#The Veiled House fatal frame
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Part 10 of Fatal Frame Maiden of Black Water. The Veiled House was a fun haunted house experience for me to say the least xD
#cozy rei#fatal frame#fatal frame maiden of black water#maiden of black water#fatal frame 5#youtube#paranormal games#horror games#survival horror#ghosts#The Veiled House#The Veiled House fatal frame#mobw#Youtube
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All good things must pass...
This is a treat fic for @samayla for the 2023 @whiteoliphaunt.
Pairing: Thorin x Bilbo
Words: 1 335
Warnings: None
Prompts: Snowed in, gift giving, sharing traditions
“Maybe, we could…” Thorin II, generally called “Oakenshield”, scratched his beard pensively as he looked out on the endless blanket of snow that made it patently impossible to discern the single path leading down from the hidden cave.
“Dear,” Bilbo sighed, his nose twitching in dismay. He opened his mouth to remind his friend and lover of the fact that, despite being an esteemed king and a fierce warrior, Thorin had a pesky tendency to lose his way even at the best of times.
Indeed, the brave Hobbit was far from eager to tumble off a rocky ledge or fall down a ravine that was treacherously obscured by the snow in a ludicrous but eminently tragic accident.
Nevertheless, Thorin seemed so tense and unhappy already that his heart misgave him, and he swallowed his confession of doubt and fear in favour of a more selfless argument.
“I do not doubt that you, your dwarven instincts, and your sturdy boots could find a way down, but I beg you to remember that I am at a distinct disadvantage,” he commented in a soft, pleading voice, motioning at his furry, bare toes.
Of course, this was at least partially disingenuous; Bilbo’s feet were inured to both icy sludge and searing heat, but he could not feel all too guilty for fibbing when he saw Thorin’s eyes light up with relief and tenderness.
“It was such a nice idea to come here,” the Hobbit went on, willing his jaw to relax and suppressing the full-body shivers threatening to ruin his nonchalant delivery of those much-needed, reassuring words of love and support. “I do not mind staying a little longer. Surely, there are more things you can show me in your favourite grotto?”
The smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now was as sunny and genuine as it would have been had they comfortably stood in front of the Great Hall’s roaring fires.
Growing up, Bilbo—as was the wont of his kind—had himself favoured certain flowers, fruits, and trees, and he had never doubted the legitimacy of those instinctive preferences.
Thus, it made perfect sense to him that Thorin—who had only recently returned to his ancestral home—would have treasured places he had not seen for many decades.
It filled Bilbo’s heart with tingling warmth to know that his beloved did not only yearn to spend his future with so unlikely a consort, but that he was also recovered enough from the ordeal of the quest and his almost fatal bout of Dragonsickness to grant Bilbo a glimpse into a long-lost past.
“Did you come here often?” he prompted, threading his stiff fingers into the warm fur of Thorin’s collar and tugging gently to distract the King from his morose musings.
“Not as often as I would have liked,” Thorin admitted. “I was the heir, and my duties lay elsewhere.”
“Shame, it’s so pretty.”
Despite the howling wind and the blistering cold, the small cavern, nestled into the flank of a forlorn part of the Lonely Mountain’s foothills, held a singular, enchanting charm. Even in the chiaroscuro caused by the thick veil of heavily falling snow that was blocking out the daylight, age-old crystals glimmered faintly from the vaulted roof, and Bilbo couldn’t help being reminded of the intricate chandelier he had once seen in the Thain’s house as a fauntling.
“What would you do when you came here then?” His teeth were clacking miserably by now, but he was unwilling to let the conversation die.
With a jolt, Thorin seemed to abruptly snap out of his self-recriminatory reverie and firmly slung his arms around the smaller frame of the one he had chosen to be his partner in all things.
“I am so sorry,” he mumbled under his breath. “I have failed you again! Come here, let me warm you up!”
Opening his heavy coat, he wrapped Bilbo into a cocoon of warmth before settling his bearded chin atop the mop of messy, honey-golden curls with another deep, tremulous sigh.
“I am still waiting for an answer. Did you do frivolous, unprincely things?” Bilbo teased, feeling perfectly at ease now that he was sheltered from the biting cold by the fragrant, comforting bubble Thorin had created for him.
He knew not what expectations the overly serious King entertained within that stubborn, laughably haughty mind of his, but Bilbo himself could not imagine a better place to be during a snowstorm than in Thorin’s arms.
Having lived a solitary life before embarking on his Great Adventure, he was not fazed by the idea of being cut off and isolated—he even sometimes preferred being left alone, and, after the bustling activity of Erebor’s reconstruction and repair, he was profoundly grateful to get a moment of intimacy to simply talk to his husband.
“I…I could show you,” Thorin finally replied haltingly. “Sit over there.”
Shrugging out of his coat, the dwarven king draped it around his cherished consort’s shoulders and padded cautiously to the mouth of the cave.
“It is silly,” he admitted when he returned to where Bilbo sat, huddled against the far wall, and set down a heap of powdery, pristine snow.
Again, the Hobbit pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying something imprudent that would upset or discourage Thorin.
The gleam of pure hope and fond reminiscence in those bright blue eyes was so rare and precious a sight that it didn’t even truly matter if the puerile pastime Thorin was about to share turned out to be truly anodyne or vapid indeed.
Wordless, Bilbo watched as Thorin busied himself around the cave, collecting pieces of fallen crystal and small, iridescent stones to build a miniature of the throne room such as it had been before Smaug had laid waste to his beloved kingdom.
“It’s so beautiful,” Bilbo breathed, as ever fascinated and humbled by the craftiness and skill of the many-layered miracle that was Thorin.
Once upon a time, he had met a disgruntled, distrustful king in exile, and it never failed to awe him when he unearthed pieces of the young dwarf Thorin had necessarily been before everything had been taken from him and his family.
“Funny that you’d escape your princely duties only to recreate the very room you’ve fled,” he added in a light voice.
“Wait…” Thorin cautioned him. “May I ask for one of your cherished handkerchiefs as a sacrifice?”
Without hesitation, Bilbo handed over the worn cloth square, too curious to discover what the other had in mind.
“It’s a poor gift,” Thorin whispered as he extricated a piece of flint from his pocket and set the fabric alight, “because it doesn’t last, but…”
“Hush,” Bilbo interrupted, mesmerised by the dancing shadows and the kaleidoscope of colours the small flame cast upon the domed walls of their little sanctuary. “This is absolutely stunning. I understand why you loved coming here!”
Blushing furiously, Thorin looked up at him from where he knelt on the floor.
“Thank you,” Bilbo croaked, tears of emotion and depthless adoration turning his voice raspier than usual. “We Hobbits love ephemeral beauty; after all, even the most gorgeous flowers die and the most glorious of summers must end.”
Sliding to the floor beside Thorin to hug him to his clenching chest, Bilbo allowed his starry eyes to overflow, trusting that even his tears would be well-guarded and safe in Thorin’s mighty hands.
“You’ve graciously gifted me a fleeting flash of colour and heat to counterbalance the deadly white of this storm,” he breathed into a reddened ear, framed elegantly by silver beads and dark hair, “and you’ve granted me a glimpse of your precious soul’s eternity.”
“The storm has finally abated,” Thorin mumbled sheepishly. “Should we dare the descent?”
“Not yet,” Bilbo replied softly, spreading out the coat he’d been cowering under on the floor. “Let’s stay a while yet and watch the lights dance as if we were alone in the world. We are safe, Thorin. Let’s savour that! Together!”
I hope you'll enjoy this <3
Lots of love from me!
#og post#Fanfiction#writing#IDNMT writes#jrrt#Tolkien fanfiction#WO2023#WhiteOliphaunt 2023#Bagginshield#Thilbo#Thorin#Bilbo#Thorin x Bilbo#Snowed in#Gift giving#sharing traditions
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ㅤㅤ𖤐ㅤㅤ ⩇⩇:⩇⩇ㅤㅤ─ㅤㅤ ☠︎︎
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤdon't be shy to message me anytime. :)
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𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐌𝐞. ❀
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHi, im Violet, and I'm a Ghost. Boo.
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Hi, Im Violet, and I'm 18+, Please ask for my age in DM. Thank you ! I'm a She/Her, but I'm comfortable with any pronouns. I'm also a founder of the band called 'The Nomads' and lead singer. I am an INFP-T, My house is Slytherin, My Cabin is Cabin 5 Ares, and my Zodiac Sign is a Gemini. I am also a Semi-Literate Roleplayer, and I'm dead. lol.
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The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 2
The Case of the Dismal Dinner
Summary
Welcome back to our flashback/Tisch fight already in progress where we learn what Daisy and Sly’s shared look was about while Rekha and Grant go for the proverbial jugular emotionally. It’s 12 years ago and Sylvester is tracking down a stolen diadem, the very same diadem that he sees Daisy swipe off the thief who has it (a jackal named Roscoe McCoy in case that matters). Sly swipes it back from her and, when she notices, she sniffs it down to his train car where he is sitting in the dark, waiting for her. He doesn’t turn the lights on, opting instead to dramatically strike a match to light his pipe, illuminating himself sitting in a big chair, holding the stolen item.
Daisy tries to bluff like she’s Virginia Chase, the owner of the diadem, but Sly knows that’s not true because he was hired by the real Virginia to track it down. Daisy is usually a better liar than this but she is insta-smitten by this figurative and literal fox and it’s throwing her off her game. But before they can continue their little tete-a-tete, they hear a gunshot ring out from Daisy’s room and know Roscoe and his guys are coming after her. Sly stuffs Daisy in a trunk before the boys show up and they actually seem a little impressed to meet him, him being a famous detective and all, but a Nat 1 deception means they hear Daisy being huffy in the chest and a fight/escape scene that Brennan takes over narration for ensues.
After that, Sly and Daisy become close really quickly and partners in both senses of the word. Daisy tells him she’s an American PI and they work together on cases, travel the world, and become engaged within the year. But, the day before the wedding, when Sly is alone, he discovers all the documentation proving that Daisy lied about who she is, is actually a criminal, and has been using their partnership to sell information to other criminals.
She shows up and tries to pretend like she’s being set up but he replies, “You being duped is the only lie you’ve told I can’t believe.” He says that being with her changed him. He didn’t think he had it in him to actually love another person. He forgives her. He still wants to get married. Daisy is thrown by this reaction. She tells him she’s not gonna change for him and he might as well leave her. She’s being all unapologetic femme fatale about it but he gets the sense that under her bravado she’s low key pleading with him to give up on her. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. He still shows up the next day in his wedding tux. Daisy is nowhere to be seen. When he goes home, there’s a deerstalker cap on his porch and a note that just reads “-D”.
And we snap back to the present where Daisy is trying to figure out if she can take advantage of Lucretia’s fascination with the occult and all the rich vulnerable people present to make some money. Meanwhile, Sly has been totally rocked by seeing Daisy and is drowning his sorrows at the bar with Ollie, the otter bartender. Squire Badger (which is what I’ll be calling William) shows up and, in not so many words, threatens Sly for having not solved the case and making a fool of him. He says, “You’re not gonna rub my nose in this.” Move your nose then bitch, says Sly on a dirty 20 intimidation check. He’s sad about girl problems, not you! Squire Badger is scared off, but he looks like he knows something that Sly doesn’t. That someone is coming for him.
Buckster (and Ian too btw) clocked the above conversation and sidles up to Sly at the bar. See, not only does Buckster know about Sly and Daisy’s history, he knew it was happening *while* it was happening. Sly used up all his cool swagger on the Squire so by the time Buckster shows up he’s a whole mess over Daisy. Buckster starts implying that maybe they can help each other out since they both dislike the Squire and with Sly’s Nat 20 Insight, they can totally clock each other’s double meanings perfectly. It’s a very cool game thing where Sly and Buckster are having an innocuous conversation about the weather or whatever but Grant and Sam are just saying what they mean. It’s like they’re having a telepathic conversation. Sly agrees that the enemy of his enemy is his friend and he’ll go along with Buck’s plans as long as he can keep his hands clean, even if he doesn’t really care for Buck himself.
At the same time Gangie is in the kitchens getting fed (see the notes for a full list of kitchen staffers and other NPCs) and after the staff leaves, Gangie is told by Ambrose Harding (the Squire’s turtle valet) that there’s is business for him to attend to after dinner.
Buckster talks to Lawrence Longfoot--the rabbit photographer from last ep who we learn runs a trash newspaper. He and Buck bond over being trash and he gets a pic of Sly and Buck together.
Vicar Ian goes to talk to the Squire and basically tries to (openly) suss out whether the money was a bribe or a setup or what? Like, people are fully there (including the Lady Fawnbrook and her gossipy cat wife Tabitha). They snipe at each other a bit and then the Squire reveals that he’s talked him up to the Cardinal and the Cardinal agreed that he’s such a good vicar, he should be moved to Siberia. The decision has already been made and Ian doesn’t have the pull in the church to do anything about it. Yikes.
