips. 7-7-8 T22 haha we all knew Bruno would like it.

Ayyyy hey Rashad! Apparently he’s going into hosting, showing us the DWTS BTS web series. Go support that guy, he’s an all-round all-star.

Nikki Glaser and Gleb Savchenko - Salsa Nikki is a comedian and entertainer. She told Gleb he looks like he should be emerging from a pool, which I’m pretty sure he has done before for some modelling thing. Apparently she got injured over the weekend. Could have affected the performance. She seemed fine in rehearsal but looked really ginger and reserved while dancing. Her limbs looked awkward. Arms were kept really close to her body and her legs...I don’t know any other way to describe it except “baby giraffe”. 6-5-6 T17

Alexis Ren and Alan Bersten - Jive Alexis is an instagram influencer and model. She’s doing the show for her late mother who enjoyed it. Okay I’ll say it here, she is the one to beat technique-wise. My only complain is she could be more bouncy. Everything else was spot on IMO. I think her possible downfall would be her sketchy voting base. Lots of insta followers doesn’t necessarily mean they will vote. We’ve seen that with past social media stars. 7-7-7 T21 I think she should be equal with Juan Pablo honestly.

John Schneider and Emma Slater I’ve never heard of his Dukes of Hazard show but his name sounds familiar. He’s done so many things, I’ve probably seen him somewhere. Well he certainly has the right attitude. His dancing was...here and there. Some times I was like ‘oh, that’s not bad’ and then i’d be like ‘okay that needs improvement’. I think he’s good enough and charming enough to appeal to the DWTS demo though. 7-5-6 T18

Tinashe and Brandon Armstrong - Jive Tinashe is a singer...who I’ve never heard of. But I live under a rock. Brandon is newly promoted and awwww he’s so adorable. He gave her lots of content which she handled fairly well. She was very clean but I feel like it was toooo clean. Like you know how if you strip water of too many minerals it’ll just burn your tongue. I feel like sometimes I was watching a stick figure dance. Could have used more bounce. CAI’s comment didn’t make sense. 8-7-8 T23

Nancy McKeon and Val Chmerkovskiy - Quickstep Nancy was an actor from a show called The Facts of Life which probably pre-dates me. She has the facial expressions!!! Quickstep on week 1 is no joke but she kept up for most of it. Yup she was wobbly at times, because she was lacking the contact in hold with Val, but that seems to be a Thing TM with all his partners so it’s more Val’s fault. For a while I was like “omg is Val choreographing a solid routine with moves in hold??” and then they broke hold. I’m surprised Len didn’t call that out. Nancy was reall animated in that section though. 6-6-6 T18

Joe Amabile/”Grocery Store Joe” and Jenna Johnson - Quickstep Joe is from the Bachelor franchise and got his nickname because he owns a grocery store. He wants to become Dancing Joe now. He’s kinda cute, sorta charming in a slightly-awkward-little-self-depreciative way. Very likeable guy. I think with his personality and the bachelor backing, he’ll stick around for a while. Yeah that definitely wasn’t the best dance. He was flat footed, made mistakes, getting QS definitely didn’t help either. Can see he is trying to stay positive. 5-4-5 T14

Demarcus Ware and Lindsey Arnold Soon to be NFL hall of fame inductee. Has won the Super Bowl. You know, I hate American football as a sport, but these NFL guys always come in and work hard and it pays off. Demarcus can move and seems to have hella groove, with personality to boot. He’ll have to clean up some lines, but I can see him growing a lot on this show. Such a delight! 8-7-8 T23

Night 2

Ohhhhhh I love that opening number!! I can see why it’s not a premiere opener but wowwwww.

Okay so apparently the bottom half after judges score and votes from night 1 will have to dance again. Everyone else would have rehearsed a second dance for nothing...I guess. I feel like maybe they should have let everyone dance their second dance, but only score those in jeopardy.

Rashad out there with a message for Demarcus. I was kinda waiting for that the first night.

Safe - Demarcus, Tinashe, and...JOE!!!!!! That was the chillest reaction to a (not so) surprise safe.

Jeopardy - Nancy

DWTS Jr pros dance and make me feel old. Jake Monreal!!! And okay, JT Church has some ballroom moves. There’s one brunette guy (not Sage) who has nice hair. And the blond boy looks a little familiar but I can’t put my finger on it.

Safe - Juan Pablo, Bobby

Jeopardy - Nikki, John, Alexis

Alexis and Bobby’s placements are telling about the voters.

Okay. I watched the two episodes back to back. People I forgot about by the time I started night 2: Mary Lou, John, Danelle, Nancy. Also I knew Tinashe, Evanna and Juan Pablo were there but I kinda forgot how their dances looked.

Lmao Milo and Tom. “Why are you so scared about what I’m gonna ask you?”

Amy Purdy with a message for Danelle. She looks so different than I remember.

Safe - Milo, Evanna

Jeopardy - Danelle, Mary Lou

Okay so summary Top 7: Demarcus, Milo, Juan Pablo, Bobby, Evanna, Tinashe, Joe Bottom 6: Alexis, Danelle, John, Nikki, Nancy, Mary Lou

So they are bringing back the Judge’s choice encore from when they had result shows. This week: Demarcus.

They introduced the Junior stars. I’m having a hard time remembering who is who but: - JT’s “OH MY GOSH” when his pro-skateboarding partner did a trick - Mackenzie Ziegler is not a “pop star” she’s as good as a pro dancer. WHO’S BRIGHT IDEA WAS IT TO MAKE HER A CONTESTANT???!?!?

Can they intro the Jr pros too? All the cast of Juniors including the adult pros do a dance number and all I get from it is that red latin shoes are not in style.

Okay so we don’t have time for 6 dances or something so John is safe and won’t have to dance for his life any more.

Couples will dance the same style as night 1, but the choreo and song will be different.

Mary Lou and Sasha - cha cha okay I dunno what their rehearsal strategy was, but this dance felt very basic and less rehearsed than their first. She was more precise and controlled, but seemed to have less energy in it. 7-7-7 T21

Danelle and Artem - foxtrot the rehearsal vids seem to imply the couples were only given Monday night to come up with their second numbers. If so it must have disadvantaged Danelle. She was more timid and reserved. 6-6-6 T18

Nikki and Gleb - salsa She looked more confident this time. Legs less giraffe-y. Her arms were still awkward. 6-6-6 T18

Alexis and Alan - jive Ooooohhh this was good. Her technique was good again, but I think the mood of this dance suited her far better. I think she had a lot more energy and personality in this performance. 7-8-8 T23 Len says it is the best dance of the night and I agree as does Bruno.

Nancy and Val - quickstep Oh dang, the shorter dress exposed Nancy’s shortcomings. Her lines were wonky and she still looked a little unstable sometimes in hold, which was easier to see in this costume. It also made her look like Tweety Bird tumbled dry, They stayed in hold this time though. 7-7-7 T21 that seems generous.

Okay so Mackenzie Ziegler sings. She has a decent voice. Gotta set herself apart from her sister I guess.

Online voting for night 2 was open for...10 minutes? And I wager only US east coasters could vote.

Results time! (finally.)

Safe - Danelle, Alexis (yay!), Mary Lou

Nikki vs Nancy...Eliminated: Nikki. no surprise.

My favourites are Milo and Alexis. Also rooting for Danelle on a slightly lower tier. Surprisingly, Evanna isn’t really on the forefront of my mind.

Also, whether or not the couple danced on the second night might affect their memorability. Like, Bobby make an impact night 1, but after night 2 I kinda forgot about him. The only person who didn’t perform night 2 who I remember is Milo. Everyone else I was like “oh wait, who’s here again?”

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thoughtsoftheantagonist · 6 years

Text

A Song for You

AN: I am super late posting and I'm sorry. lol This week has been jampacked for me but here it is the wedding is at the end of this and i hope you enjo. Let me know your thoughts.

Chapter Thirteen

Joy POV

She hadn't felt this light since the day she met Juan, they were headed for the barn for the meeting and she had found her thoughts clear and for the first time in what seemed like months she wasn't terrified of what was going to happen next. That might come to bite her in the ass later but right now she was enjoying it, the only thing she was missing was Juan and tomorrow was meant to be their wedding. She had been so focused on everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours that she felt like she rarely had a second to miss him or let the fact that she would be Joy Ortiz come midnight tomorrow, she hated that but she knew he would be thankful she had been distracted. He hated her in pain, pulling up to the barn she parks beside Chibs, pulling her helmet off she stands and makes her way to her father's side, grinning as he plans a quick kiss of greeting to the top of her head as Jax walls up. “ What's up?” she moves to Chibs side, letting his arm rest on her shoulder she eyes the crates in the van “Got one of each big gun in the back of the van.” Jax nods, patting her father on the arm as they all walk towards the van, Jax points to her and her dad as he talks “Okay, good. You and Joy take a walk, all right? Make sure none of the Wahewa are around.” they both nod and she breaks away from Chibs, following her father into the wooded area, her eyes narrowed and bouncing around she make sure no other person was around.

She almost jumps when her father's voice breaks the silence. “How are you girl? Sleep ok? I was gone before you got up.” She sighs, her fingers twirling the ends of her curls “As good as I can be. Showed Jax the letters. The fall out wasn't as horrible as I was expecting. He is in a rage about Clay, feels betrayed and is now watching his mother closely which is good. Gemma needs to get a fucking hobby.” Her father chuckles and tosses a twig he yanked off a tree at her leg. She smirks and flips him off. “He plans to kill Clay dad. And we aren't gonna stop him.” she glances at her father, seeing his shoulders slump she hates how this affects him. This club is one of the biggest focuses in his life next to her and grandma. These men are brother in everything but blood, so to know one is up for death is hard. She will admit to some part of her wishing Clay hadn't done this. But he did, he put this on himself. She walks over to her father, wrapping her arm around his waist he wraps his heavy, ink splatter arm across her shoulders as they walk back to the barn.They make it to the barn time for Romeo to pull up, she nods her head towards the man as they all walk into the barn, she and her father stood off to the side, eyes never staying in one place too long. She and her father both turn to watch the door as the Kings finally arrive, fashionably late she guess, the fuck did they think they were?

She resigns herself to a long meeting, but once Gaalan realizes Clay isn't in attendance things quickly turn ugly. The way Gaalan eyes Jax she can't help but move her hand towards her kabar, but she is stopped by her father. Glancing up at him she sees his eyes are still on Jax and Gaalan, but he slowly shakes his head before releasing her hand. Fine, she would stand down until told otherwise, she watches the introductions between the Irish and Romeo with some faint amusement. Gaalan looks to her like a pouting child as he shakes hands with Romeo and Torres before turning his full attention back to Jax. “When will Clay be back on his feet?” Jax shakes his head, stepping closer to the taller Irishman “It's hard to say right now. We're up to speed on schedules and routes so I'll be able to talk you through everything.” She knows Jax did his homework, things would go smoothly with him at the wheel, but it seems Gaalan wasn't having that shit “No, you won't. I made it very clear to Clay the only way this deal happens is if he's running it.”

She was so fucking tired of men like Gaalan, it was on his time or no time, his way or the highway. And honestly she was about ready to kill the smug bastard herself, she feels her father latch onto the back of her shirt, she didn't even notice she had taken a small step forward. Lucky for her only her father noticed. Jax had enough to deal with already and now Gaalan wants to play the pissed off teen, but Jax handles it better than she thought he would, taking a moment to get his mouth in check he replies “Galen, we run things as a club. We can make this work without Clay.” the smirk on Gaalan’s face makes her bare her teeth, the man is a dick, smarmy and smug “It's not just about making it work. It's about trust. I have little in you, and less in them. When Clay is back at the table, we can discuss the deal. Until then, there is none.” She watches them walk away, her good mood from earlier shattered to pieces on the floor, she watches Chibs calm Jax down before Romeo steps into his space. She couldn't hear anything but she sees Jax nod and tell everyone to step out.

She nods, turning she gets to the door but before she can get out she is stopped my Romeo. “Not you. You and Jax stay.” She turns around, her eyes wide as she looks at Jax and Romeo, Jax's seemed just as confused if not more so then she was. She hugs her father, feeling him slip something into the inner pocket of her cut before she pulls away, making her way to Jax's side, she watches Romeo silently signal his men to close off the doors, sticking close to Jax's side her eyes never stop moving, she wasn't sure why they had her stay behind but she had a very, very bad feeling. As she counts how many gunmen were up in the rafters Jax lays it all on the table. “Look, I'm sorry. We really thought we could pull this off. Truth is we're in over our heads. I know Clay thought we could make this work, but we can't. We're not drug mulers, big arms dealers. We're small-time, man. We can't do this anymore.” six gunmen up top and one at each barn door. She finally looks back at the two men before her and Jax and what she sees confuses her, a silent Conversation that lasts no more than a second before the men are pulling badges from their pockets “I’m afraid we're at cross purposes, Mr. Teller.” She feels her stomach fall out of her ass, CIA…..well the NCS but still Jesus fuck they had been mulling for the underarm of the CIA.

She can't help but release a panic filled chuckle, slapping a hand over her mouth as Jax curses “Oh, shit.” Her hand slides down and she narrows her eyes at Romeo as he speaks “Otto Delaney did sell you out. U. S. Attorney was gonna crush this meet with RICO. We stopped them because we need this relationship to continue. CIA is subsidizing Galindo. We need the money from the coke and the Irish guns to do that.” she runs her hands through her tangled curls and sighs. “Control the drugs you control the politics. Jesus fuck.” She yanks her hands from her hair, her brain like a loose freight train, barreling down the tracks at high speed as Jax tries to reason with Romeo “ You just heard O'Shay. He won't deal with me.” The men shrug him off “Then you better make sure Clay gets well. Soon. Because if you don't, we'll give RICO the green light.” Her dad and Juan in jail, her club destroyed, Able and Thomas without a father. Jax seemed to be caught up in the same spiral as she was, moving in front of him she takes over “Do the Feds have Bobby and Juan?” she already knew they had Juan, but she didn't want to expose how much she already knew to them.

