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fireandgloryrpg · 5 years

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Unity Feast || Group Chatzy

Roman’s and Greeks gather together to celebrate their unity. Piper loses her purse and the night has a dramatic ending.

Percy had lived in New Rome for most of his adult life and he had yet to see it in such a beautiful condition. He didn’t know who was responsible for it, but the progress in the cities reconstruction was astounding. Where they hadn’t completed work, delicate decorations such as fairy lights or neon signs had soften the atmosphere around the square where the festivities were taking place. Striding through the crowds of people, he greeted friends left and right. He was wearing one of the few pieces of his wardrobe that he’d managed to salvage after he’d returned to his apartment at the war’s end. A dark navy blue suit with a light pink shirt and blue tie. Brown belt and brown shoes of course. Heading towards the bar, he ordered a drink. This was going to be a good night, at least that was what he hoped.

Wally had left after Z. The pair decided to meet each other at the feast separately. Wally came in a dark purple tux with a dark tie to match. He had added a laurel wreath to his head for the evening, something he felt was a nice addition. Wally was openly nervous, looking around every few minutes, waiting for something to pop up. It felt like nothing could be enjoyed anymore. The smell of food was quick to reduce his fears. Maybe if he ate something he’d feel better. As trays of food passed around, Wally picked up what seemed to be a fried ball of filled with stuffing and mashed potatoes. “Holy shit, has anyone else tried this?!” Wally snuck a few more of the things off a tray and made his way over to the bar to order a drink. He smiled when he saw Percy down a few seats. “Hey! You look good, man.”

As a general rule, Abigail was not a party person. Partially because bumping into other people was inevitable, partially because talking to other people was inevitable, partially because it meant getting all dressed up when she’d much prefer to lounge around in her couch, braless, hair tied up in a bun, wearing an oversized shirt covered in Cheeto dust and with her cat, Shelley, curled up on her lap. Counterpoint: she liked drinking, dancing and eating fancy snacks. So this was kind of a conundrum. In the end, she solved it by giving into peer pressure and going to the friggin’ party. Wearing a full-length light blue gown (with full sleeves and gloves, of course) and with her hair in a neat braid, Abigail was thoroughly enjoying the open bar, ordering the drinks that looked the fanciest and the wackiest. Later, once her legs had rested from the walk over, maybe she’d dance.

Noticing the two children of Hecate that had arrived around him, Percy finished his drink order. “Hey Wally,” he said as he finished ordering a pint of beer, turning to look at Abby and then leaning back and engaging both his friends, “you and Abby definitely know each other right?” he asked with a gentle smile. He’d known both Wally and Abby separately. Both of them were children of Hecate and though he’d spent time in New Rome and Camp Half Blood with them separately, this might’ve been the first time that he’d seen them together. “Is it too early to start really drinking? I’ve been considering when the appropriate time to start doing shots would be.”

While Jason wasn’t the world’s biggest fan of overly formal events, he couldn’t deny that he looked pretty good when he attended them. Anxiously smoothing down the front of his dark gray jacket and adjusting his dark red tie he strode purposefully into the half-finished Senate house, marveling at the beauty of the edifice. As he turned slowly to take in everything around him he caught a familiar bearded face from across the room, and wandered over to his best friend, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray as he did. “It might be too early for shots. However I think you’re in the clear for some bubbly.” He squeezed Percy’s arm and nodded to the people he was talking to, brushing his hair out of his face. “Evening. You both look lovely.”

While Percy was all fussy about when was the right time to start drinking, Abigail was on her third tequila shot. “Uh. Wally? Never heard of him. Sounds like he got jealous of my nickname, though”, she said, deadpan, before licking off the salt from the back of her hand and downing her shot like a pro. “Evening, Jason. Thank you, I always do. You two look nice, too.” Unable to help herself, she added, teasingly: “For guys, I guess.”

Annabeth had never been one for much dressing up, and she much preferred her shorts and t shirts, but in the spirit of the Unity Feast she was now sporting a long blue gown. Praying to all the gods that she didn’t trip over it somehow in the course of the evening, she headed over to where a cluster of her friends stood. “ Hey, what’d I miss? ”

Wally nodded. “Yes we know each other, sadly.” He smiled at Abigail and thanked the bartender when his drink arrived. “I think we all look pretty sexy, myself included, of course.” When Annabeth came over, he shrugged. “Nothing yet. We’re getting drinks, but it seems Percy is apprehensive. But my guess is: put something blue in front of him and he’ll drink it, no matter what.” Wally took a look around and showed his plate of kind-of-stolen delicacies to the small group. “You guys gotta try these. There is mash potatoes and stuffing mixed in. It’s like . . . I don’t know. It’s the kinda stuff the gods hoard away from us.”

Turning, Percy accepted the glass of champagne off of his best friend and took his place besides Jason. Smiling graciously, he shrugged. “I want to be clear, I’m not the type of person to shy away from a good drink. I definitely don’t think that I’m the type of person to turn down a shot, I was simply musing as to whether or not it was worth considering if there was an appropriate time for shots. Four for shots perhaps?” he smiled gently and looked to Annabeth, winking gently at his friend before taking a sip from his champagne flute as the music filtered through the evening air. The sound of violins singing in the background.

“I never really associated this outfit with pounding shots at the bar,” Jason laughed, straightening his tie and vest, but if we’re lining up at the rail, I’ll do my duty and uphold my collegiate honor.” As Annabeth joined their group he gave her a small wave, sipping from his flute. The entire scene was a little surreal, but he didn’t all together hate it. They had earned this party, with blood sweat and tears and hopefully it would give them all a chance to heal some of the ugly wounds the war had opened. “I hope there are more than canapés at this thing or we’re going to be drunk in a corner in the first five minutes.”

Connor took his time arriving at the party. Sure, he enjoyed them, and all the things that came with parties, such as food and alcohol and pickpocketing, but he just wanted to take it slow tonight. Walking through the crowd, he wore a white button up shirt with floral patterns on, half buttoned down, along with navy pants and matching brown shoes and a belt. Flashing flirty grins at most people he passed, his eyes fell upon his friends at the bar. “I see we’re forming a sub-party over here, is it invite only?” He joked before ordering himself a whiskey and lemonade. “Glad to see we all turned up, everyone looks stunning.” His eyes flickered over everyone before finally landing on his drink. Tonight would have been great, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was terribly missing someone.

Marcus leant against a building on the outside of the square, tapping his ring against his glass. His eyes gently scanned through the crowd making mental notes of everyone he knew. So far, he hadn’t noticed anyone who caught his particular attention, other than a couple of greeks that had started to gather at the bar. Sighing he pushed himself off the wall and moved towards the centre of the square, slipping past people with ease. A smile tugged at the edge of his lips as he spotted his co-centurion and began to move towards her. “Cat, imagine seeing you here.” He joked.

It was strange to think that once upon a time Marcus had been Cat’s subordinate, but now they were partners in leading what was essentially her life’s work. Marcus had been the most suitable choice after Jax had left, however without him here, now, it felt strange. “Marcus,” she drawled, raising a glass of red wine to her equally crimson lips, “a pleasure as always to see you here.” Wearing a sleek black silk dress, Cat reached up and played with the black diamond she wore around her neck. Absently taking everything in. “It has truly turned out well, morale should benefit from the extravagance, don’t you think?”

Brock had been there since before the event started. He offered to act as guard but his higher-ups still felt he was a bit too off balance to be working. They believed it would be better for him to enjoy the event, as if he could. The entire feast, while he was happy to see Romans having a good time, it felt like a joke. Seeing Marcus and Cat, Brock got into stepping. Seeing familiar faces, ones incredibly friendly took a weight off of Brock he hadn’t been aware of before. “Marcus, Cat, how’re you both? You both look nice.” His eyes strayed from Cat but he kept an even smile. Brock had come in a suit lent to him by his friend, tailored of course. A dark green suit with a thin belt around his waist, similar to those of the strings tied around a tunic.

In her defence, Piper hadn’t meant to get so tipsy. She’d only meant to stay for a little while, have a couple of drinks, and then go home. But that wasn’t what happened. She was on her second drink by now, a complete and utter lightweight, swaying in time to the music as she swallowed the sweet taste of cranberry-vodka down her throat. She hadn’t put much effort into her appearance tonight, wearing a tight red dress and pair of heels. She looked great, however, but didn’t feel on her A-game. Nonetheless, she wanted to see everyone. Following after Connor, she said, “Hey, has anyone seen my purse? Pretty — pretty sure I left it somewhere. Don’t know where, but it’s got to be here somewhere.” Even when tipsy, she could talk eloquently.

Eyeing the drinks available, Annabeth was torn between making a conscious decision to stay sober, or throw caution to the wind, because let’s face it, they all deserved a night to get shitfaced after everything that had gone on. “ Cheers to the night? ” She lifted her own glass at the group, raising her eyebrow as Conner and Piper joined them. “ I haven’t, but I could go with you to take a look around if you’d like? ” She offered, noting the slightly slurring girl. There was a voice in the back of her mind telling her that if the beginning of the night was any indication, it might be safer for there to be at least one sober person. God knows what might happen when you mixed a bunch of demigods and legacies who had still unresolved tension and alcohol.

Despite everything that had happened in the last few months, Percy found himself relaxing and enjoying himself. Swallowing a few mouthfuls of champagne, he glanced between Annabeth and Piper wondering whether Piper had even brought a purse with her, “I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Percy replied with a smile as he reached for several more glasses of champagne and passed them around the group, ensuring that anyone who didn’t already have a drink was well provided for. “If I can just take a moment, I’d like to toast us all, Roman and Greek alike, we’ve been through so much and we’ve come out stronger. So a toast to the years to come, with all the friends we’ve made along the way.” He raised his glass towards the small group they’d formed by the bar. Completely oblivious of all the people they were blocking from gaining access to said bar, but in that moment they couldn’t care less.