Before dinner, the rat butler catches Buck and asks if he has time to talk to Squire Badger. Buck agrees to go with him and he’s taken to the billiards room where the Squire is along with Harding and James Hawkins, Squire’s Hawk war buddy (a literal war hawk). Buck immediately puts his foot in his mouth by messing up the Squire’s title with his American ignorance of British peerage rules which annoys him, the elitism of it all. The Squire’s friends leave and then Buck starts talking about PR and how this whole situation has been bad PR for the Squire and it would be a shame if his PR got even worse. The suggestion of blackmail sends the Squire into a full honey badger don’t care style rage and he knocks TF out of Buck, flips the pool table, and then catches himself and scurries off. Daisy, Sly, and Gangie all hear this conversation from their positions in the house via the pipes running through the manor. Buck picks himself up and, on a 25, realizes that two of the mouse maids were hiding behind a curtain, hearing the whole thing (specifically, Edwina Thimble and Carolyn Dickory--oh like hickory dickory doc, BRENNAN) . They were playing hooky so he flips them a coin each and they all agree that no one saw or heard anything. “Two blind mice, see how they run,” he quips as they leave (sidenote, what a morbid nursery rhyme to exist in that world--to be fair, it’s pretty morbid as is).
Lucretia decides to turn the séance into a post dinner séance but still brings Daisy and Lars to see her occult room which is full of crap from, as Rekha said, “1800s Party City”. Lucretia does a hilariously vague read on Daisy and says that there’s something happening with her involving a man she knew or maybe still knows but she’s in her feelings about Sly so it kinda shakes her up. She tries to get Lucretia to charge for her “””incredible gift””” (so she can skim off the top of course) but Lucretia thinks it would be a misuse of her ~talents~. She does give Daisy an incredibly broad as to be useless even if magic exists blessing before she leaves.
Once she does, Daisy scopes out the room (which she realizes must have been retrofitted for Lucretia and wasn’t previously a séance room) and sees that the one thing in the room that doesn’t really match the aesthetic is a giant portrait of one of the previous squire badgers. On a 24 she notices two things: (1) the painting has recently been restored with new paint and (2) the frame is bolted to the wall. She wants to check it out but Lars is right there so she makes a note to check it out later and leaves.
Lars, being a very ride or die friend for Sly, bounds after her and basically calls her trash and tries to tempt her with garbage so she’ll lose composure and start chowing down. She drools at the sight but keeps it together and leaves. Lars runs off to tell Sly that they were a good good dog and gives him a full play by play.
Gangie meanwhile is watching a small argument between the butler and Harding in the servant’s quarters hallway and he realizes that he’s being talked about in veiled language. The butler is questioning Gangie’s employment and Harding says that, as servants, they shouldn’t question their master and that Gangie is employed for reasons that Squire Badger is aware of and reasons he is not. Hmm. Gangie realizes that Harding knows about his past which is weird because Gangie’s criminal record doesn’t follow him. There’s no internet. So what reason would this guy have to know about him?
Gangie doesn’t like this and decides to dip and steal some silverware on the way out. Mrs. Molesley (who I’ll be calling Mrs. M from now on) helps him (lol I’m not entirely sure if she didn’t know what he was doing or if she’s just down with stealing) and says that she’s been working there since Squire Badger was in diapers (she was his nanny) and if anyone bullies Gangie, she’ll take care of them. She also offers to make him a sweater so he doesn’t get cold and she’s just so nice that Gangie has to say yes. He looks to make sure no one is around and gives her a dandelion he picked. Cute!!!
And now it’s time for dinner and our very first box of doom roll for the most terrifying encounter of all: how close you have to sit next to your bitter ex! This is of course for Sly and Daisy with higher than a 15 meaning they don’t have to sit next to each other and anything lower meaning they have to sit pretty close. It is the first BOD roll I’ve ever wanted them to fail (mmm, except maybe Adaine’s werewolf roll but that’s a different conversation).
It’s in the 6-10 bracket which means they’re sitting across from each other (below that would have been them next to each other). Everyone is seated based on how on Squire Badger’s shitlist they are. So you have Ian at the absolute back. Sly to his right and Daisy on his left. The Buckster and Lars to the right and left after that. Then Armond (armadillo lawyer guy) and a snail guy because Brennan is a madman who cannot be stopped. Constance (Squire’s daughter) makes a toast to her dad wishing him well even though they haven’t always seen eye to eye (hmmm).
Buckster fills in Daisy on his confrontation with the Squire quietly enough that no one else hears. Daisy then turns to Sly and says she hopes they can be civil. Sly is like, “Sure Ms. DUMPSTER.” They’re the kind of exes who know exactly how to hurt each other but are also super open to being hurt. Emotional glass cannons is how Brennan describes it.
Buckster is given a note by Harding from Squire Badger and, once dinner is over, he takes Daisy off to the side to read it. Gangie follows, unseen. Ian, who recently prayed to God and got not super clear results goes to talk to Luecretia to see if maybe ghosts can help him instead. She is, as usual, not super helpful but does rush out to get her very necessary ritual dagger and declares to everyone that if anyone sees a ghost they have to tell her. As she says this, there is a flash of lightning and, through the window, Sylvester sees just for a moment the form of his nemesis, Fletcher Cottonbotton (who is by the docks).
Anyway, Buckster reads the note. It’s a document from the Squire selling his interest in BB Industries (Buck’s oil company) to Hazel Hogswallop who is another small shareholder in BB Industries. But, in doing so, it names Josiah Jackrabbit (one of his competitors) her proxy which means he’ll be able to vote on things (and with a lot of power with all that stock). The contract was written in fresh ink which means (1) it was probably written after their fight and (2) hasn’t been mailed yet (I smell a heist attempt). Buck rolls insight on the writing (mastermind rogue ability) and with a 27 senses that the Squire has gone off his rocker. This isn’t going to make him any money. Josiah doesn’t have enough liquid cash to pay him what this is worth. And the thing with Hazel would have taken time to set up. This has been in the works for a while and he’s been sitting on it until the time was right. And he senses, like Sly and Gangie did earlier, that someone besides the Squire is pulling the strings.
Then Gangie suddenly hears Constance’s distressed voice through the pipes from upstairs: “Father you’re possessed! You’re a mad man! This will never work. Speak of this to me never again.” And she slams the door (Buck, Daisy, and Gangie all hear). Constance comes downstairs and Squire Badger follows, looking upset. Mrs. M checks in on him too see if he’s eaten and he kind of gruffly has her follow him (along with Mr. Harding) into the drawing room.
There is a scream. Something drops. Silence. Footsteps. A door opens. Then a voice, “My God!”
Everyone rolls initiative. Ian moves first and, upon hearing all the commotion, gathers everyone together to go towards the sound (interesting choice but sure). Daisy recognizes that the scream heard was Mrs. M but barely knows who she is. She goes towards the commotion anyway. Gangie also goes towards the scream. Buckster grabs his gun (well he says “weapon”, but it’s gotta be a gun, right?) and makes like he’s following her but actually hides. Lars and Sylvester go towards the scream.
With everyone gathered, Ambrose opens the door. Inside they see Mrs. M, her hands covered in blood (my guess? From trying to stop the bleeding), kneeling on the ground over the dead body of the Squire. The room is a mess and stuff is scattered everywhere. There is a bloody knife in the Squire’s hand and a stab wound over his heart. Ms. M, who is distressed as hell, says there was something wrong with him. There was a flash, and she looked down and he was stabbing himself. Everyone thinks this is suspicious as hell. She was the only one in the room. Everyone looks to Sly, the famous detective who is not in the presence of a murder case in progress. What does Sly say? “Lady Lucretia. I’ve seen a ghost.”
Case Notes
I have to acknowledge how ON FIRE Grant was this episode. Like everyone was. Buck was great with the Squire. Daisy and Lars sniping at each other was fun. But man Grant had so many good lines. The “move your nose”. The heartbreak with Daisy (ugh, so sad!) And that blackout line!!! I am biased towards foxes as you can see from my avatar so I am very here for this great fox rep.
Based on the way their staredown went last ep I kinda thought Daisy was the wronged party but ugh. Slyyyyyyy. He forgave herrrrrrr. And he still went to the alter. Daisy how you could youuuuuuu?
Also, sigh, Fox and the Hound. I keep getting hit with these after the fact.
I loved Rekha’s “Of the Chase Sapphire’s?” improv.
That racoon/mink line was so sleazy. Weird compliment but Brennan is good at being animal-racist. Sidenote, Daisy makes a comment about being careful being a fox in England which I presume is a ref to fox hunting and like the implication of that are como se dice troubling.
Here are all the new NPCs for this ep and here’s a full NPC guide that also includes the list of names Gangie gave Buck which Buck shares with Daisy this ep.
And on that topic I can’t get over the concept of a married couple named Millie Molton and Mollie Milton. Like, did they get married solely for the bit???
The best Ian-ism of the ep was him talking about getting rejected from Siberia. Poor guy.
Fave OOC moment was everyone at the table getting aggressively patriotic in response to the Squire being dismissive to Buck. There is nothing funnier than someone singing a purposefully overwrought version of I’m Proud to Be An American.
“It’s 2020 for us bitch!”
The moment Mrs. M said she was gonna make Gangie a sweater I was scared for her. Sweaters take a long time to get made. I was like oh no. The plot is gonna stop you from making that sweater isn’t it. I’m willing to be proven wrong (Brennan loves his maids with secrets, see: Cathilda) but she seems super sweet and if anything happens to her I’m going to be upset.
What’s behind the painting Brennan. I know there’s a door. I know this house is full of secret tunnels and revolving bookshelves and all that. Let me see it!
One great little moment was when there was a flash of lightning and the minis for Sly and Lars like stop motion moved to look at it. Just great attention to detail. The work that gets put into this show is incredible.
Edit: A note I forgot to mention. There’s gotta be a secret door in the room where it happened, right? Like, creep in, flash of light to mess up her vision, do some shenanigans, peace out.
#dimension 20#dimension 20 spoilers#mice and murder#mice and murder spoilers#the case file#(just under the wire! I had a busy week guys.)
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Hope Springs Eternal Part 1
I shivered
palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.
It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.
Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.
Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.
A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.
But that just added a certain spring to my step.
Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.
Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.
But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.
A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.
Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.
I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.
My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.
“Your mind should be a diary.
Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.
Time, dates, everything.
It always comes in useful.”
She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.
Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.
Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.
I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.
As of yet
a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.
Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.
Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.
I called it my domain.
Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.
The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.
Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.
As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.
Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.
Optimism and cheer were her other passions.
As well as paying attention.
“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.
“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.
“Where there is joy there’s hope.
Time and hope are intertwined.”
Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.
Typical Virginia logic.
I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.
This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it’s rivulet of veins.
The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.
But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn’t help but notice something else.
The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.
Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.
My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .
This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.
Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.
Or did I hear it go off?
My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.
The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.
“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.
It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.
“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.
Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.
I’ve always had a thing about posture.
The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.
The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.
Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.
The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,
purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.
Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.
Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.
Albeit with telltale winter stains.
But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.
Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.
A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.
The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.
Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.
Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.
The bane of every bulging blood vessel.
An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.
Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.
Irrespective I continued unabashed.
The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.
A motivator of noble human impulse.
My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.
A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.
Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!
But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.
Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.
The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.
She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.
Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.
Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.
“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.
They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.
They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.
The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.
“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.
Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.
They can assume a life of their own.”
Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.
Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.
Although such humor couldn’t always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.
Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.
It’s beginning to fill up.
The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.
The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.
Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.
Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.
An unyielding rooted presence.
They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.
These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.
Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.
All these details forensically noted.
A sudden wakening ensued.
“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”
My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.
“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”
Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.
They alighted from their bicycles
“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?
You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.
Winfred her boyfriend agreed.
“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.
Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.
Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.
His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.
After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.
As well as the young at heart.
–
Sunday Submission: @mantrabay
Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.
Part two will be submitted next week with your kind permission.
#mantrabay#submission sunday#submission#writers on tumblr#short story#written word#fiction#photographers on tumblr#photography#original photography#other#Hope Springs Eternal Part 1
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Hope Springs Eternal Part 1.
I shivered
palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.
It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.
Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.
Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.
A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.
But that just added a certain spring to my step.
Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.
Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.
But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.
A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.
Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.
I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.
My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.
“Your mind should be a diary.
Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.
Time, dates, everything.
It always comes in useful.”
She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.
Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.
Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.
I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.
As of yet
a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.
Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.
Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.
I called it my domain.
Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.
The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.
Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.
As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.
Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.
Optimism and cheer were her other passions.
As well as paying attention.
“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.
“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.
“Where there is joy there’s hope.
Time and hope are intertwined.”
Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.
Typical Virginia logic.
I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.
This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it's rivulet of veins.
The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.
But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn't help but notice something else.
The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.
Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.
My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .
This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.
Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.
Or did I hear it go off?
My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.
The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.
“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.
It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.
“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.
Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.
I've always had a thing about posture.
The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.
The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.
Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.
The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,
purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.
Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.
Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.
Albeit with telltale winter stains.
But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.
Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.
A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.
The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.
Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.
Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.
The bane of every bulging blood vessel.
An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.
Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.
Irrespective I continued unabashed.
The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.
A motivator of noble human impulse.
My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.
A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.
Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!
But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.
Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.
The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.
She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.
Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.
Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.
“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.
They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.
They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.
The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.
“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.
Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.
They can assume a life of their own.”
Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.
Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.
Although such humor couldn't always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.
Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.
It’s beginning to fill up.
The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.
The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.
Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.
Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.
An unyielding rooted presence.
They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.
These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.
Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.
All these details forensically noted.
A sudden wakening ensued.
