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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Emp-Ire, “The Oracle.”

I had very little time to write today, but I have had people request the story behind this one, so I thought I could open it quickly today before I get swamped.

Again forgive me. I had to write very quickly. I hope you have a good day!”

The world shone like a beautiful marble beneath them, vast stretches of blue water under swirling clouds of white. The landmasses were mostly green like on earth, though there was more orange present here than there would have been on the human homeworld.

There was not one singular landmass, or even a few large ones, but thousands of little islands clustered together like shards of broken glass scattered across the floor after one drops a plate.

Ramirez looked out the window his hands and face pressed to the glass as they descended downwards towards the blue glittering surface.

“Remind me what the theme of this planet is.”

“Planets don’t have themes Ramirez.” Adam Said, crossing one ankle over his other knee.

“Ok yeah yeah, but I mean, what microculture do they have.”

Adam shrugged, “Some kind of Greek-Roman thing going on.”

Ramirez grinned, “Excellent?”

Adam’s brows furrowed together suspiciously, “Why?”

“You know how the Romans and the Greeks were….” Adam blinked, “No?”

Ramirez raised an eyebrow, “I don’t have to give you a lecture on WHY olive oil was so popular during Roman times, do I?”

Adam stared at him for a long moment before it finally clicked, “Oh… oh…..ew.”

“What? Got a problem with that?“

“I definitely did not want that image of you in my head thanks.”

He grinned, “That means you were thinking about it.”

“You were holding me as an intellectual hostage, and I do not negotiate with terrorists.” Ramirez laughed as they lowered through the clouds .

“What is their major export?”

“I thought it was Textiles, some kind of silk though I forget what kind. I think they also quarry certain kinds of stone, but I could be wrong about that too. All I know is they have extreme restrictions on what kinds of equipment can and cannot be used planetside, so they have to keep everything…. Not medieval per se, but no emissions,and extreme infrastructure is a no go.

“Alright cool, where are we landing.”

“I think they are calling it New Athens or something.”

Ramirez leaned back in his seat, “Do you think these people actually believe all this stuff or is it just like elaborate roleplay?”

‘I think that even if it is elaborate roleplay, it won’t be for long. Soon enough people born here are going to believe it.”

The struts on the landing gear cracked and popped as they settled into place. Outside the window the landscape was mediteranian, with rocky hillsides and low lying bushes interspersed with the occasional tree-like structure. Long grass of some kind poked up from the soil, orange in the daylight which had a strange yellow cast.

They stepped out of the shuttle and onto the platform where some enterprising person headset up a vending booth for proper period clothing. The man seemed a bit miffed as the two of them passed by and into the nearby changing stalls, having already been equipped by Adam’s mother.

Adam stepped out a moment later to find Ramirez fiddling with his sandals, and Adam became aware of a slight breeze on the wind as it tugged at the tunic he wore.

As someone who had worn almost every type of clothing under the sun, he had to admit that he was familiar with the sensation of having a breeze, though that didn’t mean he was entirely used to it.

They turned and walked down the nearby pathway sandals flopping on the ground as they made their way over the next little rise to look down on the still-being-constructed New Athens.

“Holy Shit.” Ramirez said quietly

Adam blinked, craning his neck back to look at the massive statue rising itself into the air. A statue of what must have been Athena.

“And look, no crane.”

“No shit, and those buildings over there, I think they already finished that one.”

The two of them stopped gawking long enough to make their way down the path and onto the well kept paving stones of the city. They must have entered a market district as men and women called to them from booths on either side of the walkway. Large crowd filtered in and out, and just a few blocks away from here he could see holding pens where they were keeping specific earth animals, like goats and pigs. Strange exotic birds hung in cages, though none of them were earth birds.

Clearly they must ahvebeen native.

In a near daze they made their way up through the city and towards the marble temple erected on a hill at the center of the city. Trees shedding petals like delicate blue blossoms fell onto the street making the scene all together familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Ramirez craned his neck up to look at the still-rising statue as they passed by stepping up the marble steps and under the massive pillars that held up the artfully crafted roof of the structure.

“Wow.”

Little fountains, reflections pools and an elaborate guardian had been built up around the marble structure, and in this palace people had congregated. A couple of men were arguing, what do Adam sounded like the finer points of philosophy, while a man serenaded a crowd of onlookers with a strange and unfamiliar instrument. Humans weren’t the only ones here of course, a couple of Tesraki could be seen lurking around the stalls, and selling their wares though the population was predominantly human.

“I like their idea of exterior decorating.”

He turned to see what Ramirez was talking about, and was greeted by a very fit, very nude, marble statue of some unknown young athlete or demigod..

“Of course YOU would think that.”

Ramirez frowned deeply, “I was merely commenting on the artistic style in which they have rendered the image from stone. The detail and the dedication that it must have taken to-”

“You’re talking about his abs.”

“Yeah, I am talking about his abs, but not JUST his abs. He’s got nice calves too.”

“Calves?”

“I am a sucker for nice calves, you see that’s why you and I would never work, because you only have one real one.”

Adam snorted and looked down at his legs, which were he admitted a bit out of place in the world of knee length tunics. You could almost assume they had walked right into the past and then, boom. Advanced prosthetic leg.

“So what are we going to do while we are here?” Ramirez wondered.

“Not entirely sure yet. Sightseeing, obviously, maybe just hang out on one of the many white sand beaches, we can do whatever we want. Who knows, maybe you could go visit the oracle and ask her why the gods cursed you with such a thick skull.”

“I was thinking about asking which one of the gods is my parent since clearly I am a Demigod.”

“You seek the oracle!”

The two of them nearly jumped out of their skin turning around to find a very tall, very beautiful woman standing behind them with an entourage of admirers following behind her. She stepped forward, making it very uncomfortably close to the two of them.

“Well hello aphrodite.” Ramirez muttered

She smiled at him, “Sweet words can get you far in a place like this.” She traced her hand over his shoulders as she walked around him head tilted.

“Well there is more where that came from I assure you.” Craning his neck to see her more clearly.

She smiled, “I am Althaia devine assistant to the oracle.” She turned to look up at Adam, “And you, do you seek the oracle as well.”

She traced her fingertips down his arm, and seemed rather miffed when he didn’t react other than to pull away slightly, “How much?’

She frowned again, “What do you mean.”

Adam smiled stiffly, “I mean how much do we have to pay to see the oracle.”

Althaia Huffed, “Ten Credits.”

Adam laughed, and Ramirez frowned at him.

Althaia turned to walk away but Adam waved a hand, “Hold on, hold on. I asked how much I never said we weren’t interested.”

She trend to look at them with one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised, “Come with me then.”

The two of them fell into step beside her, Ramirez looking like one of her devoted admirers.

