@xluciifer

No Morty. No Summer. No Beth, no Space Beth, and more importantly, no JERRY. Today was a day for himself--and himself only. Granted, he's always the one pulling everyone else into his bullshit, so mayhaps the real vacation is for everyone else.

But the point still stands, after a long few weeks of dealing with fighting overlords from a few galaxies over for some spices to trade for credits to gamble at an intergalactic horse race for the Beths, taking Summer on some stupid girl adventure he promised her, Morty the next day wanting the same special treatment, followed by a few days later Jerry asking for help with something involved in the house's plumbing that ended up involving a giant sentient mutated AMOEBAE taking residence in the pipes...

Well.

He was packing his shit up and leaving for a few days before anyone else wanted anything out of him. His experiments weren't working out like how he'd hoped as of late, ideas were becoming stale, and he was growing increasingly frustrated with his current prototypes.

Punching in the coordinates for dimension TE-584, the green swirling portal opens up in his garage. On the other side awaited him with nothing but the bliss of beautiful men, women, and anyone else in between and outside of the between. Plus the drugs, booze, and endless food. A simple step through is all it takes, and when he does so, he's quick to announce his presence on the other side, arms raised high.

"HELLooOOOOooo VILIXONIA! LADIES! GENTS! READY TO PARTAAAAAAY IT UP IN HERE! RICK IS IN THE HOU--"

Huh. This isn't the intergalactic beach hooker bar on the beach he remembered.

Where the fuck IS he?

@ycllowhaired​

As a reverend’s son, Ben had always been taught that retaining ill will towards another person was wrong. One mustn’t covet, nor begrudge another man’s actions, and yet in this instance, Ben liked to believe God would forgive him -- nay, agree that his yearning for revenge was completely justified.

In a cruel twist of fate, his brother, Samuel had been arrested on a trip to London. He’d merely been speaking his mind in a tavern -- oh, Heaven forbid -- and the judge presiding over this trial had condemned him to prison...a prison where Samuel withered away, grew sick, and ultimately died a dog’s death. That sort of oversight could never be forgiven; not when this Turpin monster lived more than heartily in a mansion, while meanwhile everyone else starved and pleaded for crumbs. 

Ben wished to reverse his fortune. So now, leaning against the wrought-iron fence across from Turpin’s grand home, he pretended to read the book in his hand, occasionally glancing over at the small boy he’d hired to pose as a distraction. At long last, he could hear a commotion. The little boy was waving his hands, speaking loudly about an investment -- one that the judge had made, of course -- going “up in flames,” and that he’d been sent by “some nice banker” to come fetch him. Turpin, in all his greed, couldn’t resist this ploy, and immediately fetched his hat and coat before accompanying the child out into the street.

Miserable old miser.

Watching until the two had disappeared, Ben quickly rushed across the street and jogged up to the front door. In Turpin’s haste, the damned fool had forgotten to lock up, and with a breathy laugh of disbelief, Ben showed himself inside and quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly -- something, anything that could prove what a monster this man was -- so he took his time as he searched through the large house.

Before long, Ben became incredibly frustrated. None of Turpin’s desks nor potential hiding spots revealed anything of import -- not even a ruinous letter. Sourly, he headed for the final room in the upstairs hall (his last chance) and immediately froze once he realized it was locked. Oh... Well, surely this was a room of interest! No man with nothing to hide would lock a door, after all.

Giddy, Ben set to work on picking the lock. After a handful of unsuccessful attempts, the lock finally sprung open, and he pushed his way into the room, pleased with himself until he realized that...well...he wasn’t alone. A pretty young blonde was seated in the far corner, embroidering quietly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Pale and wide-eyed, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before spluttering, “Oh, uh...I-I’m so sorry, I...I thought...” Quickly. Come up with something, damn you! “Er, I am a carpenter. I was called in to fix a wobbly table leg. The judge isn’t presently here, so...I suppose I miscalculated the room. Apologies.” Though just as Ben turned to leave, it suddenly dawned on him that this woman had been locked inside this room -- that she was a prisoner of sorts -- so slowly, he halted his trek and turned again to regard her. “Are you all right, Miss?” This time, he didn’t bother disguising his American accent. Somehow, he had a feeling they might be on the same side...