“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”
My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.
“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”
Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.
They alighted from their bicycles
“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?
You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.
Winfred her boyfriend agreed.
“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.
Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.
Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.
His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.
After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.
As well as the young at heart.
Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.
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@redemptioninterlude [[five times touched]]
send a 🖐️ emoji ( or just ‘ 5 ′ ) for five times our muses touched .
in sanctuary
the smell of books etched into his hair, his clothes, the same way dark ink stained his finger tips from accidental brushing against still damp parchment, a few ruined pages tossed aside only to be redone. they were spared the harsh glares from madame pince as they’d become a quiet fixture, sweet and unobtrusive and as expected as the desks and chairs; near finals any and everyone new just to pop into the library if you needed remus or marlene, unless of course they found sanctuary in the ravenclaw common room when the gryffindors were in need of more attention than the pair was willing to give. their favorite table boasted a small etching, a few initials just to immortalize the many hours spent huddled around it.
the harsh ege of the bookshelf dug into remus’ back, barely managing to keep him awake. it reminded him that his bones were bones, hard but brittle, human or not. the night prior the moon had been full, and though he was holed up in his bed all day, the exhaustion was still settled deep into his bones. luckily, marlene didn’t complain when he moved himself to the floor sat next to a pile of books he still needed to annotate. the quiet swish of her clothes brought a small smile to his lips, knowing she’d just sat down next to him in camaraderie.
his head began to dip, sight blurring. he had already made himself as small as possible - curling lanky limbs into himself. his sweater - two sizes too large, a relic from a weekend at the potter’s that left the shirt he’d been wearing in ashes - blanketed him in softness and warmth, the fabric pooling in his palms. gravity and desperate sleepiness soon pulled him toward the floor. softly, not trying to disturb her progress his head of loose, shaggy curls found refuge on her lap as he cuddled his potions book into his chest. he couldn’t tell if it was his near dream state or reality when he felt the slightest of brushes against his hair, or the light pressure of a hand coming to rest against his shoulder.
in celebration
the ravenclaw and hufflepuff flags hung ‘round the pitch. yellow gleamed sunlight and cheer, accenting opposing bronze. remus’ shoulders proudly bore his father’s vintage practice jersey, and he wasn’t the only gryffindor displaying the ravenclaw colors in the stands. he could see several friends in the badger seats, more than a few in extravagant costumes to show support.
the points were neck and neck, each team’s keepers and chasers were fighting hard to maintain an edge. the assumption that gryffindor and slytherin were the most competitive in the school was simply biased propaganda - from his seat, remus’ eye glinted with mischievous anticipation. the chasers were taunting one another, and he watched, smirking, the almost undetectable signaling of the ravenclaw chasers to the beaters. nerves couldn’t help but bubble up knowing that a blow from a bludger could prove to be fatal, but he did so enjoy a well fought match.
things were getting i n t e r e s t i n g.
he only realized the pressure of fingernails digging into his palms when his mesmer was broken upon the sharp turn of the ravenclaw chaser. the snitch had been seen! remus was swept up in the small sea of students surrounding him who immediately fled the bleachers to head down to the pitch. the twenty point lead brought wild cheers from the ravenclaw stands - once the snitch was in hand, the match would be over with a blue and bronze win.
he was still on the stairs when the screaming started, signaling it had, in fact, been caught. once his feet touched grass eyes quickly sought the score and -
he and the rest of the ravenclaw supporters rushed out onto the field where the players began landing. he found marlene, currently celebrating alongside her housemates, and remus’ arms wrapped around her waist from behind, lifting and spinning her around in a celebratory hug before offering high fives to the rest of the team.
in comfort
winter break, seventh year. the tinsel on the evergreen boughs and warm light of the fire only exacerbated the lonely ache resonating through his veins. most of the students had already fled the grounds in favor of their family homes, and remus wasn’t meant to be far behind them. he only had to stay behind until after the full moon since his father’s house could no longer contain the beast he became during transformation. his footsteps carried him throughout the castle, up and down hallways, across stretching staircases, in some kind of hope to get mindlessly lost - perhaps as lost as he felt, letter clutched in his left hand. it was fruitless, though. remus had memorized nearly every centimeter of the school and no turn could keep his mind busy, nor keep his tears from falling quietly to the stone.
he wasn’t expecting to come across marlene, though. not like this. she saw the grief etched in his features immediately, and of course she asked what he was doing, where he was going. it was sweet to know she didn’t immediately pry, though perhaps it was alarming to actually see the sadness in full form, rather than veiled behind his eyes or tucked behind a smile.
“ the owlery. i’ve got to send james a note - i was meant to spend christmas with him - godric i haven’t even got paper though. “ what had he been intending, to send his father’s letter along? he’d only decided vaguely to let james know but was for once totally and completely unprepared for the task. it needed to be a letter, though. he didn’t know if he could say it. “ my mum’s just - she -” his body threatened to collapse in on itself, but marlene read the words unspoken and rushed in to hold him close. he sank down into her touch - his eyes closed, fingertips let the letter fall to the stone. his cheek came to rest against her hair, her arms up over his shoulders. her warmth spread through his jumper, a slow rising tide against the aching emptiness that filled him. his mum was gone. just like that. gone with the flick of a wand, with the stroke of a pen.
in diffidence
" you know that broom cupboard everyone claims people go to snog? “ remus brought their strides to a slow amble. the sixth floor was mostly deserted - his preference, as a prefect. how he’d been given the position he’d never know. he’d never given a detention in his life and didn’t intend to start. instead he preferred to gently scold students for being caught with the assurance that if it became habit the conversation would be approached differently. there were a few instances where remus had to intervene more directly - students tended to endanger themselves and others a bit more frequently than their parents knew - and he’d rushed a student to hospital more than once. maybe that was the reason, afterall. being a member of the more mischievous group of students, he instinctively knew where to look when students were in trouble. remus was happy to boast that since his appointment they’d not had a first year spend the night lost in the halls.
when marlene began to prod, teasingly, as to why he was bringing up the cupboard, a rosy warmth blushed over his features. it wasn’t often he felt embarrassed, but when he was it radiated through his body. he couldn’t quite rid himself of the small smile though he found himself raising a hand to the back of his head, gaze turned down as they walked. he would’ve walked straight into the wall and hid his face there for the next 30 minutes if she’d let him.
“ no, listen - it’s right ‘round the corner, yeah? they say ‘oh, the sixth floor cupboard,’ and all that, yeah? “
marlene’s reaction made him turn around immediately and start walking right in the other direction, only stopped by the soft tug against the hem of his long sleeve, righting his course back on track. the smile simply wouldn’t leave his face and he hung his head low, trying to hide it, stuffing his hands into his pockets. of course it sounded like he was making a move on her. merlin knew it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility! but of course that wasn’t what he had in mind at the time. the truth? remus had a theory, and who better to test the theory with than his sharp-witted friend? he did his best to focus his intentions and as they rounded the corner, there it was. a door that looked just like any other closet. they approached, and remus leaned his back against the door. his hand reached out, shyly, gently taking hold of marlene’s.
“ what i’m saying is, i don’t think this room is what we think it is. “ his eyes shone the color of stone in the candlelight, peeking out through hair that had gotten just a bit too long in his face. the blush on his cheeks faded in favor of mischievous excitement. though, to be honest, the thought that she might truly think he’d brought her here for a snog and she was playing along, approaching him just then, wasn’t a thought he’d find himself readily able to get rid of. perhaps part of him really did hope it was just a closet.
remus’ eyes fell shut and he focused, hard. a room. a room to hide in. a room for rest. his free hand found the door knob, and with a quick glance around the hall he opened it behind him. he stole the first look in, and the excitement that bubbled up extended through his fingers while he squeezed her hand and opened the door wider.
“ i don’t know what this is, but it’s not a broom cupboard! “
in memoriam
there was a dampness to the air, sticking his clothes against his frame, frosting the ends of his hair in cold droplets. his feet moved mechanically, autopilot directing him to the door. faint knocks resounded in his familiar pattern - one. one, two. one - but this time when he entered the rented room he wasn’t filled with the relief that usually flooded over him, seeing her silhouette. he didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, as his body found hers on the divan and he sat down beside her. usually these calls were a welcoming hello and respite from all the war was taking from the pair of them. this time, goodbye hung in the air, sparking against each crackle of the fire.
his hand entwined with hers, turning it slightly before opening marlene’s palm upwards. remus couldn’t bare to look into her eyes, so instead his found the cracks in the floor, the soft folds of the fabric of her sleeve.
“ a wedding present...” he muttered, doing all he could to keep bitterness from rising into his words. no, it needed to stay down in his stomach, burning holes in all that was once a righteous feeling of right and wrong. gently, he dropped the gift into her palm. the small opal locket shone against the dim light - moonstone opal, though very few would notice the specificity. “ i’m going north. “ north. fenrir’s pack. at dumbledore’s behest, of course, but the way sirius looked him in the eyes the morning prior remus couldn’t help but wonder just how farr dumbledore would let him fall. the people he loved most? their trust in him was waning, though he’d sworn to the headmaster he’d keep this secret from them. too risky, he thought. the knowledge alone could get someone killed, himself included, and he used to doubt his friends would allow him on this journey alone if they did know. as the weeks and months passed, though... he was less and less sure he’d ever have anything to come back to.
“i won’t be back before your wedding, so i just...” there it was. cutting the short amount of time between then and the nuptials short meant this was goodbye for good. no, once marlene was married, they’d likely not see each other again. not until, or unless, they may be looking down their wands at one another.
his fingers closed around her hand, sealing the necklace into her palm, holding on for just one more moment. then he stood, no longer able to bear the buzzing ache spreading through him. the emptiness that devoured.
“ if it turns black, have a drink for me. ”
#redemptioninterlude#re: marlene mckinnon; redemptioninterlude#well this happened ( ask response )#ouch
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@slvrictus — ♛.
PRISTINE was the blanket of white which enveloped the mortal realm. Moonlight twinkled across those immaculate plains and the gentle dusting upon evergreens to illuminate the darkness which seemed to encompass all. The stillness of the night stole the breath from one’s lungs, begging SILENCE so as not to disturb the peace. Unaccustomed as he was to the visible passage of time, the wandering Prince of the Underworld took a moment to admire the unfamiliar surface — brief though it were. Clouds drifted past parted lips, climbing upwards to the heavens, only to dissipate still far from reach.
An OMEN, one might say.
Try though he may, a denizen of the Nethers would not be pardoned by the FATES. One born of Hade’s House was destined to return, tethered to the abyss. BLOOD-BOUND, Zagreus could not escape his heritage — not that he would cease his attempts by any means. Each time the life fled his immortal form to send him drifting back down the crimson current of the Styx only served to further his resolve. For the godling would risk it all to share but a few words with HER. To cradle her frame close ⟅ dwarfed in the embrace of the son she had once been robbed ⟆ even as those carmine tides beckoned him back —
DEATH could not restrain the son of Hades, the son of Persephone.
Cruel were the Fates to curse him with the same fatal flaw as his father. Even beyond the Realm of the Dead, the tyrant still held power over him. Like a noose about his neck, with each step he could feel the undeniable pull. ASPHYXIATION, the Underworld demanded to smother his soul back within its depths. To claw at that hangman’s hold would be futile, for the gallows’ call remained FINAL. Yet he would continue to run back to that hell regardless of the consequences. For years the Prince was raised within a bed of lies. Nurtured with deceit, Zagreus was none the wiser for so very long. Now that the TRUTH laid bare before him, he could no longer deny himself the hunt for answers. Did he find fault within all who left him blissfully unaware as they stowed away the secret of his birth? Not entirely, however TRUST would take time to restore — if at all.
Thus the crestfallen heir could only rely upon himself, wary of BETRAYAL.
And so he walked on.
Snow pooled within each step, hissing and snapping at his heated heals as if to cry that he simply did not belong here. Blasphemous, Nature called out in utter defiance as it shriveled and died in his wake. Each stride, constricting, to cause the Prince to waver. Strangled coughs and gasps for air — a bitter CHILL to his lungs — echoed about the silent forest. The luminous glow from his exposed toes dulled like fading embers with the distance. Upon his crown, laurel leaves lost their luster, withering to ASH to taint the ground below. Muscle clenched as joints locked from the frigid wind which gusted about him, calloused hands raised in a weak embrace to retain some semblance of warmth. Winter seemed to sap the very marrow from his bones to leave them brittle, HOLLOW.
A DEAD MAN walking, yet he continued towards his demise.
Odd eyes appreciated those strange lands, indescribable even as they sought to banish him. Years of nothing but the same shadows — of BLOOD and DARKNESS — blinded him to the true beauty of life. Even cloaked within the veil of night, there remained a boundless wellspring of energy that was lost within the Underworld. Though his vision blurred about the edge, the glimmer of admiration did not escape his hues. A fragile, but resolute smile lingered as he trudged down the now familiar path to HOME. Yet the strength continued to trickle away from his body, drained inch by inch from what little remained of his reserves.