She turned to look at him, eyes narrowing slightly, “You seem familiar. What do you do for a living?”

“Just a soldier, both of us just soldiers.”

“And are you seeking…. A quest perhaps.”

He wondered what kind of touristy quest she was talking about. Probably some kind of scavenger hunt that would ring them to the edge of the city where they would find a golden fleece draped over a tree.

“Not sure yet,”

She led them up the temple steps and stopped outside two large double doors. A pair of guards, golden breastplates and blue accent feathers stood before the door. Their shields held to their chests, their spears at the ready crossing them as the strangers approached.

She turned to look at Adam and held out her arm. He smiled as he exchanged twenty credits with her.

Althaia waved a hand and the two guards uncrossed their spears and stepped aside. The doors creaked inward and Adam and Ramirez were hit in the face by a waft of incense which floated heavily on the wind and into their faces.

“Go, go and speak with the oracle.” She said nudging them forward.

Ramirez sniffed at the air as the doors closed behind them.

He frowned, “Hold on a minute.”

Adam looked at him, “What?”

“This is not JUST incense.”

“Pretty sure that's how it used to work.”

The two of them stepped forward over the marble floor passing more and more marble statues as they walked towards the end, where a group of guards…. With suspiciously bloodshot eyes… stood before an alter, where sat another beautiful woman wearing a light fabric shift, long black hair cascading over her shoulders.

“You have come seeking the oracle?” She said her eyes distant.

He was pretty sure that’s just because she was high.

“Yes?

She looked at them eyes seeming to stare into and THROUGH them, “Two soldiers…. Two soldiers on a quest.”

She must have known who Adam was otherwise that prediction might have been pretty impressive. Either that or Althaia had an earpiece in and was feeding her information about the people coming to see her.”

“Son of Aphrodite, Son of Athena….”

Adam just smiled.

Ramirez elbowed him in the ribs, “hear that, she thinks I’m sexy.”

“Yeah and she thinks “I’ am the smart one, so Don’t get too excited.”

She eyed them shrewdly, and something in her expression made Adam feel strange. It was as if she was contemplating something very very deeply. As they watched, she tapped her fingers against the stone.

“Take a ship, tell them to drop you on the border of Laconia, and then head inland. You will find your quest there.”

Adam smiled, “Thank you, Oracle.”

She waved them away dismissively, and the two of them stepped outside Adam breathing a sigh of relief as they stepped out of the smoke and into fresh air.

He coughed, “So, what do you think this quest is going to be.”

“I don’t know, maybe we will meet a sexy snake lady.” He elbowed Adam, “We already have a cyclops.”

“Oh shut the hell up.” Adam grumbled as they made their way down towards and towards the docks.

The ships were simple wooden constructions with large sails and lines of chairs below deck for rowing. It was almost a surreal feeling as they boarded and set off on the crashing waves. There was no salt in the air which made Adam think that this was fresh water, which was pretty convenient for the people that lived there. Once they told the captain of the ship where they were going, he gave them a strange look, but took their credits and ordered his men to sail.

Adam was getting mildly suspicious by the time it all started, but decided to go along and see where this would bring them.

On all sides small islands passed by, and on those small islands he could see cities being erected, Vineyards being tended, and the occasional strange and mysterious looking animal disappearing back into the plant life.

“Laconia.” he rolled the word around in his mouth, “Does that sound familiar to you?”

“No, why would it. Here is my thought. We show up, walk to the middle of the island and find a golden sheep or something. I don’t know maybe we meet a guy dressed up like a minotaur and have to wrestle him for it or some shit. Either way, should be fun, and then we can spend the rest of the time lazing around on the beach sunning ourselves.”

Adam nodded but wasn’t sure whether to believe Ramirez as the boat made its slow way down the straights, past other vessels which sailed with blue trimmed sails. It took them almost half a day to reach this, Laconia, which Adam still argued sounded familiar, and disembarked on the sandy shore.

The captain didn’t give them any direction, but ordered his men out once more.

Adam hd expected there to be some kind of pathway or maybe a sign marking where they were supposed to go, but there was nothing, and so he shrugged and motioned Ramirez to follow him as he made his way up the center of the island.

They were walking for a while. This island was a bit larger and so had an expanse of grassland and mountainous terrain interspersed with the occasional tree.

“I have no idea where I am going.” Adam muttered under his breath as they came up around a rock incline.

He nearly leapd out of his skin as a loud battle cry rose up from the stone and a group of what must have been five men descended on them from the rocks spears raised. Not thinking Adam ducked under the trust of one man and shouldered him in the chest. Throwing him back as he snapped upwards to grab the spear.

He wrenched it form the man’s hand as she shoulder him painfully to the ground.

He spun around in a circle, clashing spears with a second man who had come in from the left.

Off to his right Ramirez had been caught off guard and been plowed to the ground by one man holding an absolutely massive circular shield.

His spear was knocked aside in that moment of hesitation and a leaf blade appeared at his throat.

He looked up to see an absolutely massive man standing over him red cloak billowing in the wind, golden helmet with its red plume glittering in the sun. The man was so ripped with glistening muscle that he made the statues outside New Athens look practically puny.

He looked down where one of his men was slowly hauling himself to his feet, another muscle bound brute who looked almost embarrassed.

“Who are you!”

The man demanded.

Adam raised his hands, “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one with a spear to my throat.”

“Adam, and that one is Angel.”

“What business do you have on our island. Spies for the Athenians.” he snarled, and his acting was so good for a moment Adam almost believed him.

“Uh no…. No, they sent us here but, I don’t work for them.”

The men muttered angrily. Five hulking shapes, five men who clearly made a living of hitting the gym.

“Tan they sent you here to die.”

Adam frowned.

The spear pulled back.

And then a hand stopped him, “Wait…. The king should decide.”

There was a pause, “I suppose you are right.”

“King, king of what?”

The two men turned to look at him, deep frowns on their faces.

“The king of Sparta.”

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atreegrowsinnorthnywrites · 3 years

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A little v-day love story

I was on my second helping of Dad’s infamous enchiladas when my older brother, Sam, clapped his hands together and declared, “We’re going out!”

My fork clattered to the half-eaten plate and I gave him a stern shake of my head.

“Come onnn, Em,” Sam whined, precariously tipping back his chair so it hovered on two legs. “You can’t sit around and mope forever. Silas and Sean will come too.”

I looked to my two other older brothers with a challenging raise of my eyebrow as Dad leaned forward and cuffed Sam over the head.

“Hell no I’m not,” Sean said without hesitation. All four legs of Sam’s chair returned to the ground with a disappointed thud. “I love you and I’m here for you, Em, but no.”

