#uh does their trio has a name? Orphans??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 5

(Y/n)'s POV

I have weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I hear and see makes no sense, so I just pass out again. I remember lying in a soft bed and spoon-fed something that tasted like (Favorite/Food), only it's like pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovers over me, smirking as she scrapes drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she sees my eyes open, she asks, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

"What?" I manage to croak.

She looks around, as is afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I slur, "I don't . . ."

Somebody knocks on the door, and the girl quickly fills my mouth with the pudding.

. . .

The next time I wake up, the girl is gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stands in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He has blue eyes - at least a dozen of them - on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I come around for good, there is nothing weird about my surroundings, except they are nicer than I am used to. I am sitting in a deck chair next to Percy - who was looking at me with concern - on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smells like strawberries. There is a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that is great, but my mouth feels like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue is dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me is a tall drink. It looks like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol sticks through a maraschino cherry.

My hand is so weak I almost drop the glass once I get my fingers around it.

"Careful," says a voice.

Grover is leaning against the porch railing, looking as though he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradles a shoebox. He is wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops, and a bright orange t-shirt that says CAMP HALF-BLOOD.

"You two saved my life," Grover says. "I...well, the least I could do...I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he places the shoebox in Percy's lap.

Inside is a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

It hadn't been a nightmare. My mother was gone.

"The Minotaur," Percy asks.

"Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea -" Grover gets cut off.

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" Percy demands. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."

Grover shifts uncomfortably. "You two have been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"Mom," I say softly. "Is she really . . ."

Grover looks down.

I stare across the meadow. There is a grove of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley is surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, is the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looks beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother is gone . . .

Nothing should look beautiful. The whole world should be black and cold.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffs. "I'm a failure. I'm - I'm the worst satyr in the world." He groans, stomping his food so hard it comes off. I mean, the Converse hi-top comes off. The inside is filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole. "Oh, Styx!" he mumbles.

Thunder rolls across the clear sky.

Mom had really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

Percy and I are alone. Orphans. We would have to live with . . . Smelly Gabe? No. I'd live on the streets first.

Grover is still sniffling.

Percy says, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did our mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least . . . I was."

"But why . . ." Percy begins and I suddenly feel dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover says. "Here."

He helps me hold my glass and puts the straw to my lips.

I recoil at the taste because I was expecting apple juice. It isn't that at all. It's chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. But not just any cookies - Mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body feels warm and good, full of energy. My grief doesn't go away, but I feel as if Mom had just brushed her hand lovingly against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was upset and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I know it, I'd drained the glass. I stare into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asks.

I nod.

"What did it taste like?"

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I reply and Percy looks at me knowingly. "Mom's. Homemade."

He takes the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it's dynamite, and sets it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.

3rd Person POV

The porch wraps all the way around the farmhouse.

Percy's legs feel wobbly, trying to walk that far, and (Y/n), though her legs feel like Jello, had moved to support her brother. Grover offers to carry the Minotaur horn, but Percy holds onto it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I'm not going to let it go.

As the trio comes around the opposite end of the house, (Y/n) catches her breath.

Percy's POV

We must be on the north shore of Long Island because on this side of the house, the valley marches all the way up to the water, which glitters about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply can't process everything I'm seeing. The landscape is dotted with buildings that look like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all look brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school–age kids and satyrs play volleyball. Canoes glide across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's are chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shoot targets at an archery range. Others ride horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I'm hallucinating, some of their horses have wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sit across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoonfed (Y/n) is leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me is small, but porky. He has a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it's almost poker. He looks like those painting of baby angles - cherubs. He looks like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He is wearing a tiger-patterned Hawaiian shirt, and he would fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I get the feeling that this guy could out-gamble even my step-father.

"That's Mr. D," Grover mutters to me and (Y/n). "He's the camp director. Be polite. That girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron . . . "

He points at the guy whose back is to me.

First, I realize he's sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognize the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, and the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cry.

The Latin teacher turns and smiles at me, then looks curiously at (Y/n), who is still supporting some of my weight. His eyes have that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulls a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he says. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offers me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looks at me, then (Y/n), who is leaning against my chair, with bloodshot eyes, and heaves a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to the glad to see you."

"Percy, why don't you introduce me?" Mr. Burnner says, sending a soft smile towards (Y/n).

"Oh, this is my twin sister, (Y/n)," Percy says.

(Y/n)'s POV

I smile and wave shyly.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," I say. "Percy's told me a lot about you. Even said you were his favorite teacher."

A warmer smile spreads across Mr. Brunner's face and then he turns. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner calls to the blond girl.

She comes forward and Mr. Brunner introduces us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, (Y/n). Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and (Y/n)'s bunks? We'll be putting them in Cabin Eleven for now."

"Sure, Chiron," Annabeth replies.

She's probably about my age, maybe an inch or two taller, and a whole more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she is almost exactly when I think a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruin the image. They are startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she's analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glances down at the Minotaur horn in Percy's hands then looks back up at me. She says, "You drool when you sleep." My cheeks take on a slight red tinge as she sprints off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," Percy says, looking anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," not Mr. Brunner says. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay," Percy says, looking totally confused, then looking at the director. "And Mr. D . . . does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stops shuffling the cars. He looks at Percy like he'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron - Brunner breaks in, "I'm glad to see you alive, and the chance to meet your sister. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?" I ask, interested.

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct Percy. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met him. He sensed he was something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to...ah, take a leave of absence."

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asks.

Chiron nods. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood, and then we learned of Miss (Y/n), here." He nods to me. "But you still had so much to learn, Percy. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D says impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

Percy's POV

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembles as he takes the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyes me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I answer.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he corrects.

"Sir," I repeat, liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he tells me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules"

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron says.

"Please," I plead, "what is this place? What are we doing here? Mr. Brun— Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorts. "I asked the same question."

The camp director deals the cards; Grover flinches every time one lands in his pile.

Chiron smiles at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," Chiron prompts. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said . . ." (Y/n) begins and I remember her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told us she was afraid to send us here, even though our father had wanted her to. She said that once we were here, we probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep us close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D says. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I ask.

He explains, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron says. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient.

"Orientation film?" (Y/n) asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"No," Chiron decides. "Well, Percy, (Y/n). You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know -" he points to the horn in the shoebox - "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either. What you may not know is that the great powers are at work. Gods - the forces you call the Greek gods - are very much alive."

I stare at the others around the table.

I wait for somebody to yell, Not! but all I get is Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackles as he tallies up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asks timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bites a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chews it.

"Wait," I tell Chiron as (Y/n) sits down on the edge of my chair. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron says. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class.

"Zeus," I say. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," says Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you."

"But they're stories," I say. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoff. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinch when he says my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continues. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

"Percy," Chiron says, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," (Y/n) says.

"Exactly," Chiron agrees. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you Perseus and (Y/n) Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their mothers."

My heart pounds. He's trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I say, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmurs. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover pleads, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbles, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!" He waves his hand and a goblet appears on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet fills itself with red wine.

"You're Dionysus," (Y/n) says and Mr. D looks at her. "The god of wine."

Mr. D nods then stares at me as I say, "You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turns to look at me straight on, and I see a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man is only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I see visions of grapevines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turn to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I know that if I push him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he says quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire dies a little; he turns back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron says. He sets down a straight, tallies the points, and says, "The game goes to me."

I think Mr. D is going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighs through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He gets up, and Grover rises, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D says. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beads with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners." He sweeps into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I ask Chiron.

Chiron nods, though he looks a little troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been . . . ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I say. "You're telling me there is really a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like...in America?"

"The what?"

"Western civilization?" (Y/n) guesses and Chiron nods for her to continue. "It started in Greece, then spread to Rome, right?"

"That's correct, Miss (Y/n)," Chiron says.

"And then they died?" I ask, looking between my Latin teacher and my sister.

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either —America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"Who are you, Chiron? Who . . . who am I? Who . . . who are we?"

Chiron smiles. He shifts his weight as if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I know that was impossible. He's paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he muses. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he does rise from his wheelchair. But there's something odd about the way he did it. His blanket falls away from his legs, but the legs don't move. His waist keeps getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I think he's was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he keeps rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realize that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair isn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg comes out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stare at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"You're a centaur!" (Y/n) says in awe, and Chiron's eyes sparkle with amusement as he nods.

"What a relief," the centaur says. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

Word Count: 3702 words

#percy jackson x sister reader #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert #fem reader #female reader #reader insert

27 notes · View notes

silavut-the-wizard · 3 years

Text

Silavut the Wizard, Chapter 31

The trio are chased by a wraith.

Nara’s Wrath

The sun was setting and it cast a gorgeous array of colors across the sky. It was time to go meet the girl. They had slept most of the day so they could be fresh for that night.

As they left, Sehlan asked, “You ready to be tailed again? I’m sure she’s waiting for us.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. I just hope the information she has is good.”

“We’ll soon find out.” Sehlan pulled out the map and oriented herself. “This way.” She started walking and Silavut followed.

The girl saw them come out and started following.

The extra tail did the same, being sure to stay well hidden.

Arriving at the indicated spot, sure enough, they noticed the girl circle around and come out a side passage.

“Hi,” she said shyly. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Of course, they knew the real deal. “Um… It’s great to finally meet you. Like, really meet you, not just running into you. Sorry for that. I’m just not good with talking to people. I’m really nervous right now, if you couldn’t tell. I ramble when I’m nervous…”

They stood there, waiting for her to gather her nerves, not wanting to scare her off.

