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chaos-family · 4 years

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Backstory Masterdoc (in chronological order)

Credit to Anny for compiling this.

TW for child abuse (physical and emotional), swearing, violence, blood mention, hospital, murder/death, implied panic attack, crying, arson mention, slight self negativity, neglect, alcohol abuse, hospitals, harassment, implied murder, violence mention, emotional distress/crying, manipulation, ab*se, implied s*xual feelings, repression, mention of abandonment, people going missing, crime mention, assassination mention

Oranges backstory: @orange-side-please-appear

Orange had an unremarkable life.

Xyr life followed a pattern. A cycle, if you will.

Get out of the house

Come back

Screams

Words that cut even before Orange knew the meaning to them

Pain

Then drowsiness

And it repeated and repeated.

Get out of the house. Come back. Screams. Words. Pain. Drowsiness. Get out of the house. Come back. Screams. Words. Pain. Drowsiness.

Xe met an animal with spikes. That was nice.

Get out of the house. Come back. Screams. Words. Pain. Drowsiness. Get out of the house. Come back. Screams. Words. Pain. Drowsiness.

The neighbors asked xem to fill out some report. Xe never did get to do that before they were suddenly gone.

Get out of the house. Come back. Screams. Words. Pain. Drowsiness

And so on and so on.

And that was life. A cycle. A pattern. Something Orange knew even before xe knew xyrself.

There were days in xyr life. Good days, when they (could they even be called xyr parents?) grew bored of xem in the midst of the pain stage and went out with their painfully smelly bottles and small cylindrical white thingies they sometimes pushed against xyr skin.

There were middle days, where the smelly bottles would be thrown around and the white things would make marks under xyr hands.

Then there were the bad days.

Orange prefered not talking about them.

Today was like every other day. The cycle had continued its course. Orange had gone to visit the animal with spikes (who xe dubbed ‘Spiky’), xe had come home, there had been a fight xe couldn’t even bother to remember until the words were turned on xem. Then, there was pain.

And pain.

When would this stop? Was it gonna stay like this forever? Just the pain and numbness

Pain

The drowsiness never did come. It seemed like the cycle reversed and suddenly there was that white noise again, except different. Then, there was screaming again. That was weird.

Orange would have been bothered by the broken cycle if xe wasn’t so drowsy all of a sudden.

Then, there was nothing

~~~~

Orange wasn't sure what xe was supposed to do, stuck in the stuffy hospital.

Everyone seemed to look at xem wherever xe went. It felt strange. Xe wasn't used to people looking at xem for anything but…

Words. Scarring words and horrible insults. ‘Useless child’ 'you are better off dead’ ‘i wonder how your skin would look like burned. Probably better, you ugly freak’. Words long forgotten but still burned in xyr skin. Ugly. freak. Useless Child.

Maybe it was better that xyr skin was burned. It felt familiar.

“Oh what a poor child” the nurses said “. those burns will scar. Who would want to adopt xem”

..scars.

Xe could work with that

~~~~

Orange didn’t even notice the scars were why people didn’t want to adopt xem at first.

Xe wouldn’t have noticed them if they weren’t still flaming red and plastered all over xyr face, like a pattern. It was odd and unfamiliar and Orange didn’t like that.

Xe was in a big house with a bunch of other kids. An ‘orphanage’ xe was told. Xe was supposed to be ‘adopted’ from here.

Orange would much rather stay here.

It was like xe was perpetually in the ‘Get out of the house’ state. It was the best state, in xyr opinion, and xe wanted to stay there.

Xe didn’t want the cycle to repeat. xe didn’t want the words and the screaming and the pain and pain and pain.

Xe did want the drowsiness right about now, xe thought as xe idly scribbled in a corner. The other kids chatted with the potential parents while xe settled to xyr scribbling.

People came and went but xe felt disconnected to them all. None of them came too close, eyeing xyr mad scribbling and horribly noticeable scars.

Well, not all of them it seemed.

Someone walked towards xem. Xe looked at them, unsure what they were doing so close. Didn’t they see the scars? It was a very clear ‘stay away’ sign, the other kids had told xem.

“What do you have there?” They asked, trying to look at the paper.

Maybe they expected some butterflies or a very pretty flower.

They likely weren’t expecting a drawing of a burning building with ‘WORLD DOMINATION’ scribbled in bright crayon.

“.... Huh” They said.

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It wasn't, xe later found out.

The stranger had taken a liking to Orange for some reason. Xe walked away from the orphanage with nothing but a cardboard box with belongings. Or a porcupine and some paper, more accurately.

The other kids whispered as xe walked forward

‘Why is XE getting adopted’ a voice asked

‘This isn't fair’

And maybe it wasn’t.

But oh well

~~~~~

Orange would be lying if xe said xe wasn't just a bit spooked as xe walked inside the house.

It was very big, but mostly empty. Xyr new guardian (Who xe was told to call cenn) was.. Nice.

They didn't comment on xyr scars, which was a bit weird. They also did not have smelly bottles like they had. Mostly, it was quiet.

Xe was given a new room, which was far more bright and big than any room xe ever had. It was empty, waiting to be filled by xem.

Spiky poked his head out of the box, looking at xem with the two mismatched eyes and the sparkling spikes.

Orange stared at the spikes and at the room. xe felt something missing.

Cold. it was cold.

Orange saw a candle in the nightstand

Cold. light it up. Hot hot hot.

Control.

Warmth

..home?

And even thought xe had to later go to buy a new nightstand because the other was reduced to ash and even thought xyr skin thumped with something

For the first time in xyr life, xe wasn't afraid.

Xe wasn't gonna be scared anymore

~~~~~~

Orange waited for the cycle. Xe waited and waited and waited for the pain until xe… forgot what xe was waiting for.

~~~~

Orange Chaos stared at the burning tree house. Cenn was sighing exasperatedly behind xem. The lawyer was trying to charm the firefighters. Xyr siblings were all whooping or pouting at the tree house.The cryptid was eerily watching them. Spiky was fighting Patrick and…

Xe felt good.

Xe felt safe.

Xe looked around at the people xe loved and who loved xem. Xe looked at the ones who nicknamed xem Zuko and who listened to xem chatter on and on about xyr world domination plans and who cared about xem.

The cycle had ended. The pattern we’re gone.

But somehow, Orandge wasn’t scared of losing those anymore.

No, xe didn’t need them anymore.

Xe was home.

Spiky’s backstory:

Spiky wasn’t quite sure what he was.

Well, some might say, a porcupine.

But what porcupine could set fires?

So Spiky wondered.

Unti, one day, there was a person. A person who would sit next to him and attempt to pet him, even with all his spikes. A person who would play with matches. A person who named him.

Then, he became a partner in crime.

The first thing about being a partner in crime, Spiky realized, was that he was never alone anymore.

In the Before, he would sleep wherever he could find. Alleys, gutters, roofs.

In the After, he could go home- Before, he hadn’t even known what home meant.

And there was always that person- xe would talk to him, constantly filling up the space with an abundance of chatter and warmth.

He hadn't even realized it Before, but he had never felt warmth.

This person was warmth. Xe was the campfire, crackling and laughing and so, so, wonderful.

And one day, xe was gone.

Spiky- he couldn’t think his name without flinching, that was what xe called him- went back to Before.

And then xe was back, but xe was different.

Xe had a scar over her left eye.

Xe looked… sad.

When Spiky sparked, xe flinched.

He curled up alone that night.

)(*)(

When Spiky went back to the girl the next day, xe was smiling. Happy, (xe was smiling!) Spiky curled up next to her, watching her play with not-matches.

He deflated a bit- xe didn’t want fire xe didn’t want fire xe didn’t want him- but stayed curled up next to her.

The next day, it was still not-matches.

The next day, it was red not-matches.

The next day, it was a glowing thing that looked like matches, but wasn’t- Spiky had tested it. And maybe broken it.

But it was okay, because the person laughed, and the next day, it was matches.

Spiky let out his sparks.

Cenn/Maxx/Logan’s backstory: @logan-please-smile-speaks

Maxx was immortal. At least that’s what they were told. Their family was of a high social standing, they figured that out early on. What, with all the people taking care of them instead of their parents and seeing all the other immortal children playing fun, risky games but not being allowed to join them because they were "different. They got noticeably more clumsy, but they claimed that wasn’t their fault. They were bored, they wanted friends, they didn’t have anyone to talk to.

Their parents didn’t like that and yelled at them for hours. It was the longest amount of time they’d been in the same room with their parents. After that, they were, broken to put it simply. They zoned out often and talked even less. They tried to not bother the staff as much as possible and they vowed they’d never repeat the words said to them that night to anyone.

Four months later, their parents went on a business trip and went missing. After 10 months without them returning, Maxx had to take over.

It wasn’t like Maxx cared, they barely knew the people. But now they needed to run everything their parents had left behind. And there was rumor of a traitor around that time which meant they could only depend on themself.

So that’s what they did. It was a lot of work and they had many sleepless nights but they managed. They learned about energy drinks and became much more productive. They never asked their staff to do the work, instead doing it themselves since the staff dealt with the media and Maxx didn’t trust them.

When they were younger they’d overhear some of the staff members whispering about very incriminating subjects. Maxx never told anyone. They also never showed their face to the public, making everyone’s last memories of them being from when they were only a child. They did this because they knew they were going to leave one day. Not give up their rule, just explore the world, maybe adopt some children since they practically owned the law and everything else.

They wanted people to talk to. They wanted people they could trust.

So, when they were old enough, they chose to leave, still promising to rule from wherever they went, and left.

One thing about their family is that the rule they held over everything was kept secret. Only selected and trusted officials are chosen, and if they are then they go through loyalty testing and have to say an oath. If information like that was to get out, an uproar would occur and Maxx would be a target for assasination. In short, it would be a disaster.

So when Maxx chose a town near the cost of [Enter place here], they had to go tell all the officials in the area and make sure they were all sworn to secrecy. At first, they focused on working, they wanted to try and get ahead so they could go adopt. They decided to try a somewhat smaller house at first, and they'd size up if need be.

Maxx knew they also weren't going to tell anyone who they were or that they were immortal. That could be saved for later. Much, much, later. Sometime after moving, they listen to a 'musical' named Hamilton and some memories resurfaced. Memories of signing the declaration and constitution. Not in the body they have now but one of the founding fathers. Did they write the law? They researched their family a bit more and, yeah, all of their ancestors were founding fathers and people of ruling houses. They didn't understand why they had memories from so long ago but they weren't too concerned.

Soon enough they had a day off, so they decided to adopt.

So Maxx got ready and went to the orphanage, they wanted someone who might have gone through things, like them, so they could help the child live a somewhat normal life. They wanted to help, to make the child's life easier. Which might be why when they got to the orphanage they were drawn to the kid in the back.

The child was converted in scars and writing something on what looked like a huge stack of paper. Maxx was curious, so they went over to talk to the child.

"Hey, what do you have there?"

They don't know what they were expecting, but they definitely weren't expecting to see 'WORLD DOMINATION' in crayon. If they were at a full energy level they would've laughed but instead what they said was

"....Huh"

After meeting some other children, they went to the matron and told her they wanted the kid in the back. The matron looked skeptical and asked if they were sure, which confused them but they said yes anyways.

A few weeks later Maxx was called back to pick up the child, whose name, they learned was Orange. They were excited. They knew this was gonna be much different then anything they had ever done before. At first Orange was quiet and cautious, which makes sense. But as more children were brought in and xe found Spiky, xe warmed up to the family. Maxx was proud. After seeing how much Orange changed, they started helping and bringing in more children.

It was a lot of work and the children could be exhausting at times but Maxx finally felt human. They felt like a normal person, even though they weren't. They loved it here. The only downside was that, they still had to run the world, basically. So late at night they'd be in the under area of their bed, typing away at laptops and writing out letters etc etc. They hated it but there was nothing they could do. They had to keep running everything until they disappeared. Thing is, if they disappeared they'd leave their family. Maxx could never, it would be cruel to take all these children in and then abandon them.

So they stayed.

Then they met River and helped out when they had lost their job. (You already know the business got told off later that week) But when River's family moved in, Maxx knew they'd need a bigger house. They got nervous though, they knew what house the family was going to move into but they were scared someone was going to ask where it came from. They never talked about their job! So if they just showed up having bought a huge house with presumably no money, people would ask questions.

Eventually, they just decided to say it came from a relative. That worked somehow and the family kept growing, now with ghosts and cryptids and lawyers and therapists, and many, many, children. They didn't know how no one questioned the fact that they could commit crimes without consequence, but they weren't complaining. Maxx was having fun, they felt alive and they loved each and every person that was a part of their family. (/p)

Even surrounded by all the love and happiness in their home, they always wondered where their parents were and if anyone would ever find out.

Ren/River’s backstory: @searching-for-the-frog-man

River sat on a bench, a book on their lap, scrolling through their spotify playlists. They had been doing this for about ten minutes and had yet to find an appropriate playlist for the setting. It was getting a little frustrating. “Hey!” A small child stood in front of them, distracting them from their extremely important (not) business.

“Hello?” They weren’t super used to having people just run up to them “what’s your name? Are you lost?” “No” they smiled in a mildly creepy manner “But my sister’s pet porcupine is” “Ah” It was one of those days “do you need help finding them?” “Yeah.” The kid nodded “turns out my parent doesn’t want to help” Understandable River thought

“Okay, I’ll help you out” they thought for a second if this would be creepy, but before they could really put any thought into it, they were being dragged across the park “I think he’s in a tree” They pointed up at a big oak that stood in the center of the park River stood there for a minute before spotting an exasperated looking person on the other side of the park

Before they could go talk to them another kid ran up and tugged on their sleeve

“What’s up?” she said, holding the largest stack of papers River had ever seen “have you found spiky yet?” “No” River looked at the paper “what’s that” “You’re nosy” the kid remarked “my name is orange, it’s nice to meet you” “I’m river”

“If you don’t tell cenn” Orange whispered “i’ll tell you what the papers are” “Okay?” the past five minutes were weird enough, and besides, River had no clue who cenn was anyway Orange flipped over the first page of the stack,

It read “world domination plans” “Oo-kay” River slowly backed away “good to know” It was then that Orange grabbed their arm and pulled them into the woods by the park

______________________________________________________________________________

20 minutes later Maxx wandered into the woods to look for their kids only to find both children swordfighting with a random blue haired person

“Who the hell are you?”

“Oh!” River tucked their sword behind their back “you must be their parent” “Yeah” they nodded “why are you swordfighting with my kids?” “Orandge is trying to take over the world” they pointed to the wide eyed child “so yup” “Okay, well thanks for stopping her”

“No problem” River laughed “funny thing- I came to this park to get away from my kids” “Oh?” “Yeah, they’re small chaos demons” They plucked a leaf out of their hair “but turns out I just found more” “Our kids should play together sometime” “That would be nice” ______________________________________________________________________________

River lost their job in march of the next year, and their house in may. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing” They sat on the couch of Maxx’s house, tears in their eyes “or where I’m gonna go” “Have you told the kids yet?” “No.” River admitted “I don’t want to. I’m their parent. I’m not supposed to fail like this” “Nobody’s perfect” “Still. I can’t bear to tell them that I don’t know where we’re gonna live” “Ren?” one of river’s kids stuck her face around the corner “are you okay?” “I’m fine sweetie” River wiped their eyes “go play” “You could move in with us” Maxx said suddenly “What?” “Move in with us, bring the cats”

“Really?” “yeah” ______________________________________________________________________________

River and kids moved in on may 16th

They brought over their pets and soon the family was all together. They thought for a minute that all they really needed was just these five kids

They were wrong. Something told them (maybe the cryptid in the attic, maybe the lawyer in the chimney, something) that the story wasn’t over

And so every time there was a hurt kid, every time someone was abandoned, every time a crying child wound up on their doorstep, they took them in. And the inside of the house was warm and happy and safe

And even if the neighbors thought they were weird, even if River’s extended family refused to visit, it was still home. And it was still full of love.

March’s backstory: @bewaretheidesofmarchyall

[being written]

Green’s backstory: @janus-come-back-to-us (wip)

Green, or as you better know her, the unlawful lawyer, lived a mundane life, at first. A stereotypical mother and father, both prestigious lawyers who went to yarvard university. Both prominent names in the world of law, both excellent in their careers.

At least, that’s what Green had learned.

When she was five, her parents took her to her first court case— her father versus someone else, she couldn’t remember the name. All she knew was that they had burned much of the city’s property, and he’d father had to show that they were guilty. Simple enough, wasnt it? They were already known as an arsonist, so what would be so difficult about it?

But then, the defendant pulled out colorful wads of paper— shs didn’t recognize it, but the courtroom did. Her parents, especially, their faces draining of color at the sight.

The judge’s eyes lit up behind their glasses, leaning on the edge of their seat as the defendant strutted up to them, a confident smirk on his face.

“Monopoly money?” Her mother hissed under her breath, her hold on Green’s hand deathly tight, “that’s— where did they—?”

“Momma?” The toddler asked, because what was monopoly?? Why was father’s head in his hands? Why did the defendant look so smug, so sure of himself?

Her mother only shushed her, somehow squeezing her hand tighter, but that didn’t erase Green’s questions. If anything, it encouraged them, spurred them on until they were all she could think about.

The only other thing she registered, before zoning out once again, was the judge and jury declaring the defendant innocent. Innocent— as if those fires just magically appeared! As if there were no worries about fixing the property— of possible injuries— of anything!!

After the tense car ride home, the little toddle ran upstairs to her room. The billion books that lined her walls— she hadn’t read up on many of them, in all honesty, because the only ones she could reach were on the bottom shelves, all filled with fairytales and fables that taught her nothing.

So, she climbed. As if she was merely a monkey in a jungle, she kicked her tiny legs up and climbed the many shelves. She fumbled, faltered, nearly fell in the loneliness of her room, but miraculously made it to the highest shelf.

Where her parent’s court records were. Where the knowledge of the law was. Where a whole board game was (seriously, why was there a board game?).

It took her all night, around twelve hours, really, but by the end of it, she was a much smarter kid.

For one, Green learned that her parents… weren’t really that good. They just knew how to drag on conversations without looking suspicious, and they knew how to seem trustworthy, so much so that their rivals could have all the evidence in the world, but her parent’s charisma would always win out. They hardly ever mentioned the law in most of these, actually, they were just court jesters!! Playing a fool, entertaining the Royal judge, making his advisories, the jury, chuckle in good faith, ruling in favor of her family.

Secondly, the law was horrendously stupid. Crimes of higher evil weren’t punished for as long as little white crimes. Flimsy evidence could win against the truth. Corruption littered every surface of the courtroom, from shady deals with the jury, to the judge having immediate biases with no reason… it was unlawful, in every sense of the word.

Lastly, and probably the most egregious thing she learned… monopoly wasn’t just some measly board game, not just some family fun. No, it was the biggest scam of the century. The court held these colorful dollars to such a high regard, higher than they held the victims of cases. “Get out of jail” cards were waved around as an easy bail. Owning miniature green and red buildings was considered a genuine source of income!! As if!!

All of this fraud, all of this deception in the very rules of society… Green realized what she had to do.

She had to become a lawyer who was so awful at her job, that it would unmask how horrendous the whole system was.

Maybe a bit extreme for a five year old to think, but this is a fix for the chaos family, what did you expect?

For the next several years, Green studied about the law as much as she could. Her excuse was just “following in her parents’ footsteps,” but anyone who she was close to would know that’s a lie.

So thankfully, she wasn’t close to anyone.

She ended up going to Yarvard University— a prestigious, peculiar, picky school— and her whole course on law… was very lackluster, to say the least. It was merely a video of very similar looking men, flirting in a courtroom (did one of them have scales?). But, for some reason, the quick quiz and test she took after (and, of course, passed with flying colors), was enough to earn her a degree in law. Splendid.

Callisto’s backstory: @where-is-the-morningstar

[being written]

Anny’s backstory: @awkward-pics-of-john

[being written]

Samir’s backstory: @bring-back-the-sides-onesies

Samir had always felt left out. Her parents didn’t love each other anymore, one would tell a story that the other would say wasn’t true, and she would be stuck in the middle. Sam was maybe 5 when they stopped living together. Every Wednesday, she would go to her father's house, stay there till Saturday when she would go back to her mother. Sometimes her Dad had people over that she didn’t know, sometimes he played music for her, sometimes he made custard.

Her Mum didn’t do much. She always seemed tired, like she didn’t want Sam around, or that she was too much trouble. She was rarely clean at her mother’s house, which her father didn’t like. They used to argue a lot. Yelling and banging that would scare Sam, make her hide under her bed and wish for it to stop.

It was one of those nights. She was 10 now, her father come over to confront her mother about how she was being treated. They were yelling again. She hid, beneath blankets and with pillows and stuffed animals. Especially her stuffed ‘devils. The loud wouldn’t go away, she knew. So, wrapping herself in blankets and picking up her devils, she shoved some clothes, all just a bit small for her, into her school bag and opened the window. Using the bed as leverage, she climbed out of the window, tears welling in her eyes as she landed in the bush outside.

It was prickly, and sticks kept on almost poking her eyes. Sam looked around, before choosing one end of the street to walk up, hugging the blankets around herself, and holding her tasmanian devil stuffies close to her. It was late, starting to get dark, and Sam knew that the dark meant she might get in trouble. Mum and Dad had always told her not to go outside when the dark was here, that bad people would try and take her away.

Sam thought that maybe that was better than staying there.

There was a park near where she lived. It had a swing and a slide and some climbing areas. It was fenced off, but Sam had never been there before. Mum said that kids who did bad things went there to talk to their friends.

Placing her bag on the ground, and her blankets on top of them, she reached up to open the gate, so she could stay there for awhile. There were wood-chips on the ground though, so it might not be a great idea since she was barefoot.

Sitting down on her bag and blankets, Sam hugged her stuffies, tears finally falling down her cheeks. She was cold, and scared, and didn’t know where to go. People around here were rarely nice, but no one would want to help a scruffy, filthy nuisance such as herself.

Picking up her bag and blankets again, Sam began to wander. It was gloomy now, her tummy empty, so she stopped at a road. There was a shop across it, but the road was there, and it scared her. Her Dad had taught her to always look both ways, but it was dark, and her eyes hurt.

So when all was quiet, she dashed across, making it safely across. She stood silently at the door, before jumping to try and get the scanner to see that she was there, and let her in. Eventually someone walked out, so she dashed in, looking around the inside of the store as she did.

It was empty. The people at the registers seemed barely awake, and the only sound she could really hear was the faint chattering of several people, most higher-pitched than what a usual adult would sound like. Sam hurried towards the sound, curious to know what the sound was. Turning into one of the aisles, she saw three or four children, seemingly around the same age as herself. There was an adult with them, but their back was turned. Sam watched them for a while, watched as they talked together.

One of them, a short one with burns over her face and arms, turned to see Sam, to which the child ducked out of view, hugging her stuffies tightly. She had always typically been a shy, isolated child.

The child walked out of the aisle, followed by one other, looking over at Sam. She waved to her, which Sam responded with a small wave in return. The other two children soon appeared, followed by the adult. They had shoulder length brown hair, and were wearing a blue top and a grey skirt.

“Hey kid, are you lost?” They asked softly, crouching in front of Sam. She shook her head, looking down and hugging her stuffies close to her.

“Hiding?” They prompted a response, trying to look into Sam’s eyes. She began to cry again, hiding her face in her blanket and stuffies.

“I-I r-ran a-a-away-” Sam sniffled, still keeping her face hidden. The adult sat down in front of Sam, silent for now. “T-they kept on figh-fighting and i-i didn’t wanna-” Sam went quiet as the adult leaned forward and brought them into a hug, two or three of the other children joining in. Because hugs are amazing.

“Come on, let’s get you something to eat, then we’ll see about finding your house, ok?” The adult spoke softly to Sam, who nodded, hugging her stuffies tightly. “For now, tell me about your teddies. What are their names?” Sam rubbed at her eyes, before responding with a meek ‘Devi and Tali’.

“Those are pretty names! Come on, let’s go choose out a small treat for you to have.” The adult stood up, holding onto Sam’s hand as they went to the checkout. “Orange, Anny, Calli, can you take her to the chocolates or the treats to get something? Keep it small,” The adult said, smiling encouragingly.

“Ok Cenn!” Said one, as three of the children, the one with the burns, one wearing some sort of fake suit, and one with a blue top, led Sam to one of the aisles. Her eyes widened as she looked around, before picking up one of the bars, almost dropping her stuffies in the process.

She knelt down to pick up her stuffies, before looking at the other children.

“My name’s Samir..” She said quietly, before standing up again.

“I’m Orange! That’s Callisto, and that’s Anny.” The burnt one spoke, a grin on her face. “And that was Cenn, Eryn was with them. They adopted all of us! There are more of us at home, and Ren’s there too! They’re our other parent.” Orange explained.

“Is it happy?” Sam asked quietly. Anny nodded.

“It sounds nice..” Sam smiled softly, before rubbing some of the dirt off of her face, bundling her blanket tighter around herself as she walked back over to Cenn and Eryn. “Why don’t you have any shoes on?” Calli asked, looking sideways at Sam, who went red.

“I climbed out my bedroom window. My shoes were in the hallway, I didn’t want Mum and Dad to see me.” Sam said quietly.

“You’re all dirty too. Do you live in a mud house?” Anny asked jokingly, causing Sam to giggle.

“No, Mum’s usually just a bit busy. I’m cleaner when i’m at Dads though.” Sam explained.

“Mum and Dad don’t live together anymore, otherwise i’d probably be clean all the time. She doesn’t have much time for me, and Dad tries his best but he gets busy as well.” Sam sighed, looking down.

“I ran off because they were arguing though, it always feels louder than it actually is, like… like it’s a big group of elephants all running towards me, except it’s their arguing and shouting and hitting things.” Sam squeezed her stuffies closer to her, before looking up again.

“It was all cold and dark outside and Dad said that the dark is bad, so I came here, cause I thought it’d be warm. Then I met you!” Sam finished off her explanation, Cenn looking on from the sidelines with a confused face.

“Do you know your address?” They asked. Sam thought for a moment, before nodding. “Good. We’ll drive by there, and I’ll go talk to your mother and father, if they’re still around. You might have to go back, but if you don’t and they agree to put you up for adoption, then you can join our family.” Cenn nodded slightly before placing Sam’s chocolate on the conveyor, waiting to pay for their groceries. Orange was vibrating with excitement, whilst Anny was bouncing and Calli was nodding subtly. Eryn stood still beside Cenn, hugging their left leg.

Cenn finished paying, carrying the grocery bags out to the car, unlocking it as they went. Callisto went and sat in the front seat, whilst Eryn and Anny helped Sam get into the very back, Orange sitting in the middle (it’s a van-type car).

“What’s the address?” Cenn asked Sam, who stuttered before quietly muttering a street name and number. Cenn nodded, opening up their phone to get google maps directions to said address.

“Buckle up, buttercups.” Cenn called, waiting to hear the clicks of the belts, which they soon did. Nodding to themselves, they pulled out of the carpark, heading to the address that Sam had told them.

Sam was looking out the window, hugging Tali and Devi. Anny sat beside her, Eryn on Anny’s other side and seemingly half asleep.

“Uhhh… Kids, stay here, i’ll be back..” Cenn stopped the car, hopping out quickly and locking it behind them. Sam shied away from the window, hugging her knees to her chest. Police surrounded the house, her father being dragged away, yelling and handcuffed. Blood spattered his shirt.

An ambulance was there too. They were loading a body on a stretcher into the back, blood soaking the sheets that covered it. The doctors were yelling orders at each other, trying to keep whoever it was alive. Cenn was talking to one of the policepeople, trying to figure out what had happened.

With a sigh, Cenn walked back to the car and got back in. “Sam, honey, you’re gonna come stay with us for tonight, ok? There’s been a bit of trouble, that’s all.” Sam nodded, looking down as they drove off.

Cenn had taken her to their home. It was big. She’d been shown to an empty room, then given a bath so she would be clean, and had her hair brushed. Then she’d gone to bed.

Sam didn’t see her father ever again. He was sent to court and then convicted for Second degree murder of her mother. Cenn decided to adopt her when they all found out, so now this was her home.

She was happy here, at least. So Sam stayed. She kept quiet, she kept mostly to herself, but she did love them and was grateful for what Cenn had done.

And terrified of what might have happened to her if she had been there when it happened.

Rina’s backstory: @really-awkward-pics-of-talyn

She wasn’t sure why she liked it there. It was a “family” of her own, maybe that’s why. Ven and Yosh would act as everyone’s parents. Minty, Immy, Adriana, and Syd were her older siblings; Slimey, Derppo, Mimi, and Leon as the younger ones. They all had something in common; that’s why they were a family.

Fighting.

No, they never really fought.

They just liked watching it happen.

Rina had to leave. Time passed and she lost touch with those older siblings. She couldn’t find them in this jumbled mess of a mansion (which she had somehow come up with). It was an unfair system, where the higher rank gave you a better-quality room. Of course, this meant the parents had a pretty high quality of living while her younger siblings were all stuck sharing a room.

Just like she had written in that story of hers.

“Rina, this is cute, but… when do we get to see your parents’ representation here?”

“Sorry, Ven, I can’t. It goes against the story’s system. Besides, Don is in a lower rank, and even if he was there, they still wouldn’t-” she caught Ven’s glare and nodded. “...Okay.”

She glanced outside and saw Syd pack her bags. She rushed outside, only to have Yosh stop her.

It felt like Yosh had some unspoken negative feelings about her, seeing as they both liked the same character. It felt like Rina wasn’t allowed to do that, even though Ven, Adrianna, and Slimy shared a favorite. Syd and Derppo shared a favorite. Minty, Immy, Mimi, and Leon were the only ones who liked their certain characters (give or take the fact that there was someone outside the “family” who shared with Leon).

“Yosh…”

“Come back inside. Don’t follow her.” Yosh pushed the smaller girl back inside.

“But… Syd…” Rina looked back at one of her closest friends in the group.

“Nah, she’s fine. She’s fine, let’s just… Not talk about her anymore, okay?”

Rina nodded, a tad bit uncomfortable.

“What’s all this?” Yosh picked up Rina’s notebook.

“Oh, you see, I’m really into idol anime, so-”

“Fine, but keep it to yourself. No one else.”

Rina had to leave. Things were getting worse in the household. Rina knew Minty and Adrianna were still there but couldn’t get a hold of them. Immy seemed to fade without a trace. As for the “younger siblings,”...

She heard what she considered to be “no-no noises” and laughter. Derppo and Leon were poking fun at Slimey for being, well, something for her favorite. Rina shuddered at the thought. Slimey was about the same age as her at that time, but for someone to feel something like that for a character that was nine years older than them was not a very pleasant thought.

Rina went back to her room (being the middle child meant she got to choose where she wanted to go, so she obviously shared the apartment-type room with the older siblings) and opened up an empty notebook. She took a marker and scribbled a face similar to her own on the page. She held it up to her face.

“Rina-chan board says, ‘smile,’” she said, mimicking her namesake, Rina Tennoji.

Rina continued to use the board, hiding her face and her feelings from the parents of the household. She was the only one left from the “first half” of the children, and seeing how much things had changed shocked her. Every day, behind the smiling notebook, was either a blank stare or a sad expression (which still felt empty).

She’d lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. If the ceiling wasn’t in sight, it was the smiling sketch on top of her actual face, which would be covered in tears. Why did it have to be that way? Now that she was the oldest child there, did she want to stay? She wasn’t used to those “parents” being pushy and manipulative. They didn’t even have the parent role in the first place; it had belonged to the real veterans of the group (who, like the older siblings, were nowhere to be seen).

Rina had to leave.

Finally, they convinced themselves to pack their bags. Inhale. Exhale. Let the family light itself on fire, they didn’t care. They just needed to be somewhere else.

At this point in time, they had gotten used to the notebook. They got used to holding a straight face. Rina looked back to the old building. It started to fall apart. Just like in the story, which was deleted. Was she the only “normal” one there? Of course she was. The only ones left there were either extremely manipulative or horny. There was no sense of normalcy there. Unless you were talking about Rina.

It really was best for them to leave. That experience left them blank and expressionless. More faces had been drawn in their notebook. The first smile from months ago, a more excited smile, a face of worry, one of anger, one of embarrassment… the list went on. All of this because they were told to keep things to themselves. They were told to have the same exact mindset as those “parents” who ran the show.

But they didn’t want to, so they left. They had no particular place in mind, and nowhere to go to. They’d been walking further and further away from the mansion until they felt like they couldn’t move anymore.

“Middle of the woods, huh…?” Their lips curved up for a split second before they set their bag down. “I don’t have a problem with that.” They took out their phone and listened to a song or two that they knew well.

Right. They wanted to be an idol. That dream had been pushed away from them by their “parents.” A second notebook, along with a pencil, was pulled out of their bag.

“What should I finish?” they asked themselves, looking at their English translyrics. Of course. Color of Heart, a song about hiding one’s true self behind a mask. A song where smiles were just meaningless lies.

This song fit them. After the manipulation, they didn’t want to be themselves anymore. After jotting down some more lyrics, they cleaned up a bit and hoisted one of the bag’s straps over their shoulder. And they sang. They went down the road and sang as they did so, their headphones playing the music.

The smell of fire snapped them out of their thoughts. They panicked (enough to almost drop their board) and ran out to stop it. That is, until they saw the kids around it, laughing.

“Did you… Set this on fire?” they asked, staring at the burning treehouse. The kids there nodded. Rina caught their own feeling of shock and held up their board (notebook). “Where are your parents?”

One of the kids pointed off to an adult nearby. “Cenn’s over there, Ren was around earlier.” Rina walked towards the adult they assumed to be Cenn.

“Cenn…?” Rina glanced towards the burning treehouse.

“That’s fairly normal for them.”

“I’ll go get a fire extinguisher or a hose or… something else to put it out.” It was then when Rina realized they were being… weird, compared to the other kids. But that was fine with them.

“What’s your name, by the way?”

“Rina. Noticed the fire while I was running from- I mean, just on my way to-”

“Running away?”

“From a toxic ‘family,’” they said, flipping to a worried page. “I wanted to get away from there, came across here…” Their eyes widened, feeling a hand patting their head.

“I don’t know if you’d find this better, but Ren and I are always open to adding new members to the family.”

Rina nodded. “I like this better…” While they began to flip through the notebook to a smile, they heard someone else approach.

“What’s the notebook for?” Ren asked, looking at the board.

“Expressions. I usually have a blank face.”

“You’re smiling, though,” Ren remarked, looking at Rina, who had put the board down.

Rina’s smile grew a little bigger, and she let her cuteness take over. “You guys don’t mind if I stay here?”

“Not at all.”

Rina giggled to herself, and said something she didn’t expect to say. “Rina-chan says, ‘smile’!”

Curt’s backstory: @wheresvirgilsspidercurtainstho

Curt's hoodie was special to them.

It made them feel protected.

Like they were safe.

The reason?

Well, we'd have to go far back for that.

