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Front page of the Tulsa Tribune during the Tulsa Race Massacre, 6/1/1921.

Series: Central Decimal Files, 1881 - 1982

Collection: Records of the American National Red Cross, 1881 - 2008

Transcription:

THE PEOPLE'S PAPER

The Tulsa Tribune

THE WEATHER SECOND

OKLAHOMA - Tonight and Thurs- EXTRA

day part cloudy.

Tulso temperatures: Maximum

today at noon, 85, yesterday, 91;

minimum, 68, yesterday, 61

FULL LEASED WIRE REPORTS OF ASSOCIATED AND UNITED PRESS; UNRIVALED STATE AND FEATURE SERVICE

VOL. XVII - NUMBER 225. TULSA, OKLAHOMA, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 1, 1921. State Edition * * FOURTEEN PAGES - PRICE [TORN] CENTS

COUNTY PUT UNDER MARTIAL LAW

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

7 whites, 68 Negroes Dead --- Fire Rages

PROCLAMATION

All persons not deputied as special officers are ordered to

disarm in a proclamation issued shortly before noon by Mayor

Evans. Persons carrying guns after that hour will be arrested.

The proclamation:

"Armed troops, well equipped, have now arrived who, with

the assistance of the local authorities, will be able to control

the situation in this city. Everyone is directed to preserve law

an dorder and to avoid under every circumstance, the gather-

ing on the streets of curious and excited masses. This only

tends to make the situation worse for the authorities in restor-

ing order, making it more burdensome and complicated. No

loyal citien of Tulsa will willingly commit any act which en-

dangers the peace and security of the city. All parties, without

direct authority from the chief of police or the sheriff or Tulsa

county, who may be found after 11 a. m. today bearing arms and

engaged in any act liable to promote a breach of the peace will

be arrested and prosecuted under the Riot Act.

"Headquarters of the National Guards is established in

Room 306, City Hall, at Fourth street and Cincinnati avenue,

and except for duly appointed policeman and deputy sheriffs

all permission to bear ar mfsrom, and after, the publication of

this proclamation must be countersigned by Gen. Charles F.

Barrett or Col. B. F. Markham, commanding the National Guards.

"Gen. Charles F. Barrett concurs in this proclamation."

Dated 10:30 a. m., June First 1921.

"T. D. EVANS, Mayor."

Barrett is Put in Full

Charge by Robertson

OKLAHOMA CITY. - Martial law in Tulsa was ordered by

Governor Robertson at 11:15 o'clock and Adjutant General Bar-

rett placed in command of the city. The order was given over

the long distance telephone and a proclamation to this effect is

being prepared and will be issued immediately.

The order of Governor Robertson invoking martial law

over Tulsa has been extended to include all of Tulsa county. The

order will displace civil control and place it in supreme com-

mand of the adjutant general.

The governor's telegram to the adjutant general follows:

"I have declared martial law throughout Tulsa county and

am holding you responsible for maintenance of order, safety of

lives and protection of property. You will do all things neces-

sary to attain these objects.

(Signed) "J. B. A. ROBERTSON, Governor."

The governor acted after being in communication with of-

ficers in Tulsa. Attorney General Freeling will go to Tulsa this

afternoon.

"The situation at Tulsa seems peculiar to me," Governor

Robertson said. "With power vested in all city and county offi-

cials there to deputie and put into the law enforcement every

citien of the city if necessary, I cannot understand how this

trouble was allowed to get such a start."

Conversation with Adjutant General Barrett was to the ef-

fect that it was impossible for the fire department to enter the

negro section and that the flames were raging unabated.

All available guardsmen will be placed on duty once in

the negro section, which has been entirely destroyed by flames,

General Barrett said when he r[eceived order?] from Governor

Robertson placing the county under martial law.

Orders have been issued to disarm citizens. Later the

military will issu ecrededntials to men chosen as special officers.

A military commission, composed of seven city officials

and business men, to pass upon the guilt of the 6,000 negroes

now held in concentration camp, was formed shortly before

noon by Mayor Evans and Chief of Police Gustafson and ap-

proved by General Barrett. This committee will pass upon the

guilt of those held under guard in the various camps, naming

those who will be held for trial for inciting the black populace

to riot.

The personnel of the committee: C. S. Younkman, water

commissioner; Albert Hunt, district judge; H. F. Newblock,

city commissioner; C. S. Aver, oil man; Grant McCullough,

banker; F. E. White, business man; Alva J. Niles, banker.

The Tulsa Tribbune

RESTORE ORDER

LYNCH law leads not to law but to lawlessness and

lawlessness is a repudiation of government.

Lynch law is a fire brand in the hands of those

who thoughtlessly elect to establish mob rule for law

and order. Lynch law is an impassioned appeal to the

hatreds of prejudice. It brings ignominy and disaster

to any community that falls its victims.

Whatever ground it may have had, a story starts

that a negro in the county jail was to be lynched. Out

of curiosity a crowd collects. A small band of negroes

brings firearms onto the scene. At first they were few

At the outset there was nothing to indicate that the

whites had been moved to a battling protest. But when

the first small band of negroes added to their armed

forces the war began. Tulsa found itself experiencing

a night of terror and the new day dawned with the

[illegible]nd of battle and the sky clouded with the smoke that

rises above the burning buildings and shacks in the

negro end of town.

At such a time as this it is the first duty of every

citizen to restore law and order as quickly as possible.

The National Guard is equal to cope with the rioting

negroes who are already under control. Let every citi-

zen do his duty and lend his fullest influence to the

prompt restoration of law and order. Do this for the

good name of Tulsa. Keep off the streets where there

are evidences of disorder as much as possible. Make

no needlessly threatening display of arms. The state's

soldiers can do that and do it with the authority of the

law.

Now is the time for every citizen to keep a cool

head, to keep out of mob collections. The quickest and

surest way to restore law is to respect the law. Let the

authorized agents of the law handle those who will

not.

BLACK QUARTER BURNS TO GROUND;

FOUR GUARD UNITS TAKE CHARGE

Seven white persons are known to be dead.

One white woman, shot six times, is expected to die.

Thirty-four whites are wounded in three hospitals. Many other wounded persons are

in their own homes.

Sixty-eight negroes, including men, women, and children, are dead, according to reports

from all districts of the black belt where heavy fighting was waged throughout the night

and up to 9 o-clock this morning.

One hundred blacks are believed wounded.

The officials are in control of the situation and no more armed conflicts are expected.

The entire black belt of Tulsa is a charred mass. The business section of

Greenwood avenue is levelled. Scarcely a building escaped the flames set by

torches when an army of whites invaded that district early this morning to an-

ticipate a general attack on the part of the blacks. Officials at noon today were

unable to estimate the total loss which will extend into many thousands of dollars.

It is estimated that more than 500 homes of negroes were burned. A score of

business buildings and a number of factories were razed. Heavy stocks of mer-

chandise were a total loss.

The fire carried by a strong north wind spread into the white residence

section adjoining the black settlement on North Detroit avenue. Ten homes in a

row were burned before firemen could check the flames. One house was burned

in the immediate vicinity of Standpipe hill.

At 12:30 o'clock the fire in this district was rapidly being brought under

control.

Hundres of white women and children fled from their homes as the leap-

ing flames fanned by a strong wind from the north ate their way to the white

belt. About 11 o'clock the wind subdued, giving the firemen a chance to

successfully combat the flames.

A special train bearing 350 National Guardsmen under the command

of Adjutant General Barrett arrived at 9:05 o'clock this morning. General Bar-

rett issued a statement from guard headquarters at the police station that mar-

tial law would not be declared until he had made a hurried investigation.

Only developments will determine if it is to be invoked,

Barrett added. Companies A and B, totaling 150 men, arrived

on the special train from Oklahoma City, with a second troop

train due from the capital about 11 o'clock. Company B and a

sanitary detachment, both located here, are also on duty and

have been since midnight.

The guards after establishing headquarters in Second

street in front of the police station were ordered to various sec-

tions of the black belt. One contingent was sent to Meulty park,

where several hundred negroes are interned.

General Barrett is now acting under orders issued by Mayor

Evans, Chief of Police Gustafson and Sheriff Bill McCullough.

Following a night of rioting, snip-

ing and open clashes between whites

and blacks hundreds of armed men

invaded the negro district to remove

the menace the blacks there offered.

At 5 o'clock scores of armed men in

automobiles drove to the north side

of the black belt in the vicinity of

Standpipe hill. These white fighters

formed one wing of an encircling

movement entirely surrounding the

negro district. Hundreds of pedes-

trains advanced on the black belt

from the south and west. Hundreds

of shots were fired. Many negroes

were reported to have been wound-

ed while a number of whites were

taken to hospitals with wounds.

The heaviest fighting this morn-

ing was in the extreme northern sec-

tion of the black belt. Hundreds of

negroes were concentrated in a val-

ley at the base of Sunset hill. Fifty

were barricaded in a church.

Machine Guns In Use.

Deadly volleys of steel were poured

[into?] the ranks of the whites as they

[advanced?] in open formation against

the blacks who stood their ground.

Finally the whites were forced to re-

treat. A call was sent to police head-

quarters for reinforcements. A num-

ber of guardsmen with two machine

guns were rushed in automobiles to

the scene of the fighting. The ma-

chine guns were set up and for 20

minutes poured a stream of lead on

the negroes who sought refuge be-

hind buildings, telephone poles and

in ditches.

The heavy firing came to a sud-

den halt when a huge white cloth

was raised aloft by the negroes. The

church where many negroes were

barricaded was riddled with bullets,

it was said.

Hundreds of negroes with hands

held high in the air walked from

the valley under the guard of armed

civilians. They were taken to Con-

vention hall and McNulty park,

where they were interned.

Whites who returned from the

battle-swept valley said that at least

50 negroes, including men, women

and children, were lying dead. At 10

o'clock authorities had been unable

to make a check of the black losses

in this battle.

Most of the blacks who were killed

met death in the early morning

fighting in the negro section near

the Frisco tracks.

___________________________

THE START

The clash had its inception when

several automobiles loaded with

armed negroes and said to have been

led by "Old Man" Stratford, a ne-

gro hotel proprietor, swung up in

front of the courthouse shortly be-

fore 10 o'clock, bent on protecting

Rowland. Not more than 30 blacks

were in the first party but they suc-

ceeded in virtually taking command

of the situation there because few

of the whites were armed and none

displayed guns. The blacks were or-

dered home by Sheriff McCullough,

who it is said, had armed negro

deputies with him on the courthouse

steps. Barney Cleaver, a former negro

police officer, also advised them to

go home. After the first sally, dur-

ing which the blacks dispersed part

of the crowd of whites, the negroes

were still permitted to keep their

guns.

Instead of going home, they cir-

cled around several blocks near the

courthouse and came back with an-

other flourish of shot-guns and

rifles. By this time the crowd of

whites had increased to several

thousand with hundreds of women

and a number of children on the

fringes. Most of the whites wer on-

lookers and there appeared to be

no organized mob. After making

known their intention to protect

Rowland at all costs the blacks were

star[ing?] toward home again. There

was still no move on the part of the

sheriff's forces or the city police to

disarm them although the black

force was not more than 50 at this

time.

Instead of going to the negro sec-

tion to stay the blackss whirled

through the streets of the quarter

and sought recruits. Every negro

they met was solicited to joion their

ranks. At Sixth and Cincinnati two

negroes who refused were threat-

ened, according to residents of the

neighborhood who overheard the

conversation.

Shortly after 10 o'clock the blacks

came back to the courthouse with

their biggest force. Estimates place

the number of armed negroes at be-

tween 100 and 200. By this time

it was estimated that probably 100

of the whites in the crowd had

procured arms. A number of whites

who sought guns at the National

Guard armory were refused. Cour-

iers went through the crowd of

whites and warned women and

children and unarmed men to seek

safety. They said they feared an

assault by the blacks. Only a part

of the crowd complied.

The first clash followed on the

heels of this warning. There are

two versions of how the firing be-

gun. According to some of the spectators

pistols were first fired into the air

in front of the Boulder street en-

trance to the courthouse and this,

spectators say, acted as a signal for

the general firing during which the

blacks fired ten shots to each one

for the whites. The crowd of whites

greatly outnumbered the armed

band of negroes but the whites were

helpless in front of the black on-

slaught because they were in con-

stant danger of firing into other

whites if they attempted to protect

the women and children in the crowd

by answering the blacks fire.

Where First Man Fell

After the first volley one carload

of blacks came north on Boulder

avenue, firing as they raced along.

The first white man dropped be-

fore the crash. He had been stand-

ing against the wall of the garage

on Boulder, just south of Sixth

street.

Across the street men and women

in the crowd sought refuge in the

row of houses on Boulder south of

Sixth. Many of them were unoble

to reach cover before the second

volley so they dropped in their

tracks and clung to the earth.

Others hid behind curbs in the

driveways to the garages of these

homes, running to better cover be-

tween the volleys.

Meanwhile the negroes fled.

Some of them ran through the

crowds of women and children,

brandishing their guns. They had

disappeared from the immediate

area of the courthouse within ten

minutes after the first shot had been fired.

Second Version of Start

The second version of the start

of the firing was to the effect that

a number of unarmed white men,

seeing that the officials were not

willing to disarm the blacks, took

that task to themselves. One man

is reported to have dashed into the ranks of blacks and seized one of the

guns. Spectators who relate this as

the true story of the inception of

the shooting declare that the blacks

immediately opened fire when they

were threatened with disarmament.

Shortly after the negroes fled

from the courthouse battlefield an

automobile load of white youths

sped past and fired into the jail

windows on the fourth floor, spec-

tators declared.

John McQueen, a former county

officer and one of the men who at-

tempted to disperse the crowd at the

courthouse, declared today that

Johnny Cody was the negro whose

shot started the general firing here.

"While I was on the steps Cody

and a band of negroes started up,"

McQueen said. "I went to meet them

and a stranger backed me uo. Cody

pushed a gun against him and fired

just as I pushed the gun away. The

stranger went down. Several bullets

went through my coat."

Immediately after this report came

to the crowd that the blacks were

mobilizing for systematic assault on

the whites. The majority of the

white men were still [illegible]. It

became immediately apparent how-

ever, that the police and sheriff's

force were making no attempt to

prevent the return of the blacks so

the white men themselves took

charge of the situation. Small

groups systematically entered all

downtown hardware stores and

pawnshops and took up all the arms

and ammunition that could be found

Nothing else in any of the stores

were touched.

Black Attack Again.

Soon there were more than 1,000

armed men on the streets. Part of

this crowd defended the Hotel Tulsa

and the section around Second street

and Cincinnati avenue from an attack

of blacks who swarmed back within

three quarters of an hour after the

court house battle.

After this second general battle,

which is described elsewhere, the

whites took rapid command of the

situation. Patrols spread quickly to

cover all the principal streets and

the roads leading into the city.

Special guards were put at all bridges

within a several-mile radius to halt

any incoming blacks. Roving pa-

trols moved up and down Main

street. At Main and Archer streets

desultory firing took place for sev-

eral hours. Blacks from their quar-

ter fired repeatedly from behind the

building at Archer street and Boulder

avenue and Archer and Cincinnati

avenue. They were cleared out with-

in an hour or two, but a second

group took their place and held the

negro block on Cincinnati, at the

Frisco tracks, against assault until

early this morning. Two negroes were

killed here and several others wound-

ed. A number of whites were re-

ported wounded in fighting here.

Could Have Disarmed Blacks.

Fully an hour before the first

shots were fired at the courthouse

citizens stood on the south steps and

pleaded with Police Commissioner

Adkison to call out the National

Guard without delay. The negroes

were just beginning to parade the

streets at that time and they argued

that even a small detachment of or-

ganized and equipped men could dis-

arm them, compel them to return to

their own part of ftown, get the

whites to disperse when this had

been accomplished and so avert im-

pending trouble.

Commissioner Adkison answered:

"We are trying to get them out,"

then turned and told the crowd to

obey E. S. McQueen's advice to go

home while the negroes were patrol-

ling the streets in arms, threatening

death and rapine. The police were

powerless.

An hour after the pitched battle

took place around the courthouse

and northward along Main and Bos-

ton, the Guard got into action.