“I think it’s neat you’re going after that crazy lady. I wish I could go on adventures like that.” She had looked down and fidgeted while she said this.

Sehlan and Silavut looked at each other, like ‘Yeah, sure, and get hurt, lost, hunted, nearly killed, almost eaten by a dragon.’

“Hey!” They looked back at her. “I could go with you! Can I?”

Both their jaws dropped at her sudden request.

“Honey,” Sehlan began, “what we’re doing is dangerous—”

“I know! I just don’t want to be stuck here forever. This city is boring. I hate Trefal. Also, my name’s not ‘Honey’, it’s Deltenara, but my friends call me Nara. Only my parents call me by my full name.”

Silavut interjected. “OK, Nara. Listen. You’re still young—what? Fourteen, fifteen years old?—and have your whole life ahead of you. You shouldn’t just jump into things like that.”

“Sixteen, almost seventeen. I don’t care! I want to go on grand adventures and be a hero.”

Sehlan squatted down a bit to look directly at her. “Trust me, I know exactly how you feel. Except my adventure started when I was a lot younger. It didn’t suit me well. Long story. We had no idea we would be doing this until this summer. What I’m saying is, you don’t know what the future holds. Who knows—you could become something else entirely, like a dancer, or a painter, or a writer…or anything.”

Deltenara sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So, shall we talk business?” Sehlan stood back up.

“Oh! Right! About that—”

Before she could get it out, they heard a scraping noise above them and looked up. There was nothing there. Maybe it was just someone working on one of the rooftops—that happens sometimes. Except none of them believed that.

Silavut caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. A black, inky cloud was drifting down the side of a nearby building, and it looked purposeful. Then he saw a pair of glowing black eyes in it.

“Uh…ladies…there’s…uh…something…” He pointed towards the cloud, then shouted, “WRAITH!”

They looked over and Deltenara sucked in a breath and started screaming. Sehlan quickly grabbed her hand and started running down the closest lane, practically dragging her along, with Silavut following close behind, the wraith in hot pursuit.

The wraith was supposed to wait for the information, but it got too impatient and careless. When it brushed against an object on the roof and made a sound, that alerted the group. It couldn’t wait any longer and decided to attack right then. However, the path it chose was too slow as they were able to quickly escape.

The trio ran through the lanes and alleyways blindly with the wraith always at their heels.

Suddenly Deltenara whispered loudly for them to stop and ducked into a doorway the other two hadn’t seen. They quickly followed and tried to calm their breathing. There was a whisper of movement from the alley they were just in. They all held their breath as the wraith slipped by.

After a few more moments, Deltenara peeked out. She saw the wraith searching for them at the end of the alley, twisting this way and that, trying to decide which way to go. It couldn’t believe they could have disappeared so easily.

Slipping back into the doorway, Deltenara whispered, “There are hidden spots here in this part of the city. You just have to know how to spot them. Since I’ve lived here all my life, I know every single nook and cranny. Follow me.” Peeking out again, she saw the wraith finally decide on a random direction and disappear from sight. She silently motioned for them to follow and quickly darted down the alley and turned. Sehlan and Silavut could barely keep up. When Deltenara turned and saw them lagging behind, she told them to hurry up.

“Deltenara, slow down,” Sehlan said just above a whisper. “I don’t know how you can be so quick after all that running. We’re tired and worn out.”

She snapped around. “I’ve told you, only my parents call me that. It’s Nara.” Then she turned back around to study the lane. “I’ve always had that. No matter what I do, I just never seem to lose energy. I’ll tell you more later. We’re almost there.” She darted away again and the others still barely kept up after the minute rest.

They arrived at a door that looked like it had been kicked in and repaired multiple times. Nara opened it to a bustling crowd. “Welcome to Trefal’s underground information exchange,” she said, opening her arms wide and taking a deep breath.

As he looked around, Silavut asked, “Is this a black market?”

“Not quite. There’s nothing illegal sold here. It’s all perfectly legal.” She explained how the information is gathered by agents planted throughout the city, that it’s information anyone could get if they were in the right place at the right time, how the agents are paid, and how the information is sold. “If you want information, you either give information, or pay for it.”

Sehlan said it was an impressive operation, then asked, “Why are you so willing to give us free information?”

“Ssshhhuushushshshushsh!! Not so loud!!” Nara said in a loud whisper and sighed. “I’m doing it because I thought if I gave it to you, you’d let me come with you. I figured with my ability to never get tired, you’d find a use for me.”

“Well, don’t you have a purpose here? I mean, being quick and all would be great for information gathering. Right?”

“You would think, but unfortunately no. Sorry I’ve wasted your time.” She pulled out a note from a hidden pocket and handed to it them. “Here, this is what you want.” Nara started walking away, but Silavut quickly grabbed her arm. “Hey! What—”

“OK, here’s the deal,” Sehlan began.

Just then a large, round, muscular man strode up to them and glared at them, and glowered at Silavut’s hand around her arm. He let go in a hurry. “Are these two wackos bothering you, Nara?”

Nara looked between them and said, “No, Gen, it’s fine. You can go back to your post.”

Gen grunted, nodded sourly, and strode back to his post.

“Yikes, that was scary,” Silavut said.

“Trust me, that was his good side,” Nara replied.

“If that’s his good side, I’d really hate to be on his bad side.”

“You have no idea. Anyway, you were saying?”

Sehlan cleared her throat and continued. “Here’s the deal. You help us however you can, and we’ll let you come with us.”

“Wait, what? I thought we agreed she wasn’t coming,” Silavut argued.

“One sec, Nara.” Sehlan grabbed Silavut and moved him away from hearing range. “We could use her. She’s quick, doesn’t tire easily, and could get us places we couldn’t normally go ourselves. She said there’s basically nothing here for her.”

“Yeah, but we don’t even know who her parents are. They could be looking for her right now.”

Sehlan thought for a moment. “Does she even have parents? Maybe she’s an orphan…” They went back over to her. “Nara, do you even have parents? Is that why you want to leave Trefal?”

Nara looked up at Sehlan and nodded. “I didn’t want to tell you. I thought you’d go looking for them and—”

“It’s OK. If you want to come with us, if you don’t want to stay here alone, that’s fine. We can look after you, though we really don’t know the first thing about being parents ourselves,” Silavut told her. “Just know that we do get into dangerous situations, a lot. So be warned.”

Nara’s face lit up with a huge smile. Suddenly she hugged them with a muffled “Thank you.”

They left the information exchange and started down the lane back towards the city proper. Little did they know, the wraith had tracked them back to the alley they hid and followed them to the exchange, hiding in wait.

As soon as they exited, the wraith was upon them. They did everything they could to keep it at bay.

“GEN!” screamed Nara. “HELP!”

The door burst open and Gen froze. The wraith looked up at the man and swarmed him. Gen fell back cold and lifeless.

“NO! GEN!” Nara bent down over the large man’s body and wept. There was a hollow bellow from the wraith. “You!” She stopped, wiped her nose with her sleeve, and turned towards the wraith. Her eyes burned with a cold hatred. Sehlan and Silavut stepped back, mouths open. “How dare you come into my territory, terrorize me and my friends, and kill one of my people!”

The wraith had even stopped moving at this point, seemingly frozen in terror.

“You… Will… Pay!!” Nara raised her hands towards the wraith and screamed. The wraith wailed. Something no one could explain happened. It was immediately torn to shreds, its head burst open and black sludge poured out, the black, inky cloud vanished. Nothing was left but shredded black chunks of wraith in a pool of its own filth.

“H—How…did you…? No one…no one…has ever… That was…” Sehlan tried, but couldn’t finish a single sentence.

Nara’s hands fell and she dropped to her knees. Silavut was quick to catch her before she fell over. “She’s passed out.”

“Let’s get her somewhere safe, before another one of those things comes after us.”

Silavut picked her up. “What should we do with it…and him?” He nodded towards the gooey mess and Gen.

“You go, take her to our room. I’ll figure out something here.”

“You sure? You don’t want to stay together?”

Sehlan nodded. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

Silavut awkwardly kissed her on the cheek, holding Nara, and left Sehlan to clean up. Luckily no one else had come out of the exchange to see the carnage.

Sehlan looked down at the mess and decided what needed to be done.

#Silavut the Wizard #Chapter 31 #Nara's Wrath

0 notes

stark-park · 7 years

Text

Once Upon a Child (5/9)

Chapter: 5 - Eat Your Heart Out

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 6 7 8 9

Summary: With their daughter enjoying her happy beginning and their infant son still young, Snowing decide they need a hobby, or at least, a way to help Storybrooke in the ways they used to with their kingdom in the Enchanted Forest. Therefore they decide to help those most unfortunate: the orphaned and lost children at Misthaven Home for Children. But when one child is unlike the others, their hearts and their home go out to him in the hopes they can help.

Rating: PG, there's nothing too horrifying, mostly fluff

Disclaimer: Based on ABC's Once Upon A Time and I do not own any of their characters, plots or locations. I am but a loyal fan, loving of the show and simply borrowing the beautiful characters.

"Well?" Emma quizzed Dr Whale.

"You were right." He confirmed, "Kind of."

"Kind of?" Snow repeated, "Is he deaf or not?"

"Partially."