~~~~~

To say Curt's biological family wasn't the best would be an understatement. They didn't care about their child at all, often forgetting they existed on good days. They didn't want Curt to exist and they made it clear to them every day of their life for around a decade.

Sometimes verbally telling them wasn't enough and they'd leave physical reminders of it, bruises, cuts, broken bones, etc.

They still have the burn scar from a particularly bad day along their stomach.

One day, their 'parents' had an argument.

A loud one.

It turned physical.

Curt remembers watching as their 'mother' snapped, grabbed the nearby kitchen knife and plunged it into their 'father''s heart. They remember the scream of pain. They remember the blood. They remember the expression on their 'mother''s face. They remember the moment when their 'mother' realised they were watching from the stair bannister. They remember running, scared for their life. Hiding in a wardrobe. They remember their 'mother' yelling "YOU LITTLE BITCH WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" They remember not being able to breathe, their throat closing up. The shaking. The pure terror. The warm tears running down their face.

Their 'father''s scream wasn't quiet. A neighbour heard, got concerned and called 999 (or 911 depending on where you live ig). That's the only reason Curt didn't die in that house that reeked of alcohol and bad memories. They got there before their 'mother' had a chance to kill them.

The ride to the hospital.

It felt like the longest ride in their entire life.

It was too loud.

But also too quiet.

Everything felt wrong.

It all reeked of that metallic smell.

They couldn't get the image of their 'father''s face before he died.

The yelling.

The fear.

Before they knew it, they were at the hospital building.

It was too crowded.

Too many people.

Too bright.

The next half an hour was basically just a blur.

Curt had to sit in the waiting room, since for plot purposes, the hospital was busy.

They had a cup of water in their hands-how'd that get there?-but they couldn't stop shaking violently.

A thing-person-that snapped them out of their thoughts.

"Hi, are you okay? There's water on your face-" The voice said.

Curt jumped at the voice before looking up. A pair of brown eyes behind glass stared back. The person was wearing a black jumper but was holding another piece of clothing.

"Sorry if I annoyed you or anything I was just kind of worried and I'm sorry!" The person said, growing more and more nervous as they continued to speak.

"...I-i'm fi- no, wait. T-that's probably a lie. I don't even k-know anymore…" Curt said quietly, stuttering a bit and not even knowing what to say.

"Well uh… here! You look cold and if you want… I can give you a hug too? That usually helps me!" As they said that, they handed them the clothing item in their hands.

Curt blinked in confusion. "t-this is yours though…"

"Well uh, if you don't want it then you don't have to but it's just a hoodie, I don't need it!" The person smiled.

Curt put the hoodie one. It gave them a small bit of comfort. It was warm and the hoodie had cat ears patterned with stars. It was the best thing they'd ever received.

They accepted the offer of the hug.

That was the first time they'd ever been hugged.

Even more crying happened.

The person's name was Sam, they were at the hospital because another person, called Orange (who was Sam's sibling), got burnt because of arson gone wrong.

Sam's family was so loud. But not overbearingly. It was comforting. Was this a real family? One that loved and supported you? They were lucky.

Sam didn't mind if Curt didn't know what to say or stuttered. She was kind and her family were one of the first ones to show Curt any kindness.

It couldn't last though, right?

After all, Curt still had to live somewhere.

And that's when a social worker finally turned up, claiming that she was going to take Curt to an orphanage since their 'mother' was going to prison and their 'father' had died earlier that night.

The almost safe feeling they felt disappeared. "u-uh.. Bye Sam, Sam's f-family." They said quietly.

"Can't they stay with us?" Anny, another person part of the family, said. Curt would be lying if that sentence hadn't caused hope they didn't think was possible.

"Cenn would probably say-"

"Please, please, please!" Pleaded Callisto, another part of the family.

"I don't know what you're on about but let us do it Ren!" A new voice said loudly. The owner of that voice had burns on their face and a bandage on their arm.

"Orange!"

"Hi Anny! And hi new person!"

Their Ren sighed. "Well, we'll just threaten to commit arson to the house again if Cenn isn't okay with it."

There were happy noises from everyone else.

Curt was honestly shocked that anyone could ever want them in their life but they weren't going to complain.

There was a lot of paperwork and it's a surprise that they even let Curt come home that night but that was the best night's sleep Curt ever received.

And that hoodie became a reminder that maybe someone did want them after all.

Local Family Cryptid’s backstory: @where-is-elliot-come-home-please

[being written]

Xael’s Backstory: @awkward-pics-of-critic-and-crew (i just put this here since i don’t know where it is chronologically lakjd)

Xael had always liked swimming. I suppose her name was an indicator to any who knew what it meant; “from the sea”.

So her meeting her new family after almost drowning was interesting.

Her parents were… ok. Her parents were never together, but they weren’t angry at each other. They were on good terms, agreeing to co-parent their child. It worked, for a while.

Until they died.

They were on their way to Xael’s school, for a parent-teacher meeting, when a truck came out of nowhere. Struck their car, killed them on impact. She was upset, naturally. When she was put in the orphanage, she didn’t make many friends. None she kept anyways.

Eventually, she got new parents.

Her new adults were awful. She refused to call them her parents. That’s all she said about them at the start. They liked to yell, and sometimes things got broken. Xael was scared that she might get angry like them too.

They didn’t always pay attention to her either. Sometimes she had to make her own food and get herself ready for bed because they just weren’t bothered. She adjusted to this.

One day, her adults decided to drive out to the beach. Xael could read the weather forcast; they knew it was gonna be bad weather later. They hesitantly brought this up.

“Oh, shush. Either you come with us or stay here alone for the day.”

Xael didn’t wanna stay alone, even though those adults weren’t much better. So they got in the car.

At the beach, Xael sat still for a while. Eventually, she went to swim in the sea while her adults drank a weird red drink. It reminded her of blood. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She wore ear plugs while she swam. Weird, but she already had bad balance, and watery ears don’t help with that. So she swam, just doing her own thing. She didn’t realise when it started raining, she was already wet.

She noticed when thunder struck nearby.

She stopped, taking out one earplug and looking around. Nobody else was swimming anymore. The sky was grey, almost pitch black. She was very far away from the shore.

‘I should get back.’ She thought.

She couldn’t see anyone on the beach anymore. Anyone.

Where were her adults?

She started swimming back, only for a particularly large wave to brush her aside and under the water. She let out a startled yelp. Water flooded her mouth, almost choking her.

She was panicking.

The next few moments felt like a blur. All she remembered was coughing and sputtering as she was tossed around the water, rain pouring and thunder cracking.

And eventually, she just let her eyes close.

Her adults clearly didn’t care if she wasn’t there, they’d already left.

Maybe she’d see her real parents soon.

Well, she didn’t wake up to her parents.

She coughed as she opened her eyes. She realised she was in a car. No, a van. Looking to her left, she noticed a kid staring at her, with scars and burns on xyr face. She thought they were interesting. Orange, xyr name was.

“Oh, they’re not dead. Huh.” The kid said.

“Oh, they’re awake!” A different kid chimed in the row ahead of them. She noticed a stuffed animal sticking out of the chair, which she learned later belonged to Sam. There were other kids in the van too. Somehow, she knew she wasn’t being kidnapped. Nobody was panicking.

Xael coughed another time or two, trying to clear the last of the water from her throat. “Huh..?” Was all she said at the start.

“Cenn! They’re awake!” Another kid called. Eryn. She liked these names.

“Oh! Let me pull over…” They stopped the car, pulling over to the curb. They turned to see Xael.

“Are you ok?”

How long had it been since she’d heard that?

“…I think so. Where am I?” She usually tries to be polite, but at that moment she was confused.

“Ah, this is our car. We found you washed up on the beach nearby and wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Right. The beach. Adults left.

“They left…” she muttered.

“Hm? Sorry, what was that?”

“My adults… they left without me.”

She wasn’t attached to those people. She really wasn’t. So why did she feel upset?

“Your adults? You mean, your parents?”

“Not really. They’re bad parents, I think. Did I drown?” She was really just hopping between topics, huh?

“Oh- no, you’re ok. Do you have a way of getting in contact with your pa- adults?”

“No. Don’t wanna.”

“That’s ok. Well, for now, would you like to come stay with us?” Cenn asked. Xael perked up a bit. So did Orange.

“Another partner in crime?” Xe asked. Xael wondered what that meant.

“Do I have to keep making my food?” She asked.

“What? No, what age are you even- nevermind. No, the older people in the house make the food. The kids are kids.” Cenn replied.

She didn’t have to take care of herself constantly. Others could help.

“Mm… that sounds nice…"

She could feel herself getting tired. For once, she let herself doze off. She enjoyed naps.

She was hoping she’d have more in the future.

#chaos family #long post #backstories #if we missed someone #tell us

31 notes · View notes

gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Side-effects may include: eating fabric, staring into bright lights, and being allergic to mothballs. (AKA, the one where Gabriel Agreste has moth tendencies, and Adrien is rightfully concerned.)

Word Count: 4203

Notes: Mostly inspired by the fact that there's so many Chat Noir cat tendencies fics and even a few Ladybug hibernation fics but WHERE are my Hawkmoth tendencies fics?? Anyway be the change you want to see

For non-english readers in particular since I got a lot of questions when I talked about it on discord: mothballs are little balls of pesticide/deodorant that can be used to repel moths. Usually kept in clothes drawers and are pretty outdated now but anyway its a Real Thing and not me trying to make an innuendo i swear lol

XXX

“Uh… Father?” Adrien peeked in through the cracked door. He shouldn’t—Father valued his privacy more than anything, including his son’s attention—but he couldn’t help it. The brief glance he’d caught was just too weird.

Gabriel snapped to attention, his glasses jostling slightly as he tore his eyes away from the blinding lamp in the center of his desk.

“Adrien.” His candycane-striped tie dropped out of his mouth. The end of it was completely chewn off. Was—did he just swallow that? People couldn’t digest silk, could they? “You’re supposed to be practicing your Chinese.”

“I-I know, I just came down to ask Nathalie—nevermind.” It wasn’t like she or Father were likely to adjust his schedule so he could get ice cream with his friends, especially not when Father was doing… whatever he was doing. “Are you okay?”

“That is no concern of yours,” he snapped. Which wasn’t a yes. Was this some new kind of coping mechanism?

Not for the first time, Adrien wished Father would agree to go to therapy.

“Um… okay. I’ll just—go back to work.”

He dashed back up the stairs before Father could decide that his momentary break should be punished. But still, he couldn’t get the image of the half-chewed tie or Father’s wide-eyed, trancelike stare out of his head.

XXX

“Have you noticed Father acting weird?” He finally got up the nerve to ask Nathalie. “I mean, weirder than usual?”

“I am sure he is just busy as always, Adrien.”

Which was just as much of a brush-off as “that is no concern of yours.” Maybe he should’ve tried a less direct approach, but he couldn’t think of one.

“Has he… been working on a line of flavored fabrics?” He tested one of his wilder theories. It would explain why Father’s tie was patterned like a candy cane, at least. Even Adrien knew that wasn’t in style.

Nathalie raised an eyebrow. “What would give you that idea?”

Somehow he got the feeling that telling Nathalie what he’d seen wasn’t a good idea. But who else could help Father if he was struggling?

“Um… well, he seemed like he was… eating his tie? When I saw him yesterday.”

She sighed, and Adrien swore he heard something like “not again” muttered under her breath. Maybe that was why he usually kept it tucked inside his vest?

“Your Father has developed some… odd habits lately. But I can assure you it is nothing to worry about.”

Father had said the same thing before Mom disappeared. Adrien didn’t stop worrying.

XXX

“I don’t see what the big deal is. So your dad likes to chew on fabric, so what? Not everyone can have excellent taste like me.” Plagg swallowed another wedge of Camembert as if to prove it.

Adrien rolled his eyes and rolled over on the floor, soaking up the warmth of the sunset spilling in through his window.

“Maybe kwamis can eat all sorts of weird stuff, but humans can’t. I just don’t know if this is some kind of coping mechanism, or something. Maybe he’s been avoiding me because he’s acting weird and he doesn’t want anyone to find out.”

It would explain why Father only talked to him through his tablet, more often than not. Maybe he was just embarrassed. But he couldn’t go on like that forever, right? Even if Mom’s disappearance hurt, they were better off leaning on each other than staying apart.

“Hate to break it to you, but your dad’s already weird, kid. Eating ties is probably the best of his qualities.”

Adrien sighed. It wasn’t like Plagg could understand; he just put whatever he wanted in his mouth. Adrien himself could understand a little—ever since becoming Chat Noir, he sometimes had the urge to chew on cords, strings, even some plants. It was a little embarrassing, but he could usually control himself. Maybe if he shouldn’t though. If Father saw him doing it, maybe he’d feel less weird about it himself?

...Or he’d punish Adrien for ruining perfectly good headphone cords. Yeah, that was more likely.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and he should just drop it, but he wanted to do something to help his Father.

“Get him something better to eat?” Plagg suggested when Adrien voiced the thought out loud. “A good aged swiss might do the trick. Just don’t give him my Camembert; he doesn’t deserve it.”

“You’re useless,” he huffed. Maybe the internet would have better advice.

“Eating fabric” just brought up a bunch of articles about sewing machine problems and disobedient pets. Not exactly helpful. But “How to stop my dad from eating fabric” didn’t seem like a useful search entry, either.

Plagg squirmed under his chin, looking up at the phone screen he held over his face. “You think it’s got something to do with bugs?” He asked, pointing to the one search result Adrien’s thumb had been half-covering.

“How to control bugs that eat clothes,” the article was titled. Adrien snorted.

“Unless Father is secretly some kind of moth—”

His jaw snapped shut. No, no, he was not going there again. It had been bad enough when Ladybug suggested it before, and besides, it wasn’t like Father’s actions were any kind of proof.

Even if he had also been staring directly into a lamp, entranced…

“Adrien? Kid, you don’t look so hot. What’s going on?”

He didn’t want to say it. It was stupid, anyway; Father had been akumatized before. He shuddered just remembering it.

But he wasn’t just Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste. He was also Chat Noir, Hero of Paris. And it would be irresponsible to drop a lead just because he was scared.

“Do you think… would Hawkmoth have animal tendencies from his miraculous too?”

Plagg’s eyes went wide—wider than they always were, anyway. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Just tell me, Plagg.” He didn’t want to admit what he was saying at all—this was his father, and even if he could be restrictive and controlling, he wasn’t evil.

He was being ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

“Well… yeah. All miraculous users do. Nooroo’s holders have always been weirder though. They tend to be shut-ins. Couldn’t even bribe them out with my best brie.”

“So you haven’t been around a lot of past Hawkmoths?” It was both relieving and disappointing, but it made sense. If Plagg thought Father had the side-effects, he would’ve said something before now. Not that Plagg saw much of Father, considering Adrien didn’t see much of him…

“Nope. They sent out their champions to fight for them most of the time. Not like us who’ve gotta do the real work.”

Adrien snorted. “What work?”

“Hey, protecting you when you take a beating isn’t easy!” Plagg flicked his nose, and he laughed.

“Fair, I guess.” Adrien rolled over onto his stomach as his kwami zipped away. Probably grabbing some Camembert, or a stinky sock to snuggle under.

But to his surprise, Plagg didn’t come back with either of those things. Instead he was carrying something just as smelly—if not worse. A small, round white ball. He was pretty sure he’d seen ones like it in his sweater drawer.

Adrien sat up and covered his nose. “Is that a—mothball?”

“You’re still worried about your dad, right?”

He blinked. It was easy to forget that Plagg could be perceptive when he wanted to be. “I don’t see what mothballs have to do with this.”

“Really. You don’t see what mothballs have to do with telling if someone is Hawkmoth,” he deadpanned.

“You think I should see if Father is… you know… by seeing if he hates mothballs? Do you really think that will work? I thought Hawkmoth had the butterfly miraculous.”

“You’re the one who was worried about it.” Plagg shrugged. “And like I said, the butterfly miraculous is weird. Think there might’ve been something wrong with it even before it was used by a supervillain. Maybe Hawkmoth picked his name for a reason. Anyway, you won’t know unless you try it.”

As far as Plagg’s ideas went, it wasn’t too bad. It didn’t involve cheese, at least. And if Father wasn’t hiding anything, then he wouldn’t be bothered by it, right?

Adrien took the mothball from his kwami’s outstretched paws.

He was going to prove that his Father wasn’t Hawkmoth. And then he’d figure out what to do about the whole eating fabric situation.

XXX

When Nino told him he should push back against Father’s boundaries, Adrien was pretty sure this wasn’t what he meant. Anxiety prickled the hairs on the back of his neck as he paced in front of the bedroom door.

“Come on kid, don’t get cold feet now,” Plagg whispered.

“My feet aren’t cold. I have socks on.” Adrien frowned down at his red-and-black socks. They kept his footsteps quiet and gave him a little boost of confidence. Ladybug wouldn’t be afraid to peek in his father’s room.

“Let’s do it,” he said with newfound determination, and cracked open the door.

Hadn’t Father had a window in here at one point? The sunset should be streaming in right about now, but instead Adrien had to fumble in the pitch black for the lightswitch. When the room illuminated, he blinked in shock.

“Wow.” Plagg whistled. “Your dad is a few wedges short of a wheel for sure.”

That… that was one way to say it. Fabric was scattered across the floor in careless heaps. At one point Adrien would have blamed it on his designing, but if that were the case, the clothes wouldn’t look gnawed on.

“This is worse than I thought, Plagg.” Maybe it was a good thing his kwami had encouraged him to rebel after all. Father seriously needed help. Humans shouldn’t even be able to digest silk and wool! What if he got some kind of disease? What if he already had some kind of disease? That second option was more likely, considering… well, all this.

“So, you gonna drop those mothballs or not?”

“Right.” Adrien snapped out of his thoughts and began digging the white spheres out of his pockets. He’d have to bury them in the chewed up clothes so Father wouldn’t see them. But what if Father did notice? Was it really worth the risk just to ease his mind about Father being Hawkmoth?

...Yes, it was. Especially considering there was no proof Hawkmoth couldn’t akumatize himself. And Father had been the only lead Ladybug had ever had…

He shook his head. Just put the mothballs down, and he could prove his Father was innocent once and for all.

“Alright, let's get out of here. This place is creepy,” Plagg said when Adrien was done.

“I thought you would’ve liked the smell at least,” he tried to joke. Better that than actually thinking about what he was doing.

“I’ll take your stinky socks over this any day.”

Adrien crept out of the bedroom, hoping that this whole endeavor ended up being pointless.

XXX

Father had a cold.

That was what Nathalie said, anyway. Adrien had never actually seen Father sick before. Nothing could keep him away from his work, or from… whatever he did when he was busy ignoring Adrien.

But he heard him wheezing behind his bedroom door, so he really had some kind of illness.

...Or he was allergic to the mothballs. Plagg didn’t say it, but from the pinched look on his face every time Adrien passed by Father’s door, he was definitely thinking it.

“It has to be a coincidence,” Adrien told Plagg, who shrugged.

“Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the one who had the idea that your dad is Hawkmoth in the first place.”

“Technically that was Ladybug,” he mumbled, flopping back on his bed. “Maybe he just got sick from eating all that fabric.”

“Maybe. But didn’t Nathalie say he’s been doing that for a while?”

Dang it, Plagg was right there. It was just so surreal, thinking his father could actually be the supervillain he’d been fighting this whole time.

It was going to take more than therapy to fix this.

XXX

“You think he’s planning something?” Ladybug asked when they lay back on their usual rooftop at the end of their patrol route.

Adrien’s stomach twisted. There’d been no sign of an akuma for two weeks.

Father had been sick for two weeks.

Coincidence. Right?

“Maybe,” he mumbled, his tail twitching fitfully. Then he sat up and shook his head. “Actually, LB…”

“Yeah?” She sat up too, her gaze completely focused on him. While he normally loved to be the center of her attention, right now he wished he had nothing to say.

“Remember when you thought… well, when you thought Gabriel Agreste might be Hawkmoth?”

She startled. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Well, um… I got a tip from uh… Adrien. You know, Adrien Agreste?”

“Of course I know him, he’s—I-I mean, everyone knows Adrien, right?” For some reason, her face looked pink in the moonlight.

“Right, right. Anyway… he was telling me he was worried about his father, and it’s kind of a long story… but it seems like he might have some… moth tendencies.”

Ladybug blinked. It felt like a long shot, now that he said it out loud. Stupid. He was probably just overreacting.

“What kind of moth tendencies?” She asked, her voice carefully guarded.

“Eating fabric. Staring at bright lights. Being allergic to mothballs.”

“Mothballs?” She laughed. “Sorry, sorry, I believe you. It’s just—wow. And here I thought my wanting to eat bugs was weird.”

“You? Weird? Never,” he joked to relieve some tension. She believed him. She believed him, and that meant that he wasn’t just overreacting. Which meant his father could be Hawkmoth.

He swallowed, trying to hide the hole that seemed to open in the pit of his stomach.

“So… you want to investigate him? Even though he was akumatized?” Her mask furrowed around her brow, the way it tended to when she worked out her lucky charms.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” He sighed and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be easy. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You—what?”

Oops. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.

“It’s no big deal. I just wanted to confirm some things for myself before taking Adrien’s word for it.”

“Adrien would never lie,” Ladybug was quick to say.

His lips quirked upward. “I’m sure he’d be flattered to know you trust him.”

Her accusation of Gabriel before couldn’t have been from any kind of animosity towards him, then. Unless it was animosity on his behalf? Did he know how much his father isolated him? No, she’d have no reason to look that closely behind his model smile.

“So… why did you think Hawkmoth was Mr. Agreste before?” He asked hesitantly. Before she’d said it was a secret, and he hadn’t pressed her, but it seemed an even more serious matter now. “We gave up the lead pretty fast last time.”

“Maybe too fast.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to be true anyway… and as for why I thought that… I found a book that I learned belonged to him. If he isn’t Hawkmoth, then it was my fault he became akumatized into the Collector.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s only ever Hawkmoth’s fault, you know that.” Adrien squeezed her shoulder, even as inwardly his mind was racing. Ladybug had found his father’s book when he’d lost it? How? She had been there when Lila had been talking about it; maybe she’d had to double back for some reason? “Wait—you’re telling me that book he was so attached to had something to do with Hawkmoth?”

Adrien had been the one with the book at first. The one she’d seen with it. Why did she trust him so much?

“Yes. Master Fu took pictures of it before I returned it so Adrien—anyway.” She waved her hands, as if all that wasn’t important, even though it definitely was. Father had never mentioned Ladybug returning his book! “Master Fu said the book was lost at the same time as the butterfly and peacock miraculouses. It’s not hard to assume they’d end up in the same place.”

Adrien was glad he wasn’t standing, because he probably would have fallen. “That’s… a pretty big lead.”

“It really is. I should have been more responsible about investigating. Less selfish.”

He had no idea what she meant by that, but the crushed look in her eyes prompted him not to ask.

“If this is true, Adrien’s going to be heartbroken,” she murmured, quietly enough he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear.

She was right about that. But there was no reason for her to feel bad because of it.

“Hey, he’s the one who gave me the tip, remember? Maybe it won’t be such a shock to him.”

Huh. He got all those words out with barely a crack to his voice. Maybe he was in shock.

“Maybe. But he’ll still be crushed. I don’t know if he has any other family, and his mom is gone. As awful as his father is, I just don’t know…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“I don’t know either.”

He hadn’t thought about it. Any time his thoughts danced too close to the implications of his theory, they danced back just as quickly. He had to be brave. Ladybug was counting on him; Paris was counting on him. It didn’t matter if one scared boy lost his father.

“So what… what do we do now?” She asked, voice soft. “We need proof, but I don’t know how to get it.”