I chuckled at my eldest brother’s immediate reaction. With a family of his own, and an hour and a half drive back to Tucson, I was not surprised in the least. Silas’s lips were pursed and he actually appeared to be considering.

“Just say no,” I muttered as Sam egged him on.

“I have to text Paige,” Silas said slowly, “but if she doesn’t mind.”

“YES!” Sam pumped his fist triumphantly. “Dad?”

I looked to our patriarch, mid-lift of his beer to his lips, who snorted. “I’ll pass, but so thoughtful of you.” I stifled laughter at Sam’s disappointed face.

“Alright, Em. Go get ready.”

“I’m not done eating?”

My plate disappeared with a quick swipe of Sam’s hand and he waved me away with the other. “You are now.”

---------------------------------------------------------

An hour later we were pulling out of the long driveway that led to Dad’s ranch. I was wedged in the back seat of Silas’s truck between his work boots and tools, Chattahoochee blaring through the speakers, Sam and Silas arguing about the best bar in Bisbee on a Friday night, and it hit me this was the first time I had ever gone out with my brothers.

If I thought about it more, it wasn’t that surprising. After the divorce-court mandated summers in Arizona with my dad and brothers had ended my senior year, I never came back for an extended period again. My mom, my friends, and college were all back in Michigan. Once I met Thomas my sophomore year at Michigan State, I had spent my holiday weekends with his family in Chicago instead of visiting my own.

“You need more air, Em?” Silas asked from the front seat, smiling at me in the rear view.

“I’m good,” I murmured back, a wave of guilt flooding me.

Guilt that reminded me the five years of my life I had spent on Thomas had been a waste, and when the engagement and subsequent wedding had been called off, it had been my dad and three older brothers who had welcomed me home. It was my dad and brothers who had no judgement or questions.

“You better not sulk all night,” Sam warned, whipping around and eyeing me warily.

“I won’t.” I crossed my arms and scowled.

“Good.”

It had been three months since I had broken down in sobs at a dinner with Thomas and proclaimed I couldn’t marry him. Though I would die before admitting aloud any of my brothers were right, it was indeed time to get out of the house.

After Silas parked the truck in downtown Bisbee, we made our way down the string-light filled main street toward a packed bar with live music. Wafts of cigarette smoke, and definitely weed, greeted us outside the door. Silas and Sam shuffled me inside, pushing passed bodies to inch our way towards the bar. The crowd was far more eclectic than I would have guessed for my western brothers, with a band that sounded more like folk rock than country.

“What’ll it be?” Sam shouted over the music.

“A margarita,” I yelled back. “Spicy, if they can.”

He gave me a thumbs up and approached the bar while Silas waved to a group of guys from across the bar that had recognized him. During my summers on dad’s ranch, the only friends I ever really made were friends of my brothers, but I had not seen any of these guys since high school. The band played the final notes of their song and the crowd cheered enthusiastically as they announced a short intermission. Then I heard a high-pitched whistle.

“Ho-ly shit.”

I turned at the curse and came face-to-face with a brown haired, short-bearded, six-foot-or-so man wearing a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and vans. I squinted, and then he said my name.

“Emmeline Collins.”

There was only one person I had ever heard drag the “i” in my name that way.

“Lane?”

My stomach was in my throat. I remembered, very clearly, the last time I had ever spoken to Lane Diaz. He was smiling despite my memory, his right hand wrapped around a bottle of Corona and his left in the pocket of his jeans.

“Didn’t recognize me?” He asked with a laugh, and I debated admitting the truth. He looked great. Better, actually. But his southern accent had faded, and his cowboy look from all the years romping around the ranch with Sam was gone.

“Diaz!” Sam cried as he approached with two bottles in one hand and my cocktail in the other. He distributed the drinks for Silas and me, and then gave Lane a hug. “What’s up, man?”

“Just getting reacquainted with Em.” I frowned. Were we though? “Y’all didn’t mention your little sister was back in town.”

Sam looked down at me and then back to Lane. “Oh, right! You two haven’t…since…oh...right.” Sam took a long pull of his beer, and I stared him down the entire drink.

“Weekend visit to see the family?” Lane asked politely.

“Uhm,” I sipped my margarita for courage. A bite of jalapeño, just the way I liked it. “No. I’m uh, here for the summer.”

“Just like when we were kids,” Lane observed. I took another drink.

“Oh, hey!” Silas announced loudly, moving towards the crowd, “I see uhm...yeah I’ll be over here.”

Silas hurried out of sight, but when Sam went to follow, I dug the heel of my sandal down into his foot.

“What’s it been? Six years?” I asked Lane, taking a third sip and willing the alcohol to hit quickly.

“Seven in August, actually.”

Oh, he remembered.

“I’m going to let you two catch up,” Sam declared bluntly, extracting his foot from under my heel through gritted teeth and patting my shoulder as he walked by. The band was returning to the stage. Lane nodded to a pair of empty seats that had just vacated next to a window, on the far side of the bar from the band. I was trapped and agreed with a jerky, awkward nod.

“You look as surprised to see me as I am to see you,” He noted as we sat down.

“My brothers didn’t mention you were still around,” I replied. I was not entirely surprised he was, considering the rate of people who never leave a small town, but Lane had always seemed different. It was what had attracted me to him all those years ago.

“I moved back last summer,” He shared as the band started up again.

“Where were you before?” I asked over the growing sound.

“Army.”

Now, that, I did not expect. We had talked about going to college together on the west coast before everything happened.

“And you?” He asked, “What are you doing here?”

The question was edged with a coolness I deserved. His face was serious, his warm, brown eyes watching me intently. I did not want to rehash my screwed up, disappointing life with my ex-boyfriend, of all people.

“Another drink, hon?” A waitress asked from behind and I realized I had drained the cocktail in my hand.

“Yes,” I agreed quickly, “Margarita with jalapeño.”

Lane chuckled as the waitress walked away.

“What?” I asked him defensively.

“Why am I not surprised Em Collins’ drink of choice is tequila and spice?”

Ouch.

“The same reason I’m not surprised yours is Corona. What are you on vacation in Rocky Point?” I scoffed.

“You know I asked for a Pina Colada, but they gave me this instead.”

I laughed, and his stoic expression split into the friendly grin I had seen when he first caught sight of me in the bar.

“How long were you in the Army?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He had a knowing look on his face, aware that I had dodged his question, but polite enough not to call me out. Yet.

“Four years.”

The waitress returned with my drink, and I made sure to put it on Sam’s tab.

“Good for you,” I replied, “Thanks for your uh…service.”

Lane cringed and took a sip of beer while I briefly contemplated throwing back my entire drink so I could at least claim my awkwardness was from blacking out.

“So, where’s your fiancé?” He asked.