"That certainly explains a lot." David stated. It certainly did. Aside from being Ancient Greek, the poor boy struggled to even hear. No wonder he didn't communicate with anyone.

"Is there anything we can do for him?" Snow asked Whale.

"Well, judging from the degree of damage-"

"Damage?" David repeated.

"Yes, it looks as though there's been some physical trauma to the skull around, particularly his right ear but there's also trauma to the left one."

"Could someone have done this to him?" David asked, his mind spilling with various scenarios of what Ellion could have gone through before he arrived in Storybrooke.

"It's possible. It's also possible he was involved in a crash of some sort."

"So," Snow said, trying to steer the conversation away from this tangent, "Is there something we can do?"

"Right, yes, but how successful it will be, we won't know until we try. We can implant hearing aids to try relieve some of the pressure on the inner ear and allow for some, if any, sound waves to perforate the barrier the damage has created. It's more likely to work for the left ear as there is less trauma, but of course-"

"We won't know until we try." Emma finished.

The adults exited Dr Whale's office with more of an understanding about the boy, but there were still so many mysteries to be solved.

"Hi Love." Killian said. He sat in the waiting room with Ellion asleep across the chairs beside him. At the behest of his wife, he'd joined them at the hospital - without his hook, who knows what the child would have insinuated from that - to keep an eye on the boy whilst Emma, and her two thoroughly confused parents, tracked down some answers.

"Tad late for a bit of reading isn't it?" Killian observed, nodding at the storybook Snow had been holding since they left home.

"What? Oh! This, yes! Henry thinks he found what story Joe is from!" Snow explained.

"Really?" Emma said, "And you only thought to tell us now?"

"I'm sorry, our minds were on finding him and then you found out why he didn't talk and-"

"It's okay, I get it." Emma intervened, "So? Can we take a look?"

"Page 70." Charming noted as his wife flicked through the pages of Once Upon A Time Volume VII.

"Here it is," Snow declared. The trio occupied the three chairs adjacent to Killian.

"The story of Tristan and Yvaine." Snow read aloud.

"I recognise those names!" Emma cried.

"Dammit, I forgot where they're from." She huffed.

"It's okay, maybe it'll come to you while I keep reading." Snow suggested. "Tristan, in comparison to everyone else in this story, was rather normal. That is, until he journeyed through the wall into the kingdom of Stormhold-"

"Oh!" Emma cried, her hands frantically flapping about. "I know this story! I remember! It's Stardust!"

She grinned until she noticed the bewildered expressions of her family. "You haven't watched Stardust?"

"Cursed." Snow justified.

"Pirate." Killian added.

"Ugh." She grumbled, "You guys have missed so much."

"So, what happens in Stardust? Anything about a little boy?" Snow asked hopefully.

"No, not that I remember."

"Why don't you briefly tell us the story and maybe we'll have a better understanding?" Charming suggested.

"Well, this guy Tristan goes to Stormhold to find his mom with this magic candle but he starts thinking of his girlfriend instead, well, she's not really his girlfriend. She's a pretty horrible person actually, manipulative, materialistic-"

"Love," Killian paused her, "Is this maiden truly pertinent to the story?"

"Uh, no. Sorry." Emma blushed with embarrassment. "Okay so, he starts thinking of this fallen star him and his girlfriend saw and how she would marry him if he brought her the star. But it turns out that the star is actually a person, a woman, called Yvaine."

"How can a person be a star?" Snow asked.

"I... I don't know, magic I suppose? How can a daughter be the same age as her parents with her century-year old husband? Magic." Only when Emma said it out loud did it dawn on her that her bizarre explanation was in fact her current situation, and it was all thanks to magic.

"Okay, but does she look normal? Or is she, you know, shiny?" Charming pressed, still confused by the Stardust world.

"Um, I guess she's pretty normal looking. Pale skin, white blonde hair... oh and she's a star so she shines when she's happy."

Snow and Charming looked at each other, clearly questioning the same thing.

"You don't think?" He asked his wife, staring into her eyes for certainty.

"He might be." Snow admitted.

"Wait..." Emma knew when her parents had twigged something, it was only a matter of time before she too worked out their revelation.

"Seriously? You think Joe is a star?"

"For all we know, he could be." Snow whispered, as if unsure whether to fully commit to the possibility.

"Why not finish the tale love?" Killian offered, hoping the story would provide some more concrete answers.

“Okay. So Tristan and Yvaine meet but there’s people looking for her. There’s this witch, I don’t remember her name but she’s played by Michelle Pfeiffer, and she wants to cut out Yvaine’s heart and eat it so she can stay young.”

“That’s horrible!” Snow gasped, throwing her hands to her mouth. “Do you think that’s why he ran away?”

“What? No!” Emma rushed, cursing herself for sending her mother into panic, yet again. “Mom, that’s just the movie! I could be wrong. I probably am- I, uh...” She trailed off, looking to her father desperately in the hopes he could instrument a reasonable and calm plan.

“Snow, Honey, why don’t we read the rest of the book? Maybe that will shed more light. Movies are just fantasy, this book is what really happened.” Oh thank you so much! Emma’s eyes screamed.

“Alright.” Snow agreed, her head nodding less and less ferociously as the seconds passed.

Ellion, on the other hand, had been calm and peaceful all while he slept. His pirate guardian subconsciously patting the boy’s back softly as he dreamt.

*****

Lights danced amongst the darkness, their ambient shine getting lost as it travelled through the vacuums of space. Whirlpools of luminous serenity collided angelically with indistinct patches of obscurity; concealing the deepest secrets of this galaxy and the next. It was as if someone had taken the sky as their canvas, spilling over an array of blues, reds and golds into a mist of ivory and shadows. Flickering silver sparks captivated those who stared up at the night's sky, especially those that waltzed alluringly across it, becoming the pinnacles of their dreams and desires.

Ellion looked out at the myriad of pulsating lights, the humming of ancient songs, where beings fantasised over joining the stars, drifted softly through the atmosphere. Amongst the hushed lullabies, sung to aid those falling asleep beneath the night sky, was the whispering of others directly to Ellion.

"Tell them!" Urged the wise Altair.

"You are safe." Came the echo from one winking from afar amidst an ominous blackness.

"He could use the book!" Flashed another, providing Ellion with the crucial counsel he needed.

Just then, a peculiar sound arose, forcing Ellion - however unbearable it was - to leave his homeland. He slipped from the blinkering suns and swirling darkness back into the embodiment of the young boy.

*****

A piercing alarm sounded in the hospital, making Snow and Charming stand up instinctively, ready to be called upon for aid.

"Mom, Dad, it's okay, the doctors have got this." Emma reminded them, her hand pulling at the storybook Snow was still holding (the only thing she could reach from her laid back position in her chair). However, instead of sitting down Snow let the book leave her grasp and it dropped with a thud to the floor as Emma just failed to catch it.

"Do you think they need some help?" Snow asked her husband, both lost in a trance as they worried over the bustling nurses and doctors. While Emma pulled herself from her chair to wave unsuccessfully in front of her parents, Killian recovered the neglected storybook, flicking through to the star-eating witch story.

"Maybe we should just see-" Charming insisted, him and Snow creeping over to the reception desk with the intent on "helping". It was at this point the alarm was switched off and the snoozing child began awaking from his slumber.

"Hey, you're awake." Emma noted, her observation pulling her parents from their urge to involve themselves in the hospital's emergencies.

Ellion rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms. His gaze landed on the book Killian was holding, now showing the last pages of the story with a rather artistic drawing spreading across an entire page.

A lonely, winding path led the eye from the corner of the page into the fantastical world of Stormhold and onto the foot of a mountain. Engulfed in buildings; the top of the mountain was home to the monarchy with their impressive construction, resembling, somewhat, an ancient Greek colosseum. A magnificent tower, built into the rim, soared above the rest of the buildings, it's structure ablaze with golden lights as it depicted a celebration of sorts. A brightness paralleled only to that of the glistening stars above.

As soon as the little boy noticed the picture, he tapped his index finger upon the golden shapes replicating the stars, smiling at Killian as he did so, before pointing at Emma, then back to the stars in the picture.

The surrounding adults were held in amazement by the sudden change Ellion displayed. Not only was he engaging with them, trying to send a message, but he was glowing. Or as they would have described it: shining.

The little boy, apparently unaware of his highlighted body, continued his actions; tapping the book, pointing at Emma, then tapping the book again.

"Yeah, nice." She murmured eventually, her sarcasm lost on the deaf boy. She looked to her parents for help, hoping they would at least have an inkling at what he was trying to say. Alas, they were equally as puzzled.

From out of nowhere, Killian marvelled: "Awe, he thinks you're a star Love." His tone was tender, as if he already knew this to be true.

"Why?" Emma choked, her nose wrinkling at her husband's analysis.

Then Charming piped up, slightly aghast at the remark, "Because you are a star! And don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise!" Whoa, protective dad mode activated, Emma thought. A hint of a smile on her face let slip she secretly loved the overprotection.

The thought of denial crossed her mind, but Emma couldn't bring herself to shut down the little boy shining in front of her. Instead, she smiled and pointed at him, knowing full well what his answer would be by now, "Are you?"

A relieved grin spread across his face. To think, before tonight he'd been so cautious the entire time he'd lived in Storybrooke, just in case someone discovered he was a star. The adults weren't completely sure of why his nap had warranted such a reverse in behaviour, but they were thankful it had. They could finally begin to understand his anxious glances and mute responses, but more importantly, help him to overcome the obstacles he had faced alone.

