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weavingmemories · 2 years

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(tag stolen from @bibliophileemily - hope it’s okay to take this as a springboard to ramble a little 👉👈)

replaying ToS as often as i have, i tend to have fun thinking a lot about new character dynamics every time i come back to it- and yuan/colette struck me a lot when i considered how yuan directly compares her “cloying attitude” to martel when he opens up a little (in the mithos the hero sidequest)- and it kind of all spiralled from there! (colette asking yuan if he was looking for a four-leaf clover in the ring sidequest is so absolutely adorable too LMAO. her just pointing out that maybe he wants to be happy and that was her reasoning... oh, my sweet angel.)

since i’ve been thinking a lot about my chosen swap au, i’ve often considered how colette’s involvement in the renegades would be a lot more active; she’d be a lot more invested in actually HAVING autonomy somewhere and feeling like she can work to change the world for the better on her own merit, after being largely ‘seen and not heard’ as the flourishing world’s chosen for show (and treated generally like glass by the noble class)- so instead of largely gaming all sides of the conflict like zelos does in canon, she’d be more stuck between a rock and a hard place with cruxis, but genuinely believe in the work she does with the renegades.

i’m still fleshing out the smaller details of the swap, but i think that in general colette learning how to wield her elemental magic (via aionis) and training with the renegades would really be the first time she feels like she can do something, and while yuan would probably be standoffish and busy for the most part, she’d really come to respect him, especially knowing how much danger he’s in and the tightrope he also walks behind yggdrasill’s back! i also feel like their closer contact and communications would kind of wear him down over time, since colette has so much genuine faith in him as a leader (and i can see her becoming close to botta too, since they probably do a lot more practical work together since he runs things more front-facingly!)

on the flip side, zelos’ journey (because his mana signature is probably not quite so close to martel’s) is kind of a dummy one just for the sake of turning over the hourglass- i think colette’s life would still be in imminent danger of becoming martel’s vessel if mithos found out just how close her match was, and how much of a clear shot he’d have at bringing his sister back. and so yuan probably is keeping very close tabs on her for that reason too! and of course, he’d probably have a lot of conflicting feelings about her- reflexively wanting to remain stubborn in his belief that she’s just silly, naive, etc. as a defense mechanism to opening his heart again, but really coming to appreciate her both for her familiar kindness but also her own unique personality!

i also think that in post-game, colette would want to keep working with yuan and the renegades as a force for rebuilding the world and helping out (and maybe even become his new right hand man?). and that could lead to something... who knows? :3c

#yulette #tales of symphonia #robin rambles #i am not immune to chosen swap au #genuinely thought when i first planned it out that i'd be thinking a lot more about zelos but OOPS. ALL COLETTE #of course i love thinking about zelos' end of the bargain too. especially the gut punch that is like #him not even being a suitable vessel (the one thing he's been primed for since birth)#but also him able to grow up alongside lloyd and genis and raine and seles and!!!#but yeah reimagining the tethe'allan side of this has been such a joy because it's taking colette's core and reimagining the circumstance #i think she'd be a lot more anxious and neurotic about having all of this pining about wanting to change the world #but having nothing to channel it into for most of her young life- being discouraged from taking part in tethe'allan politics #beyond being paraded as a symbol and popping out another chosen in her future #not that growing up being prepared to die is much better. but i think it gives canon!colette a sense of definitive calm #something that she might not be able to grasp here #i need to stop rambling LMAO #what i DO need to do is finish colette's design sheet and start zelos' oof

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nothisis-ridiculous · 3 years

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Take Me Home Now: Chapter Four

Chapter Four: But You See, it's Not Me

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Get down! Get down! Get down!" Jane screamed as she charged across the field.

The blast rippled through the air, a torrent of flame following imperceptibly behind it, and with that sudden friction came the force of the explosion. Rubble, stones, dust, and ash flung across the square seconds after the detonation. Terse silence, then relief.

"Recruit!" the Lieutenant called, emerging from behind the barrier, "holy hell, Recruit?"

He scanned the intersection, frowning as the haze of ash obscured his vision. But it wasn't long before coughing guided him forward to his curled-up Recruit. One now covered in ash and with a few extra gashes but seemingly no worse for the wear. Those bright blue eyes looking more out of place against the black and grey backdrop of soot and crimson.

"I think we played that one a little close," he wavered on the humorous tone. Fighting their own wasn't comfortable for most soldiers, even if they had made it abundantly clear they were the enemy.

Jane grinned up at him, "I usually am not the charge setter. I just like the boom."

Fair enough. Perhaps he should have never questioned her mettle, the woman chomped on the bit to destroy this outpost the second she saw the gem-like logo tagged on the side of the building. Roy knew she had killed other humans since the Reapers were defeated, but seeing her ease at doing so in person was another matter. Most of his men, and himself, balked at the idea after weeks of working together against the Reaper threat. Now it was over -it felt sacrilegious to kill another member of his race... it was the first time he had killed another man. But here Jane was, taking it in stride, almost seeming to take it with gayety he couldn't fathom.

"That must be the human with the quad," for a hulking creature, the Krogan leader could be quite mellow at times, for what was expected out of him.

Strangely enough, Jane didn't share that same sentiment. She cowed in her own way, backing from the open hand that Wrex offered to her. Wrex instead lifted her by the arm, pulling the female in for closer inspection. The red eyes roved over her face and features, looking for something that he ultimately decided was not there. The Krogan set her down with a gentle jostle.

"Heh, I must still have my charm."

His recruit fought a wistful smile.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The cold night air prickled her skin, raising the fine hairs across her forearm. Her gaze followed it down and to the ground in the space between her crossed legs. It felt less immense looking at this space rather than up at the terrible presence that loomed over her—waiting to devour her.

"How does it feel to be invisible?" the mechanical voice now a caress gently easing into her thoughts, "those you called friends can't recognize you anymore."

She wasn't invisible, just tired. Scared. Lonely. Lost. Everything the Commander didn't feel.

"What is the legendary Commander without biotics? Fodder."

Each attempt she had made had wound up in her losing time. Each subsequent try meant more time and a migraine that intensified. If the migraine ever truly left the lingering stage, but it was something she knew better than to complain about. Nobody needed a reason to worry about her or find another reason to treat her like an outsider. That she couldn't complain about, she hadn't tried hard to be friendly. Instead preferring to remain on the periphery.

"Or is the legend of Shepard over? The husk that you are can't compare."

Or was it easier to relax? To let the burden fade from her shoulders? The crushing weight of everyone's hopes had been too much. Sleepless nights, nightmares, and anxiety permeated every aspect of the Commander's life. Questioning if she had done enough for the war effort, the sewage of her worries toxifying each moment of peace. Guilt over her time in Cereberus still proving to be a hurdle in any reconciliation of her being a basically good person.

It was a little easier being Jane. Not much was expected of her.

"Or are you the vessel of her guilt? The long-overdue penance for her crimes."

Most saw Shepard as the hero. But only because they didn't see the evils she had caused. Colonies. Planets. Friends. Synthetics. Her unit on Akuze. All gone because of her choices. Nobody had time during the war to examine the consequences of her actions. Would they not see them if Shepard simply died on the Citadel? The blame left to some figure that had at least the good sense to atone by dying for the galaxy?

It didn't make her choices better.

But it was less blame to assign to her.

"Whatever you are now isn't worthy of being deemed 'Savior.' You rejected your friend because you feared the face he would see, the nothing you are now."