I froze mid sip of my drink and looked up at him. We had not been friends on social media since my freshman year of college when a few months into dating Thomas I did an inventory of old photos and took down all of those with Lane and removed him as a friend. A little dramatic, thinking back on it.

“How did you…”

“Sam and I are still friends, Em.”

Duh. My stupid brother had probably told him ages ago. The alcohol was starting to go to my head, making me light and loose-lipped. I didn’t even know why I was skirting around this. I had nothing to prove to Lane Diaz.

“I broke off the engagement a couple months ago. We’re not together.”

It was the most abrupt way I had said it yet. It felt painfully final. Despite my boldness, I could not look at Lane’s face and so I followed it with a shrug and stared out the window.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” Lane said gently.

“It was for the best,” I said quickly, glancing at him and seeing furrowed eyebrows, “Trust me.”

“Doesn’t make it any less hard,” He noted. No, no it did not.

“It sucks, but what do you do,” I replied pitifully, taking yet another drink.

“Is that why you’re back?” He pressed. Lane was never scared to push me. I remember that about our two summers together. He always asked the questions I did not want to answer. Challenged the things I thought and believed.

“Part of it,” I admitted, “Honestly, uhm...I’m having a bit of a quarter-life crisis.”

“I see.”

“I knew my dad would be more understanding...”

A look of recognition crossed Lane’s face and he winced for me. I had almost forgotten our daily phone calls nearly every night of my junior year.

“How’d your mom take it?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re a jackass,” I said with a flourish of my straw, flicking droplets of my drink in his direction. “Because you know exactly how well she took it.”

He coughed on his drink of beer and we both broke into laughter.

“Still a little high strung then?”

“A little?”

“Worse?” Lane gaped.

“After I told her we broke up, she called me back and said I needed to beg for Thomas’s forgiveness. Tell him I was having mental health issues or I would fracture my future.”

“Jesus.”

I finished the rest of my second margarita at the memory of my mother’s shrill voice on the phone. We had spoken once since, and that conversation had been even worse.

“How’s your ma?” I asked, desperate to change the topic.

“She’s good. She was sick last year, but she’s feeling better.” He paused at the look of my face, and I bit my lip to keep from asking more. I had my assumptions with the smoking habit his mom, Eileen, had back then. “She would love to see you.”

He placed emphasized on the word love, and I looked away, uncomfortable at the very thought of going back to Lane’s childhood home where we used to hang out alone when his mom was working nights. Lane seemed to regret the statement and drained the rest of his beer. Regardless of my discomfort, I was not heartless.

“I’d love to see her too,” I added, and Lane relaxed. When his tense shoulders fell, I noticed how much more muscular he was than when we were kids. His brown skin wasn’t as tan anymore though, so he must work indoors. My eyes subtly trailed down to his hand, where I noted no ring on any fingers.

“Another round?” The waitress asked and Lane opened his mouth to answer, but instead gestured to me to decide.

“Sure,” I agreed, and she winked at me, obviously assuming we were on an early date.

“You don’t have to,” Lane said. “I understand if you rather go find your brothers.”

Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe it was pure curiosity, but I shook my head. “No, this is…nice.”

He gave me his iconic frown smile I remembered well. “Well, alright then.”

The waitress returned with our drinks and when he offered up his credit card, I placed my hand over his and smiled sweetly at her, “Put them both on Sam Collins’ tab. That’s S-A-M.”

When the waitress walked away to do just that, I realized my hand was still on top of Lane’s, my body angled close enough to his I could smell his minty aftershave. He smiled softly and I dropped his hand, quickly reaching for my third drink. The most sour margarita they had made me yet. My mouth puckered and I shivered as it went down.

“There’s the girl I remember.” I tilted my head with curiosity at his comment and Lane laughed, taking a drink instead of elaborating.

“I’m nothing like that girl anymore,” I declared defiantly.

“Good,” Lane said, his smiling fading as he set down his beer. His eyes softened, and his voice dropped. “Because that girl broke my heart.”

#writing community #romcom #romance writing #soft romance #love story #writing prompts #writing prompt #writing ideas #fiction writing #writeblr #short story #prompts

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aquilaofarkham · 4 years

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title: half spent was the night rating: mature (canon-typical violence, blood, coarse language) summary: Upon receiving an ominous invitation, Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades, and Alucard attend a strange wedding during a winter night where not everything is as it seems and the veil between the living and the dead is thinner than ever.

AO3

DECEMBER 24

The scroll sits on his desk, unopened and untouched amongst scattered piles of books and other papers left neglected for some time. Sparingly, Alucard’s train of thought will latch itself onto it while he sets about completing another mundane chore of the hour. It’s only when he enters the study does his gaze drift away, drawn towards the piece of rolled parchment held together by a red wax seal. Even from a distance he sees its emblem—a sparrow carrying a branch of mistletoe in its beak.

How seasonally appropriate, he thinks, looking more sullen than usual.

Alucard received the scroll the same way most ghost stories begin. There was a sound at the castle entrance that he could not ignore. Knock. Knock. Knock. Each pound echoing throughout the corridors like a persistent drumbeat. The steady beat within his own chest quickened, his ind a flurry of quick, presumptuous answers to his one question—have they returned? Yet upon opening the massive door, he found nobody. No familiar face, not even a messenger. Only what they left behind.

Another wayward glance towards the parchment. Alucard can still smell the cinnamon and roasted chestnuts as strong as it was when he picked it up the day before. He’s tried to bury the memory of his father. There’s no sense in dwelling over dead things. But something he said a long time ago haunts Alucard now more than ever. A warning about strange parcels that might be left on his front doorstep.

“If ever in late December you receive a letter sealed with a sparrow and a mistletoe, do not open it.” Those words used to confuse Alucard. Why should Dracula fear a simple letter? Until he discovered much later that the warning was never meant for the castle lord himself, but for his wife and child.

He knows his history and is fully aware of the story behind such a letter. Yet ominous memories and facts from the past are not enough to dissuade Alucard’s innate sense of curiosity—one of many traits he inherited from his mother. He is an adult now, and ghosts do not scare him. They only cause him melancholy.

Tired of his own hesitation, Alucard picks up the scroll and breaks the seal with a sharpened nail. The parchment feels soft under his fingertips, surprisingly so. He unravels it and reads, just to confirm his suspicions. First, he notices the calligraphy; familiar, recognizable, most likely commissioned by a monk. Yet the lettering hasn’t been in popular use for centuries. Then the message itself:

Thou art cordially invited to attend the joining of Lady Sofia Cel Tradat and Sir Darius Lupei in holy matrimony on the thirty-first evening of December. The celebration of this blessed union between houses shall be witnessed at Castle Cel Tradat upon sundown.