Despite his love for these events, Aidan was nervous with how things would go. If he’d know anyone there, if he’d be dressed well enough. He fidgeted with his outfit in the storefront windows as he made his way down, feeling over the soft pink lace sewn over his creamy white jacket. Matching pants, and rose gold cufflinks. He stared at the lights of the party before entering, putting on his best smile. His anxiety washed away seeing people he knew. “Hope I’m not too late to join in?” He asked, picking up a glass of his own, knowing to be mindful of how much he had, eyeing Cat. Aidan wasn’t about to embarrass himself further. Everything felt surreal. Calm. Okay for the first time and Aidan felt good about the night. About the future a little bit too.

Jason raised his glass as Percy launched into a toast, nodding along to his friend’s words. “Here here. To the friendships we’ve made along the way and to the peace we now work to construct. May they both last an eternity.” He downed his glass and passed it off to a passing waiter before snagging another full one. He was more than his usual amount of awkward; given that this was the first event he’d been to where he didn’t have a title and job to hide behind, but he was bound and determined to make it work. Which meant acknowledging the presence of the bitch in the black dress across the circle from him. “Ms Karavadra.” He half bowed “you look lovely this evening. Hopefully you’ll save a dance for me later, provided your dance card isn’t already full.”

By the time Abigail came back, she was still a little tipsy and her feet -- foot, her foot hurt. She slid delicately onto the stool, propped her elbows up onto the bar. Her cheeks were flushed with the exercise, her hair only slightly out of place. “I missed the toast?” she asked, then ordered a side of French fries, one of her few guilty pleasures. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Karavadra, promptly deciding to ignore her. It had always been obvious how Karavadra felt about the Greeks, so Abigail felt no obligation to go out of her way to be nice.

Honestly, as Cat, Brock and Marcus made their way past the group of merrymakers toasting and loudly talking about shots, food and the food time that they were having. Cat’s emotional mask slid into place as she gave Jason the most beautiful smile that she could muster. “You look positively ravishing yourself, that suit really brings out your eyes.” She smiled kindly at him as she continued gliding past. “I shall endeavour to save you a dance,” she gestured to Marcus and Brock as if to indicate that she was already inundated with potential prospects, “but as I am sure that you can see Mr. Grace, my dance card is filling up fast, so make sure you get in while stocks last.” She gave him one final sickly sweet smile, a mischievous glitter in her eyes as she imagined what disembowelment would be like for him. She hoped painful. His self righteous smug nature was almost sickening.

Cat had a way with people, she knew what to say and how to seem elegant and hide her true feelings. Marcus however, struggled with it despite his natural gift with the mist and his illusion spells. Instead, he opted to simply showing his true emotions, one of disinterest towards the group. He remembered all the Roman legionnaires they had lost through the war, not to mention their legionnaires on every other day too. He might have seemed old fashioned with his ways, but blood must have blood, just, not now. Leaving Cat’s side, he flashed a chaotic smile at Jason and then the others. “You don’t mind if a join you right? You did make a toast to Romans and Greeks alike, that includes me right?” A tone of mischievousness danced in between his words as he placed his empty glass on the table and ordering a new one, purposely leaning over and Greeks in the way.

“Oh, Zeus”, Abigail said under her breath. She didn’t mind the Romans’ company on grounds of them being Romans, but she didn’t like the atmosphere they’d brought with themselves. Growing up in a hostile environment, she could pick up on the slightest of signs of someone getting angry. Her magic probably had something to do with it, too. Always a hater of physical contact, but too stubborn (too fucked up) to display weakness, Abigail didn’t even twitch as Marcus leaned over her to get a new drink. Her plate of fries arrived, and she used a toothpick to stab at them, eyes flicking between Jason and the Romans.

Connor rolled his eyes as Cat showed up. He recalled their previous conversation and couldn’t help but feel a taste of disgust in his mouth. “Piper, I could also help you look for it if you like? I’d rather be anywhere but in the presence of her.” He felt like spitting her name out of his mouth but held himself back. Besides, it honestly wasn’t worth it. “I haven’t seen anyone steal it, perhaps you left it on a table and a waiter picked it up?” Connor had been drinking but he was sober enough to help look for a purse.

Wally turned himself around when Cat showed up. He prayed to his mom that she was passing by. If he never saw her again, he’d be fine. Wally poured back half of his drink and signaled the bartender. This would be more fun, and a lot easier to get through if he was a lot less sober. “Whiskey shot,” he chimed. Wally vaguely heard the daughter of Aphrodite talking about a missing purse. He knew somewhere in his room there was a locator spell, but that was all the way back in his apartment. ‘Sides, Connor’s already offered, he reasoned. Waiting for Z might just be his best option.

Brock grinned at the Greeks and caught the eye of Annabeth and Jason. Even before the war, after the Greeks had shown up, word of Annabeth’s skill in battle came around quickly. He had imagined a few times what it would be like to fight her, what he could learn from her. Jason on the other hand made him feel agitated and annoyed. It was aggravating to see an unfaithful Roman, but Jason wouldn’t allow himself to get too deep into thought on that. There was mystery on both sides and it was easier to just protect the civilians. “Cat, maybe we should go somewhere less rowdy? You wouldn’t want to get anything spilled on that dress.”

It wasn’t like Z to be so terribly late. He had always been the punctual sort, but times were changing and he had a bit of elephant business to take care of before making his way to the festivities. As he slipped past people with faces he knew and treated, he fiddled with the cuffs on his suit jacket. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the prior inkling to get anything new tailored and his recent surplus of physical activity was making his clothes fit a little snug. It couldn’t be helped. “Oh; excuse me,” he politely exclaimed as he passed by a couple talking privately amongst themselves. His shorter stature easily snaked beyond them, only for him to come to a complete stop when he nearly bumped into Aidan. “Lace? To an event like this? You’re bolder than I thought you’d be.” The tease came easily as he reached over and wrapped his fingertips around a glass on a tray passing by. He eyed the contents warily. The last thing he wanted was alcohol, but this was clear. The squint he gave the glass was almost threatening.

Percy winced internally as the Romans moved over to the side of his group and Marcus made it clear that he was welcoming himself to the proverbial party. Reaching into a small bowl of olives, Percy chewed on a thick green one soaked in chilli oil and made sure that it was crushed into nothingness before he even considered opening his mouth. “Yeah can I get two shots of tequila with lime and salt,” he turned to a Jason whom he knew couldn’t stand Catherine Karavadra, especially after what he considered to be her wrongful arrest of former Praetor Reyna and Frank, “down the hatch bud,” he grimaced as the tequila poured down his throat. The tension in the room was near unbearable as Connor and Cat seemed to glower at one another from across the room. However Percy was determined to ease things off, he knew that the easiest way to do so was probably to break the group up. Turning to Piper and Annabeth, he looked at Jason and grinned. “Ladies?” he asked as Boogie Wonderland began to play in the background, “may we have this dance?”

Cat knew that she was the least popular Roman in miles, and considering the high density population of this square that was truly something to say. The Karavadra family hadn’t done itself any favours by funding and leading the war effort. But Cat knew deep in her stomach that she had done the right thing. She’d been protecting her city, protecting her people. “Yes, I think we should move along Brock, are you coming Marcus?” she asked as she strode away and moved towards Aidan and Z. “I agree, lace was certainly a very bold choice, however I am not convinced that Aidan’s got it in him to be anything less than bold, it has always been a trait that he has possessed.” Despite the fact that he’d previously drunk too much on a mission, she had to admit that the guts which that took was impressive to say the least, she didn’t know many Legionnaires that would survive an ordeal or even risk it.

Piper, ever the eloquent one, grinned at Annabeth, giving her an appreciative glance as she did so. About to accept the offer, she was interrupted by Percy. “I wouldn’t worry about it usually,” she replied. “But I’m pretty sure I left a few important items in - in the bag.” A hiccup sounded, soon followed by another giggle. She was about to say more — perhaps launch into a great speech herself — when Percy beat her to it. Honestly, his way of speaking was much better — and more eloquent — than hers was, so she let it slide, lifting her glass in the air and saying, “Hear, hear!” in response to what he had said. Then, noting Connor at her side, the young demigod latched onto him, curling an arm over his shoulders as she said, “The more help the merrier! I really, really need that bag. Seriously.” She’d already forgotten what she’d put in there, beside a pack of gum, but she was sure it was important. And whoever Connor (and Jason) were trying to avoid, Piper would happily help them do so. However, the thought of her bag was soon forgotten upon Percy’s invitation to dance, and with yet another grin in Jason and Percy’s direction (and with a slight stumble), she said, “I’d love to. Annabeth, what do you say?”

On the surface, this was the time for Greeks and Romans to make up, but as the daughter of a strategy goddess, or even someone with a smidge of common sense, Annabeth knew that things would never be that easy. She nodded in acknowledgement, smiling slightly at the ones who recently arrived, feeling the need to set an example, but it would be a lie to say that she wasn’t wary, especially of Catherine. Grateful for Percy, she silently commended him in her mind, knowing that if they continued here any longer it wouldn’t end up well. “ Don’t yell if I step on anyone’s toes, though. The rest of you want to come? ” She grinned, moving in their direction and extending a hand to steady Piper. The responsible part in her, though, couldn’t help but question Piper again. “ Are you sure you don’t want to go look for your bag first? If there’s important things in it … ”

Frowning at the situation, Percy decided that before any dancing was to be done they would have to discover the whereabouts of the bag. “Has anyone asked some of the staff?” he turned around to the bartender behind the bar and turned to look at Piper. After a hurried conversation, Percy turned to the group. “The bartender says he hasn’t seen it but there is apparently an official lost and found across the way,” he turned and strode off, unsure of which way to go, but he led the way all the same, doing everything that he could to indirectly combat the tension growing between them all. “What colour is your purse?” he asked curiously as the music shifted from Earth Wind and Fire to something a bit more modern that he couldn’t place his finger on.