The final battle which barred his way to freedom had not left the Prince unscathed. Though kin, Hades knew not the meaning of self-restraint and sought to push his son to the very limit. A test of his of his DETERMINATION which Zagreus very nearly failed. Wounds littered his person, some still oozed fresh and stung from the gnawing cold. Bones broken and flesh torn, only a divine could endure such suffering and march on. Whether sheer strength of will or merely dwindling sanity, he refused to succumb to the PAIN — not yet ready to call this attempt a failure. Even as his blood defiled the land and his prospects grew dim, he fought on.
Nearly there...she will be happy to see me, won’t she?
#slvrictus#✧┈♛τὸ πεπρωμένον φυγεῖν ἀδύνατον. — ᵖᵃʳᵃˢ.♛┈✧#✧┈♛Αναρχία κρείσσων πυρός. — ᵗʳᵃᶦᵗᵒʳ'ˢ ʲᵒᵘʳⁿᵉʸ.♛┈✧#//target in sight. shoot to kill.#//everything was a-oK UNTIL THE WOLF SHOWED UP#///...or in this case the lamb#//and yeah she gotta kill him before he makes it sAD TIMES#//testing out the new icons and a more simple post breaker
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what exactly are the rewards for the Mr Sacks robe? I've been wondering whether to invest in it this year and your iron correspondents post made me more curious
As of last year all the rewards are:
(Veils will probably be getting a second reward this year? if my assumptions based on stats are right. Along with someone else too because they introduce them in sets of two. But then again we don’t know what the end of ambitions means for this)
Apples (first time): Mostly Stuffed Bound-Shark: How gruesome it looks on your wall! How abyssal! You allow it to keep the shreds of the last burglar's collar. It earned them. (Home Comfort, Dangerous +3, Dreaded +1)
Chimes (which is actually Pages and Iron both trying to be Chimes at once): A Replica of the House of Chimes, Awash with Snow: The details are beyond remarkable. Peer inside, and you can even see your more Exceptional Friends. (Home Comfort, Persuavive +3, Respectable +1)
Cups: Khan's Tea-Set: It was shattered when the Khan's defences broke. It has since been immaculately reconstructed. (Home Comfort, Shadowy +3, Respectable +1)
Fires: Probably a Coincidence: Mr Fires gave me this bell. He assures me that should I ring it, it is unlikely to cause a stalactite to fall from the roof and pulverize the house of an enemy. These things do happen, of course. You recall that house on Childcake Street? The one with the political posters? But that, too, was probably just a coincidence. (Home Comfort, Persuasive +1, Dreaded +1)
Hearts: Semi-Autonomous Scrutinising Machine: It took three dockers to get the contraption up to your guest room. Still, it can double as a writing desk. Insert a letter just here, and minutes later it will roll out again, spellings neatly corrected in red ink. Occasionally comments on the moral value of the contents. (Home Comfort, Watchful +3, Respectable +1)
Iron (first time): Terrifying Weathercock: My - God! What is that thing? It's watching us! It's watching me! (Home Comfort, Dangerous +6)
Mirrors: Brass-Framed Dark Mirror: This was once a zubmarine's porthole. It has been silvered and made into a mirror. If you press your face close it's possible to make out movement that is not your own, a rising bulk of shivering spines. Listen, and you hear nothing. But for a while afterwards, your tears are tinted peligin. (Home Comfort, Shadowy +3, Dreaded +1)
Pages (first time): White Glim Telescope: The lenses are the colour of new-made frost: yet somehow together they're transparent... Set in on your roof-top. Watch the city. See those things which are clearest by moonish light... (Home Comfort, Watchful +6)
Sacks: You're Not Quite Sure What: It hurts to look at whatever is wrapped in that sack. Thankfully you forget whatever's inside after seeing it. (Home Comfort, Watchful +3, Bizarre +1)
Spices: Luxury's Lap: A bed made solely for dreaming. What heads have lain here? Those of visionaries, of lunatics, of monsters. (Home Comfort, Dangerous +3, Bizarre +1)
Stones: Ray-Drenched Correspondence Paperweight: Scientific curiosity can lead one down perilous - occasionally fatal - lines of enquiry. For example, someone must once have thought 'What would happen if I engraved the Correspondence on a Ray-Drenched Cinder?' The underside is unfinished, so they probably got about halfway to finding out. (Home Comfort, Persuasive +3, Bizarre +1)
Veils: Thoroughly Cowed Pony: Black as dreamless sleep, utterly silent, utterly obedient. A quieter and more biddable means of transport is hard to imagine. (Transportation, Shadowy +6) (Bonus: this can actually be used and changed in bag a legend!!)
Wines (first time): Extraordinary Drinks Cabinet: Colours to delight the eye; tastes to bewilder the brain. A hundred tiny glories from France, Italy, the East below and the East above, the Carnelian Coast, Malay, even Hell. Don't drink that one. (Home Comfort, Persuavive +6)
Eaten: A Complete Set of Preserved Internal Organs: They are yours, you are certain. Perhaps they shouldn't be out on display on your mantle. Perhaps you should put them back where they belong. But you do not know how. (Home Comfort, -15 to all stats, Unaccountably Peckish +1)
Pages (second time): A Maudlin Gift from the Heavens: An impossibly sized bat, frozen solid, and bearing an expression of utmost serenity. A gift for the Masters from their old acquaintance Mr Menagerie, who apparently dwells in the skies. (Home Comfort, Shadowy +3, Bizarre +1)
Wines (second time): Beggar's Crown: A crown of bronze and vine, rimed with frost. It is far too large to wear, but it makes a wonderful decorative ornament. (Home Comfort, Dangerous +3, Respectable +1)
Apples (second time): Amaranthine Coil, Sealed in a Jar: A looped, sinuous shadow lurks inside this foggy mason jar. When strangers pass too close, the jar rings from within, a demanding sound, like an old maid tapping pointedly on a near-empty wine glass. (Home Comfort, Watchful +3, Dreaded +1)
Iron (second time): The Iron Correspondents: Mr Iron's discarded pens sometimes write things the bearer did not want them to – bitter screeds in insistent, angry capitals. Most consider this a price worth paying, since occasionally, those screeds include glimpses of searing cosmic secrets. Owners of these pens exchange letters, and share the fragments of secrets the pens let slip. (Affiliation, Dangerous +1, Bizarre +1, Dreaded +1, A Member of the Pen-Bearers +1)
#lore#if anyone wants the actual text describing the masters room and getting the gift let me know and ill post it <3#Anonymous
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Because I feel like it
LORE DUMP ABOUT MY GUARDIANS ON DESTINY 2
First and foremost, I consider my Guardians as triplet sisters.
All initially Human, but then one, the youngest, was turned into an Exo by the Brays at Clovis Bray/Braytech to save them from a fatal injury, and another, the oldest, was chosen to be one of the passengers on the Yang Liwei/Exodus Green ship that got caught between Light and Dark during the Collapse, turning them into an Awoken. The third, and technically middle sister of the trio, stayed Human throughout her life, which ended during an accident on Titan caused by the Collapse.
I’ve not been able to think of names for any of them at all, but that’s something for another day.
The Awoken sister was risen as a Guardian first, a Warlock. Revived within. Originally having awoken among the rest of her people after the Collapse, she’s one of those who chose to inhabit the Reef instead, alongside the Fallen’s House of Loyalty, to guard the Last City and the Distributary. She was killed in an accident during a routine perimeter check in her ship where she thought she saw something unusual out beyond the Reef, and got distracted by it, crashing into a piece of a colony ship, being flung out of control, and slamming down on the Tangled Shore. Dying in the explosion that resulted from the crash. They’re able to tap into all three of the elements of the Light, but have the most efficiency with Arc.
The Warlock’s armor contains a lot of significance to them, and to things they’ve looked into, researched, tried, and worked with/on or mastered.
Her helmet is the “Virtuous Hood” helm
Gifted to her by Saint-14 upon his return to the Tower after Season of Dawn.
Her chest piece is a Braytech Researcher Robe
She could recall vague memories of working with Braytech when they were saving her sister and putting her into an Exo frame, and after finding her sister again post-revival, she looks into the Braytech and their research to try and ensure she can care for her Exo sister from then on.
Her gauntlets are Wraps of the Fulminator
The Fulminator of Calus’ Shade was a being of pure Arc energy, the golden fingertips help her manipulate her arc energy better, and aid in the use of another thing they have.
Her leg armor are the “Mihaylova’s Path”
Boots that she found among ruins on Mars that once belonged to one of the three humans who first found the Traveler, she recovered, repaired, and refurbished them for modern use.
Lastly, the Phenotype Plasticity Bond
A bond made with metal from a dead Vex, and with four pegs that contain a small Vex Conflux cube which she made while within the Corridors of Time in the Infinite Forest during the period of Season of Dawn, she has full control of the Conflux and will guide it off her bond over terminals and use it to interface with things when doing so would be more difficult by hand alone
All her armor has the Burnished Dreams shader on, having changed it all during a visit to the Dreaming City in honor of and respect to her fellow Awoken and their Queen, Mara Sov
Her Bond, however, has the Shader Blueshift Dreams
She took the Bond to the Dreaming City during the third week of the time-loop cycle, and with the aid of the freed Techeuns, she used Awoken magics to bind it, and the Conflux on it, to her, thus granting her full control of it
She has augmented her Ghosts shell with some help from Eris to mimic the dark energy around Eris’ Ahamkara Bone with the “Eris Morn Shell”.
The energy providing a veil of Darkness for her Ghost that would keep it better hidden from minions of Darkness like the Hive, Taken, Vex, and more recently the Scorn, this was a favor asked of Eris as the only repayment requested for helping Eris recover her memories of her Fireteam during Shadowkeep’s events
Her Jumpship and Sparrow are both taken.
Something achieved with aid of the Techeuns, and Toland (after a lot of convincing), near the entrance to the Shattered throne during the third week of a loop in the Dreaming City, allowing them to be more or less camouflaged against the Taken, as they would simply be seen as object that are part of their dark realms
Because of how much she’s delved into the Darkness and other aspects of the enemies of Humanity so far, when she transmats, it’s usually within a blob of dark, shifting energy mimicking the visual of the “Heart of Darkness” which she destroyed during the vanilla story of Destiny 1.
She thinks it’s a remnant of the Heart’s power, and has always seen it as an omen that the Darkness will return stronger than ever before, and always exist within the shadows otherwise.
The second to be risen would be the Exo sister, risen on Mars in Hellas Basin prior to the events of Rise of Iron. She would be one of the first hundred Guardians to become infected by the SIVA Pandemic that occurred during this time. Her main element of the Light is Solar, burning bright like the sun and strong like the fury of the stars, but she can tap into Void the second best, though usually prefers not to because “it feels weird”, according to them. While Arc is also possible, it doesn’t feel right to them.
Similar to her Warlock sister, her armor contains a lot of significance to them, though this time more in the sense of being a proud Guardian and defender of both The Last City and the remnants of Humanity
Helm is the same as her Awoken sister, the Virtuous Helm
Unlike her sister, however, this helm was not Gifted to her, but forged by her using her Hammer of Sol with the Forge in the Lighthouse on Mercury, in honor of Saint-14 after finding his corpse within the Infinite Forest alongside her sisters back in the Curse of Osiris days.
Arms are the Star-Crossed Fists
She wears these, replicas of Wei Ning’s Gauntlets and shoulder pads, in honor of Wei Ning and Erianna-3 for their efforts and sacrifices against Crota and the Hive on the Moon.
Her chest piece is the Luxe Parka
The Titan insignia on the back of the vest is a mark of pride for her, and the sleek, lightweight design of the piece over all helps her move more freely.
Legs are the Virtuous Greaves
Also forged on Mercury, alongside her Helmet in honor of Saint-14, the blade-capped knees provide her with another body-based weapon that she can utilize if she ever needs, and they’re ones that don’t need hands.
Her Titan Mark is the Virtuous Mark
To round out the “in-honor of” theme for Saint-14, but this time it was actually a gift from Saint-14 himself after he returned to the tower, because he saw her helm and greaves when she and her sisters went into the Infinite Forest to save him during Season of Dawn’s events, and he liked her style.
All her armor has the Genotype-Null Zero shader on, though it’s not simply for the reason of coloration, instead it’s due to the raw blazing power of her Solar energy and because of SIVA-made repairs
During the Rise of Iron, when the SIVA pandemic started, she was one of the first to become “infected”, however, because of the methods used to save her from death, and her Sister’s aid, the SIVA recognized certain bits of coding within her Exo frame and signals from her Exo mind. Due to this, the small amount of SIVA that was swarming her reprogrammed itself to use the Exo as a symbiotic host of sorts where, in exchange for a purpose and promise to not be disabled, it repairs damage done to the host, and allows the host to better control their Solar power.
The bright metallic orange portions of her armor light ablaze with the strongest roaring flames whenever she calls upon her Solar Light, these being the areas where the Siva has more-or-less fused with her and her equipment to aid in the utilization of the Solar powers she has as a Titan that spent hours and hours so close to the sun while on Mercury to forge her helmet and greaves.
Her Ghost’s shell is the CLVS-241 shell
Specially treated for extreme heat resistance and augmented with an energy field that sort of repels the SIVA that is a part of her, to to ensure the Ghosts safety both from the SIVA that has integrated itself into the Titan’s Exo body, and their immense Solar power.