Stationed at the very top of the invitation are two crests, one that shows a feral wolf holding an arrow in its fangs. Beside it is the very same sparrow with the same mistletoe. Alucard sits at the desk, his chin resting upon his fist thoughtfully. There are two normal reactions one can have when receiving a wedding invitation. First being joy, then apathy. Indifference. Alucard feels neither. It’s not fear that grips him, yet the ink words creep through his bloodstream like the very same ghosts who reach out to him. Not fear, but instead an odd sort of resolve.

He leaves the study and makes the long, cold trek through the freshly fallen snow then down to the underground archives. The newly built staircase creaks under his weight but Alucard is light on his feet. Large portraits obscured by curtains displaying the Belmont crest surround him as he descends. Maybe one day he’ll finally unveil whatever’s behind those curtains. The hold itself hasn’t changed much—perhaps a bit neater, better organized, and with less bloodstains.

The mirror is where he left it: centre of the room near the directory. Alucard runs a hand across the cracks in its glass then over the newly engraved runes along its frame. Hopefully everything will work. Hopefully they will hear him this time.

Who knows how long it’s been since Trevor Belmont last greeted his days with a gruelling hangover—an awful habit, which he doesn’t miss. The groan that escapes his lips as he stretches upon his makeshift bed is one that comes from a night well slept, not a headache that pounds away behind his eyes. Bright winter sunlight streams in through the slight opening of the canvas. The wagon feels cramped but also warm and safe.

Trevor sits up, surrounded by their provisions, and sees Sypha right where he left her. Close by his side, securely curled up within her own little fortress of blankets. The sight amuses him, especially since she’s the only one who can walk through snow while wearing nothing but sandals upon her feet. A few more minutes sleeping next to her won’t hurt.

Something rattling inside the wagon catches his attention, causing Trevor to jump slightly. Must be a rat trying to steal what little food they have left. He grumbles at this slight morning annoyance before lazily pushing aside every container in order to find this little devil. It’s a wonder how Sypha can sleep through the sound of boxes and heavy burlap sacks being tossed about. Trevor finally reaches the source of all that noise: a thin rectangular travel case shaking on its own.

Funny... He thinks, not terribly concerned with its sudden jerking movements. The rat probably found a way inside and now can’t get itself out. I don’t remember packing this. Trevor opens the lock only to stare down into a pile of broken glass, as though whatever was in there had already been shattered beyond repair. But he saves his expletives for when the shards come to life, dancing in the air before they form a small mirror. Trevor stumbles backwards and stares into his reflection—awestruck, confused, a little bit panicked. It soon dissipates until he comes face to face with familiar golden eyes.

“Can you hear me, Belmont?” Asks the vision of Alucard... if it really is Alucard. Trevor might still be asleep, and this is only some wishful dream. “Let’s try this again. Can you hear me?” No answer yet; Trevor needs a moment to settle on one question at a time while they’re spinning in his head.

“... a nod of the head or a simple ‘fuck’ would be helpful.”

“How are you doing this? Where the hell are you?”

“I’m using the distance mirror from your family’s museum. With the repaired runes, it can once again be used for communication as well as observation. Only with other distance mirrors, of course.”

Oddly enough, this is all beginning to make sense to Trevor. “That’s why you looked so... cracked. When did you even pack this thing in our caravan?”

“Right before you and Sypha left. I thought I could surprise you both.”

“Well, you sure as shit surprised me.” He taps one of the levitating shards and watches it spin back into place. “This is the strangest thing...”

“You’ve seen far stranger.”

“Trevor, why are you talking so loud...” Complains Sypha, her words slurring together as she forces herself out of a heavy sleep. Her half-lidded eyes open wide at the sight of Alucard in the mirror. He smiles, glad to see the absence of bandages on her arm and shoulders. After exclaiming his name, she climbs over Trevor, shoving her hand into the side of his face (not on purpose) in an excitable attempt to get closer. So much for feeling tired.

“Is this another distance mirror? Why is it smaller? Or is it meant for travel? Are you using the one back at the hold?”

“Good morning to you as well, Sypha. Has this one gotten you into any trouble lately?”

“Actually, she gets me into trouble more often.”

Sypha ignores Trevor, entirely fascinated by this ground-breaking method of communication. Already her frantic mind begins to conjure up ways in which it could help the Speakers. “How are you, Alucard? And why have you waited so long to speak with us like this?”

Alucard doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t waiting all this time. That he’s tried over and over again, yet could never reach them. It doesn’t matter; he can see them now and there are more important matters at hand. “Poor management of time on my part. I’ve actually reached out because I am in need of assistance.”

“With what?” We’ve done away with one existential threat to humanity, don’t tell me there’s another already. Trevor holds his tongue, biting back his irritable thoughts. He’s gotten better at it; maybe one day he won’t even acknowledge them.

“It would be better if I showed you.”

“That means we would have to travel back to the castle.” Sypha’s point is valid, but she doesn’t make it sound like a hardship. In fact, Trevor and Alucard think they hear the slightest hint of excitement in her voice. Why shouldn’t she be? There’s still much within Dracula’s laboratories and libraries which she hasn’t yet uncovered with her own eyes hungry for more knowledge. Trevor on the other hand feels a twinge of apprehension. True, the castle has been subdued but the Belmonts have always been taught to remain wary of a vampire’s abode. At least he trusts the new lord of this one.

“I realize how tall of a request this is, as I presume you two have been traveling for some time now. But I would prefer it if I saw both of you in person.”

Alucard’s stoic, near professional composure cracks when he catches a better view of Trevor’s face. There it is again—another one of his wry grins. The kind that forms on its own whenever the Belmont is about to say something stupid. Yet those who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Alucard has also said his fair share of stupid things directed at Trevor. While he would be caught dead if he admitted to this, he’s glad to see that unmistakable smile along with the man behind it.

“Aw you missed us, didn’t you? You can say it, we promise we won’t judge.”

Sypha clasps a hand over Trevor’s mouth before another syllable can crawl out of it. “It would be no inconvenience to us, Alucard. We will leave now and be at the castle within the next day or so.”

“I look forward to it. Safe travels.” Alucard’s last words before he’s left staring into his own fractured reflection. At the same time, countless of miles away from the castle, Sypha and Trevor watch as the mirror shards gracefully return back into the box until they’re needed once again.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask if he’ll be preparing dinner for us.” Trevor’s little quip is rewarded with the sudden feeling of Sypha’s foot pressed against his lower back. Giggling, she gently pushes him towards the front.

“Up you get. Remember, you’re still in charge of the reins.”

“Easy now, I was just asleep.”

“You woke up before me!”

Their wagon is situated between two towns, yet close to neither of them. All that surrounds them are trees, fields, and mountains— everything blurs together in a painting of deep greens and the endless white of snow. But Wallachia is not a terribly large country and they always know where to go.