Connor grinned as Piper placed an arm around him but simply slipped away when she left for a dance. He wasn’t in the mood to dance right now, not after the atmosphere that Cat brought with her. He was about to suggest that he go look for the purse whilst they danced, but then Percy set off on a mission. With a skip and sprint, he caught up to Percy’s side. “I can check the square entrances? Perhaps someone picked it up and dropped it off there. I don’t think it was stolen, and if it was, I could find that out too.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to face the others. “Anyone want to join me?” He then turned and made his way to the entrance that he had come through.

Marcus picked up the drink the bartender had whipped up for him but before he could say anything else, the group seemed to split up and Cat somewhat summoned him to follow her. Sipping his drink he grinned and followed behind Cat, free hand in his pocket. He wasn’t exactly impressed with how Aidan acted during the raiding of the Greek party, but it was amusing. He wasn’t there but he had definitely heard about it. It had been brought up at one of the Centurion meetings so that the Centurion of the 5th could deal with it. “Can you handle your alcohol tonight Aidan?” He said with a teasing smile. He then turned to look over the crowd. Frankly, he was rather bored. “Brock, interested in doing some rounds? I wouldn’t mind reprimanding a few legionnaires that have gotten themselves drunk during the festivitie?”

All the Greeks seemed, suddenly, very concerned with Piper’s bag, and Abigail suspected -- no, she was certain -- that, while their concern was real, they were all the more grateful to get away with the least popular demigod in New Rome. It was a pity that Marcus was so heavily associated with her (at her beck and call, in Abby’s opinion), because, as her mother always said: she was always Hecate. That was why she’d been the least affected by the Roman-Greek split. In her opinion, Marcus and the other children of Trivia were almost as much of her siblings as their Greek counterparts... “See you ‘round, brother”, she said, stabbing another fry with her toothpick. Deciding to help out, Abigail stood. “I’ll come with you, Connor.”

Cat gently watched the majority of the Greeks depart from the large part of the bar that they’d been occupying. “Make sure that you don’t pick on too many of them, I’ve got a nice 10 mile run in full gear for any of our Legionnaires returning to the barracks intoxicated underage, and anyone late for duties will be joining them.” It was a tradition she and Jax had formerly run, and one she intended to continue running in her brother’s absence. She didn’t mind her soldiers enjoying themselves, but they had to always put their duty first. Arriving to duty hungover was unacceptable and it was not something she was willing to tolerate. “But do make sure that our soldier’s are minding their manners. I’d hate for anyone to get upset in such a tense time.”

Aidan’s face flushed and he shrugged. The situation had grown increasingly uncomfortable with Cat and Marcus’ presence, and it felt weird to receive what felt like a compliment from her. “Thank you Z, thank you Cat. And don’t worry, Marcus, I will be watching my intake. I’ve learned that lesson. The rather hard way.” He said remembering how hot and heavy that armor had been the full 10 miles. His muscles ached from the memory. “But maybe go easy on my fellow legionnaires? Gods know we could all use tonight as a break. All work and no play, you know.” He watched as the group split, most people going after his sister’s mysteriously lost purse. He wondered if she’d even brought it. “How’ve you been Z? I haven’t seen you in a hot minute.”

There was a lot to unpack at once. Z recalled, during the final declaration in front of the senate, that there was some sort of tension between Cat and Aidan, but the wording tonight from the centurion and also the man following her alluded to something more. The child of Hypnos would’ve given why a bit more thought, only the voices of a few familiar people caused his head to tilt away from those closest to him to garner a glance at the slight commotion. His ears could faintly pick up on them deciding to split up to look for Piper’s purse. He thought it was best to join them, since it would give him a chance to avoid whatever was about to happen before him with the Romans, but their talking drew him back in and his honey eyes snapped back to them quickly. “Never a dull moment for the Legion, I suppose,” he mused over the rim of his glass. Wagering a sip told him it was very much not water and he hated how smoothly the small bit of clear liquor went down without causing him to wince. “I’ve been as alright as I could be. It’s hard not falling victim to the ‘all work and no play’ sort of thing nowadays. I take it that it’s been fairly similar with people on your end as well?” His words were in the addressing of all the parties before him, not simply to Aidan. He didn’t want to be rude, no matter how much his skin crawled and itched at the thought of what sort of snap could possibly come from Cat or the, frankly, curt man with her.

Brock laughed and shrugged, picking his head up to look around at all that was going on. “Sure, though I think Aidan’s right, Marcus, go easy on them tonight. It’s not everyday that we get to go to a feast.” Roman life was hard and as understatements go, that was certainly one of them. But it made their parties, the times when they did relax all the better and everyone was more grateful for it. If he couldn’t relax tonight, on day when everyone was suppose to be thankful for things, maybe his superiors were right and he was too rigid. “Maybe have a drink first, Marcus.”

Wally watched the group of Greeks leave as he stayed at the bar, deciding to wait on Z. It was a few more minutes until he heard the sound of his boyfriends voice. Turning around, he saw him talking to the kid who Wally had looked after children with. He smiled, happy to see that Z was making friends. He looked back and realized his shot had been sitting there, waiting for him. He threw it back and grabbed his other drink, and went to join Z by putting an arm around his waist and saying hello to both him and Aidan. “Nice night for a party. How’re you boys?”

“Definitely.” Aidan replied. “Reconstruction efforts, civilian complaints…” He sighed, shaking his head and grinned. “And children watching. Wally here sure knows his way around the kids.” He greeted the man as he appeared. Aidan felt like gushing over how cute the pair were, but he held himself together for his current superiors. “I’m pretty good, and how are you? Did you get called back to the daycare since last time? I’m sure the kids wondered why you haven’t been back yet.”

Nico was never huge on social gatherings. The whole idea had his anxiety skyrocketing, but given the general atmosphere of New Rome following the full blown war he'd completely missed out on, he figured making an appearance would be a good thing, especially considering his history of attempting to maintain peace between the Romans and the Greeks. He arrived in an all black three piece suit, despite the fact that he absolutely hated dressing up, but a dress code was a dress code. The decor was breathtaking, and the reconstruction seemed to be heading in the right direction. Deciding against immediately seeking out human interaction, he made his way over to the bar and, after a millisecond long internal discussion about just how old he was (sometimes he forgot his exact age, given the fact that he was technically almost a century old), he ordered himself a Guinness and took a few small sips from the glass.

Percy had checked three bars across the square, doing his best to find Piper’s lost property. He had been enjoying the night well enough, and it only improved as he spotted the black three piece suit of Nico di Angelo. Drinking his typical pint of Guinness, Percy wondered if his friend drank Guinness for the aesthetic or whether he genuinely enjoyed the taste. Either way there was something striking about his appearance. “Nico!” Percy beamed, “I was wondering if you would show up.” Turning to the bartender he ordered himself another drink. The waiters that were moving around the room with Champagne seemed to have disappeared for the moment and Percy wanted to try reconnect with his friend, if he possibly could. “Isn’t the party going well?” he asked as the bartender passed him a pint of Blue Moon. Sadly the drink itself wasn’t actually blue, but the name at least made up for it a little bit.

Nico had no intention of moving from his spot at the bar just yet. Social interaction was draining, something he had to work himself towards. He’d blown through a quarter of his Guinness before he made out a familiar face moving through the crowd and towards him, a small smile forming on his lips. “Figured I'd at least make an appearance.” he responded, turning his body toward his friend. “I think so, yeah. Part of me forgets you guys were at each other's throats not too long ago, but then I spotted a couple Legionnaires giving me the stink eye.” he added with a light laugh. “I think things are going in the right direction for the most part, though.”

Percy had to admit that he was pleased to see his friend. Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket, he reassured himself by patting the pen which would transform into Riptide on the inside pocket of his jacket. Sipping at the hoppy larger he’d been given, Percy shrugged. “We were all manipulated into fighting one another, that’s something that’s going to take time to adjust to that,” sighing gently he took another long drink and sat silently. “The tension seems undeniable.” He sighed gently and shrugged. “But these things are the best worked out in social situations with a shit tonne of booze and food, right?”

Connor accepted the company and began checking the entrances. “No luck, this is really strange. I’m sure it’ll show up sometime though. He shrugged and dug his hands into his pockets, slowly heading over to a bar and ordering shots. “I suppose we should reward ourselves for the effort.” He states as 5 shots per person were poured. They were called sours and weren’t potent but 5 of them were surely to get the party going. He took all 5 swiftly and tilted his head back to enjoy the head rush. Spinning, he turned to locate everyone. He noted Percy’s location, watched as Marcus seemed to leave the party and finally his eyes fell on Cat. He stared as anger boiled. He couldn’t believe how stubborn and selfish someone could be. Not offering help to refugees simply because she’s helped the Romans already and was busy rebuilding. Perhaps it was the alcohol crowding his judgement but he spat on the floor and pulled a subtle middle finger at the Roman before turning and ordering his favorite drink. “I hate her.” He said to whomever was still with him after the shots and the purse hunt.