A tear escaped Snow's eye as the boy not only smiled, but nodded in response to Emma's question.

"So," Dr Whale said, coming round the corner with a clipboard, "There's been a cancellation so I can fit the hearing aids tomorrow morning at 10:20. How does that sound?" He paused in horror, realising the poor choice in words before swiftly shrugging off the guilt.

"Tomorrow sounds great." Snow replied, apparently not cottoning on to the pun.

When it came time to leave, Emma and Killian parted ways with the three, leaving Ellion quietly upset. He clutched the storybook while Snow crouched to his level, "It's okay, we'll see them soon enough."

The pair were not the type to force something, so Charming gestured towards Ellion, walked his fingers in his direction then paused to himself and Snow, asking, "Do you, want to come home, with us?"

There was a pause while Ellion considered what they were asking, Charming and Snow meanwhile, were silently hopeful. The message was understood, and after a moment longer, he eventually took Charming's hand.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 6 7 8 9

9 notes · View notes

irinapaleolog · 4 years

Link

What is Star Wars about, really? It’s a good question, one we’ve pondered for 42 years. Star Wars is so broad, so dense, and at times so frustratingly transparent, that you can graft just about any sort of meaning onto it. And yet, its mass appeal is often distilled to one word: Star Wars is about hope. But what does it mean to have hope?

Everyone will offer a different answer. Hope can mean defiance in the face of adversity. It can mean happily ever afters. It can mean togetherness, family, friendship–those little things worth fighting for, even knowing they’re temporary. At its best, Star Wars captures that, freezing tiny moments of hope in amber. Luke, Leia, and Han hugging after the destruction of the Death Star. Anakin Skywalker clutching the face of his pregnant wife, Padmé. Finn and Poe escaping the tyrannical First Order.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, the final film in this epic saga, is meant to tie a bow on the franchise, which began with A New Hope. Reasonably, one would expect those messages to come through more elegantly and emotionally than ever before. But the result is instead a sad case of confused identity. It’s a film that thinks it’s doing what it needs to, while ultimately delivering a series of rushed, soulless, and ill-defined points of logic. It’s “hopeful” if your idea of hope is tragic and cyclical to the point of feeling regurgitated. There are moments of optimism immediately staked through in heart in favor of “the next big set piece.” It’s a cruel and unsatisfying ending to a forty-year legacy, and one that feels openly critical of itself and everything it stands for, but shrugs its way to the finish line instead.

The Disney era of Lucasfilm was fit more for profit than integrity from the get-go, and the need to rush out a new episodic film loaded with the original’s stars felt as bankable as it was inevitable. Suffice it to say, the Star Wars sequel trilogy attracted critics, but the first two films shuffled through a variety of production woes to successful, appealing conclusions. J.J. Abrams’ The Force Awakens paired a new cast of characters with our legacy trio–Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), Han Solo (Harrison Ford), and Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher)–creating a spark of whimsical magic that overshadowed its derivative setbacks. Rian Johnson delivered a wild animal of a sequel with The Last Jedi , a surprising and frankly revolutionary studio blockbuster that turned the series’ larger story on its head. It was as divisive as it was fertile with big, new, promising ideas. The film ended with the Force decentralized from a few exclusive bloodlines and democratized, reigniting hope in the galaxy.

Unfortunately, The Rise of Skywalker picks up on none of those loose threads. The film begins with a flippant dismissal of many if not all of The Last Jedi‘s themes. The opening crawl explains that Emperor Palpatine has inexplicably returned (and I do mean inexplicably–we never learn how), and has been orchestrating the First Order experiment from the beginning. Somehow, he groomed Ben Solo into Kylo Ren from afar, and now locks his sights on Rey from Jakku, our unruly, orphaned Force user and Kylo’s counterpart. From the outset, Abrams shrinks the Star Wars universe back down to a more immediately interconnected, even insular size. Palpatine is back because, uh, sure, why not?

The story plays out as antagonistically as that. Abrams, returning as co-writer/director to replace Colin Trevorrow, demonstrates a bewildering sense of his audience’s wants and needs. Does he think we don’t care about the mysterious resurrection of the saga’s most selfish and mystifying villain? Is he purposely leaving gaps in the story for canon material to fill in? Did he think a single thing out beyond “looks cool, feels OK, boom, bang?” Who knows. But the movie opens with the reintroduction of Palpatine, them immediately launches us into the Millennium Falcon, where Finn (John Boyega) and Poe (Oscar Isaac) quickly discover that there’s a mole in the First Order. We’re then teleported to a new Resistance base where Leia trains Rey (Daisy Ridley) in the ways of the Force. Before we’re oriented in this location, we’re shuffled into another adventure jam-packed with MacGuffins, whirlygigs, and ultimately dead ends.

The adventure is poorly defined and confusing, but Abrams doesn’t expect us to be smart. He’s content to race through every would-be meaningful moment at the quickest possible pace, exploiting that whiplash effect to distract us from the story’s garbled plotting. We know that our heroes are on a race to find Palpatine, and are looking for something called a “wayfinder” that will lead them to his location. There are only two wayfinders, and Kylo Ren finds the other one in an opening scene. Abrams creates a sense of urgency, but we don’t really know why, and no one seems convincingly terrified that the universe is on the brink of absolute annihilation. At least the original trilogy only featured one Death Star at a time, and developed centralized locations that defined personal stakes and brewed emotion. This film has a whole army of planet-destroying ships, locations with no names or personalities, and characters previously emphasized who are here utterly left to the wind.

And that’s the real failure of The Rise of Skywalker. It mishandles literally every character, except, arguably, C-3PO. Rey gets tacked onto a legacy story that erodes the entire thematic heart of not just The Last Jedi, but even Abrams’ own The Force Awakens. By some disgusting leap of imagination, she’s Palpatine’s granddaughter. Rey’s parents weren’t actually alcoholics who sold her for drinking money (a bit never reconciled), but good people who loved her enough to protect her from Gramps, and apparently, themselves. Finn (John Boyega) is suddenly and inexplicably Force sensitive, which is a nice little treat and possible nod to the end of The Last Jedi, but is only really employed to detect when Rey’s in peril. Outside of one nice moment with Jannah (Naomi Ackie), a fellow defected stormtrooper he meets on the road, his arc from indentured villain to Rebel hero goes largely unaddressed. Worse, even his relationship with Poe feels weirdly underdeveloped.

Poe (Oscar Isaac), meanwhile, is very much “present,” but that’s really all he is. He became something of a de facto leader at the end of The Last Jedi, but Abrams fails to hint at any sense of real authority or growth here. He bickers with Rey and continues to act like a self-important flyboy, echoing a roguish Han Solo-esque fearlessness, but where his presence is maximized, his importance really isn’t. His story and Leia’s should be more interconnected after she taught him a valuable lesson last time around, but the loss of Carrie Fisher unfortunately obstructs his development as a character. Using a mishmash of unused footage from The Force Awakens, they try to conjure her spirit elsewhere, but it doesn’t totally work. That said, the movie at least attempts to do right by her legacy.

Further, Leia’s death in the film helps create two of its best moments. She uses a last ounce of strength to send Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) a memory of his father, Han, who reappears with some paternal advice. It should be a silly moment, but tonally it absolutely works, sold completely by the fine work of Ford and Driver. As father and son reconnect, Kylo Ren finally transforms back into Ben Solo–he tosses his jagged lightsaber into the abyss and goes off to save Rey, who he loves. This whole sequence is preceded by a lightsaber duel where Kylo is left mortally wounded; Rey heals him, and confesses her feelings for the man he could be. Love–and hope–seem temporarily destined to win.

And they do… sort of? The third act is where The Rise of Skywalker totally loses sight of everything it’s trying to be. Rey is drawn into Palpatine’s lair, and there’s a lot of business about Sith and Jedi that doesn’t really make sense. Above them, the war between the “Final Order” (Palpatine’s new name for the galactic baddies) and the Resistance rages, a total lazy mirror to the end of Return of the Jedi. Palpatine wants to funnel his strength into Rey via some ancient ritual, but Ben shows up. Ben and Rey fight together against Palpatine, Rey summons the spirit of all of the Jedi who ever lived, and she beats her grandpa with his own superpower (in a very Harry Potter-esque showdown) before dying. Ben uses the last of his life power to resurrect her–a nice mirror of their Death Star scene earlier in the film–and they kiss. But he then dies, leaving Rey once again as the galaxy’s only real Force of hope. She temporarily reunites with the Resistance–who defeated the Final Order with the help of Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams), appearing in the movie just long enough to serve as a deus ex machina–before jetting off to Tatooine. And finally, Rey takes on the last name Skywalker and sees Luke and Leia’s Force ghosts. The end.

Unbelievably, a lot more happens than that. Abrams introduces Zorii Bliss (Keri Russell), a fun, masked ex-fling of Poe’s who’s super cool but completely inconsequential to the plot. Kelly Marie Tran’s Rose Tico effectively takes a Resistance desk job, which feels particularly insulting after everything she accomplished in The Last Jedi. There are more “Force Skype” scenes between Rey and Kylo, and Rey confronts her own inner darkness, manifested in “Dark Rey,” while Abrams introduces a cute new droid named D-O, and throws a lot of other random things at the wall that never stick (like a visit with the ghost of Luke Skywalker during a temporary detour to Ahch-To). It’s as messy as it is ambitious, and Abrams and co-writer Chris Terrio’s deserve some credit for spinning such a clotted web that you’re frequently distracted from all of the holes in it.