WHERE: DIY pop-up shoppe at rabbit creek; gingerbread house building table WHEN: 17th december, daytime WHO: anyone! ( @anchoragestarters ) CAP: FULLY CAPPED AS OF 14th JANUARY

On paper, this had seemed like the perfect opportunity for Rika. She'd been wanting to reach out more, to try and take part in the living breathing community of Anchorage instead of living as a shadow behind the beaded curtains of her room at the Raven House. The popup had a wonderfully festive atmosphere and the air seemed to Rika as though it hung thick with the excitement and curiosity of its guests and volunteers. As expected, the gingerbread station smelled pleasantly of sugar, spice and (of course) everything nice. This volunteering spot required a few things, of course; a hint of craftiness, a dash of creativity, a generous sprinkling of baking talent and a heaped spoonful of patience. These were standards Rika could meet easily enough, even if the patience required just the smallest stretch of extra effort. She'd known from the start that she would be a little out of her depths, lacking much experience with gingerbread houses due to their lack of a cultural presence during the holiday back home, but she'd gotten the hang of things quickly enough.

That wasn't exactly a good thing. Rika was good at getting carried away, at getting far too invested in the house she was putting together, and she may have gotten distracted from her role of guiding others through their own gingerbread creations. It was only her view of her work was darkened by the shadow of another person that she finally broke free from her spiced reverie. "I'll be with you in just a moment," she said by way of apology, whipping her head up with such abrupt speed that several locks of hair broke free from their loose ponytail binding. "I'm just trying to turn this...hmph, sugar glass into a window for my church." She grunted a little as she spoke. It was tricky work. Still, just as Rika said, there sat on the table before her an overly complicated little gingerbread chapel, still half-built. "Did you need any help? After all, that's what I'm here for!" A pause, and she tucked her hair back behind her ear. "Sorry, I guess I haven't made that very obvious so far, have I?"

WHEN SHE SEES HIM HER FIRST THOUGHT is, irrationally, that she should hide. if he were to ask she'd have nothing to show for her five years roaming around restlessly on some other continent, but upon gazing at her brother birdie knows none of that matters to banks, and it never will when it comes to her. five long years with barely any contact at all — birdie suddenly aches with guilt and remorse and longing. and then the amount of love she has for him seeps through and the thought of running the opposite direction is long gone. he still hasn't noticed her ( why would he when the perfect view of the tyrrhenian sea is right in front of him ) and despite the fact that her hair is damp with salt water and she's wearing an i ❤️ roma t - shirt she got in a tourist shop after a seagull shat on her she still makes her way over to him. to anyone watching she must look like a lost girl looking to scam him of money. banks is the vision of the perfect businessman, and it makes birdie sad for the time they've lost. it takes everything in her to not charge directly at him and embrace him so hard he might never hug her again, but instead she approaches him where he sits slowly, arms crossing in front of her chest as she clears her throat. « well well well, banks donovan. i'm afraid this town ain't big enough for the both of us. »

@invcntions.

& 𝐑𝐄.  AURALINE & LEOPOLD WAYNE / @violentdesires

COME WHAT MAY . it was a vow leopold and auraline made to each all those years ago — when she was just a simple girl and he her guardian . when the world was such a perfect place and all they had were each other . a vow never forgotten even as the seasons changed ( winter to spring , autumn to summer ) . as storm clouds gathered , a river wide separating them for a time . even then their love never died . it never would . not even with the end of time . and it did take time for them to get where they are now . by each other's side once again , everything revolving around each other as it was meant to be . yet even after all this time , she never knew that it could feel like this — like she's never seen the sky before . not until she watches her warlock climb those steps , each one closer to her , his eyes bright like the glowing moon . as he stands by her side in front of her court , taking her hand in his , making that same vow . come what may . not just for her , but to her people . to be their king . the king that they need . the king they deserve . her heart sings to him and she knows he can hear it : telling him that she is giving him everything . everything that she is — from that simple girl she use to be to the queen she is now . the tears in her golden eyes reflect back every single memory that took them to where they are now — the good and the bad , and all the good that has yet to come . and when their lips meet , the stars collide overhead ; she vanishes in his kiss , sealing their vow once again . come what may .