Romeo gives her a look of bullshit sympathy and shakes his head “Just Munson, we have no idea where your fiancé is Ms. Lowman.” She knew he was lying but she fixed her face to look as distressed as possible by the news as he continues “Mr.Munson is who Delaney gave up to establish history. U. S. Attorney has more than enough to indict. When things are running smoothly with the Irish I'll do my best to get Munson clear of all the charges.” She looks you At Jax as he finally pulls himself together, a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he steps closer to the three of them “Look, whoever replaces Clay might not want this. Samcro could vote the cartel down.” the look on Romeos face as he stares Jax down makes her heartbreak as he says “It's not gonna happen because you will be taking the reins. And all this stays between us. If anyone else finds out the club, your families, we'll crush your MC.” he had almost made it out, the look of devastation on Jax's face makes her clench her fist in rage for her brother. All he wanted was his old lady and his boys out of here, now it would never happen, and again it all came down to them.

Staring at the ground she freezes, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in rapid succession, looking up at the two men with cold, rage-filled eyes she puts a hand to Jax's chest and moves him back so she is in front of him “Did you know that Clay wanted Tara dead? Were you the ones he hired? Where you the ones who cut me open!?” she feels her body shaking, Jax's hands move to rest on her shoulders but she roughly shoves them off, her eyes locked on Romeos. “He thought she knew too much about our business. We wouldn't have hurt her and you weren't meant to be there.” she snarls, stepping into Romeos face “ I was there and your men cut me open. Tara has a cast up to her knee because of you bastards.” She lets Jax wrap his arm around her stomach, pinning to arms to her sides as he yanks her back roughly into his chest as Luis tries to explain “We were going to debrief her and you. Keep you both in protective custody. If you hadn't fought them you both would be fine Ms.Lowman” She stares at him in disbelief, if she hadn't…..what fucking logic was that. Romeo steps between Luis, her and Jax. She tries to wriggle out of Jax's hold but he just clinched her tighter. “I'm sorry for what happened. But we've gotta ask, is she a threat?” her eyes lock with his and she hisses through her teeth “She knew nothing about you. Clay used you to Handle a family argument. He isn't mentally stable, this had fuck all to do with the cartel.” Romeo keeps their eyes locked, testing to see if she was lying. Apparently, he saw the truth there stepping back from them he looks between her and Jax, his stance relaxed but his eyes, bore into her as he speaks not just to her but to Jax “What you're thinking, what you're feeling bury it, both of you. Because if Clay goes away, so do you two and all your brothers. We'll be in touch.”

Once they leave she sags against Jax, letting him turn her she wraps her arms around his waist, her face buried into his Chest as she sobs, she could feel him shaking, his face hidden in the top of her head, she could feel the wet splatter of tears as he held her. Her brother was caught, he wouldn't be able to leave without watching this club burn. And she knew he wouldn't let it happen. Turning her face she whispers into the fabric of his shirt “I'll figure this out Jaxs. I promise I'll get you out of here.” he says nothing, just clenches her tight and presses a kiss to her head before releasing her and taking off outside. She watches him go, her heart breaking for the man he could have been, and the man he will become because of this.

Juice POV

He was currently watching the shield, wasn't really his kinda show but it was something to think about other then the RICO crackdown. He had prayed, for the first time in a long fucking time that Joy or Hap hadn't been there, but he knew it was futile. After the failed abduction Joy had told him her and Jax were closer. As if the near-death experience created a bond between them, normally he would feel worried or paranoid of something between them but not Joy. Something in him knew that Joy would never love someone like she loved him, Jax was a brother, she saved his old lady and the mother of his child with no thought of herself. His girl was a hero to Jax, and he was glad she did it. Even if she would now have a scar for it, he doubt she cared all that much. He is broken from his thoughts as the cell door swings open, he eyes Eli as he closes the door, his face is a mask but his eyes refuse to meet Juan's. His heart drops “Shit. How many guys did they arrest? Joy? Hap? Fuck say something!” Roosevelt finally looks at him, his body sags again the wall as the man finally replies “None. Happy and Joy Lowman are fine. It didn't happen. RICO's gone away for now. They'll be cutting you loose soon.”

He sits up, his hands rested on his lap as he lets it wash over him, Joy is fine, Hap is fine, the club isn't in Jail. His hand comes up to roughly scrub over his Mohawk as he looks at Roosevelt in disbelief “What does that mean for me?” he takes in the man's haggard appearance, he finds himself wanted to ask the man if he is ok. But he shakes that off quickly as the man replies “Means the U. S. Attorney doesn't have any leverage on you. Intel on your daddy's been purged.” his eyes glance at the file in Roosevelt's hand he hadn't noticed before. He feels his face go blank as it's opened to him. His old mugshot stares back at him a lot side the photo of his father, smiling his smile back at him. Roosevelt tosses the open file onto the cot in front of his feet, his eyes jump from his father back up to Roosevelt “That is the only proof. Thought I'd give you the satisfaction of tearing it up.” Eli turns to leave, he leans back against the wall, his eyes watching the man for a moment and before he can stop himself he asks “Why you doing this?”

Eli stops, turning to the side the man rubs a hand over his face before locking eyes with him “It's simple. You're a criminal. You do bad shit. I'm a cop. I stop you. I just wanna get back to that. Plus, I don't have a gift for your wedding. That's mine to both of you.” all the anger, the worry, the sleepless nights where he would just watch Joy sleep in fear he would be put away because of Roosevelt and his bullshit, seemed to drain from his bones. Leaning his head back against the wall, he nodded “Yeah, okay. But, you should know Joy will skin you if you don't at least bring money in a card.” He smirks at the tired chuckle that gets from the officer. The moment is broken as the ATF agents open the cell door, he was going home. He nods to Roosevelt and gets to work slipping his shoes on. Hold on Joy. I'm coming home baby.

Hour time jump

Pulling up to the house he sees Hap outside with Sonny. Crouching he grins as Sonny rushes for his legs, he scratches the pup under his chin and behind his ears as Hap walks over to him. “You good kid?” he nods and grabs the hand offered to him as hap yank him up, holding sonny he heads inside and he instantly looks around for his girl. Looking down the hall he sees their door closed and gave Hap a look of confusion. “Why is she napping at four in the afternoon?” he puts down sonny, following hap into the kitchen, grabbing a seat at the island he watches his soon to be father in law rummage around in Joys cut laid on the kitchen island before tossing something his way which he catches easily. Looking down in his hand he sees a recorder, looking back up at Hap he tilts his head as the man finally talks “I want you to hold all your questions until I get all this out. A whole lot of shit went down while you were in holding.” he nods, putting the recorder on the kitchen island. Giving hap his full attention. “First I'm going to tell you the whole truth.”

For the next half hour, he was brought up to speed on everything. Piney being murdered, Clay being the one who did it. Opie finding out and Jax and Joy saving him from killing Clay, but not being fast enough to stop the shooting, Clay being in the hospital in critical condition and finally Jaxs knowing about the letters. So much had happened and if he was honest he was glad he was sitting, his mind was having issues taking it all in. A part of him was grieving Piney while another part was angry Clay was still alive. He is broken from his thoughts when Hap snaps at him “Hey focus we are almost done.” he sighs and scrubs his hands over his face and nods for Hap to continue. Hap tosses him a water and grabs one for himself before continuing. “At the meet today Gaalan showed his pale Irish ass like the bitch he is, Apparently he and Clay had an agreement that if Clay wasn't in the driver's seat of this deal he wasn't riding shotgun. After he left like a pouty little bitch Romeo asked Jax and oddly enough Joy to stay….” Hap stops his story as they both hear the back bedroom door open. The sound of small shuffling feet on the hardwood make him grin. He watches Joy shuffle around the corner, her hair is a tangled mess on her head, wearing a pair of sweats and one of her father's largest sweats she was the prettiest thing he had seen all day.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she sees him sitting at the island and quickly shuffles over to him, he turns to her just as she gets to him. Standing between his knees she snuggles into his chest and he wraps her up in his arms, closing his eyes he nuzzles his face into the wild curls at the top of her head letting the bed warm clothes and skin comfort and calm his raising thoughts, like only she could. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, her face in his chest, her arms around him and her sneaky hands under the back of his shirt. His face in her fragrant curls, but when they finally came back to reality Hap was gone, a note left on the Kitchen Island where he had been. He snatches up the note as Joy nuzzles her face into his neck, her soft lips kissing and nipping at his skin. Reading the note he chuckles

Tried to tell you both Jax called but apparently, you both went deaf. He wants Joy to meet him at the hospital about Clay. I'm gonna chill at the club house. Joy should fill you in on the last bit of the meeting since it was just her and Jaxs. Or so she thought. I took the recorder with me….insurance for tonight.

P.s The wedding is tomorrow. No grandkids yet asshole.

He hands the note to Joy, watching her snicker and ball up the note, placing it on the kitchen island, he grabs her face tilting her head back until she locked eyes with him. He could see she had been crying, pressing kisses to each of her eyes he sighs. “Tell me what happened baby.” She grabs his wrists, not moving his hands from her face but just holding onto him “Romeo and Luis are CIA. They are using Galindo to take over Lobo, you control the drugs you control the politics there. But what got me was that…..it was them. They tried to kidnap Tara, fucking Clay hired them to kill her. And in their words ‘I wasn't meant to be there’ I lost my shit, Juan. I thought I was going to die that day and Torres actually had the balls to say ‘If you hadn't fought back you both would be fine and would have been debriefed and safe in custody.’ like I was actually meant to know I wasn't about to be killed, tortured or…..or….” he hated seeing his girl so fucking distressed. Her pretty golden eyes filled with tears as she seemed to stare through him, her mind replacing what actually happened with what might have happened had she and Tara didn't fight back. He had to snap her out if it, he yanks her into his chest again, one of his hands rubbing her back as he tried to calm her. His strong woman brought to sobs by this pissed him off, now that ATF wasn't going to swoop in and take him and his club he was going to handle this. Gently he pulls her from his chest, giving her a weak smile as he sees her now calm face.

He brushes both his hands over her curls as she continues “After that, we found out that ATF had you and Bobby. Otto fucking flipped on Bobby because he lied about Georgie. Romeo said as long as this deal goes through he will work on getting Bobby cleared. But with Gaalan not wanting to work with anyone but Clay we have to let him live.” He hated it but he knew they had to do it. Any respect or love he had for Clay was gone the second he sent someone after Tara. If he was honest he had lost a lot of his faith in the man when Donna was killed, he had blamed Tigs blind faith in Clay for a long time until he realized, Tig was doing his Job, it was Clay who pointed him in the direction. He looks back down at Joy and feels his heartbreak, he hates how tears stream down her cheeks and her face turns blotchy and dark red as she tries to explain through her tears. “And Jax pointed out whoever takes Clays place might not want the cartel. They basically told him that he had to take Clay's place or they would let RICO take everyone in. Jax worked so fucking hard to leave Juan. It's killing him to know he might have to watch Tara leave with the boys.” She was sobbing against and honestly thinks his heart is breaking, he shhh’s her, standing he lifts her up onto the island, pressing a kiss to her overheated cheek he moves quickly to the sink and rummage around in the drawers for a rag, once he finds one he wettings it with cold water he rushes back to Joys side,gently places the cold cloth to her cheek.

He lets her breath and hiccup as he presses the cold cloth to her red cheeks, forehead and over her eyes. He could feel her hands gripping the sides of his shirt, he hated how much she took onto herself and when she couldn't fix everything how she hoped she gets defended so deeply, she took it as something she did wrong when no one, not even Jax saw something like this happening. Once she is breathing easier, and the red in her cheeks had calmed to a dull pink he puts the now warm rag on the counter, using his hands he makes her look at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed and so fucking defeated, he sighs “In this life. We do the best we can and then we die baby. Don't give me that look you know I'm right.” he chuckles as she gives him a narrowed look before arching a manicured brow at him “You do so much for this club, for me, your father and your grandmother. But you can't fix everything wrong. Though you sure as fuck try.” he grins when her lip ticks at the side, pulling her face to his pecks those pretty pouty lips before continuing “All anyone can do it try. Try to keep going, Try to keep ourselves alive and make this life a good one. You did all you could for Jax and his family baby but this is not your fault, all we can do is what we always do. Take this shit by the horns and deal with it. No more tears, no more doubt. It's not just you anymore, it never really was. But I'll make damn sure you see that from now on. Got me?”

Joy POV

Sitting on the cold marble of the kitchen island, eye level with this man she feels the spiral of blame and anger dissipate. She turns her face into his palm, kissing the center as she slides her hands under the sides of his shirt, feeling the warm hard muscles under her fingers. She had missed him so much, no one could shake her from her self-doubt like him. Love blooms in her chest as she replies “Have I ever told you what it does to me when you get strong and protective on me?” she smirks into his palm as he laughs, his answering grin is wide and full of teeth, god how she loved his smile. He drops his hands from her face to settle on her hips, he yanks her forward, her thighs cradling his hips as he speaks in the skin of her neck where he had nuzzled his face. “Maybe once or twice. But it never hurts to hear what I do to you. So please tell me again?” Arousal curls in the pit of her stomach as he bites down where her shoulder meets her neck, the moment is broken when his fingers attack her sides, she shrieks and tries to pull away from him, Sonny races over and barks from his place at Juan's feet. After a moment she is a laughing, whimpering mess as Juan stops his assault, she leans heavily against him as she tries to calm herself.

But sadly the real world was calling her. She reluctantly untangles herself from him, and slides off the island, looking up at him she smiles softly “As much as I would love to show you just how much it effects me. I need to meet Jax. I know you just got home but I would like you to come with me, I don't want to be away from you for a while.” She hates how needy she sounds but Juan, fucking bless him. He just grins and nods. “Let me take a quick shower and change. Send Jax a text and tell him to give us thirty minutes and you will be there.” she smiles and takes the quick kiss he bestows on her before walking past her with a quick tap to ass. She giggles and goes to sit on the couch, she didn't see a need to change, slip on some shoes and she was ready to go, grabbing her phone to text Jax as she waits for Juan.