Guardsmen went immediately to the

police station and began an attempt

to disperse the whites who had

armed themselves and gathered

there in expectation of another at-

tack.

_____________________________

The Dead

Carl D. Lotpeisch, 28, Randall

Kans., shot through breast. Taken to

Oklahoma hospital at 6:30 o'clock

this morning. He died shortly after-

ward.

Unidentified whate man, about

28; light brown hair; light brown

eyes; five feet ten inches; 160

pounds. At the Mowbray undertak-

ing parlors.

F. M. Baker, Havelin, Kan., 27,

short in back with buchshot. Died

this morning at Morningside hospi-

tal. At the Mowbray Undertaking

parlors. An identification card found

in his clothing bore the name of

Norman Gillard, 315 So. Norfolk.

The third white man, unidentified

was killed about 5:45 o'clock this

morning when a squad of white

riflemen engaged a group of ne-

groes on North Cincinnati av. The

body was taken to Mitchell-Fleming

undertaking parlors. He was de-

scribed as about 25 years old, six

feet [ta?]ll, weight 165 punds. He

wore dark green trousers, brown

coat, tan shoes, and a tan belt with

a silver clasp bearing the initial

"W". He was shot in the neck.

Death was instantaneous.

The body of an unidentified white

man about 35, held at the Stanley-

McGee Undertaking parlors still

was unidentified early today. He

was shot in the head.

The body of a white man, about

30, shot in the back of the head, held at

the Mowbray undertaking parlors,

ho[illegible] [ea?]rly last night in the first brush

with the blacks, still was unidentified

this morning.

[1?]0-year-old white boy, though

to [be?] named Olson, home at Sapulpa

died at 8:30 o'clock following a bat-

tle an hour earlier at the Frisco depot

in which two negroes were reported

killed. Olson's body was removed to

the Mitchell-Fleming undertaking

parlors where it awaits positive

identification.

A white girl was reported killed on

North Peoria in the vicinity of the

Texaco plant. the report could not

be verified at 10 o'clock.

____________________________

The Injured

A re-check of the injured revealed

the following at the various hospit-

als:

Oklahoma Hospital.

Earl Hileman, city, shot through

thigh, not serious

G. B. Steck, Sapulpa, shot in back,

serious.

J. E. Wissinger, 150 Admiral or

1202 East Second, shot in knee, not

srious.

G. F. Joiner, 1703 South Main, shot

in leg, not serious.

Ross G. Owens, 1108 South Jack-

son, shot with bird shot, several

wounds but not serious.

E. D. Hartshone, shot in thigh.

Edward Austin, 418 South Detroit,

shot in toe, not serious.

Grocer Slinkhard, West Tulsa, fac-

tured rib.

Robet Elmer, West Tulsa,

A. N. Dow, 401 South Madison,

shot in upper thigh and compound

fracture of arm, serious.

C. C. Thomas, 803 South Main,

shot in leg, not serious.

E. R. Hileam, Fern hotel, com-

pound fracture of thigh, serious.

Garland Crouch, 16 North Quincy,

shot in upper abdomen and right

arm, though serious.

A. T. Sterling, 314 South Zunis,

minor injuries.

Robert Palmore, West Tulsa, shot

in left shoulder, not serious.

E. Belchner, 1437 East Hodge,

shot in hand and leg, not serious.

Lee Fisher, 338 1/2 East First, shot

in left leg and thigh, thought serious.

G. I. Prunkart, Frisco conductor,

shot with bird shot in shoulder, chin

and forehead. He was shot while

sitting in caboose of train just pulling

into city.

There are two wounded patients

unidentified. Fifteen or 20 patients

having only slight wounds called at

hospital and had them dressed, left

hospital without giving name or ad-

dress.

Tulsa Hospital

George Switzgood, 415 N. Detroit;

not serious.

K. G. Logsdon, 308 S. Cincinnatti;

shot in arm; not seriously.

Sergt. W. R. Hastings, 1507 E. Jef-

ferson; not serious. After having his

wounds dressed, Sergeant Hastings

immediately left hospital.

H. L. Curry, Illinois hotel, shot

through neck; serious.

E. F. Vickers, city; arm shot.

M. W. Camble. 220 W. Cam [Iron;?]

thought serious.

Jess Collins, 522 N. Boston; serious.

R. N. Seltzer, 529 S. Utica; leg, not

serious.

Otto Sherry, 112 N. Frisco; face

powder burned.

Thirty-five or forty who were only

slightly wounded were attended at

the hospital. After the wounds were

dressed they walked out, leaving

no name or address.

Physicians & Surgeons Hospital.

R. C. Hankson, Jenks, Okla., tool

dresser; shot through right wrist,

bullet traveling through abdomen

into the left arm; shot at 6:45 a. m.

___________________________

NOTICE TO TELEPHONE

SUBSCRIBERS

______________

Please use your telephones only

in case of emergency. This will

assist us in protecting life and pro-

erty.

SOUTHWESTERN BELL TELE-

PHONE COMPANY

___________________________

CURTIS BROWN CO. sells PHOE-

NIX PURE SILK HOSE. Phone 232.

____________________________

We sincerely trust that the

local disturbance is over. We

do not want to give the im-

pression of trying to drive in

business as the result of a

calamity.

It is our duty, however, to

call t he public's attention to

the fact that the standard fire

policies do NOT cover loss re-

sulting from Riot, Insurrection

or Civil Commotion.

We write Riot, Insurrection

and Civil Commotion Insur-

ance and the cost of same is

very slight. Call us for rates.

Policies are written here in

our office. Phone Cedar 2100.

Pearce, Porter & Martin

500 Palace Building

_______________________

NOTICE

______

Because of the race war

the announcement of the re-

maining entrants in The

Tribune beauty contest will

be carried in all editions to-

morrow and none today.

#archivesgov #June 1 #1921 #1920s #Tulsa Massacre #Tulsa #Oklahoma #newspaper #riots #racism #Tulsa100

186 notes · View notes

cyraclove · 3 years

Note

“I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital” with modern BotW Zelink would be amazing :') (you can choose who gets hit and who visits! it works very well both ways)

Link stared into the windows of the flower display, his eyes traversing the plethora of multicolored blooms for the hundredth time. He’d been standing there for a solid ten or fifteen minutes, the tinny muzak of the hospital’s gift shop threatening to drive him out of his mind. The furled petals of a bouquet of yellow roses shook softly as the refrigerated case’s motor kicked on, looking almost as though they were laughing at him.

He decided against those.

Swallowing hard, he absentmindedly rubbed his palms together as he took stock of his ribbon-bound options yet again.

Sweaty. Why was he so sweaty?

Just pick some, you idiot, barked a voice in his head.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a foreign female voice that startled him from his thoughts, “Do you need some help?”

He turned to see an older, brunette woman with the roundest eyeglasses he had ever seen smiling pleasantly at him, her hands clasped behind her back. ‘Alma’, her nametag read.

He shook his head, scrambling for words. “Oh, uh…no, ma’am,” he stammered, attempting a sorry excuse for a smile, “I’m just…browsing.”

“Are you looking for something specific?” She asked, peering into the cooler. “We have flowers for just about any occasion. Flowers can say a lot just on their own, you know.”

How about some that say, ‘Sorry that I hit you with my car, complete stranger,’ he thought to himself. Link chuckled uncomfortably, knowing that he was definitely going to have to lie to this woman. “I’m here to visit my, er, friend. She was…in a car accident.”

Read on AO3

Alma nodded solemnly, clucking her tongue. “Oh, how terrible. I’m very sorry to hear that. People really can be such careless drivers these days, can’t they?”

“Yes,” he said through his teeth, “they certainly can be.” His eyes were drawn to a bunch of sickeningly pink ‘It’s A Girl!’ balloons, a nearby oscillating fan causing them to bob violently every minute or so. The screech of the colliding mylar made his stomach churn, and he silently wished for death.

“Well,” Alma began, a cool burst of air escaping the display when she opened the door, “I’m sure that we can pick something perfectly lovely that’ll have your friend feeling better in no time.”

The woman pursed her lips as she surveyed the case, humming thoughtfully. She eventually gathered up a bouquet of light blue lilies, their pointed petals tipped with white.

“What do you think of these?” she asked, “We just got them in from Necluda. This variety is called the ‘Silent Princess’, I believe.”

Before he could answer, Link’s phone began to ring, the shrill tone making him jump a bit. He grinned sheepishly at Alma as he fished it from his pocket, groaning inwardly as soon as he glimpsed the screen. Tapping his thumb on the red ‘ignore’ button, he tucked it away.

“Those are great,” he replied, “I’ll take them.”

Alma smiled brightly, motioning for him to follow her the checkout counter. “Excellent,” she chimed, “Can I put them in a vase for you?”

His phone rang again. Link felt his eye twitch.

“Uh, sure. I mean, yes, please.”

“Would you like to add anything else? We have these precious sand seal plushies that would be just ador—”

“Just the flowers will be fine, thank you,” he said, more hurriedly than he’d intended. Snatching his phone from his pocket, he turned away from the counter and held the cell to his ear.

“What do you want?” He hissed.

A jovial cackle came from the other end of the line.

“Well, if it isn’t CHU’s resident asshole.”

Link pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he inhaled deeply. This was, decidedly, the last thing he needed right now.

“You called me, Revali,” he snapped, “Do you actually need something, or did you just want to be a dick?”

“You wound me, Link,” the other young man drawled, “Oh, no—wait. I’m not the one who’s wounded, am I?”

Link clenched his jaw, the snip of Alma’s scissors on the flowers’ stems suddenly and inordinately loud. He glanced up at the woman only to have her swiftly look away, feigning focus on her task.

“You’re quite the hot topic on campus,” he heard Revali sigh, “I’m almost envious, what with the way everyone’s got your name in their mouths.”

“Who’s talking about it?”

“Who isn’t talking about it? Link, you hit a woman with your car. In the quad, for the love of Hylia. How’d you even manage that, anyway?”

“Okay, look,” he nearly seethed, “It was not in the quad, it was the intersection next to the quad. And it was an accident! I had the right of way, I didn’t see her, and the—the walk sign wasn’t even on!”

“Was she on the crosswalk?”

Link balked as he conjured up the memory from the other day. It had all happened so fast; one minute he was putting on his turn signal, and the next a young blonde woman was sprawled out on the road in front of his car. “I mean…well, yeah, she was on the crosswalk.”

“Then she had the right of way. Pedestrians always have the right of way, genius.”

“I’m hanging up now,” he muttered, disconnecting the call to the sound of Revali’s raucous laughter in the background. His near equal on the university archery team, Revali and Link were self-proclaimed rivals; well-known ‘frenemies’ to the rest of their teammates. While Link undeniably respected him for his skill, he could also be a real pain in the ass.

Releasing a weighty sigh, he faced the counter again, only to be met with a piercing glare of disapproval from the woman standing behind it. His blood ran cold as he and Alma locked eyes, hers narrowed in wordless acknowledgment of his sin. Approaching the register, Link flipped his wallet open and removed his credit card before sliding it toward her across the grey acrylic.

“Ring up the seal.”

The ride up the elevator was gruelingly slow, the jarring ding! of the door opening on what seemed like every damned floor made Link’s head throb. The air inside the garishly carpeted box was stuffy and stagnant, the scent of antiseptic stinging his lungs with each inhale. He looked down at the overpriced stuffed animal in his arms and frowned, its judgmental button eyes boring into him. The sluggish chug of the ancient machinery as it whined to a stop was nauseating, jostling him just enough to make him dizzy.

He finally stepped off and onto the tenth floor, referring to the clumsy, smeared numbers written on his palm in red pen. Link wandered down a white linoleum hallway, the idle hum of incandescent lights buzzing overhead as he peered at room numbers; the water in the vase sloshed softly as he went. With the plush tucked under one arm and the flowers cradled in the other, he raised his fist to knock tentatively on a door marked 1003.

“Come in,” responded a quiet voice from the other side. Link instinctively held his breath as he pressed down on the door handle, inching it open.

The room was cold and clinical, painted and furnished in subtle greens and dull blues. Aside from several dim wall sconces, a large westward-facing window adorned with heavy curtains was the only source of light. Pushed up against the center of the back wall was a slim hospital bed, and in it sat a woman that Link had seen only once before—unconscious on the asphalt in front of his sedan. Her eyes flickered up toward him as he entered, darkening with realization mere seconds afterward.

“What are you doing here?”

Link froze, his thoughts scrambling as both his legs and tongue refused to move. All he could do was stare at her, eyes trained on the clunky, neon-green cast that enveloped her left arm. A purply-green bruise around the size of golf ball sat just below one of her eyes, swallowing the tiny freckles that peppered her cheeks. Her bottom lip puffed out, an angry cut splitting it vertically down the middle.

She looked awful.

And she had somehow managed to be strikingly beautiful at the exact same time.

“Well, I came to, uh,” he started, his words leaving his mouth before he had time to appropriately process them, “I came to see…how you were feeling.”

The young woman scoffed, turning her head towards the window. It was then that Link noticed the sutures running along the underside of her collarbone. Guilt roiled in his stomach for the millionth time that day as she began to speak.

“Let’s see; I’ve got bruised ribs, a couple of chipped teeth, and a concussion. Oh—and my arm is broken,” she replied in a biting tone, “So, I’m not great. Thanks.”

After a moment, he took a few tentative steps nearer to her bedside. He watched her gaze gradually slide in his direction, meticulously studying his movement. Link sighed, looking down at his feet with a shake of his head. His chest felt suffocatingly tight, as though someone had his lungs trapped in an ever-tightening vise.

“Look, I know that nothing I say right now is going to make any of this less shitty,” he told her, “and I’m sure that I’m the last person that you wanted to see today. That being said, it would’ve been even shittier of me to not at least try and come apologize to you. Because I messed up, big time, and I’m really, really sorry.”

The young woman said nothing in response, absentmindedly picking at her fingernails as she considered his repentant declaration. Her brows knitted above her sea-like eyes, consternation marring her delicate features. Link’s resolve just about shattered when he saw the impending tears brimming at her waterline.

“And I brought you this seal,” he blurted out, placing the patchwork creature on the bed near her legs, “You just seemed like, uh…a seal person.”

To Link’s relieved surprise, the corner of her mouth quirked up as she looked at the stuffed animal. Picking it up and setting on her lap, a watery giggle burbled from her chest as tears slid down her cheeks. The chuckle soon morphed into a full-on laugh, a bright, contagious sound that filled the room. Unable to help himself, Link smiled, and was soon laughing with her despite not entirely knowing why.

“It’s cute,” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s really cute. Thank you.”

They smiled through the remnants of their laughter as it faded out, leaving the two in silence again. The setting sun bathed the room in rosy amber and cast fractured, pinkish shadows on the walls. Unsure of what else to do, Link set the bouquet on her curiously empty bedside table. It was then that he paused to take stock of the rest of the room, realizing that it did not resemble what he imagined the hospital room of someone who’d just been hit by a car to look like.

It was devoid of any other flowers save the ones that he had brought, and missing were cards and balloons from well-wishing friends. He furrowed his brow, and his heart sank when the most likely reason for the lack of gifts dawned on him. She must be in Central for school, he thought, and all of her friends and family were wherever home was. Or, even worse—they were around, but couldn’t be bothered to come and pay her a visit. Turning back to face her, he gestured to her plaster-clad arm.

“No one’s signed your cast,” he noted.

She gave him a queer look. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, that’s the thing to do isn’t it? Have your friends write their names on your cast? And put, uh, I don’t know…stickers on it.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never broken an arm before,” she replied, shooting him a sly look. “I haven’t got many friends, either, I guess,” she added under her breath, face falling.

“Do you have a Sharpie?”

“Oh, um, I think I have a few in my backpack. It’s just over there, on that chair. Should be in the little side pocket.”

Link made his way over to a grey pleather armchair and unzipped the pocket in question, reaching inside to pull out several permanent markers. Returning to the bedside, he held them out to the blonde, presenting her with her choice of color; black, red, or blue. She looked up at him from beneath delicate lashes, grinning as she selected the blue one. She extended her arm, and he sat on the edge on the bed as he gingerly braced it with his free hand. After popping the cap off with his teeth, he scrawled his name on the lime-colored cast as gently as possible.

