#ulysses crest

[sustraiii]

TEAM ZRCN EPILOGUE (WISTERIA)

Turns out you can't keep this woman down.

Wisteria

The last thing Wisteria could clearly remember was falling.

She could remember charging Miho, forcing herself and the larger woman over the balcony in the Rossi's base, falling in one final grapple before the ground rushed up to meet them. Her memory grew hazy after that, spotty and weakened by the immense pain. Her vision was blurry, the world span, and her body felt as though it were on fire.

Wisteria had never thought much about death before that moment. However, as she lay there, it seemed like an inevitable fate for her. The allies she had came here with were unlikely to come and fuss over her and ensure she wasn’t dying, or if they even considered it, then it would surely be at the bottom of their list of priorities.

Her memories become patchier then, sight and sound distorting, the pain reaching a point where her body starts to feel numb to it. At some point she swears she feels her body being pulled, she swears she sees a hand gripping hers, a voice assuring her that they would get out of this. Wisteria thinks she tries to respond but her tongue is heavy in her mouth and the words don’t seem to form. Slowly but surely the world grows darker and darker until she is engulfed by darkness.

Wisteria does not expect to wake up again. And somehow she does.

When her eyes slowly blink awake, she is startled by the brightness of the room, and it takes a moment for her eyes to full adjust to the light again. When her vision becomes clearer, she looks around, taking note of the room and trying to determine where she was. She finds herself unable to look too far, the movement of her head partly constricted by the neck brace she is wearing, but as far as she can tell she is in a hospital room of sorts. 

It’s a very stark, austere room, coloured in mostly neutral tones save for the teal curtains and some sunflowers sitting at the bottom of her bed. 

Odd, she thinks, but her mind is too hazy to make much sense of it beyond that.

Hers is the only bed in the room, a medical bed with all the fixings but surprisingly comfy. She is not actually lying down but has been propped up in bed, an adjustor sits off to the side which would allow her to recline the bed if she so wished, but is unable to reach it due to the cumbersome sling on her left arm. 

The longer she is awake, unable to determine where she truly is, the more she starts to grow annoyed. Even the machines she’s hooked up to begin to annoy her, their beeps and whirs being of little comfort despite the fact they’ve likely been keeping her alive for goodness knows how long.

Wisteria is determined to get out of bed even though a small part of her begs her not to. Untucking the sheet, she finds one of her legs in a hefty cast but is not dissuaded from getting up. She decides she can just hobble around if needed until she finds the answers she is looking for.

The one thing that does give her pause is the growing aches and pains in her body. Now that she’s awake - or at least more alert - she is all the more aware of how much everything hurts.

She wishes she had something for the pain. Wishing that a doctor or nurse would walk through the doors, answer all her burning questions, and then give her medication for the pain. But nobody does, and she finds her annoyance growing at that. 

What sort of place is this that they don’t have somebody watching me constantly? I’m a criminal - shouldn’t I be cuffed to the bed in case I tried to run away as I am now?

Wisteria’s body seems to cry out in pain when she sits up properly, easing her legs to the edge of the bed. She squashes it down for now still determined to get up and get some answers. Her feet touch the floor first and she shivers at the cold sensation against her bare skin. Wisteria is surprised she’s able to stand upright with no trouble but takes it in stride. In hindsight, she should have grabbed something to support herself before she began to walk in earnest, but emboldened by her ability to stand up straight, she took a step forward only to find her legs bucking beneath her.

She hits the floor hard, unable to catch herself with only one free arm, and lies there splayed on her belly. Something has ripped out of her free hand, making it bleed and also making one of the machines wail in alarm.

“Too…loud,” Wisteria says groggily. She isn’t sure if the sudden grogginess is from the earlier aches and pains or if she had hit her head as she fell.

The door to her room opens and a man steps inside. Somebody else follows though she cannot discern if they are man or woman.

“...pulled out her IV line. I will have to reinsert it. Are you able to get her back onto the bed?”

“Am I…dead?” Wisteria asks, rolling on her side to try and look at the man who had entered. He looks familiar, but she cannot quite put her finger on it.

“I don’t think I can. The last time was a struggle back in -”

Wait. Wisteria blinked. She knew that voice. She moved her head, trying to look for the other figure in the room.

“...Sparrow? Did they…get you too?”

Sparrow looked down at her with an unreadable expression. The man moved past her and called out beyond the door, asking for assistance from another person within this place. Wisteria heard another pair of footsteps approach and turned to try and get in a comfortable position to look.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw who was stood in the doorway.

“How?” She echoes quietly, looking up at the figure.

He doesn’t answer but she does hear the other man present speak, informing the others that he needed to temporarily sedate her. Wisteria felt a prick in her side and her vision and thoughts started to grow hazy again. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is the face of Ulysses Crest staring down at her sympathetically.

“You’re dead…” Wisteria whispers, before her eyes snap shut.

***

Wisteria wakes up a few hours later and when she does, the man from earlier is standing nearby monitoring one of the machines. She hadn't recognised him fully before but now that she's slightly more alert she can absorb the features of his face. He's a tall, dark-skinned man, with neat dark brown hair, and deep azure blue eyes. His hair and stubble was flecked with grey 

"Oh good, you're awake," He says, turning to look at her. "How are you feeling?

He's older than the last time she'd seen him but the name comes easily now - Giles Crest—the father of the three Crest siblings.

In truth, Wisteria only knew him sparingly, having resided at the O.R.C.A.S with his wife for a few overlapping months when Wisteria had first arrived with Nieve many years ago. Eventually, he and his wife left to return to Atlas, able to escape during a time when Alden was more lucid. Leaving when they did they were able to avoid a potential intervention from Belleza at least, who hated anyone trying to leave the family unless she gave permission which she never did. Wisteria recalled that Giles and his wife had tried to take their children with them, but Ulysses and his sisters had been so ingrained in the group that leaving was not such an easy option for them. Ulysses was close with Wisteria and Nieve, Theodora had taken up a role as the defacto nurse and carer in place of her father, and Euphemia stayed to keep an eye on her younger siblings.

"I've felt better," Wisteria finally responded. "I still feel sore but it's not as bad as before."

"Well, that is to be expected, I did give you some additional pain relief," Giles explained. "Your injuries were quite severe so you should expect the pain to linger for a while. Do you know where you are?”

Wisteria frowned, looking around the room. “A hospital in Atlas I assume?”

“Well, it's a clinic actually, but close enough,” Gile responded in good humour. “You're in my clinic in Argus. Sparrow brought you here.”

“They did?” Wisteria blinked in surprise. Despite her shock, it did line up with some of her hazy memories of an escape. “How?”

“Sparrow told me it had to do with their semblance. In all the commotion that was going on nobody noticed the two of you slipping away on an airship,” Giles answered.

Wisteria had to admit she was impressed and perhaps a little unsettled too. She had known Sparrow’s semblance deflected any attention away from themself, but she would never have suspected it to have been that powerful they eluded a whole base full of people. It made her curious just how long it had been that powerful and why Belleza had never kept Sparrow in her group of allies. But then again, subtlety was never really Belleza's style. 

She continued to mull over this new information before asking another question.

"What's the damage, doc?" Wisteria asked. When he stared at her blankly, not quite understanding her question, she knew she needed to clarify. "My injuries. What are they? I assume they must have been bad due to, you know, the multiple casts on my body."

"Very severe indeed," Giles confirmed with a nod. "The most severe was your leg. You shattered your tibia - hence the cast on your leg - and needed surgery to correct it. You also fractured four ribs and your orbital bone. Your collarbone is broken too, which is why you are wearing a sling. Now that you're more alert though I'll swap it for a figure-of-eight brace. What else…oh yes, you sprained your right wrist but that should be fine now. There were also extensive cuts from the glass you fell through, one was very close to catching an artery in your neck."

Wisteria couldn't help but wince slightly as he listed off all her injuries. “Bit of a miracle I survived then.”

“If not for a bit of remaining aura when you fell, you most likely would be dead right now,” Giles confirmed. 

Wisteria frowned. She knew the fact she had survived and escaped had been a marvel but hearing it out loud was slightly more jarring than she expected. Giles did seem to pick up on it, his features softening in sympathy.

“I understand it's a lot to take in right now,” Giles said. 

“That's an understatement,” Wisteria mumbled.

“When the time comes, Capella is happy to sit and talk things through with you.”

Capella Crest - mother of the Crest siblings, and a noted psychiatric doctor in her own right. Wisteria couldn't help but roll her eyes. “Therapy, really?”

“Yes,” Giles responded flatly, a faint hint of annoyance in his tone, following Wisteria's dismissal of his suggestion of therapy. “You will need physical therapy for your leg alone. But speaking with my wife would do you no harm either. She seems to believe your mental health would benefit from it greatly.”

“I’m sure she would,” Wisteria grumbled. “Maybe she can talk me through how to deal with false grief.”

“Pardon?”

“You know, grief for someone who, as it turns out, had never really died in the first place.”

Giles looked away briefly, realising she was referring to Ulysses with that comment. “Ulysses has been wanting to speak with you but I advised him against it,” Giles explained, meeting her gaze again. “I told him you were not ready to process it.”

“Wise choice,” Wisteria said. “I’d advise you to tell him to continue to stay away. I have no desire to speak with him.”

***

Despite her wishes to have nothing to do with Ulysses, Wisteria found herself forced into spending a considerable amount of time with him, much to her great displeasure. 

Confined to her bed due to her leg, Wisteria had nowhere to escape to when he came to keep her company. Ulysses tried to engage her in conversations but Wisteria held firm, refusing to budge on her wish to not speak with him. At most, they only made small talk, with Ulysses doing most of the talking, and Wisteria grunting or moving her head in response.

Even when not in her bed she finds she cannot escape him. As her physical therapy begins and the arduous task of learning to walk again also begins, Ulysses offers himself to walk with her on occasion. The first few times she outwardly refused, deciding she’d rather wait for her actual therapy session to try walking, rather than walk with him. However, she began to feel slightly stir-crazy either confined to her bed or the room she had her therapy in, so eventually swallowed her pride and allowed him to walk with her. At the very least, he was a sturdy presence, keeping her upright if she stumbled or lost her footing.

In the days she could not abide his company, she had Sparrow to also walk with. Wisteria finds it hard to talk with them initially. They had never been close but Wisteria had always respected and tolerated their presence within the Rossi's group, which was something few else seemed to do. As they took more walks together, they found more to talk about. Sparrow was actually quite talkative when they wanted to be and was happy to answer any and all questions Wisteria had about the daring escape from the Rossi base. It's quite a fascinating story and one which Wisteria listens to with interest.

Alas, the budding friendship between her and Sparrow is cut short, when Sparrow lets slip about their involvement in Nieve's death. It comes out rather unexpectedly, so when Sparrow revealed that they had been responsible for sharing where Nieve had been hiding out, Wisteria was unsure how to process the news at first. When it does sink in, she is greeted by anger. An argument breaks out in the corridor and Giles has to intervene and tell them to step away lest they disturb any more of his patients.

Wisteria refuses to speak with Sparrow for days after that, even actively seeking out Ulysses to walk with rather than speak with Sparrow. Eventually, she calms down slightly, if only to tell Sparrow she needs to think things over in regard to where their friendship stood.

She manages to accept Sparrow's sincere apologies at least. Recognising that Sparrow had never intended for such an outcome to happen, nor had been aware of such a possibility. It spoke of a certain degree of naivety on Sparrow's behalf, but Wisteria could acknowledge that Sparrow’s lack of personal involvement with Belleza played into her belief that Belleza would not have killed Nieve.