DECEMBER 25

Sypha blows into her cupped hands, warming them while they drive down yet another road that cuts through dense forestry. Skeleton trees all around, straight as the bars of a cage. There’s the sound of fresh snow crunching beneath the horses’ hooves coupled with the caw of a nearby crow or two. It’s like those damn birds will never leave Wallachia, even in the coldest seasons. She recognizes this pathway, as does Trevor. He remembers to say good morning to his beloved tree (perhaps his oldest friend) and makes the incorrect assumption that Sypha can’t really hear him. Just as she thinks he can’t feel her arm tighten around his.

The road begins to widen and soon they arrive at the gutted remains of a family’s legacy. Trevor huddles into the fur of his new cloak, breathing out a soft huff of frozen air. There used to be a sharp pain that gouged its way into the very pit of his chest whenever he looked upon these ruins. Like the tip of a needle that’s been shoved into the still burning embers of a slowly dying fire as a cruel joke. A reminder that he never left his home behind.

Of course, Trevor never allowed himself to show it— not consciously. It hurts less, now that the manor is in better hands. At least the walls are still standing. Maybe one day while he’s still young and able, he’ll put down the Morningstar, pick up a hammer, and get to work.

Soon another structure comes into view, far more imposing than a pile of old stones. Standing as tall as the mountains, a maze of spiked towers and bridges going in all directions. Dracula’s castle was once filled with an ever-present orchestra of steam and working gears. These days, it remains unnaturally silent —as though it shouldn’t really exist.

Trevor and Sypha believed that before. It’s strange to think and even stranger to admit, but they’re glad the castle exists, all due to its current lord. A few more trots forward and they already see him waiting patiently by the grand steps leading up to the massive front door. He greets his two guests with a smile.

“Welcome back.”

Sypha is the first to jump out of the wagon and run towards Alucard, joyfully exclaiming his name. His body goes stiff, his expression more surprised as she suddenly wraps her arms around him. He was expecting a friendly “hello” or “it’s good to see you again”. Perhaps it has been too long.

“Oh... I, ah...” Alucard returns the embrace not uncomfortably, but stunned, nonetheless. “It’s... nice to see that both of you are in good health.”

“You’re looking rather stately as well.”

“Yes, well...” He searches for a better response to Trevor’s comment only to find himself empty-headed and feeling more awkward than before. They hold themselves so casually, speaking as old friends should. To his relief, Alucard regains his equilibrium and tries matching their nonchalance. “Come in. We have much to discuss.” He turns to the castle, leaving Trevor and Sypha a bit put off.

“Right to the ugly business, eh?”

“We were hoping to tell you about our travels... at least a little.”

Upon hearing the utter dejection in Sypha’s voice (coupled with the always recognizable snark of Trevor’s), Alucard stops. He faces them with a soft, penitent gaze. Always speaking too soon, more from the head, less from the heart, much to his and everyone else’s detriment. “And you shall. I want to hear everything. Every adventure, every mischief... but I’d rather not delay any fur—”

Trevor raises a hand. “It’s fine, Alucard. Just tell us what you need help with so badly.”

“Then it will be our turn to talk your ears off.”

Still wounded by his own unintentional single-minded thinking, Alucard manages another smile. “I would like that very much. But as you said, let’s get this... ugly business out of the way first.”

They follow him up the snow-covered steps, cloaks and robes billowing in the cold breeze, wondering how “ugly” this business really is.

“Need a hand up there?”

“I will be down in a moment. I just need to find it...”

Trevor and Sypha have already heard those exact words—multiple times, in fact. They can’t even see Alucard as he searches the shelves that curve around them in a perfect circle. It’s not that there’s no enjoyment to be found sitting in Dracula’s library, marveling at every book and tome amassed over centuries while they wait for his son. But one can only stare up at each level spiraling higher towards the heavens for so long without feeling the slightest bit bored. Trevor is far more antsy, still getting used to the castle as a whole.

The very antithesis of what Sypha felt the moment Alucard led them through the door. She mentally congratulates herself for keeping the excitement in check, despite her growing desire to comb through every forbidden page until her fingertips become bloody and raw. Hopefully there will be time for that should she and Trevor decide to extend their visit.

“Here it is,” announces Alucard from some unseen level. Before either of them can stand up, he jumps—or rather glides down and lands on two feet with poise while holding a book that barely fits underneath his arm. The pages, so thick they’re near to bursting out of their binding, have turned brown and tattered along each edge. Even sitting from afar, Sypha notices these minuscule details before Alucard can join them on the cushioned bench. Trevor tries to get a closer look at its cover but with the obstruction of Alucard’s arm and the old lettering, he has difficulty making out the title.

“You wanted us to come all this way for some light reading?” He asks as the dhampir squeezes between him and Sypha.

“No. I wanted you to come all this way to read this.” Reaching into a pocket of his robe, Alucard withdraws the letter. It looks deceptively harmless in his hand. He unscrolls it and waits for the message to be read by new eyes. In the silence, Trevor touches the parchment between his thumb and index finger slowly, thoughtfully, and with the right amount of care. Just as Alucard did when he first received it.

“This feels new... but no one writes invitations like these anymore.”

“I recognize this calligraphy. It’s ancient, isn’t it.”

Alucard interjects, significantly more comfortable with the letter’s presence now that others have examined it. “Mid 12th century. Not entirely ancient, but old enough to remain somewhat alien to our own time.”

Trevor sits back and leaves the scroll to Sypha’s capable hands. “So the Cel Tradats obviously know their history. They want to show off their nobility and wealth through the wedding of their daughter Sofia. Well done to them and to her. What’s the issue, then?”

Without giving either side of him a slight glance, Alucard begins flipping through the book. “Sofia Cel Tradat has been dead for two centuries.” Said as though it were a simple fact. Expressions harden as everyone’s collective gaze settles on a page with gold and red lettering that shines in the light. Painted vines creep along the sides like the ones sheltering the Belmont manor.

“Sometime during the late 12th century, a minor civil war broke out between two noble families—the Cel Tradats and the Lupeis...” Alucard’s fingertip ghosts over the exaggerated sparrows and wolves that intermingle with the surrounding vine.

“The dispute concerned territory in the Carpathian Mountains. Eventually, money for the Lupei family ran completely dry and they had already suffered more losses than the other side. So they were forced to surrender on their own volition, but as a sign of good faith, the patriarch offered to marry off one of his sons in an effort to unite the two houses. Lucky for him, the Cel Tradats had a daughter named Sofia who was of age and yet to be wed.”

“You mentioned something about lack of funds,” interrupts Trevor. “Did Lupei really want to unite the houses or was he just looking for a sizable dowry?”