“Link,” she murmured when he’d finished, “I just realized that I didn’t even know your name until now.”

It was true. He knew her name, simply because he’d had to ask for it at the front desk, but they had never been properly introduced. Not surprising, considering the circumstances under which they came to know one another in the first place. He’d never seen her around campus before the other day, leading him to assume that they must not run in the same circles. That had to be the case, because hers was not a face that he would’ve forgotten.

“My name is Zelda,” she said, “Even though you probably know that already.”

“I do,” he admitted, “but it’s nice to officially meet you. Zelda.”

Her eyes crinkled at their corners when he reached out to lightly shake her fingers that poked out of the cast. He stood up from the bed, shooting her a quick smile before crossing the room to return the markers to her bag.

“Thank you for the flowers,” he heard her say from behind him, “Oh, and for my seal.”

“It’s the least I could do, I think,” he responded, “I mean, considering.”

“Still,” Zelda went on, “It was kind of you to come. I just…I appreciate the company. It was getting a bit lonely here.”

Link stilled at that. So, she really was alone. He almost didn’t want to believe that not even her own parents had bothered to stop by, that not a single friend had sent a card. It had to be a mistake; there was no way that such an enchanting person had no one to call on.

“The, uh, food here must not be very good, huh?” He tried.

She cocked a brow at him. “What?”

“Hospital food. It’s notoriously bad,” he clarified, attempting to mentally signal to her that he was, in fact, going somewhere with this. “If you want, I could bring you something. Later, I mean, for dinner. I think I probably owe you that, don’t you?”

It could have been the sunset, but Link swore that a blush darkened her cheeks ever so slightly when she smiled at him, nodding. “That sounds great, actually.”

“Alright, it’s a date, then,” he announced without thinking, wincing immediately afterward, “I mean, uh, sounds like a plan.”

“Here, let me put my number in your phone,” she offered, holding out her good hand. He fished it from his pocket and handed it to her, watching as she tapped in her contact info with her only her index finger. After a short discussion about what kind of food she’d like to have, they said their goodbyes with the promise of seeing one another later that evening. Link closed to door carefully behind him, glancing back into the narrow window to see Zelda admiring her flowers.

He shuffled into the elevator, wedging himself in between a group of nurses and weary-looking man with a fussy toddler on his hip. It was humid and it was loud, and anyone else might have wanted nothing more than to go home and go to bed. Link stared at Zelda’s name in his phone as the elevator made its agonizingly long descent back down to the lobby, already counting the minutes until he’d get to ride back up again.

I adored this prompt so much, I made it its own thing on AO3. Thank you for the ask! This was so much fun!

#zelink #zelink fic #zelink fanfiction #botw fanart #botw fanfiction #botw au #botw prompt #tloz botw #tloz fanfic #tloz fanart #link/zelda #legend of zelda #legend of zelda fanfiction #writers on tumblr #archive of our own #cyraclove #cyraclove writes #fanfiction #ao3 link

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pupa-cinema · 4 years

Text

Happy Go Lucky Heads - えんがちょ(Engacho) - English Translation

Lyrics：Sekihan and Ponikingdom Music：324

えんがちょ　犬のクソ踏んだ Engacho, I stepped in dog shit こりゃ　いじりの的だ　青天の霹靂 Easy now tiger, I’m the target of sleights of hands, it’s a bolt from the blue えんがちょ　とんだ災難だ Engacho, what a a major fiasco この　穢れを誰に　なすりつけてやろうか How about I just foist all this evil energy unto somebody else

何でいつも俺ばかりこんな目に遭う Why am I the only one who can never catch a break 実は'身から出た錆’ Actually, ‘You're the one who shoots your own foot' ここで気付かなければ If I don’t acknowledge this soon, then everything will- スパイラル Spiral

悪い縁を断てえんがちょ(往々) Cut ties with bad vibes, with engacho (again and again) 開運の鍵だ　起死回生 It’s the key to success and good fortune, to be reborn anew 悪い縁を断てえんがちょ(往々) Cut ties with bad vibes, with engacho (again and again) 断捨離のススメ　執着心 I recommend to let go with alobha, then cling to that! 己の人生(ライフ)加速させていく(往々々) Up the tempo of our lives (again and again and again) '無駄な過去は1つもない’ ‘I have not 1 useless past experience on my belt'

えんがちょ　鳩のフン落ちた Engacho, pigeon poop landed on me こりゃ執念深い　青天の霹靂 Now this is some real conviction, a bolt from the blue えんがちょとんだ災難だ Encgacho, what a a major fiasco この　穢れどこから　降り注いでるのか Where on earth is all this evil energy pouring down from

何回やったって　遠回りだったって I’ve done things a bajillion times, I’ve taken the high road, 勘違いされたって　諦めたくないから I’ve been misunderstood, but I still don’t want to give up so ぐちゃぐちゃにされて　へし折られた牙 My fangs have been twisted and torn apart, but nevertheless 取り戻してやる　覚悟決めたのさ I’ll take back what’s mine, I’ve steeled my resolve

エンピ・ミッキ・ブッチ・バリヤ Enpi, Mikki, Bucchi, Bariya がっぴ・めんち・ぎっちょ・バーリア Gappi, Mechi, giccho, baarrier やめち・めんき・ガッキンバリア Yamechi, menki, gakkin barrier えった・ビッキ・グッピバリア Etta, bikki, guppi barrier

縁を知れ因果性(往々) Now this what ‘en' ties are, this is causality 大抵は他者の相対性 A big chunk of it has to do with natural human relativity

悪い縁を断てえんがちょ(往々) Cut ties with bad vibes, with engacho (again and again) 断捨離のススメ　執着心 I recommend to let go with alobha, then cling to that! 残りの人生(ライフ)掛けて叫びだす(往々々) Scream like the rest of our lives are on the line (again and again and again) '無駄な過去は1つもない’ ‘I have not 1 useless past experience on my belt' '過去がなけりゃ今はない' ‘Without a past, there would be no today I say'

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Footnotes:

● Engacho is an apotropaic crossed finger hand sign. “縁En" meaning “ties/destiny” while “cho” is short for “chon-kireru [to snip]”. It's used to dispel any dirty things or impurities found. Though it was originally religious, it was modernized instead to be used among children as a fun and easy way to promote cleanliness.

Similar to the ‘Father son and the holy spirit’, or ‘Knock on wood’ hand gestures.

If someone steps in dog shit, is the target of pigeon poop, or any such minor but ill omens… Engacho will detach you from that bad luck!

● Enpi, Mikki, Bucchi, Bariya~~~. The name for the engacho hand gesture differs by region in Japan. Most ring similar to ‘chop’, ‘cut’, ’stop’ sounds, or even just the English word ‘Barrier’. The difference is due to regions in Japan each bearing their own unique cultures and accent, or… Just 'Barrier' being influenced from action shows like Anpanman on TV.

● Appearing in the MV are toys commonly used by children, all which are long and attached: a kendama, a hula-hoop (looks like a ◯ (album name) / rising sun at the end) and then bandages.

● 縁・起死回生・断捨離・因果 All inherently buddhist concepts. 縁: destiny. 起死回生: rebirth. 断捨離: minimalism 因果: karma.

断捨離 I translated to alobha because I felt the ‘detachment from possessions’ part of buddhist minimalism was the main focus here. However, to give it the recognition it deserves, 断 indicates the rejection of nonessentials 捨 indicates the disposal of nonessentials 離 indicates the detachment from possessions.

As a whole they create an ideal.

● Quick digest from Poniki:

Completely stripped of tomfoolery, it’s an Omedeta style “Minimalism song”! True to the word “Engacho, meaning ‘cut ties’”, a word I’m sure everyone heard at least once in their childhood, I sing about my desires to cut bad ties and move forward. Our seemingly shameful past are the exact reason we’re all where we are now. There’s not one wasteful moment in life! That’s the message!

● Blog post from Poniki

It’s a story about a boy unable to find motivation or purpose. Screaming feverishly just trying to become somebody.. Only to get ensnared by corrupt adults who devise to manipulate him. He’s conflicted by “the misfortune which befalls him” and “baseless words”, but nevertheless he’s meeting allies, finding his way through life, and through self-actualized change is he able to move forward.

That’s the deal.

Sekihan was the one who initially brought the base concept to the table. “That ol’ custom of the past generation to dispel bad luck, Engacho”, he had said.

So I said “What if we didn’t only work to dispel bad luck but, we linked that icky past to the present and the future!"

Then took it and made it into a story. As such, it’s even stated in the lyrics as follows! ⇩

"I’ve done things a bajillion times, I’ve taken the high road, I’ve been misunderstood, but I still don’t want to give up so My fangs have been twisted and torn apart, but nevertheless I’ll take back what’s mine, I’ve steeled my resolve." Stigma and misinterpretations pressure him into taking the high road, where he ends up manipulated, broken, and marred. But even if the fangs he once boasted end up twisted and torn apart, you gotta believe that one day other people will come to understand you, and that’s when you’ll take back your fangs. My such passion is tucked into this song. With that said and all things considered, The final words of the last chorus are the key piece to this puzzle. It’s easy to just sing of hate and cynicalness. Omedetai Atama de Nani Yori are “A band who turn negative energy into positive energy." After all.

At the studio, we even could not settle on a direction for his song until halfway through recording.

Back then Sekihan was even reconsidering the song all by himself in the concert hall next to us. One day I realized that my current state was being projected into these lyrics. Moving up the big city of Tokyo, sticking in an band making no sales, Desperately chasing dreams despite being a starving artist with no time on his hands Ultimately splitting up the band after yielding zero, he stepped away from music for a while. Until this new band came along, Ever since we formed Omedetai Atama de Nani Yori, I’ve been helped by a surprising amount of my past acquaintances, boosted and supported.

Before we formed Omedeta I wanted to clean my slate, I deemed my past useless and fruitless, but that past is exactly what lead me to where I’m standing here today. This point right here was it! This is what got the last puzzle piece to fall into place. “‘I have not 1 useless past experience on my belt’ ‘Without a past, there would be no today’" This song is the story of some nobody protagonist At the same time as being like a biography to me It’s a ‘fight song’, designed to help somebody, anybody, to move forward It’s ‘Engacho'. The song.

#omedetai #オメでたい頭でなにより #Youtube

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moirai-au · 4 years

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Timeline: Arc 1 - Early days. one week before Mars and Ollie meet.

Warnings: minor injuries

“Really dude, I’m- ow!”

“Shut up and stop squirming, I’m almost done.”

Oliver pouted but complied, and Max almost laughed at his pitiful bruised face; the whole situation was absurd in itself. Here they were, seating across their walking disaster of a roommate on the living room couch at three in the morning, patching him up like some sort of nurse in a superhero movie.

Max scoffed as they ran the needle through the skin one more time. “You’re lucky I was the one awake. Nana would’ve given you an earful.”

They’d been working late -as they tended to do these days- when Ollie had shuffled through the apartment door, looking worse for wear. Max had dropped everything right here and then to berate him, harsh whispers and muffled laughter rising under the dim ceiling lights; as neither of them wanted to wake Ninanjala and face her wrath, they had to be quiet.

Ollie giggled, then hissed in pain; his split lip stung. “Yeah, she would’ve fussed over me like a bird mom. Prolly try to make me stay home for the day.”

Max raised a brow. “You do know you’ll still have to face her at some point today, right?”

“Ah, tits.”

“Yup. Speaking of…”

They tugged on the string -eliciting a low “ow” from their roommate- before snipping it cut with a pair of thin, metal scissors. They gestured towards Ollie’s chest, covered by his trusty, bright red hoodie. “You’ve been wearing that thing all day. Take it off.”

He groaned. “That an order?”

“You bet your sweet ass it is.”

He moaned dramatically, his hands reaching behind his back and under his clothes. After a few seconds of twisting and fiddling, they came back with his binder and laid it down on the coffee table. “There. Happy now?”

Max nodded and hummed in approval, gently grabbing Ollie’s face to inspect it. “Okay, eyebrow’s good enough. Here,” they crossed their legs and patted their thigh authoritatively. “Lay down for a sec, this will be easier. I think your lip needs some stitches as well.”

“Yes chief!”

They snorted as Ollie laid his head on their lap, and ran a hand though the lime green strands; they could feel his scruffy hair through the fabric of their sweatpants. “You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right? You’d tell us.”

“I’m not, I swear. No-one’s gunna come and burn the building down because I owe a crime boss money or some shit.”

Max rolled their eyes, fingers working the thread around the wound in automatic motions. “I just… I just hope you’re not putting yourself at risk.” they whispered. “I won’t baby you, I know you can take care of yourself, but… I also know how reckless you can be. So whatever it is you do out there… illegal cage fights or whatever-”

Oliver snorted at that.

“Don’t laugh, this is serious. You’re our partner. The three of us? Me, you, Nilanjana?”

They waved their free hand around, struggling to find the right words. “Whatever this thing is, it clicks. It works.”

“Mmh. It’s nice. Did I tell you guys how cute you are together? Cuz I don’t think I say it enough.”

“Don’t change the subject, dumbass. What I want to say is… we care. We want you to let us in, y’know?”

Ollie stayed quiet for a few seconds, then gave them a small, timid smile. “I’m okay.”

Max responded with a deadpan expression. The read-clad boy faltered slightly under their gaze. “…Probably. Maybe.”

Max sighed, cutting the thread once more; good enough for now. “Whatever, you human trainwreck.”

They patted his shoulder to get him to sit back up, smiling fondly as he stretched and yawned. They gently held his face and tilted forward, pushing their foreheads together and relishing in the warm contact. “Now get your ass into bed before my girlfriend gets up and goes all mama bear on you.”

“Awww, y’all are adorable.”

“Damn right. Want me to wake you up before your classes?”

“Nah, I’m good, got an alarm set up. But thanks.”

As Ollie disappeared down the corridor, Max couldn’t help but notice he was limping slightly. They frowned in barely-conceited concern and let out an irritated sigh, sinking back into the couch and covering their eyes.

They prayed to whoever would listen that he would still come back to them tomorrow. Just like they’d done every night for the last month, since the first time he’d come back beaten and bloody in the dead of the night.

#moirai au #jse au #jacksepticeye #jse #jse egos #jacksepticeye egos #moirail!jbm #jackieboy-man #jackieboy man #jbm #max #nilanjana #early days #oliver

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nyotasaimiri · 5 years

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Clean

((Hopefully this one posts neatly, my internet is very spotty here. I ended up doing a very long kinda-character-study with Sonny for day 19 of @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober. This prompt list is really good for self-indulgence ^.^;;))

Sonny liked to imagine she was back on Mars while cleaning the ship. It was a pity she couldn’t glow orange like Lumen, that would make it easier to imagine the silvery ship walls as the wooden planks from the bar. Her green glow made the walls look like some kind of mysterious floran house instead when she turned out the ship lights, which was good for a different kind of pretend, but not what she wanted today.

But she could pretend in other ways, humming and creaking like the floorboards as she crept over the soft carpet, whistling the old tunes she and Lumen used to play on the piano. Sometimes she got very lucky indeed and could hear Lumen playing his harmonica from somewhere else in the ship. That made it very easy to pretend she was home.

Lumen sometimes sighed at her and told her it would get easier if she’d let herself think of the ship like home, but it wasn’t. The walls were too smooth, and she couldn’t go on walks outside without borrowing the teleporter first. That wasn’t home.

But it was familiar. Sort of. Starting to be. She fizzed and brightened every time she tucked Hadley’s poptop plushie back into her friend’s bunk; she knew just how to tuck it in so Hadley could find it fast but no one else could see it in passing. Hadley was so picky with that. Always left her blankets a mess, too. Not like she was an active sleeper, she just got up in a mood and had to kick all the covers off fast to even get herself up. Sonny laughed and smoothed the sheets back down.

Lumen was easy to pick up after. He’d always been tidy, as long as Sonny had known him. The most she usually had to do was shine his boots sometimes, when he forgot to do it himself. Sometimes he brought weird smells back to his bunk, smells of herbs, chemicals, medicine. That wasn’t something she knew from Mars. That made it a little harder to pretend. Hard to imagine sharp green smells were warm and boozy. But Sonny got good at clearing those out fast, too.