with crowns on both heads , they turn to the crowd , standing together . and auraline knows that the greatest thing she'll ever learn is this : to love and be loved in return . together , they are stronger . singing out their song . come what may . and their love , their vow , will strength her court . their court . the celebration that follows moves with such perfect grace — leopold spinning her in his arms , over and over again , the two dancing among their fae until she's dizzy with ' i love yous ' and come what mays and she's out of breathe . she pulls him away from the crowd , feet still dancing as she leads him out of the room and into another — an empty balcony away from prying eyes ( guards standing at the entrance , doors closed to give them privacy , a moment finally alone ) . her cheeks are flushed as she looks to her king , hand still in his . ❛ so how does it feel ? having all of this as yours ? ❜ she asks , free arm gesturing out to their land below them , trees and the hidden creatures in them spanning till where green meets the night sky .

angel couldn't quite explain why she had agreed to the idea of getting a random tattoo with her friends. it wasn't about getting matching tattoos, but rather about sharing the experience of going to a tattoo parlor together. initially, the whole concept seemed a little crazy to her, but perhaps it was the influence of seeing someone with numerous tattoos that had sparked her curiosity. she attempted to sound nonchalant as she mentioned knowing a tattoo parlor, even though she knew that hudson, her brother's best friend, worked there and could very well be present at that moment. as they arrived at the tattoo parlor, angel's dark eyes scanned the place, hoping to catch a glimpse of hudson amidst the hustle and bustle. her friend engaged in a conversation with the artist, who warmly welcomed them inside. immediately, they began flipping through a folder filled with various stencils and design ideas. angel finally made eye contact with hudson, and she simply smiled at him before joining her friends. her heart raced in her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement intertwining within her.

"hmm, i think i like this one," the brunette mused, pointing to a simple yet appealing design. the group quickly came to a decision, and all angel could focus on was not looking directly at hudson. however, her attention was suddenly captured when she heard the question: "who wants to be first?" angel turned to look at hudson, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "with him?" she asked, seeking confirmation from the man who had welcomed them inside. he nodded, introducing hudson by name. "good luck, girls," angel said with a smile, turning to face her friends. she playfully mouthed the words, "i got the hot one," before letting out a soft chuckle. with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she walked towards hudson. "surprise," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of anticipation and intrigue. @hudson-everett

LOCATION — Team Room, Kensington. DATE —  June 11th, 2023. STARTER — Closed for  @eleanorxshipley​

Splashes of colour surround him in the wealthy Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, now that flowers are fully in bloom. It’s a good place for a charity luncheon; one that says ‘we’re a nice cause but we aren’t desperate’. Maybe even puts donors in a better mood just for the loveliness all around them, more likely to dig deeper in their pockets in generous support of the Hospital that’s had such a rough year.

It’s especially serendipitous that London’s media darling, Eleanor Shipley, also happens to be out dining on the same day, in the exact same location.

Gideon suspects that donations in support of the Hospital will be pouring in this time.

He’s not half as interesting a public figure as is the young actress, and yet he can still sympathize intimately with what it’s like to be hounded by strangers when you just want to enjoy a nice day out. Seeking to save her from the luncheon crowd before they exit, he excuses himself a little early from the table and strolls in her direction, sticking two flowers out in greeting. “Save my masculinity by taking these off of me, Shipley... Hospital’s way of saying thanks for dragging me out to tea. How are you?”

@imprvdente // starter call. 

The tour has been a bittersweet affair, to put it lightly. The rush, the celebration, and Katniss, on his arm, tucked against his side, threading her fingers with his, loving him… But the love isn’t real. He knows that now, and wishes he didn’t. The celebration is just as false in many of the Districts they visit; the quiet, drawn faces of the crowds, so full of hate for the two of them, remind him inescapably that their living meant so many other deaths. As if the nightmares, or the numb, unfeeling prosthetic where his leg used to be, would ever let him forget it. Putting on a smile for them seems such a violence… 

Returning to the Capitol for another interview as the Victory Tour winds down is similarly fraught. It is a relief to be back among faces that congratulate his living, not condemn it, but he can only be a spectacle here. These are not his equals. He may be first class among the Districts now, but he will always be worth less than any Capitol citizen. He stands in the no man’s land between the two now, he and Katniss both, and alone. But maybe not irrevocably. 