Her Jumpship is Saint-14′s Grey Pidgeon, and her Sparrow is the “Hastilude”
The ship had been going unused for so long and, after asking permission from Osiris during the times of Curse of Osiris following her and her sisters finding Saint’s corpse in the Infinite Forest, he allowed it. Her sparrow, though originally made by Amanda as a joke, she turned into a Saint-14 themed mount to ride across destinations with pride. Often skewering enemies with the spears on the sides.
Because of the SIVA integrated with her body, when she transmats, her SIVA contacts remnants of dormant SIVA on locations she’d headed to that have been scattered due to the SIVA Pandemic during Rise of Iron, and the over use of the Outbreak exotic Pulse Rifle, and creates a protective shell to defend her as she first arrives on a location.
The last to be risen as a Guardian, a Hunter, would be the Human sister of the triplets, her corpse found and revived by her Ghost in a hidden alcove of one of the tipped and destroyed Arcology buildings on Titan that kept her corpse, and her Ghost, hidden from the Hive that had made the Arcology their home by then. She would be revived prior to the Red War by just a few days. Having returned to earth the day before the Red Legion assaulted the Tower, resulting in the early days of her Guardian life being without the light, and having to rely on her enhanced instincts as a Guardian and Hunter to survive against Fallen, Cabal, and Taken across the EDZ throughout the duration of the Red War.
Unlike her sisters, her armor doesn’t have much significance, instead being much more practical to aid in survival among Sol with, or without, the use of her Light.
Her helm is the Luxe Visage
The design on the Luxe Visage is akin to that of an unsettling serpent skull, they wear it to provide an intimidation factor should they ever need to stop someone from doing something they don’t like, or to strike fear into whatever enemy she’s tracking, should they ever catch a glimpse of her helm, make them panic a little so they hopefully mess up somehow, at some point, so that she can exploit that.
Her chest is the Empyrean Cartographer Vest
Providing her a small bag to store things like snacks, a water bottle, even self-drawn maps that have much greater accuracy and detail than those provided to most all Guardians, as she spends days, sometimes weeks, on a designated location simply exploring and mapping everything she can manage to. This allowing her to memorize paths and passages that aren’t normally listed or well known.
The Luxe Sleeves are her gauntlets.
Probably the only “pride” she has and will show is of being a part of the Hunters, which is shown with the Hunter insignia on the arm-guards of these sleeves. The uses the brace on the back of the hands with these as if brass-knuckles or something else of the sort, where each punch they might deal against someone or something hurts a lot more with them.
Phenotype Plasticity Strides act as the leg-armor for her.
Towards the end of the Red War, she got into a fight with a Gladiator while trying to help take back the city with the other Guardians. Since her light was still cut-off, when things started to go south in this fight, she had to sacrifice her right leg in order to kill the Gladiator.
Her Ghost couldn’t restore the leg after the Traveler woke up, and this rendered her unable to do her work as a Hunter. For a time she was quite literally benched, Until her Awoken sister took her to Io, to Asher Mir, and then left for advice from Osiris. With some of his knowledge, she would return, lure out and kill a Hobgoblin, sever it’s leg, and fuse the mechanical limb with her Human sister’s stump.
This would provide her with a replacement, yes, however the limb would occasionally glitch and leave the Hunter unable to move as well as she’d like. Because of this, she still took on less work as a Hunter.
It wouldn’t be until her Awoken sister gained her Conflux that this would be fixed.
Her cloak is the Phenotype Plasticity Cloak, alongside her Strides.
Her Awoken sister, after acquiring her own Conflux within the Corridors of Time in the Infinite Forest, and mastering it with the aid of the Techeuns of the Dreaming City, would return to her Hunter sister with a cloak that contains some Vex technology.
Using the Conflux she has, her Awoken sister would hack the vex technology of her leg and the new gifted cloak, freeing them of the Vex network entirely, and linking them to her Conflux directly. With this done, the Warlock would be able to modify the pack at the back of the neck of the cloak and make it a power-source of sorts for the leg.
The Cloak being wirelessly linked to the Hunter’s nervous system would provide her full control of her Hobgoblin leg, so long as the collar of the Cloak itself isn’t damaged. The antennae simply allows better ease for her Warlock sister to connect to and modify the cloak and leg if need be in the future.
The shader used across the Hunter’s gear is a special version of “Night’s Chill”.
This version of Night’s Chill is made with a material that helps mask her heat signature to thermal and infrared scopes and sensors, aiding in her stealth capabilities greatly, especially during the night.
Her Ghost’s shell is crystalline, like a snowflake via the fittingly named Crystaline Shell.
It’s purpose being similar to that of her armor’s shader, providing the ghost with a method of keeping hidden from scopes and radars, plus it has a more “natural” touch to it, as the Hunter believes Nature to be one of the greatest powers in the Universe still, and after living among it during the entire Red War, she respects it greatly.
Her Jumpship and Sparrow are both Braytech-made, the Lost Legend ship and G-335 Anseris Overdrive sparrow.
Pieces of Technology from the Golden Age. Relics of the peak of Humanity before the dreaded Collapse, and reminders of her family’s past with Braytech and everything they had done for them.
Similar to her armor and her ghost, her ship has the First Frost shader with a similar heat-masking material as part of the make, and her sparrow has the Shrouded Stripes shader to hide it better within the shadows.
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The Revelation - Chapter 17
A/N: THEY KISS OK? AFTER 17 DAMN CHAPTERS. And theres some fluffy fluff too.
Word Count: 5260
Warnings: Language, panic attack.
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, hands rubbing her triceps to induce some warmth in them as she made her way through the snowy courtyard.
It was all too much.
The music, the laughter, the crowd of people staring at her like she was livestock on display for sale. She couldn’t do it. They expected her to don a facade like them, to laugh and socialise like the duchess she was supposed to be, waive off the if the entire accident as if it hadn’t happened. Instead of the American Sweetheart the press had spun so skilfully, here standing before the was a broken woman, half a shell of what she used to be, trying to convince herself more than anyone that things were fine when that was the furthest thing from the truth. Their eyes, their expectations pressed on her from all sides as in turns came to greet her, shaking her hands and kissing her cheeks, their well wishes and niceties thinly veiling the disapproval and dissatisfaction at the woman who had emerged after the accident. It clogged her lungs and filled her throat, capturing her breath and holding her captive as it all built and built into a tremendous crescendo that threatened to break and wash away whatever grip she had on sanity. So she did the only thing she could.
She ran.
Gathering the shirt of the much too fancy ballgown Hana had dressed her in, Elizabeth awkwardly sidestepped an incoming lord, twisting quickly to move out of his way. She’d yet to gain full control over her limbs since the accident, her reflexes not as fast as they should have been in causing her shoulder to clip a waiter as she stumbled by, the force completely upsetting the tray of champagne flutes he was carrying. The loud crash and tinkling of shattering glass drew all eyes to her, and murmurs of disapproval sprung up from the crowd, exactly the thing she was hoping to avoid Babbling an apology, she’d bunched up her skirts and fled the room.
Above, the heavens thundered their disapproval too, freezing the tears as they slid down her cheeks. Elizabeth swiped at them with the back of her hand before peering out into the snowy landscape, trying to make out where she was. Panic flared up in her as she failed to recognize her surroundings. The light was fading to almost nothing, blanketing the whole area in dim light.
Stifling a gasp, she turned in a full circle trying to get her bearings, trying not to let the feeling of helplessness overwhelm her. What had been a good idea to get away from the prying eyes was proving to be fatal if she could not find her way back now. Glancing down at her feet, hope sprung up in her and she resolved to follow her footprints back to the castle but her flimsy plan was foiled as the clouds gave way to their contents, raining down thick snow that quickly covered the landscape around her.
As she struggled forward, her dress snagged on hidden object hidden under the gradually growing snow. The wind picked its cruel song, whipping at her hair and face until she could barely see.
‘Help.' Her voice seemed to shrivel in her throat, lost to the howls of the wind as she stumbled forward. Something caught at her ankle and she sank down to her knees, unable to summon the strength to get up again. In fact, it felt much better to lie down instead.
I’ll just lie down. Thats a good idea. Just for a minute. Just a minute. As Elizabeth closed her eyes, the last thing she saw before she faded out of consciousness was a dark shape on the fringe of her vision.
-
A loud crackle snapped Elizabeth back to consciousness and she blinked slowly once, twice as the wooden beams of a roof above her came into focus. Her other senses kicked in too, the smoky scent of a fire tickling her nose, her hands shifting to feel the downy material of a mattress beneath her. A soft glow to her left identified the crackle as the sounds of flames where a large figure was sat before it, a wickedly long rod in one hand. It took a moment before panic surged through her as she tried to scramble to her feet but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
‘Wh-Where? Where am I?!’
She managed to push herself onto her elbows on the small bed she was laying on as the figure whipped around and closed in on her. Letting out a small scream, Elizabeth reflexively threw a hand up to brace herself in case of a likely attack. Instead of the iron rod connecting with her body like she expected, she felt gentle hands steadying her as her companion made calming sounds.
'Richmond. Elizabeth it’s okay. It’s me. Its Drake. You’re safe now,’
Hands smoothened over her hair soothingly and slowly the panic drained away. Finally she found the courage to peek past her forearm.Sure enough it was Drake, silhouetted against the warm light of the hearth, concern written across his handsome face.
‘D-Drake?’
‘Its me Richmond,’ his voice was soft and comforting. 'I’ve got you. Its okay.’
At his words, she sunk gratefully into his arms, clutching them as if he was her only tether to the mortal world, taking deep breaths of relief. In return he rubbed her back gently until her breathing calmed down a little.
'I’m going to have to put a bell on you. Or a leash or something,’ she heard his deep voice rumble from where her ear was pressed against his chest. He smelt like pine and leather, familiar and strangely comforting.
‘W-what happened?’
‘You ran off. Into a snow storm no less. The Lythikos variety are particularly tough. Not the smartest thing to do.’
‘And you found me..?’ She asked, picking her head up as she put the pieces together. ‘You brought me here?’
Drake nodded, studying her carefully as she processed that information.
’Thank you.’ She said after a long moment.
He shook his head. ’'S nothing.’
Elizabeth took in his appearance, still in his suit he’d obviously run out after her immediately. His white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and open at the collar, a bit of chest hair peeking out while his blazer hung drying in front of the fire. How did he still look so attractive?
Realising she’d been staring much too long, she cleared her throat. ‘So where are we?’
Drake gestured around at the small cabin. ‘Olivia’s guard house. On the edge of her estate. It was too far to make it back to the mansion so I thought we could crash for the night.’
‘And the guard?’
‘On holiday. Probably.’
An awkward silence stretched out as she nodded weakly. A sudden shiver wracked her body, sending a chill through her chest as she wrapped her arms around herself.
‘Oh crap. You’re probably freezing in that outfit,’ Drake nodded to her navy ballgown. ‘I was gonna, ah… but that wouldn’t have been appropriate.’
Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat at his meaning but he was right. Staying in the damp dress would only make her sick and a cold was the last thing she wanted. ‘I’ve got a slip on under this. I don’t suppose Olivia's guard has a spare pair of pyjamas hidden anywhere here huh?’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Drake muttered as he got up to do a quick search before coming up apologetically empty. She looked at him in askance as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, thinking.
‘Here take my jacket. You can wear that while your dress dries if you want..?’
Seeing no other alternative, she accepted the jacket from Drake who dutifully turned his back while she changed, glad to get out of the heavy material of the ballgown.
‘You…uh can turn around now.’ Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat up as his eyes inevitably found hers, raking over the way the blazer hung from her slim frame, the satin slip cascading down to a few inches over her knees.
‘Suits you,’ he gave her a half smile as he reached for her dress, spreading it out before the fire before retaking his place at the low bench in front of it. Elizabeth stood behind him, debating what to do for a moment before settling down next to him. Realising she was still cold, he retrieved a blanket and settled it over her shoulders, giving her a small smile as they continued to warm themselves.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know..’ she said finally, still staring into the fire.
‘Do what?’
‘Take care of me.’ ‘I’ll always take care of you Richmond.’
‘It’s rotten work,’ she mumbled bitterly, so softly he couldn’t have heard it.
‘Not to me. Not if its you.'
Elizabeth picked her head up to see him staring intently at her. The longer they held the look, the more earnest his face grew while tears sprung to her eyes. Not wanting to cry again, she dropping her gaze. ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into Drake.. You say you want me, you say you want to be with me but being with me is a full time carer role. M-maybe before the accident… it would have been...’
That hurt too much to think of.
She cleared her throat, finding her voice again, trying to emulate the cold calculated tone the doctor had used. ‘I’m not like that anymore. I’ll need continuous physiotherapy sessions for the rest of my life, I’m at high risk of seizures for now which means I can hardly be left alone for long periods of time, I get mood swings and headaches and I’m on more medication than some people have in their life. You say that now but when it gets hard, that’s what its gonna be like and... you’re gonna get bored and leave.’
‘I promise you I won’t.’
‘You will. You should.’
���Do I look like a liar?’ Drake fixed her with an intent look that she couldn’t bear to hold.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled eventually, pulling the blanket further around her shoulder. ‘It's just hard to believe that someone would want me.’
His bare hand enveloped her smaller one, prompting her to look into his eyes. ‘I want you. As long as you’ll have me, I’ll take care of you Richmond. You don’t remember but I made that promise to you once and I intend to keep it.’