"I see we're revisiting Harold," the warm voice a sudden break from the cold metallic," I don't understand it, this thing gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Roy's hand on her shoulder a strange grounding back into reality, back into the frigid night air. Her head turned to glance at him, as usual, he softly smiled, amber eyes viewing her with a hint of concern. A familiarity that thawed some of her walls.

"It's also freezing out here, but leave it up to you to be sitting out here. Alone," the chuckle arriving before his teasing, "brooding."

Jane huffed.

Roy's finger stroked the underside of her newest scar that ran along her chin; it was a curious thing with a slight glow, "you need to get this thing checked."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Finally, some respect."

"Don't let it fool you."

The LT sighed heavily in return, turning his head to the Reaper with a reflexive frown," Now, tell the Recruit to stay put for a moment."

Jane hadn't intended to move, but welcomed the checkered blanket that was placed tenderly around her shoulders all the same. Roy placed himself facing her, blocking out the view of the Old Machine. A green bottle finding its way into her hands.

"I can't take this."

"You're not taking it. You're helping me drink beer," he returned smoothly. Extending out his own drink in a toast.

"Well, what do you suggest?" her favorite person murmured. His eyes darting over her lips, but they only ever rested on her eyes. Inviting; her call to calm.

"I can't think of anything better than this moment right now," Mary lost her fight to keep his gaze, her cheeks dusting in red. The possibility of this vulnerable moment turning reared in her head.

"Shepard," Kaidan purred against her lips, pulling her form flush into him, "Shepard."

He didn't move to push the feathery kisses into serious territory, instead enjoying the closeness the two of them rarely got to enjoy. This openness was the prime offering, the exposed throat to be protected. Even rewarded in a way Mary wouldn't see as patronizing.

"Kaidan," Mary muttered, his name dropping as her vocal cords seized.

Kaidan would wait as many beats as she needed.

"This feels almost normal."

His rumbling laugh came fluidly, "what do I need to do to make this normal, normal? Besides ridding the universe of the Reapers, and singlehandedly wiping out Cerebrus."

The Commander considered it for a long moment, "you know that really uncomfortable position where I lay on your arm? I think that would feel more normal."

"Alright, Shepard," Kaidan returned with a grin, scooching both of them awkwardly until he laid on his side and Mary's head rested on his forearm, "anything else?"

The woman grinned bashfully, "no."

"Because you forgot the crappy vid, but it doesn't matter; we wouldn't have watched it anyway," his finger traced across the ridge of her nose.

"Why? Would we too busy, getting busy?"

He laughed again, "maybe. But you don't like to be still that long. You know, you'd have to learn to sit down and watch a vid with me one day."

"If you could refrain from making comments the entire time," Mary retorted smugly.

"Heh." There was a hesitation.

"If you've got something to say to me, Alenko."

His finger gently drew lines between the paths of her freckles, formulating the right words and deciding on a path between his hopes, "sounds like you are planning on keeping me around."

"I-," the sole thing keeping her head from turning away was the hand that cupped her cheek, "I'd like to learn to be normal with you. To have a regular life... with you. Christmases, birthdays... fucking Easter."

Kaidan knew he grinned like an idiot, his cheeks hurting from the width of his smile.

"Hey, kid, you look a little lost there," Roy called, snapping his fingers.

"Oh," she put the bottle to her lips, the somewhat warm liquid coating her mouth, "sorry."

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking his own generous sip. Overlooking the woman curiously.

"LT, I appreciate this, but," Jane struggled with the words, with the absolute coldness she was displaying, "why are you doing this?"

"It's Christmas," Roy stated simply.

So it was, "I'm sure you have better company. Even others that had invited-"

"I did, but don't make this isn't all about you," Roy had his own troubles. Most of them the people that clamored for his attention. Jane wasn't like that, he found her near hostility refreshing. A good break from the worries of being a caretaker for everyone in the building before him. Jane didn't ask for anything. "I am still not convinced I was the one most suitable to speak with that Krogan, Wrex. You seemed to get on with them."

"You got it done."

"We had an unlikely connection, and he's a reasonable person."

Jane shook her head, twisting and opening up her palms in a dismissive motion. Apparently, that was that and a done deal. Returning them to silence.

"I am curious, how does one know so much about aliens, guns, and farming?" He pressed after a moment. The finding of her knowledge of crops was the most surprising thing to learn about her to date. Not that she had deemed to share this openly; instead, he caught it by chance as the Salarian and the Recruit brainstormed the best irrigation and propagation methods with their limited supplies.

Jane's cheeks flushed, even in the dim light, "ahh, I had mentioned my parents were colonists, just not that they were farmers. I'm not an expert or anything. Being a teenager when they died, I had little real interest in it."

"And the aliens?" He wisely pushed away from the subject, already seeing the hints of her recoil. The bobbing of her throat becoming a recognizable tic.

"My postings saw me in diplomatic positions. I spent a considerable amount of time on the Citadel and visited most of the homeworlds of the major council species," Jane glanced to her right, a soft smile spreading on her face.

All considered this was a fucked time to be smiling. Upon further consideration, visiting wasn't the proper term either, she had been there to try and break a siege or to deal with some Reaper-related threat. The smile arose because of the memories of her crewmates, former and well... they were all former now.

"How did you end up so lucky?"

"Some hard work, but mostly luck," her expression darkened before returning to a neutral state.

He had so many more questions. But she had her reasons for not divulging further, for reasons nefarious or more likely classified, Jane kept mum. Pushing her further could only end in retreat.

"Any other fun talents you want to tell me about?"

"Nothing that entertaining," Jane chuckled, "though I'd like to know how you managed to stash beer."

Roy returned the chuckle with a wink, "my secret, Recruit."

"Fine," she smirked, "but what about you? I know you served, but what did you do before this?"

"I own an orchard. I used to be more involved with it. But as men my age do, we like to retire to a quiet life."

"So much for that," Jane murmured, earning another toast with the LT, "any family?"

"Yeah, an old lady, somewhere back home," Roy grew wistful, "I have a kid, too. Somewhere."

Jane knew that tone, the somberness a feeling she was only too familiar with. Much as he never asked about her troubles, she returned the favor. Most had lost something, if not everything in this short but brutal war.

The man picked himself up as he finished his beer, stashing both bottles into a pile of rubble to retrieve later.

"You should come back inside for dinner, word and smell is that someone made actual bread. Rolls."

Roy offered out his hand.

#mass effect fanfiction #shenko #female shepard x kaidan #mass effect spoilers #fancition #take me home #mass effect #kaidan alenko #shep x kaidan

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heartslogos · 5 years

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the moon or the branches

Thus far they have been unable to procure her cavalier’s body.

No matter.

Harrow can make one. She is a Lyctor. She has passed several of the trials that would have led her to becoming one. She has a faint idea of what the others would entail.

She can grow armies out of a handful of scaphoids and capitates.

Harrow can make a Gideon Nav. She might not be able to create a beguiling corpse as the Seventh can, nor does she think she would want to, but she can create a skeleton. And she can figure out a way to conjure the soul of Gideon Nav and bind it to that skeleton.

Gideon Nav is somewhere inside of her and there is no reason why Harrow cannot conceive of a way to get her out.

The Necrolord Prime thinks it would kill them both to do so.

What the most revered does not know is that Harrow was never meant to be born to start with, and Gideon Nav was not meant to live. Gideon Nav does not get killed by the things that should kill her.