This interview is for the cameras, of course, and it’s Caesar that sits across from him, but with another — the victor that’s worked her way to the host’s seat: Fish. Perhaps another victor is the only one capable offering him an insight into his new position. Does she feel at home in the Capitol, truly? Or is the estrangement just easier to bear here than in her own Districts, where she is reviled? Could Peeta achieve the same? Does he want to? 

“Glad to be here with you,” he starts, welcoming the swell of applause as he takes his own seat and waves to the studio audience, “all of you. I feel a little outnumbered between the two of you. You know, the ride to the studio’s the longest I’ve been without Katniss in months. We’ll see how long I last.” His smile is conspiratorial, the banter, an invitation to his hosts — an agreement to put on a good show.

@full-tiltboogie / mary esther & your choice of muse! / mary esther parties all night and sleeps all day, only to wake up to the outbreak happening in the living room of the trap house. after she kills the thing that tries to kill her, your muse happens upon them. it's up to you if your muse knew the zombie, if your muse didn't know the zombie but knew mary esther beforehand, if they're all three complete strangers, etc.

the scissors in her hand were so bloody that she might’ve thought they were actually made in that color if she didn’t know why they were red. the body in front of her had stopped moving, its face contorted in a way that turned mary esther’s stomach. she woke up minutes ago on the couch of some guy’s house, having spent the night there getting high and drinking copiously, much like she did most nights. what was unusual was the woman that stood in the corner of the living room, limbs twitching at random, her back to mary esther. groggily, she rose up on her elbow, eyes trying to focus on the stranger in the corner. “uhh… good morning?” mary esther said, forcing herself to sit up, swinging her feet onto the floor. the woman made a noise in acknowledgment, or at least mary assumed she did, before she slowly turned around.

the first thing mary esther noticed was the woman’s milky eyes. then her drooling mouth, a mixture of saliva and blood dripping down her chin. there was some sort of wound on the woman’s neck, right next to the shoulder, and the arm beneath it was unnaturally jutted out. it took a second to dawn on mary that the woman’s arm was twisted around at the elbow. her ankle was similarly broken, almost completely on its side. the woman, or perhaps the thing, screeched suddenly and it caused mary esther to nearly jump out of her skin. at the very least, off the couch.

now completely standing up and completely awake, the woman charged for mary. she screamed, stumbling backwards. mary esther fell over the side table, the wood painfully cutting into the back of her thighs. the lamp on top of it smashed to the ground, giving her a bed of ceramic shards and bits of glass to fall on. “oooowwwww.” she moaned, barely a moment to feel it before the woman was almost on top of her. mary scrambled back on her forearms, grimacing as the shards slashed against her skin. the woman fell down onto her stomach in her attempt to get at mary esther, one hand grabbing for her foot. she kicked out, connecting with the woman’s forehead and forcing her grip to loosen, which gave her the chance to get off the floor.

standing up, she kept walking backwards until she was up against the wall. eyes wide open in fear, she watched as the woman lifted herself off the floor, bending her knees and raising onto her feet in an acrobatic way that mary couldn’t quite comprehend that she was seeing. her hand slowly crept along the wall, sight still on the woman-creature, until she felt something stabby underneath her fingertips. grabbing onto the item, she realized it was a pair of scissors only when she brought it up in front of her to rush the woman and stab her.

mary esther hadn’t known how hard it was to stab someone until she actually tried. she had threatened creeps before, even once holding a kitchen knife to a guy named hector that she briefly hung around with back in vegas, but never truly tried. it was sort of surprising how exhausting it was. the woman kept trying to chomp into her, jaws biting at air as mary held her off with one arm while trying to stab her with the other. after a few minutes of tussling, finally the scissors connected with the unharmed side of the woman’s neck, and she expected the woman to just… fall to the ground.

she didn’t. she kept going. she kept trying to bite.