Plans were normally her area of expertise. If she didn’t know what to do…

“I don’t know. Get a big lamp and hope it attracts him?” He shouldn’t be joking right now, but it was the only thing distracting him from panicking.

(Nino’s family might take him in. Or there was always the Gorilla. He wasn’t alone, he wouldn’t be alone—)

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Wait, it’s—it’s not?” He blinked.

“No, it isn’t. You’re a clever kitty when you want to be.”

He blushed under her praise and fought off a purr. “Okay, so we draw him out with a big lamp. If Hawkmoth really does have the same kind of side-effects as us, then it should work regardless of whether or not he’s transformed, right?”

“Right. So the only question is how we get a lamp big enough to draw him out.” Her gaze drifted across the rooftops, to the top of the Le Grande Paris hotel. A smirk spread across her face.

“What are you thinking, Bugaboo?”

“I’m thinking I just answered that question.”

XXX

Gabriel jolted back into consciousness when his desk lamp winked out. Impossible—the mansion had its own generator, mostly to keep the city from learning of his underground lair.

The lair. Where Emilie was.

“Nooroo!” He snarled, spitting the end of his tie out as he did. Cursed side-effects; he could hardly go a day without chewing on the silk. At least he could hide the end of it under his vest, which he hadn’t taken off even while in bed. Better not to have Nathalie nagging him about his “habits” again.

“Yes, Master?” His kwami weakly flew out from under his pillow. Whatever illness Gabriel had contracted, Nooroo seemed to mirror. A disconcerting fact, considering how Duusuu and Emilie had felt before her… well.

But he couldn’t take off his miraculous. Not until his work was finished. Unfortunately, with the incessant itching and cough that had plagued him for two weeks, he hadn’t been able to sense much negative emotion beyond his own. He wasn’t sure that he could stand without wheezing and collapsing from dizziness.

That dizziness was clouding his mind already. What was he doing again?

“Emilie,” he rasped.

“What about her, Master?”

“Go see if… no. I need you with me. In case…”

He dissolved into a coughing fit. Nooroo, the pathetic creature, only looked on in sympathy.

“Master, you aren’t well. Perhaps if you removed my miraculous—”

“No!” he snapped, making the kwami flinch. “No. Let’s… investigate the power outage.”

Fire flared across his skin as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. Nooroo still hovered uselessly. It was tempting to transform, but if his sudden illness was related to the miraculous, that would only exacerbate his condition.

One step in front of the other. He would not be bested by this trifling inconvenience, not with Emilie on the line.

He stumbled through the door, bracing himself against the knob with an iron grip. The generator never felt so far away.

“Master, you really should…”

Be quiet! He would’ve shouted, but his voice was little more than a rasp now. Everything spun. Oh, if only Nathalie hadn’t gone home for the night!

Once he made it to the hallway, however, some of the fog cleared. His lungs didn’t feel quite so tight. But there was… something else. A glow that hadn’t been visible from his room. Through the window, like a beacon of warmth and light… Something that pushed against the darkness of his grief and rage…

His legs regained their strength the closer he grew to the light. It involved actually going out through his front door, but that wasn’t so bad, was it? It was near midnight, with barely a buzz of traffic, and… and the light. How could he possibly sense any negative emotions when staring into its blinding fluorescence?

Dully he realized he should be worried about that—he needed those negative emotions if he wanted to save his beloved Emilie—but it was difficult to think beyond navigating the narrow alleyways to follow the bright beacon. How was it still out of reach? He swore it had been just outside his window, a halo of light, with just a few shadows dancing within… shadows in the shape of… some kind of insect…?

Before he could discern the image now glowing against the brick wall, something wrapped around him from behind.

“Gotcha,” a girl’s voice hissed. The string binding him dug into his arms.

“It’s really him,” a boy breathed.

“Or he’s just crazy. We haven’t ruled that out yet.”

“Unhand me at once!” Gabriel shouted—tried to shout. His voice still hadn’t fully recovered. Nooroo was safely hidden in his jacket, and for a moment he considered transforming. Why had he gone out without a bodyguard? He’d made enough enemies even as a civilian; he should’ve known better, but that cursed light—the light that left spots in his eyes as a red-and-black arm reached down to unplug its source.

“Sorry, Mister Agreste. Not until we check you for any mysterious jewelry.”

The girl spun him around, and he came face-to-face with his archnemesis herself. It was difficult to keep the sneer off his face.

“Does the hero of Paris often accost civilians in the street?”

“Only when they show at least three signs of being Hawkbutt,” Chat Noir said from behind her. He wore a sterile smile, one that clashed with the bitter green of his glinting scleras.

Gabriel shuddered. He was just a child. Nothing to be afraid of, even with the power of destruction curled within his ink-black ring.

Even when he apparently knew Gabriel’s identity.

“I’ll be reporting this to the authorities,” he still threatened as he processed the scene. Ladybug and Chat Noir, confronting him in an alleyway with no witnesses. A now-dark spotlight he now recognized as Queen Bee’s signal. A red-and-black cord that must have been the hero’s Lucky Charm

They’d planned this. They knew.

Still, he clung to the hope that they wouldn’t find his miraculous. Not when it was hidden under—

Ladybug tugged his half-eaten tie out from his vest. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is...”

She trailed off as her eyes caught the shine of purple beneath the red and white silk. Beside her, Chat Noir froze.

“Nooroo, dark wings—!”

Chat Noir’s claw snagged the brooch before he could complete the phrase. Nooroo zipped back into the miraculous, and Gabriel swore he heard the kwami sigh in relief.

This was… not ideal.

“It is you.” Chat Noir’s hands shook—with rage? Gabriel wouldn’t begrudge him that. He instinctively moved to capitalize on that emotion before remembering he couldn’t akumatize anyone in his current state.

“Chat…?” Ladybug reached out to him, and he turned to bury himself in her arms.

Gabriel thought it might provide an opportunity to squirm free from Ladybug’s string, but her grip on her yo-yo was just as tight as her grip on her partner. He grit his teeth. Surely there was a way out of this! He couldn’t lose to two teenagers over—over chasing a spotlight!

“It’s okay. I’m here,” the girl was consoling him, though the useless hero had barely done anything besides some quick sleight of hand.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s going to be okay.” He sniffled and smiled softly at her. Then his gaze sharpened to steel when he looked back at Gabriel.

“Come on, Father. I hope they have good therapy in jail.”

#fic tag #gabriel agreste has no rights #hawkmoth has no rights #miraculous ladybug #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #adrien agreste #plagg #ladybug #tali writes #crackfic #quality content #please dont take this too seriously lol

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF - Beauty Within the Fallen ch.III

Summary: Two misfit twins come across an enchanted castle, home of a mysterious beast, and slowly begin to form a strong bond that just might survive through anything. Even evil demons.

AU and artwork belong to the beautiful and very talented @artsycrapfromsai. Go give her some love, guys!!!

ch.II - ch.IV

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello? Monsieur Soos? Monsieur Stan told us to find you.” Mabel called out nicely on the stairs. Dipper watched as his sister optimistically roamed the stairs for the keeper of the key and grounds of the castle. There were so many times he wished he was more like her. Mabel was super strong and kind and just outright amazing; no matter what the world threw at her, she was happy and cheerful. Through losing their parents and then their Grandpa Shermie, through being lost in the woods and nearly eaten, through meeting a beast, Mabel was still joyful and out-going. Dipper wished he could be more like that, but sometimes it felt like a dark cloud forever hung over his head; he was the realistic twin, the Debby-downer of the two; someone had to be, and he never wanted it to be Mabel. “Maybe we misheard him.” Mabel pondered when no one was responding to her calls. “Did Monsieur Stan say Soos or Zeus?”

Dipper shrugged. “Or maybe we were sent on a wild goose chase.” “Eck! A goose?!” Mabel gasped with sparkling eyes. “Sup, dawgs!” A voice called from the top of the second flight of stairs. “I’m Soos! Sorry, just wanted to make sure your room was clean. So dusty… anyways, welcome!” Dipper and Mabel peered to where the voice was coming from and saw a hammer standing up on it’s handle. It was smiling with long buck teeth and kind eyes. Split from the handle, like big splinters, were the arms, but it had no legs. Mabel smiled while Dipper just stared. “Hi! I’m Mabel! So you’re Soos?” “Sure am!” The hammer gestured to follow him. “C’mon, dudes, I’ll show you to your room.” Mabel followed with Dipper right behind her. Past expensive, dusty objects and paintings, the hammer led them to another set of double-doors. The hammer pushed them open and the kids awed at the living quarters. Beautiful twin-sized bunk beds stood proudly with the finest silks and pillows stuffed with feathers. A giant window with a balcony displayed the calm fall rain and a huge chest filled with toys and a wardrobe occupied the room, but the space was so vast that it somehow felt empty. The walls were painted gold with knights and kings and glorious battles telling stories on the ceiling. Mabel squealed with delight and ran to the bottom bed and plopped down. “Wowie, zowie! Is this all ours?” “Sure is, dude.” Soos said. “The boss wanted you kids to be safe and comfortable.” “You mean that big scary beast downstairs?” Dipper asked. “That’s the one!” Dipper couldn’t keep his smile at bay any longer. “I have always wanted bunk beds.” “I think he’s nice.” Mabel said from the bottom bunk. “Oh, the dude’s a nice guy.” Soos insisted. “Once you get to know him. He saved me and Abuelita from the streets a long time ago, gave us jobs and a home.” A cart came in, carrying a beautiful china pot that smiled at the guests. “Welcome!” She said with an Asian accent. “My name is Candy. So good to have company with us. Dinner will be ready shortly. Oh, no! You two look cold. Grenda! Grenda, wake up!” She barked. The wardrobe burst open and the eyes on top of the piece of furniture popped open. “I’m up, I’m up! SWEET LORD! Finally, new muses! You two need some new clothes!” Grenda opened her drawers, but moths flew out and she closed up immediately. “Oops. That’s… that happens sometimes.” Grenda opened her drawers again and whistled. “Okay, ladies, let's get to work, up, up, up!” Sewing needles, measuring tape, and thread sprang up from a drawer and began to work, pulling rolls of cloth out from the other drawers and sewing around the twins as they stood still. Mabel giggled and lightly touched the needles in greeting, treating them like butterflies, while Dipper stood rigid and still, afraid of being hurt. “Aw, don’t be so tense, boy.” Grenda giggled. “You like blue?” Dipper took in a deep breath, trying to relax, and he smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I like blue.” Soon the kids were changed into nicer clothes; not formal, but not made from itchy material and much more comfortable than their soak garments. Mabel twirled in her pink petticoat and jacket with golden buttons and she grinned at her brother, who wore a navy-blue jacket over an orange top. He kept his blue cap on proudly and he seemed comfortable. “Tuck your shirt in, scruffy.” The mirror on the wall spoke, spooking the kids. “Be nice, Pacifica.” Candy warned. Dipper had a million questions. He looked at Soos the hammer, Candy the teapot, Pacifica the mirror, and Grenda the wardrobe, and said quietly, “This is impossible. Objects can’t talk or move on their own.” Grenda shrugged, her golden arms free from being folded on top of a drawer. “Well, here we are.” “Abuelita used to say the world’s more full of magic than we know, dudes.” Soos said. “You’re magic?!” Mabel gasped happily, squishing her cheeks with her hands as her eyes shined like stars. “Duh,” Pacifica said as a reflection of her human form shined on the mirror, a pretty girl with long blonde hair. “This castle’s full of weird secrets and magic and mystery and whatever.” “We LOVE mystery, don’t we, Dipper?” Mabel asked, gripping his hand. “This guy is really good at solving them! He figured out who was stealing Manly Dan’s jerky.” “Everyone wanted to blame it on the kids, but no one with a shoe size of five could have made such a deep footprint in the mud unless they were heavier than an adolescent.” Dipper explained and shrugged with a sheepish smile. “And Mabel’s really smart, too. She discovered who was eating all our garbage and leaving smelly trails.” “All signs pointed to the goat.” Mabel said, puffing her chest out proudly. “Then you’ll fit right in, dudes!” Soos exclaimed excitedly. A harsh cough came from the door and an axe hopped in, with a beautiful girl carved into the handle. She dipped the heavy head of the axe and said, “Dinner’s ready.” The kids thanked the axe, at this point used to inanimate objects suddenly being animate, and left for the dining hall. Wendy gave Soos, Candy, Grenda, and Pacifica death glares and followed them out. Pacifica scoffed and her reflection faded away. Soos felt his face turn warm as he hopped on the cart and caught a ride with Candy; Grenda fell back asleep. Mabel and Dipper followed the axe into the dining hall and admired the scene before them. A huge table that could fit thirty stood polish with mahogany, filled with bread water, the best china and dishes the kids had ever dreamed of, and silverware made out of real silver. The axe hopped in front of them and said, “Alright, guys, my name’s Wendy. Basically I’m in charge when the boss isn’t here, and since he’s not here, I’m in charge right now. Follow me?” The kids nodded; Dipper really didn’t want to argue with an axe, in case if turned into an axe-murderer. They sat next to each other at the right hand of the head of the table, where the host would normally sit. Mabel laid her napkin on her lap and Dipper waited for something to happen. Just as Mabel opened her mouth to talk to Wendy, the axe hopped away and Candy the teapot hopped at the center of the table, a surprise spotlight on her. “Lady and gentleman! It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you here tonight! Now, we invite you to relax and get comfortable, as the dining room proudly presents: your dinner.” And magical dishes and trays filled with food hopped out from the kitchen and onto the table. Mabel leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin resting on her knuckles, while Dipper smiled unsure of what to make of this, but enjoying it nonetheless. “Be our guest…” ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan paced on all fours back and forth, his mind racing. He occasionally spoke, trying to think better by thinking out loud, but there was just so much to tackle at once. Stan stood on his back legs and his eyes rested on the journal. Decorated with a golden six-fingered hand, the journal was safe inside a glass case, never allowed to be touched. Still, it was so tempting, but too risky. That book was fragile and Stan was dangerous. The beast growled in his throat and resumed his pacing. What was he thinking, letting those kids stay here, allowing Soos to open the door, even meeting the kids. He should have stayed hidden and let them leave. But he couldn’t just let those kids go out into the woods and die; not even a monster like himself would do that. But Stan needed confirmation that he had made the right choice. Once again his gaze fell on the journal. He ceased his pacing again and stared at the journal. He sighed through his nose and approached it. He slowly, carefully, sat on the floor before the small table that occupied the book, staring at it, lost in thoughts and memories. A few minutes later, Stan found his claw on the glass cover, yearning to touch the journal, but he dared not to. Not yet. Not right now. It was too risky. A page fell out a few days ago. But then his cruel mind made him remember his brother’s pleading words. Stanley, I’m fine. You know I’m still here, right? I’m not just some book you can place on a shelf and walk away. Stanley, I can’t breathe in here. It’s maddening. I am not afraid of you. Stan tenderly lifted the glass case from over the journal and placed it on the ground. His gentle paws, the beast picked up the book and opened it. He smiled tiredly at a blank page. “Hey, Sixer.” Hello, Stanley. A knock came at the door, the one at the entrance of the West Wing; Stan’s advanced hearing could pick it up. He quickly shut the journal, put it on the table, and protected it with the glass cover. “What?” He called when he went to the door, but he didn’t open it. “Hi, Monsieur Stan!” A girl’s voice called. What did she say her name was? Maple? “Are you gonna come down to dinner? Madame Wendy said you didn’t want to. Are you okay? Does your tummy hurt?” Stan raised an eyebrow at the door. “Mabel, leave him alone.” The boy said. “He’ll come when he wants to.” “But Dipper, he should eat.” Stan had thought of hunting for a deer after the little pains in his side went to bed so he wouldn’t scare them or bother them when they were trying to recover and eat. He was surprised and apprehensive when they seemed to not only expect but desire his attendance. “You want to eat dinner with freak-show over here?” He asked suspiciously, not believing it. “Sure! Why not?” The girl called. Her name was Mabel, Stan recalled. “I don’t think you want that.” He warned. “What?! I totally want that! It’ll be fun, now come on! There’s delicious gray stuff!” She added, hoping it would tempt her host to join them for dinner. Stan snorted. He opened the door and looked down at the tiny humans. One could stand on the other’s shoulders and they wouldn’t reach his height. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Yay!” Mabel punched the air and laughed at Dipper’s face. “Hah! I win, sucka!” Dipper punched her shoulder and they started back to the dining hall. Stan followed them, giving them plenty of space. When they sat to eat, Mabel and Dipper chatted among themselves about how they loved the musical performance the servants had given. Mabel was careful to thank every single object individually, while Dipper settled for thanking them as a combined team. Stan smiled teasingly at the foolish kids, gushing over a stupid show. “Monsieur Stan, are you sure you’re not sick?” Mabel asked gently over her goblet of water. Stan gave her a skeptical look, expecting a jab at his monstrous appearance. “I’m fine, kid.” He growled. Mabel blinked, unsure as to why he was so stoic and strict. “Really? You’re not eating. Do you not like it?” Dipper also noticed it, privately predicting that the beast would tear into his meal, but he had not even touched his meat or picked up his drink. “Had a big lunch pretty late in the day.” Stan said, waving the question away. “Now quit pestering me about it!” “Oh. Okay. By the way, you never answered my questions.” “Huh?” “What’s your favorite color? Do you have a sweet tooth? Do you like sweet or sour things? Do you have a favorite song?” Mabel asked all in one breath, so quickly that it took the host a minute to gather his answers. “Oh. Um… red, yes, sweet, and no.” Mabel grinned, excited to elaborate on Stan’s answers, and she and Stan gradually had a conversation. It was an odd conversation, with Mabel doing most of the talking and the two knowing so little about the other and having next to nothing in common that it might have been tricky to talk pleasantly, but soon Stan found himself flapping up water with his scratchy tongue as he listened to the girl’s twenty-first story. Mabel smiled and covered her mouth with her hand at the sight, finding it endearing. Dipper would occasionally inject and join in, but mostly he observed. Stan hadn’t realized how quiet the castle had become until it was filled with noise. A grandfather clock out in the hall screamed, “NINE O’CLOCK!”, making Dipper jump and splash water on his face, and Mabel laughed at the little scare. “Right, time for bed, gremlins.” Stan said and pointed to the door. “You’ve got your work cut out for you in the morning. No more softening you up. I want you wide-eyed and bushy-tailed by sunrise.” “But, we don’t have tails.” Dipper sneered with a smile. “Not my problem, runt, now go before you get nightmares from looking at this face for too long.” Mabel didn’t like that last comment, but she decided to let it pass. “G’night, Monsieur Stan!” She said cheerfully and waved to him as she walked out of the dining hall with Dipper right beside her. When the door was closed behind them, Stan sighed with relief; he was starving. Acting on instinct alone, he tore into his food like an animal and spewed it all over his face and clothes. He later huffed in shame and humiliation, and with as much pride as he could muster, he left the table and ventured to bed. Meanwhile, Mabel slipped on her white nightgown and climbed up to the top bunk bed; Dipper had a habit of falling out of bed already, he didn’t need to be six feet up. She snuggled under the cozy covers and was pleasantly surprised to find warm pans between the blankets. “I like it here.” Mabel said sleepily, rubbing an eye. “It’s like we’re in a story of our own.” Dipper smiled up at the bottom of Mabel’s bed, his head resting on his folded arms. “Yeah… I guess so.” There was a long pause. Despite Mabel’s optimism and cheerful attitude, now that there was nothing to distract her, a sudden worry made a knot in her stomach. “Dipper? Do you really think Fiddleford is okay?” Dipper took too long to answer for her sister's comfort, but when he spoke she felt much better. “He’s fought in two wars, survived crazy invention-attacks, and raised you. He can handle anything.” Mabel giggled at the jab he made at her and said, “More like he survived raising you, Dumb-Dumb.” Dipper chuckled, “Goodnight, Stupid.” “G’night, Stupid.” Dipper blew out the candle, but it would be a long time before Mabel finally closed her eyes and fell asleep. ~~~~~~~~~~ The rain had finally stopped, but the cold was even worse now. Even so, it could not he felt inside Gleeful’s Glee-Filled Tavern, where hard-working men and women were relaxing in the comfort of fires and warm beer. Gideon had just finished a musical number that left the policemen crying with happiness and the other girls cheering. His mother shakingly filled drinks and his father collected some money for the performance by the piano. Gideon sat on the instrument to be eye-level with Ghost Eyes. He sighed tiredly. “I don’t understand it, my hench-angel. Why won’t Mabel admit that she loves me?” “Maybe because she doesn’t?” Ghost Eyes suggested into his beer. “I bet it’s cuz she keeps herself so busy.” Gideon speculated. “Think about it, with only old Man McGucket taking care of things she and Dipper have to… wait. What if she’s afraid to love me?” The white-haired boy gasped. “Wait, what?” “It all makes sense now!” Gideon proclaimed. “She’s lost almost all of her family! For someone so young, she’s lost so much! What if she’s afraid to only gain something to lose?! What if she’s afraid one day I’ll be gone, too?!” Gideon stood up proudly on the piano, with his fists on his hips. “Well, I swear by all this is holy and unholy that that will never happen! I will always be there for her, no matter what!” “YEAH!” Ghost Eyes cheered and had the boy sit on his muscular shoulder. “We love you, Lil’ Gideon!” Durland yelled. “Sing more of those funny songs!” “You got it! Ahem, ahem… nooooo oooooone…” The doors burst open, letting in some cold air, as Old Man McGucket came running in. the townsfolk gasped at him. He was dirty and his hair was frazzled and his glasses were cracked, but worst of all his arm was bruised and cradled by his chest protectively, as if it was broken. This man had obviously been through something horrible, his eyes wide and his jaw tight. “HELP!” He cried out. “HELP ME, PLEASE!” “McGucket, what happened?” Blubs asked. “It’s the children!” Old Man McGucket yelled and scrambled around the tavern, informing all of the tragedy. “We were attacked by wolves out in the woods n’ separated! They’re out there somewhere, lost n’ cold n’ possibly hurt! Please! We have t’find ‘em!” The townsfolk muttered among themselves. It was dangerous in those woods, filled with wolves and horrible animals. They were unsure if the children were alive. What was the point of risking their lives for dead bodies, especially the dead bodies of the troublesome Pines twins. “Aren’t these the same kids that built that wretched sound box?” Old Man McGucket paled a shade. “Y-Yes, b-b-but they were only tryin’...” “And are always reading? What’s that boy doing, teaching a girl to read? It’s unnatural.” “It’s beautiful!” Old Man McGucket snapped. “Dipper’s only tryin’ t’help his sister…” “I thought his name was Mason…” “It’s Dipper!” Old Man McGucket’s energy was failing him as he appeared alone in the world. “I… I know they seem different, but… but, please. They’re still only children. My children. Will no one help me find ‘em?” Gideon leaned towards Ghost Eyes’ ear and whispered excitedly, “This is perfect! Mabel needs my help; she’ll see how I’m willing to do anything for her and she’ll finally realize she loves me!” Gideon stood on Ghost Eyes’ shoulder and declared, “I’ll help!” Old Man McGucket turned and stared at the boy. “Ya will?” “Sure I will!” Gideon said and hopped off to walk on a long table. “Folks, I know we’ve had our fair share of whoopsie-daisies in the past, but Mabel and Dipper are still part of our fair town. They need our help, so I say no one should rest until they’re safe at home!” “YEAH!” Manly Dan yelled and punched a whole in the stone wall. “Let’s find the Pines!” Blubs said and the whole town cheered for Lil’ Gideon. Old Man McGucket approached the boy shakingly and smiled. “Th-Thanks ya so much. Ya’ve always been a… a loyal friend t’em.” “Don’t thank me yet.” Gideon said with a smile. “Let’s just get my queen and future brother-in-law back.” And he went off to gather the volunteers. Fiddleford watched the boy leave and he winced. “Aw, banjo polish.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: I know it seems like I’m a hater of BatB songs since only one is in here, two songs are not from BatB at all, and I teased two BatB songs in this chapter but never delivered, but I promise that more are on the way (or at least obscure gestures to the songs since this isn’t a musical).

I will share that I ALMOST opened the entire story with a Hercules-like intro, with Dipper and Mabel destroying the town with an invention and being rejected by the village, making the scene of Fiddleford trying to convince people to help look for them more compelling, but I backed away since I couldn’t think of a good destructive invention that could be built by two twelve-year-olds in the early 1800s. I’d love to hear some of your ideas, guys!

Pacifica is kinda a reference to the Magic Mirror from Snow White, and while Lazy Susan would’ve made a great Mrs. Potts, I decided to make Candy head of the kitchen and the tea pot and have Lazy Susan be a friend of Fiddleford and Shermie’s and give hand in raising Dipper and Mabel sometimes, one of the few people in town that actually liked them. I will warn you that this story does not focus much on the side characters, rather the development of the main characters.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope y’all enjoy it!

#GF #gravity falls #ford pines #stan pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #batb au #fanfiction #beauty within the fallen

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sardonicnihilism · 3 years

Text

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 1: The Girl

Chapter 6

Decades later Shannon would hear the phrase, "time is a flat circle". The concept being that everything that ever has or will happen, is taking place simultaneously, while we just move from point A (birth) to point B (death) and back again in a forever unchanging loop. Had her four year old self heard (and understood) that, she would have found it not only reasonable, but probable. As she noticed before, nothing ever really did seem to change.

There was, however, evidence that maybe time wasn't a flat circle but a spiral. Going round and round, seemingly ending back at the same starting point, but on a slightly higher or lower level. This would have struck her as equally reasonable as well. While things did continue much as they had before - Monday through Thursday, Kathy would drop Shannon off in the morning before she went to work and pick her up at around 8pm, and on Fridays, she would spend the weekend until Sunday night; it was obvious that when her mother gave birth to her sibling, things would change a lot, no one was sure how.

Talk about what to do about her and her future sibling often went on in hushed discussions in the kitchen. They tried to hide it from her, but she knew. Sometimes she would try to hear, often she felt it was best not to know. She loved her Aunt Mary, didn't care much for her grandparents, and down right hated her mother. She reasoned that it would be best then if she lived with her grandparents, although it was clear that only her Aunt Mary was in favor of that.

Shannon's birthday came and went as did Thanksgiving and Christmas. The new year rolled in with the tantalizing prospect of Kindergarten. April came and so did Shannon's sibling, a sister. She was mildly pleased. She would have loved a baby brother as well, but having a girl like her seemed like it would be a better fit. It was then that things finally changed (for the worst).

First, her mother started to actually date a man. He was a thin, greasey, tall man with a receding hair line, what she would later learn was called a seventies porn stache, and a head, hands, and feet that looked to be half a size too big for the rest of his body. He always smelled like sweat, beer, tobacco, and cheap after shave. He didn't have a job. He'd simply move in with whatever woman would have him at the time, and crash at a friend's house whenever they were done with him.

Shannon's mother had met him at a bar and they hit it off immediately. He liked her because she sucked his dick the first night and she liked him because despite all appearances, he could fuck like a mule. Shortly thereafter, she had moved him in.

Once he was there, Shannon's grandparents (over the vociferous objections of her Aunt Mary), told Kathy she wasn't allowed to bring her kids over anymore. They were too old and her new boyfriend could watch over them while she was at work. Shannon had expected it, but it still hurt surprisingly. All her sentient life she felt unwanted; this was just further confirmation. At least she had her sister to look after and take care of.

At first, not much happened. During the day, she'd feed and change her sister, while fetching beer and food for her . . . she didn't know what to call him, as he sat on the smelly, torn couch, watching TV.

Every so often she would catch him looking at her in a way that made her feel strange, dirty. One time he asked if she needed help getting a bath. She assured him that she had been capable of bathing herself for a while. Sometimes he would as her to sit by him. The first time she did and he put his arm around her the same way he did her mother. She hated the feeling and said she had to use the bathroom and jumped up and almost ran to it, slamming the door behind her. After that, she never sat next to him again.

Then came that Friday night in June.

Her mother had called to say she had to work late because "some prissy bitch who thinks her shit don't stink" called off. At first this didn't matter much to Shannon; she would just continue on as she had all day, no big deal. A little after seven, Shannon got up and picked up her sister.

"I'm going to put Tracy to bed now, then I'm going," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeeeeaaaaaahhhhh," she heard him say.

His voice sounded off, strange. She turned to him and saw he was looking at her, his eyes glazed over. She shivered despite it being over 80 degrees in their apartment. She quickly turned away and went to her bedroom.

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

It had been about an hour since Shannon had put Tracy to sleep and gotten in bed. It was still relatively light outside. Even with the curtains drawn, the room was only slightly shadowed.

She stared at the peeling, broken ceiling, unable to fall asleep. She held her Wonder Woman to her chest. It might have been made of plastic, but she still slept with it like a stuffed animal. At this point, it was only her Wonder Woman doll that was keeping her going.

She heard the door open and could tell immediately by the smell it wasn't her mother coming to check in on her (not that she was even capable of such a material jester). She closed her eyes as tight as she could. She knew something was wrong but she couldn't say what.

She heard him shuffle over to beside and crouch down. He leaned in close to her, his rancid breath, burning her ears as he spoke, "You're a pretty girl there Shannon, real pretty. So much prettier than your mama. Long, brown hair, those beautiful eyes of yours. I tried to figure out what color they were - brown, blue, grey, green, then I saw it, they're all of them. Together. Your eyes are a goddamn rainbow."