Apparently, Gideon Nav can only be killed by Gideon Nav and Harrow never permitted it of her, therefore Gideon Nav does not get into the obscure annals of Ninth census records to become dust. Gideon Nav gets to come back as a skeleton that Harrow will make perfectly for her and gets to explain all the reasons why she thought it was a good idea to attempt to die against Harrow’s explicit commands, and she gets to listen to Harrow explain to her exactly why all of her self-sacrificing heroic lunacy is exactly that.

Harrow has lived her entire life with Gideon Nav. She can build Griddle’s bones by heart without looking. It would be easier than making a key.

There is no reason why Harrow cannot do this. If Septimus’ house could do it, then surely Harrow can. Harrow is capable of doing things the Seventh House would weep to do. And Harrow isn’t even attempting to preserve flesh. She’s only working with the bone. The bone is strictly her forte.

And if Silas Octakiseron could manage to call his cavalier back when he had the ambition of a snail and the capability to think beyond the tip of his nose then Harrow can dredge up Gideon Nav — the loudest, most obvious, brazen, and obnoxious pain in Harrow’s side — and make her say something suitably mind numbingly idiotic through the form of an undying bone servant.

Gideon might not have lips nor lungs to speak with, but the dead have other ways of speaking and Gideon’s already had practice pretending to have a vow of silence. A fake vow that, despite all odds, Harrow has to admit Gideon stuck surprisingly well to.

Obtaining the bones is not difficult. Traveling in the retinue of the Necrolord himself on the way to what Harrow presumes to be an elite area filled with all the resources one in training to be the Necrolord’s hand and member of his direct following, suitable of one with the title the First, means that the procurement of supplies for her to work with should not be hard.

The hard part is finding a place to be left alone.

The Necrolord’s ship is not the kind of loud chatter of the Canaan House, despite there being more people with flesh than not, but it is still a bustling hub compared to the Ninth’s sacred misery.

Thus far Harrow has only ran into Tridentarius once, by accident, and the two of them departed that meeting with the strong and mutual desire not to have any repeats.

Harrow needs to be alone. She needs to be alone with space to work, without others to peer over her shoulder or gawp or question or — or what have you.

She is also faced with the surprising problem of having too many choices in regards to material. Harrow is used to working with whatever happens to be available.

Now she has an entire breadth of bone available. Bones from the young, bones from the old, bones of someone who was six foot four, bones of someone who was a runner, bones of someone who was a priest, bones of someone who spent their life in plate armor — a plethora and variety of bones with which she can work with. Each one of them with their unique characteristics borne of whatever life the body they shuffled through the mortal coil decided to lead.

Some bones are so new that Harrow can imagine sucking the marrow out of them. Some are so old that they look like one faint jostle will send them scattering into the ship’s ventilation, lost forever.

Obviously, Harrow declines to use those. Despite how entertaining it would be to stick Griddle in something ancient, probably revered, and most likely deeply important.

Harrow pushes her sleeves up and gets to work. It is unlikely that Griddle will be in this skeleton for very long. Chances are that her cavalier will break something within the first few days. Probably on purpose.

That is fine. Harrow plans on this being a work in progress. She can add and subtract from it as time goes on. And with the many tricks and secrets Lyctor-dom has ahead of her, she is sure that there will be many, many additions she will be providing her cavalier’s vessel.

But right now she needs a good, stolid base.

Harrow is furious.

She has the bones. She has the theory. She has the power.

What she does not have is Gideon Nav piloting a perfectly well assembled skeleton at her side, where she ought to be.

Gideon hasn’t spoken to her since she woke up that first day, since the battle at Canaan house that killed her. And truthfully, Harrow isn’t sure — well.

She isn’t sure that her mind didn’t imagine he entire thing. It could have been a hallucination borne of grief and pain, as said possible hallucination said. It could also have been Gideon being a dick and playing it off.

If it was the latter then where is Gideon now?

Harrow closes her eyes, breathes, and concentrates. She drags her fingers through her own mind like a sieve, looking and searching out the edges of her soul from Gideon’s. They must be here, surely.

Because Harrow can feel the strange overlap of Gideon’s knowledge of sword and body with her own experience with necromancy. She can feel the discrepancy in the expectation of a sword in Harrow’s hand versus what Gideon’s soul-body knows a sword should feel and move like in Gideon’s own knowledge. Harrow knows that the difference exists. Gideon did not disappear completely into her.

Gideon Nav is somewhere inside of her and is being a complete and utter ass about not coming out.

One would think that Griddle would be pleased that she doesn’t have to ride along, silent and hapless, as Harrow’s private accessory.

And yet.

No Gideon.

“Are your accommodations to your liking?” the Necrolord asks in that calm, unnervingly gentle voice of his. Harrow still can’t look at him directly without wanting to weep.

Whether she wants to weep with rage at what she has lost in the name of service to him or because he’s overwhelmingly god she isn’t sure. Both, but the ratio between the two is fluid and perpetually unclear. Much like ocean tides, going hither and yon.

“Yes, lord,” Harrow answers, keeping as much bite out of her voice as possible. Her head hurts. She’s feeling dizzy from blood loss — and she’d spilt all that blood for nothing because there is still no Gideon Nav.

He doesn’t say anything back, but she knows that he is looking at her and finding her answer and lack of truthfulness falling below par. Harrow may fear, respect, and find herself slightly brain-dead just looking at him, but that does not mean that she trusts him. Not with this.

Not with her cavalier. Not when it was his Lyctors, his edict, his trials that took her away.

It doesn’t matter if the way it happened was not as he intended, ultimately he meant to take Gideon away and Harrow would never have —

Harrow bites the inside of her cheek.

She might have. It would have stung and hurt and it would have been another dark burden for her to carry for the rest of her life, but she might have. If things had gone a shade differently. She might have.

“It will take you time to process what has happened to you,” he says, infinitely steady. Something about him makes Harrow think of black holes. Silent. Roaring. Infinite centers of gravity. Terrible and sublime. “Do not over exert yourself, do not push yourself into what you do not yet understand, Nonagesimus.”

“No, lord,” Harrow nods.

He sighs, and she thinks she is not imagining the smile in his voice when he continues, “Do not push yourself into something you believe yourself to understand, either.”

Harrow’s fingers curl into her palms, hidden in her sleeves.

Harrow knows perfectly well what she’s gotten herself into and what she’s doing. It’s Gideon who’s being an absolute blockhead about it.

“Griddle,” Harrow hunches over the table with her immaculately laid out skeleton, “I am not trying to undermine your idiotic heroism. Don’t be petulant just because your heroics and your supposed final last stand are not as final as they would have appeared to be. I think everyone would acknowledge that you’ve gone and finally been true to yourself and gotten yourself killed in the most spectacularly reckless way possible. So get in the damned bones.”

Nothing. Nothing at all for the past hour. Days. Weeks.

Harrow’s fists shake with the force with which she’s digging her nails into her palms.

She closes her eyes, headache pounding in her temples.

She reaches down into herself once more, searching Gideon out, running her fingers over the fine line that snags as Gideon Nav.

She digs her fingers into that crevice and attempts to rip it open. She can feel it resisting, wavering.

Harrow focuses on Gideon’s hair. She conjures to mind Gideon’s cocky smirk, with and without the paint that marks a member of the Ninth House. She traces the marblesque lines of Gideon’s arms as she takes up a sword, and the curl of her fingers and the press of her broad palm. Harrow breathes in deep and fills her ears with the sound of Griddle’s incessant chatter, even when she isn’t being talked to directly.

In her minds eye she traces her entire life back. An entire life filled with Gideon Nav — front and center, off to the side, in the background. A life with Gideon Nav, the walking dead who refused to die.

Gideon was called to die thrice, and died only on the third time.