“That may have been the case, but it’s not important to us.” Alucard lets his annoyance drip off every word. At least it’s a sign that Trevor’s been paying attention thus far. “Despite the arranged marriage, it’s said that Sofia grew to admire her fiancee in the weeks leading up to the wedding.”

“However...” Sypha voices just what Trevor is thinking. There is always some sort of “however” with these particular stories.

“Not everyone was happy with the arrangement, especially on the Lupei side. The matriarch thought this entire affair was a sign of weakness. Her husband had lost the war, willingly surrendered, and was now marrying off her last remaining child to the enemy. She hated them all and saw only one way to restore honour to the Lupei name.’

The wedding ceremony itself was perfect and both parties behaved. But during the celebration, Sofia Cel Tradat was stabbed by a Lupei assassin while the rest of her family were either poisoned or assaulted themselves. They wouldn’t even spare her husband from their blades. There was no mercy for traitors of their house.”

“That’s terrible...” Sypha’s voice is low and her gaze unfocused, turned away from the open book.

“It does not stop there. Despite bleeding out, Sofia watched as her entire bloodline was being destroyed and became consumed with rage for the Lupei matriarch.” Alucard turns the page to an illustration that might as well have been ripped from the Belmont’s family bestiary; two women engaged in a violent clash, one with blood covering her open mouth as though she were a vampire.

“Sofia stumbled towards Lady Lupei, knocked her to the floor, and tore out her throat with her own teeth and fingernails. During this, any Cel Tradat who wasn’t dead yet started attacking the nearest Lupei. That night, Castle Cel Tradat was filled with over a hundred people, but only a small handful of guards who saw what happened walked away alive.’

‘Since then, those who pass by the abandoned castle on the last day of the year claim to see lights and hear music coming from inside. Every December, nobles and lords receive the very same invitation in your hands. Those foolish enough to accept are never seen again. Dracula always warned my mother and I in case one ever found its way to us.”

He closes the book, his palm lingering atop the front cover a second longer. “Seems Sofia Cel Tradat finally found the Tepes family.”

An air of silence, thick and unavoidable, once again passes over all three as they let the story sink into their thoughts. Trevor is the first to speak up after letting out a less-than subdued “fuck” under his breath. “That’s quite the winter ghost story. But how does it concern us?”

“I’ve decided to accept her invitation.”

Sypha narrows her eyes; perhaps she misheard Alucard. “You just said those who do that are foolish.”

“It must have been foolish of me to oppose my father, yet I did it anyway. I’ve accepted because there might be a way to help Sofia. It’s been said that when a person dies while deep in the throes of an intense hatred, a curse is born upon that soul, forcing them to remain in this world. Reliving the very moment of their death over and over again until something changes.”

“You’re talking about exorcising the spirit of a centuries old bride who ripped out her mother-in-law’s throat with her own bloody teeth.” It’s no surprise to Alucard or Sypha that Trevor would speak so plainly. Exorcism must have been his family’s bread and butter, along with the more common business of bestial slayings.

“You make her sound like a monster.”

Trevor contemplates for a moment, resting his elbows on both knees. “Not exactly. Shit, I honestly respect the poor girl for what she did. Still, she sounds like a force to be reckoned with.”

“You could be right. But this curse clearly isn’t any fault of Sofia’s. She was betrayed; the attempt on her life and the lives of her family occurred during her own wedding. Of course she would want to take immediate revenge. The fact that this event took place during Yule might have also contributed in some fashion.”

“Why do you think so?” Inquires Sypha.

“Originally, Yuletide referred to the days between winter solstice and the new year. During this time, it was believed that a veil separating the seen from the unseen world grew thin. This allowed for certain things to pass through—ghosts, the Wild Hunt, and the like.”

Sypha perks up at the mention of such a festivity. “I know the Wild Hunt. We never celebrated Yule, but my family used to hear stories about it from locals whenever we traveled... then again, they were always meant to frighten the younger ones so they would go to bed earlier.”

“That does not surprise me. There are less than savoury tales involving the Wild Hunt. I remember my father entertaining us every dark midwinter’s night with stories he heard himself. In any case, Sofia doesn’t deserve to continue suffering like this. I believe there’s a way for her soul to finally be put to rest.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing. What do you need us for?” Trevor doesn’t mean to sound cynical, but the tone of his voice says otherwise. He’s still trying to shed that former version of himself.

For your companionship. “From my experience, there is always strength in numbers. And I don’t know what to do or where to start... not really.”

Trevor gives him an empathetic nod. He himself knows what it’s like to give off the illusion of knowing—he’s practically mastered it. Though Trevor never thought he would hear Alucard of all people admit to something like that. “Then I guess it’s back down into that museum you love so much.”

“So, will you help me?”

“What do you think our answer is? No? We’ve already done this before, one more time shouldn’t hurt. Besides, I’ve never been to a wedding. Should be fun.”

“Sypha?” He looks to her for a similar response. She stays quiet for a moment, uncharacteristically so, but raises her gaze to match Alucard’s.

“We did not come all this way just to leave again.” Sypha rolls up the invitation before handing it back to Alucard. “Now would you like to hear about our travels over a hot drink?”

Neither man wants to refuse her offer, especially not Trevor. Letting out a sigh of what sounds like relief, he stands up and follows Sypha to the door. Alucard would join them, another introverted smile on his lips, until the smell of cinnamon and chestnuts returns. It briefly lingers in the air until something changes. He fiddles with the parchment, his senses slowly overwhelmed by the creeping stench of rotting flesh.

Trevor and Sypha are already out of the library before either of them can smell it as well.

DECEMBER 27

Sypha Belnades gets to tell her stories. The evening of her return to Castle Dracula, she’s quick to fill Alucard’s head with tales of the somewhat heroic deeds she accomplished alongside Trevor. Every road their humble little caravan came across, they disposed of the remaining night creatures who continued to plague the shadows, stumbling from place to place, searching for their next prey. Lost, hungry, and with no master they could crawl back to. Killing them was almost a mercy. The duo had found themselves in far direr circumstances with certain men of the cloth who brandished false words and insidious influence than they did with fangs and claws.

There are the softer stories. When the two of them wore crowns made from wildflowers and were convinced by other Speakers to join in their celebratory practices. Sypha still makes light of Trevor’s two left feet, despite his honest attempts. Then as reparation, she recounts the day when she took him to the beaches of the Black Sea and how he stared in awe at the open waters with their hues of lapis lazuli and turquoise. Awe and a sense of peace he thought had been forever lost to him. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t need to.

Alucard’s gaze instinctively glances to his side and sees a familiar blush warming Trevor’s cheeks.