But then there’s the whole hope thing. And there’s really no cohesive sense of it here. As a series-ender, this story should resonate more than it does. The Last Jedi contends with the past more, and better, than Skywalker does; it wrestled with the sins of the Jedi and Sith, and kicked open a bigger door for generations to come. Skywalker says nothing about where they, or we, go from here. It ends with Rey abandoned and alone, except for her Force ghost friends, on another desert planet. The one person in the galaxy who ever understood her dies. And he evidently doesn’t redeem himself successfully enough to become a Force ghost. Is death really the only avenue to peace and purpose? Effectively, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Leia Organa all died to save Ben, who then died to save Rey. What is her next step? The movie doesn’t say, or seem to know. It’s a domino effect, with nothing but tragedy at the end of every spill.

That idea could work if the moments in between felt rewarding, or the losses served larger narrative or thematic ideas. But in this story, meant to be a conclusion to a single film, a trilogy and a nine-film saga, they don’t. Rey, Finn, and Poe share only a superficial sense of camaraderie. Their future adventures will lead to moments of happiness and enlightenment along the way. But why does Abrams ignore or de-emphasize those feelings? In The Rise of Skywalker, hope is little more than a ghost. And after more than 40 years, it’s one that Star Wars is still chasing, with no real end in sight.

#the rise of skywalker #star wars

0 notes

starboundfic · 5 years

Text

Chapter 18

Archive

-for the record, I do not own the concept of Ekkunar. I’m just borrowing it from a game I’ve played because it’s neat. Not going to say who though, because they have lost my respect.

-heavy references and a reiterated line or few from the first VLD comic ahead.

-there may be some inconsistencies with this and Ch12 regarding the Arrow. I intend to rewrite Ch12 at some point, though I have to get it to stop fighting me first.

Chapter 17 -

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There wasn’t a tracking device on the ship.

Over the course of two days, the seven of them had looked through every single room, the mice had checked the entirety of the ventilation ducts, and the Lions had even done their own separate complete scans—and they’d all come up with nothing.

“Maybe it was just bad timing,” Stan suggested finally. “I mean, they’ve probably been looking for those Blade people anyways. We were just there at the wrong time.”

“That could be it,” Shiro agreed, a sigh in his voice. “But I still don’t want to risk it until we know for sure.”

“So what’re we supposed to do until then?” Jordan asked.

There was a pause, before Coran snapped his fingers. “I think I might have an idea. Princess, mind setting a course for the Karthulian system?”

The princess looked puzzled. “The Karthulian system? But why…” Realization replaced the confusion, and she nodded. “Yes, that would be a good place to start.”

Eva was officially lost. “Wait, what’s…there?” she asked, while they were all on the way to the bridge.

Coran just grinned a bit, saying “Now that would just spoil the surprise!”

Red wasn’t much help either. he had a guess on what the surprise was, but he wasn’t too sure about it; there was a sort of an edge to it though, which had her thinking that what the Lion had in mind was something he wanted to get around to doing eventually.

They didn’t set a course so much as they did wormhole there. Once the blue faded, they were greeted with the sight of maybe one of the weirdest looking planets ever, in that it looked like it was in pieces, with fissures that were both large and deep enough to have an orange glow visible from where they were in space. The surface was mostly green, with streaks of blue and patches of yellow-brown in places—and the pieces that looked like they had halfway floated away from the planet were, of course, almost entirely barren.

“I…have so many questions on how that planet even looks like that,” Koji muttered.

“No one’s certain, actually,” Coran replied chipperly. “Whatever fractured Ekkunar happened long before even my pop-pop was around, and the best guess anyone has for why the pieces haven’t just floated away is the planet��s magnetic fields. It also happens to be home to possibly the largest archival system in the universe…” He paused to bring up some screens, before adding stiltedly “Which currently appears to be in flames.”

Said flames were probably caused by the trio of battlecruisers that were still firing down onto what looked like a city carved right into a forest-covered mountain range.

“Looks like we’ll be giving Ekkunar a good first impression,” Shiro said, and Eva stifled a groan. More fighting. Great. Red gave a weird impression that started off as something like a chiding growl that turned into an awkward purr.

He tried, at least.

And they definitely took the first ship by surprise—or at least, Shiro did, with Black’s jawblade cutting right through the ion-cannon’s barrel. Eva kept her attention firmly on the swarm of fighters that had immediately turned their attention to the Lions.

It lasted a few minutes, ending with the last still-in-one-piece decided it wasn’t worth staying around. “Jordan, think you could use the Blue Lion’s ice cannon to put out those fires?” Shiro asked.

“Uh, maybe?” A pause. “Actually, I think she has a better idea.” With that, Blue dove towards where two waterfalls cascaded into a reservoir, vanishing into the water for a few moments before rocketing back up, tail arced like she was going to fire—but instead of a laser, it was a jet of water.

“Well that worked,” Koji commented once the fires were all out.

“It’s all clear Princess,” Shiro reported.

It made sense that the one clearing large enough for all six ships to land was mobbed almost immediately. “Uh…do we really have to go out there?” Koji asked uncertainly.

“Yes, we do,” Allura replied, her voice having a stern edge to it that had Eva rolling her eyes.

The crowd itself looked more curious than anything, maybe a touch disbelieving, and was definitely a lot quieter than she’d thought it would be.

“…can’t be, can it?” she barely heard one of the watching aliens say.

“Sure looks real,” another said. To the side, she saw Allura go from confident to uncertain in maybe three seconds, and Coran having sort of a pinched look on his face while he scanned the crowd—which promptly gave way to surprised glee when his gaze had gone to where the crowd had abruptly parted.

“Well I’ll be a wabble’s plonk!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out wide. “Kythylian Mu!”

Eva’s first thought was one of the orphans on Bherna (Wayth, if she remembered right), in that he was definitely the same species—but he was also definitely one of the biggest aliens she had seen so far.

“Coran, Coran the gamblin’ man,” Kythylian greeted amiably, throwing an arm around the Altean. “How long has it been since you came around here?”

“Ah, just short of ten-thousand decaphoebs.”

“Ten-thousand,” he repeated, whistling quietly. “My, my. Where does all that time go.”

…and that had an implication that Eva wasn’t sure made sense. Jordan must’ve picked up on it too, given the face he made before exclaiming “Hold on a second, you two know each other?”

“Do we?” Kythylian repeated, snorting. “I don’t have enough scales for the amount of times I had to get him out of trouble in this quadrant.”

At that, Coran laughed nervously. “Yes, well, that was all a long time ago—now, Kythylian, if I may—this is Princess Allura, and these here are the new paladins: Shiro, Eva, Jordan, Stan, and Koji.”

“So I’ve heard,” the alien nodded to them before looking at Allura. “…you’re the spittin’ image of your parents, y’know that?”

If anyone else noticed the brief flash of pain in her eyes, nothing was said. “I’ve been told that a few times, yes. It’s good that we finally got to meet—my father told me stories about you.”

“I bet he did.” And then he looked at the rest of them studiously for a bit, before saying “Kinda scrawny, ain’t they?”

“Wha’—hey!” Eva retorted before Jordan could say something probably along the same lines.

“Well, they just started not too long ago,” Coran said, a touch defensively. “They haven’t gone through the full training regimen yet.”

Kythylian gave him a look. “Wait, don’t tell me—you wanna bring ‘em through the planet run?”

“Yes, actually!”

Now the alien grimaced. “I got some bad news for you then. Zarkon’s got all five of them on lockdown, ever since that stunt you all pulled at his central command.”

Coran’s face faltered, a delicate “Ah,” being his response.

“Yeah. Now, I sure as heck don’t like takin’ trips out to places for no reason, so here’s the deal: you all get free reign in the capital today. No tabs, no nothin’. It’s the least I can offer in return for clearing up that disagreement I had with the new commander for this quadrant. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was bein’ pulled in about eight directions a couple doboshes ago. Lots of important places were just on fire an’ all.”

With that, he turned to head towards an intact road with a lazy wave, the remnants of the crowd that had steadily dispersed taking the cue to return to whatever they’d been doing.

“So uh,” Stan started, voice a little stilted. “If you knew that guy from before, wouldn’t that make him over ten-thousand years old?”

“The Mudranni can actually live well beyond forty-thousand decaphoebs, if they are particularly lucky,” Allura remarked, earning stunned stares. Forty-thousand?!

Coran, meanwhile, had run a hand down his face with a groan. “Of course the traditional grounds would be watched,” he muttered.

“So what exactly is that planet run you mentioned?” Shiro asked.

“Yendailian, Bluve, Niloofar, Griezian Sur, and Talwar-Six,” the adviser listed off in response. “Those five planets have some of the most extreme environmental conditions in the known universe. The original paladins used them as a sort of training course.”

Red had gone full reminiscence mode as soon as Coran had named the first planet; Eva had the impression that Yendailian not only had a lot of volcanos, but was also what Red would consider a vacation spot. As for everything else: “It sounds fun,” she commented.

“Maybe for you,” Jordan said tightly, face pale.

“Oh come on Jordan, you’re getting better at it, right?”

“Well—yeah, but—!”