Thirty minutes later

They had decided to take Juan's bike, she had curled herself around him tightly as he drove to the hospital, it felt good to be close to him again. She never thought she would be one of those people who missed someone after being away for a day, especially with the year they were apart while he was in Stockton, but maybe she had gotten spoiled by having him close. Pulling up she could see Jax and Tigs bikes here but no one else. Hand in hand she and Juan made it to the waiting room where Jax was waiting. She smiles as Jax greets Juan with a quick hug, she takes her hug and head kiss in greeting before asking Jax “Ready for this?” Jax sighs “Honestly. I'm not sure. Juicy you staying out here?” she glances at Juan and sees him grinning softly at her “This is something you two need you do for your sake. Joy can make her own choices without me there.” she knew she looked like a fool with hearts in her eyes as she gazed at Juan. Walking over to him she holds his face in her hands, taking his lips regardless of who's watching she melts into him. The past few hours of anger, hate, self-doubt and worthlessness was gone, almost as if they were never really there. Her head was clear and she pulls herself from him panting, looking up at him she smiles “I love you Juan.” he nods and gently shoves her towards the door where Jax was waiting for her.

Jax grins and wraps an arm around her shoulder, leading her through the white sterile hall towards Clays room. She sees Tig and gives him a small hesitant grin, She had worried that the way they left each other today had made things strained but from the wink he gives her she knows everything is ok between them, he just has some things he needs to work out for himself. Tig's bright blue eyes bounce between her and Jax as he asks “What did Romeo want?” she was surprised that question didn't send her into another spiral but Juan's words keep repeating in her head over and over ‘All anyone can do it try. Try to keep going, try to keep ourselves alive and make this life a good one.’ He was right. She had put so much pressure on herself to give Jax every chance and the facts he needed to either stay or go that she didn't really how consumed by it she had been, she had traded her pain of missing Juan for focusing on Jax and it had taken a huge chunk out of her ass. One pain for another focus isn't healthy.

Glancing at the man in question she sees his eyes locked on the man currently laid out on the hospital bed. She hadn't taken time to actually look at Clay, the normally giant man seemed to have deflated. Broken and pale in sleep she feels nothing, not rage, not sadness or sympathy. He might as well be a stranger…..and if she was honest he basically was at this point. Everything he had ever said to her had been called into question since the kidnap attempt, she was reading between the lines of everything now and she felt as if he had succeeded in killing some part of her, an innocence she didn't know she still possessed. She keeps her eyes on Clay as Jax speaks to Tig over her head “I'll fill everyone in. Chapel, 8:00.” Tig stands, planting a kiss on the side of her head he moves towards the door as Jax asks him “How's he doing?” she hoped the bastard was miserable. “He's in and out. I'll give you guys a minute with him. I'll call the others, tell them about church.” She finally takes her eyes off the man in the bed and graces Tig with a grin “Juan's in the waiting room if you wanna say hi.”He nods and closes the door. She watches the blank face Jax had been holding in place vanish, his lip curls as his eyes sweep over Clay, glancing at her he nods towards the door and window.

She doesn't need to be told twice. Locking the door she draws down the blinds as a noise startles her and Jax, who quickly hid away the needle Tara had given him as Clay awakens, sliding the oxygen mask from his face he pants out “Son. Joy?” she watches all hope leave Jax's eyes before he locks eyes with her. She knew then he would stay, he would watch his kids and his old lady leave this place and him in the dust, Clay had to live for this club too. She nods and grabs Clays Cut from the chair where it hung as Jax presses his Black Kabar to Clay's throat. The voice that comes from Jax is calm, deadly and honestly scares the shit out of her “I read the letters. I know you killed my father. Piney. You tried to kill Tara and almost killed my sister in arms.” Clays eyes frantically move between her face and Jax's as he grunts “Please.Son.” she smirks as Jax cuts him off, his voice brokers no argument “Don't call me that. The only reason I am not slicing you open right now is because I need this cartel deal to happen and those prick Irishmen won't deal with anyone else.”

Clay stares at Jax, trying to appeal to him, he is a day late and a dollar short. “You gotta let me tell you both…..” Jax chuckles and if she is honest she feels her blood chill, she can see the new man in him and her hatred for Clay resurfaces. Gone was her carefree brother, in his place was emerging a president, cold and calculating. She planned to watch this man closely, she wasn't ready to lose him to his rage. “No. You're done telling me anything. Now I tell you. You're stepping down as president. You can sit at the table. You can have a vote. But that's it. You keep the Irish happy and you stay out of my goddamn way. If you don't I'll let the club read the letters. And I let Opie tell everyone you murdered his old man.” Jax moves away from Clay, keeping the Kabar at his throat he look back at her “Come here. Hold this while I do something.” She steps forward, holding the knife to his neck she grins down at him as he tries to sit up, to speak to Jax but she tilts the blade and shakes her head “Careful old man. Never was good at shaving with a razor, I might cut you.” she smirks as she speaks to Jax as he tosses Clays Cut over his leg, working on removing the President patch one stitch at a time “Who gave you the letters? Gemma? Jax please lis…..” She tilts his head back, watching his blood pebble along the top of the blade, she snarls “No asshole. You were so worried about Tara and Piney you failed to see the real threat was me. I gave Jax the letters, all of them. So Gemma is in the shit house next to you. I want you to stay away from Jax's family, Gemma and mine as well. Don't think about anyone of them or I'll finish what I'm starting right now.” she knows she looks crazed as she watches a line of blood flow from the cut she had just given him, she watches it stain his the top of his hospital gown as she locks eyes with him “I will hang you from your ankles and slice from nose to naval, Ed Gein style. Do you understand me Clay?” he takes a moment before before he speaks “Yeah. I gotta ya.”

She feels Jax's hand on her shoulder, softly pulling her away from Clay, she rocks the knife against his wound as she pulls it away. A dark part of her rejoicing in the hiss of pain it draws from him. Handing the Kabar to Jax she steps back as he throws Clays Cut across his chest. The man sees his President patch missing and locks eyes with Jax “You may as well kill me.” She heads for the door as Jax speaks to the pathetic excuse of a man on the bed “You're already dead.” she hears him spit before she feels him behind her, walking out they don't make it halfway down the hall before Gemma around the corner. She curls her lip at the woman before looking up at Jax, she silently arches a brow, asking if he wants her to leave. With a reluctant nod, she heads down the hall past the older woman, ignoring her as she gives Joy a wide breach. She makes it to the waiting room where she sees Tig and Juan in a deep conversation, she makes her way to Juan's side, her hand rubbing his neck as he talks. Tig glances up at her and grabs her hand “You ok sweetheart?” she squeezes his hand, giving him an honest smile “I am actually. Now that this one is home.” she smirks as Juan stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek she turns to him “Ready to go? I'm starving. Wanna eat before church.” he checks his watch and nods, they got a good two hours before church. “Yeah let me go take a piss and we can go.” She looks down at the still sitting Tig and grins “Wanna come? Burgers on me?” Tig chuckles and stands as well, giving her hand a squeeze as Juan takes off for the bathroom. “No thanks doll. Think I'll head to the clubhouse. Wait out the other guys.” she nods, watching him head towards the door she calls out his name, waiting for him to turn she smiles “You know even though your an asshole. I love you like an uncle right?” he grins “I know kids I love you too.” even with all the shit that had happened these past few days, the constant hits, fails and bumps in this clubs road it was nice to know that some things won't ever change.

Hour time jump

She smirks as she tosses another fry at Juan. Cackling loudly when he catches it with his mouth. She takes a bite of her bacon burger as he finished his wraps. Swallowing she sighs “My dress finally fucking came in. I was having a panic attack that it wouldn't be in before the wedding. It fits perfect, can't wait to see your face when I walk down the aisle.” She fakes a deer in the headlights look, dodging the balled up napkin he tosses at her. Taking a sip of her Pepsi she winks at him “Cake is done, the Wahewa will have our spot cleared up the day for the guys to go set up of and everything is perfect. All you have to do is show up tomorrow and marry me.” she giggles as he leans across the the table, kissing her forehead before dropping. Back into his seat “All this shit going down. And you still find time to plan a wedding, how the fuck did you pull that off?” he steals another of her fries, smirking as she misses smacking his hand by inches “I'm a woman Juan we are born multitaskers.” he rolls his eyes as she smirks “Gemma, Tara and Lyla….before she vanished were a huge help honestly. Speaking of friends. Have you talked to Chibs about being your best man yet?” she shoves the last of her burger in her mouth as she waits for a reply, when one isn't given she narrows her eyes when Juan's eyes refuse to meet hers, she hisses through her teeth “Juan Carlos our wedding is tomorrow afternoon!” he groans and tilts his head back “I know I know. I'll talk to him tonight I swear. Please don't be angry.” She tries to keep her glare but the big puppy eyes aimed at her crack her in seconds “You need to stop spending time with Sonny. He is rubbing off on you.” he smirks and downs the rest of his water. Wiping his face he stands and pulls her up with him, cleaning off the table they make it outside when her regular phone chimes. Looking down she sees a message from Tara.

Can you please come over. I need to talk to someone.

She has a feeling she knew what about, climbing onto the back of Juan's bike she rests her chin on his shoulder “Drop me off at the house? Tara wants to Talk before church so I'll meet you at the clubhouse when I'm done.” he nods and she pulls on her helmet, wrapping her hands around his waist she slides her under the front of his shirt, smirking when she feels his abs clench as her cold fingers trace the drips and curves as they head towards home. By the time they pull up, she can tell he is keyed up and she doesn't even try to hide her smirk when he has to adjust himself as she gets off the back of his bike. “That's mean as hell you know. Get me hard as a fucking rock and leaving me alone.” she tilts her head back and laughs into the night. “That's for taking so fucking long to ask Chibs you jackass. Do it the second you see him.” she yelps when he yanks her towards him by the front of her dad's pullover, He uses his other hand to hold her throat as his lips roughly take hers, his talented tongue teases her mouth open, by the time he pulls away her thighs are clinched and she knows her lips are bruises.

Resting her forehead against his she pants, feeling his hands leave her shirt and throat they find a new home on her ass and she can't help but smile. “I missed that mouth of yours baby girl.” she shivers at the wrecked tone of his voice, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth she pulls away reluctantly. “I missed yours too...daddy.” he tries to grab her again but she is already out of reach and on her own bike. “I'll meet you at the clubhouse. I love you.” she smiles brightly as he curses under his breath. Taking off down the road for Jax and Taras. Pulling up in the driveway she sees Jax is already gone, looking at her phone she sees it's only fifteen past seven so she has some time. She knocks, but after a minute gets no reply, using the key Tara had given her she finds the living room dark, looking down the hall she sees no light there either until movement out of the corner of her eye makes her look into the kitchen.

There Tara sits, a glass of dark amber liquid in a medium glass and she feels horrible as the fluorescent lights show the tear trails on her cheeks. Looking through the cabinets she finds a glass of her own, sitting across from the still silent woman she pours herself a small glass from the bottle of Jack sat between them and sips as she waits. It seemed an age until the somber woman across from her spoke, her eyes on the glass in her hand. “He told me to leave him. Take our boys and leave him here to rot.” she nods, she figured Jax would say that. Just because he had to suffer didn't mean Tara and the boys had too. Tara pours more into her glass before speaking again “He is mine Joy. I have fought reason and the very core of my being to be here, loving him and having this family with him.” Taras soft sobs are heartbreaking, she may be uppity and isn't one hundred percent about the club. But as a woman so deep in love she barely knew where she ended and he began, she felt a kindred spirit in Tara. Loving a man in this life wasn't ever going to be easy, but as a son, she saw more then Tara did, so she had an advantage in a way.

She reaches across the table, grabbing the crying woman's hand. “You have a choice Tara. You listen to Jax, take Abel and Thomas and get the fuck out of this town. Jax will visit he will still be a father to those beautiful boys because he will love them no different then he did before.” the woman shakes her head, her sobs growing louder. Standing Joy moves around the table and yanks the woman up and grabbing her head she forces her lock eyes with her “Breath. Match my breathing Tara.” the woman's sobs slowly quiet as the tension from her body finally releases, once her sobs quiet you sniffles Joy continues “Or you can keep fighting for him. Stay here. Work at the hospital and raise these boys here. Surrounded by this crazy life but know that any of these men and myself would die to protect them and you. You have seen that first hand. I'm not going to tell you which choice is wrong or right because both have pros and cons. At the end of the day anyone who has shit to say after you make your choice can talk to the end of my Glock. No one but you and Jax matter here. I'm just here to lay down facts.” Tara nods and pulls herself from Joy and cleans up the table. Leaning back against the counter Joy watches her. She silently accepts the kiss to her cheek as Tara passes her, looking down at her watch she sees it's seven thirty. “Church is at eight so I need to go. Take it all in and do what's right for you.” She smiles and pats Taras' shoulder. Heading out to her bike she sighs, she hoped she did the right thing. She refused to make choices for anyone all she can do and would ever do is lay down facts and Tara would have to make choices for herself.

Juice POV

He had walked into the bar to find a few of the guys already waiting, luckily Chibs was one of them. Making his way over to the Scot he claps him on the shoulder “Can I talk to you a minute man?” Chibs gives him a concerned look but nods, making their way over to the couches by the windows, grabbing a seat on the couch he watches Chibs plant himself on the table in front of him, he had let forgot to ask Chibs like he told Joy. If he was honest he just didn't know how to ask without sounding like a dumbass. Chibs snaps him out of his slight panic attack and he chuckles “Sorry man. Look I know this short noticed as fuck but I want you to stand with me tomorrow at the wedding. Be my best man.” the look on Chibs face is blank so out of pure nerves, he continues “I mean ever since I started here I have seen you as a dad. Because ya know I never knew mine that well and any time I fucked up you would let me know and help me fix it and I love you man and and and….are you laughing at me you dick head?”