wrenching the scissors out of the muscle, another thing harder than she thought it was going to be, mary freed the weapon from the neck and instead tried for the temple. another few minutes of dodging snapping jaws, she was able to sink the blades into her head. the body finally dropped to the floor, twitching in little movements as it finally died.

standing above the body, her own was heaving with large inhales of air. sweat collected at her hairline, blood all over her hands and arms—she had to wonder how much came from her and how much came from her. the room was completely silent until there was noise to her right. instantly, mary esther turned her attention to the source of it, scissors raised defensively. “hey, fuck off!” she warned, stepping backwards a few inches. the situation most definitely looked super sketchy, a brazen murder at nine in the morning, but it was self-defense!

@silencedrage {Shauna} spots Jackie's footsteps in the snow.

Since the cold snap that nearly claimed her life, Jackie had felt like a caged animal inside that cabin. They all had.

For one thing, she was forced into close proximity with Shauna, one of the last people she wanted to be near after their public airing of incredibly dirty laundry (metaphorical laundry which Jackie hadn't even realized Shauna had been piling up for quite some time). She felt defensive, forced to the back foot -- as a striker, that wasn't usually her position.

Jackie had also been humbled by the gruesome recovery of her frostbitten fingertips. She'd submitted to Misty's medical attendance, but her hands were constantly aching and she would have puked the first time she saw them unbandaged if there was anything in her stomach to begin with.

But suddenly all of that sort of paled in comparison to almost losing Shauna in childbirth. Maybe she lost Shauna before that, and maybe a part of her friend did die with that baby. All Jackie knew was that they hadn't been the same since the fight... but now how could anyone ever make the first move required to bridge that gap? Who would bow first in a battle of Shauna's heart versus Jackie's ego? It was an irresistible force meeting an immovable object.

When the snow had cleared enough for them to go back outside, teammates trickled out slowly, each with their own purposes. Jackie loathed the cold (it made her blistered arms burn), but what she hated even more, she found, was the idea of Shauna hiding things from her. Not that Shauna really... owed her anything, after what the girl just went through with her child. But maybe in some stupid way, Jackie wanted to be there. Or wanted to be included. To watch, to guide, to control to help and not feel so fucking useless. Maybe she just... missed the way Shauna used to be so devoted. Jackie had no one out here, not anymore. There was no team to captain, no class to be queen of.

So when she saw Shauna leave the cabin with something in her arms, she thought maybe she should follow. Just in case... what if her friend needed her? But, since when had Shauna needed her out here? When had Jackie been anything but a burden? After a few minutes worth of trudging through the snow, something compelled the girl to turn back, leaving her friend to push forward in snow-muffled silence. Maybe it was the pain of the cold that made her fold, or maybe it was the realization that somehow Shauna had turned the tables on her and now she was following like a puppy at her heels. Desperate for validation, for some sign she was more than dead weight that should have frozen in the ice.

"Shit," Jackie hissed angrily to herself, giving up and headed for the cabin. It was too cold to cry. But she was too restless to wait inside. So maybe she'd just sit on the porch until Shauna returned. If Shauna returned.

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : jestin's penthouse or wtvr. 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 : everyone (  @nepofmstarters )

penthouse   remains   littered   with   leftover   evidence   of   a   get together   he’d   been   WARNED   not   to   have   in   the   first   place   –   mother’s   orders   ,   jestin   !   still   ,   now   he’s   left   with   a   mess   to   clean   up   and   an   IMPORTANT   DINNER   later   in   the   evening.   11am   and   you’d   expect   him   to   have   the   place   half   swept   ,   not   for   him   to   just   be   waking   up.   the   ache   in   his   back   from   falling   asleep   on   a   chair   (   bottle   in   hand   ,   now   half - shattered   on   the   carpet   )   remains   very   present   as   he   nearly   trudges   through   the   almost   empty   area.   “   hey   –   !   ”   his   arm   reached   out   ,   palm   gently   shoving   against   the   other’s   shoulder   to   wake   them   from   their   (   hangover ?   )   slumber   on   the   couch.   “   either   get   up   and   get   out   ,   or   get   up   and   help   me   clean   this   place   up.   i’ll   make   breakfast   if   you   do.   ”   yeah   ,   because   burnt   toast   and   overcooked   eggs   are   so   appealing   ,   right   ?