Gideon Nav.

Gideon Nav, Cavalier Primary of the Ninth House. Your adept calls you.

A shuddering gasp of breath. It feels like her entire body has been thrown through fire and smothered in ash. Every breath is laborious, and her throat is simultaneously wet and dry. Her lips are cracked. Everything feels like it needs a few dozen washes and then an extra dozen goes in a sanitizer.

Sore is an understatement.

Her fingers twitch and she groans. She feels the groan more than she hears it, throat so dry that breath stings.

Something at her fingertips clatters and it takes forever to slowly turn her head — each slight moment a terrible jostling feeling as she looks down at whatever it is she’s touched.

It’s those damned stupid glasses.

She feels a defensive spark, faint hurt and a touch of amusement, but overall sullen. They aren’t stupid.

Watch it, I like those glasses. I look hot in them.

Harrow’s eyes fly open as she gasps, knees weak as she stares out in front of herself, not quite seeing the skeleton on the table in front of her, and not quite seeing what the dust and the grime and —

There was no body. There was no damned body.

“Gideon?” Harrow’s eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of her head, she almost loses the fine thread that connects her to her cavalier. Is this relief? “Where the hell are you?”

Gideon’s entire mind is like a cacophony of bright screaming sound-color-tastes that slam against Harrow like several thousand pounds of stone on all sides, bludgeoning and pummeling her into almost losing her grasp on Gideon.

She can feel the burn of wounds all over Gideon’s torso, fractures in her bones, bruising in her muscles, the shuddering hot pain with every breath.

Gideon’s gaze slowly travels until the irons are in sight.

“You mean to tell me that all this time you’ve been right there?”

Gideon’s mind is a riot. Like a sputtering fire. Harrow can hear her snapping “Where the fuck else would I be?”

“No one could find you!” Harrow knows that Griddle can’t hear her, not exactly — it’s a miracle that they’ve even managed to form a connection from this far away. But Griddle has always had an uncanny knack for putting words in Harrow’s mouth, that while lacking in the quality of their diction have always managed to convey the same general idea or tone as what Harrow herself would use.

Gideon’s field of view slowly moves further and Harrow can now see that while Gideon is with the object of her demise, that object is no longer where Gideon’s assumed death had taken place.

The stone cliff must have crumbled in the aftermath, when Harrow was unconscious. Gideon fell. And as improbable as it would sound, survived.

Well. Of course. Gideon Nav can’t die. Of course.

Gideon Nav would be so inept that she would fail at dying. Harrow’s heart curls tightly in her chest, and her eyes sting. You can’t kill Griddle. Not even Griddle can kill Griddle.

That would explain why Harrow has been unable to establish the same connection as she had back at Canaan House. It raises some worrying questions as to whether she is actually a Lyctor or not, but Harrow would rather have this than that.

Harrow feels the questions building up in Griddle’s mind, just as many and pressing as her own.

The most important question being — how does Grideon get back to her adept? To Harrow?

Harrow’s en route to…some sort of school. Or training ground for new Lyctors. Gideon’s somewhere in the shattered wreck of Canaan House. There’s leagues and leagues and leagues between them, now.

She doesn’t know how to get this ship to turn around. What does she say? Turn around, Gideon Nav is alive? Despite all odds, the Ninth House Cavalier Primary is alive and waiting for them — for her? Who would she even speak to?

How long would it take for them to get back? How long can Gideon last? No food, no shelter, no water, no access to medical equipment — she was impaled. She was buried under rubble. And before that she had blown out her arms and legs fighting a centuries old Lyctor possessing the body of a walking eternal thanergic generator.

Harrow clutches her chest, vision doubling as Gideon’s battered lungs wheeze. Griddle’s wet hacking sounds like a rapidly deflating balloon as she laughs. Harrow squeezes her own eyes shut as Gideon slowly rises to her feet, struggling to remain upright.

“What are you doing?” Harrow hopes that every portion of her dread goes through to the cavalier. Because, knowing Gideon, there’s only one thing she can be doing.

“Well. If you can’t get to me, I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to get to you.”

Harrow imagines that this comes along with much more colorful and coarse language, but she already has the idea of it.

“How? Griddle, you’re a mess of broken bone held together vaguely by skin that somehow hasn’t burst apart at the seams.”

A mental shrug.

“Be serious, Gideon.”

Whatever the mental equivalent of blowing a raspberry would be, Gideon does it.

Every step and movement Gideon takes sends spikes of sharp pain through Harrow and she has no idea how Gideon is being so flippant about all of it. Harrow’s feeling it by extension, Gideon’s the one living it.

“Do you actually want to be dead?”

Gideon’s mind lets out a loud and empathetic fuck no.

And then, softer, more smug and pleased and confident, everything Gideon Nav right down to the stupid glasses —

One flesh, one end, dumbass. Can’t do that if we’re on separate planets.

A faint memory flickers at the edges of Harrow and Gideon’s mind.

If I could figure out a way off of the Ninth, where you were actively trying to stop me, I can figure a way off of this planet.

True.

Harrow closes her eyes, focusing on Gideon’s vision as she feels the connection between them waver and thin.

Don’t make me wait overly long, Griddle, Harrow thinks at her.

Right, because you’ve never been known for your patience. Chill, boo, I won’t even give you time to miss me. Smell ya later.

#heartsfic #gideon the ninth

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ineffably-good · 6 years

Link

The first time was understandable. They were in London in 1956, looking into a series of disappearances at local orphanages that led, in turn, to a brilliant chase across most of London, an exploding drone ship, and a hastily-rigged-together teleportation device that returned the children home.

After all of this, the Doctor and Rose laid on the grass in St. James Park, catching their breath. The Doctor packed his sonic away looking highly satisfied, brushed the dust off of his shoulders, and turned to grin triumphantly at Rose.

"So," he said, "where did we leave the TARDIS?"

Rose looked blankly at him. "I dunno! I thought you knew."

He huffed. "Well, I was busy saving the planet, you know. The least you could do is keep track of little things like where we left our ride."

Rose made a face and took his arm. "Best start retracing our steps."

To be fair, there were over 600 blue police boxes in London in the fifties.

They checked over 83 of them.

Rose kept a careful count.

The second time, they were guests on a space liner where the new symphonic work of an important 43rd century composer was being premiered. It was quite a large ship, with stringent parking policies. The Doctor and Rose had barely stepped out into reception when a strange-looking valet appeared, hand out for the keys.

The Doctor peered over his glasses at the odd creature in front of him. Its skin was papery and gray, its demeanor officious. Wide black eyes, no nose to speak of, and its suit jacket was ill-fitting at best.

"No," the Doctor said firmly, "I am not turning over my ship to you."

"Apologies, valued guest," the creature said, its tone obsequious but firm. "No time travel devices are allowed on the hospitality decks. If you will not allow us to drive your machine we can move it for you with our hover-lift to a more suitable parking location."

As if by silent signal, a robotic arm appeared. It plucked the TARDIS off the deck, deposited it in a large elevator, and whirred it out of sight all before the Doctor had so much as drawn a breath to continue arguing.

"Now see here!" the Doctor began, only to be interrupted by the creature whipping out a small round chip and handing it to him.

"Your parking retrieval location," it chirped, and off it went. The Doctor considered making a fuss, but quickly decided it was best to let it go. Their hosts were honorable and known to him, and he was certain no one could harm or even enter the TARDIS while it was away from him. He offered his arm to Rose, and escorted her into the concert hall.