He had finally realizing that Chibs shoulders were shaking in repressed laughter and he socks the grinning man in the shoulder, laughing himself he leans back into the couch cushion and rubs his hands over his face. “Can't help it when you start one of your long-winded rambles boy. Your face gets this dumb ass look on it when you start to run out of air. Gets me every time.” His leg shots out to catch the older man by the knee but he catches the table. Sitting back up he grins “So what do you say brother? You up to making sure I don't fall the fuck out when she walks down the aisle?” Chibs chuckles, taking a pull from his cig he nods, pat Juan on the cheek “Aye Juicy. I'll make sure you don't make an ass out of yourself.” he let's Chibs yank him into a brotherly hug, pulling back when someone clears their throat, seeing his soon to be wife standing there, a hand on her hip as she takes a pull from the joint between her lips “You two planning to elope before I can chain you down?” he smirks and yanks her down onto his lap, chuckling when she shouts and smacks at his shoulder, yelling about almost losing her blunt, nuzzling his face into her neck he kisses the warm skin there, speaking lowly so only she can hear “Tara ok?” She sighs and turns her head to kiss his forehead “No. She has hard choices to make. I did what I do best. Strip away the bullshit and lay it down for her.” he nods, he knew Jax wouldn't leave and let them all go down in flames so that meant he probably told Tara to do so and take the boys. It's what he would do if it was Joy and their kids, he watches Joy take the last hit from her blunt and quickly turns her head as she blows the smoke from lungs he catches it, inhaling deeply he pecks her lips once he is done and let's her set up with a parting tap on her curvy ass as she heads towards the bar, laptop in hand. “Alright shit heads we got time to kill before church so I wanna run over the to-do list for the wedding tomorrow.” the groans of annoyance from the guys make Joy narrow her eyes and pull out her Glock, resting it on the bar top she says lowly, but her voice cracks like thunder “Get your whiney asses over here. It's my day tomorrow and I don't want anyone asking me for shit while I'm trying to exfoliate and pamper myself so I look like a five star meal instead of the snack I normally am…..GET OVER HERE ALEX!!!!” he watches Tig flinch before making his way to the bar, fuck he loved how she whipped them into shape.

For the next few minutes, he watches her fill the boys in on tomorrow as she stands behind the bar. He knew the wedding itself was at one pm but people would be showing up for a good hour or so before so they planned to set up around ten, neither of them believed in the not seeing the bride before the wedding shit so they planned to go home together tonight. After everything, they just wanted to sleep in the same bed before not seeing each other for half the day tomorrow. “Mostly I just need you guys to go to the rez and set up the tables, the party will be just like Opies and he will be there so just ask him if you guys need help.” he chuckles as they all nod, it was like watching a general barking commands, they all knew to just agree and let her roll over them. Walking over he leans across the bar, grinning as she presses a kiss to his cheek without looking up from her open computer on the bar top. The moment is broken as the club door opens, everyone goes silent as Jax walks in. They all watch him as he makes his way to the Chapel, he watches from his seat at the bar as Tig and Chibs make their way in after him, he can't hear what is said but just watching Tig move down a spot does bring comfort, this was no longer Clays house, Jax was already changing thing.

Tig isn't a bad man, but the choices he made recently showed Juan that he had some demons of his own to sort through and until he did he wasn't fit for a higher position. They needed a Sargent who wasn't falling ass over elbows to made choice without club consent. And Chibs was that man, he sees the grin on Joy's face as Chibs takes his new place and he knows his girl is proud of her mentor. Hap, Joy and himself make their way in next, he watches his friend and now President grin at Hap. Jax motions for Hap to take a spot next to Tig, he moves so Joy can close the door behind them, he stands at the end of the table his eyes on Jax as the man asks “ You all strengthened out?” Looking over at his small family, Hap smirks at him and he nods, looking up he locks eyes with Joy. Her soft pink lipsticked up at the corners and he knows right then, he actually is ok. Looking up the table he grins “Yeah. I'm good.” Jax repays his grin in kind and nods towards his old seat before turning to his girl. Watching them he can see a silent conversation for the ages between them, the past few days had placed these two in each other's paths, they had leaned on each other when it was hard and Juan was thankful as fuck that of he or Hap couldn't be there it was Jax.

Their conversation over Jax points to the vacant seat next to him and the second Joy is seated he grabs her hand under the table, the warm metal of her ring makes him grin. His eyes take in his brother across from him and then fall to the two empty seats, he knew Pineys old chair would go to Clay. But who would take VP? He is shaken from his thoughts as Chibs brought almost booms in the still and silent room “Ope coming?” he watches Jax glance at the door before asking “What time is it?” he looks at the time on Joy watches as Hap replies “eight o three.” he feels Joy tense at his side, during lunch he had been filled in on everything going down and a part of him understood Opies anger, but at the same time he was aiming it at the wrong man. Jax didn't have a choice in this and for Opie to continue to break Jax down angered not just him but Joy. Jax nods, taking up the gavel he hesitates for a moment before cracking it down.

The door swings open just as it does, at first he thinks it Opie, but he is surprised to see Tara before them, looking over at Joy he sees a proud grin on her face. Seems Joy's money had always been on the other woman, the others look away ad Tara makes her way Jax, but Joy makes no move to stop watching and he can't help but chuckle silently, she planned to see this through, sweet moment be damned apparently. They both watch Tara kneel next to Jax, their voices are low but he had learned to read lips a long time ago, as Tara tells Jax she isn't leaving he feels Joy's eyes on him. Looking over at her he leans in and pecks her soft lips, tomorrow this would be his wife, her name on his chest and his crow on her skin had been the start and this would be the end. She would be his in every kind of way a person can be and he didn't know how but a part of him feel more in love with her as she smiles at him as they part. Looking up at the door he sees Gemma watching Tara, now that was a cage fight he would pay money for. Watching the two woman he sees the challenge in Taras' eyes, Jax wasn't just Gemma’s son anymore. He was Tara and she would fight tooth and nail until Gemma backed off. Again…..he would make sure he had a front row ticket for this one. But from the way Joy is looking between the two woman. He puts his money on Tara, with Joy in her corner she would have more than why she needed to combat Gemma. He almost felt sorry for her…...almost.

Once the two women of Jax life were kicked out the meeting ran smoothly, patrols and runs were assigned. The meeting couldn't have been more than two hours and they were headed home once they gave their rings to chibs for safe keeping until tomorrow. Making it inside he falls face first into the couch, not even moving when Sonny climbs onto his back and starts to lick the side of his head in greeting. He reaches up and scratches at the pups head as he feels his boot being tugged off, he knew Joy had a thing about shoes in the house so he doesn't fight her as she yanks off his boots. He must have dozed off because he is woken by a sharp sting on his ass, he flinched away and sits up and glares at Joy as he sees her holding a box of pizza. Sitting up he rubs his eyes and yawns “Sorry baby. Didn't sleep well in lock up. Lights were too bright.” She smiles “It's ok. I got us a pizza while you napped, you have only even out for maybe thirty minutes.” he lifts his arm as Joy lays the pizza on the table, watching her flip through Netflix for something to watch while Sonny moved to his usual place next to her he felt a peace he had only ever heard about from sappy TV shows and movies. This was his, this little carved out piece of warmth, laughter, and love. Pressing a kiss to Joy's temple he hugs her close as they settle in for the night.

Joy POV

Next Morning

She wakes slowly, the sound of music coming from the kitchen and she can't help but grin, today was her wedding day, by the end of the night she would be Joy Elizabeth Ortiz. She giggles and turns her face into her pillow, trying to calm her giggles as she hears the bedroom door open. She feels the bed dip next to her and someone's hand comb over her hair and over her back. Turning her head she comes face to face with a grinning Juan, she bites down on her bottom lip trying not to laugh but it seems Juan had no issues as his shoulders start to shake and when his wheezing guffaw is finally heard she is already in hysterics. Turning onto her back they both laugh until their stomachs her. Once they had calmed she looks over at him, seeing the happiness on his face she can't help feeling good, she made him that happy, just like he made her.

She looks past him to see a glass of juice and her normal bowl of fruit for breakfast, getting on her hands and knees she crawls towards him, pressing kisses to his bare, warm chest she glances up at him as he groans, his hand slides into her hair, gently pulling her up so she laid half on top of him. She smiles and presses soft short kisses along either side of his strong, scruffy jaw. Pulling back she traces her fingers along the lines of his tattoo on the side of his head. “Good morning handsome.” he chuckles and sits up, she flails for a moment thinking she will tumble onto his lap but he grabs her and yanks her with him. She is tugged onto his lap and she rests her head on his shoulder, grabbing the hand currently not messing with the ends of her hair she plays with the rings on his fingers they remain quiet. Taking in the stillness, the calm before the inevitable storm that would be the hours leading up to the best moment in her life thus far.

The moment is broken when a knock on their bedroom door is heard, lifting her head she hears her father's voice outside the door “Come on Juice. We need to go set up.” She smiles and looks back at Juan. Cupping his cheek she leans her forehead against his “Go. I'll see you later.” he nods, pecking her lips he slides her off his lap and goes to the dresser to get his clothes out. His wedding clothes were at the clubhouse so he wouldn't fuck them up, right now he just needed something to wear to work in. Grabbing her bottle of Juice and bowl of fruit she heads for the living room. Seeing her dad sprawled out on the couch, sonny in his lap as old-school cartoons played she smiles and sits at the other end of the couch. Her dad glances her way and winks before turning back to the TV. She knew her father wasn't an overly emotional man, but she also knew that it wouldn't hit him until right before walking her down the aisle.

Several Hours Later

“I swear to god Gemma you yank my hair one more fucking time I'm taking off my wedding dress and fighting you in my bra and panties.” She tries to be serious but Taras soft laugh could be heard from the front seat as she drove and it made her snort and shove her headphones back into her ears, they were on their way to rez and even before they got in the car Gemma had shoved her ipod and ear buds at her, when she looked at her in confusion the older woman smirked and nodded towards her shaking hands “Helps with the nerves.” the woman was a bitch of epic proportions and for what she put Jax through would always been under Joys watchful gaze, but she had been beyond helpful in making this all happen, so for that she was forever thankful. Her and Juan had been texting back and forth since he had left with her father earlier that day, sending her pictures of everything as it was set up. All of her brothers had sent her messages of congratulations and all of them had demanded a turn around the floor once the party had started. Their set up wasn't all that different from Lyla's, except for colors, her love of light pinks and purples was displayed by the flowers all around and Taras dress. Bless the woman for not arguing as she presented her with a lovely light pink dress, it was hot out so she wanted it to be light and breathable, she had sent Lyla her purple dress, but hadn't heard from her seemed her and Opie were birds of a feather.

She still had yet to hear from Opie either, which if she was honest, hurt to the core. She hadn't personally seen him since she shot him the night of the infamous Clay shooting. A part of her hated herself for what she did but at the same time, he had given her no choice. She is pulled from her thoughts as the car comes to a stop, looking out the window she sees the long row of bikes. She waits as Gemma and Tara get out and make their way around to her door. Tara holds the bottom of her dress up as Gemma helps her out of the back seat. She smiles at them both as she gets her footing, grabbing their hands she squeezes them. “Thank you both. We might fight a lot but we are here when needed. Tara go-ahead to the altar.” She nods and presses a kiss to her cheek before taking off, looking at Gemma she smirks “Your an evil, manipulative old bitch, but thank you. You were amazing with this.” she older woman chuckles and rubs Joy's bare upper arms “Your a snotty little gash. But your good for that boy. And this club, no matter how I feel about you.” she glances past the woman to see her father making his way to her. Her eyes blur with tears when he finally gets a good look at her in her dress. She had never seen so much emotion in her father's face before, Gemma quickly hands her a small pack of tissues and leaves her and her father alone for a moment.

Walking towards her father she smiles up at him as he presses a tender kiss to her forehead, his callus rough hands held her face as he looks her over. “You look beautiful little girl. Your mother would have bawled like a baby seeing you like this.” she releases a wet chuckle as she dabs the tissue under her eyes with a shaking hand, thankful now more than ever that she used waterproof mascara. “I remember your mom making a big deal about some wedding shit about borrowing and old shit. Anyways I have the old part right here if you don't already have it.” She tilts her head, watching him as he reaches into his cut and pulls out a golden thin chair and she feels her pink painted lips tremble when she sees what it is. She had seen pictures of her mom and dad at their wedding, her mother had worn a beautiful rose quartz necklace, and now she would wear it on hers. She turns so he can put it on her, once on she turns to she turns to him, seeing him quickly swiping at his eyes she offers him one of her tissues she smirks when he glares but takes it. Any other day she would poke fun, but not today. She lets her father pull her into his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne she draws from his quiet strength. Today he was giving her to another man who would take over from here, she knew she would always be his kid, his only daughter but now Juan would be the main man of her life. She knew this was hard for him.

She feels the shaking in her hands pick up as the brides March comes on. It's time, oh shit fuck it's time. Last time Lyla had come up behind the altar. She had no intentions of doing that, the bikes had been parked in front, forming her aisle up onto the platform, she would walk through that mass of people to the most important man in her lift next to her father. Taking a deep breath she grabs her father arm and they made their way up and around the corner, keeping her eyes on her feet until they got closer she lifts her head and feels her eyes blur at the sight that greets her, all her brothers were standing on either side of the row of bikes, each one holding a pink rose in their hand. In all that had happened, she had forgotten to order flowers for herself, but it seemed her boys weren't having it and decided to change it and as she passed handed them to her. These rough, leather-clad men had managed to pull one over her and she was going to remember this forever. Once the rose was taken they kissed her cheek and her dad would move her forward, and as they approach than of the line of sons the tears she had been holding spill down her cheeks unchecked, holding not one but two roses stand Opie. One for him and one for Piney. She smiles brightly as she takes them, looking down she sees her beautiful roses and feels so much love wash over her. She had told these men many times how much she loved them. She had never expected then to admit to feeling the same, they didn't have to say anything, this spoke volumes.

She doesn't realize how close she is until her father is helping her up the two steps to the platform leading to Juan, looking up she instantly locks eyes with him, her soon to be husband. The music fades, and no one, not even her father matters as she sees the beaming grin on his face. Dressed in all black he was still scruffy and she couldn't help but smile, she wanted to wrap herself around him, breath him into her lungs and feel his warmth in the marrow of her bones. She heard laughter all around her and she can see Juan even trying to hide his laughter behind his hand and looking around in confusion before she realizes her father isn't next to her anymore, looking back she notices she was practically dragging her father down the aisle because her pace had picked up, she couldn't help but giggle herself. She smirks and waves her hand at Juan before speaking up “Can you blame me…..he looks like a five-star meal!” everyone cackles, catcalls, and whistles are heard as she finally makes it to Juan. Her father pulls his rose from his cut and hands it to her with a parting kiss to her forehead. Another Rose pops up in her face, she follows the arm to see Chibs over Juan's shoulder. “Didn't think I would forget did ye lass?” she smirks and takes the rose, adding it to the now small but beautiful batch in her hand, turning she hands them to Tara who apparently had been in on it, if the purple ribbon in her hand to tie the roses together was any indication, looking past Tara she gasps when she sees Lyla, looking beautiful in the purple dress she had sent her. She was here, she did come, Joy is overcome as she mouths a shaky thank you to her before turning back to Juan. She sees his eyes taking her in from head to toe, she sees his eyes well up as he whispers “You look like an angel baby girl.” and she cups his cheeks, not caring who sees, or without a care of who would judge them, all others be damned This was their day. She brushes her thumb over his stubble covered jaw and smiles as he turns his face into her palm, brushing a kiss over the skin there as he calms himself.