“It’s not like we can go out to any of them right now, what with Zarkon watching them,” Coran cut in, looking pensive for a moment before adding “That, and now that I think about it, we tended to have to wait for Bluve’s conditions to be favorable anyways. But no matter—how about we hit the archives instead?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The archives themselves was something like a library crossed with a museum, actually, complete with a front desk headed by three gray-skinned humanoids that had cyan-colored geometric lines (tattoos maybe?) crossing their arms and faces, a crest of colorful feathers on their heads, and bright-green eyes; native Ekkuni, according to Coran.

Jordan wasn’t expecting one of them to actually squeal when she realized who they were, though, before the one dressed like they were in charge could even finish his introductory spiel on the place’s rules.

Beyond that…it wasn’t that the place was too boring, it was more of the fact that there wasn’t really anything for him to do there. Eva, Stan, and Koji were off looking for anything they could use to draft up a new engine for the Arrow, he didn’t see where Allura went—probably to do some diplomatic thing, and Coran…well, Jordan didn’t see where Coran had gone off to. Or Shiro, for that matter.

So he went back outside.

The glaring detail of one of the planet’s floating chunks being visible way off in the distance aside, Ekkunar was kind of like those pictures of high-altitude rainforests on Earth. Unfortunately, also like rainforests on Earth, it probably rained here a lot—like now, for instance. He was relatively close enough to where the Lions were when the downpour started to duck under Blue for cover, at least.

Blue herself seemed pretty stuck in memory-mode, offering an idea of what Bluve was like before Jordan could actually ask: lots and lots of snow with near-constant blizzards. Not something Jordan could consider an ideal place to be, but it seemed to be pretty high on her favorite-places list. Well—maybe we could go there one day. Just to check it out.

Blue purred in response, before pausing and directing his attention toward some movement at the base of one of the stairways cut into a slope. “Figures the weather goes sour after all of that,” Kythylian commented, coming to sit by Blue’s other paw. “’Least it’ll put the rest of the little fires out, right?”

“I guess,” Jordan replied awkwardly.

The alien chuckled, taking his hat off to shake it a few times, sending droplets flying back into the deluge. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Got a question, if ya don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.”

“Where’re you and the rest of ‘em from? I’ve been all over most of the charted universe, but I can’t say I’ve seen anything like you, aside from Alteans.”

He really should’ve seen that question coming sooner than later. And just saying Earth probably wouldn’t cut it, either, which means he had to think about how to answer it. “Well, uh…we’re from the same galaxy Ōban’s in?”

Before he could start berating himself for making the response sound like another question, Kythylian made some sort of clicking sound. “That explains it. Ya need all sorts of paperwork to even get an idea on what lives in that galaxy nowadays. And don’t even get me started on the black market that came out of that quiznakking blockade. Don’t get me wrong, gettin’ things to sell legally on this side of it is worth a pretty piece of GAC, but when somone gets it into their head to do it illegally, they really go out of their way to hide when they do it.”

Jordan thought about that comment for a moment. “So you’re like a space cop?”

“Ehh…” Kythylian made a so-so gesture. “Could call it that, I guess. Some quintants it’s a more of a headache than anythin’ else, but it’s my headache.” He paused, glancing up. “Got a few mixed feelings at seeing the Lions again, honestly. How much has Coran told you about Alfor and the rest?”

“Barely anything, actually,” Jordan said, feeling apprehensive about the maybe-opportunity.

“Huh…can’t fault him, really. Probably still feels like yesterday to him.” The alien looked distant, before asking “Y’all at least know who the old Black Paladin was, right?”

“Yeah,” Jordan drew the word out, feeling himself scowling more than thinking about it. “Found out at the last possible second.”

Kythylian grunted. “Lemme guess—he’s still got the bayard?”

“As far as Eva saw, yeah.”

“And that’d be the itty-bitty one, right?”

Jordan opened his mouth to make a retort on her behalf, and then considered the fact that Kythylian was definitely taller than Rick at full height.

“Looks like the rain’s clearin’ up a bit,” Kythylian said abruptly, glancing at the sky. “There’s a thing or two I have to talk to Coran about. He’s still at the archives, right?”

“I think so.”

The alien stood, stretching a bit, taking a few steps out in the direction of the path back up towards the building, before stopping again, turning to say, “Y’know—I don’t wanna steal Coran’s thunder or anything, but if you want to know what the old guard looked like, there’s a holo-display doohickey in the central room.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I think this might work, but…” Stan said finally, trailing off. To the side, Koji was frowning slightly, staring at the draft they’d put together for the possible new engine for their star-racer.

In theory, it looked beautiful. But in reality?

There was simply no room in the Arrow II as it was now to even put the necessary equipment for converting the crystal’s energy into something useable, which would mean having to attach an extra compartment somewhere onto the ship—which by itself was dangerous.

On top of that, the fuel tanks would become nothing more than dead weight. And that was saying nothing about how in the world they were supposed to overhaul the hyperdrive.

“Honestly, I don’t think we can even take most of those things out of the Arrow in the first place,” Koji admitted, shoulders slumping. “It’s all too integrated.”

“So what do we do, then?”

“I’m not—”

“Couldn’t we just build another one?”

It took all of Stan’s willpower to not curse at Eva’s sudden words, having not heard her come up to look at the draft too. “Uh, well, we could,” Koji said, stuttering a bit. “But to do that, we’d…huh.” He blinked, brow furrowing. “Actually, we might be better off just doing that.”

Build another one? Stan repeated silently, scowling for a moment—that’d equate to just giving up on the Arrow II. Then again, they did just come to the conclusion that they wouldn’t be able to apply most of the upgrades they had planned out to begin with.

That, and knowing how poorly the materials the Arrow II was made of held up against everything else used in the galaxy, or at least that they’d seen back on Alwas…

There was a sudden commotion from the second floor that jolted him out of his thoughts, sounding like something falling over followed by Coran shouting “Sorry!”

Stan kept the glance up level for a few moments before looking back at the draft with a sigh. “Okay, so maybe that would be the easier thing to do. But where would we even get everything?”

Koji shrugged. “We could probably get a few more things from those defunct shuttles, but not much.” No taking parts from the Arrow II, in other words. Stan wasn’t going to argue.

Time to ask Coran if there were any other storerooms with things they could use, then.

Shiro saw him coming up the stairs first, stopping short in whatever he was saying, which got Coran to turn—he barely got a glimpse of a somber look before it was replaced with a cheery smile. “Ah, Stan! Did you need something?”

“Uh,” he mumbled, feeling like he’d just interrupted something important. “It—It can wait.”

“Don’t worry, Shiro and I had just finished up drafting the new training regimen. Don’t want a repeat of…uh.” He coughed, and Stan had to try extremely hard to suppress a flinch when he realized what exactly he had been about to bring up.

Shiro side-eyed Coran, before asking “Has Jordan come back yet?”

“He went out?”

“So did the princess, I think,” Coran said, looking thoughtfully back down toward the entrance to the building. “Ah wait, there he is! With Kythylian, too!” I guess it’s a good thing we got that draft finished.

Coran paused when Kythylian made some hand gestures at him, nodding almost imperceptibly before heading downstairs and vanishing off into another room with him. Jordan, on the other hand, looked around the room a bit before settling on looking at the darkly-colored small desk toward the back of the central area of the building.

Eva got to him first. “Hey Jordan, guess what? We’re going to build another star-racer!”

“That’s…neat,” he said awkwardly, glancing up at Stan with a confused look for a second, before looking back to the first thing, then to the side at the main desk. “So uh, how does that holo-thing work?”

“Is that what it is?” She turned to look back over her shoulder, curiosity written all over her face. “I’m not sure—but I bet we can find out!”

Have to wait for Coran to get back anyways, Stan thought, shaking his head before following the kids. Eva was already making a face at the controls, which looked a bit like what was on the castleship’s bridge, if simplified by maybe half.

It didn’t help that he still couldn’t read the language it was coded in—Ekkuni, probably—but Yellow could, dubiously letting him know what keys to push to bring up a list.

There was a span of two seconds before Jordan hit another key, and the only warning Stan had was Yellow doing the mental equivalent of taking a deep breath before the platform in front of the desk lit up.

It took a bit for him to realize just what he was looking at, in that the first thing he recognized was what looked like the hologram of Allura’s father, if a few decades (or the Altean equivalent of that) younger. The second thing were what he and the three others were wearing. (There was one missing, but Stan couldn’t fault whoever put this together in leaving the last one out.)

“Is that…?” Eva started uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Jordan mumbled, blinking. “I mean, same armor.”

“What are you guys looking at—oh.” Koji cut himself off with a stifled flinch, maybe from however the Green Lion reacted. “I guess it’d make sense for a place like this to have something like…this,” he said slowly, coming up to look at the screen, Shiro a bit behind him.

Stan had a suspicion about Alfor having been one of the first Lion pilots, but this confirmed it—and while he couldn’t be too sure, he also had a feeling that Eva might’ve guessed at it a little more specifically beforehand.

Details were a little hard to read, given the whole blue-hologram detail, but Yellow’s first pilot had been a big guy, at least Rick’s height.

Same went with Green’s being the shortest of the four and…well, kind of reminding him of a deer in some ways, and Blue’s looking like a humanoid something between a shark and a manta ray, obviously partially aquatic.

Yellow had gone about as distant as…as Coran looked right now, whereas Kythylian just made a huffing sort of sigh before saying “Still feels like it was yesterday, don’t it.”

Stan was pretty sure he and Koji hit the off key at the same time, with Jordan stuttering a bit, though Coran just shook his head with a sad smile. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m honestly not sure if we have any pictures of them on the castle.”