He paused for a moment, and then in a low voice, filled with threat, he said, "Put your arms at your side. I won't ask again."

Shannon reluctantly put her arms down so they were flat beside her, her doll rolling to right side. She then heard the sound of a zipper being undone. His hand started to slowly rub up and down her stomach and chest.

"So pretty," he said.

Shannon thought he sounded like he was breathing heavy, like he was doing some sort of exercise. She didn't want to look, but curiosity got the better of her. She opened her left eye just enough to see what was going on. His right hand was hidden bellow her bed line, but she could tell from the way his upper arm a shoulder were moving, he must be moving his hand back and forth rapidly.

She was no longer in her bedroom but in the back seat of her mother's car. It was also no longer a hot, June night but a cold, October one. It was the night when the sky worms had burrowed into her, devouring her insides beneath that endless, black abyss which was what truly surrounded the Earth. Time was frozen like she was. This must be what being dead feels like. It was then that something warm and slimey, smelling rotting grass was wiped across her mouth; bringing her back to the present.

"A little flavor for ya," she heard him say. He was now standing up, looking down at her. He reached out and picked up her Wonder Woman doll. He looked it over with amusement. He then grabbed the one leg and snapped it off. He dropped it on top of her.

"Don't worry there rainbow eyes, I'll be splitting you soon enough, " he said with a grotesque chuckle. He gave her a wink and walked out.

Shannon rolled over into the fetal position and started crying silently but uncontrollably. Her broken Wonder Woman lay beside her, another fallen idol.

#fiction #drama #dark #slice of life #coming of age #lgbt story

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the-walking-memelords · 5 years

Text

Allegiances: Chapter 2

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Series is rated M

Word Count: 3066

A hunting trip gone awry stirs frustration in Clementine as the feeling of being sabotaged creeps through her mind.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Her foot kicked the loose papers that were scattered around the floor of the admin building.

“Marlon wanted to talk to you, he’s up in his office.” Brody had told her.

Her hand grazed the worn wood of the railing as she ascended the stairs to the second floor, the engraved double doors just at the top. Clem pushed the partially ajar door open all the way to see Tenn playing on the floor with an assortment of toys.

The boy stopped rolling his fire truck across the floor and gave her a nervous greeting.

“Hi, Clementine.”

“Hey.” she responded, studying the scars on his head.

The mutilated skin had scars crossing every which way. Obviously burns. She wondered if it had any connections to the charred building outside.

“Marlon wanted to see me?” She looked around the office, the leader nowhere in sight.

“I’ll go find him.” Clementine didn’t have time to utter a thank you before the boy hurried off, leaving his toys behind.

His nervousness towards her made her feel a small bite of guilt. She couldn’t pinpoint what, but something about him reminded her of AJ.

Now alone, she wandered the room checking out the knickknacks strewn about. Her eyes caught a dusty picture frame on the table. Picking it up, she brushed off some of the dust and examined the photo of two young boys in sports uniforms. A freckle-faced kid with dreadlocks had his arm around another boy with a blond mullet.

Louis and Marlon

A smile couldn’t help but tug at her lips as she saw how much Louis’ ears stuck out.

They’ve really known each other forever.

She quickly set down the photo as the door creaked open. To Clem’s confusion, no one entered. She could see the empty hall beyond the opening.

“Marlon?” She asked tentatively.

The door was pushed open further by the snout of Rosie, who eyed Clem with an angry expression. Clem jumped back a bit as the dog stalked towards her, snarling with her teeth bared. Rosie still moved closer, barking. Slobber dripping from her mouth.

Her heart raced as Clementine’s fingers slowly grasped around the knife in her pocket. Her back bumped into the desk as she ran out of space to run. She gripped the desk to stabilize herself as her knees threatened to buckle.

“What the hell’s goin’ on in here?”

Marlon lunged for Rosie’s collar. He held on to the chain firmly as he scratched her ears.

“Shh… Shh… It’s okay girl.” He looked to the shaken girl, whose knuckles were white around her weapon.

“Didn’t know you were so scared of dogs, I’m sorry.” his expression was earnest.

Clementine grimaced, rolling up her sleeve, revealing the jagged scar running up her forearm.

“A dog did that to me. Unprovoked. Sorry if I’m not too trusting of the things.” Her arm stung with pain from the past.

“I swear she’s not as scary as she seems, she just doesn’t know you.” He offered his hand to her.

“Let me show you.”

Memories of her encounter with Sam flashed through her mind as her eyes darted between him and the dog. What if it bit her? Clem had held on to all of her fingers this song she didn’t want to break her streak. Then again, if the dog learned to recognize her, maybe it wouldn’t try to maul her every time they came across one another.

I’m going to regret this.

She pushed back her fears as she held out her hand.

He brought her hand down to the dog’s face, letting her sniff it. She flinched at the touch of the animal’s cold wet nose. Her eyes remained locked on Rosie for any signs of aggression. A moment of panic rushed through her as the dog opened her mouth towards her fingers, just to be met with her wet tongue.

Gross.

“See? Not so bad.” Marlon chuckled, letting go of her hand.

Clementine released a breath she hadn't noticed she was holding.

“I’m sure the reason you sent for me wasn’t to play with your dog.” she wiped the slobber on her jacket.

“What do you need me for?”

“Straight to the point, I like it.” He commented

“I’m sending you out hunting with Louis and Aasim.”

---

She found the two chattering at the gate. Aasim adjusting the string on his bow while Louis haphazardly took some practice swings at the air with “Chairles.”

“Chairles.” Goddammit.

She still wasn’t over the pun.

“Great, you’re here.” Greeted Aasim.

“Let’s get going.”

“Hey, Clementine.” Louis fell in stride with her.

“I trust you slept well?”

“Well enough.” She was only half paying attention to his attempts at small talk. Her senses busy scanning the trees for any smelly intruders.

“Hunting grounds are usually clear of walkers.” Aasim explained.

“Sometimes they get caught in the snares and shit though. As you probably already figured out, a ribbon on a tree means a trap is nearby. So maybe stay away from those.”

“I’m never gonna live that down, aren’t I?”

“Nope.”

“I never have to worry about that. I’m basically a ninja!” Louis tossed his makeshift bat from one hand to another.

“You weren’t so ninja-like yesterday when I saved you from being eaten by that walker.” She joked.

“A fluke.” He said in a dramatic voice.

“I was so entranced by your proficiency in ass-kicking that the situation escaped me.”

She pursed her lips to keep her smile invisible but his grin was very apparent.

“We’ve got work to do.” Aasim cut in.

“We don't all have the privilege of being Marlon’s lapdog.”

“Ouch.” He put his hand over his heart.

“Someone’s a little jealous.” He leaned towards her.

“In my defense, I totally get things done. To me, survival is more of a day-to-day task.”

“That’ll get you killed.” How could someone live so casually? He could never hope to make it on his own with that attitude.

“You need to have a backup plan if you want to stay alive out there.”

“At least someone gets it.” Aasim let out a huff as he examined an empty snare.

“My strategy is to play the long game. You’ve gotta have plans B, C, and D If you want us all to keep living.”

Clementine cut of his rant as she heard a familiar growl from somewhere close by

“Shh. Shut up a second.”

She pulled out her knife as she peeked through the trees seeking the source of the noise. The others readied their weapons as well as they crept forward. A swinging motion caught her eye. Entering the small clearing, a walker hung from one of the snares. Its arms swung towards the trio and it’s growling increased.

Louis let out a laugh as he poked it with Chairles.

“Look at this guy. He’s like a walker pinata!” He stayed out of arm’s reach as he continued to prod the rotting corpse.

“I’m going up ahead. You two cut this thing down and reset the snare.” Aasim walked off, leaving her with Louis to deal with the walker.

“Sorry about Aasim. I promise he isn't so lame all the time.” He stepped back from the walker.

“He’s always on my case about having a good time, talking about ‘We need to guarantee our future!’ and all that horseshit.”

“Sounds pretty important to me.” She still couldn’t understand him.

“Well here’s how I see it.” His overly happy demeanour seemed to fade a bit.

“There’s only one guarantee: This moment. That's all we’ve got. The only thing any of us got.”

“So we might as well enjoy it.”

Living for the moment.

I sweet idea in theory. Clementine longed for such an outlook on life. Her life at the Delta seemed like a world away compared to the relative peace of this forest. She wondered how much AJ would like this place.

“Wanna take a swing?” She turned to see him holding Chairles out to her.

“You know you wanna.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Bullshit.”

“Perhaps you’re just feeling sympathetic towards this guy. I mean, you were him yesterday.” He teased.

Clementine grabbed the chair leg out of his hand. He recoiled slightly, a little unsure who she would swing it at. The weapon was heavy in her hand. She inspected the nails that protruded through the end, the wood around them stained with walker blood.

She held it over her shoulder like a baseball bat, taking one good swing at the head of the walker. A loud crunch sounded as its skull shattered. Dark blood dripped from its head onto the dirt below. Even with the damage, it still emitted small gurgles as its arms weakly tried to reach her.

“Wooo!” He cheered

“If the Olympics were still a thing, You’d get a silver for sure.”

“A silver, huh?” She adjusted her footing and prepared to swing again.

“Well, that could have been a lucky shot.” She immediately proved him wrong as her next swing caused the walker’s head to break away from its body. The head bounced a few feet away before it came to a stop.

A smug grin adorned her face as she turned back to Louis. His mouth was wide open as he watched her.

She flipped Chairles upside down. Pressing the bottom of the handle to his chin, she closed his mouth.

“You'll catch flies like that.” She passed his weapon back to him.

“You are incredible.”

“I know.” She turned back down the path to follow where Aasim had gone.

A smile still wide on her lips as she made her way down the path.

---

Clementine carefully reset the final trap before regrouping with the others.

“Job well done, team!” Louis beamed.

“Looks like we’re eating tonight.”

“Not all of us.” Aasim examined the rabbits they had caught.

“Four rabbits isn’t enough for eleven people.”

“Where else can we look?” There had to be more ways of getting food around here.

“Violet and Brody went fishing this morning, maybe they had some luck.” said Aasim.

“If they haven’t killed each other yet.” Louis added.

“Let’s go see what they've got.”

---

Bird calls sounded from overhead as the pair made their way down the path.

“So what do Brody and Violet have against each other?” She asked.

“That’s... complicated.” He spoke unsurely

“Brody has nothing against Vi, I can tell you that.”

“But…”

“But… about a year ago we lost two people.” He continued

“Minerva and Sophie.” Letting him know she knew.

“Yeah, they were really close with Violet. Brody was there when… when they died. I guess she blames her, at least a little.” He looked at the ground with a solemn expression. Obviously a difficult memory for everyone.

If only they knew the truth.

She pondered her presence in these woods.

I guess they will, one day.

Once I do my job.

---

They reached the river soon enough. Calmly flowing water between them and a rundown building just on the other side.

“Where are Vi and Brody?” There was no sign of the girls around. Just a walker with a spear sticking out of its head.

“Vi wouldn’t have just left this out in the open.” Panic started to creep into Louis’ voice as he looked around for his missing friends.

Clem looked down the river to see if she could spot them. There was nothing in the distance but foliage.

“Clem.” She looked up at Louis, who was on the porch.

“The lock’s busted. We might not be alone.”

Clementine drew her knife as they cautiously entered the building. Vines grew all over the inside walls and grass peeked through the broken floorboards. Plants seemed to be the only living things inside.

“This place is totally trashed!” Louis exclaimed, examining the upturned furniture.

How can he tell?

The place seemed to be pretty ruined, to begin with.

The faint sizzle of the dying embers drew her attention to the fire pit. The wood had been burned out for a while but the core still glowed orange. Clementine's hand reached for a familiar object that sat at the pit's edge. Her blood ran cold as she examined the half-smoked cigarette. The hand-rolled bible pages sent a chill up her spine.

Why is he here?

Surely they weren't ready to pull her out so soon. It had only been two days! Yet here was that bastard Abel, sticking his nose into her investigation.

“Did you find something?” Louis turned to her, noticing her uneven breathing.

“Nothing.” She panicked, tossing the cigarette into the remains of the fire.

“The fireplace is still hot, if someone was here they've only been gone a few hours at most.”

“Fuck. You think they'll be sticking around?” He ran his hands through his dreads as he paced.

“Probably not. It was most likely just a survivor looking for some supplies.” She attempted to downplay the situation.

“They took what they felt was useful, then moved on.”

“That doesn't mean they couldn't stumble across the school or something.” He shifted through what was left, figuring out what had been taken.

“I thought you were the worry-wart here.”

“I know how travelers think, that's all.” A sudden realization hit her.

“Wait, what about Vi and Brody?”

She wouldn't put it past Abel to take them separately and screw over the plan. Although, that appeared to not be the case. As if on cue, the two girls entered the wrecked shack, startling the two already inside.

“What the hell's going on?” Violet demanded when she saw them.

“Oh, thank God you guys are okay.” Louis ‘ demeanour changing from worried to relieved as he saw his friends.

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn't we be?” Brody asked, confused.

“Someone broke in. Look at this place. There's shit thrown everywhere!” Louis kicked one of the chairs that laid on its side.

“Someone robbed us!?” Fear filled Body's eyes as she looked around the room.

“Did you see anyone?”

“Was anything taken?” Violet demanded.

“A couple spears, some tools, bait, and our best net.” Clem crossed her arms and remained silent as Louis did all the talking.

“Dammit.” Violet swore.

“We just walked a mile of river and the traps were all empty. No fish. None. We speared some out of the water, do you think it's enough?”

“Maybe. Rations might be slim tonight.” He said as he examined the bucket.

“We have to tell Marlon about this!” Brody tried to usher the others outside.

“Calm down, Brody. Freaking out isn't going to help the situation.” She spat.

“What do you think, Clem.?” Violet forced her out of her silence.

“You think whoever did this is coming back?” Her tone wasn't suspicious, but honest.

“No.” She lied, looking Violet in the eyes.

“I think we're in the clear.”

“You don't know that!” Her nervousness only grew.

“If they took some of our fishing supplies they might be planning on sticking around the river.”

Yeah, she didn't have a good excuse for that one.

Goddammit, Abel.

“Breathe Brody, breathe.” she muttered to herself.

Brody ran her hands through her red hair as she stepped away from the group. Her breathing was hard as she tried to suppress a panic attack.

“Just stay calm. We’re fine.” Clem attempted to calm her.

“We’re not fine! Who knows how many people we’re even talkin’ about! What if they find the school? If they’ve got guns they could kill us all!” This was getting out of hand.

“That’s not going to happen.” Her frustration creeping into her voice.

“How do you know? You have no idea what people are capable of out there!”

At that moment Clementine just saw red. She grabbed a handful of Brody’s shirt, jerking the girl forward.

“Think again.” Her words full of venom.

How fucking dare she.

To suggest that she of all people was ignorant to the way people were made her burn with rage. Clementine felt that after everything, no one knew it better than her.

“Hey, that’s enough.” Louis’ hand on her shoulder is what made her back off.

With a slight shove, she released her grip. Pushing past Louis and Violet she made her way to the door.

“Well if someone is still around we should go back to the school before we run into them ourselves.”

---

Most of the trip back was spent with Clementine walking ahead of the others. She could hear them muttering amongst themselves in some kind of argument. Her attempts at eavesdropping lead her to hear them discussing the likelihood of them being discovered.

Clementine ran a hand through her bangs, partly wishing she still had her dad’s hat with her as the late afternoon sun shown through the leaves.

God, he would never recognize me.

…

None of them would.

She couldn’t even recognize herself.

Footsteps fell in stride with her. She didn't look up.

“Are you alright.?” Clem didn't respond to Louis’ question.

“Look, I’m sorry about Brody. She really lost it back there.”

“I think we both did.” She studied the ground in front of her as she walked.

“Well, she didn’t mean it. She gets that way when she’s scared, that’s all.”

“So you came to apologize for her?” She kicked herself for still being upset.

“I came to make sure you were okay.” She finally met his worried look.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know you’ve been through a lot, more than any of us.”

If only he knew.

“But I- We are here for you. So you don’t have to isolate yourself from us.”

This wasn’t good. She was getting too close. How could she help it? There was something about his presence that was comforting to her. Her chest tightened as she tried to turn off her emotions. She needed to stop being so soft.

“I’m just so… tired.” She confessed.

“I know, but you get to rest now. You’re not on the run anymore. You’re safe.” The guilt ate at her chest with every word he spoke. She knew she wouldn’t forget about him for a long time.

For AJ.

She chanted in her head. Her only means of justification being her love that little boy. Her son.

“No one’s ever really safe.”

“Well, we’re definitely safer together.” The cheerful inflection returning to his voice.

Clementine didn’t have the energy to ponder how wrong he was.

#my writing #allegiances #clouis #louistine #fanfic

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mei-be · 4 years

Text

My new therapist wants me to write letters to my mother. Ooooohhh boy. Where do I even start with that? It would be one thing to write an epic, sprawling, manifesto of rage, hurt, and loaded questions. Probably pretty therapeutic. But what I think I’d rather do, is small, short, everyday letters to my mother, full of intimacy and the lovely mundane details that I love to read in the work of others. I know the deep shit, the looming shadows, the claws of pain that rip me to pieces. What I don’t know, is how I would relate to my mother on a small scale, a constant, prayer-like meditation of all my days. So let’s see what happens.

9/21/20

Dear Mom,

Today I am doing a bit of a spa thing. I recently found some grey hairs sprouting up, and they are filling me with a mortal dread that I can barely contain. So like everything else that frightens me, I am choosing to hide from them, and to hide them from me. I’m doing a henna and amla treatment, and so far, having this bag of drippy baby poop on my head has been fucking miserable. When I first spotted the greys, I immediately tried to remember you. How old were you when you first noticed these? Granted, my first memories of you don’t begin until you are at least 10 years older than I am now. Unfortunately, those early memories don’t involve your hair, but maybe I can think about your beauty regiment. I remember that your body seemed really large to me. In reality, you were probably a size 8, probably 5’6, an average size, maybe on the tall end for an Asian woman. I remember the texture of your thighs, the bluish purple of your varicose veins. I have always been afraid of getting those. I remember that you became concerned about your weight, starting to power walk around the block. Back then, and even into the early 2000s, we didn’t really have access to the Internet as we do now, and we didn’t know that diet had a lot to do with weight. I remember that you napped often, which really laughed in the face of my own insomnia. I wondered if that was a thing old people did, napped daily. You had psoriasis, patchy brown and scaly spots on your elbows and knees, and you were always applying this smelly ointment on them. You hid from the sun, wearing long sleeved shirts, gloves and hats, even in the hottest summer days. You tried to hide me, tying ugly bonnets on me, making me wear visors, headwear that I tore off myself the moment I got out of eyeshot. I don’t know why you didn’t just use sunscreen. We both would have had a much better time. I loved the sun, I still do. You use to tell me that being animated with facial expressions led to wrinkles, and would always catch me laughing or smiling and tell me to stop. Now all of my joy has a catch. Maybe I should thank you for it, but in the back of my mind, I wonder if it’s worth it. The mental weight of constantly mediating one’s reaction to the world might not be written on the skin, but it’s paid for in other ways. I do remember the first time you henna’d your hair. It was in my early college years, and man, was it ugly. Orange and black, it was more of a white hair highlighter than a fix. That image is what propelled me to research henna, amla, and indigo blends as hard as I did. I won’t look like you. I refuse. It scares the shit out of me. For years, I used to chew my nails down to the nubs. I’ve since stopped, but every so often, Ill look down at my hands, and for a moment, I’ll see yours. Rough, strong, brown hands. Shiny skin, broad white nails. Those hands hit me, held things that hit me, scratched at me, grasped my own. I hate your fucking hands. Mine are longer, more delicate, and despite all your efforts and mine, a much lighter color. Sometimes, after weeks of growing out my nails, I would see your hands, superimposed over mine like the echo of a curse, and I’d immediately rip off that hard-earned nail growth, the blood seeping out of them like a red sigh of relief. Occasionally, I still want to. I am within 5 years of the age you were when we first met. We look nothing alike. I look like my father, thank god. You have a rectangular face, while mine is on the round end of heart shaped. You have a long nose, mine is small, squat and smushable. We have opposite parted hairlines. You kept yours short, chin-length. Mine flows down my back.

You are like a ghost that haunts me in the slyest of ways. I only catch you out of the corner of my eye. I smell you sometimes, in certain types of cloth, in the jar of garlic paste. I hate those moments. It smells like claustrophobia, of stale air. It smells like yearning, like imprisonment. I can’t hardly stand those moments. I hate that your smell creeps through the grates when the heat is turned on for the first time. You feel like the chill that penetrates the late summer nights. It tells you that this can’t last forever, that one day, the winter will arrive, and nothing will be okay. This is not the feeling that one should get from their mother. I am angry about it. It’s bad enough that you ran my childhood like a concentration camp. It’s heartbreaking that I missed out on all that comfort, that care, that love. How am I suppose to go out in the world, to love and be loved, if i was never shown how? And now, I am a full fledged, grown-ass adult. I’m suppose to make my own way, to be strong in my life, my choices. I’m suppose to have conviction, some kind of foundation to build myself upon, and I don’t. I don’t have that. I still feel like a lost kid, unmoored, adrift. We are still ruining my life. Yes, now I am complicit in this too. Moreover, I am angry that we never got to turn a corner in the relationship, to be adults together. Maybe we would have never been the mother and daughter that text everyday, or get coffee and chat, or go hiking or whatever. But maybe we could talk, and have a laugh every so often. Maybe you could give me unsolicited advice, and I could tell you about my day. But no, I can’t barely stand to be in the same room as you. I feel like screaming. It hurts to lay my eyes on you. Seeing you is like a flashing neon sign that is bellowing “DANGER”. Seeing you is a horror show of everything I don’t want to be. Seeing you sends me into a week of panic attacks, a month of intermittent insomnnia, a high-ass shrink bill. The worst part of it, is that I can’t harden my heart to this. I can’t turn my back to you. Despite all the years of violence, trauma, the evilness in your voice, I want you. This wanting of you reeks of betrayal. Betrayal of my strength, my work, my journey, my very life. It turns me into a fraud. I’ve worked my whole life to be nothing like you, and hidden in the deep recesses of whatever flimsy facade I’ve managed to create, is just that same sad little girl, who’s wishing that her mother would come to her.

It’s infuriating bullshit, because it’s not reality. You won’t ever come and scoop me up. Unless it’s to throw me to the ground right after. No matter how much power I put into it, the work I do to get better, to be healthy, to forgive, having a true mother will never be my reality. Being in that state of child, where my job is simply to exist and learn the world and your job is to keep me safe and teach me the world is just something I didn’t get, and won’t get. Reality is that I will never be safe and cherished. I will never know “carefree” or “innocence”.

Reality is that it’s dinner time, so I gotta cut and run. Pragmatism, not idealism.

Sincerely yours,

Mei

P.S. God, you were a shitty cook. I’m not.

9/22/20

Dear Mom,

Today I did not experience any triggers. I had a good time. I expressed myself completely and properly. I explored and accomplished everything I wanted to. I learned about stuff, I had a killer yoga practice, I worked in my garden, I went foraging and processed my wild harvest. I was content with the person I inhabited today. So, yea. Suck a dick, Mom.

Sincerely,

Mei

9/23/20

Dear Mom,

The nice shrink lady wants me to write a vision of how I wish my childhood had gone. She does not know what she’s asking for. I remember having these fantasies as a young child. I’d dream of being whisked into a different life, a warm and safe life. It would be quiet, and calm. There might even be laughter. It would always come if I was at someone else’s house. I’d see their full refrigerators, stocked pantries, houses heated, the way they spoke to each other at normal volumes, the lack of tears and chaos. I would be transported into this life, almost automatically. I wouldn’t be hungry, my face wouldn’t hurt from being so dry and cold, my socks wouldn’t have holes in them. I’d have friends over, you would fix us all a fun snack. I wouldn’t be scared, watching and waiting.

When I would have this fantasy in my head, whatever morality machine that lived inside me wouldn’t allow you to be dead, or hurting. You’d just be removed, innocuously. You’d have moved back to China, willingly, and not under duress. You’d have had some sort of episode that erased me from your memory, and we just naturally fell into separate lives. At my very worst, you had fallen into a coma. You were peaceful and sleeping, in stable condition, but you just couldn’t be my mother anymore. Years later, when you had your stroke, I’d wonder if I had done that to you. But I’m innocent. I never wished for this. You were always okay! A shard of irony would twist in my heart, because I was 19, and it was too late, for either of us.

In every dream of my ideal childhood, it would just be my dad and I. We’d be in a cozy room, in armchairs, by a fire. Dad would be doing paperwork, I’d be reading. I had a blanket tucked around me, not because I was very cold, but because it was nice. We were quiet, together. We were doing exactly what we wanted, and it was sanctioned. We were okay.

As far as child fantasies go, mine was pretty dull. No grand adventure, no excess, no magic. Just the simplest version of Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs. Pretty attainable, really.

There’s a deep sadness in this. A little girl with boundless imagination, and all she wanted was to be safe and warm and read a book next to her dad. There’s a deep righteousness in this. A little girl with boundless imagination, and she wanted to do no harm to the Big Bad in her life. You could learn from her, Mom. I wish you had treated me with the same kindness as I treated you with.

Maybe that’s the ticket. Maybe the kindness that lives in my heart is my roadmap to forgiveness. And maybe then, you’ll really be gone from my life, and I will finally be safe. Until then, it’s still you and me, and Dad.

Sincerely yours,

Mei

9/24/20

Dear Mom,

I talked with Dad last night. It was a short call. I have mixed feelings about that. I’m generally grateful for short phone calls, just less chance of something triggering me, or infuriating me, or hurting my heart. But in the same exhale of relief, comes the flood of guilt. You talk to him once a week, Mei, sometimes less. You can’t give the man 20 minutes of your time? It’s so boggling to think about how that relationship changed. It was mostly you and me, Mom. Day in and day out, the two of us, with me trying to disappear. Hoping you’d forget about me for small pockets of peace. When I did get time with Dad, I hung on to every precious second, like they were running out. I felt so damn good around him, so free, so much like a child. I loved him so much, it hurt. Like that love was too big to be confined in my small body, and it’s mass was breaking through my skin. I loved his wonderful face, with kind eyes, and crooked smile. I loved holding his rough hands, one pointer finger in my whole fist. He told me that even though he worked as a doctor, he didn’t have doctors hands. His were short, wide, rough and strong. He said they were farmers hands. He’d laugh and tell me that patients would flinch at the sandpaper nature of his skin, even though he slathered on moisturizer. He said this with pride. He’d tell me that you could tell a lot from a person from their hands. He said that when I eventually looked for a husband, I should look for a man who had the hands of a worker, but smooth and soft. It meant that he was capable of great physical labor, but had instead chosen to use his mind, so that he could make a comfortable living without taking it out of his body. He said I’d be happy with a man like that. He told me I had piano fingers, long and nimble, quick and delicate, which is why they had started me on piano so early. He never told me about your hands, Mom. I’m not entirely sure what you did. He mentioned that you were a teacher for a time in China, but that was really it. You helped out around the office, you were, very briefly, a waitress. You raised me, and kept the house microscopically clean. Except for the kitchen and bathrooms. I kept those. I think you hated that kind of work. You made me wipe each tile individually, and would use gloved hands to check the caulking, the grout, and spaces behind the toilet. I was 6, Mom, and the tiles were one-inch squares. It took hours, and I cried with frustration. Ironically, these are the spaces I love to clean now. The kitchen is 100% my domain, I am more comfortable doing it, than any bathroom or living room. It fits into the atmosphere of my OCD perfectly, when not much else does.

Working with Dad was different. The time I got with him was his “leisure time”, but the man never stopped working. He was always fixing a car, hammering something, cutting a tree, dragging various heavy items out of one space and into a different one. But I got to be outdoors, breathing the fresh air. This was something I craved, constantly. The rise and fall of the sun terrified me. I felt each passing moment that I was not outside as a curse, as something taken away, a missed chance. And you very rarely let me out, Mom, so I felt this pain constantly. I still do, torn apart by the need to accomplish, and by the need to grab hold of sunbeams. It was absolute torture, Mom, it was probably the worst thing you did to me, and I don’t even think you knew it. I could handle the cold, the hunger. I could handle the hot magenta lightning flashes of pain that slashed out of all the different objects you hurled my way. I could handle being on my knees, shamed into begging for you forgiveness (for what?). But I writhed in the knowing that while I was bound, the dark was coming, and the sun was fading away. Another day, and another and another and another....