And after a while she started finding wisps of copper fur, or rarely a little shed curl of leaf, that Lumen hadn’t managed to clean off the sheets before he tucked them up and made the bed. Now that was very different from Mars, and it made Sonny glow right bright indeed. Maybe even a good different.

Nyota was hard, but not like Sonny expected. She always felt like she was intruding when she inspected the captain’s bunk, or later, the captain’s room. Maybe she would have been a little jealous once when the captain got the first complete bedroom and the rest of them were still in bunks for a while. But she had seen the cracks on Lumen’s wrist from waking her up out of a nightmare. She had watched Nyota toss and turn and even lash out, and felt the wash of fear after fear. Poor captain with her haunted dreams. They all slept a little better now. Sometimes Sonny had to take her bedsheets to Eldie to be mended from sudden force and tear, but usually the worst of it was the thick, endlessly soft grey fur that was almost a pleasure to brush away.

They had never had any apex guests on Mars. Sonny wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t thought about it.

It surprised Sonny how messy Oldarva could be. She had never actually found a lost pin or needle, thanked all the luckiest stars for that, but thimbles, buttons, an entire spool of thread… all fair game. Eldie didn’t shed as much as Nyota, and her fur wasn’t as soft or long, but it stuck to Sonny’s hands like staticked socks, making her fizz and crackle and spark until she could rub it away. Sonny often found stray fur in her shirt cuffs for days after cleaning until she learned to roll her sleeves up before tackling that space. Eldie never left her mess anywhere else in the ship, so everyone else thought she was some kind of beacon of Tidy, but Sonny knew better and had to stop herself from snickering every now and then. Eldie caught her at it sometimes and they shared a laugh over this piece of mending or that small pile of loose thread snippings. Eldie was her favorite.

Arjun though was a pain to handle. Sonny sure liked his gruff but patient methods when he was teaching her ship-fixing and the like, but she sure could teach him a thing or two about cleaning. Grease spots everywhere. Wrenches left in the oddest places. Biggest collection of scarves she had seen yet, he just couldn’t resist them she guessed. It’d be fine if she didn’t find them all over the darn ship. He never, ever lost his lugnuts or bolts or any of the little fiddly bits, but the big ones were the fairest game she’d ever seen, and she gave him so many earfuls over it. Maybe that’s why he always wore the hats with earflaps. Some of the humans in the old town had liked those too. A couple Novakid tried them, but it didn’t make much sense if they didn’t have ears. Not that sense ever stopped a Novakid.

Namina definitely surprised her. Sonny had heard rumors about Floran for years, but Namina absolutely broke them. Ridiculously tidy. He never left Sonny anything to do at all, even swept up his own lost bits of foliage before she got there. Sometimes he left weird things in the vents when he went scooting around up there, but he picked them up if Sonny asked him, because they both knew she’d probably fall out and land on someone if she tried to get in.

He was the only one besides Lumen who called her Glowbug.

Arrowmail now, she was still getting a feel for him. He’d been with them near as long as Arjun, but it felt like he was still figuring out some things. Not what to do, he did that nice. Kept the library so nice, knew where each and every book went when Sonny brought lost ones back to him. Argued with SAIL sometimes over how they organized, but Nyota always sided with him, so SAIL had to leave it. Sonny laughed at that too.

And he didn’t leave the normal kind of messes. He left words behind and drifting fizzy feelings that made Sonny feel very strange inside. They changed a little every day, and Sonny wondered how to clean those up too, because he often started his sentences with “Confused” or “Wondering” and Sonny knew those weren’t fun. But Arrow didn’t seem to mind? And Sonny found that confusing too. When she helped him clean, they talked for hours, and things didn’t get much clearer sometimes. They ended up with more questions than he started with. But that was alright. He liked his mess, because it tidied things in him as he went.

Sonny cleaned her room last. She always did, because it was easiest to pretend there. It smelled like whiskey and metal, like those musty dried leaves the humans liked. It smelled like Mars. Like Lumen’s old saloon. Eldie had helped her make a bedspread the same color she’d had on Mars, too. She hummed and smoothed it, then added a spare scarf Arjun had found for her. Her plush fennix was on the floor again, that happened sometimes when Nyota’s Weasel got in. Little biter was nestled against Sonny’s pillow. Sonny fizzed and tucked the plushie in next to him. Weasel shivered, yawned, and wrapped around the plushie instead.

“Silly varmint,” Sonny sighed, “why didn’t you do that to start?” Probably because he was a right ornery little creature, but she still loved him. At least he wasn’t tormenting Jim. The two actually got along alright now once Weasel learned Jim wasn’t afraid to use those sharp little claws when Weasel tried to knock the little scab off the table or swipe some of Sonny’s bottlecaps. The collection had grown since she left, with seven more pairs of hands filling it. Even Nyota brought her a new one from the Outpost sometimes. Made Sonny glow bright, it did. They didn’t mind, didn’t laugh. They cared.

She sat on the bed and slid off her boots so she could tuck her feet up beside her without tracking things onto the blanket. Maybe she saw stars instead of red dust and strangers outside her window, she was starting to not mind that. The voices around her made so many sounds, sounds she’d never heard, but she couldn’t imagine not hearing them now. Maybe she didn’t know where she’d be next, but they always came back here. She felt her crew every time she found something like them, visiting planets or the odd station market. Maybe she’d never see Mars again. Sonny hummed and watched a comet fly past. Maybe she could pretend a little less. She was starting to be alright with that. Maybe this was home.

#long post #oc-tober #sonny #writing #lumen #namina #alice hadley #nyota saimiri #character study #oldarva #arjun #arrowmail #sidestory

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Phoenix Protocol 05

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

She doesn't actually get a free chance to see the Commander (in which he is also free for more than a polite greeting) for more than a week after attending his Titans’ workshop. Ikora sends her into the maw of Saturn, to experience the Tangled Shore. Her tasks include collecting Hive specimens and neutralizing priority targets.

It also includes seemingly endless combat. The Hive are relentless. In the shadow of the Dreadnought they fight the Scorn, pausing only to combine forces against her. There is no safe place, the further she tunnels into the caverns of festering husk and larvae, to heal should she need it. Her rift can still heal bullet holes, but not her charred arm in addition to them. Certainly even less under live fire.

She’s fought the Hive for centuries, it feels. Her sword is voracious enough that she feels comfortable cutting through them, for the most part. But their numbers are uncountable here. Where one falls, three take its place.

The result is slow-moving progress and several (very) desperate attempts to shield Ghost while he heals her failing body. Miyu returns to Ikora precisely ten days, three hours and four minutes after she'd been deployed. Ikora looks unimpressed.

Miyu is too groggy to give a damn, having had Ghost auto-pilot her return from the Shore just so she could actually sleep. While Guardians could exist without, sleep was essential to peak performance, and everyone knew it. She shifts uncomfortably in her Hive-ichar stained robes, waiting for Ikora to dismiss her so she can shower and sleep in her own bed.

Ikora does not do any of those things. Ikora instead determines that she should go to Mars, and assist with containing the Hive there.

“More Hive,” Miyu comments drollishly before she can help herself. It comes out in her featherlight voice though, so it doesn't sound so patronizing.

“Grey, the Hive -” Miyu clenches her fists, and Ghost's presence in her mind attempts to flood her with calm while Ikora speaks, “- want your Light. They are drawn to it. Your Light will protect itself, though you. Unfortunately that means putting yourself in harm's way, but for the greater good.”

Miyu sighs and nods. She knows this. She’s done research on the subject herself. Enough research for all of her lifetimes.

“Only for a few days,” Ikora tells her. “To give me time to see about other arrangements. Return to me at the end of the week.”

On Mars, she summons her sword. Her vision burns white - still a single candle. She cannot see, but the sword she's trying to throw is too heavy to lift with one arm - and the flames in her vision are hot agony as they consume. She blinks back to herself, her body ablaze. A Severing Knight slices her clean through. It's a mercy.

Ten hours later, it's a Hive Wizard who blasts her across Hellas Basin when she tries to call upon her abilities once more. She looks like a comet, a streaking, dying star. She wakes up with Ana Bray beside her, discussing something animatedly over quiet comms.

“Send her home, Anastasia.”

“Hey, I'm not about to argue with you on this one,” The Hunter shoots back quickly. “I know that worried-angry voice of yours.”

“You do,” He rumbles, “And yet you purposely ignore it when you defy me.”

She laughs nervously. “I mean, it's in the name of the greater good, Zavala -” Said Titan growls, just enough to be picked up over the line “- alright, fine,” The overzealous Hunter relents for once. There's a pause. Miyu can see the shadow of someone leaning over her through her closed eyelids. “I think she's waking up.”

There's a twitch between her palms that lets her know Ghost is cradled between her hands. She barely, gently, squeezes and releases him, groaning as she attempts to rise. Ana puts a hand behind her, to prevent her from falling back on what she assumes is supply crates.

“Easy,” The Hunter encourages. “That wasn't a good trip.”

Ghost flutters around her and nods. She blinks over to him and he twists anxiously, looking like he's about to speak.

“You’re coming back to the Tower,” Zavala's voice calls over the comms. “This is madness. If Ikora has an issue, I will address it myself.”

Ana flips the mute switch. “He's… really angry.” She flips it back.

“Commander-”

“That is an order.”

Miyu sighs. “Understood.”

“Report to me when you get settled,” Zavala instructs. “I will be waiting.”

He cuts the line after that. Miyu doesn't get a chance to thank Ana before she's brushed aside by some chattering of Rasputin that sounds apparently very important to the crypto-linguistic researcher. For the best. She feels like garbage, but at least Zavala made it sound like she might be able to change into something clean before parading through the Tower.

It's late when she takes the lift up to the top level of the Tower. She checks his post first, but he's gone. Ghost steers her toward the command centre next, looking for the frequency of the Commander's ghost in a wide, sweeping scan.

Her robes are clean, unremarkable ones, devoid of armor beneath. It is never too late for a fight, Shaxx would say, but she wants nothing more than a warm mug of tea and a good night's sleep. The command centre is mostly empty, so she realizes it must be later than she thought.

Zavala sits at the end of a long table, mug beside him and tablet propped up on a large palm. His eyes rise to meet her when she enters the room, and he motions to the seat beside him before finishing what he's doing.

She obliges him and sits quietly. Ghost appears in a flutter of sparks. “Ikora,” He says, minding his volume, “Received word that you returned early. She is unhappy-”

Miyu sighs. “Tell her I will see her in the-”

“That,” A serious voice calls from behind Zavala, “Is unnecessary. I'll have answers now.”

The Commander sets down his tablet, powering it down without looking. “I called her back,” Zavala says, turning in his chair. “Do you require her for a task?”

Ikora looks exasperated. “Her training is necessary, Zavala. What business-”

“Her training nearly saw her ghost razed by Splinter Knights. I am removing her from active duty.”

“Grey needs the exposure.” Ikora's golden gaze cants over the quiet Warlock.

Zavala bristles before the thought occurs to Ikora's exhausted subordinate. “Her name is Miyu, and she needs time to heal.”

Miyu's hands twitch under the table. Ghost looks at her before regarding the other two Guardians. The tension is palpable between them.

“You are an expert on Dawnblades, are you?”

“No,” Zavala concedes, “But-”

“But nothing,” Ikora snips. “Grey,” She says, the moniker acidic on her tongue, “You will return to Mars.”

Miyu does not move, even before Ghost tells her to stay silent through their neural link. This is not about her, he imparts to his charge, not really.

“No,” Zavala refutes. “She will not.”

Ikora snarls at that, and the hungry-angry-cold ripple of her power is felt by everyone in the room. She reigns it in seconds later. “Is she allowed in the Crucible, then? Or is that too much for her, too?” Cold eyes slide over the Awoken Warlock's face, her posture bowed. “Think of how it must sound to her, listening to us quarrel. What an impact you're making, Zavala.” Her patronizing tone is honeyed and that much more rage inducing.

Zavala clenches his fists. “If you desire it, she will report to the Crucible at first light,” He tells Ikora. “You may otherwise proceed how you wish, but any missions - recon or otherwise - will be approved by me.”

Ikora whirls around and stalks away. She does not dignify him with a response.

When it's just the two of them, Zavala reclines in his chair with a restrained sigh. Miyu purposely looks away, despite straightening her posture.

After some time, he speaks. “What happened today,” Zavala says, “I don't believe it was benefiting you. I am sure Ikora has your best interests at heart, however…”

“Sending her to Mars was foolish,” Ghost chimes, hovering over the desk.

When that brings the Commander's gaze upon her, Miyu blushes.

“What do you think?” He asks her, slowly. His bright eyes search her face. “Everyone else has spoken. What say you?”

Miyu chances a look into his luminous glowing eyes. She sighs. “I think-” She grimaces. “I do not wish to make things worse between you and Ikora.”

“Nevermind that,” Zavala replies. His voice is stern. “You are the one who does not feel like yourself. What do you need?”

Ghost blinks over at her. She sighs and rises to her feet. Her quiet voice carries well in the silence. She paces, speaking, “I'm not sure, but… Can we go elsewhere? There is something that happened, during the training… and on Mars and I... I would like to discuss it with you.”

The Commander's brow furrows, but he acquiesces, rising to his feet. “Lead the way.”

#commander zavala #oc: miyu #zavala x oc #zavala x female guardian #destiny fanfiction #collection: phoenix protocol

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zefyre · 5 years

Note

hii today I felt like prompting you, hope you dont mind! kagome making it into the quidditch team and she loves the thrill of the game more than she thought making riskier and riskier moves. the boys are laughting if off first but one day she nearly killed herself with a stunt and still just laughed it off so. so they had to talk

“Oh shit,” Kagome exhaled on a breathless laugh, heartracing and exhilaration running through her veins as she just barely caughtherself before flipping off her broom. She pulled back on the handle, steering up and zipping higher into the air.

Just as she was passing her brother, who was gaping at her and looking a bit paler than normal, a white-knuckled grip around his broomstick, she laughed and joked, “Note to self, don’t try a dive that sharp again. Well, not without practicing it first!” and then off she went, back to searching for the snitch.

She missed the way a shadow crossed her brother’s face, something dark and thunderous churning in his gaze; how Sirius had pulled to a stop at his side, watching in concern and looking a little agitated himself.

“Has she gone absolutely mental?”

James shook his head, unable to form the words. “Let’s finish this,” he muttered, just barely loud enough to be heard over the din of cheers.

[[more under the cut]]

Kagome was still riding on the adrenaline from the game as she slipped into the Gryffindor locker room, shrugging off her quidditch coat, when she stopped at the doorway.

There, waiting for her all line up, was her team with her brother at the head, looking particularly unhappy. Sirius similarly sported such a look. Kagome scanned the rest of the team to find them nervous and confused (the younger members) or vaguely uncomfortable (the older ones).

Kagome slowly slung her coat over her shoulder, stepping in the room fully and letting the door close behind her. “…What’s going on?” she asked, spirits dampening, starting to get a little concerned. They should be halfway ready to celebrate by now. “I know we didn’t score as many points as we wanted to this time, but I’m sure we can make it up next game.”

“Kagome.”

The witch in question stilled at the tone of her brother’s voice. She was in trouble, that was for sure. Her eyes flickered to Sirius, but aside from a flicker of sympathy, his expression was otherwise neutral. She turned back to her brother, eyebrows furrowing, “James?”

James stepped forward, “What you did today was dangerous,” he said, serious, “You could’ve gotten hurt with the stunt you pulled.”

Kagome stared. “It’s… it’s no different than the dives I’ve done before, James,” she said, visibly flummoxed and speaking slowly, “M-maybe a little sharper and okay, I almost flipped but I pulled back before anything happened.”

“Yeah, and you also dived straight into the path of a bludger!” Kagome flinched a little at James’ accusation. “And don’t tell me you didn’t see it, because it came this close,” he held up his forefinger and thumb to demonstrate – the distance between which a piece of parchment would have trouble passing through. “And even you aren’t that fast on your broom to dodge it that close unless you already knew it was there.”

Tight-lipped, Kagome turned away. James, however, had only just begun.