It is on one of the days following the argument that Wisteria is unintentionally drawn into conversation with Ulysses. She is resting in the living room of the Crest's house which sat next door to their clinic. It's the only room of the house she is happy to go in, providing a welcome change of scenery from the clinic but also ensuring she didn't overstep into the lives of the Crests.

“Still giving Sparrow the silent treatment?” Ulysses asked, startling her out of the book she was reading.

Wisteria gave him a tired expression before shrugging.

Ulysses hovered nearby and though she was not looking at him, Wisteria could tell he was building up to speak with her again.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

“You're talking now,” Wisteria pointed out, idly turning a page.

“I meant together,” Ulysses said, taking a seat on the adjoining sofa next to her. “We can't keep avoiding each other, Wisteria.”

“Well, that's a you problem. As for myself, I’m perfectly happy to keep ignoring you.”

Ulysses groaned out loud. From the corner of her eye, she could see him pinch the bridge of his nose quickly before releasing it. “Look, I’m not saying we have to be friends again, I just want to explain what happened on Shizukana and how I got here.”

Wisteria closed her book with a satisfying snap. "Quite frankly, Ulysses, I don't want to hear it. I cannot understate how little of a shit I give about how you faked your death all these months.”

“Please just-”

“No!” Wisteria cut him off with a glare. “We mourned for you!”

Ulysses looked down at his knees solemnly. “I know…”

“You don't know anything, Ulysses,” Wisteria sneered. “You've been hiding away like a little coward all this time. You have no idea what we went through.”

“Do you recall those messages from Theodora to Nieve?” He suddenly asked.

Wisteria's anger falters ever so slightly, thrown by the mention of the conversations Nieve had secretly been having. “I - what!?”

“It was never Theodora she was speaking to,” Ulysses explained. He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. “It was me.”

Wisteria sucked in a breath and shook her head. “N-No!” She snapped. “I saw those messages! It clearly said Theodora!”

Ulysses gave her a bitter smile. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to clone someone's scroll if you have the right technology?” As he continued to speak, Wisteria remained quiet, the realisation of what he was saying slowly starting to sink in. “I cloned Theodora’s scroll. She knew, of course, as did Euphemia. It was necessary given the sensitive subject matter we needed to discuss.”

“What like your death?” Wisteria said sarcastically.

“That and other things,” Ulysses responded. Slowly, he got to his feet. “Stay here. It will be easier to explain if I show you.” He leaves the room quickly, shutting the door behind him before heading upstairs, the creak of the floorboards above her alerting her to roughly where he was.

Wisteria does as he requests but the entire time she waits she is of half a mind to run out of the house. If not for her still recovering leg she thinks she might have been able to get pretty far. She can hear footsteps coming down the stairs again and realises he is coming back. When he enters the living room again, she sits straight up, eager to see what he would be bringing with him. 

No amount of preparation would have prepared for what happened next.

Ulysses sat back down where he had before and in his arms was a child. They weren't very old, maybe a year or just under if she had to make an educated guess. Wisteria almost asked whose child it was, but seeing how Ulysses fussed over them, she already knew he must have had a connection to them.

“I’d like you to meet River Crest,” He said, turning the baby so that she was facing Wisteria. “She is mine and Nieve’s daughter.”

Wisteria's eyes merely widen and she looks hard at the child. A small part of her wants to laugh at how ludicrous this all sounds, but the longer she looks, the easier it is to see parts of Nieve looking back at her. Although her hair was a darker grey and her skin a touch darker than Nieve's was, Wisteria could see most of Nieve's colouring in the child. River's eyes were more of a pale periwinkle colour, a mix between Nieve's and Ulysses's eye colours. More interestingly, River's fingertips were slightly grey, much like how Nieve's were indicating to Wisteria that the girl was a spider faunus like her mother.

“How? How is this possible?” Wisteria asked, gesturing to River. She knew there were at least five months where she wasn’t present in Nieve’s life due to working closely with the Rossi’s and wanting to protect Nieve who had fled at that point, but surely if Nieve had been pregnant during that time she would have known about it or seen some sort of sign.

“River was born two months after the events on Shizukana,” Ulysses explained.

“Two months after Shizukana!?” Wisteria echoed, unable to believe what she was hearing. If she were able to, she might have jumped to her feet and started pacing around the room. Unfortunately, such a task was not as easy with her leg still in a cast. “No, you can’t be serious. Nieve would have been showing by then, I would have known!”

Ulysses gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s not unheard of for some women to not know they are pregnant for some time. Nieve was one of those women.”

Wisteria still couldn’t believe any of what he was saying. Of course, some of it did make sense, but it still seemed unbelievable. 

“We would have told you.”

Wisteria looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Oh yes, I’m sure you would have eventually,” She said. “Tell me Ulysses when exactly when this was going to happen? When you came out of hiding? On the unlikely chance that I somehow managed to escape the Rossi’s on my own?”

“We were thinking of the baby too!” Ulysses protested. “Belleza could not know about her. We needed to keep her safe.”

“I could have helped!” Wisteria retorted, surprised to find just how upset she suddenly found herself. “I would have protected all three of you.”

“What, like you protected Nieve?” Ulysses fired back a little too quickly. He seemed to realise the error of his words quickly at least, blinking rapidly before shooting her an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Wisteria ignored him and went for her crutches, quickly pulling herself to her feet. She tucked the crutches under her arms to help support herself and began to hobble towards the door.

“Wisteria please don’t go,” Ulysses begged, turning in his seat to follow her as she walked.

“Shut up!” She snapped quickly, speaking with a soft voice so as not to disturb River too much. “I’m done talking, Ulysses. I don't want to talk to you again whilst I’m here. As soon as I've recovered, I’m leaving and you will never see me again.”

Wisteria manages to get outside of the house without any further intervention from Ulysses. As soon as she's outside, she manages a few steps forward before she stops. She tries to keep it together but she can't. Tears stream down her cheeks and she sniffs. She won't stop the tears but that does not mean she wants anyone to see her, so as she begins to walk again, Wisteria makes an effort to keep her face hidden, not wanting anyone to stop her and ask if anything was wrong.

**

It takes eight months for Wisteria to finally feel something like herself again. Eight months of grueling physical and mental therapy. 

In that time, River had her first birthday, which turned out to be a quiet and simple affair. And in that time Wisteria did actually start to talk with both Sparrow and Ulysses. It took a few weeks, but Wisteria had finally swallowed her pride, realising her recovery time would pass quicker if she did not alienate them entirely and actually try to understand what they had both been through. The conversations weren't exactly long - especially those with Ulysses - but it was something at least.

Once she had been given the all clear, Giles and Capella were content to let her go on her way. They were kinda enough to help her out with some supplies for when she eventually set out, but luckily Wisteria had plenty of lien saved up that she wouldn't be struggling for a while. The only thing she was less certain about was where to go. Wisteria had had enough of Atlas for a lifetime, but it had been many years since she had experienced Mistral proper, especially the settlements beyond the main city. Wisteria would love to see Mistral again as an adult. She did not remember much of her childhood, with many memories trapped under years of abuse, but she did recall that she had been raised outside of the city. When she had been sent to live with her caretakers she moved to the lower city and then after her escape had roamed the streets. She often wondered where she truly came from.

On her soon-to-be journey through Mistral, she was not going to be alone. Sparrow had offered themselves to accompany her - for a little while at least - once Wisteria was more amenable to the idea. It had taken some time, and plenty of lengthy conversations, for them to even be on decent terms again. Strangely, Wisteria had found Sparrow's apologies to be easier to accept as they weren't constantly trying to rationalise it.

On the day Wisteria planned to leave, she enjoyed an early breakfast with the Crests and Sparrow, before gathering together her supplies. It wasn't much, as she had only come to this place with her scroll more or less, and what items she did have to take with her had accumulated during her time here. One of the more precious items were two polaroids - one from over a year ago with herself, Nieve, and Ulysses in it, and another of baby River. Wisteria hadn't wanted to accept the latter gift at first, still wary of getting close to the child, but she had secretly kept it.

After gathering most of her things together, Wisteria left a small bag at the bottom of the stairs. Midway through her recovery she had taken one of the remaining spare bedrooms in the Crest's house to complete her recuperation.

She was about to head back upstairs and go in search of Sparrow when she heard a little cough behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Ulysses standing there.

“Today's the day, hmm?”

“Today's the day,” Wisteria repeated in confirmation.

Ulysses briefly looked at her bag and then back up at her. “Are you leaving now?”

“I need to see if Sparrow is ready, but yes, we will be leaving soon,” Wisteria responded.

“I see,” Ulysses nodded. “Well, if you can spare the time, there was something I wished to speak to you about before you left.”

Wisteria raised a brow, curious about what he meant before shrugging. “I think I could spare a moment or two once I’ve found Sparrow. Did you need me to meet you somewhere in the house?”

“Oh no, we don't need to meet anywhere specific,” Ulysses assured her. “Just here is fine. I’ll wait for you.”

Wisteria nodded and then made her way up the stairs. She peeked inside the room Sparrow had been staying in but couldn't see them. Feeling a little emboldened, Wisteria opened the doors of some of the other rooms, peeking inside but still finding no luck.

“Sparrow…?” Wisteria called, genuinely curious where they might have been.

“I’m out here, Wisteria.” A voice called from within Sparrow's room. Wisteria pushed inside again, recalling there was a small balcony in that room as well as one in River’s room. Whilst the balcony in River's room looked down onto a small park beyond the house, the one in Sparrow's room looked out upon the south of the city and the expansive Thalassa Bay. The sea view might have been genuinely pleasant if not for the Atlesian military outpost sticking out like a sore thumb. At least there were nicer beaches tucked away to the immediate west of the town, which were probably much more appealing to spend time at.

“Are you re-Woah!” Wisteria was about to ask if Sparrow was ready to go, but was caught by surprise when Sparrow straightened up from leaning over the balustrade and she saw their hair. As long as she had known Sparrow, she had always known them to wear their hair in a long, elaborate plait down their back. Now, they had gone for a much shorter look, having quite literally chopped off their plait in favour of going for a messy pixie cut. And it was a recent choice too, as Sparrow had worn their hair in a plait at breakfast.

“Did you, uh, do that yourself?” Wisteria asked, gesturing to their hair.

Sparrow chuckled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Yeah. Do you think it suits me?”

Wisteria inclined her head to get a better look. Despite the messiness, it did suit them. It exposed the old burn scars that crept up their neck and accentuated the sharp features of their face. It also drew the eye to the new single earring they wore - a small clear gem, dangling on a gold chain.

“It actually does,” Wisteria told them.

“Maybe I can cut yours for you too?” Sparrow suggested jokingly.

Wisteria smirked. “Actually, Sparrow, I think I might grow mine out.” Wisteria had always kept her hair fairly short, but it had grown a little during her recovery. Whilst she would consider neatening it up at some point, she actually did not mind the length.

“There's one other thing I'd like to change,” Sparrow said.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’d like to go back to being Ximenia again.”

Wisteria turned to look at Sparrow and raised a brow. Ximenia?

“That’s my name,” Sparrow responded. “Or it was before, you know, everything happened.”

“‘Ximenia’, huh?” Wisteria considered the name for a moment. “I always just assumed Sparrow was your actual name.”

“Just a nickname,” Ximenia confirmed. “It was Marcel’s fault. He used to say I was small and flighty like a little sparrow. After a while it just stuck, I guess, and we never saw the point to correct Belleza when we ended up working for the Rossis.”

“Well, I like it,” Wisteria smiled, giving Ximenia a nudge. “It suits you. Like the hair.”

Ximenia smiled, appearing truly grateful for the comment. “I’ve got to meet Ulysses downstairs,” Wisteria explained. “If you’re ready just meet me down there and we’ll go once he’s finished talking.”