Dad would lament that I wasn’t born a boy. He’d do it jokingly, lighthearted. I took it so seriously. I’d try to learn the “boy things”, battering away at a little piece of wood, while he worked on the real project. Trying to hammer straight, trying to screw things down. Constructing things is still a task I am shit at. Turns out, it’s not a physical issue. After all, I have piano fingers. Turns out, I have an huge problem with spatial reasoning. It’s all a mirror-scape to me, topside down, inverted, refracted. Dimensions get lost in translation. Mom would lament that I wasn’t born a boy. She’d point out my father, working hard by himself, without assistance. She’d tell me I was killing him, that my existence was going to be his undoing, dying to support my worthless life. And so I tried, tried to do the “boy things”. I dragged garbage cans, cut tree limbs, little buckets of dirt. I felt useless and weak the whole time, so I tried to make up for it in speed and perseverance. I would do the damn thing until I died trying. I am full grown now, a tall person, although still rather slender at 5’9 and 115 pounds. I was recently helping my dad move, hauling boxes and furniture. Dad is now 80 years old, still with farmers hands, but also farmer knees and back. He stopped and looked at me, and for the first time, he said, “Wow, you work so fast and well. I couldn’t do this without you. How do you do it?”. Shocked, I stammered out something about being a server and a bartender, and the breakneck nature of the service industry. But what I really meant to say is, “Dad, I’ve been trying to be a son to you for my entire life. I was just too damn small before.” He told me I was purposeful and valued. That’s all I ever wanted to be. I wish you could understand that I didn’t have to be a boy to do it. Just a child that didn’t want to kill her father, or be killed by her mother.

I guess it all sounds pretty good, right Mom? You pushed me, pushed all my buttons, threw me into the fire, down stairs, on the floor, into the deep end of a pool, and I came out strong. You can rest easy now, pat yourself on the back even. But I’m scared, Mom. I’m scared all the fucking time. I’m an adult now, so we call it anxiety disorder, but the truth of it is that I’m so scared. I’m scared of every mistake I make, of even the possibility of a mistake. I build entire dams made of buffers against that fear. I feverishly work through to-do lists that I make, lists that are so long and involved that I can’t possibly complete them in the time allotted, and then I beat myself up for not finishing my tasks. I work my body, miles of cardio, hours of exercise. A regiment that is not sustainable, and burns me out every time. I get hurt, I get sick, I can’t rest. I feel the crushing weight of the entropy of my world, every second of every day. I feel panic with every inhale, and defeat with every exhale. I go to work, and I prepare for everything that can go wrong, I back up my back ups. I get in before everyone else, and I’m the last to leave. I’m part of a team, and yet, I do the lions share of the work, because if I don’t do it, then something will go terribly wrong, and it will be my fault. I can’t fucking sleep, Mom. I’m going through every transaction I had that day, and I had hundreds. I’m checking to see if I could have possibly done it better. I’m ruined, Mom. I can’t manage my time, because I have no idea how time is related to tasks. Something might take half an hour, but I have to have a 15 minute buffer before and after, and in between every phase, and by the time I get done planning, it’s a 3 hour job and I can’t do it because I’m out. I can’t focus on anything, because the rituals surrounding it snowball over me and I’m defeated before I even start. I’m an adult now, so we call it ADD and poor executive functioning skills, but the truth of it is that I’m set up for failure, and I’m so ashamed, and you’re going to whip me with a metal hanger, and I’m killing my father, and I’m on my knees begging for forgiveness (for what?).

Mom, tell Dad I’ll call him back.

Sincerely yours,

Mei

9/25/20

Dear Mom,

The news is extra-incredible today. Trump is refusing to commit to a graceful exit from the presidency if he loses (please lose, you scumbag). We had a near miss with a school bus sized meteor. People are rioting. The virus is still running rampant, and the country is on fire. As a kid and younger adult, I had a love affair with the idea of a post apocalyptic world setting. It feels like we’re living in the end times, and I am still miserably un-trained, reasonably dependent on the grid, and my outfits won’t be nifty, studded leather, steam-punk get ups, but probably ugly pajamas. Fucking fantastic. So what do I do? I try to be what I’ve always try to be, an example of incredible, but it feels insincere and like going through the motions. Before sobriety, I’d go all hard-core bacchanal on this bitch, make mistakes and let myself go Id. And now I’m on Amazon, weighing the cost of liquid vitamins versus how much money I made this week. Story of my life, I’m $200 away from public aid, and from making what I need to survive. Lovely. I don’t have it in me to go deep today, to free-fall into the pain of my memories. My bottom line is that it all feels fucked right now. I wonder about your point of view in these times. You, in a 7-layer, Dante-esque prison of isolation, of separation from information, of mediation, of communication, of corporeal limitations. I wonder if you are afraid, if you think of your ranking in zombie-apocalypse terms, and if you feel fucked too. I suppose you’ve had 16 years of the worst case scenario, and maybe all this is just another Friday to you. I’m so sorry for you, Mom. I started to write about your stroke, and then backspaced out of it. I just don’t have the substance in me to do it justice today.

Sincerely,

Mei

9/29/20

Dear Mom,

I had my shrink appointment yesterday, and we talked about reframing my mental narrative. This is nothing new to me, I’ve been practicing reframing all year. But she suggested that instead of reframing in my idea of reality, that I think of the most positive possible outcome. I remember doing something like this when I was younger, in my daydreams, as a sort of fantasy life. The problem that comes from fantasy, with the addition of a killer imagination and the ability to entrench myself quickly and deeply in any mental landscape, is that it always ends, and coming out of it hurts. It occurred to me that I haven’t let myself daydream in quite a long time. I guess as an adult, letting myself indulge in something so far from the truth feels like a mockery. Hello, Shame, old friend. I’ve long wrestled with the idea of success, versus my life. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s something between fear of failure and fear of success, which is just so tautological in nature, that I find it laughable. There’s also change. The landscape of my mind is so very capricious, that even if I let myself dream of a good life, that good life is so mutable, that I couldn’t use it as a compass if I tried. But, I did promise to give all therapies a chance, even if they seem pointless, so here we go.

What does success look like to me? Well, in my teens and twenties, it always involved art. As a writer or as a visual artist. I would do good art, have the time, space, and freedom to let my mind expand, breathe, and then contract, take it all in. The magic of the world, in the mundane, in the micro. There’d be room for my buffers to exist, and not butt heads with anything as common as “making money”, or a “schedule”. There’d be adventure, friends, and every wonderful day would be met with a party that lasted all night. Every hour would count down to a new event, a treat, something to look forward to. There would be no ending to joy. I guess it was a direct reaction to my childhood, where things were so bleak, so small and sad, that I would look forward to things like a church outing, one TV show a week, one gift, as if my whole world hinged on it. I guess it did. It makes me cringe now, just how grey that little girl’s world was. And if that “thing” were not to pan out? Well, then all the lights inside of me would go out. Disappointment is probably the human emotion that I find most tragic. I used to wonder why I did it to myself. Why I would even let myself hope. The answer was that I had no choice. It was fickle hope, or pain and cold. Is that the world you meant to build for me, Mom?

For all my dreaming, there was always a dark place that never really believed it. I had grit in me, I’d try for a goal until it killed me. But if I’m being honest, I also didn’t really think I’d make it. There was a gap, a missing link. I knew how to put in effort, but I didn’t really know how to lock it in. I still don’t, really. My mindset is always, “I’ll believe it when I see it”. And for someone who sees so much value in controlling her environment, well, it’s definitely out of my control. That missing piece both pushes me, and deceives me. I never know how much effort is the right amount, and so it’s all of me, or none of me. I think this is why I always feel like I’m reading the instructions in a foreign language, or that the rules change. I very much wish to identify this, at least find its name. One time, I had taken some acid, and was deep in a trip. I found myself on the train tracks, and there was a slow moving train behind me. God was in the train, and was both life force and obvious death. I had to keep going, or else the train would kill me. I plugged ahead, best I could, one foot in front of the other, with the train steadily closing in on me. It’s pointless, death will come. Keep going! It’s pointless. Keep going! On and on like this, until a friend who was acting as Watcher shoved me off the tracks. Drug addled symbolism or not, it never occurred to me, that I had the option of getting off. This feeling of hopelessness follows me, and the feeling of Duh does too. God is in the train....

What a does success look like to me now? Well, my dreams change seasonally, which doesn’t help. I’ve since given up on the dream of being an artist. Turns out, I’m not very good at it. It’s sad, because having skills as a writer used to be my superpower. It use to be the thing that made me even a little special. The muse would come in the darkest hours of the night, and I would be illuminated by the spark of a poetic phrase, a chord that would lead to worldbuilding. It was larger than me, I couldn’t control or explain it, and that was exciting. Turns out, I’m simply mediocre. Ironic, because being mediocre was always something that frightened me. I was okay with being very bad at something, and of course I wanted to be very good. But average seemed unworthwhile. And that’s where I am as a writer. Better than many, but not great. For some reason, that clicks off my give-a-shit. I wish it didn’t. It might be the thing that makes me make myself great. Currrently, the flavor of the week is foraging. For the past 6 months, I have feverishing pursued identifying and propagating wild edibles. The artist is now trying to be a forest ranger. If I’m being honest, I’ve gotten surprisingly far in it. I’m not half bad. I’ve gotten to understand how wild things grow, I’ve implemented research successfully. And I haven’t poisoned myself and died. Point. My built in OCD fits in this foray, my search for absolutes, for tangibility. I may not know a great number of species, but the ones I know, I know for sure. But like everything else, I can feel this passion drain out of me, fading, like the season. It’s hard to invest in yourself, when you can’t trust yourself to even show up. I’ve no-call-no-showed myself so many times that even though I’m a good worker, I’m ready to terminate. So, I guess the real test of success for me is just showing up. I wish I could find my purpose, my passion, and I wish it would stay. Even simpler, I wish I could just name the demon that keeps me from it. Is it just ADD? Thousands suffer from this, and you can fix it with a pill. If that’s the thing that keeps me from my life’s worth, I’m going to laugh my ass off.

I just want to be self-actualized. As a first worlder, it’s the next logical step for me. I wish I could find the path.

Sincerely yours,

Mei

10/03/20

Dear Mom,

I was talking to my co-worker Sara yesterday. Just some small talk, chatter. I’m usually not about those conversations, but I like Sara. She’s smart, outspoken, articulate, and fun. She was telling me some basic details about her business. She sounded so capable, well-researched, informed. I’m so very attracted to people like that. I want to grab some of their shine, just to be around it, to soak up what it might be like to be so sure of oneself. I want to be apart of it, I want to learn. I find this to be a driving force in a lot of my relationships, especially romantically. I feel like there has always been a piece missing from the roadmap I’v been given. The landscape and the rules always change on me. I think maybe it has to do with my suspected autism, problems with being literal, with being unable to read certain social cues. It’s funny to be this way, because I am also simultaneously deeply empathetic. But that empathy seems to come from a different place. It’s like reading auras, but as a sound. Many times, I’ve told someone that they sound lower or more staticky or distorted, and ask if anything is wrong. You can imagine how this goes. It’s the overt I don’t understand. Sometimes the concentration needed to be engaged in conversation is so great, that I actually lose power, and stop understanding English. Literally, the spoken word, my native tongue, turns foreign and I don’t know what words mean. This even happens when watching TV. Wotthehell. But what a person is experiencing inside, the thing they are trying to hide, that, I can usually read like a book. Usually, sensitivity like this is inherited. So I wonder, could I possibly get this from you? My first instinct is no, because, if you could see how I felt, would you have treated me so badly? But then, my mind travels to your friendships. At first many, and close, and then, as you got older, they fell away. There was always a falling out, an unforgiveable act. I remember your long phone conversations. Decades ago, when we use to talk on the phone for fun instead of communicate with text, when speech was less mediated and immediate. I remember, even as a small child, sensing a sort of manipulation in your conversations, a passive agressiveness. The exact interaction that I least understand. I remember wondering if you really thought that THAT was good advice. I wondered if you knew that what you said wasn’t actually nice, that you just demeaned your friend’s pleasure, their passion, the thing they did that wasn’t female duty, but rather, a outreaching of the soul.

Now that I’ve had my fair share of trying to be a mean girl, a person searching to control something that wasn’t hers to control; and more expertly, being on the other side of a mean girl, I wonder if you indeed had the same sensitivity. Maybe you could see how your words and actions darkened a persons heart, a muddying of clear waters. Maybe you liked it. I’ve spent a lot of output trying to walk in your shoes, to be sympathetic, to try to see the person underneath the monsterous acts as something other than a monster. But maybe you were exactly that thing. A shitty person that did shitty things, that browbeat her husband, that abused her daughter, that wasn’t a good friend. A small, petty person that did things to garner favor, that bartered in things unquantifiable. I can feel that desire in me, to hurt those that are smaller than me, to fight for control over things not in my dominion. I guess it’s fortunate that I am hamstrung by the inability to see large and far enough to gaslight; too neurotic to be cruel. At the end of the day, I want to chase the light and take it inside me. I don’t want to make it dark. It’s been dark, long enough.

I am nothing like you.

Sincerely yours,

Mei

10/05/20

Dear Mom,

Today I read a little meme that stated, “Your love language is the thing you didn’t receive as a child”. Well, shit, that would be all of them. Let’s have a look: 1. Words of affirmation 2. Quality time 3. Receiving gifts 4. Acts of Service 5. Physical touch

Quality time: I think this used to be mine, back when I was lonesome, and needed someone to help keep the wall of screaming anxiety at bay. This is no longer the case. It’s funny that things can change so much. Now my quality time is alone time, and I protect it wholeheartedly. I wonder if it means some of my dysfunction got better, and some of it got worse.

Receiving gifts: Gifts used to mean a lot to me. I had so very little. But gifts also are a double edged sword. They were used against me, taken away from me. They are loaded now. It’s a weight on me, something I have to repay, something I ruminate on too much.

Acts of service: Yea, I’m too much of a control freak for this. Although, being offered help is something that always surprises me. I forget that I can ask for help. I also doubt the integrity of the help, and obsess over where credit lies.

Physical touch: Fuck that. I don’t like being touched. Even the softest, most innocuous touch feels like suffocation or like a ripping of skin.

Words of Affirmation: I think at this time, words may be my love language. Tell me I’m doing a good job, and beating myself and impressing you becomes my number one objective.

So, words of affirmation, eh?

I can remember the words you used to affirm me. All in Chinese, most things I had to intuit with context. You told me I was a domesticated animal, a unwanted bastard child, a ghost. You called me things that got me in trouble once I repeated it. Dad would never, ever tell me what they meant. It took 20 years, and lots of technology, but today I learned that I’ve known how to call someone a “fucking cock” since I was 3. Really? Fucking cock? That’s simply inaccurate when used on a toddler. Come on, Mom. Curse better. I learned that you told me to go to hell, called me a cunt, called me a bitch (which in Mandarin, is a very adult term, since the symbol for woman is intrinsically used), cursed my “unknown origin” (what the hell?). You told me I was acting as a prostitute when I hugged my dad and uncle, called me insane, a son of a bitch. Wow, thanks Google translate.

I’ve tried to find these phrases before, but between bad pinyin, bad Chinese and uncertain English translations of colloquialisms, today is my lucky day. I finally understand the scope of your vitriol. I wonder, did it matter that I didn’t understand what most of your curses meant? I knew they were really bad words, evil words, and the sound of them hurt me. The fact that Dad was shocked by them confirmed it. I am so frustrated that he wouldn’t tell me what they meant. I get it, he was trying to protect me, but what use is it to protect me from the definitions of things if the weight of them was already on my shoulders? Maybe this is where my need to label, to understand what meanings are and where they come from originates from.

It got so bad, that whenever you said kind words to me, they would hurt more than the bad ones. I can’t really put my finger on this emotion. It’s hard to verbalize, or even cognitively understand. I state this because I do want to say, for the record, that you did say kind words to me. It’s important for me to be fair. I think it helps to keep an objective point of view of my childhood. However, acknowledging the good parts, the moments of sweetness, feels like shit. Why? Well, first of all, it was really confusing. Most times, I didn’t know why I was being treated well, what I had done, how to replicate it. A lot was in front of other people, so I guess that makes sense, you were putting on a good front. But there were times when you really did seem to be happy to see me. I can remember a handful of times after school, when you might have missed me; occasional Saturday mornings where you made me a treat, and watched a movie with me. I remember feeling warm and good and full. The contrast is absolutely unreconcilable. I cannot understand it at all, and it makes my heart ache in a way that I don’t have the words to describe. The tenderness hurts so much more than the wickedness, Mom. Why did you have to be kind to me at all? No love is better than fleeting moments of love. It shows me that you were capable of it, which tells me that it was me. What did I do in those lovable moments? What did I do in the moments where your rage poured onto me and wanted me dead? What what what what what?!?!?!

I can make myself cry on cue. It’s a superpower I have. All I need to do is remember a lullaby you sang to me sometimes. It’s very sweet, and lovely and maternal. I think you had a nice singing voice, I can barely remember your voice, but I remember the song like it’s etched in my bones. In English, a rough translation, as I understand it, it goes:

Sleep, my treasure

You are mother’s precious jewel forever.

Sleep, my treasure

Mom loves you so much.

I remember crying quietly then, tears flowing down into my hair line, hot then cold, hitting the pillow. A thick sorrow fills me now, especially at the last line. The words I interpret as “loves you so much” also has a implication that means “loves you truly”. It feels like a confession, or an admittance, that you do, somehow, love me. And for reasons unknown, that fucking sucks. It burns my heart.

I think maybe this is a conflict because it threatens my identity as the abused and your identity as th abuser. As much as I want to be fair in my stance regarding my childhood, every time I think of a good memory, or a positive, I feel like a liar. I feel like I’ve misrepresented my experience, and that I can’t be trusted to provide a fair and unbiased view of my childhood. I feel like maybe I am that child that no one believed. I’ve worked so hard to fine tune my insights, that if my very integrity is questioned, it all falls apart. So many times, Dad told me, “You are just a child, you are overreacting.” Do you comprehend how fucking helpless that made me feel? That somehow, my chronological age distorts my comprehension of things that are happening to me, to my own body? “You have an overactive imagination... you misunderstood what she meant... it didn’t really happen like that....” And I begged him, I begged Dad to hear me, to do something, to save me, to take me away. Somehow, I felt shame when he didn’t. I felt myself disengaging, losing faith in my father’s ability to take care of me, to protect me. I stopped believing that he could change things, that things could change.

I used to believe in God, wholeheartedly. I was told that I could have a personal relationship with God, if I studied and prayed, and cultivated one. And so I tried, oh, I fucking tried so hard. I prayed all day, I tried to control my thoughts, to have clean, sinless thoughts, to only come to God as pure and good and righteous as I could. I thought faith was like a muscle I could build, control, and use. I believed in magic, that one with a truly virtuous heart would be chosen for a quest, and would be rewarded for their sacrifice, their loyalty. I thought I saw fairy circles, I thought the treasures I found in the woods were meant for me, a secret message, giving me strength to carry on. I believed and I prayed and I tried to make my faith everything. But they never came. Not the fairies, not a magical hero, and not God. Eventually, I saw holes in my beliefs. I saw that the only time anything changed was when I changed it. My final disengagement came when I asked for a sign, I begged him to keep me as his child, I begged to remain a believer. I looked into my faith, and I saw that if I believed so completely in God, I also had to believe in the possibility of no God. It gave me permission to doubt, to test my faith. I tested it out of existence.

I don’t know why God came up. I guess losing faith, even though it was my choice and my journey, somehow feels like a betrayal to me. Even though I did the doing, it feels like something was done to me. I guess it’s another avenue of powerlessness, and mad, pointless grabbing of control. I feel out of control, like I was lied to. I was told if I was good, and followed the rules, that I would be loved. I did those things. No one loved me. And when they did, it hurt. I’m so confused. I fucking hate this. Someone get me a decoder.

Whatever, I don’t know. Words of affirmation are my current love language.

Sincerely,

Mei

10/08/20

Dear Mom,

My shrink Rhonda did something super interesting in our last session. I was struggling with some core issues. I’ve managed to identify that I have a fear of success, fear of failure, and a big fear of being average. What a lovely and unbearable place to be, eh? So I realized these things, but I had no idea what to do with them, how to navigate a web of mutual exclusivities. So, Rhonda had me distill the feelings behind these fears into one encompassing word for each. My word for fear of failure was DISAPPOINTMENT. My word for fear of being average was STANDARD, which Rhonda interpreted as the theory of acceptance and I agreed. My word for fear of success was HARM. All of these apparently falls under the umbrella of trust. A lot of my bullshit comes down to trust issues, and that makes sense. Everything I ever put trust in failed, including myself. Well, I guess that’s not really fair. I didn’t put trust in myself, I never even knew how to start.

So let’s start with DISAPPOINTMENT. I think if I were to point out the most poignant, multi-faceted and painful of all human emotions, disappointment would be it. That seems strange, doesn’t it? In the sphere of all the words we have in this weird language, words like MURDER, BETRAYAL, TORTURE, RAPE, GENOCIDE, why is it that DISSAPOINTMENT takes the cake? Well, it’s omnipresent. I think behind all those other awful words, there’s the feeling of disappointment. A sense of this isn’t what I was put on the earth to experience. A soft, sad sense of the unjust. There’s also a sense of helplessness. Adjacent feelings like anger, sorrow, offense have an active nature to them. Something uprooted what one was trying to DO. DIsppointment seems more passive, something was done to you, and no part of your spiritual or physical strength could have stopped it. I have a very early memory that really embodies this emotion for me. I had been given a bunch of helium filled balloons, and that gift made my whole world. I was so excited to bring them home, to have them in my space, to really possess something so colorfilled and alive. It was a windy day, and in the parking lot, the whole bouquet of balloons was ripped from my hands. My dad chased after them, and in the nature of a buoyant gas filled in a thin membrane, they seemed to magically elude him. He was within inches of them so many times, and each time, a freak gust ripped them further away. I cried into his shoulder as I watched them float tiny into the sun. At that moment, I learned that no power could bring them back. They were gone. They were mine, and then they were lost forever. Destroyed by the ephemeral nature of things, my heart was completely shattered in that one moment. This is the what I perceive as disappointment. I put so much stock into a stupid thing, and it went away before it was even mine. I wonder if this is where my obsession with the fight against entropy comes from. If it’s not strong and sturdy and lasting, I don’t want it.

Next up is fear of being average, or STANDARD. I spent a lot of my youth trying not to be like other girls. Boring story, meta in how in trying not to be part of the mainstream, you end up being just another stereotype. In my peer group, I was a total freak. When I hear about other people being outcasts, there’s always a group of kids that they were outcasts with. Not so much here. I was the bottom tier. When people thought they were at their worst, I was the person that made them feel better. I didn’t have a group of other losers to feel shitty about. I was alone. I was so completely fucking alone. If school was bad, home was worse. They didn’t hit me at school. Much. I was so weird. So ugly, so awkward, so stupid. I was even smelly, thanks to my mom’s rationing of bathing and clothes washing. The weird Chinese lunches, reaking of seaweed and looking like a damn alien didn’t help either. Bento boxes weren’t going to be cool for another 20 years. I could go a week without speaking to or being spoken to. As I got older, this status of being the ultimate pariah evolved into being super punk rock. I mean total anti-establishment, anti- status, fuck your opinion type of punk rock. Thank god for punk. I spent my teenage years trying to shock, using the foulest language, wearing the ugliest clothing, getting as drunk and high as I physically could, trying to convince myself that life was bullshit, so I was going to fuck it up. I hated pink, I hated “girl things”, I hated squares, and I hated being that “good Asian girl”. My manifesto was shock, I was terrified of being derivative. It was exhausting. It still is.

Finally, we have HARM.

The most ironic point of my life, how I am perceived as an adult. They think I’m smart, they think I’m fast and capable. They think I’m pretty and charismatic. They think I’m exciting and unique and interesting. I’m the most stupid and ugly person I’ve ever come across. The sight of my own face use to hurt my eyeballs with how completely grotesque it was. It got to the point where I’d avoid my reflection so much that I wouldn’t recognize myself in photos, or realize that the being in the mirror was me. This may explain the body dysmorphia. I am also so completely stupid that I am amazed every time I get into a vehicle that they let me operate one of these things. The things that make me smart are obsessions. I can’t not do them. The skills that I have are from eons of furious practice. The things that come naturally to others, like how to operate their meat suit, make it do things, are the things I struggle fully with. I am trying with all my might, just to speak in a way that seems natural, human and meaningful. Sometimes, the amount of concentration it takes to follow a conversation gets too large for me and I stop understanding English. What the fuck. How the fuck?! I’ll be watching TV, lowest common denominator type shit, and the words cease to be words and are just sounds with no meaning. This happens in daily speech, where I’ll have to “rewind” the moment, and try to decipher the sounds using context and tone. I’m constantly asking my boyfriend, “What did they just say?” I’m foreign in my own native tongue. Numbers, spatial reasoning skills, the cardinal directions, just forget it. Trying to calculate 360 degrees versus 180, 200% versus 100%, it’s near impossible. And this is such basic shit, it might as well be innate. So simple, that it’s harder to verbalize than it is to do. So yeah, if someone places any speck of responsibility my way, there’s a really good chance that I will absolutely screw it up. Even giving it so much effort I feel turned inside out, I will miss a directive or protocol, and despite every ounce of strength I have, it goes tits up. So how can I try for anything, there’s so much at stake? If my job is serving fries, and I screw it up, okay, someone gets shitty fries. If my job is in healthcare, and I screw it up, someone DIES. Hell yea, I’m afraid of success. Not for me, but for the people I might do harm to. It’s amazing, because I’m often seen as a leader, a self starter, and I often end up as a promotable person. If they only knew... I can barely operate my cell phone, you want me to MAKE SURE YOUR OFFSPRING STAYS ALIVE?! Fuck no. I’m amazed when I remember to feed myself and understand what time means.

Sincerely,

Mei

10/11/20

Dear Mom,

Another thing that my shrink wanted me to explore was how I feel about getting my Masters Degree. Truth is, I’m not very proud of that degree. It’s not so much that I ended up not doing much with it, but that I was giving a great opportunity, and I didn’t give it my all. I guess it’s worthwhile to say that I didn’t really want to go in the first place. I had finished college, and had stuck around my college town for a while. I had two jobs, and it was really nice being around my friends, doing art and projects, and yeah, partying a lot, without actual schooling getting in the way. My dad put his foot down, and said that if I didn’t get myself into graduate school, he’d get me into graduate school. He was going to have me go to school for educational administration. What the fuck! So I could be a dean or a principle?! I never once in my life considered doing that, and I abhor kids. And administration. It never occurred to me that he couldn’t actually make me go to graduate school, or would even have access to the records that would make my application a successful one. So I applied: MA in English to every school that didn’t require a GRE. I got into one school, Chicago State University, a historically Black college on the south side of Chicago. This premise is rife with problems. One can see what happened in undergrad. My parents forced me into a second rate college, because it was what was suppose to happen. I had not one red clue with what I wanted to major in, and ended up with mediocre grades and a half hearted education. I did discover passions, interests, hobbies, and a feel for how I wanted my life to go, but that had nothing to do with school, and everything to do with living a semi-free life. And now, we were going to repeat the experiment with graduate school. Also, I’m not Black, and I had no clue that the school I was going to was. Not only did I get in, I was awarded an assistantship, that paid for my tuition and even provided me with a stipend, in exchange for 20 hours a week working in the school. I never applied for the assistantship. I think someone might have mixed up application forms.

I did well, grades wise. I got straight A’s, all 2 years, graduated with a perfect 4.0 GPA. But I didn’t deserve those grades. I was working 3 jobs, commuting over 2 hours a day to get to school and back, and my focus was as it always was: making a family out of friends, partying, and art. These things sound great together, but at the end of the day, I was trying to drink my way out of a broken engagement, then a failed relationship with one of my best friends. I was lonely, angry, sick, broke as hell, homesick for my college town, aimless, and anti-establishment in a truly meta way. I hated everything, and there was a hole in my heart. School was quite often at the bottom of a very long, very inebriated list. It just so happens, I’m good at writing, I’m really good at academic bullshit, and I read fast. I pretty much half-assed every assignment that didn’t organically catch my interest, which was most. I didn’t deserve half those high marks I got. Like in college, I blew off or blustered my way through most projects. The course load also was not challenging to me, and the most students were far behind me, academically. This is not to say that I am very bright, or a good student. I just happened to be better than most of them. My last A was for my thesis advisement class, where I pretty much plagiarized my own work. I only got that grade because I was selling my professor drugs, giving him cigarettes, and letting him abuse my position as his assistant. I washed the man’s dirty moldy dishes, for fucks sake. It reminds me of how I passed a math class in college, I sold my professor drugs and messed around with the TA. I guess part of secondary education is to teach you that there is more than one way to skin a cat, or how to get to the bottom line no matter what, but it always felt a little dirty to me. It feels like my matriculation is the funny montage part of a shitty comedy movie, some coming to age trash. The worst part of this whole thing, is that this is a small inner city college, set in a problematic urban area. I repeat, it was historically Black. This school wasn’t for me. I feel like I took an opportunity away from someone, that I cheapened the very spirit of that institution. I came to school hung over, did non-curricular activities, did NOT my best work, and received an ill-gotten degree, with a perfect GPA, only to fuck right off back to the rich, white suburban town that I lived in. I didn’t have to spend my free time breathing in stale, polluted air, walking through dangerous projects, fending for myself. I got to go home to a well lit, tree lined neighborhood, drink craft beer and port wine, and listen to my hipster friends play the banjo and hand drum on my front porch. It’s absolutely laughable.