Sitting so close to him, she could feel the heat radiating off his body, warming her own. She searched his face for a long time, trying to find the answer to the questions swirling inside her.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why are you so intent on keeping it? You are a good looking guy Drake. You could have any girl out there. Why me?’
He ruminated on that for a moment, his voice soft when he answered. ‘I tried. I tried to forget you. And you’re right, there are other girls out there but none of them are you.
‘I’m not the same Elizabeth you used to know.’
Surely he had to know that. Elizabeth swallowed, feeling the weight of her past self weighing on her chest. If he expected that girl again, he was going to be sorely mistaken.
Drake was shaking his head. ‘I’m not the same Drake either. I was a grumpy, bad tempered guy who had given up on the world, thinking if he hated it enough, it might hate him a little less. My life changed the moment you walked into it. You pushed me out of my comfort zone, challenged me, encouraged me, supported me. You gave me a chance when no one would Elizabeth. So I’m asking you now,’ he wrapped his other hand over hers, his dark eyes gazing into her own. ‘Can you do it again?’
Elizabeth stared at him, searching his face for any sign of anything that would deceive her, instead she found only honesty and the slighted bit of hope brimming. She was scared, her flight response kicking in but for the first time she fought it. Her memories though fragmented spoke for themselves. He was nothing but devoted and kind, funny challenging, all the things she was attracted to him. I fell in love with him once, surely I could do it again right?
Her head seemed to answer her as she nodded slowly, her heart fluttering at the way his face lit up at the gesture. Maybe this could be the start of something great…
Again she felt that magnetic pull like she’d had that night at her duchy, between board games when he’d made her a s'more in front of the fire. This time she didn’t fight it, scared out of her wits at what was happening but realising she wanted this more. Ever so slowly, their lips drew closer and closer until they were but a hair’s breath away, noses gently brushing as he waited, waited for her to make the move, giving her the option to back out if she wanted to. Giving in to the undeniable attraction in her, Elizabeth felt her eyes tilting shut as she pressed her lips to his, slowly, hesitantly and her heart leaped when Drake reciprocated, his lips moving over hers in a soft, sweet kiss that warmed her more than the fire ever could.
His hand came up to brush her cheek gently as they parted for air, both breathless, not quite believing what had just happened. She gave him a small smile, words unneeded now, the twining of her fingers in his enough to communicate how happy she was in this moment.
Feeling completely at ease for the first time in a long time, Elizabeth leaned her head against Drake’s shoulder, both of them basking in the afterglow of the moment.
Eventually she let out a yawn she wasn’t expecting and Drake shifted.
‘Ok its bedtime. You’ve had a big night.’
Too tired to argue, she nodded as he lead her to the bed, peeling back the covers before settling underneath them, as heavy as her eyelids were, something registered in her brain.
‘Where are you gonna sleep?’ She asked, fighting back a yawn.
Drake glanced uncertainly at the small cabin. ‘I was…uh… I was just gonna take the floor.’
‘Oh…’ Elizabeth was quiet for a moment before venturing,'We should huddle together.’
Drake’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. ‘Wh- You mean..’
'Y’know for warmths sake,’ she replied, trying to make her voice sound casual despite the hammering of her heart. Still she didn’t take back the offer.
He studied her for a moment, wondering if she was serious before giving in. 'Yeah… for warmth’s sake.'
She rolled to her side, facing away from him and felt the bed shift as he got next to her behind her, his body tense.
A small silence lapsed before she dared to turn and see him perched uncomfortably on the edge. 'You can move in a little more if you need. Its a small bed.'
‘Oh…uh… It is a small bed. Do you have enough space?’ His voice sounded so much richer so close to her ears.
She felt the heat of his body at her back. 'Yes. Do you?'
'I’ll manage.’
‘Ok… Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight Elizabeth.’
-
Before she even gained consciousness, Elizabeth felt something wrapped comfortingly around her wait. She breathed in deeply, not wanting to wake up from the deep sleep she was in. It was the best sleep she’d had in a while and she shifted a little, determined to squeeze in every single minute she could. When she did however, she felt something oddly… her pressing against her ass. Her eyes shot open and she gave another experimental wiggle to see if she had been dreaming. No she hadn’t and the hard thing poking into her actually pushed back, digging into her now. Turning slowly, dread built up in her as she found Drake’s sleeping form next to her.
Oh god did we…
Head still cloudy with sleep, she panicked and tried to scrambled up onto to find his arm pinning her down. She heaved it with all her strength, more than she expected and the last thing she saw was Drake’s eyes shoot open before her force caused him to roll off the side of the floor.
‘Wh-' His cry of pain as his body thumped on the floor shocked her out of her sleepy trance.
Elizabeth gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth as she wrestled with the blankets briefly before peering over the edge. Relief flooded through her to find Drake fully clothed in his shirt and dress pants, rubbing his hip in pain.
‘Goddammit,’ he muttered.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply before her eyes slipped down to his crotch where he had an impressive case of morning wood. Following her gaze, Drake’s face flushed bright red before he grabbed at the edge of the pillow to cover himself. Despite herself, Elizabeth couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up as he stumbled to his feet in the direction of the bathroom. She took the time she was alone to explore the small cabin and by the time, Drake had come back out, she placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, hoping to ease the awkwardness.
‘Black right?’
He gave her a small grin. ‘Yeah.’
She watched him take a deep appreciative sip before asking her question. ‘Did we stay like that the whole night?’
He lowered the mug, watching her carefully. ‘I guess we did. Is… is that okay?’ ‘It was nice,’ she replied, surprised to find herself actually meaning it. Another pause filled the room before Elizabeth giggled.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing. I’m just..’
Drake rolled his eyes but the reddening tips of his ears gave him away. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you’ve seen it before.'
Elizabeth’s eyes bugged out in surprise as he had the gall to wink at her. He took another sip before blowing out a long breath.
'So what do you want to do today? Storm’s cleared so we can head back if you want to..’
Her light mood dropped as the prospect of going back to reality and facing everyone at the castle after her blunder came sinking back in. Drake must have picked up on it as he jumped in.
‘Hey we don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. We could… get out of here.’
Elizabeth looked at him in curiosity. ‘Where would we go?’
‘Leave that to me Richmond.’ He winked again, a gesture that she was really getting acquainted with.
By the time she had finished in the small cramped shower, Drake had returned from Olivia’s castle with a change of clothes for her. Feeling refreshed, she emerged into the porch to see him leaning against the side of a sleek black Lexus.
‘Is that your car?’
He snorted. ‘Do I look like the fancy pants type?’
‘I pictured you to be more of the beat up old-faithful pickup truck type.’
One side of his mouth picked up. ‘Not half bad.’
Soon enough they were driving along the highway as Drake fiddled with the radio station until the sound of classic rock filled the car. Elizabeth turned to him with a raised eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘What?’
Her answer was to switch to a smoother more relaxed song. Almost immediately, Drake switched it back, controlling it from the steering wheel. ‘Driver’s choice, Richmond.’
‘Given that you’re not telling me where we’re going, I think I get this one.’ A flick of her finger changed it back to her music and he finally conceded. Elizabeth’s eyes went back to the road, watching the rolling green hills of the Cordonian countryside fly by. She glanced back to see Drake taking peeks at her, and gave him a shy smile.
‘Wanna play a game?’
‘Sure.’
’20 questions?’
‘Fire away.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Dogs or cats?’
‘Dogs. Not competition. Cats are snooty. Tea or coffee?'
‘Milkshakes.’
He gave her an amused look. ‘What kind?’
‘Choc mint.’
Drake’s face immediately screwed up in disgust. ‘Ew.’
‘What’s not to like about it?’ She protested. ‘Its got chocolate, its got mint.’
‘Exactly. Mint belongs in toothpaste and gum, not in food.’
‘You have terrible taste Walker.’ She shook her head at him. 'If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?’
Drake thought for a moment, rubbing his chin with one hand. Elizabeth sucked in a breath as the sun hit his dark hair bringing out the copper strands. He is so handsome. The moment was lost when he finally answered, ‘Australia. Been wanting to see what that laid back life is about.’
‘You’d love it. All singlets and bare feet, you’d fit right in.’
Drake glanced at her, a smile playing on his lips. ‘You picturing me in a singlet Richmond?’
Elizabeth blushed as he flexed an arm teasingly. ’N-no..’
He let her squirm for a minute more before asking his next question. ‘Favourite movie?'
They swapped questions, some funny, some deep, some outright ridiculous that left her laughing until she was breathless. Finally Drake pulled up to a dirt carpark and killed the engine. Elizabeth glanced around in curiosity, not understanding where she’d been taken to. It just seemed like an ordinary carpark to her. Her door opened and he offered her a hand as she climbed out.
‘Are you sure you know where we are? Because I have no idea.’
‘Relax Richmond.’
Elizabeth watching him wink again as she scurried after his long strides. She smelled it before she saw it. A fusion of sweet, spicy, tangy and other things she couldn’t identify. Following Drake as he rounded a corner, she found herself on the fringes of a bustling festival of some kind. The smells she’d detected earlier came from rows of colourful tents where vendors served out steaming hot plates of food, to her left a band played on the stage and the sounds of laughter and merriment came from the games area where fair games of all kinds were set up. A bray of a donkey alerted her that there was also a petting zoo set up in the far corner.
‘Told you to trust me.’ Drake’s eyes were on her, a slight nervous smile on his face as he awaited her approval. Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer but her stomach beat her to it, growling loud enough to make him chuckle a little.
‘Lets get some food in you.’
Encouraged by Drake to try whatever she wanted, Elizabeth ended up with multiple plates ranging from ash reshteh to kim chi to pizza. She swung her legs in happiness as she dug into her meal, watching the fair-goers around her until she glanced back at Drake who had his own bowl of feijoada.
‘How did you find this place?’
He shrugged casually, 'I have a way of finding interesting places to eat.’ She gave him a shy smile and together they finished the rest of their food, him helping where she’d taken too much.
‘Wanna check out the rest of the fair?’
Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically, eyes already on her goal and she grabbed Drake’s hand and set off in the direction of the petting zoo. It wasn’t until they were standing in line that she realised her fingers had wound into his. Glancing up at him, they shared a smile as a warmth bloomed in her chest as she guessed was in his. The opening of the gate to signal their turn interrupted the moment and Elizabeth stepped into the small enclosure.
‘They have a goat!’ She immediately rushed over to the small animal before beckoning Drake over. ‘Look!’ The kid nuzzled her hand affectionately before butting its head into Drake’s leg. They spent the next half hour in the small pen, cuddling everything from lambs to chickens to ducklings that had been born a week ago. Elizabeth glanced up at some point to find Drake seated in the hay, a small brown rabbit in his big arms as he gave it a scratch behind the ear. She couldn’t help herself and crouched down beside him, mustering up her courage to press a kiss to his cheek.
His head picked up to look her, eyes dancing. ‘What was that for?’
She shrugged, blushing a little. ‘I’m happy.’
Drake’s grin grew and he was about to say something when the loud voice of the zookeeper signalled that their time was up. They made their way over to the games section, somewhere along the way her hand finding his again as they observed the variety of games on display. Before long, Drake’s shoulder was nudging hers.
‘Wanna try?’ He nodded towards the a tower of bottle was stacked up to be knocked down by small wooden balls.
After paying the vendor, Elizabeth stepped up to the table and measured up her target. Her hand-eye coordination wasn’t the best and she managed to nick the top bottle before it wobbled a little and toppled over.
‘Not bad,’ Drake commented, already holding another ball. His attempt saw the left side of the tower come tumbling down with only three bottles left standing.
‘Knock them all down and you can get one of these here plushies,’ the vendor reminded them.
Drake handed her the last ball, watching her hesitate. ‘Just aim for the middle, that should do the trick. ‘You can do it. I believe in you.’
Elizabeth looked at him nervously then at the bottles then back at him. He nodded encouragingly as she took a deep breath, wound up and threw the ball. It hit slightly off centre, knocking two down while the last one wobbled and wobbled.
‘C’mon, c’mon,’ she muttered under her breath, clutching Drake’s hand. At long last, the bottle toppled over and she let out a gasp of delight. ‘I did it. We did it!’
‘Yeah you did,’ he replied, kissing her cheek. Still giddy from the win and his touch, she stepped forward to pick out her prize.
‘Whats that meant to be?’ Drake queried, nodding to the white mass in her arms.
‘Its meant to be a marshmallow,’ she answered, with a small smile, hoping he would get her meaning. They shared a smile as his hand found his way back to hers and they picked their way through the rest of the fair. They stopped by the drinks cart for Drake to get a soda for himself and a milkshake for her — chocolate mint — before he lead them in the direction of the car.
‘I had a good time today,’ she told him as he started up the engine.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon when the countryside turned to city scape and the roads got more familiar. As they neared their destination, Drake grew quieter and quieter, his face slipping behind a mask of something she couldn’t read. During another long silence, Elizabeth glanced over to see him obviously debating something within himself. Unable to read him, she shifted in her seat and gathered her courage.
‘Drake?’
‘We’re almost back at your place Richmond.’
‘Is everything okay?’ She watching him blow out a long breath as the doubts built up in her, clenching her stomach.