“Okay,” Ximenia nodded. “That’ll give me a minute to get my things together.”

Leaving Ximenia on their own, Wisteria headed downstairs where Ulysses was still waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She tried to look at his body language and gauge how he was feeling to try and determine what he wanted to speak about but had no such luck.

“You wanted to talk?” Wisteria prompted him once she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes,” Ulysses said. Wisteria was waiting for him to continue talking when suddenly he handed her a manila folder he had been holding behind his back.

“Oh,” Wisteria said, taking the folder gingerly. “Thank you?”

“Do you remember one of our first missions together, Wisteria?” Ulysses suddenly asked.

Wisteria looked at the folder and then at him again. “The job in Essen?” Wisteria could definitely remember that. Especially the part about nearly freezing in one of the barns, and drinking a bottle of Six Swans vodka between herself, Nieve, and Ulysses.

“Do you remember what you said in the barn?”

Wisteria shook her head. “Not really,” She admitted. “We did get pretty drunk.”

“If I remember rightly, you got pretty drunk,” Ulysses said, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. He cleared his throat quickly before continuing. “Well, I remember what you said at least, because it has stuck with me over the years. You mentioned wanting to know where you really came from - your parents, your extended family, if you had any real home so to speak.”

“But I looked!” Wisteria said. “I looked for Bloomes. There were none in Mistral that had a daughter my age.”

“Bloome is a fairly common surname as it turned out, so I am not surprised you had difficulty in finding any matches. However, the reason you likely struggled, was because your birth certificate wasn’t registered under any Mistrali settlements. You might have been raised in Mistral but you were born in Vacuo, Wisteria,” Ulysses explained. “With that in mind, I was able to do some backtracking and trace your parents to gather some more information on them.”

Ulysses stepped forward and opened the folder, showing a small page with two short biographies of a man and a woman. There were two photographs attached too. Even though the photographs were of academy aged students, Wisteria could see that they had details that matched up with the written biographies. More importantly, she could see they had features that matched up with her. She had the same green eyes as the man, and the same purple hair as the woman. Honestly, she could have gotten lost studying those faces, and might easily have done so if not for Ulysses bringing her back to reality.

“Lincoln Bloome and Daphne Holt,” He said.

“What?”

“That’s their names. Your parents,” He said, pointing at their names on the page. Wisteria followed is finger and nodded. Ulysses proceeded to shift uncomfortably on the spot. “Unfortunately, neither of them are no longer with us. Your father went missing in action and was suspected to have died, and your mother died only a few weeks later looking for him.”

Although Wisteria had always suspected that was the case, she felt a pang in her heart to know it was the truth. That they had not abandoned her as her former caretakers had often said but rather had died doing their jobs as huntsmen.

“There isn’t much on their times at their respective academies, especially your mother. You can blame Shade records for being notoriously spotty. However, it seems they lived good, honourable lives as huntsmen. I managed to find a few articles of interest though that you can find in the folder,” Ulysses explained. Wisteria was about to move the pages around to see when Ulysses stopped her. “Oh, there’s actually one more thing I found. It turns out you do have surviving family.”

Wisteria blinked in surprise. “I do? Why did they never come looking for me?”

“Well, to answer the second question, it seems like there was some effort on her behalf, but your former guardians made it difficult to find any leads. They claimed that you ran away and that they already had an investigation open to find you,” Ulysses responded. By the face he pulled afterwards, Wisteria wondered if he was thinking of the stories she had told him about them and the abuse she had suffered at their hands. Wisteria knew all too well there likely had never been an investigation on their end.

“Who is she?” Wisteria asked, wanting to know more about this mysterious relative Ulysses has mentioned.

“Arden Bloome - Lincoln’s mother. Your grandmother.”

A grandmother. Wisteria had a grandmother. Well, of course, she had grandparents, but she had never expected any to still be alive. 

“How did you find all this?” She asked.

“I might have done a little bit of hacking,” Ulysses confessed, with a nervous chuckle. “I promised I wouldn't after River was born but it was for a good cause so I made an exception.”

Suddenly, Wisteria threw herself at Ulysses, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” She said softly, burying her head into his shoulder slightly so as to stifle her tears.

Ulysses's arms were held out awkwardly by his side for a few moments, caught off guard by the sudden embrace. Wisteria recalled neither him nor her had been much for physical affection and they certainly hadn't shared a hug for a very long time. 

Slowly, his arms wrap around her waist and he squeezes her tight. “You’re very welcome, Wisteria,” He said, pulling away from her with a small smile. “I hope this helps you get to where you need to be.”

Wisteria smiled and held the folder close to her chest. Behind her she could hear Ximenia about to come down the stairs and quickly took a breath in an effort to hide her tears. “I think it will,” Wisteria responded, genuinely meaning what she said.

With Ximenia coming downstairs, their own supplies in tow, it was finally time for the two of them to depart. Giles and Capella had already left to return to their respective jobs, so it only left Ulysses and Ximenia to share a goodbye. There was no hug as there had been with him and Wisteria, but they at least enjoyed a friendly handshake before they departed.

As the two of them stepped out onto the streets of Argus, Wisteria took in a breath of fresh air and smiled to herself. Wisteria could not and would forget her criminal past entirely but she was taking this as the chance to have a fresh start. After all these years, she could finally live the life she wanted to lead. And Wisteria was very much looking forward to that.

[fortjester]

@allofthenorth @paintyourglassheartred @to-to-karamba ty for asking, here it is

THE FOLLOWING DATA ANALYSIS/BREAKDOWN CONTAINS TLT SERIES SPOILERS

(key: orange highlight is for GtN; blue highlight for HtN; pink highlight for NtN; a * indicates where a crest (or symbol) has been sliced through completely, where a # indicates it has only been cracked/sliced through incompletely; NGS stands for New Green Shoot aka a small sprouting plant)

i've done the math, so lemme break it down for you

in 1st Place, with the most uses across the series so far, is the Ninth House with 27 uses (7 of which were sliced)

in 2nd Place, with 13 uses each, is a tie between the Second, Third, and Sixth Houses. The Second House's crest was sliced 3 times, the Sixth House's sliced 2 times, and the Third House's sliced just the once.

in 3rd place, with 10 uses each, is another tie between the Fifth and Eighth Houses. The Fifth House's crest was sliced 4 times, while the Eighth House's was sliced only once.

in 4th Place, with 9 uses each, is yet another tie, this time between the First and Seventh Houses. None of these House crests were ever sliced.

in 5th Place, with 6 uses, is the Fourth House. None of these House crests were ever sliced, however 2 of them (CH 8 and CH 42 of HtN) were cracked on the upper left side. these are the only House crests to ever appear cracked. it should also be noted that (in the series so far) the Fourth House is the only House that is yet to produce a primary character of any sort (vv sorry but the teens are tertiary to me & i'm rooting for a Ulysses Hell Reprise in AtN)

in 6th Place, with 5 uses, is the Tomb symbol. this symbol was unlocked/opened 2 times.

in 7th Place, with 4 uses each, is another tie, this time between the Gideon Skull and the Herald symbol. The Gideon Skull was sliced 2 times, while the Herald symbol has never been sliced.

in 8th Place, with 2 uses each, is another tie, this time between the Tree symbol and the Tower symbol, both featured in NtN. neither symbol was changed or altered in either iteration it appeared.

and finally, in a very fitting 9th place, with just one use, is the New Green Shoot symbol (NGS), which was used at the start of CH 17 of NtN.

just spent an hour flipping through each of my tlt paperbacks and noting down which house crests come up at the start of each chapter. made a spreadsheet. likely will earn me nothing in meta/theories, but has earned me so many tism points

[boxturret]

Atlantis: Addendum

Just a quick little thing I wanted to note, since I ran out of space in the last post as I always do:

The Ulysses appears to have a red marking on it in this shot, and this shot only, right around that large round window on the port side.

It isn't there in other shots.

It looks to me like its the A symbol the Atlantis Expedition uses as a crest. May have been planned to be there at one point, and the colouring was left on that one scene.

Also on this note, the Sub pods have a cartoon saw fish on their fins.

Its cute.

UPDATE:

Seems my hypotheses about there being an Atlantis expedition crest on the side of the Ulysses was correct! Often tie in media like this is operating off older references.

[pissylittlebirdboy]

they appear. Even if you don't see them at first it's quite obvious, as with them a strong sound of buzzing appears as well. They seem in a good mood, which probably isn't good seeing as they're holding one of Ulysses' feathers, freshly blinded.

Hello there.

he nearly jumps out of his skin his tail shoots open, it’s eyes darting around frantic. his back is turned to the demon. maybe it’s just another figment of his imagination?

he looked through one of the eyes on his tail.

fuck.

he turned around slowly, wincing as he did. his knee was still broken, after all, even though it hid under the baggy clothes he would’ve once scoffed at and allotted to be only for low class peasants. he forced himself to take a deep breath and smooth out his very much ruffled feathers. his main eyes, freshly with bags, assessed the situation. he finally caught sight of the feather.

his head crest flattened against his head as the unmistakable look of both a child who knew they’d done something and must now face consequence and, if one squinted, pure, A-grade terror.

f u c k.

he took another shaky big breath and tried to scrape together some semblance of composure.

…hey.

//kfp2 reference omg!!!!!!

[thebrickinbrick]

The Heroes, Part Three

The façade of Corinthe, half demolished, was hideous. The window, tattooed with grape-shot, had lost glass and frame and was nothing now but a shapeless hole, tumultuously blocked with paving-stones.

Bossuet was killed;

Feuilly was killed;

Courfeyrac was killed;

Joly was killed;

Combeferre, transfixed by three blows from a bayonet in the breast at the moment when he was lifting up a wounded soldier, had only time to cast a glance to heaven when he expired.

Marius, still fighting, was so riddled with wounds, particularly in the head, that his countenance disappeared beneath the blood, and one would have said that his face was covered with a red kerchief.

Enjolras alone was not struck. When he had no longer any weapon, he reached out his hands to right and left and an insurgent thrust some arm or other into his fist. All he had left was the stumps of four swords; one more than François I. at Marignan.

Homer says: “Diomedes cuts the throat of Axylus, son of Teuthranis, who dwelt in happy Arisba; Euryalus, son of Mecistæus, exterminates Dresos and Opheltios, Esepius, and that Pedasus whom the naiad Abarbarea bore to the blameless Bucolion; Ulysses overthrows Pidytes of Percosius; Antilochus, Ablerus; Polypætes, Astyalus; Polydamas, Otos, of Cyllene; and Teucer, Aretaon. Meganthios dies under the blows of Euripylus’ pike. Agamemnon, king of the heroes, flings to earth Elatos, born in the rocky city which is laved by the sounding river Satnoïs.” In our old poems of exploits, Esplandian attacks the giant marquis Swantibore with a cobbler’s shoulder-stick of fire, and the latter defends himself by stoning the hero with towers which he plucks up by the roots. Our ancient mural frescoes show us the two Dukes of Bretagne and Bourbon, armed, emblazoned and crested in war-like guise, on horseback and approaching each other, their battle-axes in hand, masked with iron, gloved with iron, booted with iron, the one caparisoned in ermine, the other draped in azure: Bretagne with his lion between the two horns of his crown, Bourbon helmeted with a monster fleur de lys on his visor. But, in order to be superb, it is not necessary to wear, like Yvon, the ducal morion, to have in the fist, like Esplandian, a living flame, or, like Phyles, father of Polydamas, to have brought back from Ephyra a good suit of mail, a present from the king of men, Euphetes; it suffices to give one’s life for a conviction or a loyalty. This ingenuous little soldier, yesterday a peasant of Bauce or Limousin, who prowls with his clasp-knife by his side, around the children’s nurses in the Luxembourg garden, this pale young student bent over a piece of anatomy or a book, a blond youth who shaves his beard with scissors,—take both of them, breathe upon them with a breath of duty, place them face to face in the Carrefour Boucherat or in the blind alley Planche-Mibray, and let the one fight for his flag, and the other for his ideal, and let both of them imagine that they are fighting for their country; the struggle will be colossal; and the shadow which this raw recruit and this sawbones in conflict will produce in that grand epic field where humanity is striving, will equal the shadow cast by Megaryon, King of Lycia, tiger-filled, crushing in his embrace the immense body of Ajax, equal to the gods.