@drrutherford​ Dated: 2/6/23. Location: The Empire Hotel, London.

To say she had a great many hesitations about accepting her uncle’s invitation that afternoon was an understatement. Not because she didn’t wish to spend time with him, of course; Emilio was a busy man, and she would take the opportunities, often few and far between, where she could find them. But stepping into one of the Rutherford family’s best-known establishments seemed risky business given her newest affiliations, and the volatile state the city had found itself thrown into of late.

Gianna knew, in spite of the fact he didn’t hold a title like Vidal did, Emilio was one of Johnathan’s most trusted confidants, and as such, though he didn’t feel the need to expand on the finer details of his relationship with the family, his standing was not insignificant. The way the others treated him spoke volumes. The way he spoke of them, more so. Yet still, she hadn’t expected the connections to run so deep that he took pause from the conversation at their table when Vidal had pointed out someone walking by, to greet Gideon Rutherford of all people.

Gianna wondered, did he know his father personally?

The brunette’s eyes lifted from her almost finished drink—the very thing she’d hoped would cue her departure at any minute—and caught sight of the familiar face in an instant. He seemed to be alone, and likely, hadn’t come here looking to be hailed over by a handful of his father’s lieutenants enjoying a late lunch. This wasn’t exactly how she would’ve chosen to broach the topic of her family’s involvement with his, should it have arisen if they’d crossed paths again...

Most of the greeting she attempted to tactfully ignore. Until:

“My sister, María, and my niece, Gianna,” he gestured toward them, too proud of a family man to miss an opportunity to introduce his own to one he clearly revered.

Great...

The woman acknowledged him with a tentative smile. “We may have met.”

we turn the page to a new chapter | mutuals meet cyrillo ♡

his hand rubs relentlessly at the scars on his wrist, turning tanned skin red as cyrillo stares up at the clear blue sky. the sun warms his cheeks, has him squinting and scowling, yet his gaze never leaves the aky above.

your wife died giving me her heart to keep your little one safe. did you plan for that, too?

he had. he discussed it with her as a possibility, a scenario to be prepared for; a small part of him always wondered whether or not she ever had to do it, and a larger part preferred to push the thought down. not knowing and wondering would be the end of him if he let it. though, now that cyrillo knew what happened after his death, of his wife's fate, he realizes the truth can be just as maddening.

she died without him, because of him. their daughter lived without both of her parents, raised by a valravn forced into servitude. he wonders how different all of their lives could have been if he hadn't deserted the army all that time ago.

cyrillo doesn't turn upon the sound of approaching footsteps. bronwyn did not save her biting words for a private conversation, relishing in his subtle discomfort ( despite centuries apart, it was disconcerting how well she knew him still ). he can only imagine the other is here to bring some sort of comfort, but the vampire would much prefer a distraction.

" i hope you aren't here to pity me, " he comments lightly as he slips his glove back on. " i made my choices. wise or not, i have to live with them. "

open to — @pcvrlys ( micah ) setting — outside of kelly's beach house

kelly pulled the sun lounger with one hand behind her, a repeating thud trailing against the sand. the second lounger was already in place, facing the ocean. kelly's house was to their back, about fifteen yards away. off to the side of them stood a telescope. her sun lounger held a few blankets and pillows for the pair to use. the weather was improving, but spending more than ten minutes outside called for something to trap their body heat. fire was out of the question, as they were already dealing with enough light pollution.

the two had gotten together once before to gaze at the stars, though it was in a more secluded area last time. kelly felt it was best this time to do it close to home, in case they needed additional resources (last time, they ran out of snacks). micah was much more knowledgeable about the stars than kelly, something that provided an entirely logical reason for them to stargaze together. kelly could leech off of his knowledge; this way, she gained something from a social interaction... she could claim she was being productive.

when the lounger was appropriately placed, kelly handed over a couple blankets and pillows for micah to use. "we are more prepared this time," she promised. "i brought different kinds of mittens, rechargeable hand warmers, food..." she wandered off, mentally checking off things as they caught her eye. "i think we're set." she declared with a determination most often seen in those who are about to embark on the journey of a lifetime.