The Wahewa chief clears his throat, bringing their attention his way he holds up his hands for the music to silence. “Welcome everyone. We are here once under the all-seeing eye of nature to celebrate a new union. This time for Juan and Joy I will now say a blessing of the Apache ‘Now you will feel no rain for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold for you will always be warmth for each other. Now you will feel no loneliness for you will always be each other's companion. Now you are two persons with only one life before you. May beauty and peace surround you both in your journey ahead and through all the years to come.’” She lets the tears go unchecked down her cheeks and she flashes back to the last time they were here, listening to this same blessing and both of them clinging to each other as they felt those words. And now to stand here and have it be for them. She felt overwhelmed, thankful, and blessed by this man currently holding her own shaking hands in his, as he gets their rings from Chibs, handing his to her. “Juan will now say a few words.” She smiles gently as he takes a deep shaky breath, his eyes closed as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was actually good to know she wasn't the only one who was overwhelmed, she gives his hand and encouraging squeeze.

Once he opens his eyes and they connect with hers and she sees something change in him, his shaking stops and his breathing calms before he speaks. “Joy. You are a force of nature. The day I met you I felt something in me change, for the first time i felt solid ground under my feet. And over this last year and some months you have turned me into a man I didn't know I could be, I am stronger, more connected to myself and that is because of you. You don't take anyone's shit.” she giggles and tilts her head back as her guys in the crowd grunt in agreement. “You are a strong and powerful woman and I am in awe of your soul, I plan to treat you like the queen you are for the rest of our days.” She sniffles as he slides her mother's ring back on over the fully healed tattooed band. Grabbing his hand she locks eyes with him. “Juan. You are nothing like I expected. Your smile warms me, your heart humbles me. And the faith you have shown in me and this love from the very beginning proved to me that my mother's was right.” she stopped as her emotions overwhelmed her, she cliches her eyes shut for a moment, Juan's free hand coming up to brush over the tears on her cheeks with his thumb as she got herself in check. Once she was calmer she continues “She was right. She said when I asked her how would I find my one like she did with my dad. She said that it wasn't about the person at all, it was how that one person's love moved you. And Juan your love for me, this club and our life together is what i only dreamed of. I take your promise to treat me like a queen and in kind, I promise to be the warmth, comfort and kindness my king needs. I will build this new family with you, I will give life to our future princess or prince because I want nothing more then to see you give all the love in you to someone who can love you just as much as I do.” She slides his ring on, and smirks when she hears a collective word from her Samcro men in the crowd “And?” locking eyes with Juan both if them wearing matching mischievous grins as they say in harmony along with their brothers “I promise to treat you as good as my leather and ride you as much as my Harley.” she leans into Juan laughing along with everyone else as the chief speaks over them “By the power vested in me by the laws of the Wahewa and the state of California I pronounce you man and wife….now kiss her son.” she giggles and yelps Juan yanks her towards him, his hand fists into her hair as he takes her mouth.

She is brought back to their first kiss, the peace and quiet within her mind and soul it had inspired and she melts into his firm chest. This man was finally hers and she was completely his, it's a while before they pull apart. Her lips swollen and her knees were weak, she smiles up at Juan as he holds her up, feeling a tap on her shoulder. Turning she sees Tara “Come on. You need to change really quick.” she glances back at Juan, gracing him with a wide smile she says “I'll meet you on the floor, Husband.” the bright smile she gets from him is beautiful, he grabs her hand and kisses the back. “I'll be there. Wife.” She smirks and watches him walk off. It only took ten minutes to slip into her reception dress, a pale pink and covered in lace it was feminine flowed down to her knees, she pulled on her bride garter up her thigh before slipping her heels back on, high and a pretty pink as well she makes her way to where she could hear music already playing. Tara points of to the side, seeing Juan leaning against a tree talking to her father she makes her way over, her father sees her first, a grin on his face as he nods towards her for Juan to look. When Juan finally sees her she is already at his side, pressing her lips to his cheek she leans against his side. Feeling his arm slide around her waist she smiles at her father “I'm gonna let the other know it's first dance time. Wave when you're ready.” She nods, watching her father take off she turns to Juan, wrapping her arms around his neck she grins up at him as his hands come to rest low on her back. “Hello handsome.” he smirks and leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, with his lips brushing her skin his whispers to just her “I swear to god joy. You looked like an angel walking towards me earlier. I will take that image with me for the rest of my life.”

She feels her eyes well up and she pulls back a little to dab under her eyes “Don't make me cry, Juan. I don't wanna fuck up my make up.” he chuckles and nods. Looking cross the floor he waves to her dad, handing a mic to Jax the music cuts off “Alright people. It's that time. It's my pleasure to introduce for the first time and for their first dance. Mr. and Ms. Ortiz!” she lets Juan pull her along as they make their way to the floor, he swings her around as the song they both chose plays. She had been surprised that Juan had actually been the one to pick this song. when they had been going through their combined iPods to find a song to dance too Juan had asked her to play some of her choices, and when he heard this he had told her he wanted it. Wrapping her arms around Juan's neck she lays her head on his chest as they sway, when she had fallen in love with Juan she knew she would find herself here, it's true she never expected it to be in a years time but she knew none the less that he was the man she would spend her life with. Once that first dance was over everyone flooded the floor, the had taken thousands of pictures with every single one of her brothers as they danced. And when Juan had removed her Garter from her thigh and tossed it into the crowd of single men she had lost her complete shit when a grinning Tig snatches it from the air and put it on his wrist like a bracelet. Much to the anger of her father who looked like he wanted to kill his club brother.

She couldn't wait to see that picture later, She wanted to be able you look back on this day and remember how she felt because after how scary this year had been, she didn't know who would be alive come this time next year. The major con of outlaw life was a short lifespan, as she shoves a very drunk Tig towards a chuckling Tig she feels a large hand on her shoulder, turning she sees the one son she hadn't danced with. Opie shuffled from foot to foot as he nodded toward the floor “Can I get my dance in?” she gives the tall man a small smile and takes his hand. As Van Morrison plays she rocks side to side with the tallest son, he was stiff and awkward but that was Opie. She pats his chest, making him look down at her she smiles up at him “I honestly didn't know if you would come.” he chuckles, looking off in the distance for a moment before replying. “I honestly didn't know if I would either. I don't know how to be here Joy. Donna was my world and then she died, and finally when I started to feel like that hole in me was slowly closing…..Dad…..”

She rubs her hands over his chest, the smooth leather of his cut cold on her palm from the night air. “Whatever you want to do Opie I'm behind you. Club be damned if you need time take it. But don't hold this against Jax. Please.” he opens his mouth to argue but she smacks his chest and he snaps his mouth shut “No it's my day and you will listen. This life we live isn't a given and I don't want you two assholes doing this shit when you could be putting your heads together to change things in this club. I know you won't come back until Clay is gone. That's fine but don't hate Jax for what he can't control.” Opie gives her a hard look of confusion, but he nods, as the song comes to an end he gives her a weak smile, holding her face he kisses her forehead. She can see a cam34a flash go off in the distance but doesn't give it too much attention as she watches the pained giant of a man makes his way through the crowd and towards the bikes. She feels Juan's arms slide around her waist, leaning back into him she sends up and silent prayer not just for Opie but all of them. May the coming months see this club pieced back together, and not ripped asunder by the evils that wait just beyond the shadows around them.

Thoughts? Let me know and ill see you all again next time.

Tag List (Ask if you wanna be added)

@waywardmoeyy @soaimagines @soaimaginesoa @glassteethclan(idk why it wont tag you hon.) @samuraiconfidential

#juice ortiz x oc #juice ortiz #Jax Teller #Clay Morrow #gemma teller #tara knowles #opie winston #tig trager #chibs telford #herman kozik #happy lowman #sons of anarchy fic #A Song For You

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stockwellarchives · 6 years

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“[Stockwell said,] I heard that Dino De Laurentis had rented the studio, that they were building the sets, that DUNE was going to be done, and that David Lynch would direct it,’ the actor remembers. ‘So, I put on my mental calendar that, before I left [where he was filming To Kill a Stranger], I would get over there and see if DUNE was being cast, and if I had a chance of getting in it. The next to last day of shooting, we had some stuff on the edges of the back lot, so at lunch, I asked Juan Lopez Moctezuma if he would be kind enough to get me an introduction to the DUNE people. Sure enough, I met David in the cafeteria, and it turned out, much to my surprise, that we had met once before, years ago. I said, “David, I love DUNE. I think it's great that you're doing this project, and I would LOVE to be in it.” I just flat out put my cards on the table. He thought for a second, then he had to tell me that the movie, at that point in time, was cast. So, I wished him all the best with DUNE and said goodbye. I left Mexico City and came back home [New Mexico], then went to LA for a TV show.

“‘Suddenly, I got a call from my wife, saying that my agent had called. I thought it was about another project, also being done in Mexico, by the first company that I had worked with down there. So, I called and my agent told me it was DUNE. I jumped up and down, very happy. He said they wanted me for the part of Dr. Yueh, and of course, I said to accept it. I finished [To Kill a Stranger], went back to my home, and made a telephone connection with David Lynch in Mexico City. What had happened was that John Hurt, who had originally been cast in the role, had found a schedule conflict and backed out of DUNE. Because I had fortuitously met with him in Mexico City, David immediately went with me.

“‘But the funny thing is, on the phone, the first thing he did was to apologize. He said, “If my reaction looked strange when you came into the commissary down there in Mexico City, please forgive me, but I had heard you were dead.” Whereupon I assured him that THAT information was incorrect.’ Feeling ‘plenty alive,’ as he describes it, Stockwell couldn't control his enthusiasm about DUNE. ‘My first reaction when I heard I got the part was, I couldn't care less which role it was because I just wanted to be in this movie,’ he says. ‘Then, I read the book again to refresh my memory. I thought of it as a part with a good deal of dimension to it. Yueh's not just a soldier. He has some guts. If I had chosen a character to play in this film, I think that he would have been among my first choices.’

“Stockwell also feels positive about his collaboration with director David Lynch. ‘David is just great to work for,’ Stockwell explains. "He has enormous respect for actors, and actors really respond to respect, let me tell you. If you want to get an actor pleased and doing his best work, just show him respect and you'll get it.....and love. David has that. He's not a technician who's only interested in the effects and the camera. His concern is the drama going on the screen. That, to me, makes a good director. And that's the kind of director with whom I enjoy working. DUNE was a lot of fun.’ The actor's admiration extends to producer Rafaela De Laurentis, whom he credits for carrying the project to its successful conclusion. Like many other production members, Stockwell had read Frank Herbert's novel years ago. An avid DUNE fan, he was well aware of the inherent difficulties of translating the Herbert masterwork from print to film. ‘At the time I read the book,’ Stockwell explains, ‘I NEVER thought of DUNE in terms of a movie, because there's so much internal stuff happening. If somebody had handed me the book and asked me about making it into a movie, I would have read it in a different way. I still would have been sceptical, because the obstacles to its conversion into a film were formidable. I think that fact was proved with the efforts of various other filmmakers to bring it to the screen, and failing. It wasn't until Rafaela De Laurentis tackled DUNE that it came about. I've worked with many wonderful, wonderful producers. But, in all honesty, I must say that Rafaela is the hottest producer with whom I've ever worked. She has the knack for it. It's as natural for her as walking is for a baby. It just comes so easy to her, that everyone feels at ease. You're not going to take advantage of Rafaela, because of her strength, but she doesn't put undue pressure on everybody, and things work themselves out because of her attitude. She's remarkable.’

“Despite his previous experience filming in Mexico, Stockwell admits that the shooting conditions for DUNE were ‘pretty rugged.’ He adds, "but, I was fortunate, in that my costumes were made of simple cloth. David has this thing for RUBBER. He has a fascination - you could even call it a PASSION - for rubber. He feels that nothing looks like rubber, and he's correct I'm sure. Working with the designer, he designed all the soldiers' outfits to be made out of rubber. Some weighed 160 pounds. The lightest ones, I think, were 70 or 80 pounds. All out of rubber, in the summer, in Mexico! So, you had many people passing out. As I said, I was lucky because I just wore a light cloth costume. I was down there for eight weeks, and I shot for six. I knew about the smog and the altitude. Their air pollution in Mexico City is pretty wicked. It's worse than LA. I think it's the worst in the world. But everything that I did on DUNE, was shot on soundstages. So, I didn't have the good - or bad - luck to have to go out in the desert to shoot. That must have been rougher still.’

“Shooting in such a large city far away from home for a long period of time can instill a sense of isolation among a film company. Yet, according to Stockwell, the loneliness blues didn't infect DUNE. ‘You didn't really have time to feel isolated,’ he says, ‘even if you weren't shooting every day, which was the case with many of us. Mexico City may be a big town, but the hotels where production people were placed were all in a central location. A long taxi ride to the studio, by the way. Most of the talent stayed in the “Pink Zone” two or three different hotels, all within a few blocks. If you were working, then, of course, everything was taken care of. But if you weren't then you would be walking around the block and there would be Sting, or Max von Sydow, or here comes the cameraman. If you went to dinner, there would be Rafaela and a group at one Italian restaurant. Go to another restaurant, and there would be David and somebody else. It became like a film festival because of the international atmosphere.’