“I already knew about Allura’s dad being Red’s first pilot,” Eva started hesitantly. “But what about the other three?”

“Blaytz, Trigel, and Gyrgan,” was the response, Coran’s gaze going more towards the ceiling. His voice wasn’t quite resigned, more reminiscent with a touch of weariness.

“You said something about Trigel being the one to come up with the blindfold-dive,” Koji pointed out.

Kythylian guffawed, the noise startling all of them and earning a glare from one of the archive’s staff. “That sounds like a thing she’d do. She wasn’t nearly as bad as Alfor though.”

Somehow that conversation resulted in Kythylian corralling them all to a nearby restaurant, before he and Coran really started going on about things the old paladins had gotten up to.

It was when they were maybe halfway through a story involving a case of mistaken identity that happened on some planet called Veldin involving a rogue mercenary and a politician that Stan got his second scare of the day, in hearing Allura say “Is that what really happened there?” from behind him. She was smiling, though there was a pinched look to it.

“Well, uh…yes, it was,” Coran stuttered a little at first, before going fully resigned, and then curious. “I was wondering where you were.”

The smile went drier than a desert. “It occurred to me that we likely wouldn’t have any use for the tax records in the castle’s archives.”

“Ah, no we wouldn’t.”

Koji, ever the perceptive one, picked up on the impending mood switch and changed the topic back to its original track. “It kind of helps, hearing about things like that. That they messed up now and then too.” It sounded about as awkward as he looked (not that the others would probably be able to see, but Stan could kind of feel it) but it was a sentiment Stan agreed with.

Kythylian waved one hand a bit in a gesture that lost context probably between species. “Kid, that’s all heroes are in the end. Some story could start as some guy clearing out a nest of yeilphars and somehow turn into him taking out a pack of Zarellian hellcats without a scratch.”

“Is that something that actually happened?” Eva asked.

There was a snort alongside a smile and fond headshake. “Maybe. Look, give it a few phoebs, and I’ll probably be hearin’ stories about you kids that won’t include all the panickin’ and improvisin’.” A glance up at a clock on the wall got a mumbled curse. “Look, I gotta jet back to Mudranni or the missus is gonna want my head on a pike, but I got one last warning for y’all.

“That little show you put on at Zarkon’s central upped you to top-priority public-enemy status everywhere the empire’s got a strong foothold. You three should still be safe in civilian areas so long as you’re not in armor,” he gestured at Eva, Koji, and Stan. “You, they got a good shot of, so you’re gonna have to watch it everywhere there might be a bounty hunter,” a gesture at Jordan there, who gulped visibly. “And you especially have to watch it.” He leveled a stare at Shiro. “Gladiatorial matches get broadcast.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Coran seemed way too eager to help in planning out the theoretical Whizzing Arrow III more, but that just added to the amount of distraction the activity was to the whole intergalactic-public-enemy status they had now.

That definitely wasn’t a thing Koji would’ve liked to have heard, but he supposed it was better to have heard it then in the form of a warning then finding it out the hard way. Definitely better than finding out the hard way, he corrected himself with a small shudder, briefly glancing back at the Arrow II.

It would be considered a very early retirement for a star-racer, but then again, the Whizzing Arrow line weren’t meant to be star-racers in the first place.

…and it didn’t occur to Koji until that moment that he’d gotten used to the Green Lion showing interest and/or giving input on random thoughts until it didn’t happen. She’d seemed distant ever since seeing the holograms, actually.

It was strange, finally having both a name and face to put to Green’s first pilot instead of having to just piece together little bits of information.

To the side, he saw Stan look up suddenly, before saying “Remember that…weird thing that happened on Bherna? While we were fighting that thing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think I know what that was now.” That statement was considerably quieter, with his face paling slightly. Koji caught on after a few seconds.

In retrospect…it made sense. A frankly-horrifying amount of sense. Shiro’s knowledge in close-quarters fighting had to have come from somewhere, and he knew from seeing firsthand that he was on a completely different level than where Jordan was at. (That was saying nothing in comparing him to the rest of them. Koji was actively dreading the next time Allura threw the robot at them.)

Shiro had taken Kythylian’s words with only a barely-noticeable flinch, a shudder felt mentally, and was either still on the bridge or maybe on the training deck.

He actually wasn’t sure about what Shiro did during their downtime, so that was probably another thing they had to work on fixing. “Think he’d mind helping out with all of this?” he asked.

Stan shrugged a little, before saying “I was gonna ask the same thing, except with Jordan.”

Koji thought about that for a second. Jordan had disappeared pretty quick once the two of them and Eva had got started with looking for references on how to put together the type of engine primarily seen in this part of the universe, but he honestly hadn’t really thought about it until now. (There was a brief moment of thinking back to that awkward conversation on Arus.)

“Well, he’d probably want to help with getting the turret put together?” It was a guess, honestly. And that was another thing—the turret wouldn’t need its own battery anymore.

Stan muttered that same thought, before asking “Where are those two, anyways?”

“Uh…”

“I think they’re with Shiro on the observation deck,” Coran piped up, reminding Koji that he was still there. Suspended up near the ceiling to get at a series of wires, yes, but still there.

That wasn’t as surprising as Koji felt it should’ve been, at least in the case of Eva. She seemed to almost have a sixth sense on knowing when someone needed help.

Coran yelped alongside Allura’s voice suddenly being on the intercom: “Coran, I think one of the castle’s barrier-emitters was damaged during the fight for the Balmera.”

There was a groan from the adviser. “Roger that, I’ll put it on top of the list.”

Koji exchanged a look with Stan, who nodded a bit, before asking “How damaged is it?”

Coran stilled. “Ah, you’ll have to ask the princess. The castle’s hull is pretty sturdy, so it probably just has to be reset.” A pause. “Oh, I see what you’re asking. If you could do that, it’d be appreciated.”

“It’s nothing,” Koji said, standing up. “Where is it, anyways?”

“You’ll have to ask the princess. There’s quite a few of them. You may as well get suited up on the way there, since they’re outside the castle and, well, we’re in the vacuum of space at the moment.”

In retrospect, he should’ve seen that coming too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If anyone’s wondering, the offscreen conversation between Coran and Kythylian can be summed up as “I don’t want to hear that any of those kids ended up getting killed because of something you chose not to tell them.”

#Oban Star Racers #Voltron #Starbound fic #Chapter 18

0 notes

seladorie · 7 years

Text

A Royal Soulmate Side Stories: Scars (Prompto, Pre-A Royal Soulmate)

@smokingcaramels asked earlier: If no one has mentioned it yet, what about when our Lucian trio had the scars appear on their wrists?

so I didn’t really do that? the ask made me think about how Prompto ended up getting rid of his barcode in the first place, which meant I needed to write how he got out of the labs, so... i’ll address your actual prompt another day, but here’s this thing instead, and also on AO3

WARNING: this chapter contains descrptions of self-harm

NH-01987 has been active for eight years when he is stolen from his pod in Zegnautus Keep.

The thief is N15-00302, an insubordinate and defective experiment slated for incineration. But she’s stronger than 1987; she breaks open his pod and forcibly drags him out.

1987 does his best to do the Empire proud, struggling and fighting and biting. But 302 punches him, hard. “Will you stop that?” she hisses. “They put defective on your pod, look! They’re planning on killing you anyway!”

That shouldn’t matter, true or not. 1987 should continue fighting for the Empire until he’s decommissioned, no matter when or how that time comes.

But he looks at his broken pod, and sees the bright red tag in the darkness: DEFECTIVE.

He doesn’t help 302 in their escape, but he ceases to fight.

1987 is defective already. Death is the only possible outcome at this point.

…

They don’t die. 302 knows more passcodes than she should, and they get out of the Keep and hide away in the slums. It’s freezing, but they’re both built to be resistant to severe weather conditions. They’re survive.

Even if they’re defective.

302 tells him, “If you’re going to stay, be quiet and don’t alert any of the MTs where we are. If you do, I’m not going to come and save you,” and then she leaves him to go do something.

1987 should turn himself in, but he’s defective. He waits instead for 302, who comes back after a day.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” she says. “Come on, I found us a warmer place to stay.”

They meet some civilians who give them some bread and a floor to sleep on. It’s harder than his pod, but the walls are farther away, and it’s warm.

He should be ash and forgotten by now, but instead 1987 is warm and fed.

…

The civilians they’re staying with are members of the Resistance. 1987 doesn’t know what that means, until one of them who calls herself Sophia sits down with him.

“We fight the Empire,” she says. “We don’t like how things are, so we’re trying to change it.”

“The Empire is absolute,” 1987 informs her. “There is no fighting it.”

Sophia’s face, uncovered by an MT mask and still so strange-looking, moves around. “We have to try.”

…

They stay until they can’t anymore, when MTs raid the house and Sophia dies.

Because that’s what it’s called, when a civilian is terminated. When they die.

“They murdered her,” Aranea whispers, furious, water coming out of her eyes. “Come on, we need to—I know some other people.”

The other people are two teenagers named Biggs and Wedge. Civilians and soulmates. Part of the Resistance, and actively wanted by the Empire for hacking.

“We didn’t mean to,” Wedge says, blinking with one eye at 1987. “One thing just led to another.” 1987 doesn’t understand but he’s at low functioning so he doesn’t ask.

They stay inside for days. Biggs and Wedge come and go, but 302 and 1987 can’t leave with MTs actively still searching for them.