Now, I can say that I love the poetry that comes out of the Black tradition, and that I learned a lot about myself and my writing from grad school, and that it sharpened my socio-ethnic world view, and none of that is a lie. I can say that I worked really hard during those years, and that I did complete the task at hand, and that is also true. At the end of the day, I didn’t give it my all, and worst of all, I felt like phony through the whole thing. Maybe because it wasn’t my idea, it wasn’t my passion. I got something that I didn’t ask for, and didn’t deserve. Now I get these accolades, like, “Oh wow, you have a Masters Degree, smart girl.” Or, “Oh, you are dedicated to your craft”, or worst yet, “Oh, African American literature, that’s so different.” I wear a mantle that I didn’t earn, and I am defined by these genre-bending qualities, and my background is so interesting and diverse, and it’s all such bullshit. I have words to use against the colonializers, words that I understand, that are so relevant and woke. I am the ultimate colonizer. I took from marginalized peoples what wasn’t mine, and I wear it like stripes of honor. I am like a white girl, hiding in a yellow coat, a thief of Black tradition. I am a fucking fraud, and I am ashamed of myself.

Sincerely,

Mei

Why do I feel like shit after talking to my dad? Long conversation full of triggers? Bad. Short innocuous conversation full of politeness? Bad. I feel guilty about not ever calling. I feel guilty that I really don’t want to talk. I feel badly that his world is so small. I feel guilty that I don’t get involved. I feel guilty about being an outsider. I feel guilty that I don’t care. But I do care, but I don’t. I’m afraid. The weight of being their caretaker, their prisoner, looms. It is inherent in every conversation. My parents don’t bring comfort, I need comfort after dealing with them. They make me feel so alone. I’ve always been alone in this, this fear. He used to be my lifeline. He let me down. Now I feel like I let them down. What a sad, stupid life this turned out to be.

Words to sum up this: Guilt. Bad. Resentment. Grief. Shame.

10/14/20

Dear Mom,

Last night, the thought of being a woman came up in my mind. I’ve written about this before, couple years ago, on this very blog. Exploring the idea of what a woman is, and if I am one. I’ve spent my whole life calling myself a girl, and thinking of myself as a girl. I’ve identified who women in my life are (you, and Mandy) and looked at the qualifications of what made y’all women, and how I stack up. Last night it occurred to me, that I am so very full grown, that I’m about to turn the corner of adult. If I am not a woman yet, well, I’m going to seem really goofy, really soon. Imagine a 45 year old, taking calcium supplements, saying, “Oh hi, I’m Ruth, I’m a girl.” Weird, and so creepy. I watched a video yesterday, a hair salon owner telling a racist client that her behavior was unacceptable, and to get out of her place of business. The owner was somewhere in her twenties, but man. She was so self assured, there was no question, no conflict between the side of her that is meant to give a service, and the side of her that is a human being. She spoke clearly, and had total conviction, even though she was obviously upset by the interaction. I thought, “Now that is a woman. That is someone who knows what her right is.” That person is not me. I take my roles seriously, and they have no bend to them. I know if the situation was mine, I would have bungled it up. I would have negotiated with myself, and I would have lost. What good are principles if you lack the strength of character to uphold them? I can rationalize this all day. I can say that in my occupation, it is hardwired in me to please my client, to take the hits, to smile through anything. I can say it’s not my fight, that I represent a company, and that my opinions can’t be voiced due to that association. And I would’ve be wrong about any of it. But the truth is that I have no spine, that I am a chronic people pleaser. Even if I were to take up the mantle of radical honesty, to speak my mind no matter what, I’d fuck that up too. Because things are absolute with me, I wouldn’t know the difference between screaming at an enemy versus screaming about my messed up coffee order. It would be all or nothing. This quality makes me feel diminutive, this makes me feel like a girl.

I was foraging in the woods yesterday, and I watched my brain automatically identify plants that six months ago, I didn’t know. I read the land, the trees, the flora and fauna like a book. I felt like I had cracked a code and now I knew how to weld a part of the natural world that most don’t. I did this through tedious, painstaking work. I felt absolutely confident in my identification skills. I felt like a woman then, a wild woman, surrounded by tools and armed with the knowledge to use them. I felt right in the world, a small moment of belonging. Very nearly a sense of righteousness in the silence.

I think of you as a woman, because you were a mother, and ran your household like a motherfucker. You were punishing, and your word was law.

I think of Mandy as a woman because she takes no shit, and she doesn’t care if she snubs people in her convictions.

I think of myself as a girl because I am uncertain, the rules of the world seldom make sense to me, and I feel small in it.

I guess my definition of woman is boundaries and a steadfastness.

I wish my definition of woman was kinder, more accepting. I wish there was room for me in that definition. I hope I find the woman inside me.

Sincerely yours,

Mei

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keaghanlandram1991 · 4 years

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How Do I Stop My Cat Peeing In The House Amazing Diy Ideas

Do you have to be alert to these bugs as dogs.Fleas and ticks are another problem you will need to provide each cat has learned that until the nails when you need to know it is not comfortable of the new cat, you can leave a special treat every time he was fighting, he said he was taken from his mother at too young an age.The training method itself might seem like a nine inch ratios on the area.Typically speaking, female and one of the spray bottle with about 3% of hydrogen peroxide that is placed under our carpets and upholstery.

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If you have a quiet room with exposed electrical cords until your pet feel more at ease, then you can always rub the paws to make sure that you place a few drops will do.However, a cat relieve themselves elsewhere if his litter box.A way round this problem but sometimes it's quite another to do this type of moisture will reactivate those remaining salt crystals, releasing the cat cage... he just needed to take a close eye on the floor instead.This is a must for cats and even heart disease.When I asked Silver why he is playing with plant soil you should remove the urine, as well which makes the cat to listen to cat's meow

These playful creatures are good quality, cheap ones available on craigslist.org and you will need to use a vaporiser or humidifier to keep your cat can and the cat safe from fleas.Cat neutering is effective but safe is that they think a cat is ill, he may instinctively mark his territory around the house.* Small scabs on head, neck and along the outside lip of the African Wildcat.e. Anti-Interleukin-5 Antibody is an effective product that suits your lifestyle and situation.Objects that smell of the litter box as it serves as an option.

One tip you might even want to remove from your cat to have a nice padded bed.The key problem is a culprit, in this article is about.In fact, a typical female can go a long way toward the cat to make your garden is an aspect that needs more tending than you think!This recipe is modified from the bottom of the liquid you squeeze onto the litter box on a preventative measure beginning as early as possible, scrub with your other hand against a door, a piece of cloth to absorb urine smells, which can occur as early as possible, which will cover the smell out of its lack of appetite, dull coat, weight loss and appear lethargic when tapeworms are present.Then comes Christmas time and sticking to their claws.

Neutering your cat clawing your furniture, as animals can be fairly vocal.Their duration of action is about to fight because this could prove to be food safe quite easily made.All you have plenty of pain and gets the adequate attention they receive from their owners.Time to bring unwanted cats into your family loves cats.However, there are more humane than de-clawing.

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Cat Peeing On Bed While Im In It

Cats suffering with diabetes may also mean the pet guardian with an unpleasant experience, spray the marked territory.If you are able to substitute similar objects for him or get a male cat, consult your vet for a medicinal tea which may seem normal but he may still be some other cat stains; however, the male cat go outside and call his name.Catnip doesn't remain potent forever and the inside of the problem, while the cat to stretch their muscles.And sometimes he will not associate that punishment to that particular action.Cats just seem to hate each other, you may be the one that you check their ears and yowling are all kinds of ways.

When Poofy uses the litter box and does not feel comfortable doing it yourself, have your cat may also make themselves at home and what their natural instincts and behaviors can help eliminate the damage.- Have your cat's scent or other noises to distract your pet with an infra-red detector which spots when the underlying cause of the lip area, underneath the scissors, so you want to do business elsewhere in the cat does not function for another.If your cat doing something you don't want to coach a little, for your kitty's issue.Cats love catnip and there's a lot cheaper to do business elsewhere in the cat into the house?No matter how active your cat is one of your pet to come back from work and you may think that a female cat prevents mating behaviors such as excessive vomiting, loss of appetite and sedation.

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The mites commonly found on dogs and cats, and dogs.So get it to gain entry to your house in order for your pet.Put a white hair spray all over it to remove from carpet.Kittens that are assisting with the palm of their cats clean, always.New objects in the house, sleeping or engrossed in something sticky or smelly.

1 Year Old Cat Pees Everywhere

No one-cure-fits-all exists for litter box keeps them fit.It is very traumatic and disfiguring to your driving if you do not have helped them to the neighborhood cats out!First, the foreclosed house can be a false economy as, not only the carpet, be sure to make them less likely to get all the time cats will use these new self cleaning cat urine is used to.Catnip is something that you have done this before, I carted nine traps over to your cat.In fact, the sudden reaction some people recommend the appropriate size so that they are more confined and this can lead to a pet fountain in which the following things.

This is by encouraging cats to be outside and will avoid both of you.Either way, they need to know the basics of how to trim them.You need to hurt the cat may get the same time.The other has been invaded by feral cats.Once he or she is in most homes and hence a lot of money can be applied as false nails would be required from your furniture, you can always tell the difference between inappropriate elimination and urine marking?

#How Do I Stop My Cat Peeing In The House Amazing Diy Ideas #Cat Spray Prevention

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fuckimtiredalways · 5 years

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Becoming A Mom

I’ve had a million blogs before, and I’ll probably have a million more; something about Tumblr makes me feel incredibly calm, so I’ll probably continue my thoughts on here.

I miss writing. I’ve had such a strong urge to just sit down and pour out my thoughts, feelings, insecurities, rants and advice and with time not slowing down any, I figured I better go ahead and start before I forget everything.

I see so many people that I’m friends with, in real life and on social, becoming pregnant and it just makes me reflect on that time when I was pregnant and what I wish I had known. So many wonderful and beautiful things are going to happen to you. You can read all of the baby magazines, books and blogs but nothing can prepare you for seeing your baby on that big screen for the first time. Feeling them kick or punch you for the first time. Feeling them have little baby hiccups; sitting around for hours just rubbing your belly wishing you knew what they were thinking about in there. They will not prepare you for the copious amounts of love and (sometimes) unwanted attention. The constant questions of names, nursery décor and how you plan to feed your little one. Everyone whose had a child is going to tell you how amazing it is and how your life is going to change forever, just like I’m doing right now, and they’re all right because it is. I love my husband, my family and my animals. I’m a Taurus and I love fiercely; but I can promise you that you will never feel love like you do for your own child. It is the most intense thing that I have ever felt in my entire life, and I cant even imagine having two or three sweet babies and being surrounded by that much love; it’s unfathomable to me. I promise you, nothing will prepare you for that.

And nothing will prepare you for the fourth trimester.

When I found out that I was pregnant I consumed every spare moment with reading mommy blogs on Pinterest. I was obsessed. I had some basic knowledge of helping to take care of my cousin’s twins when they were little, but I was afraid that I didn’t know enough to keep another human alive. I read about the benefits of breast feeding, how to get your baby in a routine, the best baby gear on the market and so on and so on. I wanted to be as prepared as I could be so that I could be the best mother to Luke, just as every mother does for her child. Looking back on it, there are two major things that I wish I had researched more; formula and coping with the fourth trimester.

You guys, I was so set on breast feeding. I read so many blogs about it, I went to a breast feeding class and I was asking some friends I knew who breastfed their babies to give me any tips to make it easier. What I didn’t take into account was an alternative plan incase breast feeding didn’t work out for me. I was so incredibly blind sided when I got home from the hospital and didn’t have any formula in the house and had only washed a couple of bottles because I wasn’t expecting to have to use them. I’m not going to go into my reasons for not breast feeding, but I hope that you understand that no matter what you decide, it is YOUR choice and don’t let a single person make you feel bad about it. Doctors and nurses will tell you “breast is best” and maybe they’re right, but you have to do what works best for you and your baby. With that being said, I wished that I had researched different formulas so that I was somewhat familiar with them when the time came to choose one for Luke, because there are SO many. Obviously this is something that you can discuss with your pediatrician, but we just stuck with what the hospital had fed him and it ended up not working out for us. We spent many a nights crying together as a family because we had the wrong formula and it was miserable. Luke was an incredibly gassy little one. He would scream and scream from pain until he was holding his breath and turning purple; it was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Once we did find the right formula after THREE MONTHS, things have been great! So many people will ask you how you plan to feed your baby; I had strangers asking me every day at work, and quite frankly, it was none of their business. You need to decide with your husband, partner or make that decision all by yourself, because you’re the mom and you will know what’s best, I promise. I recommend being prepared for both options if you can’t decide; it will make things so much easier when you get home!

I never thought that I could feel such sweet relief and utter terror at the same time, but that’s exactly how I felt when I went home with my two day old baby. Relief to be away from the hospital, nurses, beeping machines and the millions (it seemed) of people who came to hold my baby. Terror of realizing that it’s now up to me and my husband to care for this tiny, fragile little bean and hope that we can give him the life that he so deserves; and that’s when the fourth trimester sets in. At least, that’s when it started for me.

I remember idly scanning over some articles about the fourth trimester and recovering and the possibility of post partum depression, but I didn’t think that that was something that I would have to worry about it, so I didn’t look too much into it. I thought to myself, I have wanted this baby for so long and my dream is finally coming true and there is absolutely no way on god’s green earth that I could be depressed! This is everything I've been wanting for so long! It’s going to be hard, obviously, like I’m aware raising a child is not easy, but it’s going to be so fulfilling and wonderful and I’m going to be so happy all the time! Tired, yes, but over joyed!

One of the biggest pieces of advice that I can give to any new mother, or mom to be, would be to familiarize yourself with post partum depression. Learn the warning signs, discuss them with your partner and family, and have an action plan in place to help cope with it. Your doctors will ask you about it and even the nurses at your child’s doctors appointment will ask about it, but if you’re like me, you’ll lie about it. I’m one of the lucky ones, because sometimes it can get so bad, that it makes mothers want to hurt their children. I never had a bone in my body that made me want to hurt my sweet boy, but it can get that bad. My husband recognized it and made an appointment with my doctor; if it weren’t for him I would have just kept suppressing and ignoring it and there’s no telling what could have happened!

Ask for help. As gut wrenching and uncomfortable as it might make you feel, ask for it. Ask for help cleaning, to have someone bring you hot food, for them to hold the baby so you can eat your hot food, hold them so you can shower, take a nap or just have a moment to yourself. ASK FOR IT. Accept it when people offer it. No matter how much you hate asking or taking things from people, or how bad your anxiety is or how you really can’t stand to see any more people that day, take it because you probably need it more than you realize. If I had followed my own advice I probably would have been a little more happier in those beginning weeks.

I love being a mom. It’s hard and messy and smelly and wonderful. I hope the best for all of you because it’s the literal best thing on the planet. Seriously. Cherish becoming a mom because it goes by so fast.

#parenting newmoms mom

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lovelywaifu · 7 years

Text

Here’s the RP log I promised (part 1)!

As a warning: right now it is minimally edited. There are so many typos and shit I want to die but it was all done on the fly in a window that did not have any kind of spell check feature. Just uuuuuh... use your context clues. Yeah.

I’m breaking this into parts because it’s just way too long to subject someone to in one post.

Session started 2010-12-08 19:47:41 good times

Okay: Obligatory notes on wtf happened. Asa is badly... hurt?? at the beginning of this. Her body was 3 kinds of fucked up and she was suuuuuper struggling with it. She is working for a guild as a thief for the money to support her pregnant best friend who recently lost her mate. Asa is trying to keep working and has been loyal, but the way they are treating her throughout the story makes her realize she needs to gtfo. But since they basically own her, it’s not that simple. Her thief persona is called Kumiho and she wears a mask shaped like a fox. I’m not including a lot of the drama with Pheno leading up to this because that would take FOREVER. Yes, Volpe was based off the Assassin’s Creed series but in the map I ran, pretty much everything was fine so long as everyone had fun with it. His player spoke Italian, so there is a lot of that in there.

Here we gooooooooo:

Kumiho slipped her mask on over her face, hiding her gender and identity from the world once more as she stepped out of the Hideout. Going home was the only thing on her mind for now, though the assignment she had just picked up weighed heavy on her mind. Not because of the target or difficulty, but because of her growing frailty. Working -even just getting around- was becoming an impossible chore. The pain that ran through her becoming beyond unbearable and it showed in her ungraceful gait, lack of flexibility and general not being in top form. Even now, she trekked through the jungle with noisy footsteps and an echo-y pant in the hollow of her mask. She took a moment to pause and stop near the little dock, but noticed someone not too far away. She quickly ducked into the bush, cursing her luck and carelessness. La Volpe, fortunately for her, had not seen anything careless. His bright brown eyes were busy paying attention to the girl that so craved it, prancing in front of him like a cat mreowling for attention. "And what is your name, generous stranger?" The woman purred, tongue thick with local accent. Volpe seemed quick to answer, that smooth smile and charming look could bluff his way through any amount of lying. "Angelo." His own Italian accent said, "Angelo Cirocco." And then adding, as if to strengthen his cause, "My familia owns a wealthy trading market. I inherited it from my padre and I've been traveling with it ever since." The girl he was with made a noise of amazement. "That's so wonderful! I bet you're wealthy beyond belief!" In one smooth movement Volpe's arm slipped around the girl's waist, "More then you think, signora. If you like, I could show you some of my...wealth." A Cheshire grin spread across his lips as he lead the girl on, not waiting for her response. Volpe wouldn't have to. Lead them into a story about wealth and family and you'd have them dangling from the rod like starved fish. So, he and his new companion trawled through these unnamed streets, ones that would have no meaning to him. They stopped occasionally to speak to women, sometimes men that this lady seemed to know, chatting like old fishwives as Volpe sat quietly and patiently. Thankfully he was a patient man, else he would of not gotten where he was today.

Kumiho's ears perked as he spoke his name. Whether it was truth or lies, she had no clue but that accent grabbed her interest almost immediately. Always keen to the characteristics of targets, she decided that it might be in her best interest to keep an eye on this man she had never seen before. But, oh how that damned pain was troubling her! Left with little choice, she decided to tail him. She kept a little distance, though always within earshot of him. She was far too easy to spot on the streets, with the fox mask drawing the curious glares and questioning stares. Maybe it would be easy to drop her disguise. He DID seem to have a fondness for the ladies. And in normal clothing, she would be able to follow him without fear of being recognized for what she was. Having never worked without the protection of her mask, she was distracted by the hard choice. She stumbled right into a trash bin, knocking it over. A soft, sharp "fuck!" escaped her as she scrambled for cover.

La Volpe's acute senses had been picking up some strange vibes, the sort you got when people were staring into the back of your head. But he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, not wanting to discourage his tagalong. That was until the trashcan spilling onto the streets, hands twitched from the woman's waist and to the hidden dagger on the small of his back, grasping the handle though not removing the weapon. He managed only to catch a brief glimpse of this strange being before they disappear, but enough to see that vulpine mask. "What..." He gasped, not quite sure what he had seen. Without thinking he dashed off after the stranger, before stopping at the calls of, "What, where are you going?!" Thinking fast, he replied, "I, uh, forgot about something, someone that wants to make a business proposition. I will return, signora." And with a polite bow he continued chase, not really intending on returning to the femme who's name he didn't even know. "You!" Volpe called, rounding the corner she disappeared behind. "I know you are there." The street was quiet, a back alley that people tended to avoid. Volpe could see why; it smelled faintly of bodily secretions. "Hiding is useless, uno strano. Come out. I promise, I won't hurt you." Italian charm rode upon every syllable, his obvious unawares on the workings of the foreign city on his promises, and a lack of trust there in as the hand upon the blade refused to move as he inched further into the street. He was not afraid, he had come out of dark alley brawls many times and this was no different. A thief wanting gold, an assassin of a jealous man who's woman he happened steal; he had seen it all before.

Kumiho - What a dilemma... Run for it or play it off? Neither was a very good option. If she ran, the chances of her actually getting away in her condition were pretty much zero. But she casually came out from her smelly hiding spot between trash bins, what would she do? Say "whoops, you caught me!", have a good laugh and then go about their merry ways? She thought not. She took a moment to take inventory of herself. No weapons, terrible pain, lack of options. Wonderful. She sat a few more moments, silently trying to think of a way to slip by him. But, alas, there was really no way out of confronting him unless she attempted to run. She eyeballed the wooden fence at the end of the alley. It likely lead to another street, giving her a chance to slip into the evening crowd. I could scale that... she thought to herself. And she had a straight shot to it from her hiding spot too! The more she looked at it, the better it seemed - like a hungry man staring down a sub-par meal. With her mind made up, Ku made a mad dash for the fence, trying desperately to ignore the screaming pain that shot up her spine with every unfortunately footfall she made. She was running out of breath within seconds of her sprint but she continued on. It seemed like the alley went on forever. For a second, she even forgot what she was running from. But then reality snapped back into place and she glanced back, hoping she was miles away from the stranger by now.

La Volpe's hindsight had seen the dash coming; like an animal that was being cornered they had seen no other option, and in one movement Volpe was over the fence and the dagger withdrawn from it's sheathe. He, although probably much older than the other, in her weakened form he would be gaining on her, the distance between them getting smaller and smaller with each step. Brown hues kept a lock on the other's legs, watching, waiting for the right moment then...holding the dagger by the tip of the blade he threw it in a powerful over shoulder throw, aiming for the crook of one of her legs or at least somewhere close. His running had slowed as he regained himself from the throw, waiting now to see if his hit had landed before picking up the pace again.

Kumiho had turned just to look just in time to see him fling the dagger at her, but not in time to try and move out of its path. The next she knew, there was a dagger buried in her calf. Predictably, she couldn't help but cry out in pain, dropping her forced voice and giving a hint to the female under the masculine guise. It wasn't very often that she was at the receiving end of a blade and the shock of the pain made her leg stop responding just enough to send her knees, arm and face into the road with a little skid. Instinct kicked in immediately, though not for the better. She pulled the knife from her leg and clench the wound. But hearing him approach drew her attention away from the wound. She shot him a angry glare, but said nothing. She couldn't think of anything to say. Her only thoughts were: I'm in trouble...

La Volpe knew well enough that she could not possibly get up and run after having a knife embedded into her calf. Face was caught somewhere between a frown and surprise; it hadn't taken him long to get tailed, a new record perhaps! He sauntered over to her fallen frame, grabbing her roughly by the collar and pulling her to her feet - the mask causing whatever gentleness he would of given to be mistaken for the likes of a man - free hand clenched into a fist just in case the stranger needed a little help in talking. "Who are you?" He gazed hard into the eyeholes of the mask, "And why do you wear the mask of a volpe?" He was sure whether to feel proud or angry that someone wore something similar to what he did. "Who are you hiding from with that mask?" Volpe made the movements to remove the mask, pondering the importance of the stranger's identity.

Kumiho grunted and groaned as he dragged her up and made her stand on the wounded leg. Now, she was really, really in trouble. In her head, she cursed and berated herself for putting herself in this position. And it was a position she wasn't terribly familiar with. She didn't have the razor-sharp wit or cunning that would allow her to sweet talk her way out of sticky situations - but to hell if she wasn't going to try! She answered his questions in the order they came; all with the forced, breathy voice she talked in when masking her naturally feminine tone. "No one of importance." She met his gaze with her own. Those silvery blue things giving away the immense pain and panic. "If you want to know about the mask, I'm afraid you'll have to buy me a drink. It's a looooong story." Sarcasm practically dripped from her words, but the humor was cut short when he reached up take grab at the mask. "Don't you dare," she growled, in a much more serious voice. La Volpe snatched the dagger from where ever she had kept it, wiping the blood from the blade onto one of her trouser legs and sheathing it again, making sure that she could not use it against him. A smirk danced across his olive features, hand remained suspended in the motion of removing the mask. "Oh?" Tone pitched in interest. "If you were no one importante, you would not care for me to see your face. There must be a reason you hide it away, signor, unless you are unfortunately brutto." He brought her up and pressed her up against a near by wall, grasp tight across her collar and hand curling around the lip of the mask. "I could buy you a drink or two, mister. You need not tail me just to get one from me, I am a generous man." He played along with her sarcastic tone with a playful one of his own.

Kumiho snorted at his comments about her wearing the mask. Naturally, she didn't understand all the words he used, but the context of them could only lead to passing insults, she assumed. "Maybe there is, but why would it be important for you to know who's underneath?" Answering questions with questions, what a fun game. Having to deal with pain and conversation at the same time, it was hard to think of a next move. She considered using the first resort that most females used against a male - a blow to the jewels. But with the mask on she couldn't judge where her knee was in relation to him. Plus, a failed attempt at such was likely to end up with a less-than-favorable beating. "Who's to say I'm not just a curious passersby? Or maybe it was your lady friend I was following. Your assumptions are rather arrogant." La Volpe seemed to have read her mind, as his hand shifted so that his forearm pushed her throat against the wall, hard enough for her not to wriggle free but loose enough to let her breathe and talk. The other hand went to find that fresh wound, index and middle fingers finding the gap that the blade would have made and gave a quick press to it. "I am not stupid, my friend. That lady was just a puttana that worked in the brothels. She holds no importance." Hand remained touching the wound, adding only a small amount of pressure. "So, anyone that would have been tailing us, would have been tailing me, si? Besides, who wouldn't send someone out after a wealthy noble men, hmm? It seems to be common practice nowadays."" And then, at the arrogant comment, he gave a little chuckle. "It is part of my charm, signor. The ladies certainly don't seem to mind it." Volpe's smile remained, but his eyes flared with seriousness. "Now then, back to business. Just tell me who you are, what you are doing, and I might let you go. If not, I'll just have to reintroduce you to my blade. I don't think you two properly met."

Kumiho coughed a bit with the sudden pressure on her throat. But when he went to re-attack the wound he had made on her leg, her mind really went into panic mode and she was struggling to keep herself in check. She was in no condition to be in this kind of predicament. A startled cry echoed behind her mask in all its girlish glory. Tears sprung up against her will, though she managed to keep herself from sobbing like a fool. Pain on top of pain on top of pain. That was definitely not something she was used to. But she couldn’t betray her guild, and was going to refuse to speak of it until the bitter end if need be. Still, little details wouldn't hurt for now. She hesitated at first. "I'm a thief, that much is true.Who I am is not to be spoken. I'm only tailing you out of curiosity." That was half lie, but hopefully good enough to pass. La Volpe's lips spread into a satisfactory smile. Oh, how he enjoyed that sound. Eyebrows raised in surprise at the stranger's voice, however, and how many octaves it had increased by. "Say, you're not quite a signor so much as a signorina, si? Clever disguise, my friend. Even I was fooled." He let a little of the pressure off, fingers hovering threateningly over the wound in case she tried something funny. "A thief, eh? Just some petty thief wanting to steal from the pockets of the rich? I don't believe you. Petty thieves don't use get-ups. Come on, signorina, you are only making it harder for yourself." Pressure was reapplied, hand tightening around the wound like a vice grip. "I could sit and do this all night. It's one of my favourite past times. But I can't let you bleed out into the street, now, can I? Perhaps if you are a little nicer I'll take you to a doctor and get you seen to."

Kumiho was trying so hard to keep her mouth shut. She had thought herself to have such a high tolerance to pain, but here she was driven to the brink by one of the most basic plays in the book of torture. "I'll take that as a compliment." She groan as he went right by to playing her wound. A passing hunch was telling her that perhaps he was the man that she was supposed to be targeting... No ordinary man would go through this much trouble or know how to do these things - nobleman or not. And she wasn't absolutely certain it was him anyway. That was all the more pressure to not break. But the pain! "I'm-" she bit her lip, "hired..." That was all she said before decided she had said enough. She decided to go with her earlier plan and go for the groin. But with her blind spot, she was more likely going to aim too low and hit his thigh or too high and get him in the gut.

La Volpe was certainly not an ordinary man! As no ordinary nobleman would indeed not know how to torture information out of another. But who he was remained a mysterious to everyone he met, each identity different from the last. Quite like the femme before him, he'd rather keep his true occupation a secret, lest they know they were quite similar. "Hired for--" He was cut off from the blow of her knee, thankfully missing his precious jewels but catching him in the abdomen. The absence of armor meant that he was met with the full force of the blow, and despite being physically fit it managed to catch him off guard. His grip slipped away from her as he tried to catch his breath. "Ah...bastardo..." He growled through gasps of air, recovering moderately though his side still stung - maybe even bruise. What a punch this girl could land!

Kumiho was thankful her blow had landed. Even if it wasn't where she was aiming, she took what she could get. She mustered all the strength she had left to push him off and make a run for it for the second time. She considered ducking into a crowded shop or tavern, taking off her mask and trying to blend but the huge racoon eye makeup she used to black out her eye area would probably grab his attention. He wasn't a gullible idiot like many of the others she had dealt with. He was going to notice her in a crowd. She ran guided by instinct -and panic- but with a limp thanks to the overworked wound on her calf. And with her heart racing, a nice blood trail was left where ever she went. Eventually, she ducked into a different alley and collapsed against a wall. She didn't bother to see if he followed, only ran with the prayer that she'd lose him.