“Stockwell found working with the international cast to be a pleasure. ‘It's a very gratifying feeling whenever you work with really top-notch, world-class actors,’ he says. "Of course, it does one's ego good. But, also it's very, very enjoyable, because you're aware of their competence, their professionalism and their total commitment. You can count on those actors, and that makes your work easier. I'm a big fan of Max von Sydow [who plays Imperial Ecologist Liet-Kynes]. It was a gas to meet him and share a scene with him. That was a trip. There aren't too many people who I get a little flustered about. But I was really impressed. He's very down home, personable and sweet. A very sweet man. He told me that he had admired something that I had done, and that just floored me. To have someone whom you really admire tell you that he liked something you have done is really great. It makes you feel wonderful. I also very much enjoyed working with Ken McMillan [who portrays the evil Baron Harkonnen]. He's a very dedicated, madman kind of actor. Ken and I spent quite a bit of time together on days off. We would go visit some little town or something. I enjoyed his company. He's an actor's actor if ever there was one.’

“Stockwell's favorite scene in DUNE may turn some moviegoers' stomachs. ‘I believe that, after people have seen the film, they'll remember it,’ he comments. ‘As everyone knows, Dr. Yueh is working for both sides. At a certain point, before all hell breaks loose, when everyone is aware that there's a traitor in the house of Atreides but not WHO, there's a little scene in Dr. Yueh's autopsy lab. Bodies of Harkonnen soldiers are laying around. A new body has just been delivered. Yueh has a kind of X-ray arrangement above the table. You see him with this body lying there, and suddenly he sees something imbedded inside the body. It's a tube with a message for him from the Harkonnens, which has to do with the plans for overthrowing the House of Atreides. Whereupon, he is obliged to take a scalpel and SLICE THIS BODY OPEN, then reach his hand into this body and fish around to find the tube! We shot the hell out of this scene, close-ups of my hand going into this body and fishing around. It was a big makeup deal. They had a fake body which was fantastically well done Everyone on the set was queasy from watching. If it had been my first movie, I probably would have fainted. It was pretty weird.’”

Lofficier, Randy, and Jean-Marc Lofficier. "DEAN STOCKWELL - THE TRAITOR OF DUNE." STARLOG Magazine, January 1985.

#Dean Stockwell #Dune #1984 #quote

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crimsonrevolt · 6 years

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Congratulations Dani you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Sirius Black!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Dani you’re back! And we’re so excited to have you back! Sirius is so important to this group, especially with the most recent plot drop and we’re so excited to see you play him out and cause a little trouble. As usual, your writing is wonderful and your characterization is lovely.

application beneath the cut (tw: slurs, mentions of body dysphoria)

INTRODUCTION

Dani here (again, finally!) and I’m 25 now. My preferred pronouns are she/her and I am from Michigan in the US, so EST timezone.

ACTIVITY

I’m going to low-ball and say like 5-6/10 ??? I have a few weeknights free, and then more time on the weekends.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Old member, but initially it was through the marauder’s rp tag, I believe.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Funnily enough, I’ve always hardcore connected with Sirius. Our personality types are very similar, and I’ve always been the ‘Padfoot’ in groups of friends. And growing older I’ve identified similarities between his upbringing and home life and my own, so yeah. But I also identified with Harry, Hermione, and Luna when I was younger. I don’t exactly remember why, but I did ? Maybe it was the outcast factor or whatever, but those are all tied for second after Sirius, I think

ANYTHING ELSE?

This group is legit the best group ever.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Sirius Orion Black III ——– He is named for the Dog Star, the most brilliant star in the sky, visible from anywhere on Earth - an actuality he embraces and carries with him from the moment he is able to understand its meaning. Ancient namings signify he is scorching, sparkling, bringing destruction and rebirth. He is important, and his name informs everyone of such.

But he is the point of Canis Major, a hunting dog, ever looking towards his master, Orion. Later, he would think it ironic that he was intended to obediently follow the hunter across the sky. When he was young, though, he did follow his father, his master, with wide eyes and a thirst to learn, to emulate. He did, after all, carry his father’s name as one of his own. He thought it only right that he be his hunter. He learned quickly enough to leave Orion Black be.

His name embraces the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - a reality he despises when he is older. He is taught to believe that to be a Black, to be a Pureblood is to be royalty. He believes it.

He spends the majority of his childhood being trained to be the perfect Pureblood heir, to be the perfect Black. He attends many Pureblood-only balls and events, and is taught the proper way to mingle with other Purebloods. He learns manners and etiquette, and he is expected to be a proper child. There are never many other children at the balls, but he is reminded that it is improper to run about and make a fool of oneself like ordinary children; he is, after all, anything but ordinary.

How could he be? His name attests to his brilliance.

FACE CLAIM

Miles McMillan is my boi, okay

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER (tw: mania, depression, alcohol)

This is long, I’m so sorry but not really. But Sirius Black has been one of my favorite literary characters since I was in 3rd grade and first read Prisoner of Azkaban. There was just always something about him, and I don’t even know how to put into words how much I love Sirius Black. I remember the moment I fell in love with him, though, was when I was reading PoA and this man who had just spent the last twelve years wrongly imprisoned for an horrific crime he didn’t commit, and who had just spent the last year on the run with his godson thinking him responsible for betraying James and Lily, offers for Harry to leave the Dursley’s and move in with him. Even after everything he had been through, he was still willing to immediately take in Harry and take his place as his rightful guardian. It breaks my heart that they were never able to be a proper family, but that’s discourse for another time!

Sirius was really the first character I ever really roleplayed, and he’s been living and growing in my head for six or seven years now, as silly as that sounds. My Sirius muse is always active and talkative and ready for action, and I love being able to put him out there and develop him further and still learn new things about him even after all this time (reference, yus!). I’ve always just felt a real connection with him. Maybe it’s because I see parts of myself in him, or maybe it’s because it’s just always been really natural and easy for me to get into his head and way of thinking. He’s always been more than just a character to me.

His personality, for me, has developed a lot since the early days. I think it’s easy to get sucked into fanon interpretation early on, especially with characters that have a really strong fandom presence. But I’m really proud of the character he’s become, and I think he strays from a lot of typical fanon stereotypes. One of the biggest stereotypes - and one that really bothers me - is that Sirius is some kind of Don Juan-Lothario-playboy-heartbreaker-type.

“With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up….a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn’t seem to have noticed.”

Sirius’ main concern has always been, and will always be, his friends. He cares far more for his Marauders and their pranks than he does for birds and sleeping around. He’s a flirt, yes, but only because he’s charming and needs to grace everyone with that charm. It’s harmless flirting, and it’s not his fault if anyone takes it as anything other than that.

I also love dabbling in the Black side of Sirius. While Sirius is a very good person, I think a lot of that is due to him being sorted in Gryffindor and befriending James Potter. Without his influence, I think Sirius would be a very different person. Not all of that is inherent, but Sirius definitely has a cruel, cunning streak in him (i.e. that time he almost killed Snape). A lot of it is in his nature, and some remains from his upbringing; our early years and development have a huge impact on the people we become. So, I think it’s interesting, especially in the state of the world as it currently is, to play with just what parts of Sirius’ personality become more dominant. Add to that Sirius being part of the Aversio, and I think it’s a really great combination of ruthless, cunning cruelty and the person the Marauders helped him become to create something new all together. I’d be really interested to see how that changes him and, maybe, influences a shift to the Sirius he could have been had he not met James and the Marauders.

In my headcanon, as well, Sirius is living with undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder. It won’t ever be diagnosed or named in-game since they’re living in 1979 (it’s still fairly misunderstood now), but it definitely affects him. I feel like his upswings are pretty intense, and it usually results in him wanting to be out all the time and doing things, and he feels infallible and invincible, and he’s a lot more likely to be reckless and make snap decisions. He definitely has a tendency towards dangerous ideas that he thinks are absolutely brilliant (see: the Prank with Snape). On the other end of it, though, Sirius’ lows are very low, and he self-medicates with alcohol when he ’s suffering from the worst of his depression (see: pretty much all of Order of the Phoenix). But I don’t think that Sirius recognizes the depression as such. It’s a lot easier for him to acknowledge when he’s feeling great and on top of the world as opposed to when he’s feeling like shit and struggles with getting out of bed in the morning. He’s a lot more likely to hide that side of himself, too, and play it off with a smirk and light-hearted joke at someone else’s expense.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS (tw: slurs, mentions of body dysphoria)

If someone were to ask Sirius his gender and sexuality, though, he would quirk a brow and scoff and let out a bark of laughter because, obviously, he’s got a cock and he’s not a queer, what sort of daft question is that? But his closest friends know that he enjoys the company of both men and women, although lately he’s sought out men more often than not.

Sirius doesn’t remember the exact moment when he realized that he was attracted to men. Maybe it was sometime in his third year, when he had accompanied James to watch the Quidditch team practice. Maybe he had caught himself staring at one of the seventh years - a boy with shaggy brown hair and a strong jaw - as he flew around the Pitch. Maybe he had felt the distinct swoop in his stomach as he had watched, and maybe he had imagined what it would be like to kiss the older boy.

But Sirius only really remembers being too afraid to say anything to James, Remus, and Peter, being afraid that it would change everything and they would think him a freak, a faggot they didn’t want to be friends with, anymore. James found out, though, and nothing changed between them, and soon after so did Remus and Peter. It became much easier after that to accept that part of himself. He doesn’t hide that amongst his friends or the Order; although the muggle world is less accepting of his sexuality, he doesn’t pay much attention to anyone who gives him shit. He flips them the bird and continues on his way.

What he would never admit to, however, is the many times he has passed frilly shop windows and imagined being able to wear whatever clothes he wants that he sees, or wished he could be as comfortable in his own skin as David Bowie, or Freddie Mercury. Sirius doesn’t always feel exactly right in the body he has, and he doesn’t understand it even a little bit. After all, it’s hard enough to deal with the war; he doesn’t want to even begin to focus on the whole gender bit.

The other thing he would never, ever admit to is the feelings he has harbored for Remus since they were realized in roughly fifth year. He remembers it was an ordinary moment; Remus had been working on an essay and nibbling on the end of his quill, and Sirius had been watching him, entirely too distracted, and it had just…hit him. But, of course, he wasn’t deserving of Remus. He would never be deserving of Remus. Sirius wrestled with the feelings for a good year or so, but he has long since accepted them without hope for it ever changing.

In modern terminology, he would identify as a gender-fluid demiromantic pansexual, but that’s too fancy and way ahead of his time, so all he knows is that he’s queer - just another way in which he would have disappointed his family.

As far as ships go, I’m def wolfstar trash. They were my first real ship and I love them to pieces. That being said, Sirius/Chemistry is my #1 jam. The only thing is that he isn’t always into serious relationships unless he’s good friends with the person first. In my headcanon, he’s never had a real, serious relationship (although every relationship is most certainly a Sirius one, lmao), but he doesn’t feel wanting, necessarily. Relationships aren’t exactly a priority right now when there are bigger things to worry about.

EXTRAS

&;;—— PERSONALITY TRAITS (tw: alcohol, mentioned violence/blood)

✓ Funny ——- “Did you like question ten, Moony?”

He is barking laughter and poorly timed jokes, puns upon puns - seriously. A grin as wide as the day is long, carefree and easy. Light in the black of war; white sheep in the Black family. His good humor has covered him and carried him through all that he’s seen. It’s as much a shield for himself as it is those with whom he surrounds himself.

✓ Loyal | Loving ——- “Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!”

He is fierce, heart full for those he holds dear. Not many are kept that close, but there is no hesitation when asked to give his life. Warmth and comfort, in the crook of his smile and the corners of his eyes. Brilliance and steadfast companionship: a dog is man’s best friend.

✓/✕ Strong-minded | Judgemental ——- “Besides, the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us.”

He is a tree rooted to the earth, tall and proud. Unmoving and firm against the hailing storm. Beliefs, unwavering, unwilling to hear. Opposition is wrong, and he knows it as well as he knows the stories written in the night sky. He is strong-willed and stubborn; a brick wall would be more receptive. He thinks himself open-minded, but it is only another belief.

✕ Doesn’t think through consequences ——- “What is life without a little risk?”

He is snap decisions made in the heat of the moment. Turbulent and emotional, judgement shifts as easily as debris caught in the tide. Words, biting, leaving scars as easily as laughter erases them from his mind. Passing thoughts in an endless stream of chaos - why waste time paying mind to outcomes when you can just act?

✕ Hellacious attitude ——- “There are things worth dying for!”

He is 2 am, leather, and a mess of discarded liquor bottles scattered about the floor. Blood-kissed knuckles and knuckle-kissed jaw. Smirks and sighs toppling from carved lips. Caught in a tempest, winds whipping his hair about his face, unable to see, blindly stumbling along, deafening roars threaten to consume him - one foot in front of the other. Raw magic crackling in the air, electricity against your skin; a beautiful sight when it implodes.

&;;—— WAND: As badly as Sirius sometimes wishes his wand was made from Dogwood (think of the irony! the puns! the beauty of the universe!), he was chosen by a Cypress wood wand with a Dragon Heartstring core, 15 inches, rigid.

“Cypress wands are associated with nobility. The great medieval wandmaker, Geraint Ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a heroic death. Fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.”

Sirius won’t think about the wandlore behind cypress wands and their masters dying a heroic death until the fleeting, infinite moment in which he begins to fall in the Department of Mysteries. He will think it ironic, then, that his death is hardly heroic at all; that, naturally, James and Lily had far more heroic deaths than him. (He will also think about finally, finally reuniting with them again, and he will think of how sorry he is for leaving Remus and Harry behind, but James, here I come.)

“As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.”

It is of interest to note that dragon wands tend to be easily swayed towards the Dark Arts. Sirius thinks it should be noted, and then he will tell it to fuck right off, thank you very much. He knows that, had things gone just a little differently, he wouldn’t have had any difficulty using Dark Magic; in fact, he’d have been rather adept at it. Sirius laughs at the notion - and would like to tell the Dark Lord that he can fuck right off, too.

Sirius is a very quick learner. He is intelligent and, when he puts his mind to a task, he is able to stay determined and focused. Magic runs strong in his veins, so it’s only natural he be paired with a wand that is able to keep up with him and his raw power. That being said, however, Sirius’ magic is - too often - unpredictable. It has been since he was a child, and he still experiences outbursts of unintentional magic when his emotions get the better of him; the dragon wand nurtures his accidental magic, at times.