[toycoheartful]

Reina Monarch Butterfly (Mariposa monarca reina) is a Beauty Monarch Butterfly PawPant - Who is the mother of "Minnie Monarch Butterfly" and She uses his eye to hypnotize the males.

Name: Reina Monarch Butterfly

Species: Monarch Butterfly PawPant

Sexually: Bisexual

Sex: Female

Power: Orange Bow and Arrow Shooting & Hypnosis Eye

Family: Minnie Monarch Butterfly (Daughter) Hwa Young Ulysses Butterfly (Step-Daughter) & Zippy Zebra Longwing (Adopted Grandfather)

Friends: Felipe White-Rabbit, Ander Von Chupacabra, Wallace "Wainwright" Yellow Crested Cockatoo and Christopher "Chris" Violin

Rival: Esther Crowned Hornbill

Theme Song: Be the One by Dua Lipa

Voice Actor: Elsie Lovelock on Mommy Long Legs (Poppy Playtime)

"I'm so beautiful and gorgeous too."

[bhaalborn]

@weavrot says: " the awful things we do to make our heads feel quiet. "

there is something there that permeates the wetness of ulysses' gaze when they stare back- the precipice of something perhaps CRAZED, a depraved sort of yearning the accompanies the obstinate tremor in the fingers that hold their beloved flute.

( an object whose importance is forgotten, but they oftentimes find themselves seeing it as a weapon as opposed to a source of symphony. )

i did lots of awful things. i still do. the words clog their throat like debris to a drain. they feel too plaintively honest, a facetious not-quite truth. it is their muddled brain that makes meanings CROSS.

" -do you know something? " ulysses finds themselves incredulously asking. there ARE voices. there is the insipid butler. the visions of doom and death. memories? dreams? things a part of them HOPES to happen? they haven't decided yet. it is too early. the abyssal not-knowing carves large holes in their attempts at reasoning. there is soft soil beneath their knees that kneel, claws kneading the verdant grass under-palm. it is comforting, somewhat. feeling the ground beneath themselves and knowing that it is real.

it is their fourth night without sleep.

every second they try laying in their cot- it is like signing someone else's death sentence. it is leaving themselves vulnerable to memories meant solely to DISTURB. sometime in the night, after a fit of lying on their stomach, their side, their stomach, their other side, ulysses has abandoned the sooty hearth and trekked towards the edge of camp. a wave of dizziness crested their senses and they met the ground a beat too quickly, no doubt causing the unintended racket that resulted in gale's showing-up.

unreal unearth sentence starters, ALWAYS ACCEPTING

[soundofastar]

Any music recommendations ? I have been listening to the For Your Sins album by Dea Matrona and SAILORR for the last 3 weeks and I need something else to listen too. . .LIKE I LOVE THEM BUT DAMN

( You should totally listen to Dea Matrona and SAILORR they are great )

-Ulysses loving anon

okay i listened to a few seconds of a dea matrona track (ill listen fully, i prommy) and i established:

LISTEN TO EVERYTHING EVERYTHING PLEASE

theyre an experimental rock, british indie rock roots band that is inspired by radiohead's in rainbows! i love the band SO much. probably if you like dea matrona you'll like Get To Heaven, or A Fever Dream. but all of their albums are GOOD, do give all 7 albums a chance!!

the band has a distinct style, but each album is unique and varies in style as well, since they're deeply experimental.

(some of my favorite tracks, but honestly, 95% of their entire discography are my favorite)

other albums id recommend...? these are mostly rock, since ive been rock-piled for a while since i got into everything everything in october

Broken Machine - Nothing But Thieves

Cojum Dip - Cojum Dip

Cutouts - The Smile

Cowards - Squid

Hail To The Thief - Radiohead (but honestly, any album is fire)

Firebird / Queen of the Night / The Raven Locks Part 3 - Dirt Poor Robins

War Part II - The Family Crest

Literally anything from The Long Faces

Also literally anything from Kiltro

i do also have other, more j-pop recommendations but lately if i listen to anything that isnt rock its usually Sheena Ringo; from the vocaloid scene Flavor Foley. and honestly i think thats it ive listened to nothing but EE for a while

^ an image from my last.fm of the last month

[leftnightthing]

The Songz of Rustre

by

Ulysses Nemo

Prologue

This is the story of One-Arm the Old, and it starts about a  few million years ago, maybe more than that actually, back before homo sapiens, back when the world itself was still settling, when Gods could shape things as they wanted and with evolution still working its way to us. This is before language, before names, back when we were more ape than people, with hair all over our bodies, and upright walking was more of a choice than a necessity.t him. “So you aren't defined by your legs.”

“I didn't run.”

“No. But we did bet everything on your dick,” She gives a deep and long laugh as she pulls the car back into the road.

In the North, there is a place simply known as The Pit, not a typical jail of Messina, which only held short term sentences, the city isn't known for incarceration. The Pit, however, was for the rare few who actually had life sentences, those considered irredeemable made a home for themselves here. Elric cuts her hand at the entrance, and offers the blood to the stone, gaining access to this sunken place.

There was some natural light, ports to the sky in the ceiling, but most illumination came from these shimmering crystals that naturally grew from the bedrock of the city. The shacks were actually well built, less shanty town and more pueblo housing. At the big house, they find their man, in the middle of an opium den, pipe to his lips, and breathing heavy on the smoke.

Aurakles Nemo was like a pulp hero that pulled himself out of the novels at their heyday and just kept going on as if the war never ended. Every part of him looked scared and callused, like you could hear his joints whenever he moved. The clothes, maybe bright and bold at one point were now sun bleached and dull, an echo of what they used to be. Though the black elephant crest on his chest is still clear. Interestingly, his mask isn't diminished in anyway, fresh and new, a deep purple that stands out against everything around him.

Elric sits and he offers her the pipe. As she begins to smoke, Rhego leans against the wall, silent and just watching.

“People wonder why I went away, but down here is the only place I can have my rest. Can enjoy myself without judgment,” Aurakles explains, getting a bit more powder for the two of them.

“I thought yours was the land of freedom?” Smokes frames her face and she takes another drag.

“Ranging is freedom, but of the self. Pathfinding, seeker, the trail behind us, so other's can follow. If they so choose.”

“And those that can't walk?” Elric lifts her eyebrows.

He breathes in long and each word comes out as smoke. “They find a way.” He breathes again, and rolls his jaw. “I want to know what you are going to use it for, this thing you want from me.”

“To make my brother whole.”

“I wasn't asking you.”

Rhego stands up straight, now realizing Aurakles had been looking at him the entire time they had been there.

“Hear you're undefeated. Do you really need it?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Maybe your shoulders are already strong enough to bear everything.”

“Probably.”

That makes Aurakles smile. “Normally, I don't like you Sicilians. Little too proud for my taste, humility has always been the great equalizer.” He lifts his hands, motioning to all around them, the den, The Pit. “So what do you offer?” He points as two men enter the den, one holding a red gasoline container, and the other hands Rhego a lighter.

He flips the top open, then clicks it shut. “The truth?”

“That's what true freedom is, brother.”

He grabs the can of gas and begins pouring it over himself. Elric is trying to hide how much she is shaking, trying to hold her leg, squeeze her arm, her wrist, anything to keep herself from rushing forward, anything to just remain still. He empties the entire can over himself, his hair dripping, his socks soaked, and not an inch of his skin left dry.

“Callisto asked me to end the engagement.”

“What?” Elric shots to her feet.

“She wasn't ready and I wasn't going to force her to do anything. So it doesn't matter what happens to me, I did the right thing.” He flips the lighter top open.

Aurakles is nodding in respect.

“Gang gang.” He sparks the lighter and his body is set aflame, his skin bursting as his being becomes an inferno. He doesn't drop to his knees, he remains strong and stands the entire time. His clothes burn away, the bandage burns away, everything is washed away from him. Leaving him blank and pure. His liver explodes, and with it, the memories of the previous nights black out.

It was five men. They caught up to him as he was staggering back home from the Pink Boar, much to drunk to drive, and too late to call for anyone, left for his feet to carry him. They descended on him like a fresh kill. The punches led to kicks when he stopped standing, smashing him into the ground, blood expanding, and refusing to fight back. He tried to warn them away, for their own safety, but then the smoke came from his mouth and his eyes rolled red. The first two dropped without so much as a visible movement from him, their bodies just surrendered. He grabs one's face and lifts their body from the ground, swinging them toward the brick wall of the building behind him. The mortar gives out. One tries to fight, and using his left arm, the force of the phantom limb alone is enough to cause the enemy's heart to explode in their chest. The last was fleeing, but on his second step, Rhego plunges his hand into the man's rib cage. The symphony of tearing flesh a crescendo of the entire opera. Now the man is crying and begging. But where had that sympathy gone? Rhego pulls open the ribs , each break a drum beat, and he takes the heart, stilling beating, and bites, the memories of blackberries.

Aurakles looks into Rhego's burning eyes, the boy, the man, still standing in front of him, and the elder smiles, wide and truthfully, and then speaks.

But the language is something never heard before, lyrical, familiar, but completely unknown, with sounds no human can make. A single word, one syllable, but impossibly complex. REST

Rhego shuts his eyes, and is brought to his knees.

-

Jupiter hugs him close to his body, his arms covering all of Rhego, protecting him from everything around him, his body shielding the boy from the entire world. “Esta bien, hijo. The first time is never easy. This'll make you strong. I promise.”

“I'm proud of you.”

-

When Rhego finally wakes up this time, its not from the vision, it's from the pain rushing into his consciousness. He wants to scream but doesn't, the pressure in his face is huge and he grabs his left arm, looking down to see that something new has been placed there. It's still mostly bone, but the joints and nerves had grown in, and the very beginnings of tendons were forming. He groans, looks over to see Elric, scared awake by his held in shout and is running toward him. The two stare at each other, and he has the look of confusion, bordering on betrayal as he looks at her. She comes to him and holds his face, brushing his hair back and trying to comfort him with her presence.

“I know, I know it hurts, but it's working. It accepted you. This is good.” She kisses his forehead and helps him sit up.

With her here, the pain eases, mostly from no longer being alone. She hugs his head close to her chest. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Two days. It was a little touch and go those first few hours.”

He looks at the palm, or the bones where his palm will be, and almost without thinking begins to flex his fingers, beginning to close them, the pain of it half blinding him from the blare in his head. “Wow. This is so painful.” He forces himself to laugh, to hide the tears, but it gives way to real laughter.

“I know. I think you should stay in the Osseopolis until it finishes healing.” She holds the back of his head, still concerned, despite his laughter.

“Dad still down there?”

Her face falls in a little, and she rubs his shoulder. “Yeah. He hasn't left since it happened.”

He leans his head against her, catching his breath. “That'll be alright then.”

She embraces him again, hugs and holds him tight against her, her own eyes watering. “You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn't have been mad.”

“I know.”

She pulls back and holds his head, holds back his hair to see his face, the same way their mother would when he was younger. “What did she say?”