“And speaking of other dives, that’s the problem!” James began to rant, a scowl marring his face. He looked like all he wanted to do was march over to her and shake her and he probably would have too had Sirius not stepped up behind him to put a hand on his shoulder. Whether it was for her benefit or her brother’s, Kagome honestly couldn’t tell. The expression on his face was synonymous to his name, which was rare in of itself. “This isn’t the first time you’ve pulled risky moves and they’ve only been getting worse. This is more than just being daring, you’re being reckless, and it needs to stop now!”

Kagome snorted now, unable to help herself. “Is this my captain speaking, or is it my brother?” she said baldly as she turned on him, disbelief writ across her face. “I made a mistake today, I’ll own up to that, but it’s those dives that caught the snitch and won the matches for us. I’m not about to stop because you’re feeling overprotective of me!”

“I’m not being overprotective–!”

“—Well I don’t see you mother-henning anybody else around here!”

“Yeah, maybe that’s because no one else is trying to get themselves killed!”

“Merlin!” Kagome threw her hands up, eyes rolling skyward as she mouthed the words ‘getting themselves killed’ incredulously to herself. She shot him a flat look. “You’re overreacting.”

James pressed his mouth into a thin line and took a step forward, glaring hotly at her. “If I was? I wouldn’t have the whole team here backing me up.”

Kagome’s eyes snapped to Sirius, challenging him to agree. Sirius had to look away, his hand pulling away from James’ shoulder to come up and rub at the back of his neck instead, nervous energy radiating off him in waves as he fidgeted.

“Kagome…” he said, meeting her gaze with a helpless shrug. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had us worried, and yeah, we all had a good laugh at the close shaves you’ve been dodging lately but today… It wasn’t funny, that dive and you almost getting brained… And still, you just laughed it off like it was no big deal. Like you weren’t taking it seriously.”

Kagome’s hands fell to her sides then, an unpleasant feeling stirring in her chest that felt a little too like betrayal for her liking, and when she searched the faces of her team it was only to see them looking back at her genuinely worried.

Kagome turned back to James, whose agitation had receded into something warier. “I’m not trying to get myself killed,” she said softly, and watched as some of the tension bled away from her brother’s body, and it hit her then how concerned he was that might actually have been true. That unpleasant feeling from earlier deepened. “I’m just… having fun. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m just pulling these dives thinking bollocks to the consequences. It’s just… I made a mistake, got a little too careless, a little too into it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have death wish,” she went on, and laughed as the idea was honestly ridiculous to her. As if she would risk everything, risk his life and Sirius’ and Lily’s and Remus’ and god, so many others, for something as silly as a fucking quidditch game. “I don’t where you got the idea from but you need to trust me.”

“No, what I need you to do is to stop pulling those dives.”

“Even after I said I knew what I’m doing?” Kagome snapped, “I haven’t even gotten hurt –

“All it takes is one time—!” James interjected, only to get cut off himself.

“What if’s and maybes and almosts,” Kagome talked over him, voice becoming dangerously loud as she glared at him, “I’ll be more careful but you’re being unreasonable by saying I should quit the dives full stop.”

“No,” James snipped back, “I’m being the captain.”

Kagome laughed, scathing and sarcastic. “No, you’re being overprotective. Like you’ve always been. You really think, really, that if any of the others pulled the same dives you’d be here dressing them down?”

“Everybody agrees—”

“Not everybody knows I’ve been practicing this.”

Kagome gave her brother an incomprehensible stare – until James matched it with a stare of his own, and it was a match off between the two siblings stubbornly staring the other down.

In the end, it was James who broke it

“You’re benched for the next match.”

Her mouth dropped to gape at him incomprehensibly, that earlier feeling of betrayal lancing through her now like a white-hot blade full force, and the grip she had on her broom was so tight a flitting thought in the back of her head wondered if she might snap it in two.

Something must’ve shown on her face because Sirius was stepping up now, hands up in a gesture no doubt to calm them both down, but Kagome was already snatching her quidditch coat from over her shoulder to ball it up and chuck it.

It landed bulls-eye at the toes of James’ boots.

“Don’t bother because I quit,” she snarled, eyes flashing with fire, and it was with deep satisfaction to see the shock rocking through James’ face this time, “I don’t want to be on a team where my own captain can’t trust my flying. And I’m gonna be real honest, don’t really want a brother that can’t trust me.”

“Ka-“

Kagome didn’t let him finish, she had already turned on her heel to stalk out, letting the door snap shut and cut him off.

#that ending... honestly got away from me #lolol drama drama #probably a liiittle ooc?#but idk as i was writing i had the thought #that kagome would never srsly put herself at risk like that #her friends and family's lives are counting on her #she'd have fun and all but she'd still be super conscious of that #i guess is what im saying #in any case #hope you enjoyed it nonny!#thanks for the prompt #domino effect #my fic #prompt fill #nonny #mail time

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manlethotline · 6 years

Photo

Since it’s kind of a thing for lgbt webcomic folks to draw their characters with their respective pride flags for pride month, so I thought I’d join in. But, since this comic is set n 1983 and most of the current pride flags hadn’t been designed yet, I did some research to actually put the characters in period-accurate lgbt apparel. I typed up all the info on what they’re wearing, but it’s pretty long so I’m putting it under a readmore. Characters are from my webcomic, Truckstop Demons. that you can read by clicking that link.

-Gigi (along with her trademark interlocking venus symbols tattoos that became popular in the 70s) is wearing a gay power shirt with a purple handprint. The handprint symbol became popular after a group of people protesting a newspaper had printers ink poured on them- in response they left handprints in purple on the buildings facade. -The flag the girls are holding is one of the first iterations of the lesbian flag, the lambrys flag. The color lavender and the black triangle were symbols of lesbianism, and the lambrys axe was a symbol of female empowerment. -Snips is wearing two different variations of the upside down triangle symbol. The pink upside triangle was used by the Nazis to mark gay men in concentration camps, and during the 60s and 70s was reclaimed by the lgbt community. While the pink triangle was commonly used by gay men, the black triangle (on Snips’ hat) or the pink triangle encircled by the Venus symbol (on her shirt) would be used by lesbians. The black triangle symbol was also used by the Nazis to mark ‘asocial’ women. -The patch on the sleeve of Snips’ jacket is from the organization 'Dykes on Bikes’ a lesbian motorcycle club that was first formed in 1976 and is still around today. -Laurie is wearing a gay liberation shirt- gay liberation, along with gay power, were some of the first slogans used by lgbt groups in the 70s. The symbol below is a variation on the Venus and Mars symbols that was used to denote bisexuality. -His jacket sleeve has the bisexual crescent moon symbol- this is the only thing they are wearing that I can’t confirm would have been worn around in the 80s. Bisexuality would have been more often marked by interlocking blue and pink triangles (called biangles!) and the crescent moon was developed later on specifically to avoid the connection to the Nazis. Given that Laurie is a Jewish character, putting his in the crescent moons rather than the triangles seemed fitting. -Cal is holding the second iteration of Gilbert Baker’s rainbow flag- after hot pink was removed but before indigo and violet were combined. This version was used in the late 70s before the current six color version became popular. -Cal’s shirt has the slogan 'Act Up’. Act Up was both a group and a slogan used during the AIDS crisis in the 80s. It wasn’t so much pride wear as it was desperation, but it certainly was a major component of gay activism and gay life at all during the 80s. The AIDS crisis was absolutely all encompassing for gay life in the 80s. For more information on ACT UP here is a link to a documentary about the movement.

Incidentally, the day I’m posting it is the 14th year following the death of Ronald Reagan on June 5th. Reagan was president during the AIDS crisis in the 80s, and infamously did absolutely nothing to prevent the spread of AIDS or help those suffering until after it had reached epidemic levels. For more information on the Reagan administration’s lack of response to the AIDS crisis, I’m linking to a short (8 minutes) documentary about the white houses response simply to press questions about the AIDS crisis. It’s something I think everyone should educate themselves on, particularly in response to the current White Houses’ way of dealing with reporters and the press.

#pride month #lgbt webcomic #history #lgbt history #pride #tsd #truckstop demons #my art #skips art

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crown-eater · 6 years

Text

Only the Vital Ones, Pt. 1

“In those days, desires weren’t allowed to become reality. So, fantasy was substituted for them–films, books, pictures. They called it ‘art.’ But, when your desires become reality, you don’t need fantasy any longer, or art.”–Amyl Nitrate, “Jubilee”

[ With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence, 3, Pts. I, II. ] [ The Uptake (table of contents)]

The small brushed steel kitchen table of Cecil and ‘Choly’s studio apartment abutted a full-height open-frame modular shelving unit, which doubled as a space divider between the kitchen and the daybed in the back corner that ‘Choly frequented whenever scaling the loft bed proved too taxing. Slumped at it in a dark tank top and his orange leggings, before the ex-stalker lay a quaint butcher-paper and twine parcel, a paring knife, and his reader on a kickstand. With the apartment to himself, ‘Choly surveyed some of the pieces in his drafts and rubbed at his marred face in a dull restlessness. Grazing his recent cheek suture, he flinched and stood, and he paced in the narrow track the length of the apartment which functioned not unlike a hallway.

Two years ago, such incisions would have been made in the spirit of verbot chasing. He sniveled in anger at the impotence of having had to make such a superficial adjustment for sake of his own clumsiness, rather than in the aftermath of risky enterprises. He'd tried several times to contact the Tellurides after the riots and subsequent quarantine, and he knew in his gut that all three of them had gotten walled up with the rest of the Quarter. And the Geek, and Chalcedony, too, for all he knew. His only solace came in knowing that at least his parents had moved back in together downstate before things had gotten especially hairy.

He returned to the kitchen and rinsed out a mug to pour himself a fresh cup of black coffee from the carafe Cecil had brewed for breakfast, and he sat again. Then, he snipped the string on the box and unfurled its wrappings. His horn-rimmed glasses came off and lay across the table from him as he continued massaging at his cheeks and chin and neck marbled with errant scars. He flicked up the messaging app frame and clicked on Augen’s active username, and sighed. Rather than initiate conversation, he produced from the small wax-coated cardstock box a decently-sized chalky pastel ball. He smoothed out the parchment with a detached free hand, and set down the ball of Confec atop it with the other.

The ball bore a mealy consistency somewhere between soap and fudge. A quarter-inch butt fell to the paper, and he stuck it in his mouth to let the hyssop-like bouquet melt on his tongue as he sank into his chair and hesitated on the chat he’d opened.

ketherphorbia: you’re up early 9augen: funny, i was just about to message you. not at the library today? ketherphorbia: no, and i’m not getting anywhere with what i was trying to do so you have my full attention 9augen: how does meeting up for lunch sound? ketherphorbia: i ketherphorbia: i just started in on a fresh confec bonbon, but yeah 9augen: the finnegans across the street from your old place? its on me ketherphorbia: something tells me you’re just looking for an excuse to milk their one-cred goldfinch lunch special 9augen: if you want a few, just say so. can you be there in... say, an hour? ketherphorbia: it honestly sounds fantastic. we can both talk. if you want

Still rattled from the abrupt invitation, ‘Choly put the knife in the sink and rounded the modular divider to rummage in the side-table drawers for something to throw on. First came his back brace, splints, and wrist braces, and he yanked together his salmon button-up, black sweater with the elbows cut out, and slashed jeans over the orange leggings. Taking his jewelry box into the bathroom, he then brushed his bangtails and tucked the right side back with his ABC-gum barrette. He hooked his new black acrylic skull-cutout gauge hangers into his ears, and plucked his balloon animal and saturn-symbol pendants to string around his neck. The spoon pin went in his left collar-point, and he sat on the daybed for his socks. On the way out the door, he tucked the wax paper wrapped Confec into his diamond-shaped cross-body bag and nabbed his cane, retrieved his glasses, and slipped into his mint creepers.

Along the short trip down to Level 5, he shot Cecil a short message:

|| Might not be home when you get off work. Augen invited me to lunch. He hasn’t said hardly a word since it happened, and I get the feeling he needs a friend right now. ||

Cecil replied to him as ‘Choly waved his pass and boarded the toll lift:

|| I can only imagine how hard it’s been for him. Hope he’s doing ok. You two have a good time. Love you. Give him a kiss for me ||

With a chuckle and a fish emoticon, ‘Choly exited the lift and hobbled down the street. He texted Augen that he'd arrived, asking where to meet him, because at first he didn't see him outside. Leaning on the front facade of the Finnegan’s, a tall gothic figure smoked religiously. The young man with dark hair pulled into a low messy bun wore a black button-down and drop-crotch pants, a dark grey knee-length gauzy vest, a large black shawl-scarf wrapped around his shoulders and neck, and mesh boots. Upon closer inspection, the combination of facial body mods--spider bites, gauged one-inch ears and 2ga medusa with glass plugs, symmetrical double brow piercings, and batwing clicker--confirmed for ‘Choly that this was his friend. Somehow, even with his suspicion as to why Augen had initiated the meeting, he’d still expected to find him his old self, and not this anxious chain-smoking human mess. Augen rolled his eyes at him, having just checked his messages.

“Word of warning, I’m a bit thrushed right now,” 'Choly blurted out. Rather than respond, Augen leaned down and steadied ‘Choly’s chin to give him a kiss. ‘Choly smiled strangely and reciprocated with a second peck, then navigated the awkward posture into a hug as he tucked his head against Augen’s chest. It unnerved 'Choly that his friend was no longer cold-blooded, no longer clammy and tepid, but he kept it to himself. “...Hello to you, too.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Augen rubbed at ‘Choly’s scruff and held the door for him. He eyed ‘Choly’s sweater dully in passing. “Don’t Quit Your Daydream, huh?”

‘Choly looked down at the saying printed on his front once they’d cleared the atrium, and his brows upturned.

“Hah, maladaptive daydreaming. Had it for years. I just kinda threw something on so I wouldn’t run late.”

“Daydream... into a living nightmare...”

With the detached comment, Augen waved down a server to seat them. Marinating in his dissociative veneer, ‘Choly swallowed hard at the prospect of purposefully navigating his mental filter. They settled at a table amid the lunch traffic, and with a series of finger gestures along the tabletop which doubled as a touchscreen menu, both ordered pinzones dorados and got to glancing over their options in silence. The server, a young brunet named Bert, promptly came and left with their drinks, as well as a basket of multicolored meal-rinds and two dishes of salsa. 'Choly sipped at his golden glowing pinzón, a smooth over-ice mix of tonic, hydroponic mezcal, triple sec, and lime liqueur, and mentally praised the facility with which one could get drunk at any hour in this city.

“So... this is a thing now.” ‘Choly got a rind real heavy with salsa and shoved it in his mouth.

Augen knocked back half his liquor in one motion, and slouched over it.

“I’d lived myself so fully, that I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be human. I’ve missed smoking, if we’re looking for an upside to all this.”

“There’s gotta be a way t’get back what you had. At least some of it?”

“That’s... just about the last thing I want to talk about right now. Past tense doesn’t feel so great.”

They used their mouths to crunch rinds and nothing else. Augen took a hit off the cig around his neck, and with a deep exhale he shut his sunken eyes, the vapors entangling with the odd abstract light fixture over the table. Once they'd placed their orders, 'Choly did his best to people watch behind a zoned out Augen, mostly observing the rotation of three servers popping in and out of the kitchen door with dishes. When a couple that sat on the same side of their far-corner booth thought 'Choly gawked at their unapologetic PDAs and gave him a stink-eye, he coughed, and started trying to read the pattern of scrapbooked web articles which plastered every wall and the ceiling of the restaurant. The theme of all the articles painted up Tri-City's sheer melting pot culture as a fusion city, boasting a collage of articles about people from just about every level in the hyper-metroplex.

Bert interrupted their silence with their meals, and 'Choly squirmed back to give the server the space to lay it out on the table. The teen couldn't hide a sigh of relief as he picked up one plate, and glanced between the both of them.

"Who ordered the wraps?"

Augen gave him a lazy hand gesture, and the plate slid over to him. On Augen’s plate of spring wraps lay six large seared shrimp. Sliced in half both for presentation and facility, the three girthy wraps were stuffed with a combination of mushroom slices, seaweed, and fried mealworms.

"And then, the benedict's yours. Extra sauce?"