&;;—— PATRONUS: It’s commonplace that a Patronus will match a witch or wizard’s Animagus form, if they happen to be such, and Sirius is no exception. His Patronus takes the form of a dog, matching that of his Animagus counterpart: a bear-like German Shepherd. German Shepherds are known for being intelligent, loyal, and fiercely over-protective. Any close friend of his would attest to the fact that Sirius exemplifies those qualities. He is a bright wizard, and he would do anything for those he cares about.

&;;—— The best thing that has ever happened: ”I know that you will make us proud, Sirius.”

No one ever expected Sirius to be a Gryffindor; he certainly hadn’t when he had stepped up to the stool to be sorted his first year at Hogwarts. His entire family had come from Slytherin. He even knew that, somewhere in his lineage, he was related to Salazar Slytherin himself. But as Sirius’ attention had drifted to the far table of green and silver, he had felt a tug in his stomach that he hadn’t really understood.

….“GRYFFINDOR!”

He ignored the shouts and jests coming from the Slytherin table to rightfully take his place amongst the lions of Hogwarts. He was joined, thankfully, by James and the redhead he had met with the greasy boy (he was grateful - and always would be - that the greasy one ended up in Slytherin).

It wasn’t before he was whisked away to his dorm and he got to know his fellow dormmates: one sickly-looking boy named Remus and a short, ordinary boy named Peter. Sirius thought he could do without Remus and Peter. Who needed them when he had James, his best friend? But Remus and Peter did prove themselves when they turned the greasy boy’s hair a bright shade of pink for a week. That, Sirius decided, was enough to earn his respect.

The four of them quickly became inseparable, and Sirius decided that being a Lion was worth the consequent Howlers he received, even if meant returning from the Christmas hols with bruises hidden beneath scratchy sweaters.

&;;—— And the worst: “Blood traitor! Filth! Scum!“

He tried not to cry out as he was punished him one final time for being an insolent disgrace; he wouldn’t give them the pleasure. He was worse for the wear, however, when they finished with him and sent him off to think about his disobedience. Again. Sirius sat, on the edge of his bed, trembling; it was out of his control. He thought, but it didn’t take long for him to realize what he must do.

He needed to leave.

He hastily threw what belongings he could into his school trunk, gathering up anything he deemed important. He was able to perform a simple expansion and levitation charm - he decided he could deal with the Ministry later - and led his trunk out of his room. But he knew he needed to stop at his brother’s room before he left.

Sirius loved his brother and he has always loved his brother, but Regulus was not like him. He was weak-minded and bent to the wishes of their parents. Sirius always wanted to keep Regulus safe from them, from Mother, but he went to school and was sorted into Gryffindor and it changed. He became the disgrace, and it had been up to Regulus to be the perfect son. Sirius never wanted that for him, and he didn’t want that for him now. So he tried to bring Regulus with him. He wanted to ask, wanted him to leave and escape the hell they had grown up in.

But Regulus didn’t leave with him. He wasn’t like Sirius. He was an idiot, and he didn’t leave. So Sirius goes. But not before he watched as his mother blasted his name from the family tree.

(Sirius still regrets not making Regulus leave with him.)

&;;—— AESTHETICS here [x] and here [x]

&;;—— PLOT POINTS ~ I really want to explore the conflict that Sirius is facing between his loyalty to his friends and his allegiance to Aversio. He very, very strongly believes that the Order isn’t doing enough, but he knows that a lot of Aversio’s tactics and such clash with the Order. He knows that there are many friends and allies that would look down on his involvement in the group, and he loathes to disappoint them. But Sirius is firm in his convictions. He isn’t one to waver in his decisions, and he truly believes that Aversio is the action the world needs. Again, however, that contradicts his closest friends, and I want to explore how Sirius reacts in such a situation. I want to push his loyalty to the limits and see what he does when it really comes down to it.

~ On the same note, I would love to have some of his closer friends find out about his involvement in the rogue organization. I feel like I know Sirius fairly well, but I honestly don’t know how he would react in such a situation that calls to question where his loyalties truly lie. I think it would be an interesting bit of character development to really put the pressure on him like that.

~ Sirius has a dark side, whether he would like to admit to it or not. It’s part of who he is, so deeply ingrained in his being that he doesn’t recognize it in the slightest. But it’s there. War tends to bring out the worst in people, and I want it to do so to Sirius. I want to mess him up, to play with his mind and pit him against himself until he no longer knows what he is or where he stands. I want to dive into the more psychological aspects of the affect of the war, especially since this is full AU now. If he doesn’t end up getting messed up in Azkaban, I have to mess him up somehow =)

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: “S’pose I’d make one that’d be able to track the greater London area,” Sirius answers with a smirk, wand twirling between slender fingers. He shifts, eyebrows flashing. “Y’know, something along the lines of magical cartography, but…big. Large scale. Easy spell, I’d imagine, if you could figure out the scale.” If they put their minds to it, Sirius is sure he, James, Remus, and Peter could come up with something. “Be able to locate anyone anywhere in all of London just by looking at a map. Imagine how bloody brilliant it’d be!”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: “James, Remus, and Peter. Package deal, yeah?” He quirks a brow. “Probably bring James’ cloak - usually do. It’s a bloody miracle, that thing. Gotten us outta loads of trouble over the years.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? Sirius grins, back straightening - pride rolling off square shoulders. “Well thought out ones. That’s what I’m told, anyhow. I’m better at the quick ones, the real difficult ones.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? He hesitates, smile faltering - though he catches it, corrects it before it can be noticed (he hopes). “I dunno,” he says, gaze averted, a shoulder shrugging. A pause. A flash of an image behind his eyes - his friends, hollow-eyed, telling him that he’s a Black, through and through, just like them, can never escape it, terrible awful cruel heartless Black. “That I’m like them. Because I’m not. I’m so much better than they are.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Okay so, I really love that the last plot drop has some conflict between Sirius and those he’s closest to. It’s about time for things to come to a head with him and his juxtaposed involvement in the two groups, and I think he’s about ready to begin the process of separating himself from the Order and their non-action. It will also be really interesting to throw him into another party that resonates so closely to him, but under the guise of not himself. I think, with how things have been playing out in his mind in regards to the war, that it could be very interesting to see how well he’s able to keep himself under control and not make rash decisions when it comes to being in the middle of the Death Eaters and their little party.

WRITING SAMPLE

(this is from an old post on here, i hope that’s okay! i’m just hella fond of this one, tbh)

In his youth, when the sky had appeared infinitely brighter and the days seemingly endless, when everywhere could bring forth a new adventure with little to no warning, when the silken tendrils of optimism wound around his body, weaving between pale fingers, toes - gently cradling and protecting; then, Knockturn Alley had not frightened him. But he had been young, naive. He hadn’t known the manner of the witches and wizards who frequented the cobbled street and dark, slanted buildings. They had towered over him, then, and he had stared back, challenging whatever authority they wordlessly claimed. He had challenged the world.

But, as it so often is, childhood naivety gave way to harsh truths, and accompanying his father to Knockturn Alley no longer offered boundless adventure. Instead, he saw the buildings for what they were, the witches and wizards as the cruel people they had always been. He saw the shadowed sky, tucked away behind pointed rooftops, and just how unlike its neighbor, Diagon Alley, it was. The Alley was no place for decent witches or wizards, which was why he supposed the Blacks held such fondness for it.

Now, Sirius had no need to traverse the uneven, dismal avenue, and yet… here he was. Hands stuffed into pockets, fist firm around his wand, Sirius averted his eyes, silently cursing the bloody wanker who had volunteered him for this bloody “mission,” although he was loath to describe it as such. Inquire about such and such item at some shoddy shite-hole shop, speaking only to Git McWanker blah, blah, blah. It was a fucking waste of time, was what it was.

Yet, here he was, pointedly staring at books on a shelf in some corner of Knockturn Alley - many of which he recognized as titles from the walls of the Black family library. They dredge up images of the study and lessons and evenings spent pouring over texts he had no care for, all in the name of properly educating the heir, or some bollocks. He almost scoffed at the thought, adjusting his jacket as he eyed the shopkeeper. Feign interest, then approach him for information; it was a decent enough plan, but Sirius was stopped in his tracks by the woman that rounded the corner.

Eyes locked, drinking up the vision before him - something out of a dream, a nightmare - and he was suddenly eight beneath her gaze, frightened and angry and improper, insolent, yet again. Hands balled at his sides, shoulders tense, and he resisted the visceral pull to back away, run away, get away from her. Instead, his jaw set and he held her gaze - challenging her command over him, because she now had none.

“It’s comforting to know that some things never change,” he remarked brazenly, determination settling squarely atop his shoulders. “Seeing you here, I mean. Of all places. Picking up a new addition to the library, hmm? Perhaps a copy of Magick Moste Pure: Grimoire of Pureblood Fuckery? I hear that’s been selling quite nicely with your crowd.” He sneered, arms crossing over his chest - tight. “Oughta be careful who sees you walking around with that shite. Hear the Ministry’s got eyes and ears everywhere these days. You’d hate to be caught up in all that, now, wouldn’t you, Mother?” The word was spat, harsh and mocking; she was nothing to him now.

#Accepted App

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creativitytoexplore · 4 years

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Don Juan and the Runaway Knight by Phyllis Houseman https://ift.tt/338nvih Linda, feeling abandoned by her husband and children, flees for a holiday in Ecuador, where she has an unexpected encounter; by Phyllis Houseman.

Well, Linda, you've gone four thousand miles south, and sixteen years into the past - pretty good for a novice fugitive. The tall, slender woman smiled at the wry thought as she stepped off the plane's ramp onto tropically hot concrete. Breathing deeply in the thin air, Linda instantly identified pine, a mix of exotic flowers, and dust. Even if she had been blindfolded, her nose would have told her she had landed in Quito, the capital of Ecuador, the symbol of her carefree youth. As she looked toward the city, Linda felt a stab of dismay. Quito had changed. There were high-rise buildings everywhere, almost obliterating the umber-tiled roofs and white-capped volcanoes she had captured on slides so long ago. Dampening down her sense of disappointment, Linda walked into the terminal. When her turn came in the Aduana, the Customs officer inspected her papers. Amazingly, the Ecuadorian consulate in San Francisco had re-approved her visa in less than a day. She had explained that now she would be going alone on this long-awaited South American vacation - the trip John had backed out of last week. Linda was even able to get a low-priced, no-wait plane ticket - thanks to the current industry price war. Since the money had originally come from her teaching salary, she felt absolutely no guilt about raiding the account yesterday. She needed this vacation. She had weathered months of upheaval. There was only so much a person could take. Linda had tried to be understanding about John's position as a newly transferred employee, however, it hurt that instead of spending a wonderful week in Ecuador with her, he had taken off on yet another open-ended business trip. A little feminine sympathy from one of her friends might have helped, but everyone she knew lived on the East Coast, three-thousand miles away from her new home near San Francisco. It was a potentially beautiful house, but three weeks after moving into it, confusion still reigned. The dust raised by an overzealous landscaping bulldozer covered every surface. Linda's camp-bound twelve-year-old twins had pulled out most of the clothing and games they owned, trying to decide what to include in their duffel bags. Camp had seemed the perfect solution for the homesick boys. Linda hadn't been prepared for the numbing loneliness their departure brought. It was then that she had decided to fly to Ecuador. "Is this your first visit to our country, Señora Knight?" The Customs man's polite question cut into Linda's thoughts. "Uh - no, I worked here as a Peace Corps Volunteer for two years," she murmured. "Espero que su estancia en nuestro país sea tan buena que no quiera irse." "Ah - er - that is, gracias." She gave trying to translate the rapid flow of words. Something about enjoying her stay so much, she would never want to leave. Obviously, all the Spanish-language soap operas she had watched on television recently hadn't been enough to regain her old fluency. Linda gathered her belongings, then went in search of a taxi.