Two long hours later, after hearing a baffling cacophony of what could most easily be compared to the mating songs of Lithuanian crickets combined with an earthquake, they stumbled out of their seats and headed for the lobby.

"You were sleeping, Rose," the Doctor whispered.

"Doctor!" she reprimanded. "Was not."

He eyed her meaningfully.

"Ok, maybe a bit." She grinned. "Crickets always put me to sleep."

"Crickets?"

She shrugged. "Sounded like crickets to me."

He patted his pockets as they headed off to the valet stand to retrieve the ship. And patted. And patted.

Rose eyed him warily. "What's wrong?"

"We-e-e-ell," he said, "I seem to have misplaced the chip to claim the TARDIS."

"What? Look again."

He did. He continued to dig through various pockets — breast pocket, both outside pockets, inner pockets, even his pants. He looked through his socks. He even checked a pocket Rose hadn't known he had on the back of his tie.

"Well," he sniffed, "I'm sure it won't be a problem."

It was late the next morning before they finished the paperwork, submitted in triplicate, and had their fingerprints processed, retinal scans completed and verified by experts, auras read, astrological charts cast, and hair follicles analyzed for remnants of illegal substances.

Rose had long since given up hope of ever seeing the TARDIS again, when they finally wheeled her out and deposited her on the pavement in front of them.

"Thank you for parking with Atransi Enterprises," the small gray valet said warmly.

"You know, technically that wasn't my fault," the Doctor told her later.

Rose smothered a laugh.

"Well it wasn't!" he repeated indignantly.

"No, you're right," Rose said, nodding emphatically. "The little gray guys were being ridiculous."

Somewhat mollified, the Doctor smoothed down his lapels, pulled out an apple, and took a bite.

"After all," she continued, "How could they expect you to hang on to one little valet ticket? Even the Doctor has his limits."

She ducked before the apple he threw hit her.

"There's a Mall Planet?" Rose asked, incredulously.

The Doctor grinned at her from behind the screen. "Oh, yes. Grandest shopping in the galaxy. Organized into cities simply by the type of merchandise one prefers. You can go to whole towns focused on hats, books, men's clothing, woman's clothing, toys, electronics, shoes, garden utensils, foodstuffs of various kinds..."

Rose had to cut in. "Shoes?"

"Ah, yes, of course." He twiddled a few knobs. "So that's where we should start, then?"

"Yes please!"

The door swung open onto an enormous parking structure. In all directions were endless cars, ships, and vessels. A variety of illuminated signs and flashing lights in the pavement directed shoppers to various portals from which they could hop directly to the main entrance. Temporary tattoo machines were available to transcribe your parking location onto your palm for convenience.

Neither the Doctor nor Rose noticed this option. Instead, they took a moment to memorize their location - A412'B*596-1X.

"This is just parking, Rose," the Doctor chided with a grin. "Stop looking all wide eyed and awestruck until you see the city."

Inside was indeed a wonder. Rose had never imagined anything like it. Thousands of stores, all dedicated to footwear, organized in concentric circles on 200 floors. Automated kiosks helped shoppers identify an appropriate starting point by species, foot size, and style and whisked one directly there.

An hour later, the Doctor was tearing his hair out. Sixty minutes of watching Rose look at shoes, touch shoes, try on shoes. So. Many. Shoes. This was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. What could he have been thinking?

To her credit, Rose noticed his increasing discomfort.

"You don't have to follow me around all morning, Doctor," she said kindly. "Is there somewhere else you want to go for a while? We can meet up soon."

He looked dubious. "Well... maybe. I'd like to head off to the electronics conglomerate. It's astonishing, a floating city in the midst of this world's largest ocean. But it's a long way and it could be hard to find you here."

Rose shook her head. Sometimes he simply didn't think straight. She put it down to the shoe shopping. "Leave the sonic with me, or one of your tracker thingies, silly," she said with a smile. "Pop off in the TARDIS and you can come right to me when you're done."

He all but bounced on his toes. "Perfect, Rose! You're brilliant." He hugged her and popped the sonic into her back pocket. "See you in a bit."

And in a flash, he was gone.

After what seemed like only an hour or two, he was back, looking quite disheveled.

"Doctor!" Rose said, surprised. "I didn't hear the TARDIS land."

"About that..." he said, obviously trying to sound nonchalant. "Do you by any chance happen to recall the parking number?"

Rose grinned, earning her a stern look. She wiped the smirk from her face and thought for a minute. "Um, I think it was AB412... started with A. Oh, and it had a prime in it. And an asterisk."

His face fell.

"No, no, no, that doesn't help at all." He paced. "All that tells us is that it's on one of the A levels. There are hundreds of A levels. There were fourteen characters to the parking code, Rose! Do you know how many possible parking spaces that is?"

Rose winced. "Could we possibly work back from the portal where we came in?"

He stared at her. This was a very good suggestion. Why hadn't he come up with it? Each quadrant of each floor of the parking structure teleported guests to a particular entry point in the shopping city. Reversing the process should take them back very close to the ship, no?

"Let's try it." He grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards the entrance.

They hopped aboard a promising-looking parking portal and were instantly transported to a completely unfamiliar looking area. The Doctor ran around looking for a good half mile, tasted the air, spun in a slow circle with the sonic whirring, even attempted to climb something for a better view. Finally he just collapsed onto the ground, sitting with his long legs out in front of him and his back against a wall, his long brown coat splayed out around him.

He looked completely and utterly deflated.

"Rose, you don't understand," he moaned. "I've already been looking for hours! This is hopeless. We're going to have to go to the management. We're going to have to -" he shuddered "–fill out forms."

Rose carefully sat herself down next to him, leaned up against his shoulder.

"Shouldn't the TARDIS be able to tell you where she is?" she asked. "Telepathic bond and all that."

He frowned. "Normally, yes. I can tell she's here but not where she is. I think she's blocking me."

"Why would she do that?"

He looked faintly embarrassed. "I may have mixed up a few wires this morning and then spoken crossly to her when she sparked me." He adjusted his shirt cuffs. "Could be her idea of, uh, revenge. Or maybe just a good joke."

Rose took a moment to absorb that one. Certainly not a problem one had with a non-sentient ship, this.

"Well," she said lightly, "Nothing for it but to keep looking, then."

"Mmm."

"I mean it can't be all that far, right? We're in the A4s." She kept her tone cheerful.

"Hmm."

"Next time we come somewhere like this, I'm taking a picture of the parking code on my phone."

No response. Rose wracked her brain for a more helpful suggestion.

"Can't you use the sonic," she finally asked, "to do something clever?"

He perked up a little at that. "We-e-e-ell, I could probably modify it to send out a homing beacon. It won't take us right to the ship but it'll beep if we're getting close. We won't have to go down every row."

He bent over and fiddled with it for a few minutes, hair flopping into his eyes. Finally, he hopped to his feet and clicked it open, pressed a few buttons, and sent a small beam of green light searching around the parking lot.

"This way!" he announced.

Off they trudged. Every few rows the Doctor held the sonic up, clicked some buttons, and shot a light beam. No response so far.

Rose found herself grinning broadly.

"What's funny?" he asked, his tone genuinely puzzled.

"It's - " she tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. "It's just that we're wandering around in a parking lot, trying to make the TARDIS beep. It's what blokes on Earth do every day of the week at the local shopping centers. Clicking their key fobs until they hear that beepboop and getting madder and madder."

He frowned at her, his feathers clearly ruffled. "I am not a bloke."

"No, no you're not." But she couldn't hold in a cascade of giggles as he pressed the button again.

"Stop laughing, Rose," he warned.