He doesn't look at her, his eyes just lower, unfocused. “Just felt she hadn't seen enough of the world yet. Wanted to go to places untraveled, see things unseen. I got it. Jupiter's Wall is big and she rarely left. I had fires to fight. I could stay. She could go.”

“But the price.”

“You've been in love.”

Her shoulders drop in understanding, but her face is begging him, and all of makes her laugh as she looks at him. She brings her forehead to his and holds there. “You're a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah. Whatever. You still love me.”

“That I do, little one.” She kisses his forehead. “That I do.”

The city of Messina has four hidden places, to the north is The Pit, but in the west, their sunken secret is the Osseopolis, the House of Izaya held up by bones—dozens, hundreds, thousands, of bones. Here was the temple of sacrifice, here was the arena of testing, and here is the remembrance of all. The memories and echoes of all who came before, their remains, their essence, their legacy. Like a field of snow as far as the eye could see. The revered, the noble, were honored with statues in their likeness, memorials, ever watching over their progeny.

Here, before the marble of his mother, Rhego finds his father, the great old Bull, Robert Izaya.

Shirtless, the clothes torn from his chest, and the tatters hanging from his waist, like shed skin. His back is scarred, the newest lash slowly steaming shut. His head is bowed, and he holds the whip taught between both of his hands, the edge of the tail still wet.

“When I meet with your mother again, I suspect she will beat me, and then toss me to what lies below.”

He stands next to his father and looks up to his mother, to Elizabeth, and the softness of her eyes. He remembered her being much smaller in life, but even now he can hear the boom in her voice, and that's what always disappointed him about this version of her, it was never true to how big she could make herself.

“I don't know. Maybe smack you around a little for sure. But tossing you out? Not even on her worse day would she consider that.” He turns and grins.

The old man seemed so much older now, for so long he was like granite, but now he seemed frail, tired, and his hair finally seemed to be white. He could still probably carry the fire engine on his back like he always claimed, but his eyes, his eyes seemed to heavy for his own face.

“You think so?”

“Hell, she'll probably give me a slap.”

Robert shakes his head, and lifts his neck, facing his wife first. “Never.” He then looks to his son and they embrace. He points to Rhego's left hand. “Your sister?”

“You know her.”

“Maybe that will be the one good thing out of all of this. Her in her rightful seat. Ivory Queen.”

“Was she actually able to draw it?”

Robert is already shaking his head. “No one has been able to lift it since...” He pauses for a second. “Not even me.”

Rhego turns around, for at the center of the Osseopolis, in the gaze of all the noble dead, is their holy weapon. Simple in design but strong in function, an ax with a handle made from ivory. The edge is plunged into an executioner stone, and the blade is still red with his blood. He looks at his father, and the old Bull nods.

“We are the ones who stop the burning.”

As he walks toward the ax, he extends his left arm and makes a fist, roaring quietly as his heart beats lava and his blood  burns around the bone until his new hand is regrown, muscle, skin, restored.

He looks to his palm, and though it is a part of him, it's clear the hand isn't his, so he doesn't use it. He was always left dominate, that's why they took it from him. His right hand is weaker, but his right hand is his own. He grabs the bone and lifts the ax from it's trap without resistance.

And though he doesn't feel it, his father smiles, seeing the burning crown form over his son's head, floating just above, like a halo. “There's your boy, Lizzy. There's your knight.”

Interlude (i)

AU REPOS

The noon sun reflects off of the black king chess piece resting in the center of his chest, kept perfectly balanced with the rise and fall of his breathing.

What do you know about yourself? A woman is attacked by a 6’4 white man. When shown a police lineup of those suspected responsible, out of all of them, she selects the 5’7 black man. Is she wrong? Is she racist? Likely both. But, the point I am trying to make, is that memories are not perfect. There is no absolute recollection. The things, all of the things in your life, all of our actions, all of your feelings, even your memories, are ambiguous. Memories, especially, are malleable.

El Cadejo sits up quick, catching the king.

A memory is all you have to define yourself by. If it changes, you change with it. And if you were to lose a memory… you would lose a part of yourself. And I? I am the memory you forgot.

He pulls his coffee pot from the maker and starts to pour a cup, the scent drifting into the air with the steam, a welcome rise for his late start.

I met a nun once. A terrible woman, but sublime none the less. Her devotion to God was like nothing I have ever seen before. I traced all of it back, to the moment when she knew, in her mind at least, that God was real. You see, there was a storm; she and her brother were in the field. Not a tree in sight. When the first bolt touched ground, the two begun running, faster than they ever had before. Then it struck between the two of them. Tossed them apart, the grass scorched, and the sky rumbling again. She pictured two things in that moment, watching her brother die, burned alive right in front of her. Or the opposite, he would have to watch her die. And then he would have to walk back to the farm and explain to their father that she was dead. She didn’t want either of those.

So, in the time between bolts, she prayed. Shouted out to God himself to spare them both and if not her, at least save her brother. She was struck by lightning. The storm passed afterwards.

Cadejo drinks the coffee slowly.

She lived. She thanked God every day for her life and her brother’s. She read the bible, religiously. And that’s my point. Her identity and everything about her personality and future was predicated on that one moment. That memory. Do you know what she did when I removed that memory from her? She traveled the world for 10 years. Climbed Kilimanjaro without a guide. Bathed in a waterfall without shame. Got a doctorate and then adopted four children. She sends me a Christmas card every year.

He grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours a splash into his mug.

I go to AA meetings every now and then. No exact schedule. I like hearing their stories. Whoever has the worst one gets it taken away. Their worst memories from drinking get erased. I leave it up to them to decide how they want to be defined. Whether by pain again or by gaining something from the removal of a lifetime of guilt. Refuge or ruin. It is not for me to determine. It’s on them.

He removes his stained tank top and throws it to the side. He smells a black shirt, it seems slightly used but not all that bad. Outside his dilapidated apartment he focuses the lens on his camera, trying to adjust for the light. It’s an older film camera with a scratch on the lens and a speck of dust on the inside of it.

Later, at the Pink Boar, a glass of whiskey is put in front of him. He nods Wednesday.

I have whiskey at home, I know. But that isn’t why I came here today. No one goes to a bar just to drink. No one enjoys over paying for anything. They come for the company. For the atmosphere.

The bar is crowded. Music murdered by the entire place talking, alive. The kind of talk where it seemed like everyone was yelling, but at the tables simply everyone was just being heard. But the different sounds gave everything a motion and the entire joint seemed to be in an uproar.

El Cadejo sips from his glass slowly. A woman walks to his side. She recognized him.

“I recognize you.”

“And where have you seen a face like mine before?”

“I think it was a meeting somewhere. I don’t remember exactly.”

“I don’t expect you would. I’m flattered you remember me though. Or at least a part of me.”

He turns and faces his entire body toward her, letting her know his only attention was on her.

“You seem hard to forget. Like you leave an impression. An imprint on people,” she notes.

“I do attempt to make a mark on things. Do you do the same?”

“I’m a painter.”

“Famous?”

“Nope. Starving artist. My rent was due yesterday. They’ll kick me to the curb by the end of the week.”

“How is the hunt for a suitor going? You seem a little drunk. I would guess not well.”

“Hard to explain you’ll trade sex for a roof to sleep under.”

“I can only imagine.”

Cadejo signals for Wednesday.

“Only sodas for her from now on. And refill mine.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know. I’m just making sure you stay that way. We’ll get food before we go back to my place.”

“That was confident.”

“I have no room for doubts. I know what I’m about.”

“Tell me.”

He points at his camera. “I want you to look around this room and tell me whose picture you want me to take.”

“Like someone pretty?”

“No. At random. In fact, close your eyes when you do it.”

The woman closes her eyes and giggles slightly as Cadejo spins her around slowly.

“Them.”

Her eyes are still closed, and she points to a young, very attractive man in a small group of friends. He is not the center of their attention. Just sits with them, laughing and drinking.

“You’re perfect.” His whispers against her neck.

“Thank you.”

El Cadejo lifts his camera, focuses on the man and snaps the picture.

He puts the camera down and looks back to his new companion as she nurses her soda. “Before we get home, before we even leave actually, etiquette tells me I need to ask your name.”

“I didn’t ask yours.”

“You would prefer namelessness?”

“I don’t mind strangers.”

Cadejo smiles and bites his lip lightly and grabs his glass, draining it completely, with much hunger.

-

After eating and making love, the woman lays in Cadejo’s bed, naked, with the sheet barely managing to hide her body.

“I might not have asked your name, but I’m big on cuddling.”

Cadejo stands in front of a wall, naked as well, and laughs at her statement.

“You’re a myriad of paradoxes, my dear. But I will be with you shortly.”

He had the film developed and holds the photo he took in the bar. The man was smiling at the time of the photo. She gets up and hugs him from behind, looking at the picture.

“Who is that?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Friend of mine. Met him today. Just before I met you.”

“Was he nice.”

“He was happy. And I think that’s all that matters.” Cadejo takes a pin and puts the photo to the wall.

The two of them stand back and look at the wall together. The paint was peeling and faded. But it couldn’t really be seen now. The entire wall, from corner to corner, is covered in photos of people. Men, women, and children. All ages. All races. Most are smiling, willing participants. Some are reading or looking elsewhere, distracted with their lives, worried about one thing or another.

These are the forgotten. None of them exist. Outside of this wall. I am the king of the forgotten.The King in Black

“I really like your art,” she pushes her face into his neck, speaking the words into his skin.

He holds her hand to his chest, and looks back to see her eyes. “You got another round in you? I ain’t tired yet.”

“We’ll change that.”

The kisses are hard and fast.

“I’ll let you take pictures. If you really want. You seem to have a thing for that.”

El Cadejo smiles and shakes his head.

“No. I think I want to remember you.”

North: Winter: The Highland

NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE (1b)

It never rains here. Just seems like it wants to. Like it should rain.

Ranger Campbell arrives at the scene, and as far as he knew, he was the first to get the call, and should have been the first there, but someone had beat him to it. In the apartment living room, with a red stained carpet, he finds Detective Marston already present, standing over the victim.

Campbell had seen him only a few times before, once or twice at scenes, but his office was on the other side of the precinct, so rarely at work, if ever, but Marston always struck him as odd. He was wearing spotless black gloves, Campbell had never seen gloves quite as clean as that. The other thing that stuck out was the detective’s suit, not the suit itself, which was just a normal black with a purple tie, but it was the way the suit fit the detective. It fit him perfectly. Whenever Campbell wore suits, they were always just a little too big or just a pinch too tight. His ash grey hair wasn’t that odd either, as odd as that in and of itself may seem. The blue skin? Maybe. His domino mask? Again, Campbell was unsure what he truly felt for this man, outside of mild arousal.

“Sir, I didn't expect anyone to be here yet,” Campbell steps toward Marston, and inhales his scent and fights of his urge to become erect.

“Heard the call over the wire. Had to see it for myself,” Marston lowers himself to look at the victim better, to inspect the wounds more.

The stabbing was rather gruesome. And the bloodshed was severe. The killer didn’t use just one knife. They used three. None from the kitchen set, and all three rest in a row beside the body. Placed there carefully, as if showing off. One of the knives is much larger than the other two, and has a bit of grey matter clinging to it, while the other two, the smaller ones, are simply coated in red.

“I’ve never seen one like this,” Campbell says looking at Marston.

“No. They aren't usually this bad.” The victim's head has been removed, and like the knives, placed beside the body, on display.

Marston stands and looks at Campbell.

“Good luck, sir.” The younger Ranger offers his hand.

“Forensics are going to come through. Make sure they call and send me all their findings. I’ll see you soon, Campbell,” Marston places his card in Campbell’s hand and leaves the room, passing the forensics team on the stairs.