Cat hadn’t seen Connor’s less than subtle attempt at swearing at her. Mainly because as she had been crossing the square, she had noticed a small bag. Squatting down delicately, she scooped it up and returned to her less than lofty heights. Although the heels she wore allowed her to stand above her usual stature. Opening the purse, she flicked through it to find an ID. Piper Mclean. Interesting. Cat hadn’t exactly ever talked to Jason Grace’s former flame, and though she was sure that Piper was as insufferable as the rest of the heroes of the prophecy who had earned their fame through a few lucky quests, unlike her prestigious career through the Legion, leading and fighting for her people as it should be done. She was aware that a purse had been lost, and set out to return it to its owner. They had to at least pretend to play at peace right?

Connor turned and leaned his back against the bar, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes scanned the crowd again. It was a habit of his, searching the crowd for potential targets even if he had no plans of stealing anything. That’s when his eyes landed on Cat yet again. Seeing the purse that clearly did not match her outfit, he squinted and pieced things together. He launched himself off the bar and stormed off towards her. “I see you’ve found a purse, how convenient after Piper’s had just gone missing. I don’t suppose that’s hers is it?” He stood in her path, arms folded across his chest. “If you’re done doing who knows what with her belongings, I’ll return it to her thanks.” He held his hand out for her to hand the purse over.

Cat had no intention of speaking to impudent Greek that was angrily crossing the square across from her. However it soon became clear to her that Connor had every intention of speaking to her. Not even bothering to suppress the roll of her eyes she tutted at him. “Are you always this arrogant and rude?” she asked with a sneer quickly dancing across her face before she composed herself. “For your information, I only just picked this up, unlike you children of Hermes I have no intention or desire to steal. If I wanted this purse then I’d simply purchase it. However as this is hardly my sort of taste,” she looked somewhat disdainfully at the purse and frowned gently, “now if you’ll excuse me then I shall return this myself, I don’t need your interference, please step aside and next time remember who you’re speaking to. I’m not one of your cabin mates from Camp Half Blood. I’m a centurion of the twelfth Legion, I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“Actually, yeah I am.” Connor spat. “Especially to people that have given me a clear reason for me to be rude to them.” He spoke with confidence and met her gaze. “It’s not the purse you wanted, it was the information. Like you said, you’re a Centurion of the twelfth Legion, it’s your job to collect information on people who could be a threat, maybe you’re just collecting knowledge of the Greeks so that next time you declare war against us, you’ll have a better fighting chance.” He laughed dryly. “Yeah, so you get your henchmen to do everything else for you, but this you’d like to do yourself? To paint yourself as a hero when you stole it in the first place? That’s the thing with Hermes kids like myself, we don’t just steal things, we know other criminals moves as well.”

Laughing quietly and mirthlessly at Connor, Cat actually had to place a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from really shrieking with laughter. “Ah, you’re truly a fool, I am more committed to the peace process than any of us, if you don’t remember it was my orders that had the senators taken into custody.” She would’ve liked to say that she hadn’t collected information on what she considered to the main strengths and weaknesses of all of the most powerful demigods who could be seen as a threat to her or to the Cult. “However, just because you’ve developed a vendetta against me and my people, like so many of your people is not of interest to me. I have nothing to benefit from painting myself as the hero over something so petty. You’re drunk and making a fool of yourself. Now I’ll ask you one more time step away from me and allow me to continue on my path. This is none of your concern. Go back to your drinks.”

“Connor.” Abigail said, resting her hand over his chest to stop him from possibly advancing over Cat. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm, commanding respect. In another life, she would’ve made a good commander. “Stop. It’s not worth it to pick a fight. Actually, it’s downright a bad idea. Peace is fragile right now. Don’t. Blow it.”

Past experiences had trained Annabeth to sense trouble brewing pretty quickly, though she was too far away to stop the confrontation between Connor and Catherine. She’d never been much of a peacekeeper herself, one much more likely to fall victim to her own pride, but even then her analytical mind knew that de-escalation would be the correct path here. Noting that there was already someone attempting to hold Connor back, she caught his eye for a moment, hand slightly tapping his back as she passed, hoping that he would take the hint to back down. Instead, she turned her attention to Cat, smile on her face. “ Thanks for finding it, but Piper’s a little tipsy at the moment, and would probably end up losing it again if you gave it to her now. We’ll take care of it for now, but I’ll let her know that you found it. ”

Raising an eyebrow at the situation, Cat dipped her head gently and nodded. Handing the purse gently and carefully over to Annabeth before taking a step away. She had no intention to further the conflict with Connor, she wasn’t nearly childish enough to do so, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true but she had airs to keep up. Her professionalism was meant to be the core of her personality. “Hopefully she doesn’t lose it again,” she turned and strode away, moving towards Marcus with a slight smirk. That had been somewhat satisfying.

The Legionnaires had a lot on their plates, but this was certainly not a concept localized for just them. Z couldn’t quantify the amount of work the Greeks were also busy with. His own workload was enough to make him dizzy sometimes. “That does seem like quite a bit—Oh!” he gasped out softly as an arm snaked around his form. He looked over, and then subsequently upward, to see his boyfriend’s face, and his heart skipped a beat. Thank the gods it wasn’t someone random. “Aidan was the one you were working with at the daycare? What a coincidence. We met while I was keeping some children company in a game of hide and seek.” The universe worked in mysterious ways, it seemed. It was basically fate that they meet, just as it seemed to be fate that some sort of loud conversation broke out at an event for peace. As short as he was, he couldn’t quite see over the heads of other partygoers, but he did catch the faintest of sights of Connor and what sounded to be Cat’s voice as well over the cacophony of others. A frown graced his face as he fiddled with the glass between his hands.

Aidan sighed, thinking about how cute Wally and Z were, wishing he too would someday find something like they had. Or at least had thought to bring a date to dance with. It felt like a middle school dance, as tensions kept most the groups to the bar and food areas. Chatting quietly. At least it was passive until he heard the commotion, and felt a vague sense of dejavú watching Connor drunkenly yell at Cat. He just felt glad it wasn’t himself, not having even finished the glass in hand. Aidan downed it and trying to keep a smile on his face as he began to feel suffocated from the ensuing silence cleared his throat. “Brock- would you uh, would you care to dance?” He asked, trying to change the subject. “I love the-the cha cha slide, everyone… knows it…” He trailed off, hoping someone would jump to his aid. Surely he wasn’t the only uncomfortable one.

The Dominus has watched eagerly as the party had progressed. Tension burning bright after all the chaos they’d caused for them lingered in the back of their minds. Placing their empty palm on a sphere of crystal they stepped forward and cleared their throat before exerting their will on the magical artefact in their possession. Across the city, in the unity feast a shimmering apparition appeared before darkening into a silhouette made of pure shadow. With a voice like nails being dragged across slate, the Dominus began their first address. “Demigods. I hope you have enjoyed tonight’s festivities as it may be one of your last.” They pause for dramatic effect, drinking in the silence that had fallen on the crowd. “I appear before you tonight with some information for all if you. An omen, a warning. By now, you are aware that there is a cult that has burrowed and wormed its way into the city’s roots and corrupted almost every aspect of this society. The members of this cult are among us as I speak, yet in the shadows, they hide. The cult is one of the most powerful forces in New Rome, and it obeys my bidding now. I have poisoned this city, and used the cult to do so. Watch in despair as your hopes rot away, leaving nothing behind, you are witnesses of the end of New Rome. Your city will soon collapse in terror and despair. You may be asking yourself who I am, well that’s easy. I, am simply known, as the Dominus. A name that will be on your tongues as you die in the rubble of this fallen city. Enjoy tonight, as soon the time of reckoning will be upon you.” The Dominus stepped away from his artefact and the vision cut off, a moment later the unity feast exploded into a chaotic roar of questions and shouts, confusion and concern enveloping the whole group.

#f&gevent #unity feast

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weaselbeaselpants · 6 years

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Why I Hate Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd

Hate is a strong word but, yes, I really don’t like the 2007 Sweeney Todd. I didn’t like it when it came out (and I was already a big Burton fan girl AND my family is made up of theater people. Don’t you dare try to Burton-splain or Theater-splain me). The musical fan in me dislikes it for overshadowing the story which I think is much better on stage, while the Burton fan in me hates it for being the “best thing Burton’s made since the 90s” according to some. More on that later.

Let me dissect the two things that irk me most about this adaptation:

1) Johnny Depp’s Sweeney Todd

Let’s get something straight about stage shows: every actor is gonna play a role a little differently. Every (good) actor brings a new dimension to a character or portrays them in a way that brings something new to the audience, be it people who’ve seen the show hundreds of times or those watching the musical for the first time. This is even more complicated when you have a movie adaptation of the play. The movie is likely gonna be seen more than the stage musical, so you have to get used to that version being the only one people know and thus being an interpretation of character people will like the best. You CAN’T expect Johnny Depp to play Sweeney like Len Cariou or George Hearn. Johnny is not only NOT those actors, his portrayal of the character follows a very different characterization and mannerisms than them.

Personally - I like my Sweeney being this angry person ready to burst with rage at the drop of the hat, someone who seethes hate everywhere he goes but doesn’t seem to turn heads, yet he still has a sense of humor about a situation, possibly as a way to adjust to his new philosophy. That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be sad or solemn though. He’s clearly in pain on the inside, and like a real psychopath is trying his best to feel something again while trying not to return to the pain of loosing his wife and child. I also like Sweeney trying - possibly failing - to put on this air or everything being okay like he’s still just a humble barber and not a nihilistic serial killer. Basically, I like my Sweeney being highly emotional. I like my baritone-bass, Cariou/Hearn type Sweeneys.