"Ah!" she actually had to wipe her eyes, laughing helplessly. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I just... I never expected that running through the stars with you would come down to a scene like this. It's just like hanging out with Mickey at the stadium after a match."

He gaped at her for a minute or two. "Mickey? This is just like hanging out with Mickey?! Why Rose Tyler, I've never been so insulted in my life. Time Lord, spaceship — " he paused for a dignified breath and indicated around him with a sweep of his arms. "shopping planet, THANK YOU VERY MUCH."

"You're right, you're right," she said quickly, giving him her best conciliatory smile. "Besides, Mickey would be swearing a whole lot more than you are."

"It's swear words you want?" he grinned nastily and proceeded to mutter a string of impressive profanities in what she could only assume was Gallifreyan.

He strode ahead to the end of their current row, raised his arm overhead, and clicked the sonic dramatically.

Beepboop!

"There, see?" he shouted triumphantly, indicating the TARDIS on the next row over. "Saved by the sonic, yet again."

Rose grinned back, tongue between her teeth. "Nicely done, Doctor. I never doubted you."

He huffed. "Yes you did. And by the way - new rule. For Rassillon's sake, someone please start paying attention to where we parked."

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razieltwelve · 7 years

Text

Never Alone (Final Effect)

Hadrian was a little boy who had never spent even a day of his life away from the borders of the Arendelle Empire. He had been born on an archaeological dig to two parents who had eschewed the paths normally taken by the House of Ballad in favour of careers in archaeology and anthropology. Since then, he had lived his life going from dig site to dig site, playing amidst the ruins of long-dead civilisation and picking through the debris of long-lost transports and cargo vessels.

He was six years old when his world changed forever.

The Grimm came, a verminous tide that swept over the world his parents were exploring. There had been no time to leave. The Grimm had encircled the planet, and the space-faring monstrosities they used to travel through the empty gulfs of space made a jump into hyperspace virtually impossible for a civilian craft.

They sent out a distress call and waited, already knowing what was to come.

The Grimm began to drop from the skies, and their dig site was soon under siege. There were roughly two thousand people at the site, the final resting place of a lost fleet of cargo vessels from the Age of Heroes, some of the first to encounter one of the gigantic hyperspace storms that early vessels had been unable to endure.

Of those two thousand, all of them had military training, as was customary in the Empire. Yet there were already tens of thousands of Grimm closing in, and they were not equipped for a long, drawn-out conflict. Little by little, day by day, the Grimm chipped away at their defences. It took two weeks before the last of the dig site’s barricades fell and the Grimm swarmed in.

“Hide,” his parents told Hadrian. “Hide. We will find you later.”

It was a lie.

As Hadrian huddled in one of the reliquaries used to store the ancient relics they’d found, he could hear the screams until finally there were no more. He knew, as much as any six-year-old could know anything, that he was alone. As the Grimm pounded on the doors of the reliquary, he stumbled back and fell. An artefact tumbled into his lap.

It was a shard of an ancient weapon, its wielder unknown.

The doors burst open, and Hadrian knew that he would die there, alone, in a room full of old things. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and then he felt it. It was a surge of power unlike anything he’d ever known. Generations had passed, but the power of Caius Ballad still flowed through the veins of his descendants. It had skipped Hadrian’s father.

It had not skipped him.

Inky shadows flowed off the shard of the ancient weapon and coalesced into a form that tugged at his memory. The shadows quivered, and the blackness sharpened, taking on a human form with greater and greater precision: regal features, a cape, and…

Lightning Farron. Hadrian was only a boy, but he would have known those features anywhere. He had seen them many times in the histories he’d read, and those famous features were still found in the House of Farron-Arendelle. It was her, it had to be, and she was there, somehow, although still a shadow.

She glanced back at him, and the blackness gave way to colour, to pink hair and piercing blue eyes. And then she moved. And the Grimm died. It was a miracle. It had to be. And as Hadrian slipped into darkness, he felt a surge of even greater power, and Lightning was suddenly clothed in glory.

Saviour.

X X X

When Hadrian awakened, he was alone. All of the Grimm were dead, but there was an eerie hollowness inside him, as though he couldn’t feel anything at all. There was no grief, no pain, no sorrow. There was only… emptiness. He was alone for three days, and he survived by scrounging the scraps from the cafeteria, but eventually even those began to run out.

He was hungry, but he didn’t know where to find food. He’d been studying to be an archaeologist like his parents. Dazed, he stumbled back into the reliquary. There was a tattered plush toy there, an orange one, and he reached for it…

“Hello.”

Hadrian blinked.

There was a little girl with dark, spiky hair and blue eyes.

“My name is Diana,” the girl said, grinning. “What’s your name?”

“Hadrian,” he whispered. “Uh… where did you come from?”

Diana giggled and patted him on the head. She was very short, so she had to reach up to do it. “Your Semblance, silly. You were lonely, and, well, I thought you could use the company.”

“My Semblance?” Hadrian didn’t understand. He had a Semblance? He hadn’t had one before. Maybe he was going crazy.

“You look hungry,” Diana said. “Want me to get us something?”

Hadrian shrugged. “I… there isn’t any food here.”

“There’s always something around to eat,” Diana replied. “Just stay here. I’ll be back.”

Hadrian watched her run off into the distance. He didn’t think he would see her again, but she came back an hour later with some… he didn’t know what they were called, but they looked edible. Diana made a fire and asked him to watch the… things cooking while she looked around.

“The technology here is a bit weird. It’s way more advanced than what I remember, but I can make some of it work. It’ll be bad if we have to sit in the dark.”

“Yeah.”

He ate all of the things. Diana didn’t need to eat, it seemed.

“What… how are you here?” Hadrian knew his history. Diana Yun-Farron had been dead for a long, long time.

“Your Semblance.” Diana pursed her lips. “I’m… I’m not me… I feel… kind of like an echo. You know how if someone is around something long enough, they can saturate it with Aura? I guess that’s what I am… a shadow left on something I used to own. That was one of my plush toys, you know.”

“I… I saw your mother, I think.”

“Yeah. That shard in the reliquary was part of one of her old gun blades. She never could get it fixed, so she had a new one made.”

“Ah.” Hadrian gulped. He’d been alone for only a few days, but it felt like forever. “Do you think anyone will come?”

“I’m sure they will,” Diana said, grinning. “But I’ll stick around until they do.”

“I’d… I’d like that.”

X X X

It took another three more days before the Empire’s fleets broke through the swarms of Grimm and arrived at the planet. Diana had kept her promise, and she’d stayed there the entire time. She was even there when Imperial soldiers landed on the planet and searched the camp site of survivors.

Naturally, her presence sped things up a little. Hadrian was only a boy, but he was an extremely clever boy. His… Semblance was too similar to that of Caius Ballad to not warrant attention, and before he knew it, he found himself on Lumina Prime under the close eye of the Dia-Farron.

It didn’t stay that way for long.

Within hours of his arrival on Lumina Prime, the House of Ballad had dispatched a ship full of diplomats and soldiers and had demanded access to him. The Dia-Farron had not taken their threats well and had responded by pointing enough weaponry to annihilate several solar systems at the ship.

In the end, the emperor himself had been forced to intervene. As interesting a case study as he would be, Hadrian was of the House of Ballad. It was necessary to test his Semblance, but it would be done so under the supervision of the House of Ballad. Since his parents had not been especially close to their families, there was no one to claim custody. Instead, the emperor himself had decreed that the Imperial Main Line would see to his care until the House of Ballad could find an appropriate carer.