Campbell keeps watching until he can no longer see Marston. He looks down at the card and hides a smile but really tries to hide the growth in his boxers.

-

Marston looks at his glass of scotch, the caramel colored liquid melting the large ice sphere in the glass. He had attempted to remove responsibility from his body, at least for the moment: his phone, gun, and badge all on the bar beside his drink.

“Detective Marston?” She was a tiny little thing, almost swimming in her clothes, her hair kept in a messy bun, but her glasses were very nice.

“Evening.” He gave her a smile as she sits next to him.

“I guess you've never seen my face. I'm Euphemia Rose. We talked on the phone a few days ago. You agreed to an interview.”

“Oh.” He grabs his glass. “This might not be the best time for that. I just caught a case.”

She perks up, grabbing her pen from her ear, her notepad already in her hand. “That might be the best time to talk then.”

He laughs, not even bringing the glass to his lips. “You can't write about...” then he laughs more, “What are you gonna do, just embed yourself in the investigation?” He was surprised with her.

“This is my first real piece for the Daily. They've had me on album reviews before. I liked it enough but, I've heard some rumors. So, I'll by the drinks if you let me stick around.”

He was surprised by her confidence. “They even pay you enough for drinks?”

She laughs under her breath, looking at the glass of water in front of her. “No.”

“I get to read it before you publish it.”

“I can do that.”

“Then you can stick around. I got the drinks.” Marston looks to Wednesday, and points at Euphemia. The man gets her a scotch too.

“Thank you.”

“You staying the night?” Wednesday asks.

“Probably a couple,” Marston says.

“Rooms ready whenever you are.” The old man pats the wood of the bar before heading down to tend to someone else.

“I didn't know this place had rooms to stay in,” Euphemia looks at him confused.

“Pink Boar always has room for those who need it.” His phone vibrates, forensic team had sent over their first report, mostly just pictures. Photos of the scene, the body, and items in the victim's pockets. He looks over and she's staring at him, not excited, but there is anticipation.

“Uh... I don't know if you will want to see.”

“Is it really bad?”

He puts his phone down, screen up, so she can make her own decision. “They cut his head off.”

Her jaw tightens and she makes a face, breathing in through her teeth, and looks at him. “Oh god.” She slowly grabs the phone and looks through the photos. She seems almost sick for most of them. She slides his phone back to him. “None of those knives seem big enough.”

“No. They aren't. They haven't reported it yet but the cut on the neck.” He points at his own. “Or, through it, was done in one motion. It's none of these. Something bigger.”

“So...” she is making notes already, trying to get everything down. “We're looking for a new weapon?”

“It seems that way,” Marston says and finishes his glass, rubbing his face as he swallows, thinking as it burns at his eyes.

“What is it?” Euphemia asks.

“Not sure yet. Something missed. Can we pick this up tomorrow? I got to go check something out.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She smiles, excited he had agreed to keep her on.

“Just come by my office. And get another drink if you want. Wednesday will take care of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't worry about it,” He pats her back as he leaves, leaving his gun and badge, only bringing his phone.

-

He left the lights off, only a dull yellow enters the room from the street lights outside. Marston stands over the blood stains in the floor. There's a flood of it. They bleed him out… not even from the stabbings. They let it pool like this.

He walks to the door, opens it, and checks the hinge; no forced entry. He walks to the wall, looking at photos of the victim with his wife. They're both smiling.

Marston moves into their bedroom. He enters their closest and begins looking through their photo albums. Nothing really. He puts them back.

He moves to their drawers. Nothing in there jumped out. He does find the wife’s vibrator. It's pink and he looks at it for a moment, then reaches into his suit pocket, getting a evidence bag to put it in.

Either going to be an awkward conversation with someone down in the lab, or exoneration for the wife. Probably both. 

He enters the children's room now. The two sons shared it. Marston looks at the various superhero and TV show posters on the wall. He looks through the closest, finding nothing.

He sits on one of the beds and looks to the night stand. In it he finds a box of art. He looks through the drawings and paintings, mostly of animals or just a series of colors, but something stops him. It is a dark drawing, looking like a demon. Roaring. It’s teeth are soaked in blood. It seems to have an erection. Marston holds the picture up then puts it in his suit pocket as well. He leaves the room.

Once again in the living room, he looks back to the blood. Then back to the front door.

Outside, overlooking the parking lot, he finds a single drop of blood beside his foot, almost stepped on it it was so small.

Prepared. They didn't leave anything inside.

He grabs his phone. “This is Detective Marston. Yeah, hey, I know it's late but can you send the team back to the Matthews house? I need a survey of the parking lot and sidewalk. I think our guy got ready outside. See if we can pull a tire print.”

“Got it, boss.”

Marston hangs up and looks down at the drop. At that red drop. He takes a deep breath, so cold it's visible when he exhales.

-

Interview #1

Euphemia sits on the other side of the two way glass, unable to take her eyes off Marston. Something about him completely threw her off. No balance. There's a heat and a hum. Eyes have a hard time focusing. Heart flutters the whole time.

Marston is looking over several files and pieces of paper in front of him.

“Can you tell me where you were at the time of your husband’s murder, Mrs. Matthews?”

“I was at the office. I had a last minute project to finish and submit.”

“It's estimated that the home invasion began around 9:00 pm. Was there anyone in the office that could confirm you were there at this time?”

Mrs. Matthew looks at Marston.

“Am I… am I a suspect?”

“No. I'm making an effort to rule you out. This is a necessary step and I'm sorry if it is making you uncomfortable, Mrs. Matthews.”

Mrs. Matthews sighs, and brings both of her hands up, hugging her arms and chest. “No one was in the office. I was alone”.

Marston leans back and looks to the glass, and Euphemia can feel him looking directly at her, knowing exactly where her eyes are. He rolls his tongue in his mouth, and considers not asking, but he has to.

“Mrs. Matthews, were you having an affair?”

“What did you just say to me?” She doesn't blink or hesitate.

“We… recovered a personal item from your home.” He shifts in his seat. “There were two sets of DNA on it. Your husband’s was not on it.”

“Personal item?” She's weak in breath.

“Are you having an affair with your sons’ babysitter?”

Mrs. Matthews holds her breath completely now, squeezing her chest, and looks at Marston, past his mask and into his eyes.

She mouths the answer a few times before giving it voice. “… yes.”

“And you were with her at the time of his death?”

A tear goes down her face and she covers her mouth. She can’t speak. Just nods.

Marston looks back to the glass and nods as well.

“Mrs. Matthews, that is good news. We'll need to contact the babysitter, and once she confirms you were with her, you won’t be a suspect anymore.”

“I should have been home…”

“No. You would not have wanted to see what they did to him,” Marston says and holds his hands out.

Mrs. Matthews is trembling but slowly puts her hands into his, letting his fingers embrace hers.

“But I promise you, I will catch whoever did this. They will see justice for this crime.”

Mrs. Matthews keeps nodding and squeezes Marston’s hands tighter.

Euphemia clutches at her thighs, almost trembling herself.

Afterwards, in the restroom, her panties are at her ankles and Marston’s face is pressed tight between her legs. She grips his hair hard and makes no effort to hold back her moans. The sensation grows and within moments is released. Marston stands and turns on the sink, washing away the wetness left on his face.

“Get your fucking pants back on and act like a professional.”

Marston leaves Euphemia to fix herself back up, shaking his head as he hears her giggling.

He comes back to his office, Mrs. Matthews and her two sons waiting by his desk.

“Mrs. Matthews, if I could have one more, quiet, word with you.”

“Of course.”

The two walk back into the interviewing room, but don’t sit. Marston pulls the drawing from his suit jacket and hands it to Mrs. Matthews.

“This was something else I found in your home. I don’t know if you've seen it before.”

“I haven’t,” Mrs. Matthews says as she looks at the drawing.

“Your younger son was home at the time of the murder. When you arrived, he was asleep, unaware of what happened.”

“Oh my god,” Mrs. Matthews grabs the table, in order to keep from falling.

“I think he may have seen something.”

“Are… are you saying this is who killed my husband?” Mrs. Matthews drops the drawing, unable to hold it.

“I'm saying it's a possibility. And the only lead I have right now. I would like to talk to your son. Not now, but soon. Maybe talk to him today? Come back if you think he is up for it.”

“I'll try, Mr. Marston”.

“Thank you. I'll walk you to your car.”

-

Interview #2

“Julie was it?”

“Yes.” Julie, the Matthews’ babysitter is a 25 year old woman. Fit and tan. There's something radiating about her. Her body scent is very difference, like fruit and flowers, but naturally, like something from the earth itself.

“Mrs. Matthews says she was with you at the time of her husband’s death. What were you two doing?”

“We were having dinner. I had the reservation in my name and if you need to call the restaurant, I can give you the number.”

“That would be very helpful actually.”

Julie hands the card to Marston.

“Are they open right now?”

“They should be.”

“Hang on.” Marston gets up and walks out of the interview room and to where Euphemia is sitting, and hands her the card. “Can you call them for me?”

“Really?” She looks at him with eyes of awe.

“Yeah. Just mention my name. You'll be fine.”

“Okay,” she looks at the card and smiles.

Marston comes back to Julie, asking the next question before he even sits down. “How long have you and Mrs. Matthews been involved?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long was the affair?”

“Well… we had two phases really.” She puts on finger to her bottom lip. “The first night she hired me, we fucked in her bed”

Marston stops writing. He looks up at Julie.

“It took a few weeks before we started going on actual dates. We used to pick the boys up from school together. I would visit her office on my off days”

Marston looks down, and sees Julie’s bare foot pressing into his crotch.

“How did you feel about Mr. Matthews?”

“I was jealous of him.”

“Julie, you have a right for an attorney to be present.”

“I'm not confessing, Detective. I didn’t kill him. I'm just answering your question.”

Her foot strokes against him more. Marston shifts and grips the side of the table tight. Julie smiles softly as she sees this.

“Just jealous?”

“No. I didn’t really trust him either. I didn’t like being alone with him.”

“You felt unsafe around him?”

“I felt uneasy.”

“Because of the affair?”

Julie lowers her feet.

“Among other things.”

Euphemia opens the door, tries to make herself smaller when Julie looks at her. “Sorry,” she says to her, then looks at Marston, “She checks out. They were there for two hours. Paid with a credit card. The place has time stamps and everything.”

Marston twists his tongue in his mouth and stands.

“That was all we needed. Thank you for your time, Julie”

She shakes his hand. “Call me anytime.”

Julie leaves both of them in the interview room, and once the door closes, Euphemia turns to him. “Good new, bad news?”

Marston sighs and leans against the table, shaking his head.

“She left that,” Euphemia points to Julie's purse.

He grabs it, it's small and open, so he looks inside, having her wallet, a pack of gum, and lipstick inside. And a blank business card. Marston flips it over, blank there too. He removes his glove and runs his finger over it, feeling no ink. He had seen this before. He puts the card in his pocket and leaves the room with the purse, Euphemia left still confused.

At the elevator, Marston catches up to Julie. “You forgot this.”

 She smiles and takes it from him, their hands touching. “Thank you. I was wondering how long it would take you to notice it.”

The elevator bings.

“You should really call me again.” Julie enters the elevator and Marston watches the doors close on her smile.

Euphemia walks to his side. “What the fuck was that, boss?”

“I don’t even know. But I need to check something.”

In the evidence room, Marston opens the box containing Mr. Matthews blood soaked clothes and the knives from the scene. Among these things however, is an identical white business card to the one Julie had.

Marston removes the card from the bag and puts it with the one he took from Julie.

Back in his office, Marston finds Euphemia at his desk, writing on her notepad.

“What do you make of this?” Marston asks and drops both cards in front of her.