Depp and/or Burton is going for a “lost all emotion and joy, never smiles, empty shell, cold and clearly brooding”-type Sweeney. Whatevs. The problem isn’t that you CAN’T play Sweeney that way. Sweeney’s only requirement as a character is that he be a psychotic, revenge-driven, deeply heartbroken man that’s so bent on revenge he ends up destroying the very thing he set out to avenge. You can play up his emotions or lack there of as much as you want.

My problem is that I don’t think Depp plays that well.

I don’t know whether it was his choice, Burton’s choice, or both to have Sweeney sneer more than a 1st grader at a teacher who told him he has to spend recess doing homework- but seriously THAT’S ALL I SEE. Depp looks like he’s trying too hard to look angry and super serious. He’s so edgy looking and his dryness doesn’t come off as engaging to me. His emotionless performance feels lazy. It doesn’t help that he can’t sing either. Like, seriously, Johnny Depp can’t sing. Helena Bonham Carter can sing better than him. I suppose Sweeney Todd isn’t the kind of musical where characters are supposed to sound ‘pretty’, but they could at least sound like they’re hitting a note.

Speaking of Helena-Bonham-Lovett, while I don’t like her performance, I think it’s way more solid than Depp’s. That’s because - again - while this Lovett is very different from the much preferred Landsbury-type, it’s still a version of Mrs. Lovett and gets the most of what her character should be down: desperate, sick and twisted, in-Love with Sweeney and dubious in nature, leaving your to wonder how much worse she is compared to him. Landsbury Lovett is a nasty hag pretending to be a warm grandma; Carter’s Lovett is a worn-out prostitute; whichever way you go you have a desperate, delusional monster cook. It’s not my Mrs. Lovett, but it is a Mrs. Lovett.

Depp’s Todd is sooooooooooo broody you guyz that he doesn’t even feel like Sweeney anymore. He just feels like a generic heartless killer DONUT STEELE GUYS! The character is lost beneath the over-under-acted performance and star power.

2) Tim Burton’s super emo-phase directing

Prepare for the Burton-hipster in me to come out.

I hated Tim Burton’s visual storytelling and mood as a director in the 2000s. For starters, everything has a super dark, shadowy (ugly) filter. It ruined Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, it ruined Alice and Wonderland and it ruined this to some extant. IT’S A TIM BURTON FILM. We don’t need a grey, hazy, deluded color scheme to show that it’s gothic. Actually I think Burton benefited a lot in his earlier movies by having lots of scenes shot in sunny environments with good color schemes to better compliment when things got melancholic, gross, weird, or messed up. Beetlejuice and Edward Scissorhands are the shining examples of this trope. Not every scene looks super deep or grim, so they stand out from the rest of the scenes in the film and establish tone.

Of course, if there’s one story that could benefit from a washed out, dry color scheme I think it IS this film, and I do like the contrast for how bright the blood is. I just wish the lighting wasn’t so overbearing in EVERY scene, no matter what the intended mood. Also it looks kinda bluish. Like it’s an Evanescence music video, probably not helped by the overabundance of CGi. Also, Victorian London is muggy and gross. Burton’s film makes even London at it’s dirtiest feel kinda polished through his lighting and set design. Les Mis did a better job at showing you the grungy side of it’s environment.

More important than visuals is the way in which Burton directed his actors and wrote characters at this time. No matter what the film he was making at the time, every character and every actor looks like they just got punched in the gut and act super dry. The only film that benefited from this ‘charisma’ was Corpse Bride: the story is bleak, melancholic, and at times cynical, it’s characters should emanate that for the sake of the story.

Much like Depp’s Sweeney, everyone whose not Helena Bonham Carter looks emo, angry, emotionless or sad, which by the way doesn’t help Sweeney stand out. Everyone looks like or feels like they’re serial killers. This is a cast of mostly deplorable characters but very few true-blue killers like Sweeney and Lovett. And if they’re supposed to be characters pushed to becoming Sweeney 2.0, like Joanna or Toby, the movie doesn’t do a good job at portraying that. Anthony gets it the worst since he’s the starry-eyed idealist who is too good for this or any world, but instead comes off as a creepo with weird hair. His plans for Joanna are supposed to be alarming, but you’re never supposed to feel like he’d do something bad to her. Movie!Anthony is so much of a crazed stalker that you really don’t want to spend ANYTIME with him or Joanna.

I find this adaptation overrated.

In the world of theater, you have to put up with the fact that not everyone can afford to see Broadway shows or take leap of faith and jump at a college or community theater production hoping it’s somewhat decent. Some people are gonna stick to the movie versions and that’s fine (Grease and Chicago are way better movies than they are stage-shows, in my opinion). So if someone prefers the Depp film to the show there’s not much you can do. That’s their opinion and that’s what they were introduced to first.

But then you get these movie critics and film buffs who say things like “this is the best Tim Burton film since (insert pre-1995 Burton film here)” and “it’s so well written, why doesn’t he make stuff like this anymore?”...I kinda wanna scream.

TIM BURTON DIDN’T WRITE SWEENEY TODD. The story is good cause he’s adapting an already existing story to the screen. Frankly, I think his flavor of gothic hinders the story. And the whole “this is the only good new Burton movie”-thing is also really annoying. Big Eyes is great. Heck, if you’re big on Tim Burton’s tropes being used to better affect, Frankenweenie is a better example than this film.

The thing about Tim Burton is, I think he’s better at working with small-scale stories, conflicts and themes than he is at tackling “deep” stuff, which Sweeney Todd is. Burton’s movies are simple in their complexity. That’s why when he tries to write war-based movies or “chosen one” stories like Alice in Wonderland or Planet of the Apes, it falls on it’s face. A Burton movie is more entertaining when he’s obviously just having fun with the stuff he likes and isn’t trying to present himself or his film as some auteur-masterpiece. In fact, if there’s any gothic musical more fit in Tim Burton’s hands than Sweeney Todd, I would say it’s Phantom of the Opera. That musical is ALL melodrama. It feels more at home with Burton than the moral- character driven bloodbath horror of Sweeney Todd. But hey, I guess that’s indicative of people thinking ‘well it’s goffik, so it’s perfect for so-and-so regardless of what their style is and what story we’re trying to tell’.

Rant done. Been waiting to get that off my chest since forever.

#Tim Burton #sweeney todd #stuff that gets me mad #review

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daisiesanddanganronpaimagines · 7 years

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Three Treasures

Title: Three Treasures

Word Count: 2650

Fandom: Danganronpa, Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony.

Pairing: Kaede/Saihara

Rating: T to a low M.

Major character death and spoilers for chapter 1! You have been warned!

Summary: Shuichi has a dream about Kaede. Kaede leaves him a present that he hadn’t thought to find. Written for Saede Week ( @saiedeweek), Day 1: Death.

A/N: so this was written for saede week

and we get a week of fanfics for these two nerds!!

yay!!

this scene had been floating around in my head for a while and i finished it yesterday

wooo

i'm not very confident in this fanfic honestly but, i like it and the idea.

it gives the boy some closure.

Anyway, maybe leave a like if you enjoyed? And please please, please reblog! Even a comment on the post or in the tags with a reblog would be amazing! <3

Thank you for reading!!

(pssst: reblogging and tagging it helps me a whole lot!!)

Ao3 Link

Fanfiction.net Link

The golden sunlight touched the grass and filtered through the trees, bathing the forest path in front of them in a soft golden hue. He looked around at the trees, and then his eyes flickered down to the hand grasping his, fingers interlaced.

His eyes flickered back up to the person, next to him, only to meet the familiar dark lavender irises he’d become accustomed to seeing over time. Even with being accustomed, his breath hitched.

Kaede grinned at him, pulling him forward. She had on a white dress that seemed to be patterned with some song. It fell to her knees, and slightly puffed out at the waist, where a black belt separated the top half and the bottom half.

The blonde must have noticed him staring, because she dropped his hand and stepped out in front of him and twirled.

He watched as the dress caught the air and puffed out around her, making her laugh freely. She looked her age - not how he’d last remembered seeing her.

He was glad. This was what she deserved.

“C’mon, Shuichi! We’re almost to the end of the forest!” She cheered, holding out her hand to him.

Shuichi smiled softly, reaching out to take her hand in his once again.

But this time - he’d never get to take it.

A collar came from somewhere, cuffing her neck. Her eyes went wide as the clothes and scenery flickered.

Her dress - to a skirt and vest.

A beautiful forest - to a deadly killing game.

Again and again it flickered as Kaede was drug up and up, to a place that he couldn’t reach no matter how hard he tried.

Memories are trickling back now.

Kaede on the giant piano.

She’d been skipped from key to key, drug back and forth while suffocated by the rope she was dangling from.

Just enough to kill her mercilessly.

Just enough to allow her glimpses of eye contact with him, sadness, and longing, and need there, haunting him like ghosts. Although, he probably looked the same, beside the tears.

The light caught in her hair as Kaede hung there, her face clouded in shadows. A sick feeling welled up within him.

And as he watched in those final few moments, the light caught something else, too. Her face seemed to turn up to the light, and it caught her wet lashes, the gleam of tears on her cheek - and that ever present, ever peaceful smile.

He remembered what she had said to him.

“You are my wish.”

Yes, he remembered it now.

Just before the collar had taken her, she'd stepped forward, kissed both of his cheeks, and wiped the remaining tears on his face away with her thumb and hands. He’d leaned into her touch ever so slightly at that moment, watching her smile up at him with warmth, even though she knew this was the end for her.

And then - the collar came. Desperately, he reached out for her, and she reached back, fingertips brushing his before she was ripped away from him. But he had seen it.

That smile.

That trust.

That blush.

That hope.

“Shuichi! Take care of them! Survive, even if that’s the only thing you can do!”

And then, the piano came down.