La Volpe steadied himself against the other wall as he was pushed, letting her get away while he caught his breath. "What a woman." He muttered to himself, laughing, "I've never seen a signorina hit like that before." Cutting the chatter to himself quickly he followed the traces of blood out into the street. But the crowds made it impossible to follow whatever blood was left. He considered very briefly returning to his abode and retrieving his own mask and weapons - and armor, in case she tried the jewel trick again - but by then in might be too late. She could easily change her own attire, remove the mask and walk freely among the streets past him. "Cazzo." Soon he found himself scaling the rooftops, catching just a glimpse of the girl as she sped off into some other alley, bounding and leaping over the buildings and their obstacles like a madman. "Here kitty, kitty. I won't hurt you, micino gatto..." Volpe would say as he dropped into the alley way he believed her to be hiding in, Italian accent rolling off his lips like syllables of soft velvet wrapped in the deep purrs of a sensual beast; some sort of coy to luring her out, of course not, an attempt of faking her out, or at least intimidating her in some way. He'd remain unarmed for now, the blade on his back and in his boot would come in handy should she try to strike at him. Kumiho, hearing his voice approaching, quickly inspected this new alley for a place to hide. But it had little to offer. But she had to get away and soon; her strength was starting to go. She felt woozy. All she had was a clothesline, a barrel of rain runoff and all the trash cans a girl could ever ask for. So she did the one thing she could do: a makeshift makeover. Though it was disgusting, she removed her mask to wash the black from her face in the rainwater. She stripped to her undies in record time, changing into a shirt and loose shirt from the clothesline. She dumped her clothing in the trash -it was bloody anyway- but there was no way she could leave the mask. That was far too important to her. So she gathered more clothes from the line, carrying them as any lady would when getting her laundry from the line. Buried in it, her precious mask. She did her best to walk casually down the alley as just any-other-chore-doer, even managing to hide the limp... mostly. It was an extraordinarily risky move; she had never let anyone see her face. Not even her trusted allies. If he found her now, he would know more about her than most of her allies and enemies combined. But if she kept running with her mask on, she would be just that much easier to pinpoint. Her hasty plan was far from flawless, however. Her one oversight being the biggest: a growing bloodstain on the back of the skirt.

La Volpe kept cautious, walking in slow, deliberate steps as he rounded the corner...only to be confronted by a woman with folds of laundry. "Mi spiace." He gave a polite bow on his way past, checking the near by trash cans and nooks and crannies for any hiding felines. Perhaps the lady had seen something. As he turned to ask for help, he'd spot that dark stain, funnily enough right where he had thrown the dagger into the femme's leg. Cursing himself inwardly but smiling outwardly, he approached the lady with a trot. "Mi susci. Have you seen a woman around here? She's injured and I am so terribly worried about her. She got so frightened that she ran off, please, I need to find her." He was a good actor, not failing to put on a good show. Though he had another trick up his sleeve should she find her way past this one.

Kumiho, for a moment, thought her clever plan had worked! He was passing her by! Or... not. Curse him! She did her best to act her part as well, not wanting to let him get the upper hand. She gave him an annoyed look and allowed herself to speak in her own voice now. "What am I, a babysitter now? First I'm sent to fetch a neighbor's laundry and how I have to look after a date gone bad?" She was doing her best to sound genuinely annoyed. That didn't take too much effort, not surprisingly. "Men these days are forgetting how to treat a lady. Always talking bad about them and forcing them to do this and that!" She continued to ramble on about nothing, trying to walk away from him all the while. Why was it all these alleys were so long?

La Volpe was genuinely surprised at the response. He hadn't seen this reaction coming! "Susca, sigorina." He'd give another bow. "I did not mean to upset you. I was just curious to know if you had seen her. I did not mean to burden you with my troubles..." He watched her walk away for a moment, before catching up to her. "Here, sigorina. Let me take that for you. It looks awfully heavy. Your neighbor must not appreciate you." He'd chuckle as he went to take the bundle of clothing from her, all in a generous act of kindness of course. "And besides," He'd lean in a little closer just to say a little quieter, "That injured leg of yours must be hard to walk on."

Kumiho- "No, I've got it." She scrambled for more to say, some excuse to make him go away. But before she could, his last comment struck her into silence. "Fine," she said with a heavily sigh. She shoved the pile of laundry into his arms. She buried her arm in it, pulling her mask out from within it. She looked at it sadly before dropping down to one knee, as her guild dictated was customary in a surrender or to admit defeat. "You win. I don't have the strength to play cat and mouse anymore." She clenched at her wound, finally able to put pressure on it. She looked up at him, clearly upset and weary, and awaited his actions - whatever they may be. La Volpe remained quiet at her defeat, waiting 'till she had finished her surrender before actually doing anything. The piles of laundry where discarded onto the floor behind him, forgotten and unneeded, as he bent onto one knee and placed a hand upon one of the feline's shoulders. "Sigorina...We should get you to a doctor before that wound of yours gets any worse, hmm?" He spoke with a kindness not yet used before, "My intention is not to kill you...Maybe not now anyway." He paused to give a faint chuckle, "I, uh, apologize for stabbing you. I let my instincts get the better of me sometimes." Another chuckle ensued as he rose to his feet, offering the femme a hand up. "Come on now, let me help you. It's the least I can do, after stabbing you and all."

[There was a pause here so the transition is a just slightly off]

La Volpe had remained relatively quiet as they reached the doctor's building, He'd offer the femme help to walk, even gentlemanly enough to offer to carry her should her leg be too painful to walk on. He felt somewhat bad for stabbing a woman...such thing wasn't something he did regularly but tried not to live by morals; they could get in the way of his chosen occupation. In any case, he let the doctor do his thing, the wound deep enough to need some stitching but not deep enough to be a serious wound. It could leave a scar, he would say, depending on how she looked after it as it healed. Volpe paid whatever fees and asked for a little time to talk to the girl, all done out of the way of Kumiho. He'd enter the room she was in, closing the door quietly behind her. "How are you feeling?" His eyes traveled to her injured leg then back to her face. "Again...I am sorry for inflicting the wound. If I had known..." He hesitated for a moment. "...If I had known had not you did not mean me any physical harm I would not have thrown the knife." Volpe offered a sort of half-smile. "Now, down to business. What were you doing, ladro? I know you are no petty thief. You are something more...serio. What did you want from me?" He'd lean against one of the doctor's medicine counters, crossing his arms across his chest, brown eyes kept upon her. Asayl was able to hobble along on her own - for about ten minutes before having to reluctantly accepting help. As the panic from the chase wore off, her flaws set in. She was hemophobic and struggled with the fact that she was bleeding. As the doctor worked, she kept her eyes shut tight. Her stomach turned at the very thought of there being blood on her but she somehow managed to keep from vomiting or passing out. At her request, the wound was heavily bandaged to that she wouldn't have to see it or any blood that may escape the stitches. As Volpe entered the room, she took it upon herself to put on a tough front again. She shot him a hard look. She snorted at his apology, obviously very upset that he had injured, outfoxed and unmasked her. "Still so arrogant," she huffed. "I told you already: I was tailing you out of curiosity. I've taken a job to get something from someone who has an accent like yours. So when I heard you speak to that girl, it caught my attention. For all I know, you're just some whore-loving man with a funny accent. Chances of you actually being who I'm after are slim. And besides, I'm no killer. I'm just a thief." She took a deep breath, still trying to steady herself a bit. She muttered under her breath. "Being out done by some kook in an alley... getting me to take my mask off... stupid!"

La Volpe did not break off his own stare nor loose his smile as she turned his way; such games were amusing to play. "Mi sucsi. I doubt I am the only man with a weakness to foreign ladies. As for my funny accento, well, you ladies are just the same with foreign men." Smile morphed into a lopsided grin as he rolled his shoulders some. "A kook? I am hurt. Surely I appear to be more than some crazy turistica. Business would not do well if I was but a kook." He quickly regained from the derailed conversation, eyes averted to the fox mask, where ever she may of sat it. "The mask. Why do you wear it? What sort of meaning does it have?" He'd lean off of the counter, sauntering slowly over to her, towards her mask, taking in the detail, still surprised at the seeming coincidence. But nothing was a coincidence, was it?

Asayl didn't like the way he talked. Not just the funny accent, but the emphasis he used and the very words themselves. Even if he hadn't caught her in the leg with a dagger, torment her and chase her down, she probably would not have liked him. Before he could get the conversation back on track, she managed to spit, "sane people don't throw daggers when someone tries to run from them." As he approached her, she snapped up her mask from beside her and move it to a more protected spot: her lap. "The same reason anyone would wear a mask. I don't want anyone to see my face when I work. I'd rather not have to worry about the constant threat of being stalked for revenge when I'm not working." She paused for a moment, looking a little embarrassed. "The meaning behind it is a long story. It's none of your business."

La Volpe, however, found the femme quite interesting indeed. A little firecracker with a silver tongue to boot, it wasn't often you met a lady that could hold her own. At least, not where he came from anyway. "And what is sane to you, signorina? Those that do not wield weapons for the sake of security, or at least know how to wield a weapon?" He threw his arms open into a wide, over-exaggerated shrug. "I am insane for knowing how to wield a blade. So be it." His tone was cavalier. "But that is not why I am still here. You are hiding something, signorina, I know you are." He'd lean in close to her, eyes squinted as if he were attempting to peer right into her soul. "You are not who you say you are. My instincts tell me you are something...something quite pericoloso."

Asayl would have had a weapon if she hadn't been heading home from a non-job-related task when she chanced upon him! She wanted to argue that, but held her tongue. Maybe the less that came from his mouth, the better. Besides, when someone says their many weapon is a stick, they tend to get laughed at. "Oh course I'm hiding something," she said with a 'duh' look on her face. "Just because you got the better of me doesn't mean I'm going to spill every detail of who I am and what I do to you. That would be idiotic." Then she decided it was her turn to ask questions. "And what about YOU, hmm? Why so interested in me - in my mask? You're just as pericoloso as I am!" Naturally, she completely mispronounced the foreign word.

La Volpe smirked, standing tall at his full height, gazing away from her. "Of course not. Where is the fun in that?" He glanced back at her, "I just love squeezing out information. And if you are not willing to part with it eventually...I have my ways. You don't think I'm going to let you go and wave you off, now, would you? I'm sure we'll be spending lots of time together." He emphasized 'lots' quite strongly, squinting his eyes in a mock-evil manner. Volpe laughed quietly, though did not correct her. "I could be very dangerous indeed. It depends on how you look at it." He paused for devious chuckle. "But because I know how to fight makes me dangerous. I could be a humble nobleman for all you know. So, la mia piccola volpe, what do you know about me?"

Asayl scoffed. After what had happened, she knew he wasn't just talking big. But still, she didn't quite buy his act - nasty laughs or not. She stood, injured leg giving out for a split second, though she righted herself in time to not look totally lame. Spending 'lots' of time with him was the last thing she wanted. "Hmph, you expect me to spill my guts but you won't play fair. What a gentlemen you turned out to be." She eyed the door. There were others around... if she cried out would people come to her aid? She imagined the doctor was at least a little suspicious of the circumstances that she and the man had entered. She decided to be a little daring and push her luck. It could work... maybe. She started to walk across the room toward the exit, limping but confident. "I don't intend to play your little games. I told you all that you need to know. You've had your fill, pig, now go back to your sty." . La Volpe allowed her to step forward, thinking that she was not intending to leave the room. However, as she made her way towards the door, he found himself leaning quite contently at the door frame, arm across the door in such a way that he looked as though he was just casually leaning against it but was in fact blocking her escape. "Me? Un porco? Not quite the resemblance I would have made. I would of thought more of a cat, maybe...a fox. But that is another matter." He gave a cheery sort of smile. "I am far from full, amore mio, and far from done with you. Now, shall we leave? I am sure the dottore needs to tend to other patients." Volpe moved from the door in one fluid movement, standing beside her now, one arm draped across her shoulders and squeezing it tight. "The night is still young. Come, I'm sure a couple of drinks will loosen that sharp tongue of yours." He'd begin to guide her out of the door, thanking the doctor and keeping a firm grip on the girl as the entered the streets.

Asayl gave him another sharp look as he casually blocked her way. She was starting to grow very, very suspicious of him. She couldn't tell if the fox comment was meant to mock her or enlighten her but she decided it was safe to not ask. when he put his arm around her, she flinched quite noticeably. This was not going the way she wanted, not at all. She stayed silent until they were back on the street. If he was dangerous, she guessed it was better not to repay the doctor for his work by putting him in harm's way. But once out, she talked again. "I don't drink," she announced sternly. This was a fact. Alcohol did not mix well with her in the least. "So, you're going to keep an innocent girl captive now? You're being awfully concerned about letting a girl who doesn't know who you are go. So I guess that means you're hiding something too, aren't you?"

La Volpe snapped the fingers of his free hand together in a 'well, damn!' manner. "How sad. You are missing a lot in life. Don't tell me, you're a Catholic too?" He'd offer a single raised eyebrow and another smirk. "Please, you are mistaking me. I only want to make it up to you. It's not everyday I get to stab a gentildonna." He'd then give a dark, devious look. "I could be. Or maybe I want to seem pericoloso to make you think I am hiding something. Oh, the possibilities!" Free arm was thrown up in the air in a wide arc. Asayl didn't reply to his joking comments. She only stared at him with a half-unamused, half-disgusted look that only the most unhappy people in the universe could produce. "You're a bad liar. If you were really just trying to make it up to me, you wouldn't have mentioned squeezing information out of me or spending lots of time with me." She suddenly stop walking, putting on a more serious face. She was catching on now. She worked with others like him, after all. There was definitely a chance that he was the one she was targeting after all. "I may not know exactly who or what you are, but I know you're games." Any attempt of him trying to put his arm back around her or touch would be met with immediate and fierce resistance. La Volpe would pout. "My dear, there is more than one way to take a man's comments." Though he would hesitate before waving dismissively. "But you're a little young for my tastes. Mi sucsi." Another eyebrow was raised now that she was getting serious, and he dared not try to put his arm around her again. It would be like putting his hand into a box of angry, poisonous snakes. "And what, signorina, games are those? If you care not to beat around the bush, why not just come right out and say it? It's not like I cut your tongue or anything." Volpe walked a little further on then stopped, turning on his heel to face her with a look of seriousness, one that had not been worn since the chase.

Asayl was silent for a moment, still with that tense-jawed look of seriousness. "Lying, double talk, being passively intimidating so that you remain in control with less chance of your victim lashing out at you. You're like us, aren't you?" 'Us' being her guild - the band of thieves and assassins she worked with. Her silver eyes locked squarely with his. "You do dirty deeds for money. I bet you even hide your face, just like me. I bet I can even guess your name." She started walking again, this time to pass him and continue down the road. If she turned and pointed and shouted his name, everyone passing nearby would hear. "Would you like to hear my guess?" La Volpe frowned, not quite knowing who 'us' were, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. She was really onto him now, a wildfire that had spread and now was out of control. There was no way he could weasel his way out of this one. A dark look crossed his face as she goaded him, a quick and dangerous saunter narrowed the distance between them, now standing merely inches away, bundling the scruff of her collar in his fist like he had done before and drew her ever closer to his face. Although the action might of seemed aggressive, he was being more than gentle with her. "Go on then, signorina." He spoke quietly, threateningly, "Who am I?" Asayl didn't bother to move as he closed in on her. She could play games too. She allowed him to get uncomfortably close and then closed the gap between them by giving him a sort of hug, hands placed on the backside of his shoulders to push him against her. To any passing drunkard, it may have looked like she was encouraging a kiss. At least with his hands up where she could see, she didn't have to worry so much about suddenly being attacked with that damn dagger again. She move to her nearly cheek to cheek with him, whispering in his ear rather than shouting aloud. "Where's your mask, La Volpe?" A part of her almost hoped she was wrong.

La Volpe was surprised at her actions, not quite sure what brought on this sudden urge for closeness after wanting to repel him for so long. Then, he almost felt his pupils dilate at the soft whispered name. How the hell did she know? With elegant swiftness he had thrown the femme around the corner into another alley way, keeping a hold of her collar as he backed her up roughly against the wall. Other hand went for that dagger she had been acquainted with on the small of his back, withdrawing it and putting it to her neck with almost lightning speed. "How..." It was an almost predatory growl, "How do you know, ladro?" Teeth bared as he fought hard to keep his anger sated, though the best idea would be just to slit her throat to keep his secret, there must be a link somewhere. Someone else might of told her, and killing her would only make the trail cold.

Asayl grunted as she was pushed back into the wall. It still hurt scrambling back on her lame leg and hitting the cold stone wall but at least she had braced for it properly. It was a nifty thing she had picked up from an assassin friend, holding and enemies shoulders to feel for when their muscles tense to signal a coming movement. She would have to thank him for that later if she managed to get home in one piece. The knife at her throat had her concerned. Still, it was her turn to smile. She got it right, it seemed. Too bad he didn't have what she needed with him or maybe she would have moved a little faster. "It's a secret," she cooed. "But it seems like we're even now. I've seen your face and you've seen mine." She didn't make an attempt to fight back just yet.

La Volpe hadn't actually planned on using the knife, it was more of an intimidation method...which had obviously failed. Teeth gritted against the femme's playing, not liking it now that the tables had been turned on him. "True. We are even." His eyes would narrow, "But I am still not letting you go until you tell me what I want to know. You still have your use...for now." His accent remained the same, giving his voice that smooth, velveteen touch despite his obvious anger. "Now come, ladro. Let us not play anymore games. Tell me your intentions. I grow tired of this balleto we are dancing. Tell me, and you can have your leave." The cold steel of the knife pressed softly against her flesh and fur, soft enough not to harm but still make its presence known. Asayl's coy grin grew wider. Maybe there was something fun to all this rough stuff she avoided after all. She was genuinely excited now that she had the upper hand. "Oh, now you want to stop playing games? What happened to all the fun and smiles from when you were toying with me? I thought you liked games." In the back of her mind, she was trying to conjure up a way to get out of this without slipping him anymore clues as to what she was after. Fighting back while unarmed was out. Running... well, that didn't work the first time so definitely not now. Maybe she could schmooze her why out by playing the seduction card? He wasn't too hard on the eye after all. She pondered. "And if I still have my uses, why so cruel as to hold a knife to my throat? That's very rude of you."

La Volpe frowned again. He knew he was loosing control of the situation and was beginning to panic. She was on a roll and he didn't know how to stop her. Then, out of the blue that wry smirk returned, knife hesitant to return to its sheathe. "Oh, I do like games. But I like to be in control. I am a controlling messere after all, just like you said." He'd then loosen himself off, removing the knife from her throat. "Very well, signorina. I will play your games. Let's have a little fun, eh?" He'd snort, "It's not rude to pull a knife on un porco when they are to be slaughtered. Only, this little porco wriggled its way out of the pen and has had a taste of freedom." Asayl- Phew! It was a wonderful feeling to not be in immediate danger of having a slit throat. There was still the matter of just getting away from him somehow. But that posed its own problems. He didn't know her alias or her real name, but with a few well-placed questions, it wouldn't be too terribly hard to find the name of the thief with the black and silver fox mask. This whole situation was leading down some dangerous roads. "What happened to what you said about not wanting to kill me?" She leaned back against the wall comfortably now that he had backed off. "You're going back on everything you say, Volpe. And here thought you were a more honest man. Really, if we are on even terms now we should be a little nicer to one another. I'm very nice when I'm not being threatened." She eyed him less tensely now. It was almost a friendly look.

La Volpe smiled now. "I never said I was going to kill you. Threatening someone with a knife and actually slitting someone's throat are different stories, don't you think? Don't make me sound like a disonesto messere." Arms would open up in a somewhat friendly gesture, like he was about to bring her into a hug. "That sounds fiera to me. All this threatening isn't very gentiluomo of me. What say we talk it out, like civilized persone, mm?"

Asayl- Good, he's smiling again. She was learning it was much easier to deal with him when he was smiling. She didn't push the threat things anymore, despite her urges to point out all his implied threats. "Yes, let's." She finally pulled herself off the wall to take hold of his hand and urge him back into the street - back to where she knew he wouldn't just up and kill her at the drop of a hat. The little prance in her step hurt her sore leg but she endured. At least it was distracting her mind from her other pains, likely from riding the adrenaline rush. She looked back at him with an impish grin and a suggestive shimmer in her eye as she mentally prepared herself for what she planned on doing. "Take me somewhere, Volpe."

La Volpe was impulsive and unpredictable at best. However, when deciding the fate of another he tried to be a bit more reasonable. He'd glance down at his hand as hers slipped into it, offering a confused frown of sorts. The sudden change in attitude was nice, but he couldn't help but feel that she had some sort of ulterior motive...but he said nothing. He'd wait it out, just going along until he knew for sure. "Where would you like to go, amore mia? You have already mentioned that you do not drink, so a tavern is out of the question. A walk through a quiet park, perhaps? Or is there anywhere nice you would like to visit?"

Asayl shrugged in a pseudo-carefree way. "This is a strange city to me. It's my first night here. Maybe you know where things are? You just have to promise to not drag me through anymore alleys. I'm not very fond of the smell of garbage." She glanced down at herself, just to reminder herself what she looked like at the moment. Right, a frumpy peasant top, a bloody skirt and a fox mask. That wasn't exactly night-on-the-town wear. "Maybe somewhere more... secluded. I'm not dressed for the occasion, obviously." La Volpe chuckled some. "I promise. Alleyways aren't the nicest of places in any sort of occasion." The more she spoke the more he was sure about ulterior motives, but again to couldn't be too sure. She had already somewhat admitted to 'being like him', without actually admitting to it. She was a dodgy sort of gal, much like himself, full of double meanings and facades; he could never be too careful. "Isolato, you say? That only makes me wonder what is going through that head of yours." He'd glance at her with grin. "I am new to this city as well, but I pretty much have the most important areas learned." He needn't say what these areas were. "Come, then. Let's go for a wander." Volpe would take her away from the heart of the city, having already commented on her own dress sense he figured she didn't want to be seen by the social community of the city. Volpe would take her to a public garden of sorts, surrounded by the ruins of a once previous settlement that was strangled by vines, a cobbled path cutting through the center with different off turnings around the ruins and flora. Flowers bloomed in their radiant colours, though in the setting of the sun they had closed over, hiding their fragile organs from the darkness settling in. Lanterns had been lit throughout the course of the path, the halos of those further ahead obscured by the blossom and red maple leaves of the trees.

Asayl smirked with a little tee-hee of a giggle as he led her off. She spent most of the walk plotting out her moves and planning for if something went astray between the idle (maybe awkward) chitchat that took place. But Volpe was a smart man. He wasn't going to be tricked so easily. Never the less, she had to give something a shot or she was never going to be able to get home. When they arrived at where they were going, she was impressed. Such a beautiful garden! Her love of all thing flora almost made her melt. Composure! she shouted in her head. She wandered over to a long-still fountain choked with lily pads and singing with frogs. She took a seat on its edge and motioned for him to come over, patting the space next to her. "So, let's talk."

La Volpe was not about to allow her to stray him from what he wanted to know - he knew that she would try every trick in the book to get out of this awkward situation. He would try to remain as positively focused on what he wanted to know rather than letting the conversation slip. At the offer he'd come to lean on the lip of the fountain, arms folded casually across his frame. "Yes, let's talk. Now then, little ladro, why don't we start off with what you actually know about me, mm?" He'd turn to give the femme beside him a sort of sidways glance, intent on keeping a watchful eye on her, on her movements, her body language; anything that would let him know what she might be thinking or planning on doing.

Asayl shrugged as he looked her way. She was going to have to keep an eye on him too if she didn't want to find a blade in his again. "Funny you should ask that," she chuckled. Just to draw the moment out, she leaned back on her lands, letting her legs stretch out -though cautiously with the injured one- and across at the ankles. "I don't actually know much about you. All I know is that there is a masked assassin much like me, fox mask and all. Only, he has a very distinct accent, very much unlike me, and he calls himself La Volpe. And that is the extent of what I know." La Volpe's mind would wander to thoughts about his own mask. How it was sitting in a locked box underneath his bed at the inn he was staying at, along with all his other assassin equipment. A hand would begin to play with a ruffle at the end of his shirt. Despite his previous boasting about having a foreign accent, it also proved to be one of his downfalls, especially in an unknown land like this. "Hmm..." Was his only response for now, remaining in thought. The information she had was pretty basic, but enough to find a trail of some sort. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, signorina. You say you are 'like me', which I presume to be that you are an assassino, or something of the sort. May I ask, are you involved in a guild of that nature?" He paused for a moment. "I was attacked by a thief who had claimed to have come from a guild...Esoteric, I believe." It had been hard work trying to squeeze that piece of information out of him, and possibly resulted in his death. That, among other things of course. "And that has led me here. And strangest of all things, I am attacked in this city too, by none other than another ladro." Volpe turned now to look at her, coy smile on his lips. "So, signorina, do you have any connections to this guild?"

Asayl's cheery expression faded for a few seconds to some sort of uncertain face. All their conversations felt like they were a race. "I think I've already told you everything about me by now. And I've already said that I am not a killer. I'm a thief. Just a thief. That is the honest truth." She may have sounded a little offended. She didn't like being accused of murder, even under the context of being an assassin. Her ears perked slight at the mention of Esoteric. Ah, the guild leaders were not going to be happy that their name had been spilled. "I do work with a guild, yes. It's hard getting work as a lone thief. But the name of it isn't really something I'm willing to tell you, unfortunately." Crap, she was slipping away from her plan of action. "But what does any of that even matter," she asked in a sing-song tone. She shimmied herself over closer to him, though not quite touching him. "It's too nice of a night to talk about such dirty things."

La Volpe always wondered why people referred to the jobs of assassins and like-minded people as 'dirty'. Under the context, perhaps, but he had never connected his occupation to the likes of filth or other degrading factors. Maybe it was because he worked close with such things; maybe not. "I never expected you to tell me anything about them, signorina. All I needed was that link." He'd smile again, though it quickly faltered some as she shuffled towards him. Shooting her a quick glance now, wondering what she was up to. It might be one of her tricks, or perhaps she was just being friendly. There was no way to tell at the moment, but Volpe couldn't help but feel cautious. "What would you rather talk about, then?" Asayl- "Well, who you kill and where they're from doesn't really matter to me. It's not my concern." The second sentence was in a cheery tone. She noticed the drop in his smile and teased him about it. "Oh what's this? You don't want the company of a pretty lady like me now that I'm being nice? Or maybe you're the type who likes to be rough up by women?" She laugh aloud. "Don't worry, Volpe, I don't bite. I told you I wasn't a killer, right? I'm not much of a fighter either to be honest!" Was that a lie? Maybe. Maybe that knee to the gut was just a fluke, a lucky shot by a panicked cat. "Let's talk about you now. You know everything about me and all I know is your alter ego. So it's your turn to tell me about you. The real you, not the mask." She leaned, ever so slightly, toward him as she spoke.

La Volpe quickly offered her a sharp look, smirk twisting underneath. "Oh, I am not complaining. Though, usually when I chase a pretty woman I usually don't end up throwing a knife at her." He'd laugh, raising an eyebrow. "I like a rough woman as much as a gentle one. But that just depends on my mood, ultimately." He'd say nothing about her being a fighter, though. "All right then, signorina." Smirk morphed into a lopsided grin; he was up for playing her games, now. "What would you like to know about this fabled 'real' me? It is just as any nobleman's would be." Any nobleman that didn't play at an alter ego, that was. Asayl- "Yes, you really should work on not doing that anymore," she joked. She was annoying him, she could tell. But it was kind of fun annoying him so. "I'm very gentle. No really, I am!" She held her arms out in a limp, noodly fashion. "I don't have the strength to be rough." That was a lie though. Her usual outfit and the peasant top she currently wore did a grand job of hiding her toned arms. Still, she stuck with her story. "No it isn't. You're very different from any noble I ever met, except maybe in your fondness for drinking and chasing skirts. That seems to be a requirement of nobles. I want to know other things. No one just picks up any old mask and decides they want to be an assassin. So something must have happened to spur you into action."

La Volpe raised an eyebrow. "Some how a doubt that. You managed to evade me for quite some time, and got a nice kick in at me. Perhaps not strong enough to be rough, but you are definitely strong enough to put up a good fight." He wasn't going to let that slip away from him, whether she was trying to be annoying or not. "Drinking is an art form. That is a fact. How others like yourself do not take part confuses me so." He would grin, baring his teeth, "Chasing skirts. What an interesting phrase. Another art form, most definitely. The chase is usually the best part of the kill." Kill used in the non-literal sense. "Of course not. One that kills without reason is nothing more than a murderer. I have my reasons, and they remain as secret as your guild." He smirks, "I am allowed to keep mine, too. Besides, remaining dark and mysterious is always attractive." Asayl shifted all her weight to one hand so that the other could remain up to wave off his comments. "True enough, I guess. I'm much more apt to run than fight though. My strength was made for climbing, not throwing punches." She put her other hand back down and went right back to her reclined position. She let the conversation flow now, trying not to press him too hard though she was getting impatient about leaving. She didn't want him too get too riled up. "A shame to you, a nightmare to me," she pout-frowned, "alcohol works too quickly on me. I'm stupidly drunk after just one drink. So I stay away. It's not worth my time.” At mentioning that being dark was attractive, she couldn't help but sigh. "Yeah, I found that out a long time ago, thanks." It was an oddly misplaced comment but she quickly moved on. "If you won't talk about that, then tell me why you wear a fox mask. It doesn't seem like a fitting choice for you." La Volpe made a 'tsk' noise as he chuckled. "Yes. Such a shame indeed." He then frowned at the strange comment, offering a confused, "You're welcome." He thought about the fox mask again, wondering what she found so strange about the idea. She wore one herself, though their reasons where probably different. "What, would you prefer I wore one of un porco?" He joked, before getting serious, "I liken assassino to volpe. Quiet creatures, lurking in the shadows. Always seen as vile to common folk, but there is always something more to them. Creatures of lesser thinking know more about survival than we do despite us being of higher evolution, so to speak. The assassinos are not bound to morals, to law, to common thinking." Volpe paused, thinking. "Hence the name, too. La Volpe. The Fox. I find an odd biased liking to the vulpines more so than any other creature." Asayl rolled her eyes with a giggle. "It might be more appropriate." She listened to his explanation intently. Ah, so he just saw them as better than other animals. Playing favorites, who would've thought it was something so simple. It was far different from her long-winded story of betrayal and revenge. Not that that was something he needed to know. His sudden seriousness was dampening her plan though. Though it wasn't a very well laid play and dropping it was starting to seem like the more sane option. She didn't have the heart to try and seduce him. She wasn't going to be caught being unfaithful for some killer. Instead, she decided it was time to cut to the chase. "Well, now that we know each other a little better, I have to ask: what's it going to take for you to let me go home? Surely you have no more use for me." She was much more serious in both voice and expression now.