“They’re blank.”

“First is from Julie’s purse. The other was on Matthews’ body. In his pocket. They ran it, no print on it. Not even his own.”

“How do you get something in your pocket without touching it?”

Marston sits down. “You tell me. So even with her alibi, Julie just shot up to the fucking top of the suspect list.”

“What do you want to do?” She looks at him and that awe is still there, but it's getting sharper.

He thinks a moment, but all he can picture is Julie's toes pressing into his crotch, and the smell of her. Lilacs.

“Do you know if there's a flower shop nearby?”

-

Marston places a bouquet of lilacs on the front step of his house. He kisses his hand and puts it to the front door but doesn't knock. He crosses the street, back over to Euphemia, and together they look at his home. A two story town house. It didn’t look old, but it was. The foundations go all the way down to the bedrock. Not even an earthquake could take this place.

“You know, you never really explained why you leave home when you work a case.”

“You weren’t there when I started out. You didn’t see how I was back then.”

“It was bad?”

“First case I worked was, uh… a triple homicide. Father. Mother. Son. He butchered all three. Eat a part of them.”

Marston drops his head, pushing his thumb between the nail and the flesh of his middle finger.

“The family had a daughter. She was four. She watched the entire thing.”

It's got to be half the Summerlands at the dining table, and even more outside, several generations brought together for the feast, the nightly bounty. A celebration of nothing other than simply being here, enjoyment of the work. There are big bottles of beer being passed down the rows, a few of the younger ones stealing some sips. The pupusas were going fast, as usual, but the steak and chicken was trying to hold people through. They had grilled vegetables, peppers too. There was no one server, people would get up and simply ask what the others needed. And that kindness was always returned.

“I got to say, this is probably the best thing I've ever eaten in my life,” Euphemia says as she finishes her third pupusa, getting an extra helping of curtido. “And what did you say this little herb was called again?”

“Loroco. We grow it right there,” Callisto points to flowerbed right in front of the house.

Saturn gives a long laugh, her glass of wine always topped up. She leans toward Euphemia. “In the words of my husband, salvy style.”

The feast is long and people eat well. They clear most of the food, most, but leave some to snack on as they drink and keep talking. Some families leave, children to put to bed. Some kids stay while their parents head home, to enjoy the night for themselves as the younger ones keep playing.

With the moon high now, he finally emerges. Behold the man—or maybe more. Jupiter. The Obsidian King.

Skin dark from the sun. A heavy beard with a white streak of age down the middle. A huge man, tall and fat, a wealth of the body, of the riches that actually matter, and arms strong from long days of work. Behind him, following, is a pack of grey wolves, all seem tired but well fed, like heroes returning after a hunt. The pack sit around the cadejo, and he greets each one to count, and once he has the full pack, he lowers his head and they all begin to rest.

Jupiter enters and kisses his wife, then looks to Euphemia.

“Where's the boy?”

She points out, Lion watching the moon.

“Yeah, now let's see if he's finally ready.”

“Now?” Euphemia asks, suddenly standing.

“Why not.” Jupiter whistles loud and Lion rises to the call.

As the beast gets close, Jupiter removes his shirt, his entire chest scarred and burned, marked and carved. He takes a hand full of the dirt under his feet and drags the soil against his chest.

Once the boy is close, Jupiter speaks as he does, an animal language, a roar, and all eyes turn to him and Lion.

Callisto holds Euphemia's hand. “Stop worrying. It's just ritualistic.”

“It still has meaning,” her eyes never leave her Lion.

At first he's on all fours, but as they circle each other, he rises to two feet, trying to match the man before him. But Jupiter stalks like an animal, breathing hard through his nose, sending signals that only a beast would understand. Euphemia squeezes Callisto's hand tight, and the two of them clash.

They grab each other first, struggling to grip and hold the other, both roaring, and Jupiter manages to get a lock, but Lion lifts him with his back and shakes him off. They pace back from each other, looking for a moment to shoot, to strike, and Lion sees it first. He slams into Jupiter's gut and takes him to the ground, fighting to get the pin, but Jupiter easily holds him off, holding both of his wrists and keeps him from pressing his advantage. Though he has top position, he's off balance, and Jupiter capitalizes and rolls, shifting them around and manages to get the lock again and this time, the pin. Lion fights hard, thrashes, roars, and pushes to free himself again, but Jupiter presses the lock just a little more, applies the smallest of pressure and Lion settles. He taps and Jupiter releases the hold.

Jupiter gives a laugh and lifts Lion's hand high, as those watching clap and cheer, rising their own glasses to toast the Lion.

The boy however keeps his head low, and when Jupiter notices, he takes Lion's face and looks into his eyes. The two touch foreheads and share a word and embrace.

“You're ready.”

“Io, mi amor. My hammer.”

The youngest, a tiny little one who favored her mother's features, comes forward holding her father's great hammer. It's bigger than her body, a handle of purpleheart, the driver some great weight, bigger than a man's head. She hands it to her father and he presents it to Lion with a smile.

Lion takes the handle and his feet begin to sink into the dirt from the weight. Jupiter loses his smile, and Lion grabs the handle with both hands, the air around him becoming heavy, visible even, and he begins to growl.

“Breathe deep and keep your shoulders strong, son.” Jupiter begins to release the hammer, beginning to leave Lion to fend for himself. “Don't lose yourself in the struggle of it all. It's here now. Embrace it. Be true. Be here. Be real.” His bones crack and grind and his shadow makes a depression in the earth as well.

“Remember who you are.”

Lion exhales through both of his noses, closes his eyes, and lets his heart beat. He loosens his grip and everything becomes light.

“Remember your name.”

The pressure snaps away from him, a quick breeze washing over the house and the guests. The wood, the metal, it feels weightless now, like a part of his own body, the unnoticed weight of your own arms. He only needs one hand to hold the hammer now.

Euphemia leaves the house and walks toward her Lion, looking at him in awe, the wind still coming off his coat. The two look at each other, and there in his eye is something new. She can feel it, something different, grown, changed shape. It's still him, but something more.

“Speak to her.”

And he does, not in words like ours, but in words of beyond, words that come to life and dance through the air, words that hang in the ear, that linger and expand, words that reshape the land itself. She looks out to the endless grasslands, to the fields forever of his heart, to the inescapable truth, to the center. The blade of the grass are soft on her palm. The sun is warm on her face. The air, she can taste it, the water in the distance, the sand, the soil. She doesn't need to walk to find them, they have always been there. A father and his cub.

They touch noses first, then the father begins to clean his son's fur. Annoyed, the cub gives a low growl, unable to roar yet, and pushes over his father. The king surrenders and lets the tiny cub tackle him. The little one bites his father's ear and the king gives a great cry and the cub stands triumphant, before returning to his father's paw and sleeping in his embrace.

These are the words he speaks to her and she is left with her own words gone, for what could she truly say. She puts her head to his chest and slowly he wraps his arms around her body. He speaks to her again, a single word this time, something new and bright and she looks up at him with tears in her eyes and they kiss.

The ceremony is over, the feast was done. Some would still remain, but for others, they would leave with stories of a birth, of unity. Of remembrance.

-

Jupiter rests outside, Io asleep on his chest, both enjoying the night air, and the quiet of all other's being asleep. Euphemia kisses Lion's head and leaves the guest house. She considers leaving in general, taking the one paved road out of the Summerlands, not escaping, just walking. But when she sees Jupiter, she goes to his side. She sits beside him but he doesn't open his eyes.

“Are you finally going to tell me the truth?” she asks.

“What truth is that?”

“All of it. Everyone I've talked to, every single one, first hand accounts, say they saw you swing that hammer twice, and raised the entire wall on your own. Two swings, one for the rock and the second for the trees,” Euphemia explains.

“That's not true. Took us damn near a decade, and every family helped. The little ones picked the stones, the older ones planted the seeds. And then we waited.”

She looks at him, at his unfazed and calm face, at his daughter sleeping against him. “I don't believe you.”

He smiles and opens his eyes. “You're right. But your facts are wrong. It was only one swing to raise the entire thing. The trees carried the rock. The wall is from a single hammer fall.”

Euphemia is silent and brings her knees toward her chest, hugging them close.

“Is he going to be okay?” Euphemia asks after just sitting beside him.

“There are many things he gonna be.” Jupiter points to the sky, to a star, and as he moves his finger, the star follows, until he sends it shooting through the night. “And all of them are for him to decide.”

“He'll do what we all do.” Jupiter waves his hand, and all those far off stars seem to be falling. Not dropping or ending, just being sent on a new journey, a new path, the old light revealing new. “Decide for ourselves.”

The three of them stay there, watching the light pass over head, a shower of stars, searching for a new place, forever in flight until they arrive where they need to be.

-

“They're late,” Euphemia says, taking another sip of her beer.

“We're early.” Callisto looks over and tugs Euphemia's notebook toward her, to see what she is drawing. “What is that?”

“A map of the city. I've been drawing it from memory.”

“You have the shape wrong.”

The door to the Pink Boar opens and the two of them turn around to see Elric and Rhego. The boy gives a laugh and walks right toward Callisto. She turns in her seat and he stands between her legs. They don't say anything, they touch foreheads and then kiss. She lingers for a second, and then kisses him again.

“One day?”

“Maybe.” She smiles and pushes him away. “Maybe.”

Elric takes her shades off and looks at Euphemia. It was the first time in what would otherwise have been forever. They both want to smile, and half do, but then don't. Elric holds her hand out, and Euphemia takes it.

“You keep him safe?”

“I'll bring him home. When he's ready.” She squeezes in reassurance. “I promise.”

Euphemia blinks until her eyes are clear and takes a deep breath in. “You know, I was brutally in love with you.”

Now Elric smiles, and turns her head to see Rhego and Lion sizing each other up. “Yeah well, maybe you choose right this time.” She kisses Euphemia's forehead and puts her glasses back on.

The others give her a final moment with her Lion. An embrace, a kiss, and a word he teaches her to say. She nods her head and holds his hand as long as she can until he finally leaves. When the doors close she almost falls over.

She takes her seat next to Callisto, and says the word again, to herself, to remember it, to simply speak his voice again.

“Do you know what it means?” Callisto asks.

“Not that one. Not yet. I can kind of figure the other ones, but that one is so new.”

Callisto nods. “It's a hard language. Our first. That word means a lot of things, as they do. But in it's simplest forms, the most base emotion of it, means to return.”

Euphemia looks at her drawn map. Streets leading nowhere, branching around, breaking and then reconnecting later, attempting to show the movement of it, the shifts, the fluidity.

“To return.”

She marks the four ends of the city, the four divine directions, and using them, she draws the true shape of Messina.

It's a circle, perfectly round at the edges.

Sacrifice /ˈsakrəˌfīs/ v. “In these final hours, I will lay down my heart”

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Antique French Tile Ulysse Blois E Balon C1900 Heraldic Crest Tile ebay thetreasurehuntershouse2

[sustraiii]

Was fortunate to get not one but two commissions from @sthefbooh again recently! This time I had the “gone but not forgotten” members of team BUN, and one of Edelweiss who hasn’t been seen on here for a while!!

[toycoheartful]

Alejandra Transvaal Lioness (Alejandra Leona Transvaal) is a Cyclop hybrid Transvaal Lioness PawPant - Who was afraid of other people and She meeting with Rabbidbot "Soraya", Rabbidmini, Hurricane "Heavenly" & Bruce Stone

Name: Alejandra Transvaal Lioness

Species: Cyclop hybrid Transvaal Lioness PawPant

Sexually: Pansexual

Sex: Female

Power: His finger to point the head and to make people hypnotize

Best Friend: Rabbidbot "Soraya" White-Rabbit, Rabbidmini, Hurricane"Heavenly" Kirin, Typhoon "Tasunka" Kirin, Attilio Von Chupacabra, Minnie Monarch Butterfly, Hwa Young Ulysses Butterfly, Wallace "Wainwright" Yellow Crested Cockatoo & Robert Fusibot

Friend: Leo African Lion

Rival: King Balor Boitatá

Theme Song: Another Night by Real McCoy

Voice Actor: Willam Belli on Lady Elza (Super Drags 2018)

"It's all during the nightsky."