Her blood had gone everywhere, mixed in with pieces of the robotic bear.

The tears seemed to be swallowing him now - taking him over like a tsunami washing away items on a beach.

His eyes slid shut - and he began to shake. His knees almost buckled.

Shuichi tried with everything he had to breathe, but it felt like his throat had swollen shut.

He couldn’t breathe.

Oh god, he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t-

A searing pain welled up in his cheek, and he fell to the ground. A salty taste invaded his mouth.

Finally, he took a deep breath in.

He was grounded now.

He looked up at Kaito, listening closely. His eyebrows furrowed.

He was grounded, wasn’t he?

So why -

*Ding-dong!*

“Huh?”

*Ding-dong!*

“What the…?”

He stood, only to find everyone suddenly frozen. The Kaede from earlier was back, but she had an ugly scarring from the rope around her neck.

She smiled at him sadly. “I’m sorry things didn’t go the way I wanted...but...I have control for a couple more minutes before I have to really let you go.”

“Let me go…? What?”

Kaede shushed him, laying her hands on his shoulders and then wrapping him tightly in a hug. She was shaking. “I’m sorry,” She cried, “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you alone like this.”

He hugged her back. She felt...real. Warm. And yet...somehow ethereal.

The blue haired boy rested his head on hers.

“Behind the chalkboard in my lab….there are three items. Just for you. Don’t let anyone else see, okay?”

Shuichi’s shaking now, too. “Are...you real? Or...is my mind trying to cope?”

Kaede smiled softly. “Well, that’s for you to decide, now isn’t it?”

Shuichi laughed. “Yeah, I think you’re real enough.”

Kaede grew quiet suddenly. “Hey, I know this seems random - but did you ever want to...be with me?”

Shuichi nodded.

In response, Kaede let out a sigh in relief, slumping against him. “Oh, good. You know, when we were here, I had a dream that we had a kid together.”

The grey eyed male went red in the cheeks. “Mhm…”

*ding-dong!*

“And….it was a little blonde girl.”

*ding-dong!*

“What did we name her?”

*ding-dong!*

“Maya.”

*ding-dong!*

Kaede stepped back from him suddenly, and looked up.

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

*ding-dong!*

Kaede stepped closer and pressed their foreheads together.

“Listen, we don’t have much time. But, I want you to know that I love you. And I always loved you. Even though we were together two, three days? Doesn’t matter. I love you. And I want you to be happy. Live. Live for me, okay? Just...get out of here.”

“Kaede-? What-?”

She steps back, just out of reach.

“Goodbye, Shuichi.”

He reaches out to her, but the chain has come again, and drags her upward. Shuichi gets one last glance before she’s gone. A white, floor length silk gown replaced her other dress, and she seemed to have wings and a halo.

He looks around again - but only sees white.

Shuichi supposes that was when he woke up.

The next day - when he has time, he stops into her lab. He knows that someone probably sees him when he’s doing this - but decides that they’re most likely brushing it off as him coping.

The door slides shut with a soft ‘click’ behind him, and he sighs, taking a deep breath. He steeled his nerves. Was….that really Kaede?

Some desperate hope inside of him wanted it to be her - craved that connection. The majority, though, reasoned that it was his mind coming up with desperate images to get that connection he craved.

His steps as he approached the chalkboard were slow, methodical and even, even though his arms were beginning to shake violently.

Shaking still, he peeked behind the chalkboard, his heart thumping as violently as his hands were shaking still.

At first, he saw nothing. It was so elaborately hidden - he thought - that he began to wonder just how much time Kaede had spent in this room. But, when he adjusted himself to see if he was missing something, he noted a glint of silver. Reeling back, his mind began to go wild. Was there actually something there? If so, did that mean that Kaede had really contacted him in his dreams? But why him? And that declaration of love….it was real?

She’d loved him?

And he’d never known?

Before his mind could fall further into the abyss of his thoughts, he reached up to the silver glint he’d seen and pulled.

A bag came away in his hand, the handle covered in silver wires. He reached back again after setting the bag on the ground, only to find a small portion of the wall that cut away - almost like a cubby hole.

He smiled to himself. He should have known that she’d do something like this - something that would be passed off as a trick of the mind.

It’s what she’d done for the murder, after all.

He paused after that thought, darker thoughts threatening to consume him. He shook them off however, and investigated the bag as he sat down on the floor. There were items inside, which he took out.

Three items, just as the dream Kaede had specified.

A CD case, a little pink pouch, and a large envelope.

The CD case was clear and simple enough, and if he looked, he could see two discs. The pouch was a drawstring pouch, and it was a light, pastel pink. He remembered seeing something like that in the warehouse, so he supposed that she could have gotten it from there. He opened it by pulling on the drawstrings, and found hundreds of Monocoins in there.

He sat it back in the bag carefully. The next item he investigated were the discs.

One read “Songs Saihara Would Like,” and the other read, “Playing.”

The first he could figure out pretty easily, as well - there was an extensive music collection in the warehouse. The second was a little harder.

Playing? That could refer to a number of things. Playing a video, children playing in a park, playing an instrument.

An electric charge lanced through him.

Playing an instrument….

Playing the piano.

He’d never mentioned that he’d wanted to see her play, but somehow she knew. He was itching to go down to the A/V room to watch them, but he decided that he had to look in the envelope, first. It was large and a bright shade of orange, and Kaede had wrote something on it. It also bulged slightly, like it was holding something.

“Unless you are Shuichi Saihara or my future self and have found this envelope - do not open it! - Kaede Akamatsu”

He smiled, and then turned it around and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper, Kaede’s monopad, and her room key.

He took out the paper first. It was a letter.

Dear Shuichi, xx-yy-zz

If you’re reading this, then I’ve died. I died trying to defeat the mastermind. Maybe you’ll never read this at all. Maybe I’ll be too much of a pansy to let you know where it is. Hehe, maybe I’ll come back after death if that happens.

If there’s one thing that I have to say to you - it’s that I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what will happen at this ‘class trial,’ if we have one, but I’m willing to bet that you’ll figure me out. And then you won’t say anything because of all the time we’ve spent together, so I’ll make you convict me.

And I know that we’ll both probably be emotional messes the entire time, and everyone will say that I didn’t do it - because really, who would expect me to be the culprit? God...I’m just so terrible. At the time I’m writing this - Monokuma has told us about the time limit on the killing.

We came up with a plan to trap the mastermind, and I’ve come up with my plan to try and kill them. And then, I slipped away from you and went to write this. Honestly, this is stupid, and I’m sure everything will turn out for the best...but something just doesn’t feel right. I mean, the mastermind brings us here and keeps us trapped - even going as far as to build that huge dome - and we’ll be able to end it all?

Just like that?

I do trust you, and your plan - but I don’t trust myself to do this right. So, that’s that.

There’s also something else that’s been going on lately. I...I’ve been getting these flashbacks of a girl who’s just like me - but isn’t me. She says stuff I would never say, and yet, some little part of me resonates with her. I feel like...at a time, she was me - but she somehow isn’t me now. Do you know what I mean? I feel like...she was putting up a front with all the things she said, but I was at her core. And then I was exposed somehow, and now she’s a part of me, but I’m who she really is.

It’s weird, I know - but maybe it’ll help you in some way.

Anyway, this is getting pretty long, so I’ll wrap it up. When we were together, it was awesome. I felt like I could do anything with me - and while I don’t know if you felt the same, I feel like...you would agree. I think what I’m feeling now that I’m thinking about you is something like love, but not quite love just yet. Maybe when we get out of here, it will be more. I hope so.

In the envelope with the letter will be my Monopad and the key to my room. I don’t really know what use you’d have for this stuff, but I thought you’d like it. Plus, there’s no one else I’d really trust with my Monopad and stuff with other than you. The discs and Monocoins are my way of atoning, too. For making you convict me...and all of that.

Shuichi, stay safe and survive, okay? Even if I don’t - I want you to survive for me. Keep your head up, and lead everyone. I know you can do it!

Goodbye, Shuichi.

I love you.

With love,

Kaede Akamatsu

Tears were falling freely from his eyes as he read the letter over and over again, hand covering his mouth as he tried in desperation not to cry.

He did.

The letter fluttered to the floor.

Oh, Kaede.

The tears that were flowing down his face were ones of a heartbroken and mourning boy - one who’d like anything more than to have her back.

But - that wasn’t happening, anytime, now was it Shuichi?

No, no it wasn’t.

After a few minutes, he pulled himself together. Quietly, he slid everything back into their respective places within the bag, pulled himself up off of the floor, and walked out of the room with the bag hung off of his shoulder. In retrospect, he’s glad that no one saw him, and especially Miu, who would probably ask him if he was carrying around that bag to carry around his “lady products” in. He would have snapped at her.

That didn’t happen, however, and he got down to the A/V room with no hassle. Quickly, he locked himself in and sat the bag on the couch, and then took the discs out. First, he inserted the one of Kaede playing. Then, he started everything and sat himself on the couch, staring at the screen.

At first, there was black, and then there was a small beep, and a view of Kaede and her piano. She smiled at the camera and said; “I assume you’re watching this after the letter, so I can’t say much except that I’m sorry. But, even still, I hope you enjoy!”

With that, she placed her fingers to the keys and began to play. The soothing melody of “Clair de Lune,” by Debussy flowed throughout the room.

He supposed she meant it to be calming, but it overwhelmed him with a tidal wave of emotion, and he began to cry.

He wasn’t sure when the first song ended and the other started. He wasn’t sure when the sound of the piano left his ears altogether.

He wasn’t sure when he passed out from crying.

He woke several hours later, extremely tired even after sleeping, the bag clutched against him tightly.