"Yes, thank you," 'Choly lauded with a heavily modulated affect, as the other mess of a plate came his way. A viscous pale yellow-green mess blanketed two nondescript mounds of protein and bread, and along its side the cook had scattered soft, colorful citrus gummies. "So glad I can still get breakfast here this late."

"Is there anyth--" Bert broke off, unable not to stare at Augen, as he fished out a pair of napkin-rolled utensils to give them. Augen returned the stare, deadpan.

"...Spring wraps, and a side order of shrimp. It is you."

‘Choly gave the poor boy a glossy smile, about to praise how good it all looked, but he quickly drooped in recognition of the tension.

“So I took a bath today,” Augen dismissed, total fatigue in his voice. “Big deal.”

‘Choly coughed, cataract-bloom eyes wide as he took a stiff sip. Setting the pinzón back down, he tried to smile up at the waiter again, his voice cracking.

"Could we get more rinds?"

The waiter shook his head and shut his eyes, then nodded.

“--Sure thing.”

“And we already need another round of birds.” Augen traced the edge of the faded glass with one black-polished finger and a heavy-lidded, eyelined smirk.

The server flashed him a fake grin, poorly hiding his revelry that the city had defanged the loathsome goth.

“I’ll be right back.”

‘Choly fought with the self-conscious selfishness of directing the conversation to himself, but still he persisted, hoping to distract his friend from getting recognized by his typical order. ‘Choly unrolled his flatware to tuck the napkin beside his plate, and took up the table knife and fork with zeal. He didn’t want to admit it, but as had become typical in the past few weeks, the only thing he’d put in his stomach so far by that time of day was a slice of wax and half a cup of coffee. Augen took precise bites, holding his food gingerly with thoroughly ring-encrusted hands. His face stitched with a faint sweat which could have been from stress, the heat of the food, or even from the start of enebriation. 'Choly observed in distant and fascinated contemplation, unsure whether his friend derived his mannerisms from humanity or the vestiges of having so recently once been a hybrid. Augen shot him a vague glance, and he cringed from getting caught watching. ‘Choly pushed the sauce-drenched larva-hash back up on the one round bready thing he’d been cutting bites from, sheepish.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, there’s gotta be something you can do to take your mind off it instead? Have you tried... writing, since...?”

Augen finished off the first drink right when Bert swung by two replacements and more rinds and salsa. ‘Choly hadn’t even drunk half of his first pinzón yet, and he nudged his new one his friend’s way, knowing the rate this meal was going. “Most of the time,” the goth mumbled, welcoming the offer, “my writing takes a particular head space. And I sure as fuck haven’t been in it.”

“I mean, like. Not in a carnal sense. Sort of in a carnal sense. An emotional sense? A purgative sense?”

Augen kept his eyes on his food, but his ears patently on his friend. ‘Choly’s hallmark withdrawn posture and tone signaled vague, incumbent rambling. With welcome resignation the goth listened, as he’d aspired from the start. After all, ‘Choly always had been the long-winded one of them.

“You... You remember how I was writing stories about me gettin’ with the Geek, but then I stopped abruptly? The last wip I posted before I stopped was right after I found out that the Geek and the Larva were the same person. Early on, the reasons I couldn’t reconcile with finishing the piece were ‘cause of how badly my first encounter with him went, but then fantasy turned into reality and he... caught me stalkin’ him and. You remember that right?” ‘Choly fished his reader from his bag, and tried to locate a picture in his camera roll. “I know I sent you a selfie of the black eye he gave me...”

“...You couldn’t shut up about it for a month. Heh.”

‘Choly looked up from his reader with a dull gloss to his features, and sniffed. “He even tracked me down, what, five weeks later? An’ things got super weird--" He chewed at his labret. "...I’m still trying to process everything that happened two years ago.”

“This is about the walls, isn’t it.”

“Not quite. And yet. Exactly. I just. I owe it to him to get the details right, don’t I? It feels real lousy to even consider writing a nonfictional account of him, and yet.” He popped an orange gummy in his mouth, and licked the thick, tangy sauce off his swan-splinted fingertip. “I feel like I need to get the very concept of him in print, to get it out from inside of me. I know it’s already been two years since the walls went up, but I don’t think it’s possible for me to forget all that... death, even for a day.” A grapefruit one, this time. “How do you stay motivated to write something that hurts and arouses you, both in ways nothing else has ever really managed to?”

Augen dipped a spring roll in his salsa, and started working on the third drink. Not glancing up from his food, his brows piqued with heavy lids.

“A difficult question. Perhaps a better reply would be another question: Who’re you writing this for?”

‘Choly set down his utensils and stared down his food.

“I’d say it was for me, but I feel like I need to put his ghost to rest. I’d say it was for him, but it’s also in hopes of jamming my brain because something more accurate could exist of him than anything I’ve written of him prior. And I’d... say it was for you, or any of my followers, but I... don’t even know if I can bring myself to post the results.” The dreg sneaked the Confec from his bag and set it beside his plate. “I... I gotta have another slice.”

That got Augen’s attention.

“Mmh. Mind sharing?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

‘Choly sliced through the partial ball a few times with his thumbs against the spine of the knife, and Augen reached over to help himself to one. Wincing at the bitterness, he chewed it up and washed it down with more liquor. 'Choly simply slouched back and let the stringent melt go for a few minutes, thinking it nearly paired with the citrus cubes.

“Cecil knows about us,” Augen began, eyes stitched shut, “but you never did tell Cecil about the Geek, did you? Have you ever wanted to?”

“I told him about Chalcedony. And he may not have said anything, but I know he knows about me an’ the Geek. Can’t not. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how open he is to it all. It’s like he believes leaving me untethered keeps me more faithful. He’s... not wrong, I guess.” ‘Choly looked up when he heard Augen stifle a choke, and suddenly he regretted sharing. His friend’s face was glistening, grey eyes wide. “Are you-- all right?”

“How’s everything tasting so far?” Bert interjected in passing, trying to hide concern when he he paused noticing Augen’s demeanor.

“Don't mind him." 'Choly quickly stashed the Confec back in his bag, unsure whether having it would cause them trouble. "I think something just went down the wrong way.”

The boy frowned at the Augen, who blanched and rubbed at his Adam’s apple a bit. On cue, Augen forced a cough.

“I... It's nothing."

Augen tapped a finger on his glass, not looking to Bert, and the waiter plucked up their empty glasses with a nod and excused himself, shaking his head in delirious incredulity at what had become of their once most troublesome patron.

“Seriously... Are you okay? You know you’re supposed to let that stuff melt slow.”

Rather than reply, the goth took one of ‘Choly’s wristbraced hands in both of his own, and guided it to hold his strained throat. He sustained breathless, tormented eye contact.

“It's wearing off faster than I was planning. Thought for sure I'd at least get to slagging finish eating. I'll... I'll take it.”

On to part 2 »»»

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #drugs tw #alcohol tw #dysphoria mention #body horror #the uptake #with symbiotic self indulgence #wssi #only the vital ones #melanochro kara #august ritter #hopefully starting to understand what's got choly so bugged out that he needs... medicating

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cuddlefish85 · 6 years

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Sins Of The Father Pt 8

Summary: Reaper bides her time to make her fiery escape. Hopefully you will survive it.

Warnings: violence, mention of death

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

It's Alpha's and Omega's Kingdom come

Several Days Later

A flash of metal and a blur of movement and you feel your body lash out, sparks flicking into life as claws skim against metal.

Your feet snap back and reposition, you hear your ragged breathing and try to force yourself to take settling breaths and focus but of course just like the million other times you try its no use.

Reaper was having too much fun.

You were forced to watch as everyday you would be collected from your cell and forced to fight a different number of guards or The Winter Solider before being force fed food and then sent back to your cell.

And every night you were forced to watch your body pacing the cell like a caged animal. Reaper knew that you would regain control when sleep stole over her, she even signalled Cain and his fellow lab monkeys that she was flagging further thwarting your chances of taking back control.

You flinch as best as you could when the solider lashed out and caught your shoulder, you watch as Reaper stumbles back and hisses. For a moment you swear you saw a smirk pass across the soldiers lips but with in seconds its gone and he's coming forward in another pressing attack.

And that's when you sensed it or rather when she allowed you to sense it, the air shifting around her right hand and then a short scythe swung into your view and you watched as it missed the solider by inches.

“Enough” a cold voice called and you feel her try to press forward but a hand shot out and the solider applied enough pressure for Reaper to know that he would bring you back in an instant.

“Cute” Reaper mutters as the scythe flickered before it disappeared in wisps of black smoke and her hands came up.

For few seconds the solider and Reaper had a stare down but then the solider let go and stepped back with his arms by his side.

“Bastard ain't even breathing hard” Reaper bit towards the unmoving man and once again you swear that you can see a smirk pass across his lips but then Reaper is looking to the latest lab monkey glaring at the pair.

This one not only hated Reaper but seemed to have a loathing for the solider too.

“You have to report back” the lab monkey snapped before he looked down at his clip board not even acknowledging the solider as he stomped past him. The lab monkey looks up at Reaper and you feel the repulsion coil in your stomach at the look he gives you.

“Another guard will come; you will go again” he ordered before he spun and almost slithered out of the room.

Reaper closed her eyes when the sound of the lock being engaged echoed around the room.

“Patience” Reaper ordered within your mind and you almost snort. Reaper would often try this as well, talking to you as though you were old friends.

You ignore her as best you could only once or twice lashing out and hating your self for it when she glanced at the mirror and you saw a smirk playing across your lips.

“For what?” you curse when you hear her chuckle but before she answers she opens her eyes to see the door opening and a mountain of man attempting to shove his form through the door way.

“Just have patience” Reaper muttered before clicking her neck from side to side and readied her self for an attack with an almost feral grin across her lips.

You watch with disgust as Reaper wiped blood from her lip and licked it clean. Reaper chuckles darkly both at your disgust and the mountain of man being carried out and the lab monkey staring fear at her.

When the room was cleared the lab monkey quickly darted out the door and as though doubting his choice to leave Reaper he raced back in and glared at her.

“Your going back to your room” he snapped, hitting a button on the wall causing Reaper's upper lip to curl but instead of using the moment to rush the man she simply held her hands before her with a raised eyebrow.

“Ready when you are” you hear her drawl and wait as a guard who you had not seen before came through the door and jerked his head towards Reaper. Something was off, something that you hadn't felt before.

Reaper was too calm and too eager to follow the guard out. You try to figure out what her plan was but the most you got was just a stone wall. The one time you wanted her to actually talk to you and she stone walls you.

If you were in control you were sure your arms would have to folded tightly over your chest in a huff. But for now you are forced to watch as Reaper follows behind guard and then you notice the lack of normal guards that milled around and then you saw no scientists; in fact you hadn't seen Cain in more than three days. As you near your cell you find a few doors open; places that you had not seen since your arrival.

“move” the guard snarled but still kept his space from Reaper and for a moment you feel her tense but still she kept her cool and followed the only time it seemed that Reaper might fight back was when she paused at the open door of your cell, you feared the way the solider gripped his rifle but Reaper simply smirks and ducks into the room.

When the door locks behind you and Reaper hurries over to the mirror. In the water stained mirror you see that despite her healing powers your face had been marred by bruises that extended beyond the neck line of the white shirt they had thrown at you. You ignore the blackness of your eyes.

“If he wasn't such a tool that Winter Solider would be hot” you snort at the comment and Reaper just grins back at her reflection. After a few moments she turns and all but skip to the bed and for a second you almost wonder if she is going to sleep, but a dark chuckle as she slumps down dispels that idea.

“Told you to have patience” she snips before bending forward and reaching beneath your cot, you feel your fingers prodding and poking between the soft and hard. You hate to admit but curiosity gets the better of you and you almost question her when she rips something and sits back holding her hand up with a prize clasped between her fingers.

For a moment you are unwilling to believe what you were seeing; you would have guessed a weapon and then you figure that in a way it was a weapon.

Against Reaper it was a weapon.

Your ring.

“But”

“You thought they had it? Lost it some how? I managed to learn a lot while you were sedated kiddo” Reaper declared as she tilted the ring, watching the blackness of the opal catching the light before she slip the ring in to the cup of your bra.

“why” you weren't sure as to what you were questioning; why she kept it, why she didn't destroy it or even why they had let her keep it.

“Because.... shit just because I promised that damn old bastard.... I don't know” she growls and you feel the frustration because you both knew what she really wanted to do.

“He was still part mine; still my grandfather” she snaps looking down as though it hurt to say those words and that's when it hits you, all those years ago she had called herself your sister and in a way she was.

“I've been listening to the guards; they talk about S.H.I.E.L.D making moves against other bases. Then two days ago I over heard them talking about moving me. Maybe not today maybe not tomorrow but soon they will come” she declared before standing up and moving to the mirror, avoiding look at your face.

Slipping her fingers behind the mirror, you sense the coldness slipping to your finger tips and with a wrenching sound she rips the mirror from it's brackets and turns it over to see the metal backing.

“Most of this ship is made from bullet proof metal. We just have to be ready when shit goes down” she ordered before replacing the mirror, managing to catch it enough to hang on.

And it turns out that shit went down exactly three hours later when a large explosion rocked the world around you both. As Reaper springs to her feet you know she is grinning like a manic but at this moment in time she was your manic. Snatching the mirror from it's place the lights flicker and another explosion rocks the world around you before the normal lights flick off and the emergency light kicks in.

ripping the mirror from it's place, Reaper stops and cocks her head as she listens to the heavy thumping of boots and just the faintest hint of gun fire. She spins when the lock snaps open and the door is yanked open. The guards arm snapped painfully when Reaper slammed the mirror against his raised arm. His gun skidded to a stop some where under the bed but Reaper ignores it and instead unleashes her claws and jam them up through the guards throat.

Blood bubbled up over his lips and his eyes widen for a few seconds before Reaper yanks her fingers and step around his body. It was worse outside your cell, yells and gun fire could be heard but it was the fact that waves of acrid smoke rolling around the corner. Reaper wisely chooses to turn away from the source of fire and head towards a junction and when gun fire came from the right had side she quickly head left. Hugging the wall as war seemed to erupt above and below her.

Moving and ducking beneath bulk heads she took a second too long to decide on which way to go when the butt of a rifle slammed hard into her shoulder causing her to howl out in pain and you to feel the spider web of pain creeping along the shoulder blade.

You chose to ignore the fact that the pain linger and the fact that Reaper swung a hand out and blood spurted from the guards throat. Moving forward you knew if you ever got your body back it would take a life time to wash the blood from your hands.

“Suck it up princess; us or them wasn't that what the old man always taught you” you could hear the pain in her voice and knew that there was a chance for you to get back your body. She quickly scaled up a stair case and ducked back when a group of darkly dressed soldiers streamed past.

She ascends another stair case only to feel the air thicken with smoke, your vision, as limited as it was, got small when tears bubbled up. As Reaper made to move down a smoke filled corridor a ticking sound surrounded you both and then silence as an explosion drew in more oxygen and Reaper was thrown into the wall, denting it with the force.

“Move” You scream as best as you can and refuse to acknowledge that a piece of metal embedded in her left shoulder was rending it useless. She chuckles and you feel the blood dripping down her chin; when she gets up and staggers down the now mostly smoke free corridor you guess that she doesn't retort because there was too much pain.

Staggering through a door you see the night sky; gun fire echoed around you and you can see figures darting around, and some figures that didn't move. Reaper however didn't care for any of them because in the distance there was lights, hundreds of them which meant land.

A sharp pain radiates from your chest and you winch when Reaper grabs the metal and yanks it. You are sure the scream spilling into the air was a mixture of you both. The world spun and for a terrifying moment you feel blackness creeping over you both but Reaper just pushed forward, hooking her injured arm around her waist and grabbing a life ring which you hope is more for than just decoration.

“No” you all but scream at Reaper when she peers over the side and find yourself staring at black churning water.

Reaper chooses to ignore and with a struggle pulls her self up high enough to go over the railing.

“Damn that old bastard” Reaper mutters and before you can even question what she meant she hugs the life ring tightly to her body and slips off the side into the waiting water.

Your scream is muffled by another explosion.

Then darkness.