There had been more arguing, but then Hadrian had accidentally used his Semblance again. On Diana’s advice, he had filled his pockets with relics from the reliquary, ones she recognised. If he was going to be on his own, he was going to be prepared.

Apparently, summoning an echo of Lightning Farron was enough to put an end to all of the arguments.

The legend had simply scowled at everyone and said they should be ashamed before saying that she would see to Hadrian’s care until a suitable guardian was found, one that met her approval. Hadrian had let out a little giggle at that. Even the Dia-Farron had been struck speechless, something he’d thought was impossible.

X X X

Careful study by the Dia-Farron revealed the truth of his Semblance. Diana had been almost completely right. When someone was around something a lot and either used it a lot or cared deeply about it, some of their Aura was imprinted on it. His Semblance allowed him to call for the aid of ‘echoes’, beings who were shadows of the originals who had imprinted their Aura on the object.

The echoes possessed some of their original power and abilities, but they were ultimately limited by the Aura he possessed, which was why he’d passed out after Lightning activated Saviour but had been able to keep Diana around for days. It was a monstrously powerful Semblance, one that would only grow in power as he grew older. His echoes would never be as strong as the originals, but they wouldn’t need to be. The sheer versatility of the Semblance was incredible.

All he needed was a relic, something strongly tied to the person whose echo he wanted to summon. He wanted to ask for some of his parents’ things, but he couldn’t bring himself to. What if he summoned their echoes? What would he say to them?

In the end, they appointed him a guardian. Augustus Ballad was a member of the Imperial Guard who protected the Imperial Palace on Lumina Prime. He was a cousin of Hadrian’s father, and he was the only one who had met Lightning’s rigorous standards.

Hadrian was glad to have him, even if it took some time to get used to his new situation. But Augustus was a good man. Stern at times, but not unkind, and patient too. He did not think it odd that Hadrian wished to pursue a career in archaeology, nor did he comment on Hadrian’s decision, as he entered his teens, to seek a career in the military instead.

Augustus understood what Hadrian had never said. Loneliness was a terrible thing. Hadrian had a powerful Semblance, one of the most powerful his House had seen in some time. If he could spare even one child the loneliness he’d endured… he would.

X X X

Hadrian rose through the ranks swiftly. What he lacked in natural talent, he made up for with hard work. With his Semblance, he made sure to collect relics of as many of the legends from the Age of Heroes and history as he could. If he wished to learn strategy, he asked for lessons from Averia Yun-Farron herself. If he wished to learn trickery, Victoria Yun-Farron-Nabaat was able to assist him. They all seemed to find it amusing, and he’d learned that if they didn’t want to be summoned, they couldn’t be. They could refused him, and he would do nothing more than waste his Aura if he tried to force them to appear.

Mindful of his weakness, he kept several relics at hand at all times. Indeed, he made some of the most precious into a necklace. Perhaps the most precious to him were those of Lightning and Diana, the first two legends to appear to him in his hour of need.

Sometimes, he wondered if his Semblance was finished evolving, if perhaps it had already reached its peak, and all he needed was to grow in power and skill. He was wrong.

X X X

Hadrian crashed into the wall and bit back a sob and a curse. His necklace had been destroyed by the Grimm. His unit was also being overrun. This… this battle reminded him too much of the day he’d lost everything. He stumbled to his feet and drew his plasma sword. There were Grimm everywhere, and reinforcements were still some hours away from breaking through the cordon of Grimm.

If he was going to die, he intended to take as many of them with him as possible. He looked around as the tattered remains of his unit fell back in disarray. He wished… if only… if he could just summon a few of the legends… but he had no relics to use as a focus, no artefacts to call them from.

He was alone.

Again.

But something in him refused to believe it. Perhaps it was his heart, or perhaps it was his soul, but whatever it was, it refused to give in to despair. It called for him to remember the glory he’d seen that day, if only for a moment, the glory of Saviour. He’d never been able to convince Lightning to use it since then. She’d always said that she would when he was ready and the need was great because the cost was a steep one to pay.

Light gathered around him, not shadows. He looked up at the sky. He’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was.

Radiance exploded outward.

And Lightning stood there again, and she was not alone. Averia was there too, and Sigrid, her daughter, and the three of them stood facing the endless ranks of Grimm and despite how badly outnumbered they were, Hadrian could not believe that they could lose.

Lightning turned to him, and her smile was gentle. “We are only shadows of what we were, Hadrian. Our power cannot compare to that of the originals or to a living bearer of Saviour. But still… we are shadows of legends, and sometimes, even the shadows of a legend can be enough.”

And the three of them surged forward, wreathed in light and glory and inevitable victory.

Hadrian swayed. A matter of minutes, that’s all he would be able to maintain this for. It would have to be enough. He toppled back and found himself looking up at Diana. This was the young Diana, the one who’d helped him all those years ago.

“How?” he asked her. “I… I was alone. I had nothing to call you with.”

“Don’t be silly,” Diana replied. “That’s the biggest mistake people make. They think they have to fight alone, but Hadrian, you are never alone. Sure, you needed the relics to call us in the first place, but we chose to answer. We chose to help you. There’s a bond there, and even if you don’t have the relics anymore, even if they’re ground to dust and power, if you call and your cause is just, we will answer. You will never be alone.”

He passed out.

X X X

“Good. You’re awake. I must admit, I never expected to see someone who wasn’t closely related to me in a Saviour-induced coma.”

Hadrian blinked, and then his eyes widened in disbelief. Claire, the bearer of Saviour and one of the two wives of Her Imperial Majesty Averia VII, was sitting beside his bed. “Your… Your…”

“Relax,” Claire murmured. “I think a bit of informality is fair. You’re lucky to be alive. The witnesses say you were able to summon three bearers of Saviour and keep them around for five minutes.”

“Only five minutes?” Hadrian whispered. He gasped. “My unit?”

“They’re fine. The ones you summoned… well, they were only able to activate the first level of Saviour, but I’m not sure you realise how powerful Saviour is. Lightning, Averia, and Sigrid were all absolute masters of it. Even the first level of it is more than enough to deal with hordes of Grimm. You’re lucky you summoned Diana too. She might be small, but she dragged you to safety after you passed out. She also made a bonfire and made toasted marshmallows, but she ended up giving them to your unit when you didn’t regain consciousness. You’ve been out for three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” Hadrian tried to wrap his mind around it. “Did… did we win?”

“We most certainly did.” Claire smiled. “Now, get some rest, and don’t panic if you see Her Imperial Majesty walking around.” Claire sighed. “Her youngest sister got hurt in the fighting. She’s been here for a couple of days now.” She gestured. “She’s in the next room over, actually. She wants to speak to you.”

“Me?”

“Well, it’s not every day someone summons four legends at the same time. Besides, my wife is extremely overprotective, so her visitors haven’t exactly been numerous. But I imagine, she’d have to let her sister speak to a man who is going to be awarded the Imperial Star.”

Hadrian was speechless. That was one of the highest military awards. Had his summoning been that decisive?

“Can I… can I use my Semblance?” he asked softly.

“Sure. The doctors said that once you regained consciousness, you’d be okay to use it. Just… nothing flashy, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hadrian waited until Claire was gone before summoning Diana again. The little girl immediately switched the television onto cartoons before sneaking off down the corridor and returning with some candy.

“Good to see you’re still alive,” Diana said. “I might just be an echo, but it would be boring if I didn’t get to walk around now and then.” She grinned. “I don’t suppose you can summon anyone who makes fire, can you? We’ve got marshmallows, but they’re much better toasted.”