If anyone had found him - they didn’t mention it.

Neither did he.

#danganronpa v3 #drv3 #drv3 spoilers #saimatsu #kaede x saihara #saihara x kaede #saede #kaede akamatsu #akamatsu kaede #shuichi saihara #saihara shuichi #angst #these two #they'll be the death of me #saiede #saiaka #saiedeweek2017 #@saiedeweek #my fanfiction

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thetourguidebarbie · 7 years

Note

Would something smth fluffy with Rebekah x Caroline? :) for your new drabble collection? I don’t really have an idea what fluffy but if you wants specific request I can find one :) just some romantic fluff. Can be AH, doesn’t have to. And maybe getting a but into smut (some making put) but nothing too mayor. Would be so great❤️ thank you!

I’m pretty sure that it has been two years since I got this prompt. I’m sorry it took this long. Sorority Sisters AU. NSFW. Honestly I just wanted someone to throw a drink in Damon’s face.

She and Rebekah had never really been friends.

Like, sure they were sorority sisters, and yes they’d compared notes on the occasional shoe sale and ended up watching America’s Next Top Model reruns silently side-by-side when the school’s questionable wi-fi went out and there was nothing else on television, but not friends.

In fact, Caroline would have probably said that Rebekah tolerated her at best, and strongly disliked her at worst.

She still didn’t know why, either. They’d met in the sorority house’s living room during rush week when Caroline had struck up a conversation with her, and at the time Caroline had thought they’d hit it off pretty well. The invitation she got to Rebekah’s sorority was further proof, and she’d gone in hoping that she might have a tentative friendship with someone.

She’d also tried to fight down the silly crush on the other girl that had wormed its way into her brain.

Unfortunately, she’d had her hopes unceremoniously stomped on the second she moved in. Rebekah barely acknowledged her presence, and when she did it wasn’t for anything meaningful. It had hurt, but Caroline wasn’t one to let other people walk all over her, and the first time she’d snapped back at Rebekah for being a total grade-A bitch two months into the semester, the room had gone silent.

“Well, that’s your opinion, sweets,” Rebekah said with a sarcastic smile before redirecting them back to the conversation.

After that it had become a push and pull of snark, sass, and backhanded compliments, and it had almost been fun. Rebekah occasionally seemed like she was enjoying the banter as well before remembering that she was supposed to be a stone-cold bitch for some unfathomable reason.

So yeah. They’d never been friends.

Not that it stopped Caroline from having the occasional Rebekah-related fantasy when she caught a moment alone for some Me Time, the vision of Rebekah running her tongue up Caroline’s inner thigh, blue eyes sparkling and her full lips pulled in a wicked smile...

And it wasn’t just physical either. Rebekah was funny and blunt and absurdly loyal to people she loved, and to have someone as loyal to her as she would be to them was undeniably appealing. They had interests in common and hated a lot of the same things, and it could be good.

However, Caroline had long ago resigned herself to Rebekah both hating her and probably being straight, and she’d gone out of her way to put the crush out of her mind. She’d had a whirlwind romance with Katherine Pierce from Gothic Lit and then some excellent friends-with-benefits shenanigans with Enzo St. John to get over her.

He’d actually happened to be Rebekah’s ex, and Caroline still wasn’t quite sure whether that had made it hotter or if she was just being petty—maybe both?

Either way, Rebekah had been in a terrible, vindictive mood for weeks once she found out, and Caroline had to hand it to her...that girl could hold a grudge.

And then Enzo had graduated and summer had flown by, and now they were back for fall for the few precious warm weeks when Rebekah wore tiny denim shorts that hugged her ass and slightly small tank tops that showed slips of creamy skin below the hem when she stretched.

They’d planned the sorority’s annual back to school bash together and it had been kind of torture and kind of awesome and Caroline hadn’t realized how much she’d missed sniping at Rebekah for totally valid reasons like light placement or music choice.

And now she was leaning against the bar, taking a break from dancing, enjoying a cheap cocktail and flirting with Matt, the bartender they hired for their parties.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She recognized the voice immediately and wrinkled her nose, turning to see That Guy from her Intro to Psych class the year before who had asked a lot of off-topic questions about “the psychology of why nice guys never get the girl” (the professor had looked like she wanted to strangle him).

“I’m not interested,” she said firmly, and the guy (David? Daniel?) leaned against the bar beside her.

“Aww, why not?”

Seriously?

“Because I don’t want to?”

He gave her what was clearly supposed to be a charming smile. “How about I buy one for you and you can decide whether you want to drink it once we talk for a little bit?”

“Counter-offer: How about we don’t do that.”

“Aww, blondie. You seem like some fun might help you get the stick out of your pretty ass. And I can help with that.”

Caroline hadn’t yet processed what had happened when some unidentifiable liquid flew over her shoulder into Mr. Tall, Dark and Douchebag’s face.

“What the fuck?” he spluttered, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Did you just throw your drink in my face?”

“Yes, actually. Though you haven’t left, so...” Rebekah’s voice trailed off before snatching Caroline’s drink from the bar and throwing it as well.

“I was drinking that,” Caroline protested, not quite sure what else to say as she turned to face Rebekah.

“Crazy bitch,” the guy hissed, standing up, and Rebekah shrugged, peering over the crowd and waving a large, muscled guy over, who took one look at the scene before grabbing the guy’s arm and dragging him off. Caroline vaguely wondered when this had become a scene from a bad television drama when Rebekah cleared her throat.

“Sorry about your drink.”

“Um...No worries?” Caroline half-asked, frowning.

Rebekah let out a sharp breath, her hands twisting as though she was nervous. “I’ll just buy you another, shall I?”

“Sure. Um, thanks.”

Rebekah gave her a weak smile and turned to Matt, sliding over a drink ticket. “One of whatever she was drinking please.”

“Why did you do that?” Caroline asked impulsively, the alcohol not exactly helping her brain-to-mouth filter.

“I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. Women protecting women and all that.”

“Right,” Caroline said slowly, trying not to look too suspicious. Rebekah wasn’t nice. She didn’t do things for altruistic reasons, and Caroline wondered what she could possibly want.

“And Damon’s a prick. I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”

“Damon! Right, that’s his name.”

“Yes.”

They stood in what felt like a weirdly loaded silence for a few seconds, and Rebekah seemed to be considering something, her teeth sinking into her plump lower lip in a way that made Caroline wonder, not for the first time. what she tasted like.

“Are you okay?” Caroline asked hesitantly, and Rebekah swallowed audibly before glancing at her, and Caroline could have sworn Rebekah’s gaze dropped to her lips for just a split second before...

Caroline made a soft squeak of surprise that was muffled by Rebekah’s mouth pressing against hers, and it only took her slightly tipsy brain a few seconds to process what was going on before her hands were tangling in Rebekah’s hair, the other girl’s body pressed flush against her own. Rebekah hummed as her hands settled on Caroline’s waist before her tongue swiped across Caroline’s lips, and she eagerly let them part, letting Rebekah lead.

She tasted like breath mints with traces of tequila, and a strand of her hair fell against Caroline’s cheek, her nipples stiffening as Rebekah pulled her closer, trailing her fingertips up and down her spine while her other hand drifted down to hover just above her ass. It was the invitation that Caroline needed to know that Rebekah really wanted her, and she didn’t particularly care that they were leaning against the bar in plain sight of everyone at the party. She slipped a thigh between Rebekah’s legs, the hem of her short dress tickling her skin, and Rebekah ground against her with a soft whimper, her french manicured nails digging into Caroline’s back. Her thoughts were hazy with lust and excitement and it was only when Rebekah pulled back for ragged gulps of air and a soft murmur of her name when their foreheads pressed together that a little bit of confusion wormed its way in.

She pushed Rebekah away when she heard a pointed cough and turned to see Matt looking vaguely amused.

“Sorry,” Caroline squeaked, and Rebekah scoffed, flipping her hair in a familiar gesture that reeked of the grating snobbery and an enticing kind of confidence that had always made her so tempting.

“I’m not,” she said, her voice haughty, and she tangled her fingers with Caroline’s, whose brain was thankfully beginning to catch up with the situation.

“Are you drunk?” Caroline asked as Rebekah practically dragged her to the stairs.

“A little,” Rebekah said. “But I planned on doing it tonight and I’m not going to regret this in the morning, if that’s your worry.”

“Throwing a drink in Damon’s face?”

“No. That was spontaneous. I’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with you for weeks. Well months, really.”

“Deal with me?” Caroline asked, the conversation having apparently taken a rather abrupt turn from where she’d thought it had been going. What the hell was this?

“Yes, because you’ve been being so infuriating.”

“Seriously? I’m infuriating? Have you looked in one of your gross fancy mirrors lately?”

“Yes, and you’re infuriating because you’re clever and beautiful and you wear ugly cardigans unironically and make me feel things and I don’t like it.”

“No offense, but if you’re trying to confess positive feelings for me you are failing.”

“I know. Why do you think I’ve put it off for a year? You’re so stupidly obvious about your crush on me that it borders on endearing, and you have no idea how annoyed with myself I am for wanting you.”

“Um...”

“You won’t shut up about how you logged over two thousand community service hours in high school and how you help people on purpose, and you’re adorably self-righteous and irritatingly optimistic and I just...” she let out a sharp breath, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dress, and it was the first time Caroline could recall seeing the other girl so uncomfortable. “I like the way you argue with me and your ‘strong feelings’”—she made air quotes—“About terrible reality television and how you identify with that girl from that old, cheesy vampire show—”

“Cordelia.”

“Right.”

“Who is awesome.”

“Right, you do things like that where you interrupt and always have to be right and you have opinions about everything—”

“Oh, and you don’t?”