‘Richmond…’
‘Yes Drake?’ She sat up straighter, he was obviously about to tell her something.
‘There’s something I gotta tell you,’ he eventually said, shifting in his seat as they turned into the driveway of her Atlantean mansion.
She lay her hand atop of his big one. ‘You can tell me.’
Drake glanced at her, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words and she have his hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Richmond… Elizabeth I need to tell you-‘ Drake tore his eyes away from hers to slam on the brakes.
Elizabeth barely had time to throw an arm out to stop herself from slamming into the dashboard before a sudden flash of light enveloped her vision. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced up to see a crowd of figures around the car. Her heart rate picked up as another light flashed. The figures — the reporters — carrying cameras had surrounded the car, their eager voices melding into a din. Her chest tightened as they pressed against the car from all sides, faces peering through the tinted windows as her claustrophobia kicked in. Beside her, Drake swore loudly. ‘I had no idea they would be here Richmond. I’ll get you out safely.’ He left her alone in the car, shielding his face from the cameras and fighting through the throng to get to her side of the car. As soon as the door opened, Elizabeth was overwhelmed with shouting on all sides as the reporters jostled each other to get a view of her panicked face. Her breaths started coming faster and faster quickened, her chest expanding and contracting irregularly as Drake all but dragged her behind him. Her limbs refused to cooperate with her, eyes growing more and more unfocused as the din spiralled out of control. Her heart was hammering in time with the pounding in her head from where the crowd pressed her against him.
‘Duchess Richmond! Can we get a picture?’ Someone shouted, followed by a blinding camera flash.
'Duchess Richmond can you comment on your relationship with Drake Walker?’ One yelled.
'Are you two back together after his responsibility in your accident?’ Someone else called out.
‘Get back you bastards!’ Drake shouted, shielding her with his body.
'Mr Walker can you confirm if Lady Kiara was the one you cheated on the duchess with?'
'Are you sleeping with the man who watched you fall off the cliff Duchess Elizabeth?’
Elizabeth’s heart lurched in her chest. What were they talking about? She couldn’t bring her mouth to form a response as Drake bodily shoved a few of them aside in an attempt to get to the front door, wrenching it open and pulling her through it. Behind him, her legs gave out and she collapsed right there in the entry way, visibly shaking at what had just occurred.
‘Drake… Drake…’ Her voice was barely a croak.
‘I’m here Richmond. I’m here.’ His brushed his hands over her face and hair, rubbing her shoulders to calm her down.
‘What —‘ She paused as a wave of pain rolled through her head. ‘What were they talking about? You cheating…?’
‘Oh Liz,’ his voice broke. ‘I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.’
Panic flared up in her brain, heightening all her other emotions. ‘W-what do you mean? Are they telling the truth? Di-di-did you watch me fall in the accident? Was it your fault?’ She searched his face, fighting to focus her eyes, willing it to be untrue, hoping that all the horrible things she had just heard were false.
‘Elizabeth I’m sorry,’ Drake clutched her hand he was holding to his heart. ‘I didn’t… I meant to talk to you so many times. I just… Will you hear me out? Let me explain?’
‘Absolutely not!’
A new voice pierced through her brain. Elizabeth looked up at the new figures who had entered the room and were standing formidably over her and Drake.
She gasped out raggedly, struggling to find her voice.
‘Amma? Paatti? What are you doing here?’
-
Revelation Tags: @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa @quartzandarrow , @drakewalkerwhipped , @ooo-barff-ooo , @boneandfur , @lizeboredom , @topsyturvy-dream , @american-duchess , @withice , @majesticmintyj@ninamckenzie22 , @drakelover78 , @h3llostrang3r , @cocomaxley , @zarina-x-zig , @nicestrokepam , @enmchoices , @kellyale1804 , @mrswalkerreynolds, @kamybelen-blog , @hhiggs , @jenjosh5 , @bruhvs , @natalievgoodehenry , @choiceswreckedme , @laniquelovewrites , @theroyalweisme , @jamielea81 , @penguininapinktuxedo , @tmarie82 , @crookedslimecreatorpasta , @asprankle , @drakewanker , @client-327 @graceisgone56 , @mfackenthal , @smritysriv , @drakewalkerfantasy, @bobasheebaby , @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread , @srawesleyghuewrites , @ekhw1989 @mymandrake , @writtenbycandy , @andy-loves-corgis , @alwaysthebestchoice , @snyggflicka @mrsdrakewalkerblog , @moodygrip , @barbaravalentino , @agent-zephyrkah , @radpicklebakeryhero , @innerpostmentality , @fairydustandsarcasm , @speedyoperarascalparty , @debramcg1106 , @gardeningourmet , @blackcatkita , @meladoridarcy @lovelylittlewren @walkerduchess , @caz1003 , @annekebbphotography , @guilia3272 , @eileendannie , @jovialyouthmusic , @wickedgypsymoon , @sirbeepsalot , @addictedtodrakefanfic
#drake walker#drake x mc#the royal romance#playchoices#choices fanfiction#Elizabeth Richmond#drake x elizabeth#trr au#the revelation#long post#choices fandom#choices
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Risque Rouge pt17
Tagging: @umbralaperture @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84
General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly.
Darkmindsotome Masterlist
---
Chapter 17
Acrid smoke clinging to her, wrapping itself around as if she were to be bound in a blanket of toxic fumes. The air was burning, particles of embers and ash floating like feathers all around her. Her hand was being held by someone she couldn’t make out through the thick smoke. They were holding her so tightly her fingers were going numb but she didn’t cry out against them as they encouraged her to keep moving, dragging her in their wake.
Her heart was pounding in the darkness, every movement of her body felt torturous. She could feel the ground under her feet even though she couldn’t see it. Bodiless screams in the dark rose up around her in a terrible crescendo no musician could ever emulate. The feeling of pain and torment that was not her own filled her up to bursting. Why was this happening?
There was a muffled moment where the smoke seemed to become a wall, the sounds around her drowning out what was being said to her. She felt like she was about to lose the last thread of hope she had and was overcome. The fear she had been able to hold back till now dug itself in deep, latching on to her with icy claws. As the hand holding hers slipped through her fingers like sand. Then there was an almighty force shoving her away, casting her alone into the smoke and darkness.
Evie opened her eyes to find herself in a tangle of bedding on the floor of her bedroom. Her breathing was ragged and every part of her body was screaming in confusion and pain. She brought her hand to her head, the sensation of moisture finding her fingers. As she pulled her hand back, she saw the sweat of her brow glistening like powdered diamonds in the moonlight.
“It was only another nightmare.” She muttered to herself with a broken laugh. Her body had still not calmed down and she dragged her knees up to her chest leaning back against the bed frame. “Just a bad dream…”
Her mind raced as she tried to convince herself it was all just in her mind. It naturally began to focus on the fatale conversation from town and the pained look of Comte as she rejected him. Her body had stopped trembling, the sweat on her skin had all but dried up. Still, that conversation played on a loop and the more she thought about it the more it seemed to resonate in her. Each time she came to the same phrase there was a dull spark in her mind. Pure blood.
---
The air from the balcony was particularly crisp tonight. If it were more than a slight breeze it could have cut right to the bone and yet there was at least one man standing there oblivious to it all. His mind hadn’t just naturally drifted to the young woman in his house in truth it had been stuck on her from the moment they returned.
He had hoped she would reappear but she had cloistered herself in her room and had not even opened her door for Sebastian when he took her meals. That part was concerning for more reasons than he dared think about. His hands unconsciously tightened their grip on the stone balustrade as he looked out over the landscape tinted in the moonlight.
It was always a relaxing sight and he came here often, but tonight the view didn’t register. He simply stared, unfocused on a fixed point in the distance. Neither his gaze nor his heart moved as the breeze made his hair and coat flutter on the wind. They were the only signs of life when he himself felt closer to a statue carved out of time than a living creature.
“I thought you would be out here.” A friendly voice greeted him. The soft click of the door leading back into the mansion being closed gave the subliminal warning of escape being futile.
“Not now Leo.” Comte sighed. He could have faked a smile, placed any one of his masks on his face and put on a show. All of them would have worked a charm, except on his oldest friend. Comte was actually a little surprised it took Leo this long to track him down.
“Oh, you would prefer I smoked inside? You’ve changed your tune.” Leo appeared chuckling at his side, slipping one of his beloved cigarillos from its tin.
“I would prefer you didn’t smoke at all, it clings to the furnishings.” Comte groused his usual complaint that was destined to be ignored.
He watched Leo as he patted down his jacket searching for his lighter. Comte rolled his eyes in resignation and pulled out some matches from his own jacket, striking one to offer his friend alight. Leo grinned with his cigarillo perched in his lips, leaning forward into the flame guarded in Comte’s hands.
“Which is why I’m out here. Just me having a quiet smoke.” Leo spoke through a half-closed mouth, taking a long drag.
Leo wedged one hand in his pocket and leaned back against the supporting pillar to the side of the balcony, blowing smoke rings into the night air. The silence that flowed between them wasn’t uncomfortable but it was obvious that there was more to this meeting than simple coincidence.
“Say it.” Comte muttered a barely audible command.
“What?” Leo asked innocently adjusting his jacket on his shoulders.
In all the centuries they had known each other it seemed there were some things that never changed. It didn’t matter what time of day it was Leo always seemed to look like he was shot out of a canon. Comte admired his friend’s ability to shrug off social conventions and judgemental gazes. If he could have done similar, he wondered what kind of a man he would be today?
A familiar emptiness settled at the back of Comte’s memory, a bottomless solitary sensation that was as endless as his own immortality. Leo had once said he left the world they were born into because he wanted to find something greater, to nurture it and help people smile.
There were other reasons for his departure from the main royal court but his core ideal remained the same. It was a simple wish and dazzling prospect for one born as Comte had been to the endless night. Perhaps it was in understanding the inventor’s passion and kind heart that Comte had wished to harbour him for all this time. Allowing someone else's light to flourish where he felt his never could.
“I’m a fool. You know that’s what you want to say.” Comte mirrored his friend allowing his shoulders to fall back on the opposite pillar, their bodies becoming the frame for the view beyond them.
“No need Mio Amico, you are doing a fine job of that yourself.” Leo’s words stung with truth more than they did because he was being critical.
There was sympathy laying there under the thin veil of friendly banter. Comte knew he had caused Leo to become concerned and it seemed to add to the weight on his own shoulders. The events of the day remained indelible no matter how much he tried to stop thinking about them they were always there.
“I hurt her Leo. I forgot my own plan for trying to explain an impossible situation and I hurt her.” Comte’s voice didn’t seem to hold any of the resolve or certainty it usually did. His voice was stripped back to the man he was a long time ago, before the fame, the names and titles.
“I dare say you did.” Leo nodded. He had felt it, the turbulent wash of emotions crashing within him that were not his own, and realised something was wrong. He could sense clearly the two combining forces as they sparked and flashed against each other. It was a painfully beautiful resonating feeling that held both ends of the spectrum of love firmly in its grip. “La signorina has not shown herself since your return. I sense it as much as you do but I think I noticed something different.”
“Different?” Comte looked at Leo’s face studying him wondering what he could have picked up that would prove to be any different to the reality he felt. He didn’t wish to be told something so trite as words of reassurance when that would only give false hope and pay lip service to an ego that deserved to take this particular hit.
“I don’t think it’s hurt that she feels. She is frightened, it’s a torment that isn’t easy to explain but it is there all the same.” Leo blew out another cloud of smoke watching it as if he were looking into a crystal ball.
The smoke swirled between them and Comte wondered if Leo was looking at the image his own mind conjured. Her smiling face turned to tears, he felt his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest.
“I know she is frightened. I had planned to handle this differently and hope that she would be… ach!” Comte groaned in frustration and lightly bumped the back of his own head off the stone pillar.
The sensations he had tried to block from before were running rampant through his system freely like a forest fire. Emotions that weren’t his blended with his own but he was unable to find that needle in a haystack his friend was so ardently pointing out existed.
Leo couldn’t bring himself to smile for a few minutes, finding his theory that his friend had missed that which might have relieved some of his burdens confirmed. Comte had not seen her actions as something other than a rejection of him, punishment for him. Comte was too close to the situation or perhaps to shaded in denial to see the light in the darkness.
“No amount of planning can prepare someone for something they don’t wish to know. Even if they had begun to suspect something themselves, to have their fears confirmed is never where it all ends. You cannot change the past, my friend. You do still have a say in how the future plays out though.” Leo smiled that all-knowing smile that repeatedly stirred a desire to slap him from time to time.
There was more than one occasion between them where Leo also felt the same level of frustration towards Comte during one of their tête-à-têtes. Oh, how the tables turn. Long-life tended to provide a lot of experiences that meant conversations like this felt a little like being placed in a swirling vortex. You could easily lose sight of your position only to have the other point out how close you are to chasing your own tail over something that should basically have a simple solution.
In this case, as least the reason why Comte was so reluctant to argue was that he felt Leo held an unmistakable truth in what he surmised. Comte knew all too well the passage of time did not flow backwards, no matter how much you wished for a second chance. It was a long winding road with no clear trajectory and strewn with obstacles that were both obvious and well hidden.