LOCATION — Gideon’s Apartment DATE —  April 20th, 2023.   STARTER — Closed for @ayda--demir

Haringey isn’t safe anymore.

Of course, it never really was, but especially now he’d be foolish to step foot in the Borough as a Rutherford; with French and Russians pissing everywhere to claim whatever pathetic stretch of it has gone uncontested, and the Turks caught in the crosshairs. He may be foolhardy, but he isn’t an outright fool.

It’s fortunate, then, that with Leyla having long vacated the area, there’s really only one person left in Haringey that he cares about. But instead of seeking her out in her bar as was their routine, he’s invited her to his place instead; for the first time. He’d intended to have some warm food ready when she arrived, but because work had run late, he’d only managed to arrive at the apartment about two minutes before Ayda had reached it herself, smiling at him uncertainly as he waved her into the lift.

“Thanks for coming. Glad you found the place ok. Sorry, work was a warzone, as per usual.” He kicks himself belatedly for the ill-thought analogy, and continues quickly as the doors to the lift spring open on his floor. “How’s the bar?... How’ve you been?”

Gideon unlocks his front door and opens it for her, entering after she’s crossed the threshold. “Sorry it’s taken me this long to check in on you. Someone died that night that my family was close to... It kind of overshadowed everything else for a bit.”

@therapardalis, indy jones starter

The university had been kind enough to grant Pavel's extended leave of absence without it negatively impacting his path to graduation. He was fully ready to argue with them and sit the final exams right then and there to prove he would be fine, that the few weeks he needed off to return to Russia for personal affairs would not set him back, but the deans could not argue with top marks and additional research efforts on top of it.

One less headache to worry about.

He'd spent about eight days of this extended leave dealing with the legal affairs of the responsibility thrust upon him by his great-grandfather's passing before leaving it to lawyers and stepping back. Cleaning, paperwork, junk removal, taking care of the estate—the responsibilities grew like the heads of a hydra, two more for every one he tackled.

Pavel did not need a home full of ghosts and junk—it was part of the reason why he ran to America to pursue his education in the first place—he only needed money to cover what the grants wouldn't and keep food on the table.

Selling it all, however, meant unboxing things, throwing out what wouldn't be worth the time and effort, and sorting through the rest on the off-chance there was anything he wanted to bring back with him. There had been an old wooden box in particular, one explicitly mentioned in the paperwork, that demanded Pavel's attention. Four days after he plucked the legal burdens from his shoulders, he finally had the chance to sit down and pry it open.

The leather-bound notebook was first to catch his attention. Flipping it open, Pavel was met with walls of text, some in what he assumed was his great-grandfather's handwriting, the rest in a language he had no hope in deciphering. The letters curved in ways he was unfamiliar with, but he could tell just at a glance that it was old, older even than Old Slavonic. There was something heavy wrapped in thick burlap, the fabric dirty and frayed.

Pavel couldn't help but unwrap it, only to furrow his brows at the strange item. The contents were just puzzling enough to delay his return to America even longer in favour of finding this woman mentioned in the journal, this Thera Pardalis, who supposedly worked in England.

So for the fourth time since this all began, he boarded a flight, bound this time for Heathrow.

If I never have to get on a plane again, it will be too soon, Pavel thinks as he turns down the first block to his right, a plain black backpack slung over his shoulders, heavy with the weight of the box's contents. Customs was a nightmare, the accents were something new to get used to, and he hardly knew left from right in a place like this.

London was a huge sprawling city he'd seen only briefly as a backdrop in films or in old photographs about the wars.

For a man with such a strong sense of direction, this was hell. He'd asked three different people for directions to the British Museum before finally reaching the extravagant building that looked like it belonged more in Greece than here in London.

Hurrying inside, Pavel tightens his hold on the strap of his backpack and approaches one of the museum curators. He asks after this woman, this Thera, and is promptly waved off to the next room with only a description of her to go off of.

Following those instructions, he spots a woman that appears to fit the description given to him standing by one of the exhibits and approaches. "You—You are Thera? I am Pavel Chekov. I have questions; I need to speak to you."