#final effect #fanfiction

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mastcomm · 4 years

Text

Coronavirus Anger Boils Over in China and Doctors Plead for Supplies

WUHAN, China — One week into a lockdown, anger and anxiety deepened in the central Chinese province at the center of the coronavirus outbreak on Thursday as a shortage of hospital beds, medical supplies and doctors boiled over into physical confrontations and desperate pleas for help.

In a sign of growing frustration, a relative of a patient infected with the virus beat up a doctor at a hospital in Wuhan, the capital of Hubei Province, the state broadcaster CCTV reported on Thursday, citing the police. The man was accused of pulling and damaging the doctor’s mask and protective clothing — potentially exposing him to the virus — after his father-in-law died in the hospital. The man was later detained.

At the same time, hospitals in the region renewed pleas to the public for help to replenish their supplies, which were fast disappearing. The shortages have become especially severe in Huanggang, a city of seven million not far from Wuhan, where some medical staff members were wearing raincoats and garbage bags as shoe covers to protect against infection, according to Yicai, a financial news site.

On Thursday, Chinese government agencies announced plans to issue subsidies of up to $43 per day to front-line medical workers and to reopen factories to boost production of medical supplies and protective gear.

“We absolutely cannot let Huanggang become a second Wuhan,” Wang Xiaodong, the governor of Hubei Province, said at a news briefing on Wednesday.

On Thursday evening, provincial leaders said at a news briefing that the director of Huanggang’s health committee had been fired.

For many Chinese, such decisive government announcements are too little, too late. Concerns have grown as the death toll from the coronavirus has quickly ticked upward, rising by 38 to hit 170 on Thursday. All but one of those recent deaths have occurred in Hubei Province; the other died in the southwestern province of Sichuan.

Fueling the anger on Thursday was the publication this week of a new paper about the coronavirus in The New England Journal of Medicine by a team of researchers affiliated with, among other places, the Chinese Center for Disease Control and Prevention and the Hubei Provincial Center for Disease Control and Prevention.

Drawing on data from the first 425 confirmed cases in Wuhan, the paper states that “there is evidence that human-to-human transmission has occurred among close contacts since the middle of December 2019.”

Chinese people online were incensed, asking why the government had waited until Jan. 20 to inform the public that the virus was capable of being transmitted from human to human. By Thursday evening, many had seized on the paper as evidence that the authors had purposely withheld valuable information out of academic self-interest.

“I’m about to explode, I need an explanation from the authors!!!!” Wang Liming, a professor at Zhejiang University, wrote in a widely shared social media post that was quickly deleted. “As a researcher with firsthand information, you knew that the virus could be transmitted between humans three weeks before the public did. Did you do what you were supposed to do?”

As China raced to contain the outbreak, countries grappled with how to evacuate their citizens from Wuhan and how to stop the virus from spreading.

After Australia announced a plan to evacuate its citizens in Wuhan to Christmas Island, which has played an important but checkered role in the country’s contentious use of faraway sites to house refugees and other migrants, some questioned the implications of using the island as a quarantine site.

Moving people to Christmas Island is not an “appropriate solution,” Dr. Tony Bartone, the president of the Australian Medical Association, said in a television news interview. He said the government had other, more suitable facilities, such as military sites.

In Japan, a furor erupted over the refusal of some evacuees who had returned to submit to medical testing.

Two of the Japanese citizens who have been evacuated from Wuhan refused to be tested for the coronavirus, leading the prime minister to explain that citizens could not be forced to submit to a medical examination.

Japanese social media users said the travelers, who arrived in Tokyo on Wednesday, were putting the country at risk. Some called them terrorists.

“We tried to persuade the two returnees from Wuhan for many hours” to be tested, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe said in Parliament on Thursday, when asked about the government’s treatment of repatriated citizens. “But there is no legally binding force, and that’s a great regret.” Mr. Abe said.

Russia ordered 16 of its approximately 25 crossing points on its 2,600-mile border Chinese border to be closed as of midnight local time as fears about the coronavirus outbreak mounted in Moscow.

“We have to do everything to protect our people,” Prime Minister Mikhail Mishustin said on Thursday in televised remarks at a cabinet meeting.

Italy has blocked thousands of people from leaving a cruise ship that docked on Thursday at an Italian port, over concerns that someone aboard might have the virus.

According to Italy’s national news agency ANSA, a woman from Hong Kong aboard the Costa Smeralda, a vessel owned by Costa Cruises, had a fever and was experiencing respiratory problems. Both the woman and a man traveling with her, who did not present any symptoms, were being held in isolation in a hospital ward aboard the ship and were tested by infectious disease experts from a hospital in Rome.

In the United States, health officials on Thursday reported the first case of person-to-person transmission of the novel coronavirus in the United States. The patient is the husband of a woman who returned from Wuhan, China, the epicenter of the virus, and was the first reported case in Chicago, officials said at a news briefing.

The United States commerce secretary, Wilbur Ross, said there could be a silver lining in China’s woes because the coronavirus outbreak could prompt employers to move jobs to the United States.

“I don’t want to talk about a victory lap over a very unfortunate, very malignant disease,” Mr. Ross said in an interview on Fox Business. “I think it will help to accelerate the return of jobs to North America. Some to the U.S., probably some to Mexico as well.”

His remarks may be seen as insensitive to a country in crisis, and he has faced such criticism in the past. During the government shutdown in early 2019, Mr. Ross suggested that furloughed workers should take out loans while they went without pay for more than a month.

With the evacuations and lockdown, Wuhan, a typically bustling metropolis, has been transformed into a ghost town. Since the city was effectively sealed off last week, most shops have shut down. The city government has put restrictions on traffic. The lack of transportation options has made it difficult for medical workers and sick residents to get to hospitals.

But most residents of Wuhan are not leaving their homes because they are too scared of catching the virus.

“Local Wuhan residents who aren’t worried about being sick aren’t even going on the streets,” Chen Qiushi, a Beijing-based lawyer and citizen journalist who has been in Wuhan since the lockdown began, said in a video blog posted on Thursday. “The locals are all very scared,” he added. “I’m starting to get scared.”

When Wuhan residents step outside, it’s mostly to go to the supermarkets, food stores and pharmacies that stay open as part of a government effort to sustain the city. Senior officials have promised that residents need not worry about vegetables, fruit or other staples.

While Wuhan residents have been able to buy food, some complained about price increases or expressed fear that a prolonged shutdown might choke off food supplies. And if the shutdown lasts weeks longer, with the rest of China also scrambling to secure food supplies, it could make things more serious, several residents said.

“If we can’t bring in produce, it will become more expensive, or we might even have to close up,” said Zuo Qichao, who was selling piles of cucumbers, turnips and tomatoes. As he spoke, a woman accused him of unfairly raising the turnips’ price.

“Every county, every village around here is now putting up barriers, worried about that disease,” Mr. Zuo said. “Even if the government says it wants food guaranteed, it won’t be easy — all those road checks.”

Amy Qin reported from Beijing, and Christopher Buckley from Wuhan, China. Reporting was contributed by Elaine Yu, Tiffany May, Russell Goldman, Austin Ramzy, Alexandra Stevenson, Motoko Rich, Anton Troianovski, Isabella Kwai, Chris Horton, Makiko Inoue, Daisuke Wakabayashi, Karen Weise, Iliana Magra, Christopher Cameron and Mike Isaac. Research was contributed by Elsie Chen, Zoe Mou, Albee Zhang, Amber Wang, Yiwei Wang and Claire Fu.

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