“And then you started seeing Katherine Pierce, and honestly Caroline her perfume is ghastly and she eats packaged instant noodles. I don’t understand how you survived—”

“Well, not all of us can order Amazon Fresh from the comfort of our sorority houses—”

“Yes, but still. And then of course you had to start fucking Lorenzo because he decided that breaking up with me because I casually fancied you also meant he could seduce you away from me—”

“Rebekah you’re being a little dramatic. And like, kind of possessive?”

“I don’t share.”

“We’re not even dating.”

“Fine. Do you want to get dinner, then?”

Caroline blinked. “What?”

“Dinner. A date. With me. So we’re dating,” Rebekah said slowly as though she were explaining something simple to a child, and Caroline found herself questioning her own, generally impeccable taste.

“Why do I like you?”

Rebekah snorted. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Most people find me a bit rude.”

“A bit?”

“But I am pleased you do like me, as I’m quite fond of you.”

“I gathered that.”

Rebekah nodded. “Right. So, dinner?”

“Like, now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Caroline agreed. “I could go for IHOP.”

“What is IHOP?” Rebekah asked slowly, and Caroline grinned.

“International house of pancakes. It’s cheap and you’ll hate it, but it’s great drunk food, and you get to practice comprising.”

“Sounds delightful,” Rebekah said dryly, but she reached to tentatively link her fingers with Caroline’s, who couldn’t help but grin.

#rebekoline #rebekoline drabble #rebekoline drabbles #rebekoline fanfiction #mydrabbles #my fanfiction #anon #ask #answer

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grandpayaoi · 7 years

Text

i’ve been writing this for a month now but it fits for the day 7 prompt: future au where no one dies but nothing’s really the same, either it’s been great, guys. (standalone fic here on ao3)

Gentle light - filtered into a room white, but not sterile, thick blackout curtains pushed aside from the scene of the street below - frames the figure in gentle silhouette. On the streets, the late May sun rises above the rooftops, pure and clean and bright, unopposed in a midmorning sky, direct from the open window. It shines on hardwood floors, muted, as if what was once carefully lacquered wood grew too old, too used; it casts long shadows on the open doorframe. The room is quiet, the sounds of city below muffled to uncaring ears, and it is empty, devoid of all influence of a life which used to reside there, vacant save for the figure in the high-backed chair, lit in perfect profile.

"I thought I would find you here," says the figure in the doorway, soft and explanatory and devoid of much feeling. The silhouette is silent, unmoving. The words die in the air as if they were never spoken. "There isn't much to looking for you."

There's a hum, quiet acknowledgement. The shadow turns away, into the light; some disgusting thought about the irony of it all creeps intrusive into his mind before he can stop it, something about the husk of a twisted caricature of a former self, finding something so bright, something poetic and ugly that can be thrown consciousness when the words really pierce through the haze of painful sobriety. Looking, they echo. For you. There is something that still stings about the words. There is something that still hurts.

"I needed to think," comes the reply, deep and automatic, words spoken without thought to answer those without emotion. There is an understanding that comes with them, that he does not need to say more. The spring has been as long as it has been painful, flowers fighting to survive the frost. Here, it is quiet, and there is sun.

It is a gentle, unspoken. The man in the doorway does not move, allows the space between them to stand stagnant and wanting. The breeze is cool, sweeps dust from the dark wood floors and into the air where it catches the light like dull stars before they settle and fall into their places. The room still holds the memories of all it used to be, woven into every space between the floorboards, every speck of dirt along the walls. Even the shadow, pale like the ghost of a grueling midwinter, resonates with it - reverberates, but out of tune, a sweetening note in nostalgic cacophony. Perhaps in the space between them, there were hours. Perhaps, mere moments.

Emptiness amplifies everything: the vastness of the blank spaces; the gentle wheezing of breath filtered through unfamiliar lungs; the silence of a tension built over what seems a lifetime in few short years; the rustle of a high collar where once there was none; the rhythm of shined chestnut shoes on aging walnut floors that sound with such a lightness of step. Side-by-side, they do not touch nor look nor speak. The man from the doorway rests his palms and back on the sill while the shadow in the high-backed chair can only sit, wood frame creaking against the weight of his shoulders.

It is when the pain flares, an old enemy tight in the chest and poison in the mind, heavy and black like tar in the pit of the stomach; a murky cloud, sliding with all the cold realization of metal through flesh, words hissing familiar and cruel as memory: Pity is not care. There can be no love from those who look at petty, broken things and want nothing more than to fix. You're not a person, you're a project. Look at you. Fucking disgusting — But the words fall silent with the cool pressure of the hand on his shoulder, and even still his heart is screaming. Still there is only silence between them.

"Tell me what's on your mind." Yet he has to stop, freezing, the words still too harsh and authoritative, edging order rather than request. He lifts his hand, placing it on the sill once more. Added, more softly, more familiar; "I can leave if you'd like me to, Leone."

"Stay." The word is already spoken before he has a chance to reconsider. It is met with only a hum, quiet, gentle, and the way he's chastising himself internally for being too quick, too forceful, too needy and wanting. An idiot who craves isolation but takes the company like a starving man takes a meal. The silence is thick and heavy and suffocating.

"I'm sorry," he says, finally, still hyper-focused on the buildings adjacent, doing anything not to be there, in that moment. He's somewhere else, somewhere far away where the guilt piles and constricts and makes a twisted mess of a man, somewhere dark and painful. The words don't come from a place of thought. His heart is ripping at his chest and begging to be laid on the operating table. His stomach is turning and churning and threatening to exit the body all together.

In a moment of stunning, burning clarity, in the room that used to be a base, a headquarters, a home before its inhabitants outgrew it, the sea of desperation and self-torture parts and lets the sun shine on the darkest, ugliest parts, the parts of him translucent from sheltering, soot-stained and jaundiced. There is no distraction from them. He's looking at the street below. He does not see it.

The words hang heavy in the air, unexplained, unchallenged. Dense meaning packed into syllables that cannot contain them, vague and nebulous. For a second, there is a hope: maybe it needs no explanation. An apology for an entire life, plain, simple. Unsatisfying. A plaster over a gaping wound not yet scarred over. The skin is still too tender, too new. The silence scratches at the scabs, pokes at the fresh blood as if to say go on, go on, and for the briefest of moments, there is only hatred. How dare you be so patient. How dare you be so selfless.

Somewhere, something breaks.

For the briefest of moments, he is not a monster, or a mistake, or a tool to be used and disposed of. For the briefest of moments, Leone Abbacchio feels like a human being.

What he feels is the hand that slides to meet his on the windowsill, and for a moment, his world is in that hand: with its tiny scars and slim fingers and earthy complexion, with its clipped nails and calloused palms. He memorizes the feeling, every tendon he can see and every crosshatch across the knuckles and every single line in the palm, just in case it never happens again. When the breeze stirs, the hand shields him from the chill and the symbolism is tearing at his chest.

“I couldn’t finish anything, could I?” It is small, and it is quiet. The blankness of the empty room is now a closeness, as stuffy and intimate as a confessional and holds all the weight of one. He tries to speak, opens his mouth to, but the words catch in his throat and threaten to choke him. The guilt is a burden that ties the noose around his neck, tightens the knot and urges him to jump. The hand is everything that holds him from doing so.

He expects a lecture, some carefully practiced, prepared motivational speech, words that will tumble into open air like a paradox, meaning everything, meaning nothing. It does not come. There is only silence, here; silence and the gentle breeze, silence and warmth of the sun. The man from the doorway is not here to speak of what was, of what if or what could have been, only what is now.

There are no words when there is touch, and when there are words, touch seems meaningless, far-away and disingenuous. Perhaps it is the downfall: the intimacy. Perhaps all of it a terrible, terrible mistake. The rule of touch is meant to be broken.

“Bucc— Bruno.” There is so subservience among equals. The habit has yet to die. “I can’t be everything you need me to.”

There is too much in too few words, words filled to the brim of their syllables and threatening to spill, the weight of a two months filling the empty spaces between them. Two months since the disaster. Two months since the miracle. Two months since the world stopped having a place in it for old ways and old things and old frames of mind, since the world around them crashed and burned in the pyre they started. Two months, and the shadow in the high-backed chair lives still in the ashes, in the nightfall, for the shadow has no place in the dawn.

He says, far more quietly, “But I’m trying.”

Eyes find each other, then, somehow. The morning light catches in them both and lights them like glass; a pair blue as the sea, and the other as the sky, and the light pressure from where hands meet is the horizon between them. At length, they stare, both bare-faced and unmoving as statues of bronze and ice. There is another conversation, silent and emotional, and words are far too meaningless to hold the weight of the heart. Meaningless and forgettable.

There is movement, then, and the world shifts to the spaces between, the place where lips meet forehead and gentle breaths ruffle unpinned stray hairs, where tears roll hot and unbidden below. The world is changed, now, too alien, too different from what once it was, but here, in a house abandoned, was home.

“Come back,” the man from the doorway whispers against skin, now less like an order and more like a plea.

“There’s no place for me there now.”

Comes the answer in breaking hearts: “You told me once I was your home.”

The shadow in the high-backed chair pulls the light closer, still seated, until his head rests mere layers of fabric above where there are the scars, grips the back of pristine jacket in balled fists, and shudders. Quietly, against the linen, the words are shaking. “You are.”

“So come home.” The room is empty now, late in the evening, magenta light streaming in from closed windows. In the dust on the floor, two sets of tracks leave in perfect step, aside the larger, the occasional indent of a cane. At the doorway, they stop, face each other, and continue down the hall.

#bruabbaweek2k17

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