You had choices at every bump in the road. Each one offering up a different direction for you to follow. Give up or keep moving? Neither provided a guarantee of a better future but his choice was clear enough, he was not ready to simply give up.
Leo crushed his cigarillo under his boot as he pushed his body off the stone and began walking back towards the mansion. His hand fell on the handle of the French doors before Comte called out to him.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“I told you I was only out here to have a smoke.” Leo shrugged, entering the mansion and disappearing into the empty warmth of it.
Comte remained on the balcony his eyes returning to the landscape but this time he was able to see the life in it.
---
Evie groaned at the sound of knocking on her door. At some point, she had drifted back off to sleep and slumped on her side still tangled in the bedding that was on the floor.
She was well aware she had failed to open it the previous day and was thankful for Sebastian’s consideration that he didn’t press the topic of trying to gain access. He had simply left the tray he had brought outside her door and returned later to remove it. She felt guilty for the bother it caused him to do so but she was neither in the mood to eat or see anyone.
The knocking on the door occurred again this time with a muffled conversation attached.
“Look she clearly isn’t awake yet let’s just go already.” The disgruntled impatient voice was one she had only heard briefly before but she could hardly forget the abrupt Theo.
“Sebas said she didn’t eat yesterday and I’m worried about her.” The softer and much warmer voice of Vincent was like a soothing balm even through the wooden obstacle of the door.
Evie sleepily unravelled herself from the knot of bedding and moved to stand, regretting it almost immediately as her head swam. Her broken sleep had created a sluggishness in her that was hard to shift. She leaned against one of the posts on her bed as the conversations beyond her door continued.
“Look there is no point in worrying over that little mutt. She is Comte’s problem, not yours Brother.” Theo was sounding impatient and as much as she hated to feel like she was eavesdropping on a private conversation Evie disliked the fact that Theo was referring to her as a dog just as much.
“Schei uit, Theo. You should try to be nicer to girls.” Vincent sounded stern even though he didn’t raise his voice. She thought this must be a common conversation between the brothers. She remembered Vincent apologising for his brother’s attitude before and shook her head smiling.
“I still don’t see why…”
“I like her.” Vincent cut off Theo with words that caused a very audible gasp from the abrupt younger sibling.
“You--? Broer… what?”
“She’s nice and kind and I like her just as I like everyone else here. I’d like us all to be friends, there can’t be anything worse than feeling all alone.” Vincent’s reply was so earnest it was like a ray of sunshine. She was a little thankful that no one was around to witness how rosy her face had become.
“Brother… fine.” Theo seemed to locate his composure before the knocking sound returned. This one much louder than the last. “Hey, Hondje! You better open up or I’m just gonna open it myself.”
---
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⭐ I'm curious.
So, according to TarotSchool.com, everybody has a pair of tarot cards associated with their birthdate. My set is Hierophant/Temperance. Now, of the two, I think I have more in common with the Temperance card. Hierophants are more about communication with higher powers, and I don’t really have much in the way of a concrete muse (unless you want to categorize my thoughts as belonging either to very strict teachers, religious hippies, or the clerk at a video rental shop.) Unless we’re talking about the fish monster Hierophant from “House of the Dead 2”? Maybe I’m more like that.
But, Temperance does show up pretty strong in my writing style. Not necessarily as most people would associate meaning to the word—i.e., controlled restraint—but as in melding objects together to create a new product. From my fanfiction, this would include:
“Villain’s Veil”: “Team Fortress 2” x “Othello”
“The Langelaan Countermeasure”: “Team Fortress 2” x “The Fly”
“Drop Kick Me, Jesus”: “Team Fortress 2” x “Tremors”
“Snow Nine”: “Team Fortress 2” x “Snatcher”
“Old Mann’s Heart”: “Team Fortress 2” x “The Last Unicorn”
“Pink as Hell”: “Team Fortress 2” x the design for the “Enchanted Evening” Barbie x the opening scene from “True Lies”
“Bonds of Vanity”: “Castlevania” x “The Last Unicorn”
“Dedication”: “Castlevania” x “Dracula”
“Purif-Eye”: “Castlevania” x “Pokémon Go” x “Fatal Frame”
“Hell or High Water”: “Castlevania” x “The Little Mermaid” x “The Last Unicorn”
…look, I really like “The Last Unicorn” a lot, okay? Those villains speak to me. Feels like potentially what I could become, if I don’t mind myself.
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THE VEILED HOUSE- Fatal Frame: Maiden of Black Water Fifth Drop pt 2
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The Wayward Lovecraft
“Meat.” Spectre insisted.
Tristan had been so happy when he was able to establish a link of communication between himself and Spectre, but now he was starting to regret it with the nearly hourly demand for meat. They had been checking traps and game trails all day, but the weather was working against them. It was the first hard snow of the season, with low temperatures and biting winds, so the deer were all hunkered down, and their tracks were lost beneath the drifts. The bears were all moving into their dens to hibernate.
“I know,” Tristan muttered moodily.
The pair moved silently through the snow. The veiled Incubus was surprised by the stealth of which the shadowrunner commanded. Despite his equine appearance, the courser’s foot falls were calculated and steady. The beast was more pack animal than herd animal.
“Let’s head down to the Timberlands,” the huntsman smiled, unwilling to give up despite their rotten fortune. They turned more southward and slipped through the forests towards the lands Olivia had once called home.
While the Timberland Estate house, the out buildings, gardens and a few of the surrounding acres of land still belonged to Olivia Lovecraft, she had sold everything else to Tristan’s Mistress, Lady Alle Beithloch, Duchess of Derweg and Earlessa of Amberwood. The sale had been more than fair, in favor of Alle, but Olivia truly hoped to fulfill her late Aunt Marian’s wishes and see the land protected and responsibly harvested.
That was, in part, Tristan’s role. His mortal persona was huntsman, but he had a new goal now. He would learn all he could about forestry. Hunting was easy, but preserving the balance and becoming a true forester, was something foreign to him. Though he didn’t seek challenges in all aspects of his life, he did enjoy the challenges provided by nature.
“Meat.” Spectre demanded again.
The shadowrunner seemed to know when his companion was starting to drift onto daydreams and interrupts them with enthusiastic glee.
“Right. I know,” Tristan grumbled.
It was mid-afternoon, but the sky was so dark with the growing storm, the landscape was cast in eerie shadows. As they approached the edge of the newly acquired Amberwood lands, amid those strange shadows, a light drifted beside a shade as it appeared to glide towards the Timberland Estate house.
“Not meat.” Spectre offered after testing the air.
The beast’s great chest filled before heaving a snarling sigh. It was as though he already sensed Tristan’s intentions.
“I know, friend, but we have to see what is trespassing on lands we have agreed to protect.”
At first, Spectre remained obstinately in place as Tristan began to move forward, he shared no such sense of duty with his demonic companion. However, the intelligent beast had successfully applied a surrogate attachment to the Incubus and felt compelled to keep the foolish creature alive, if only to gain meat from him. Reluctantly, Spectre followed, silently catching up with Tristan as they passed the property line.
The figure they stalked left a clear trail in the snow, their cloak only mildly marring the small, humanoid footprints. Both predators tested the air as they went, but neither could pick up a distinguishing scent from the creature. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, they didn’t have to employ many of their tracking skills to find the figure collapsed ahead.
“Hello? Is someone there? I’ve turned my ankle,” the woman called as she lifted her lantern and turned futilely towards the pair stalking her.
Hunger, all at once, erupted in Tristan. He moved forward, guilelessly guided by his attraction to mortals in need.
“Not meat!” Spectre warned.
The beast pranced forward and stood between Tristan and the woman, earning an irritated growl from the man.
“I know that! We aren’t going to eat her. Just…help her back to the road or something.”
“Oh! What?” The woman exclaimed as she recognized the courser. She had no idea the grisly things they discussed by their link, but the sight of the shadow and flame creature took her by surprise all the same.
“Ma’am, what are you doing out here? You are trespassing,” Tristan responded as he pushed past the antsy beast.
“I…am not. This land belongs to my family,” the woman insisted.
Tristan’s steps slowed as pieces started to fall together.
“You’re a Timberhewn?” He asked, keeping his distance suddenly.
“Lovecraft, actually,” the woman replied, her waifish air fading and her voice taking on a familiar husky tone, not unsimilar to Olivia’s.
“Diana, then?” Tristan grunted. “Everyone assumed you were dead.”
“Oh, darling, I am…” Diana responded.
She vanished into a cloud of ash. Heat and the scent of burning nether assaulted Tristan’s senses as she translocated directly in front of him, pressed against his chest and rendering his bow and spear useless. With strength beyond the limits of her small, feverish frame, she closed a hand around his throat.
“And who are you, darling?” The color of her eyes was stained with hues of red as she stared up at him.
Tristan felt the pressure of a lulling aura closing in on him but, to her surprise, he was unaffected. With the concealed might of his demonic nature, he threw the undead woman back. She collided violently with a tree with a force that would have easily inflicted fatal wounds to a mortal.
“This land belongs to Olivia Lovecraft now, and the forests are protected,” he barked back, wiping at his neck with disgust. “I am employed by Lady Beithloch to ensure they are protected, and you are trespassing.”
A cruel laugh bubbled up from the woman as she pushed herself to her feet again. The lantern she had been carrying was broken, earning a displease snarl from the vampire.
“So, mother dearest left it all to the dear little Little? I am not even surprised,” she spat ruefully. “But I am still family—”
She stopped and looked at Tristan curiously.
“Did you say, Lady Beithloch? As in Alle Beithloch? Are the rumors true? That she still lives?”
Tristan was rigid for a moment as he glared at the undead creature. He was conflicted, overcome with Alle’s wishes to see Diana again and the danger that could come from bringing a vampire to the Estate.
“Not meat!” Spectre offered, snorting aloud even to make his point clear.
“I know that!” Tristan growled audibly before meeting Diana’s gaze. “Yes. Lady Alle Beithloch, Duchess of Derweg and Earlessa of Amberwood. And your old friend, from what I have come to understand.”
“I am afraid not,” Diana said sadly as she started to collect the pieces of her broken lantern, piling them up in the snow.
The predator in her was gone again, and she seemed deceptively frail suddenly. Tristan raked through his memories of Silver Dawn, sought the days when Diana had been a part of that awful hospital. She was labeled an arsonist and pyromaniac. They kept her naked in a room with nothing soft or flammable.
“She has expressed a desire to see you again. Ever since Olivia told her there were rumors of your presence here,” Tristan explained calmly, despite his disdain of undead things.
“She can’t see me. No one can see me, and no one better believe the rumors you spread of this day,” Diana insisted as she drew a circle around the broken pieces.
With a steady flow of arcane energy channeled into the circle, the shattered lantern was slowly repaired.
“Why?”
“Because I would rather she remember me as I was rather than fear me for what I am.”
Tristan howled with laughter, shaking his head as he kept an eye on the woman. When the lantern was whole again, she picked it up and snapped her fingers to set a flame to its wick. She glared at Tristan indignantly.
“I am a menace in these woods,” she said with finality.
Tristan opened his smart mouth to say something cocky, but before the words left his lips, the vampire was gone again in a cloud of ash.
“Not meat.” Spectre grumped.
“No. Not meat, but we have to call the hunt and get back to Miss.”
Spectre huffed his disappointment before Tristan could continue.
“We still have bear liver frozen. I will thaw it out for you. Don’t pout.”
The Sayaad reached out and patted the courser’s shoulder before starting the long trek back to Amberwood.
[ Mentions: @olivia-lovecraft @allebeithloch]
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Hope Springs Eternal Part One
I shivered
palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.
It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.
Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.
Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.
A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.
But that just added a certain spring to my step.
Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.
Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.
But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.
A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.
Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.
I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.
My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.
“Your mind should be a diary.
Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.
Time, dates, everything.
It always comes in useful.”
She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.
Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.
Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.
I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.
As of yet
a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.
Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.
Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.
I called it my domain.
Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.
The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.
Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.
As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.
Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.
Optimism and cheer were her other passions.
As well as paying attention.
“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.
“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.
“Where there is joy there’s hope.
Time and hope are intertwined.”
Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.
Typical Virginia logic.
I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.
This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it's rivulet of veins.
The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.
But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn't help but notice something else.
The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.
Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.
My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .
This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.
Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.
Or did I hear it go off?
My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.
The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.
“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.
It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.
“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.
Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.
I've always had a thing about posture.
The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.
The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.
Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements
The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,
purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.
Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.
Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.
Albeit with telltale winter stains.
But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.
Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.
A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.
The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.
Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.
Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.
The bane of every bulging blood vessel.
An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.
Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.
Irrespective I continued unabashed.
The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.
A motivator of noble human impulse.
My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.
A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.
Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!
But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.
Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.
The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.
She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.
Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.
Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.
“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.
They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.
They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.
“The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.
Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.
Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.
They can assume a life of their own.”
Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.
Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.
Although such humor couldn't always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.
Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.
It’s beginning to fill up.
The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.
The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.
Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.
Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.
An unyielding rooted presence.
They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.
These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.
Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.
All these details forensically noted.
A sudden wakening ensued.
“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”
My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.
“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”
Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.
They alighted from their bicycles.
“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?
You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.
Winfred her boyfriend agreed.
“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.
Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.
Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.
His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.
After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.
As well as the young at heart.
Photograph and short story copyright protected by mantrabay
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