[We stopped but discussed the outcome from this OOC. Asayl is not allowed to leave at all. In fact, he knocks the everloving shit out of her and drags her off someone where she is bound and tortured for info for some time. There is a small fast forward. A new character, Nero, enters. She is Asayl’s best friend.]

La Volpe: The facade of the tavern did not reflect the room that they had been staying in. Rich colours of red, gold and purple decorated this master sized room, filled the most luxurious things the tavern owners could get their hands on. The king sized bed at the far end of the room even seemed small in comparison; a four-poster bed with crimson soft cotton sheets, semi-transparent purple drapes and an oaken frame that had been stained dark with polish. Cupboards and cabinets were like-wise, gold leaf making intricate patterns upon the doors, silver bowls and other expensive pieces of junk the owners thought would look nice. Whatever Volpe did as a second occupation, he was certainly good at it. Especially for Asayl was a large velvet chair, to which her wrists and ankles would be bound to when not up for one of her routine exercises. It was sat furthest away from any windows, cupboards; anything that she could use to set herself free. Her mask was sat upon a near by cabinet, propped up so its empty eye sockets would peer longingly at her. Just something Volpe found quite amusing. The Fox himself, on this particular morning, was sprawled across the bed, tobacco cigarette betwixt fingers as he casually exhaled smoke from his nostrils. "Buongiorno, singorina. I hope you slept well." He paused to allow a chuckle to rumble in his chest. "I hope today will be more progressive than it has been for the past couple. Surely by now you miss your home enough to divulge me on the information I want. If not, well, I have all the time in the world." He glanced at her from his lying position, grinning a Cheshire grin. "I'm sure a little more time together won't hurt." Eventually he would roll off from where he was, digging his bare toes into the thick carpet beneath them, strolling up to one of the windows. "I have an associate of mine coming here today. He will help keep an eye on you."

Asayl was not happy at all about her situation. Firstly for the stupid mistakes she had made that had gotten her there and secondly for the way she was bound to her luxurious prison without a plan of escape - or much chance at making one. The passing days crawled by a pace that could only be described as torture. But the way Volpe acted, he seemed to be enjoying every moment she was miserable. She would have pretended she was having the time of her life, just to annoy him, but she simply couldn't anymore. Without her usual comforts from home -and her friends and Pheno- it was hard to deal with the pain that constantly tormented her. She slept often just to make things easier on herself. At night, she was likely to keep Volpe awake with her pained whimpers and occasional sobs when the aches got really bad. When she was awake, she didn't talk much. She had talked herself out by the first night. Instead, she sat and and glared him with that certain kind of seething, intense hatred. The news that someone new was coming intrigued her, but pissed her off at the same time. She slumped over in the chair unhappily. Now she would never have a moment alone. She said nothing in response but simply made a grumpy noise to announce that she was peeved by the idea.

Alley Cat had just arrived in that very city only twenty minutes or so, and before making his way up to the room Volpe had with his prisoner, Cat had decided to wander around the interesting place. Not a moment he stepped off the boat he had come in on a group of young delinquents had pick-pocketed him of a few gold coins; so when he approached a food stall and found he was a few coin short he found himself being run off like a stray cat in a kitchen. A little disgruntled by the experience he decided he had enough of the sight-seeing and headed straight toward the tavern his mentor had decided to hole himself up in. After a few whispers with the bartender, he directed the mangy feline toward the room. With a small rapataptap of his knuckles against the door, Cat slipped into the well-decorated room. "Mentor," Cat gave a small, respectful bow before caramel eyes would flash toward the female. "Is this the prisoner, or have I walked in on something here?" Nero Of Wolves: Still she refused to give up, obviously very concerned for her friend and her unannounced absence. It worried her even still to find that the trail led her to a city, which usually held many dangers within itself Nero stopped and casually leaned against a nearby wall, giving a gentle shake of her head. Calm down and think, she said quietly to herself, or else you won t be any good for anyone. Where would she be if she were still here? The lycan thought hard, wondering if Asayl had any friends that she would stay with in the city. Still, that left the question of why she hadn’t left word. No, something was wrong. Her hand lifted and fumbled beneath her curls, bringing out a picture of Asa that she had kept beneath the fabric of her necklace, looking at it with a rather lost expression. Where are you she asked to the open air, only lifting her gaze to look around again. A tavern was across the street and to the right. She gave a little shrug, unsure of where else to look at this point. Besides, taverns were usually the places to go looking for someone, wasn’t it? Nero only hoped that these folks weren’t the unpleasant slurry types. Stepping into the tavern, she made her way to the bar and ordered a bit of gin and tonic, just enough to calm her nerves at least. Her eyes looked around, wondering what kind of place this was. Certainly was fancy.

La Volpe's attention was taken away from Asayl as Cat walked through, and at his words a little smirk danced across his lips as he glanced back to her. "Oh, no. Not interrupting anything, this time Gattino." He sauntered over to the chair Asayl sat in, leaning an arm around the back. "She is just a friend of mine. We're playing a little game. She won't give me information, so she's been tied here." He took another draw of his cigarette, blowing the smoke towards her as he got up and walked over to Cat. "She is the reason I summoned you. I need an extra pair of eyes to make sure she doesn't escape. She is one firecracker of a troia." At that he would finish the cigarette, the butt finding its way into a near by glass ashtray. "Keep your eye on her, Gattino. I mean it. She's a smart signorina." And before he disappeared behind the door he'd offer Asayl a little parting smile. Something to remember him by, of course. Volpe would find himself down at the bar, thirsty for something with a little kick despite the time of day. It wasn't like anyone was going to stop him. Another cigarette was lit up; something he didn't do unless stressed, and that was something Asayl was doing, even if he didn't make it far too obvious. Idly his free hand would run across the scar on his face, tracing the groove down towards his lip, deep in thought.

Asayl watched Cat enter, immediately giving him a viciously dirty look. She snorted as Volpe so rudely blow his smoke toward her, shaking her head a little to fan the stuff away. She hated smoke. But otherwise, she remained but a lump on the chair - silent and unhappy. A bit of a disgusted frown found its way to her lips as Volpe smiled at her from the door. She was silent for a long time after he had gone, ignoring this new figure that had been sent to watch her. But after what could appropriately be described as 'forever' according to how it felt, she finally turned to the cat for just enough time to take in what she looked like. Her voice was hoarse, whether from disuse or overuse was a mystery. "Mentor," she scoffed, "what a joke. That man is an arrogant piece of trash." She appeared to be talking to herself. Alley Cat watched as the human exited the room, before eyes returned to the fellow feline. There he stood for a few moments, watching her movements, body language before he would perch himself upon the end of Volpe's bed, not breaking his gaze. He waited for her to speak, though the first couple of moments it seemed she was going to play the silent game. That was okay, he could play that game too, and so he did; peering at the female contently in the silence. Ears twitched at the sound of her voice, and a small smirk coiled the corners of his lips. "Not fond of him, eh? You wouldn't be the first," Cat gave laugh that sounded more like he was getting strangled. "First it's 'Ohmigawd you're so beautiful, handsome, sexy' ... then it's BAM, you asshole! Blah blah blah. You should know, you're a female. You're all crazy like that," The tabby-like creature gave a small, disconcerting wave in her general direction. Though Cat was very fond, and grateful, to Volpe, his skills in seducing women was something he was ever envious of. Tail would flicker awkwardly behind him as he looked curiously at her, head tilting to right slightly.

Nero Of Wolves sat there for a while longer, becoming nervous again despite her efforts to calm herself. She had to keep moving if she were to have any hopes of catching Asayl's trail again, if there was any trace left to begin with. It was then that she smelled it, if only faintly through all the man musk and smoke that dwindled in the air around them, that familiar flowery scent of her dearest friend. She became more alert, though the lycan did so in a way so as not to draw too much attention to herself, pretending to fix her hair while she tried to get a better idea of where it had come from. Her eyes moved over to the man that had sat down only a moment ago, becoming suspicious, though she was only acting on a hunch. Nero had to move closer to find out for sure. Usually, speaking with strange men was out of the question, but nothing would come of it if she meekly stayed in her seat and simply waited for Asa to fall into her lap from the heavens. So, after a little pause, up she stood, taking her drink with her to stand beside the stranger. She offered him a smile, wondering if he was the type that liked to have a lady around each arm. It was risky, but at least she could get away if he wasn't the lead that she thought he might be. "You look like you could use some company. May I...?" Nero only hesitated briefly before taking a seat next to him, unwilling to be rebuffed so soon before she even had time to investigate further. "I'm sorry if you find me a little straightforward. I'm new here, you see..." Her hand moved to bring a bit of hair behind her ear as she spoke, playing a bit more of the 'blonde' than she would've liked, but this tactic usually worked. "My name's Nero," she added at last with a smirk.

La Volpe was pleasantly surprised at the encounter, turning slightly to face the stranger with a soft smile on his lips. "Not at all, signorina. I enjoy all the company I get." He'd purr, quite happy to find another humanoid after having come across so few in the city. "Il suo un piacere conoscerti...ah, excuse me. It is a pleasure to meet you, Nero." He'd offer a handshake, and if taken he would take the back of her hand to his lips; a formal greeting in his society. "You may call me...Angelo." Volpe lied easily through his teeth, "The more straightforward the better. I like a woman that can get straight to the point." Hand that had been touching his scar now patted the seat beside him that she was hovering beside. "What brings you to this city? If you do not mind me asking, if course." Volpe would smile again, leaning an one elbow onto the bar, the other in his lap as he held the cigarette away for her, in case she disliked such things. Asayl sat there with increasing discomfort. The very way Cat spoke grated on Asa, much like Volpe. Funny how things like that rub off. She wouldn't have said much more if he hadn't made the comment about women being crazy. He might of been on to something, but that doesn't mean that she couldn't be offended! For the first time in a week, she laughed. "How would you know? You don't look like the type to get very much attention from any sort of woman." There was no need for her to be nice to him, so she came right out and said it. As long as he didn't turn to torture like his lovely mentor did, she was going to say whatever she damn pleased. She shifted in her four-legged confines, trying to find a way to stop her restraints from digging in so harshly or at least to find some position tolerable for more than two minutes. She went about effectively ignoring Cat while she did this, not hearing many of his comments until after she had either settled or given up.

Alley Cat looked, for a fraction of a second, like he was about to fly right off the end of then bed and attack her, but he quickly regained his cool. "That's fine by me, I never really liked women anyway," Cat gave a casual shrug as he made himself comfortable again, "Females were always so vain, though if you throw a few coins at little sluts like you, looks don't really matter now, do they?" A large grin sprawled across his face as he looked smug with himself, thumb and index finger coming up to rub at one of his twisted whiskers. He didn't expect her to reply, thinking she might go back into the silent treatment again, so Cat made himself more comfortable on the bed, laying down upon his stomach with appendages sprawled, though his golden gaze never left her form. "So," He coughed, rolling slightly onto his side. "Whatcha do to make Volpe tie you up like this?" He thought a casual change in subject would hide his curiosity in the captured femme, though it was poorly disguised.

Nero Of Wolves immediately assumed that this man was from another country, judging by his accent. It wasn't often that she had such an opportunity to speak with foreigners, so she couldn't help her heart skipping a beat or two over it in her excitement. Her hand went to his, but it was during this time that she caught another clue, this time it was obviously coming from his clothing. Whoever this Angelo fellow was, he had made contact with Asayl quite recently. Her suspicions were correct after all. Though, how and why were other questions that needed answering, not to mention 'where was Asa?' With the introductions over with, she gave him a smirk and a nod in reply. "I see. Well if you like the straightforward type, then I will waste no time in asking what's really troubling me..." With that, she revealed the picture from her other hand, placing it on the counter and sliding it a little toward him as she did so. "I'm looking for this woman. She's about... oh," she gestured with her hand as she continued. "this tall... with a little bit of a limpy shuffly walk if she's feeling stiff. Her name's Asayl." Nero watched him with some interest to see if anything quirked his interest, keeping an eye on his body language especially. It wasn't usually the expression that gave people away, it was their posture. One stiff movement or shaky wrist was all she needed to confirm her suspicions. "You haven't seen her have you? She's been missing from home for about a week without a word and I heard from some locals that she was seen around here someplace recently... I'm worried." Nero frowned, her true concerns showing through. She only hoped that he was the truthful type and that he wasn't really the reason for her absence. If anything, he could've easily stolen some poor sap's clothes, leaving the real culprit out on the streets.

La Volpe watched cautiously as he was handed the photo, instantly recognizing the femme in it. Of course, he wouldn't just go 'Oh, I have her tied up in my room. No need to worry!' For a split second he faltered, letting a frown steal away his smile. "I do not know this woman. I am sorry." Volpe offered an apologetic smile as he handed the photo back. "That is quite worrying." He's manage to say, downing his drink so that he did not have to say much. "I can only wish you buona fortuna in finding her." He'd quickly glance at her, flashing a smile. He was good at hiding body language and little quirks people could pick up on, but he nearly completely faltered there. It was something totally unexpected, out of the blue and certainly dampened his plans. He would need to get out of here, with Asayl in tow...but how? "Mi sucsi. I think I am going to go for a stroll. Too nice of a morning to be wasted in here, don't you think?" Volpe had already paid the tender, so only pushed the empty glass to the other side of the bar before getting up from his seat. He'd turn to Nero, though, and offer a bow. "Sorry I could not be of help. If I hear or see anything I will see what I can do." Playing one of his usual lopsided grins before departing, and just as he got out of sight a heavy frown took his face, pinching the arch of his nose tenderly. Barging in on whatever conversation Cat and Asayl were having, he seemed unaware of the two other beings in the room, intent on only locking the door and trotting over to the window, checking for Nero's departure. "There is someone here," He'd eventually say, not bothering to turn around, "Looking for you, signorina. Goes by the name Nero. Do you know who she is?" At this point he was looking towards her now, a dark and most serious look that looked out of place compared to his smirks and smiles. Asayl snorted again. No words actually came from her to respond but with her face and tense body language, it was likely that he could see that he was pissing her off. And how. At least with Volpe, there was a kind of dance their conversations took, filled with sarcasm and fake kindness. But Cat... was just annoying. When he decided to change the subject, she decided her voice could use a little stretching. "That moron of yours attacked me for no reason. All I did was follow him for a bit before trying to get away and the bastard attacked me." She voice was taking up a hint of angry growl and tears were forming in her eyes. It was frustrating to hear herself say these things aloud. "And now he refuses to let me go because I got to see his face and because, apparently, I'm withholding some sort of imaginary bit of information from him." She was dangerously close to crying. And even more dangerously close to being absolutely and completely infuriated. The week of captivity had done a bang-up job of breaking her. Naturally, Volpe would bust in with perfectly terrible timing, though he didn't so much as glance at her. She would have repaid the favor but when Nero's name popped up, her ears flew up and a horrified look crossed her face. If Volpe knew who Nero was and she Nero knew her, that means she must have said something to tip him off. With both of them now in danger, her anger swelled. "Don't you DARE touch her!" She jerked in her confines, shouting for the first time since they had 'met.'

Nero Of Wolves wasn't sure what to make of this fellow. He was charming enough certainly, but the fact that he had made contat with Asa and refused to mention anything about it troubled her immensely. She would've thought little of it if he had stayed to talk with her about other things, but since he seemed to leave in such a hurry, she became increasingly suspicious with a twinge of anger in the lining of her emotions. His words and actions didn't line up and though she bade him a fond farewell, the lycan was eager to follow him and see exactly where he intended to run off to. If anything, she might be so lucky to corner him someplace and get the information she needed if necessary. Nero took her time with her drink at least, surely giving him the impression that he wasn't being followed. Now that he had his scent, it would only be a matter of time before she caught up with him again. Still, her nerves prevented her from staying put much longer before she too paid her way and moved to leave, taking the same path as he had done only a few minutes ago. After all, Asayl may not have much time, depending on what Angelo intened to do with her. It would be a heavy burden indeed if she were responsible for yet another death, especially of someone she held dear to her heart. A deep frown etched itself onto her face, briefly thinking of Enryous and Ero before quickly refocusing on her task with even more determination. It wasn't long before she found them, her ear pressed to the door just in case. She could hear the voice of the stranger, but most importantly, the lycan heard the familiar sound of Asayl. Many emotions flooded her at once, only briefly glancing around before promptly shouldering the door. Sure, he had locked it, but a little lock was nothing in comparison to her strength, even while in her human form. The door opened with a crash, splinters from the wood flying in the air as her eyes rapidly scanned the room, spotting Asayl in the chair, and her captive. A deep snarl escaped her, the sound of strong loyalties shining through in it as she rushed him, fully intending to pin him to the wall like an insect on display. "LIAR!"

La Volpe instantly let a smirk fall onto his face at Asayl's sudden dismay. "Oh? So she is dear to you, then?" After Cat's dismissal, Volpe went for the box under the bed, though retrieving at such an angle that Asayl would not be able to see what he was doing. And just as he unlocked the damn thing the door seemed to magically blow itself from its hinges. Peering around the side of the bed Volpe could not help but feel surprised and shocked to see Nero. "Cazzo." He cursed quite calmly, quickly slipping on his greaves that contained his valuable hidden blades from the box and taking his war hammer to hand. "You really think I would just tell you I have your friend locked up, puttana?" He snorted. "Stupid girl." Arrogant as he was, he certainly wasn't stupid. A girl that could shatter a door was no ordinary girl. "I'm afraid I can't let her go just now. Once she has given me the information I need, she is free to go. But until then, she stays." As he talked had been slowly slipping on his other armoured parts, chest plate, vambraces; it didn't take long to put them on, and he prepared himself for a possible fight. His grip on the hammer tightened, and he began to brace himself. "If you leave now, I will not have to kill you. Let her stay for a few more days until I get the information I need and she will come home safely. I will make sure of it." But Nero didn't seem like the type to accept such steep demands. In fact, he was more than certain that she would attack without even regarding his offer.

Asayl didn't say anything but stared daggers at him as hard as she could. The way he reached under the bed to get something was suspicious, but she had a feeling she knew what he was getting. She had guessed who he was correctly, yet she hadn't seen him in his mask this whole time. She had opened her mouth to snap some choice words at him, but instead shrieked as the door was rammed in, taken off guard completely. She turned away, just in case any lovely shreds of wood flew in her direction. The alarm quickly turned to utter surprise when the voice of her dear friend reached her ears. At this point, she didn't even know what to think. "Nero?! What the hell are you doing!" Still very much tied to her chair, she was all but useless. But the way Volpe calmly outfitted himself irked her and she continues to fight against the ropes. She was going to have some serious ropeburn to deal with. "Volpe, if you do anything to hurt her, I swear I'll never let you see another day!"She was no killer, as she had mentioned many times to him, but she was willing to make an exception. A very big exception.

Nero Of Wolves found herself becoming angry with him, his arrogant attitude showing through at last, though she had drawn too much attention to herself already. It was time to go, before any reinforcements arrived. Surely the entire tavern heard that clatter, not to mention felt it through the very walls and if this guy was serious, then it was possible that he worked with others to get his dirty work done. The possibilities were endless, but of little concern to her. Right now, her main priority was to get Asayl out of there and fast, especially since her eye caught sight of his hammer. She visibly tensed. Ordinarily she would've taken the risk of hard knocks, but the silver that was embedded in it worried her. Hopefully he didn't know what she was, or else it was possible for him to gain some sort of advantage. The idea now was to keep away from those weapons while making their escape. Her attention focused on him, not considering his proposition in the slightest, though she made her movements in this dance. "You've kept her long enough. She's needed back home. What information could she possibly give you?" It was then that she spied the mask that Asa has made, her brows furrowing a moment before returning her attention to him, stepping closer as she spoke, trying her best to keep her composure.

La Volpe did not know who or what she was, fortunately for her. He presumed that she was just a tall lady that was more than capable of knocking a few heads together. He'd watch as she spied the mask, then watched Asayl's reaction, eyebrows raising in surprise. "Oh, so I take it she hasn't told you? How very sneaky of you, signorina." The latter sentence sounded as if he were scolding a child. But he said nothing of its origins, not yet anyway, wanting to keep at least some control of the situation. "I cannot allow you to do that, Nero." Hands twitched, surreptitiously checking if the hidden blades worked, "If you cannot take my offer, I am afraid you will have to die. She stays here." His tone was more threatening now, like the rising growl of an angry dog, "If you just let her stay, everything will turn out nicely for everyone. We can all ride into the sunset laughing about how silly this was." Despite cracking a joke his tone and body language were tense.

Asayl- "Shut your mouth," she barked at Volpe. Still, this wasn't the best way for Nero to find out that she was still out sporting her mask - or anyone for that matter. For a fleeting moment, she imaged Silv's and Pheno's reacts if Nero let word slipped she had upgraded from coping mechanism to real crimes. Asayl continued to fight the ropes -maybe feeling one get a teeny bit looser after a week of pulling at it- but remain trapped.

Nero Of Wolves didn't exactly know what he was referring to, her eyes looking between Asayl and the stranger with great suspicion, though whatever Asa's reasoning was, it would wait. She watched him, her gaze hardening to more of a cold glare, one that she rarely gave to anyone. "You're in no position to bargain. Your words are nothing but petty lies! If you seriously wanted to give me an option, you would have offered me collateral in return. Asayl is too precious to leave in your care, you two-faced snake, even if you did have something up your sleeve. Either you give her up now, or I'll be forced to tear her away from your coils." All the while she was moving closer to them, so now the stranger and his captive were only a few feet away, though her eyes were always on him, body tense for any sort of movement he made should he attack.

La Volpe would slowly edge his way around towards Asayl, so that Nero would not be able to grab her and run. He stopped for a moment, nearly surprised and turned to give Asayl a quick glance. "So, that is your name signorina. Asayl. Quite unusual." Volpe silently thanked the lycan for giving him another link. He didn't quite like being called a snake, but he couldn't exactly blame her. Lying outright to her face surely would of pissed her off something awful. "I see. Well, it seems we are stuck in this stalemate of sorts." He would then chuckle, "Oh, but I did offer collateral. You get your dear Asayl back alive. Because, I'll let you in on a secret, usually my torture victims don't get out alive, but I am willing to make an exception. So, unless you have another idea I do believe we will be stuck like this for quite some time." Eyes never left Nero as he spoke, though remaining cautious of Asayl behind him. He didn't want to get overpowered by two women; well, not in this situation.

Asayl: [I am half tempted to bite him in the ass] Nero Of Wolves: [LOL] La Volpe: [ I thought you might do something like that. xD I was hesitant to bring him around to Asayl because of it. ] Asayl: [You can skip me this time, I guess. Asa is tied to a chair, the end.] Asayl: [THOUGH IF HE GETS ANY CLOSER] Asayl: [chompchomp]

Nero Of Wolves scoffed loudly to his face. "Some collateral! You've got nerve, but no brains to back it up. Typical. I hate reptiles like you, always so cold to others and yet blessed with silver tongues. You are an idiot if you think that I would leave her here alone with you for another minute. The least you deserve is castration!" With this, she ceased to speak any further, rushing at him with full force. Her speed rapidly closed the distance between them, so hopefully she might avoid a direct blow from that hammer of his, but her main priority was to knock him down to the ground, much with the impact of a train hitting a car stuck on the tails. If he moved, then it was all the better, because her goal was to simply grab Asayl and make a mad dash out of there.

La Volpe had no time to come up with some witty comeback, when he went to open his mouth Nero was already charging towards him. Out of instinct he brought the weapon around in a sweeping manner, intent on hitting her against the side once the space between them had dissolved, capable of winding her, leaving some really nasty bruises and if he hit the right place even break a few of her ribs. The fleet-footed assassin then, once the hammer had struck or come around in a full swing, create some more space between them, now standing beside Asayl's chair. "Careful cane, you might just end up hurting poor little Asayl." He'd turn to give the feline a pout, though didn't keep his eyes off of Nero for long. She was strong, but he was fast. It would be a battle of skills, and mainly luck.

Asayl flinched reflexively as they moved in her direction. She growled up at Volpe for using her as a form of defense. How rude! Still, she almost had a foot free now. One foot wasn't much, but it would likely come in handy when the right moment struck. Once she had is loose enough to just barely pull her foot through, she made the decision to leave it where it was. No sense giving it away just yet. She kept fighting to free a hand while dodging their exchanges as much as possible in the meantime.

Nero Of Wolves turned to face him, the impact of his hammer leaving her gritting her teeth, her arm clutching her side, an obviously feral snarl escaping her throat as she glared at him. "I'm not playing games with you. You will regret it if you don't back down now... I'll wager you don't even know what you're up against." Beneath the skin, her body was beginning to cope with the impact, beginning to work its natural healing ability. Still, she was clearly in discomfort, the broken ribs making it painful to breathe. Now he was too close to Asa for her to make that move again. She cursed her luck, all the while trying to keep her cool for fear of losing herself entirely. "Make a move." Nero moved closer to him, dangerously so, hoping to intimidate him into either attacking or moving backward. If he moved back, it might've been possible for Asayl to do her stuff. La Volpe was obviously surprised at the snarl; how could such a sound come from a woman? He got shivers up his spine, the hairs on his arms standing on end. There was something not quite right about her..."I probably don't." He sneered, though he had been considering just fleeing the scene now, and returning for Asayl later. They shouldn't be hard to track now he had their names, and what the looked like. Staying and fighting began to seem like the bad choice, but Volpe remained where he was for now, stuck in the dilemma. He couldn't help but feel as though she were trying to pressure him into something, attack her so she could counter attack, or send in an ambush of more friends that were lying in wait. Attacking would be bad, as Nero looked as though she could just shrug another attack off, but creating more distance meant the chance of loosing Asayl to her. In the end, however, he decided to attack, coming at her would an over-the-shoulder swing that would thump into the ground if it missed, causing shock waves that would shake the walls of the room and the ceiling below the floor. He was attempting to drive Nero back, away from Asayl, so that he needn't worry about the two at the same time.

Asayl- Without being directly in Volpe's line of sight now, she was really given the freedom of working on getting those ropes off. Using her free foot, she kicked at the knot in attempt to loosen it. It would take more than a few seconds to achieve enough room to liberate that foot also, but would manager somehow. Now with both feet free, she employed her teeth to try and free her hands but with the rope burn from her struggling, it made for an unpleasant and slow process. Hopefully Nero would distract Volpe enough to keep him from turning on her.

Nero Of Wolves saw the opportunity immediately after he lifted his arms, leaving his entire chest area open in a split second before he began the down stroke. This tiny opening is all she needed, pushing into him in hopes of dropping him to the floor. Nevertheless, the hammer came down squarely on her back, though not with the intended force. It was enough to cause her severe pain, instead of breaking her spine in two. She couldn't help but scream, her voice deepening in several octaves as she did so, a lycan snarl accompanying it soon after. Once her attacker was either on the floor, or at least farther away from Asayl, she stood, her eyes focusing on him in a new way. The irises had changed color entirely, though she still held a shred of dignity and clung to it like it were life itself. It was time to leave. Now. She was already in too deep. Nero quickly moved to Asayl with every intention of lifting her, with the chair if she had to and make an escape out the window. La Volpe stumbled at the push, and was about to go down before he tucked himself into an elegant roll of sorts, rolling onto his shoulder instead of landing on his back, now instead of lying flat on his ass he was several meters away. He grew ever more certain that Nero was not entirely human, if human at all. There was too much space between him and them to be able to make up for lost time, with Nero on the move and Asayl steadily untying herself, he was fighting a loosing battle. "Merde." He cursed out loud, scrambling into one of his equipment pockets and pulling out what seem like a little grey ball. But when he threw it to the ground at Asayl's feet it became more apparent what it was. A smoke bomb. Thick grey smoke curled around the two, capable of choking, obscuring everything in sight when caught inside. Now, he was stuck. He could try taking Asayl and have Nero give chase, or just fleeing entirely, going back to his previous plan. Was Asayl really worth the risk of getting a beat down by an inhuman humanoid? No woman was, really, not in his current opinion anyway. He would rather live than getting maimed half way of dragging the feline out of the tavern like some mustachioed villain stealing the damsel away. "You win, for now. But I'll be back for you dear Asayl." He'd chuckle before any sight or sense of him was gone. When the smoke eventually cleared it became obvious that he was gone. All the equipment in the box and Asayl's mask were gone too along with any evidence at all to Volpe ever being there.

[Will continue in part 2 with the aftermath of this when Asayl is returned home]

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