#bucky x reader #Winter Solider #MCU #orignal character #Orignal mythology #fanfiction

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scribomaniac · 6 years

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The House of Sorcery, Chapter 7: Dinner with the Undead Queen

Read from the beginning here!

Reyna blinked several times at the glasses in front of her. The ice she just added made the carbonated drinks fizzle and pop as it began to slowly melt. A Vampire was here. Knowing Dunstan hadn’t set up any appointments for today, she wondered what they wanted, and then wondered if they’d be trouble. Spinning the cap back onto the two liter pop bottle, Reyna called out, “Be right there!” And put it back into the fridge.

Jorge was frowning at the intercom screen next to the front door when Reyna walked up behind him. “Since when does Dunstan work with Vamps?”

Raising a brow, she replied easily, “Since always. Oh,” she looked at the screen, “that’s Sophie.” Standing patiently on the other side of the door was Sophie Bernard, an exquisitely beautiful Vampire with a small button nose, thin red lips, and plump cheeks accented with high cheekbones. With a busty bosom and hips to match, the Vampire was more round than tall. An impressive feat, considering she was just shy of six feet without her heels.

Although the Vampire looked like she was in her late twenties, she had actually been born in the early twentieth century. She’d been turned just before the second World War by Lilith, the Queen of Vampires herself, and had been by her side ever since.

Immediately, Reyna unlocked the door and welcomed the Vampire into her home. “Reyna, darling!” She cooed, her voice lilting with her French accent, once she saw the dark haired Mage on the other side of the door. Stepping one staggeringly tall heel past the threshold, and then the other, she leaned down to press light bises to both Reyna’s cheeks. “How lovely to see you! And who is this handsome young man?” She asked, her sharp blue gaze quickly landing on Jorge. Having known Sophie since she was ten years old, the green eyed Mage immediately caught that mischievous twinkle in the Vampire’s eye and knew exactly what it meant. “This is my friend, Jorge.” She introduced, then stressed, “We’re just friends.” Sophie’s lips pursed with the shrewdness of a disappointed grandmother. She’d been trying to set Reyna up with a boy since the young Mage had hit puberty. “Jorge, this is Sophie. She’s Lilith’s personal assistant and a friend of Dunstan’s.” “Enchonte,” Sophie straightened her spine before extending her hand for Jorge to take. The blonde haired Mage looked between Reyna and Sophie with a slight frown marring his face before accepting the extended hand and shaking it. Sophie looked a little put out, probably hoping he’d kiss it, but brushed it off easily. “So,” she clapped her hands together and aimed her blue eyes back towards Reyna, “where might I find Dunstan at this hour?” Reyna frowned, thinking, "Oh, probably somewhere near Worcester by now." "Worcester? Massachusetts?" Sophie blinked, then with a pout, she asked, "And what is he doing there?"

Jorge awkwardly bumped into Reyna as he shifted, as inconspicuously as he could, away from Sophie. Leaning into him ever so slightly, Reyna took pity on her friend--she’d never seen him so uncomfortable before--and made her way back towards the kitchen, motioning for Sophie to follow. Jorge took the opportunity to dash up the stairs without a look back. "He's driving back from a House session. He'll be back the day after tomorrow. Want something to drink?" "Coconut water, if you have any." Of course they had some, Reyna thought while grabbing a carton out from the fridge. Although neither resident drank it, Dunstan always made sure he had some on hand just in case he needed to play host to any undead guests. "Day after tomorrow, you say? Hmm," Reyna poured a glass and handed it to the tall Vampire. "Oh, thank you dear." She took a sip, then stared at the glass in thoughtfully. "Lilith will not be pleased to hear this," she said before taking another sip. Reyna held back a roll of the eyes. Lilith was rarely ever pleased, but Sophie always made it sound much more dramatic than it was. "What do you need?" Maybe if it was magic related, Reyna could help her out and send Sophie on her way. She loved Sophie, she really did, but the longer she remained in the house, the longer Jorge hid upstairs, and that didn’t make for a very fun weekend. "Oh," Sophie took another dainty sip of her water and shook her head, "it is nothing, Lilith just wished to have dinner with Dunstan soon and sent me to set a date." If that was all, Reyna would happily play secretary for her Master. Summoning his planner, she flipped the book open and found today's date, "Okay, no problem. What day were you two thinking?" Puckering her lips, Reyna skimmed through his plans for the upcoming week. "Looks like he's free the night he gets home," technically he didn't have to go to dinner with the Vankov's, "and Friday night." Clapping her hands together, Sophie smiled triumphantly, "Friday works perfectly! I'll let Lilith know immediately," she pulled her phone out from her purse and her thumbs went flying over the glass screen. "We'll expect the two of you at seven, with you arriving ten minutes early, of course. Dress shall be semi-formal, and remind Dunstan to bring a gift for his hostess, yes?” Putting her phone away, she released an unnecessary breath of relief, "Wonderful!" Leaning in to press more bises to her cheeks, she pulled away with a smile and said, "Well I really must be going, darling. I'm to make a few more visits before the day is finished. I shall see you on Friday--give me a call if you need to go shopping before then!" Wiggling her fingers in farewell, she winked, "Say goodbye to Jorge for me.” Reyna pretended to gag before opening the door for her. Sophie's bell like laugh echoed throughout the foyer and she gave one last wink before finally stepping out the front door. There was a brief silence after Reyna closed the door, and then, "Is she gone yet?" Jorge's voice asked from somewhere above her. Looking up, Reyna saw his eyes peering down at her through the banister bars.

“Yeah, she's gone. Didn't realize you were afraid of Vampires, George.”

Jorge rolled his eyes and started the trek down the stairs. “Shut up. I've never met one before.”

“Really?” That surprised her. Jorge was an Apprentice, he should've dealt with dozens of them by now. Reyna herself had been dealing with them since she was ten, and had known how to tear their hearts out of their chests at age eight. Just in case one ever got too hungry.

Nodding, Jorge gave her a strange look, “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Why? Do they come around here often?”

“Not really, but Lilith is Dunstan’s top client, so--what?” She stopped at the look on Jorge's face. His eyes went as wide as saucers, and his mouth puckered as if he'd just tasted something sour. “What's that face for?”

“Lilith, as in the Lilith? The Vampire Queen? The original freaking Vampire?”

“Yeah,” Reyna said slowly, wondering why he was freaking out so much. It wasn't exactly a secret after all. In fact, she was pretty sure Dunstan bragged about it any chance he got. Being Lilith’s chosen Mage was a high honor.

Running his hands through his golden locks, Jorge looked at her like she'd begun to molt. “Since when? Why? How stupid--”

Brows furrowing, Reyna crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her friend, “What do you mean since when? Since always! How do you think Dunstan makes all his money?” It certainly didn’t come from being a Sorcerer. Sure, the job paid well, but not this well. Not well enough for several houses, a Rolls Royce, and all the designer clothes in their closets.

“Vampires are dangerous, Reyna! God, how stupid--I can't believe he's letting any of them near you! Donny would flip his shit if he knew about any of this! Hell, the whole House would!”

“Don't be so dramatic,” she told him while heading back towards the kitchen. Their glasses were just where she left them, but the ice had shrunk three times its original size. “Everyone in the House knows, even Donny.” That man was oblivious, but not that oblivious.

“Besides, they're not that dangerous, so long as you know how to handle them.” So long as you were powerful enough, she amended in her mind. Vampires were pretty durable, after all. Only three things could kill them: direct sunlight, decapitation, or a stake to the heart. Ripping their heart straight out their chest worked, too, of course, but it took a lot of skill to do. A lot of conviction, too. Magic could only get you so far, after all.

“It's just good business.” She added with a roll of her eyes. Reyna had heard Dunstan utter that phrase dozens of times before, so it sounded a little weird coming out of her own mouth, but it was true regardless of who said it.

Jorge snorted, “Good business,” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Yeah, right. This has nothing to do with business and everything to do with politics.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” His tone was starting to get on her nerves. Business, politics, who cared? It was money, it was comfort, it was survival. Reyna didn’t understand why Jorge was making such a big deal out of this.

The blonde shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “I'm just saying they're powerful allies to have in your corner.”

Reyna grit her teeth and felt her magic coil beneath her skin, reacting to the anger and frustration brewing in her chest. If Jorge had something to say, he should just say it. “That doesn't sound like a bad thing,” she snipped because, really, it didn’t.

“It's not,” he shrugged again and grabbed his drink before heading back to the living room. Over his shoulder, he added, “If you're expecting a war.”

“Now come on,” he sighed from his spot on the couch, already done with the conversation, “I wanted to finish that episode. Can we rewind?”

Frowning after her friend, Reyna suddenly hated his ability to just shrug things off and move on. He might’ve been done with the conversation, but she wasn’t. There was more to be said, more to hash out, but the green eyed Mage knew she wouldn’t get another word out of him on the subject. Not now, at least. Running her tongue along her teeth, Reyna forced her jaw to unclench and sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

Nose scrunching, Reyna knew she’d have to tone down the attitude if she wanted to have any fun this weekend. She reminded herself that she didn’t get to hang out with Jorge often, and that she wanted to make the most out of the next couple days. Closing her eyes and taking a few calming breaths, Reyna felt her anger slowly unwind and her magic settle. Finally, she followed her friend back into the living room and joined him on the couch.

The week came and went in the blink of an eye. There had been no other interruptions--be it from protesters or Vampires, thank god--during Jorge's stay, and their dinner with the Vankov family had been lovely. Loud, but lovely all the same.

They'd gone to the Grand Lux, much to Dunstan’s chagrin. “It's for tourists,” he'd said, sneering at the very thought of eating there. Reyna had to concede that her Master was right in that regard, but it was also a restaurant with plenty of options for any and all picky eaters, reasonably priced--even if Donny was technically paying--and didn't look like a hole in the wall. They could even dress however they wanted. Fancy or casual, the Grand Lux accepted all sorts of stylings.

It had gone over smashingly. Everyone had loved it. Elena wore a brand new dress she’d received for her birthday, Mrs. Vankov loved the restaurant’s decor, Marcus was pleased with the menu’s reasonable prices, and even snarky little Nico found nothing wrong or annoying to gripe about.

Now Reyna found herself preparing for another dinner party, though she had a feeling this one wouldn't be nearly as fun as the last.

Lilith was amazing, and Reyna looked up to the fearsome Queen with the utmost respect and even just a tad bit of hero worship. Not everyone could rule for over two thousand years, now could they? And then there was Sophie, who was always a laugh and a pleasure to be around. And she always bought Reyna pretty new clothes, which easily endeared her into the young Mage’s heart. But these dinners, they were always a little . . . dull.

On occasions like these, Reyna was really only ever invited as a courtesy because she was Dunstan's Apprentice, and she only ever went because, well, you don't turn down an invitation from the Undead Queen. Not if you wanted to remain in her good graces, anyway.

She hoped the dinner would at least brighten her Master's mood. After the Vankov dinner, Reyna bit the bullet and told him about the protesters. He'd taken it about as well as she had expected, with thunderous rage and an explosion of venomous words.

After his outburst, the brown eyed Sorcerer had turned inwards, keeping to his study and barely speaking a word for the past few days. Reyna could tell he was planning something, but had no idea what. Perhaps planning for the dinner with Lilith, or perhaps, as Jorge said, planning for a war.

Whichever it was, Reyna just hoped he'd tell her soon. She hated waiting.

They arrived at Lilith’s building that Friday evening, fifteen minutes before they were officially expected. Dunstan handed his keys over to the valet, a human boy with scraggly blonde hair. He was one of the few humans working on the building’s staff. He looked like any other normal teenage boy, with half lidded eyes and an easy smile. He was smart, though, he had to be, and braver than most. Most humans steered clear of working with Vampires, but Lilith paid well, and as far as Reyna knew there’d never been an accident between staff and resident.

Lilith had bought this building five years ago and had renovated it to fit her Vampiric needs. Every window was fitted with UV protected glass, several floors were repurposed and turned into a blood bank, and iron was used to decorate almost every inch of the place to keep those pesky Fae out.

She'd intended for it to be a haven for her and her favorite children. Originally, the neighbors hadn't been too keen on the idea of the Vampire Queen living the next building over, but when that dissent reached Lilith’s ears, she smiled and said she understood. The next day every building surrounding her had been bought up by an anonymous developer, and all those who'd complained found themselves promptly evicted.

Although it was never spoken of, it was no real secret that Lilith had been the buyer. The fact that she did it wasn't surprising to Reyna, it was the fact that she could. Lilith lived in the center of the Loop. These buildings weren't cheap. Sure, she'd had over two thousand years to raise the money, but still. It was very impressive.

The building itself was built back in 2001, which, considering the ages of its residents was still very new. Lilith, of course, lived in the penthouse at the very top, which took an awfully long time to get to, even using the elevator. It’d taken the two Mages almost five minutes to get from their car to her floor.

The double ding of the elevator announced their arrival and the silver doors opened up to a grand foyer. The floors and walls were covered with a dark gray marble, with silver and black swirls running through its veins. Antique chairs and small, glass coffee tables filled the room and the walls were decorated with oil paintings and a few artifacts that looked positively Viking. Reyna had no doubt that all these pieces were original and very, very old.

The soft tap-tap of shoes hitting the marble floors echoed throughout the room as Benjamin, Lilith's butler and a fellow human, walked around the corner.

Benjamin was an older man, close to his seventies but not quite there yet, with dark black skin and a full head of hair that was so gray it almost looked white. He'd been with Lilith since he was sixteen, and besides Sophie had been with Lilith longer than anyone else on the planet.

“Good evening, Master Dunstan,” he nodded to the both of them, “Miss Reyna. May I take your coats?” Once in hand, Benjamin efficiently hung them up in a closet, “Very good. Her majesty is in the Drawing Room, please follow me.”

Even though both Mages had been to the Drawing Room enough times they could find it blind, Benjamin was a stickler for protocol and would be aghast at the idea of letting them wander through his Mistress’s home unchaperoned.

The Drawing Room was decorated similarly to the foyer, with oil paintings and Viking relics, but instead of marble, the floors were a dark hickory wood and the one wall that wasn't made entirely of window glass was covered in dark gray brick.

The first time Reyna had met the Vampire Queen, she'd been nine or ten, and thought Lilith was larger than life. She'd looked so ethereal, with her pale white skin and matching white hair that seemed to illuminate space around her. Her dark eyes, blacker than any lump of coal, seemed to see everything, and always hinted that she knew something you did not.

Now, five years later, all those things remained constant. Lilith's hair had not changed, her skin had never changed pallor, her eyes remained sharp and soul cutting, but the one thing that always took Reyna by surprise was her youth. With her round face and small stature, Lilith would forever remain a child on the cusp of puberty. Reyna, on the verge of sixteen, had already outgrown her physically.

The green eyed Mage wondered if she'd ever get over the shock of Lilith's youthful appearance, or if she'd have the same reaction once she surpassed Sophie's undead age.

Lilith stood in the middle of the room, her hands neatly folded before her. “Dunstan, Reyna, dear, how wonderful to see you again. It's been too long.”

“Lilith,” Dunstan stepped forward and took her hand to kiss it. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home.” Lilith's face remained unchanged, as unmoving as stone, as she watched Dunstan. The Vampire Queen didn't care about pretty words or any sort of flattery, she cared much more for action and gifts. “For you,” Dunstan wisely cut to the chase, a green bottle appearing in his hands.

Red lips pulling back into a dangerous smile, Lilith's elongated canines showed themselves at the sight of the blood filled bottle. Black veins appeared along her pale temple and the whites of her eyes bled red as the faint scent of blood permeated her nostrils. “How kind of you, Dunstan. Benjamin,” she paused, then forced her face back into a neutral, human like expression, “please prepare me a glass. I'll have this for dinner.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Benjamin nodded and then took the bottle back towards the kitchen.

“Where's Sophie?” Reyna asked, after giving Lilith a greeting of her own. She hoped Sophie showed up soon.

“Oh,” Lilith said casually, waving a dainty hand at Reyna, “she'll be here soon. We had a bit of a . . . we'll, I guess you could call him an intruder.” She cocked her head to the side in thought, her white blonde hair cascading over her bony shoulder. “Yes, we had an intruder. Sophie's dealing with it.”