[ulyflynn]

Full Name: Ulysses Flynn.

Nicknames: Uly, Flynn.

Pronouns and Gender: He/Him, cis man.

Age: 27 + August 17th.

Birth place: Aurora Bay.

How long have they been in town?: His whole life / in prison for 2 years from 23-25 / back in town 11 months (as of August 2023).

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Housing: Ocean Crest Apartments.

Occupation: Bartender at Oasis Nightclub.

Family: Samuel "Switchblade" Flynn (father), Louise (estranged mother).

tw for abandonment, violence, assault, injury, prison. // @aurorabayaesthetic

BIO:

switchblade found out about ulysses when he found a screaming two week old on his door step with nothing more than a note that said ‘he’s yours’ tucked into a blue blanket with the name ulysses stitched on it. 

he thought it was a stupid fucking name, which is exactly why he never bothered to change it.

despite keeping him and raising him to the best of his ability, ulysses father wasn’t the most equipped to be a single father. if not for the members of the biker club his father had been in, uly's certain he wouldn't have made it to adulthood.

the life lessons he learned from a young age were violence and how not to get caught. he considers himself a pro at both. 

he’s never had much ambition beyond wanting to get easy money, and tried to drop out/get himself kicked out of school from age 12 onwards. his father forced him to stay and insisted he finish high school and ulysses made that everyone else’s problem from faculty to his peers. 

he managed to make it to graduation, but once he was handed his diploma his main focus was how he could get quick cash with the least amount of effort.

at 20, his father went on a bender and never came back. he hasn't heard from him since, but every now and then he checks his old trailer for any signs of life.

had a crush on a girl called edith teller ever since he was first able to decipher what a crush was. 

eventually, he managed to convince her to give him a real chance despite their differing views on his penchant for lawbreaking.

what followed was the most at peace he’s ever been in his life between that and working the odd jobs he did. he felt like he had figured out what life’s supposed to feel like, until he fucked it up. 

after edie was followed and harassed by a man who wouldn't take a hint after her shift end one night, uly took it upon himself to make sure that didn’t happen again. 

the following night, the man was found with a cracked skull and lost of vision in his right eye due to a vicious crowbar attack. be it adrenaline or plain stupidity, uly got himself caught when a very clear image of him on a CCTV camera in the parking lot got made him the only person of interest in the attack immediately after it.

due to this, jail time for aggravated assault was inevitable and he was eventually sentenced to two years in prison. 

he was paroled 6 months ago and is now adjusting to life as a free man and is trying -- and often times failing -- to stay out of trouble. 

PERSONALITY.

+ witty, driven, loyal, fearless.

- hotheaded, confrontational, obsessive, vengeful. 

BONUS ROUND.

uly’s birthchart.

he still has the note that his birth mother left when she abandoned him to remind him that blood doesn’t equal family. 

not a fan of cars, can be seen cruising around town on his motorbike.

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

cousin of @gcldengrime and @liamburkes (muse no longer in game but still canon)

found family / inherited @phoebekeller

former roomies with @rinaxcicero (muse no longer in game but still canon)

current roomie of @colexwalters

one half of an idiot sandwich with @heyits-asher

friend of @thewrenxharlow

former situational roomie of @thegillyxliang

ex boyfriend of @pearlwestbrook (muse no longer in game but still canon)

ex-boyfriend of @edietello

co-worker of @lorelailewis

employee of @borawinters

cousin of @jordanmitchell

(recently discovered) half brother of @vanessagable

ex boyfriend from high school of @helenasoarcs

former friend / almost had a threesome in high school with @fionaosmvn (muse no longer in game but still canon)

neighbour / crush of @gcldrushed

past fwb of @noralevin

friend of @solaadisa

fwb (minus the friends part) of @madiiscn

pseudo-fam of / will break legs for @marsmoran

friend of @ninaxgray

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

a roommate probs, why are all my muses unable to live on their own financially JSHGSHJ we'll never know!!

a best friend, the legit kind that he can tell everything to

post prison fling. it's probs a whole mess

co-workers at oasis night clerb!!!

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

best friend / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / a mentor / fellow club members / older club members he admires / friends / drunk friends / prison pen pals / new friends / co-workers from past odd jobs / former co-workers.

romantic.

flirtationship / friends with benefits / tinder matches / high school exes / unrequited crush (can be either way) / experimented with their sexuality together (he’s bisexual). 

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / fell for the same person & fell out of touch / frenemies / rivals / negative influence / former co-workers / people he’s fucked over in the past or has fucked him over. 

[thenamesblurrito]

Ahshdbdbdjd I must know what each of those 5 emblems represent.

i'm assuming you mean the ones on Stone's colony profile here? it's the heraldry of each Aventuri city-state! Stone did a good job of boiling down the iconography. i made some "flags" for them bc i like quick and dirty vexillology, and it also helps me establish some visual cultural touchstones like colors and symbols real quick. each of them are roughly modeled after their Titan in some way, which will make more sense when i draw and post them lol

the Ulyssean flag is a mashup of a ship, an iceberg, a whale, and a rocket, very nautical themed for the mostly ocean city-state. i didn't want an explicit whale/fish shape because this isn't meant to be merformer central, but the concept is there. it's also got a dark background, since most of Ulysses is on the shadelocked side of the planet

the Temperic flag is actually pretty abstract. it's a rocket, an explosion, a firing cannon, an icebreaker, and a collection of ore and mineral. the three sharp lines come from the three tripod legs Adamant has, and the steely grey, blue, and black represent the Temperic industrial drive. it's also diagonally symmetrical instead of vertically, being more dynamic and weighted that way

the Valian flag is the closest to "real" heraldry, with a vaguely tapestry look, a pseudo shield backdrop, crossed weapons, and a shape suggesting a knight's helm. it's also kind of meant to look like a classic playing card. the dark red and pink are a little rich and noble but also grim and violent, and the blank visor of the knight's helm can be as determined or as bloodthirsty as you think it is

the Divinexi flag is pretty abstract too. it's bright, sharp, and gilded, fitting for a culture that holds itself to high standards. it's sort of a winged crest, sort of a Statue of Liberty style crown, sort of a halo of sunlight, sort of a rising tower. Triumpha has that kind of crown helm like IDW Tyrest, so it fits well

the Spectral flag is an outlier here, it's not symmetrical at all. it's more faded and mostly grey than the other flags, with lantern and chain iconography, representing more what Fairwell holds than their physical features. it's meant to look sort of like a foggy night or a half-remembered dream, a quiet light in the misty twilight. considering this city-state is the one right smack dab in the middle of the sunlocked side of the planet, this is rather ironic

[aurorabayrpg]

On Friday night Ocean Crest Apartments caught fire, having started in a vacant apartment on the 10th floor. What was originally thought to have been an accident though was quickly discovered to be an act of arson.

Ten minutes after the fire in Ocean Crest began, town hall was raided and set on fire from within. Aurora Bay's mayor, Raymond Ellis, was found tied to a chair. He was rushed to the Emergency Medical Center but due to his severe burns and smoke inhalation, he did not survive.

It is evident that there were multiple people involved in this, though no one has been found guilty at this time.

Detective Diego Martinez is leading the investigation, so there is no doubt in anyone's mind that there will be an end to this soon.

Sadly, though, not everyone made it out of the Ocean Crest. The apartment fire took the lives of three residents from extensive burn injuries and smoke inhalation, and the town hall's fire took the lives of two.

While Ocean Crest is still standing, there is quite a lot of damage done to the interior. The fire damaged most of the top floors rather than those below, but those who live in Ocean Crest must find places to stay during renovations, which will take approximately one month. Thankfully since school is out for the summer, the shelters will stay in place in the gymnasiums in our Elementary and High School, and the Seascape Hotel will offer discounted rates for those affected by the fire. Just like we did during the storm our town saw a few months ago, we will take care of our residents to the absolute best of our ability.

Ocean Crest Deaths:

Darren Winters (NPC)

Tina Delores (NPC)

Adrian Hollyn (NPC)

Town Hall Deaths:

Mayor Raymond Ellis (NPC)

Secretary Karen Michaels (NPC)

Those injured:

Celeste Zhao (Natasha Liu Bordizzo) - smoke inhalation

Connor Rose (Andrew Garfield) - smoke inhalation, burn on his arm

Dallas Jones (Mason Gooding) - smoke inhalation

Jude Bordelon (Charlie Hunnam) - smoke inhalation, burns on arm and chest

Lucas Donovan (Tom Holland) - smoke inhalation, burn on his arm.

Wes Evans (Timothee Chalamet) - Smoke inhalation, burn on his arm.

Suspects:

Blake Dixon (Hailee Steinfeld)

Darcy Anthony (Zendaya Coleman)

Evie Watson (Maya Hawke)

Imani Lihn (Karrueche Tran)

Jackson Ellis (Alex Fitzalan)

Jameson Cassidy (Joseph Quinn)

Ulysses Flynn (Jacob Elordi)

Head Detective on the case:

Diego Martinez (Oscar Isaac)

Firefighters that helped:

Cristian Valdes (Pedro Pascal)

Dallas Jones (Mason Gooding)

Raleigh Reese (Sophia Bush)

A statement from our Head Detective will be given within the next few days.

OOC Info below the cut:

While it is now known that the Mayor was stealing money from the town, the fact that the fires are linked to that is still speculation at this time.

People will have heard about masked figures that were spotted fleeing the scenes of both crimes that night, so there will definitely be talk of that.

The suspects are listed above, so feel free to have characters completely believe they are guilty or totally innocent. (but of course, none of the suspects above are guilty, as the culprits are both NPCs, but it just adds to the drama!)

What people will start to realize is that the descriptions of the masked figures seen leaving the scenes will not match the descriptions of any of the names listed above, so with that, along with other evidence that will come out slowly, the suspects above will be ruled out.

We've asked the mun of Diego Martinez if they would like to write a statement for him to share, so that will be posted along with more information about the event as the mystery starts to unfold!

If you have police officers or firefighters who would like to make statements, please message the main and we can plot it out!

As stated above, those who are living in Ocean Crest will need to find places to stay until renovations are done. Feel free to plot out temporary-roommates or anything like that! anyone without a person to stay with can stay in either of the school gyms, or can rent out a room at the hotel or b&b

So! The mystery has yet to be sovled! We wanted to give time for characters to speculate about what is going on and who is behind it! We love the IC drama and there's just so much that can happen with this!

Admin notes will come out every few days with more information on what has happened and what's going on. We'll also keep our muns who have characters heavily involved in the case in the loop!

As always, after the first three open starters are posted, please reply to at least two before posting your own!

You may continue threads from the event, but please tag them aurorabay.fire

[pissylittlebirdboy]

his head crest flared open along with his tail. he hissed while his vision and hearing turned to static and mush. his edges went shadowy black, flickering like flame. breathe, breathe, Ulysses. don’t go back there. you’re okay. it’s fine. the flies’ voices don’t matter. you’re alright.

his vision and hearing cleared. His edges solidified.

..wha?

His flies are alive. I hadn't considered resurrection... except that would probably kill me. Never mind.

It's important to note, those aren't Ulysses' flies. They're Beelzebub's flies. He's wasting away from the inside out.