The small, third-floor room of the Pension Suiza was freezing when Linda awoke the next morning. She automatically reached for John's warm, solid body, finding only the cold, squishy comfort of a goose down pillow. Punching that inadequate substitute into submission, Linda leaned back, savoring the architecture of the gabled bedroom. The gingerbread on the window might be ersatz Swiss Chalet, but the magnificent view it framed was genuine Ecuadorian. The sun had just begun its run down the eastern flanks of patchworked Pichincha. Like a spotlight, it revealed the civilized earthen squares thrifty Ecuadorian farmers had tilled into the steep sides of the dormant volcano Yawning widely to get more of the thin air into her lungs, Linda pulled the plump feather bed quilt up to the tip of her cold nose. She watched the golden line that separated dawn and day inch down the mountainside, until the raucous cry of a morning bird jarred her from a semi-trance. Forty-five minutes later, she had showered, dressed, and was on her way to the reception desk to turn in her key. She also wanted to find out when a bus to the equatorial monument would be leaving. Manager Señor Velasquez was busy processing an early arrival. A huge potted weeping fig tree hid most of the newcomer from Linda's view. All she could see of him was a broad shoulder in a suede jacket as the bent over the registry book. Then hearing the man's soft, gravelly burr suddenly made her wish she had picked some other place to spend the night - some other country to visit. She must have made some sort of sound for the manager turned toward her. "Ah, good morning, Señora Knight. I'll be with you in just a moment." Linda was about to back away from the edge of the desk. Her intention, to slide around a nearby corner into the hallway leading outside. With nightmarish predictability, before she could take a step, the tall man leaned around the fig tree, fixing dark eyes upon her face. With all her senses shouting "DANGER," Linda wanted to run. Yet, she couldn't move; she couldn't take her eyes off his compelling face. Constructed of sharp angles, his features had a manly beauty that had nothing to do with handsomeness, everything to do with masculine strength. As Linda stood there, staring, his gaze intensified. In an encompassing sweep, dark eyes caressed the shoulder-length fall of her ash-blond hair, then traveled down her slender body. Linda shook off her paralysis, stalking toward him, ready to protest the embarrassing visual evaluation. Her rage was abruptly neutralized when a wide smile revealed strong, white teeth. Before she could recover from that powerful grin, its owner turned to the entranced clerk, demanding, "Señor Velasquez, I would be honored if you could present me to your lovely guest." The opened-mouthed employee stood for long seconds before he nodded, beamed a gold-accented smile, and made the introduction. "Señora Knight, it is my pleasure to present to you Don Juan Caballero del Rey, a valued executive with, ah -" He looked at the register. "- with International Computers." His bald head bobbed between Linda and Don Juan. "Señor, allow me to acquaint you with the Señora Linda Knight." Forgetting the angry words she had planned, Linda played back the introduction, her mind bemused. Mulling over the surname, she tried to translate it. Something like 'Gentleman of the King'? Playing along, she inclined her head, murmuring, "Encantada, Señor Caballero del Rey." "El placer es mío, Señora." The sudden rumbling of Don Juan's stomach completely ruined his aura of suave sophistication. "I've been flying all night. I guess my stomach just caught up with the rest of me. Come, Señora Knight, please join me for breakfast." He held out his hand to her. Linda stared at those beckoning fingers, torn between preserving her matronly dignity in front of the avid manager, and wanting to know just what was going on here. She found her eyes focusing on the wink of gold on Don Juan's left hand. "What would Mrs. Caballero del Rey say about you having breakfast with me?" "Well, after fifteen years of marriage, she must know how much I love her - too much to let anything ruin our relationship." He indicated the wide band on her own marriage finger. "Señora, you must feel the same way about your husband." Linda forced herself to look into that dark gaze. "Of course. Having breakfast with you can't possibly do any harm to my marriage - such as it is." "Such as it is?" Don Juan echoed softly. Before Linda could respond, Señor Velasquez appeared at her side. "Señora, Senor, the dining room is open. Let me have the honor of escorting you to our best table. It has a magnificent view of Vulcán Pichincha. You must see it up close, and El Panecillo -" He listed several tourist attractions as he shepherded the pair into the adjoining room. "We'll have Naranjilla juice with croissants and Café con leche," Don Juan informed the waiter who instantly appeared as they sat down. "Señor Caballero del Rey," Linda chided, almost choking on that surname. "You're supposed to let me order for myself, or at least ask me what I want." "Ah, Señora Knight, I'm so sorry. It's just that my wife used to live in South America. She's raved about Naranjilla juice and the Ecuadorian style of coffee. They boil the beans down into a thick essence, then add hot milk," he explained. "I'll call the waiter back." "Ah - now that you mention it, what you ordered is fine," Linda recanted. She had suddenly remembered the piquant, frothy green drink and the rich Ecuadorian brew. When the juice arrived, Linda took a tentative sip. A sigh of bliss escaped her lips. Her breakfast companion chuckled. "Well, it is wonderful," she challenged. "Of course, it is. I can always rely on my wife's taste in food, drink, music -" He looked around, focusing on the empty platform at the end of the dining room. "Shoot! That's just what we needed with our breakfast - romantic Latin music. Too bad it's so early; the band probably plays only at dinner." "That's right," the eavesdropping waiter agreed, as he turned from serving the next table. "A magnificent three-piece band plays the latest American hits from eight to eleven." "Never in the morning?" Don Juan asked. The waiter shook his head. "What about CDs - a radio?" The employee looked more and more downcast as he denied each suggestion. Don Juan shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry, it would have been -" "There is Miguel," the waiter interrupted. "Miguel?" "Yes, he's only a dishwasher, but he plays the guitar. He's been begging the manager to let him try out for the evening show. Maybe - no, I might get in trouble -" "Just tell them I insisted," Don Juan coaxed. A thousand sucre bill appeared on the table. The waiter looked at it longingly, weighing rewards and consequences. He abruptly took the money, making for the kitchen. Before the swinging doors stopped flapping, a short, slender teenager appeared. He clutched the neck of a battered guitar under his arm, wiping his hands on a damp apron. The grin of delight on his face was so endearing, Linda felt her eyes sting. Bowing to his unexpected audience, the dishwasher put one leg on the seat of a chair, tested the tuning of his instrument, then broke into a boastful song Linda remembered from her Peace Corps days. "Yo soy el chullito Quiteño. La vida lo paso encantado. Para mi ella es un sueño. ¡No hay mujeres en el mundo como las de mi canción!" "I am a proud man of Quito. Life passes enchantedly. For me, it's a dream. There are no women in the world, like those in my song!" Linda found herself murmuring the translation. Without waiting for applause the novice entertainer changed moods, beginning a sad, sensual melody that pledged passion and undying love. The music generated sympathetic vibrations in Linda's body. Although she tried not to look at Don Juan, she felt her eyes being pulled toward the man. He watched her, not the singer. His gaze was assessing, serious. Linda couldn't move, her sea-blue eyes were entrapped by his deep brown irises. Long, soul-searching seconds passed. Applause from the other diners broke the hypnotic power of those eyes. Don Juan seemed equally startled by the clapping. Shaking his head, he turned away from Linda, beckoning to the young troubadour. The dishwasher shyly accepted the verbal and financial praise they both gave him for his impromptu performance. The dining room settled back to the business of eating breakfast. Don Juan didn't touch the rest of his meal. He just sat there, looking at Linda. Several opening gambits ran through her head. She finally blurted, "That was a marvelous gesture, Señor Caballero del Rey, thank you for an unforgettable treat." "It was my pleasure - with an ulterior motive." His penetrating gaze speared Linda's complete attention. "In return for the musical interlude, I expect you to end this - this formality. Let me call you Linda," he demanded. He pronounced "Linda" with just a hint of Latin caress. A broad grin stretched his generous mouth. "You must call me -" "Don Juan?" Linda interposed. "- Well, OK, I'll accept Juan, for the time being, cara mia." "Now, don't push your luck," Linda warned, her body stiffening at the endearment. "I wouldn't want to do that." Then, as if striving to reestablish the genial atmosphere, he changed the subject. "So, Linda, what brings you to Ecuador?" It was a casual question. It would require such a complex answer. Linda looked at him, trying to decide if she wanted to open up to this man. If she did, what was most important? The move? The twins' reaction to it? The canceled trip? "I guess I came to Ecuador to get a breather," she said. "We just moved into a new state. John, my husband, was transferred. His promotion involves constant traveling, so I've been left alone to deal with two unhappy children, a house that's a mess, a thousand minor decisions -" Linda stopped, aghast at the bitterness of her tone. "Sounds like he dumped a lot on your head," Don Juan ventured. "Yes - no, oh, I don't know. He was supposed to be here on this trip - a second honeymoon. Then, he had to cope with some customer emergency," she admitted. "I can't blame him for that. But when the kids went off to camp, well, I just decided I needed to get away. You must think that was wrong of me, Don Juan." Linda's voice had a waver in it she tried to control. "No, Linda, I don't. I'm sure your husband understands how angry you must have felt." Long-fingered hands reached across the table, ready to provide comfort. Not able to accept it, Linda jerked her hands away. "Just why are you here, Don Juan?" "Business - very important business." "Of course, what else? Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure your clients are waiting. I've got a lot of sightseeing to do this morning." She rose, unconsciously extending her hand as a polite South American would. He took the offered hand. Instead of a pro forma squeeze, Juan brushed the tips of her fingers with his lips before letting it go. "Linda." Soft, husky seduction. "Linda, let me join you. My - my wife has told me so much about this beautiful country. Where are you going today?" A myriad of conflicting emotions battled in Linda's mind. Oh, she was very tempted to go sightseeing with this beguiling stranger, who reminded her so much of Johnny. Johnny, the carefree young man she had married. Johnny, who had climbed the corporate ladder, transforming into serious, preoccupied John. Distant, elusive John. This man was warm, funny, gorgeous - so tempting. Perhaps going on an innocuous sightseeing trip with Don Juan was just what she needed. "I'm taking a bus to the monument on the equator, and - you're welcome to come along." "Terrific! We don't have to take a bus, I've a rental. It comes with a complete set of maps, so you can be the navigator." Linda couldn't help laughing. "Don Juan, I have to warn you. My family and friends all know I get lost going to the supermarket." Linda wasn't trying to get out of the trip. She couldn't back out now, not when the devil sparked glints of humor out of those compelling eyes. Not when his lean face was so relaxed, so attractive.

It took a half hour for them to get out of the city. Once they got on the Pan American Highway, there was little navigating for Linda to do. It was the only road that followed the high basin dividing the two cordilleras of the Andes. After a while, guardrails disappeared. There were just buffering earthen banks that often fell away, leaving their little car clinging to bare mountainside, thousands of feet above meandering river ribbons. When Linda slid next to Juan's sturdy body, he asked through clenched teeth, "How much further to the monument?" For the first time, Linda could see he was as nervous as she was. His knuckles gleamed white on the steering wheel. "About six miles, according to the map," she said, trying not to look over the edge as they rounded a sharp curve. "My God, I don't understand how people can drive on this highway every day!" "I know how you feel," her companion admitted. "For the last half hour, I've been sending up prayers for every denomination I could think of." He laughed. The rich sound curved around the low ceiling of the car, wrapping Linda in a sudden cloak of security. "Juan." She laid a light hand on his arm. "I have a feeling Someone up there already heard you, you're doing just fine." Her faith in his driving appeared to relax him. Broad shoulders settled back against the seat. Smiling at Linda, Juan fiddled with the radio until the lyric chords of a pasillo filled the small car. They found the equatorial monument twenty minutes later. At the stone obelisk, Juan took Linda's camera, asking an obliging Japanese tourist to snap a picture of them straddling the line dividing the hemispheres. Juan slid his arm around Linda's shoulders at the last instant. She looked up at him, not knowing that what she was feeling escaped her eyes, being captured for posterity on the film. Linda was startled when she felt a shudder run through Juan's body. "So, cara, where do we go from here?" The hoarse question held multiple layers of meaning. Gazing up at him, Linda felt lightheaded, until she realized she had been holding her breath too long in the rarefied air. Taking a deep, ragged gulp, she said, "There's supposed to be a small village near here, known for its woodcarvers. We - my husband and I - tried to find a piece of art when we used to go on vacation." "That's a wonderful tradition. Let's see if we can locate the place." There were choices this time. Linda made some wrong ones. Paving, then cobblestones disappeared. The road turned into a rutted trail, which terminated at the top of a high plateau. They were lost amid such compelling beauty both left the car, drawn to the edge of a precipice that could have marked the end of the known world. In the distance, a pale blue sky melded with the jutting, indigo escarpment of the eastern cordillera. From old geography lessons, Linda knew that just on the other side of the seemingly impassable barrier rivulets merged, eventually forming the headwaters of the Amazon. In her mind's eye, Auca and Jivero Indians - headhunters only a generation ago - glided through steaming jungle just fifty miles east, and ten thousand feet below. The danger - the splendor - coalesced, tugging at the couple. They turned. Linda found herself taking a hesitant step toward the man who was more dangerous, more wonderful to her than anyone else she had ever known. Her step was all he needed. Closing the distance between them, he captured her in his arms, raining hot kisses over her face, not caring where they landed. Their kisses grew desperate, hands moved to mold, to caress. Their melding bodies sank onto minty ground cover. Linda couldn't get enough of his firm, tender mouth, or get close enough to the warmth of his body. Her head was spinning, tinkling bells began to play an exotic tune in her ears. Running counterpoint to the jingling melody, were the haunting scales of Andean pan pipes playing somewhere in the misty distance. The music grew louder and nearer until reality jolted Linda out of the fantasy she had been playing along with since early morning. "Juan. John! Stop kissing my neck. JOHN KNIGHT, I said let go of me this instant. We're going to have company," she yelled into her dazed husband's ear. John finally heard the panic in her voice. He stumbled to his feet, pulling Linda up with him. He was still clasping her, leaning against the support of a wind-bent eucalyptus tree, when a small boy of ten or so rounded a rocky outcrop. The child's eyes widened at the sight of two disheveled gringos clutching each other. With inbred good manners, he doffed his colorful knitted cap to them, grinning a white smile of hello and goodbye. The dignified string of llamas following him paid no attention to the bewildered couple. "I just don't believe this." John shook his head. He looked out at the seemingly empty vistas surrounding them. "I would have sworn nobody else has been here for the last million years." "John. Oh - Johnny," Linda managed to gasp through the laughter shaking her body. "It's my fault. I should have remembered that old Ecuadorian saying - 'No matter how high the mountain, an Indian will be there before you.'" John joined in on her compulsive laughter. When he sobered, he looked into his wife's eyes. "Linda, I was never so frightened as when I walked into that empty house yesterday," he said, dropping a soft kiss on her hair. "I'd forgotten about the twins going to camp. I imagined a kidnapping, or that you had left me." He put a restraining finger on Linda's mouth when she tried to protest. "Just let me finish, honey. I should have realized how unhappy you were. You never reproached me, but I heard the sadness in your voice the last time I called. So, I rushed through those Mexican contracts and got home a week early." He placed tender hands against each side of her face. "Linda, I swear that was my last business trip for a long time. I don't care if they fire me. I've refused any more travel for the next six months." John looked at his wife, his face whitening when he saw tears sliding down her cheeks. "Linda, you've got to let me have another chance!" he pleaded. "I know I've given you a rough time, but I won't let you leave me. When I found the notations you made about your travel arrangements, next to the phone, I even followed you to Ecuador!" That explained most of the questions Linda had about his arrival at the Pension Suiza. "Oh, John," she sighed, hugging his strong body. "I know it was dumb to bolt. And as anti-woman's liberation as it sounds, I needed you to lean on at times, and you just weren't there. In fact, you, the 'Johnny' I fell in love with, hasn't been there for a long, long time." "Sweetheart, I know. I got too involved with my new responsibilities. That won't ever happen again. My God, don't you understand how much I need you, too? Your strength, your laughter, your love?" Nodding, Linda wiped away the last of her tears and smiled up at her husband. "I think I realized it this morning when I saw you leering at me around that potted fig tree. 'Don Juan Caballero del Rey,' indeed!" She repeated his alias once more, a sweet hint of laughter lingering in the lilting Spanish flow of the name. "Well, what does 'Caballero del Rey' mean? A king's man - his knight," he translated. "Yes, I sort of figured that out. My reputation must be ruined with Señor Velasquez and everyone else at the Pension." "Don't worry, honey. Velasquez was in on the game. I had to show him my passport and explain my mission. That guy's a romantic at heart and put on a first-class act for your benefit." Grinning, John pulled Linda down to sit with him against the rough-barked wood of the storm-canted eucalyptus. Safe in each other's arms, they leaned on the wind-tested tree. They had mended their marriage; a marriage, like the tree, that would endure.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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