Lilith motioned for them to sit on the black leather sofa while she sat in her white plush wing back chair. Dunstan hummed and rubbed a hand over his mouth and along his beard. “An intruder? That's . . . unusual. Your security is so tight, I'm surprised he got in. Was he a Vampire?”

“Vampire, yes. Unusual, no.” Lilith shrugged, “As for my security, don't worry your pretty little head, Dunstan.” She grinned and gave Reyna a sly wink, “it's as tight as I need it to be.”

Brows furrowing, Reyna clarified, “You let him in on purpose? Why?”

Another shrug, “Information, I suppose,” her smirk widened, making her look almost lupine, “and a bit of boredom, too.”

“Who was he?” Dunstan asked, his frown deep and stern.

Benjamin reentered the room then, his heels hitting against the wood floor at a steady rhythm as he handed Lilith a crystal glass filled with dark, gooey blood. “Thank you, Benjamin.” She took a small sip and sighed, closing her eyes as she relished the taste. Reyna wondered who tonight's donation belonged to.

Opening her eyes, the whites a light pink, Lilith looked straight at Dunstan, “Ah, yes,” her tongue darted out to lick whatever residual blood was on her lips, “truly, he was nobody. A grunt from Louisiana who thought he'd test out the sire theory.” She scoffed before taking another sip.

No one knew exactly how Lilith had become to world's first Vampire. Some said she made a deal with the devil himself, others claimed that she was a Fae experiment gone wrong. Some rumors even claimed that a giant bat bit her, and that's how this all started. The only person who knew for sure was Lilith, and as far as Reyna knew, no one ever got a straight answer out of her.

One thing every Vampire seemed to agree on, however, was the sire theory. The theory that as their Queen, as the origin of their Vampiric abilities, every one of them was linked to her, like some sort of hive. And like a hive, if the Queen dies then so do the children.

It could, of course, be all made up. Lilith could've started the sire theory as a way to ensure her survival, and so far no one had been able to test it. No one wanted to take the chance.

“A grunt?” Dunstan raised a brow, “So he was working for someone?”

“That,” Sophie began, walking into the room as quietly as a mouse. Reyna never understood how the Vampire could be so quiet, even while wearing stiletto heels. “Is something I intend to find out.”

“Sophie, good, I was starting to worry,” Lilith narrowed her eyes as she surveyed her assistant. “I hope he wasn't too much trouble.”

Sophie puckered her lips and sat down on the arm of the sofa, “He's taking a bit longer than I had hoped, I admit.” She pushed some blond hair behind her ear, “I thought I would take a break and check in with him after dinner.”

Lilith hummed, but eventually nodded her head. Reyna watched as a silent conversation continued between the two Vampires. Lilith was not happy, and neither was Sophie, but with Dunstan and her there, there wasn't too much they could do about it.

“Very well. Shall we move to the Dining Room? Sophie, I'll have Benjamin pour you a glass of Dunstan's gift.”

Perking up at that, Sophie smiled at Dunstan and purred, “A gift? Oh how magnifique! And who do I have the pleasure of dining on tonight? You, perhaps?” Her smile was teasing, but Reyna could see the barely tamed excitement twinkling behind her blue eyes.

Chuckling, Dunstan shook his head and stood, “No, I am not the donor, Sophie.” His grin turned sharp, and his Apprentice heard what his words didn't say. You should know better than to ask that, the smile said.

Mage blood was a delicacy to Vampires, and the more powerful the mage, the more enticing the blood. Sophie had been vying for a taste of Dunstan's blood for as long as Reyna knew her, but Dunstan always refused. Reyna didn't know why, exactly, but knowing her Master, he was most likely saving it for a large favor.

“I’m sure you won't be disappointed, though,” Dunstan continued as Benjamin returned to lead the foursome into the Dining Room. Just like the rest of the penthouse, the Dining Room was decorated with accents of gray and had a large glass table in the center of it surrounded by several iron backed chairs.

“The donor is a Fae friend of mine.” Dunstan grinned as Sophie gasped. Fae blood, like a powerful Mage, was extremely potent to a Vampire, and much, much harder to obtain. “She owed me a favor.”

Reyna looked away to grimace. She knew which Fairy her Master spoke of. Clochette was the name she went by, and she, unfortunately, was a regular visitor at their house. The green eyed Mage didn't understand their relationship, and the be perfectly honest, she didn't want to.

Snapping her fingers once everyone was seated, Lilith summoned Benjamin and two servers into the room. Benjamin placed an identical glass of blood on the table in front of Sophie before turning to his mistress to refill her glass.

The two servers--two Vampires this time. They must've been young if they were still working for a source of income--placed hot plates of coq au vin before the two Mages.

“Dunstan,” Lilith began after several minutes of idle chatter and some eating, putting her glass down, the Undead Queen leaned forward in her seat, “tell me, how was Salem?” Her reddened lips curved into a wicked smile, “Anything . . . unusual happen?”

Reyna frowned and just barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. It was obvious that Lilith knew what happened that day, about the coup. She'd be amazed if anyone in the magical community--Elves included--hadn’t heard about it by now.

Dunstan smirked and took a sip of his white wine before answering, “Yes, actually.” Reyna had to close her eyes this time to hide the eye roll. Now Dunstan was playing along. Fabulous. “A few of my colleagues had attempted to overthrow Keeper Johnson. If it weren't for Reyna,” he turned to smile at her. Reyna’s green eyes flickered between him and Lilith suspiciously, but she merely continued chewing her chicken. “We'd probably be in the middle of a civil war right now.”

Dunstan wasn't wrong. Some Sorcerers probably would've sided with the Woodhalls and Murphy, but a decent amount would've fought back, especially considering the way they had planned to take power. It would've been long and messy--keeping her in Salem for who knew how long--and Reyna was glad it had been avoided.

“How wonderful!” Sophie declared, her thin lips tipped up in a proud smile. “Our Reyna darling, a little hero.”

“Yes,” Lilith murmured, “how wonderful indeed.” Reaching for the stem of her wine glass to take another sip, “Still, a coup,” she swirled her blood, watching the sides of the glass fog up with a red hue, “that doesn't bode well. How is Keeper Johnson dealing with such a blatant lack of faith?”

Dunstan grimaced, “She's burying her head in the sand.” He pushed some food around on his plate, considering taking a bite, “Hoping it all blows over.”

“Do you think it will work?” Sophie asked, her blue eyes a little too wide and a little too innocent. “That strategy, I mean.”

“It's not inspiring, that's for sure.” Dunstan took another sip of his wine and sat back in his chair. “Many Sorcerers now feel like a change in Keeper may be necessary.”

Reyna coughed, almost choking on a bite of food. The House wanted a new Keeper? This was the first she’d had heard of it. She'd have to contact Jorge and Marcus after the dinner and see what they thought.

Replacing a Keeper wasn't easy. First someone would have to publicly call for their dismissal, then someone would have to second the motion, then, for it to work, three fourths of the House would have to agree.

And as if that wasn't hard enough, then they'd have to go through elections. Someone would have to be nominated, then that nomination would have to be seconded. Then, once all the nominees were in, they'd have to vote. A nominee would have to have the House majority to win, which could be difficult if more than two Sorcerers were running. If no one won by majority, they'd vote again. Again, if no one achieved that elusive half plus one vote, then Duels were challenged; winner take all.

Lilith laughed, low and deep and almost like a purr, “And let me guess, they believe you to be the necessary change?”

Reyna wasn't surprised to hear that. Dunstan had wanted to be Keeper of the House for years now. The only thing that had stopped him from challenging Johnson for the position was his respect for her. Guess that had run out. Still, Dunstan becoming Keeper would change everything.

“I have a decent amount of support,” he nodded, “though I'd prefer to have a few more,” he paused, trying to find the right words, “allies in my corner before moving forward with any of this.”

“Are you sure now is the right time?” Sophie asked, her blue eyes flashing towards Reyna. “You wouldn't want Reyna to suffer because of any of this.”

Dunstan chuffed out a laugh, “I appreciate your concern, Sophie, we both do,” he winked at Reyna, “but you have nothing to worry about. Reyna's been ready to take on the title of Sorceress for almost three years now.” Sitting up straighter, the green eyed Mage preened at her Master's praise.

“She'll do just fine as this district's Sorceress, and heaven help anyone who tries to usurp her.”

Sophie hummed, not looking at all convinced, “What do you think of it all, Reyna darling?”

Sharing a quick look at her Master, Reyna folded her hands neatly on top of her lap, hiding her sweaty palms, “I think,” she said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. She felt blindsided with this conversation. Just like with the King situation, Dunstan had chosen not to warn her in advance. She'd have to deal with that later, however.

“Dunstan is the best chance the House has to survive King and his rhetoric.” Dunstan smirked and Lilith nodded, but Sophie's attention didn't waver. “And I know I might be young, and it might be . . . overwhelming at first, but I also know that I can do it.”

Dunstan hadn't been lying when he said she was ready. Her magical prowess had already surpassed many Sorcerers in the House, which meant not many would try to steal the seat from her in a Duel. She'd also been Dunstan’s Apprentice for eight years. She'd had plenty of time to watch him and learn the ropes. She could do it. She was ready.

Sophie sighed, “Very well,” she nodded and took a sip of blood. “I still think you are too young, but--”

“Sophie,” Lilith cut her off and sent a sharp glare in her secretary’s direction. “That's enough.” Sitting up straighter, the Vampire Queen smiled at the two Mages, “Well, now that that's all settled, let's talk allies.”

“How many Sorcerers are in your corner?” She asked, her black eyes looking straight into the Sorcerer’s soul. She reminded Reyna suddenly of an asp, ready and waiting for the right moment to strike.

“One hundred and seven have already pledged their loyalty to me.” He stroked his beard in thought, going over the numbers in his head. “There are about a hundred or so seriously questioning Johnson's leadership, then there are the other hundred and fifty that are waiting for to see which way the wind blows before officially taking sides. And the remaining seventy eight are remaining loyal to Johnson.”

“Those who are still undecided, it’s them we need to focus on. You need to show them how far your reach extends,” Lilith said simply, taking another sip of her blood before continuing. “They already know how strong you are, magically. They've known that for a while now, haven't they?”

Her lips remained a flat line, but Reyna could see the smile and laughter behind Lilith’s dark eyes. The Vampire Queen had always been amused by the story of Dunstan's rise to power. She always got a kick out of retelling the gruesome details.

“Now they need to see the power you wield by the company you keep. So,” she clapped her hands and looked to her assistant, “let's have a party. Who shall we invite? My wealthiest children, of course. We'll be needing some donations and they do love to show off their money. Perhaps I can have them turn into a competition. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Sophie had pulled out her phone and began taking notes with a thin, serious line between her brows. Her blue eyes flashed up to her Queen, awaiting further instructions. “You'll want to send a list to Sophie,” Lilith continued, “of all your supporters and those you believe can be persuaded to your side.”

“We’ll invite the Fae Queens,” Lilith said slowly, almost grounding out the words. It was no secret that the Vampire Queen and the Fae Queens didn't get along. Well, hated each other was more like it. Lilith thought the sister Queens were alien entities with no right to this dimension, and the Fae Queens believed themselves better than Lilith since she was so young. The white haired Vampire was two thousand years old, and yet to the Fae Queens she was barely a toddler.

“They won't come, of course,” Lilith sighed, “but they'll send envoys, I'm sure. How many do you think they'll send, Dunstan?” Her black eyes surveyed the Mage, trying to determine his worth. “They do favor you, yes?”

Dunstan nodded easily, “They seem to, though this will be the true test, I suppose. Hopefully they like me enough to send five representatives.”

Reyna hid a grimace by shoving a large piece of chicken into her mouth. She did not like the Fae. At all. Beyond Clochette, she’d met many Fae. Both from the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, Reyna had seen them work on their home turf and abroad, and she'd even met their Queens--which was something not many could say. They were gorgeous, all of them. The Queens especially. But there was a hunger in their eyes and mischief in the curve of their lips that always put the young Mage on edge.

They were unpredictable at best and bored at worst. Reyna remembered the first time she'd been allowed into the Seelie Court. She'd been twelve or so, they'd been in France, and Dunstan had gone to call on the Seelie Queen. It’d all been fine, too, amazing, even, until one of them, a female with amber eyes and hair the color of plums, spotted a Goblin lurking nearby. They rounded on the poor creature faster than a shark on chum and had boiled him alive just for the fun of it. Reyna could still hear his screams.

Repressing a shiver, Reyna tried to banish the memories and other thoughts of the Fae out of her mind. Five Fae at one party, her mind repeated. That was going to be . . . difficult, to say the least. Well, she'd just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

“And, of course, we'll invite a few choice politicians,” Lilith snapped her fingers and a servant flashed to her side, ready to pour more blood into her glass. She hummed for him to stop, “Those that are sympathetic to your cause, those loyal to the current mayor.”

Mayor Hamilton was an older man in his late sixties who'd held the title of mayor of Chicago for the last two decades. He was a smug old bastard with a square chin, a receding hairline and pale, Scottish skin that turned painfully pink if he ventured out into the sun for too long. Vampires burned less easily than this man.

He wasn't a bad mayor, but he wasn't a good one, either. The people of Chicago had gone too long with tax hikes and car shattering potholes. They wanted something different, something new, and so for the first time in what seemed like forever, mayor Hamilton finally had some competition. Reyna would've loved to watch the drama of it all unfold if that competition had come from someone other than King.

Sneering down at her mushrooms, Reyna viciously stabbed one with her fork, causing Dunstan to raise his brow at her. Shrugging an apology, she tuned back into the conversation.

“Was there anyone else?” Sophie asked, her thumbs hovering over her phone’s screen.

“Just one more person,” Dunstan cleared his throat, “Sybil Line.”

That was ballsy of him, Reyna thought with a slight frown. Sybil Line was a Seer, a Prophet descended from Apollo himself, or so the rumors went anyway. She could look into your future with startling accuracy, and always had a prophecy or two up her sleeve. Reyna wasn't sure how they'd met, but Dunstan had somehow made friends with Sybil way back before Reyna was even born. If her Master could get her to make an appearance, that'd be one hell of a statement. The only problem was that Sybil was introverted as hell and hated leaving her home in the suburbs. No way in hell was she going to come all the way up into the city just to shmooze some people for Dunstan.

Still, Reyna stayed quiet. Now wasn't the time to point any of that out. And who knows, maybe Dunstan and the Prophet had already come to an agreement of some kind. Either way, she'd find out soon enough.

With the guest list settled, and the date of the party set for the night of the winter solstice--almost four months from now--the dinner party ended and the two Mages took their leave.

Outside Lilith's apartment, Dunstan had barely closed the driver side door when the words tumbled out of Reyna's mouth, “Is Sybil really coming to the party?”

If she were honest, she'd admit that she was excited by the prospect. Reyna loved Sybil, she was like a big sister to her and had been ever since she was twelve and she'd gotten her first period. Dunstan, the uneducated male that he was, dumped his Apprentice on Sybil's doorstep, begging her to take Reyna for a week and teach her about 'being a woman’. His words.

In hindsight, the memory was pretty funny, and in the end it had been a pretty fun week.

But although the Prophet and her Master were old friends, and Reyna looked up to the misty eyed woman, their visits were few and far between. And with Sybil's nature being what is was, Reyna was trying not to get her hopes up. It was hard, though. She really wanted Sybil to come.

Dunstan shrugged, “She said she would,” he said slowly. “But we won't know until the night of probably.”

Nodding, Reyna hummed and looked out her window. She hoped Sybil came. It'd almost make the Fae tolerable. Almost. Maybe she'd call her tomorrow, maybe add some incentive.

“Oh yeah,” Dunstan said suddenly, as if remembering something. With one hand on the wheel and the other stroking his beard, he asked, “Since when do you hate mushrooms?”

Wincing, Reyna told him what really caused her to act so harshly towards the vegetable: King robbing her of enjoyable drama. It was pathetic and embarrassing, but Dunstan wouldn’t have let it go. So as Dunstan’s laugh echoed throughout the car--Reyna swore people three cars over could hear him--she buried her face in her hands and waited for the embarrassment to pass.

#writing #long post #fiction #fantasy #magic #modern magic #the house of sorcery #my work #vampires #supernatural #feedback is always lovely

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