“We’re going to make up a fake attack to distract them,” Biggs tells them after several days. “It’ll be easy enough, and it’ll waste their resources.”

“Just be careful,” 302 warns.

If 1987 is defective, 302 is even more so. She already cares about these two.

…

Some months pass. 302 begins to apply her training with the Empire to fight against them, and she’s good at it. She breaks others out of the labs and prisons. She saves a woman named Tinia who spends a week in bed, prone and crying, and then gets up and starts organizing their intel.

She also suggests that 302 and 1987 choose new names.

“What for?” 302 demands. “So they can take that away from us too?”

“You don’t have to do it,” Tinia says. “It’s just an idea. It might help you feel more like a person, and not an experiment.”

302 scoffs, so 1987 also dismisses the idea, but a few days later, she comes back from a mission and says. “Aranea. I want to be called Aranea.”

“I—Aranea?” Tinia asks. 1987 doesn’t understand the hesitance for a moment, and remembers which daemon’s blood 302 was injected with regularly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Aranea says. “They wanted me to be a weapon, and I am a weapon. And I’m going to kill them all.”

Tinia nods and turns to 1987. “You can also pick a name, if you want.”

1987 knows nothing about names, or what to pick. He likes 1987. It’s comfortable.

…

1987 volunteers, to be of use, but the Resistance refuses.

“He’s only, what, eight years old? Let’s at least give him a couple of years,” one of the older members says. He dies a year later, along with many others, in a raid by the Empire.

There are no funerals, no goodbyes, and the only time to mourn is a candle in their honor.

The others say some words, and repeat the names of the fallen. 1987 listens, and then asks Tinia, “When I die, will you use my designation to remember me, instead of a name?”

Tinia, sad and surprised, tells him, “We will, if you don’t choose any other names.”

1987 mulls that over. “But I don’t know what to name myself. The daemons they used for my injections were more generalized.”

“Sweetheart,” Tinia says. She’s the only one to call him that, and it’s not a name, but an endearment. It means she thinks he’s kind and cute. “You don’t need to pick a name related to anything the Empire did to you. You can distant yourself from them with a new name. Just pick something that you like.”

It doesn’t make any sense, but he remembers those words forever.

…

After the raid that killed so many, they begin to send 1987 out on low-risk missions, mostly sending out messages to other members. Children running around on their own is not unusual a sight in Gralea—lots of them are beggars and orphans.

1987 has to be careful not to be caught in any routine security checks. MTs make a lot of noise, so they’re usually easy to avoid, especially since 1987 knows them.

He’s good at being a deliveries and messages.

“Oh, good, you got here quickly,” says the Resistance member, Fel. “Please tell me you brought the medicine, she’s doing worse than we thought.”

Prompto hands over the antibiotics, and waits while she administers it. “A fever just started setting in, I think it’ll be okay… thank you so much for getting here so fast, Ramuh himself must have been speeding your footsteps.”

“It’s, um, it’s no problem,” 1987 mutters, a bit flushed from the praise and the trip. “I’m just glad Aegra is going to be okay.”

…

When he gets home to Biggs and Wedge, he asks if there are any words that mean things like ‘quick’ or ‘speedy’ that might make a good name.

“In Old Solheim?” Biggs asks, taking out a dictionary of translations and flipping through it. “Uh, let’s see—there’s Velox.” 1987 scrunches up his face. “Okay, not that one. Alacris? Agillis? Celero?” 1987 shakes his head. “Prompto? Acero? Cito? …”

1987 considers them. “Maybe Cito or Prompto?”

“You mean as a name for youself?” Wedge asks. “You want a new name?”

“Yeah, it’s stupid, but—Fel said I was really quick with my mission and I got the medicine to them in time, and—I liked that.”

They both smile. “It’s not stupid at all. You’re thinking between Cito or Prompto?”

“Yeah,” 1987 says. He sounds out both of them. “I think Prompto sounds better? It’s—softer.”

“Prompto’s a great name,” Wedge says. “Let’s celebrate with something nice! I think we have some meat we were going to use for dinner tomorrow night, but why don’t we use it tonight instead?”

…

When Prompto is ten when he discovers he has soulmates, when he writes a note on his arm and gets a response. When he learns that there are others he’s meant to be with, far away on another continent, that he can’t talk to at all anyway.

Despite knowing nothing about them, the thought of them looms over him, even though their only communication is through doodles and drawing games. His soulmates make him a bit of an oddity among other escaped experiments for it, especially since he counts at least three separate others.

But they’re really not important in his life. He has work to do, and people he cares about here.

…

When he’s thirteen, he starts going on real missions. Prompto insisted that they can’t stop him anymore, since Aranea joined and started fighting when she was thirteen. And he’s good with a gun—it’s the only thing that he was good at as a lab specimen, the least he could do is use it against the Empire.

Prompto goes on some sniping jobs, with varying degrees of success, but still successes. He cuts it too close a couple of times, with his location and exit route, but he gets the mission done.

Until he doesn’t.

He’s waiting for Verstael Besithia, the Research Chief of Niflheim. One of the brains who come up with the idea of experimenting on humans to make better soldiers.

Prompto hasn’t been sloppy about this job. He’s got a great location. He has multiple exit routes. He’s not visible unless if someone’s directly behind him and looking up, which they shouldn’t be, except apparently someone thought of that.

His lying on his stomach, waiting for the procession to get far along enough that he can get in his shot, and a cold, hard, metal hand grabs his ankle and pulls him closer.

Prompto yelps and quickly swallows it, and focuses instead on breaking the grip on him.

It’s not easy. MTs are too strong, but there’s always a way to break a grip, especially when you know the weaknesses in their arm. There’s a slot between the face plate and the rest of the armor that would fit a knife, but Prompto has to get closer to do it.

He lets himself get pulled in, and to his horror, the MT grabs his right wrist.

It removes his glove, exposing the barcode on his wrist to the cold, harsh light of day. It says, in its electronic and toneless voice, “Scanning… scanning… Identified, Niflheim Unit Egg Group H, Number 01987. Status: Defective. Defector.” The MT pauses, red eyes glowing brighter, “Defector—”

Prompto doesn’t wait to find out what it’s going to do next. He shoves his knife up through the plating, and the grip releases him enough to flee.

His mission is a failure, but he gets home alive.

He’s alone at home—everyone’s out on their own missions. Prompto walks in, right hand freezing with the loss of his glove, holding his wrist to hide his barcode.

His barcode.

They know he’s alive now. They know he’s in Gralea. He’s put them all at risk.

Because of his stupid barcode.

It’s an ugly block on his skin, betrayal and horror inked into his skin. Prompto needs to warn the others.

Prompto takes out his knife and slashes the edge across the barcode. Seeing the lines of the tattoo broken by the wound lightens the anxiety in his chest, so he does it again. And again. And again.

“Prompto, what are you doing?” Aranea says, roughly pulling the knife out of his hands. His wrist is a bloody mess.

“They found me,” Prompto says, and he’s crying. The teas fall off his face, and he’s shaking. “They found me and identified me.”

Aranea’s shocked and angry face settles into understanding and sympathy. “Oh, Prompto.”

She takes him to the bathroom and wipe away the blood. Prompto’s done a poor job of slicing off the tattoo—it’s incomplete now, but still visible when clean.

“It would probably be easier,” Aranea says slowly. “To burn this off. That’s what I did to mine,” she puts out her own right wrist and pulls up her sleeve, showing a shiny but tattoo-free scar. “It hurts a lot. I’m not going to lie about that. But if you really want to get rid of this, I’ll help you.”

“Please,” Prompto says.

…

A few days later, when Prompto delivers a message to Tinia and stays the night, she asks him about the bandages on his wrist.

“I needed to get rid of my barcode,” he mutters, ashamed even though Tinia would never treat him differently from coming from the labs.

“Oh, did Aranea help you? I know she burned hers off,” Tinia says, pouring some tea and milk.

“Yeah, she did, but I—tried to do it on my own at first.”

Tinia looks up, forgetting about the tea, and some overflows from the cup. “You what?”

“I tried to cut it off,” Prompto says. “It was a bad idea.”

“But you have soulmates,” Tinia says, eyes wide and still.

“Um… yeah?”

“Prompto,” Tinia says, setting down the tea pot. “Hurting yourself shows up on your soulmate’s skin. It’s like with a pen, but it leaves a scar or a mark instead of ink.” With some hesitation, she lifts up her sleeve, and there are words carved into her skin. Things like BITCH and I WILL FIND YOU in ragged lettering.

He thinks of the wound he inflicted on himself, so many cuts, some crisscrossing, making a ragged mess of his flesh, showing up as scars on his soulmates’ skin. “I—I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.” There’s nothing to be done about it now. Prompto’s burn is recovering—it’ll be smooth and blank like Aranea’s in a few days. But his soulmates, they’ll have scars from his self-inflicted cuts decorating their wrists. He’s just as bad as Tinia’s shitty soulmate, and he hates it.

“I know, sweetie. I know,” Tinia says. “It’ll be alright. One way or another. We’ll all get through this.”

Prompto, desperately, lets himself believe her. At least just for the night.

#smokingcaramels #a royal soulmate #a royal soulmate side stories #self harm #prompto #ffxv #soulmate au #i am def not going to be able to produce this much writing in such a short time as a normal thing #but i have been productive this weekend #fanfiction #my fanfiction

11 notes · View notes