All three spend the evening in content spirits, despite the dark task that lies ahead of them. Yet now as Sypha sits at one of the worktables in Dracula’s bright laboratory, combing through tome after tome, a pervasive feeling dulls her usually sharp focus. It’s not boredom, god no. She could never get bored in a castle like this. It’s more of a melancholy; not as intense as that night down in the Belmont Hold when Trevor offered his dusty blanket to her and they sat together in the glow of a single candle. Yet it makes her just as tired, just as depressive.

Sypha’s finger flips over another heavy page, her eyes half-lidded, skimming over the words. I feel like I’m slowly turning into Alucard by the day, she thinks, a little bittersweetly.

In the midst of her daze, she hears a rough yet understated voice coming from behind her. It reminds her of rich coffee mixed with more than a hint of whiskey. She enjoys both, much to her own surprise. “You’re a hard person to find.”

“What makes you say that?” Sypha closes the book, an easy smile on her face, and turns around to face Trevor.

“Thought I’d find you down in some corner of the archives.”

“I like it here. The castle gives me something different to look at... and something different to think about. You might disagree.”

Trevor awkwardly scratches the back of his head; a way of confirming Sypha’s assumption. “At least it looks, err, neater than how we left it.”

“I think Alucard has been busy since we last saw him.” A pause, then a change of topic. “Did the Belmonts ever receive one of those invitations?”

“Not that I can remember. Either they were destroyed, or we never got them since Yule wasn’t something we celebrated.” Despite the tense way he carries himself close to Dracula’s scientific instruments, Trevor aimlessly wanders around the laboratory while speaking. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t something about these contraptions that fascinated him.

“I doubt Dracula ever celebrated it either.”

“Maybe those spirits saw a kinship with him. Creatures of the night always flock together, remember? Like flies to an open stable.”

“That is disgusting.”

“But an apt analogy, no?”

“No.” Sypha laughs, causing Trevor to join in. It quiets down before dying completely when that pervasive feeling comes back, souring the mood. The expression in Sypha’s eyes and on her face changes—it no longer feels right to smile. As much as she appreciates Trevor’s attempt at a casual conversation, somehow it feels wrong to make light of their mission. She looks to the floor, wondering if she should really get back to work.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“I’ve heard that excuse before.”

“Really, nothing’s wrong.”

Trevor still won’t take that as a good enough answer. He’s far more perceptive than most believe him to be. “You’ve gone quiet and you’re staring at your feet. That means something’s eating away at you. What is it?”

“It...” Sypha crosses both arms across her chest, encasing herself in a cocoon made from her own baggy robes. “It is difficult to put into words.”

“You’re not happy here.”

“No! I am! And I’m happy to see Alucard again. But it always seems like all three of us are brought together because of a monster or dire situation.”

“Always? It’s only happened twice.”

Twice is enough. A sign, or rather an omen of patterns that have yet to happen. For Sypha, twice is one too many. “I only wish for us to be like other friends. Spend time together without worry or urgency and do things not involving some threat to humanity.”

Her lamentations are reasonable, and they spark a twinge of empathy within Trevor—perhaps even revelation. What he wouldn’t give to have all three of them settle down and live their lives without blood caked underneath their fingernails or the threat of being ripped apart by something inhuman. But whatever unseen higher power must have said no. Sypha was right (again); god truly does hate them.

Trevor tries to rationalize as best he can. “Maybe it’s alright if we’re not like normal friends. You have to admit, none of us are particularly ‘normal’ people to begin with.”

Sypha cocks an eyebrow. “Are you calling me strange?”

“I’m calling everyone strange, myself included.” She doesn’t know how that answer is supposed to make her feel better, yet it does. Trevor always has his own peculiar way with words. His eyes then briefly light up as he reaches into one of the pouches attached to his belt. “Almost forgot. I came here to give you this.” Something calls from his hand before dangling from a thin chain—a six-pointed star made from silver, the bane of every night creature.

“A Magen David?” Sypha takes the necklace and holds it in her palms, unfortunately cracked and turned dry from the frigid air outside. It’s simple, maybe even the simplest piece of jewelry she’s ever seen, but it feels heavy. Sacred.

“Found a couple of those down in the Hold; enough for all three. They’re meant to protect the wearer. Went looking for them last time we were there but couldn’t find any in time. It’s not much...”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Trevor almost returns a smile to Sypha until a knife plunges its way into the centre of his back—at least it feels that way. A sharp pain that slowly dulls while coursing through his body as easy as the blood in his veins. He grits his teeth behind closed lips, trying to hide the discomfort but like Trevor, Sypha is perceptive.

“Everything alright? Did you injure yourself?”

“Might have. My fucking back and chest have been itching to be the death of me for a couple days now.”

“I didn’t know you were that old,” Sypha giggles. Trevor’s reaction is amusingly frustrated.

“I’m not.”

“You should speak to Alucard about your pain. He might be able to help.”

“Well, I did plan on finding him but how would he know what to do?”

“His mother was a doctor. He might have inherited some of her knowledge.” Trevor heads towards the door, even when Sypha isn’t finished talking yet. He needs to listen and hopefully learn from this last piece of advice. “You could also use this opportunity to settle your differences.”

She receives a flippant scoff in response. Typical. “I’ve already settled my differences with him.”

“You know what I mean, Trevor.”

He does, but only after a moment of thought. There’s no witty comeback, no stubborn retaliation, and no self-preserving denial; only acceptance. He and Alucard haven’t really made up—not in the way that adults are supposed to. Some things need to be settled through words and not only through vaguely charitable acts. Trevor leaves Sypha to her own work with the tentative hope that Alucard will feel just as willing.

The castle is alive.

Dracula said this to his son the day he took him into the engine room. Adrian was getting old enough, thus it was about time for the boy to learn. Despite his grand stature looming over everyone and everything, Dracula always felt dwarfed by the massive gears and pumps emitting billows of steam. His son even more so; like a mouse amongst the giants that breathed life into his own home.

But the lord of vampires was secure in the knowledge that Adrian wouldn’t remain a mouse for much longer. Soon he would have power, duties, and responsibilities. Which was why Dracula felt it necessary to show him the very ribcage of the castle along with its ever-beating heart stationed at the front—a geometric device hovering above a pedestal that rotated on command without a single touch of one’s finger. A bloodless, meatless organ in which Dracula poured his very intellect and soul into.

Now it means nothing. Pieces of black iron and dirtied gold lay scattered upon the very altar that once held them. Worthless. At least to a stranger’s naked eye. Alucard holds up one of the triangles against the bright winter sunlight pouring through the towering windows. It seems as though he’s done this a hundred times before and always comes to the same conclusion: the castle cannot be fixed.

And yet it remains alive, now more so than ever. Alucard noticed this immediately. In his efforts to create the perfect machination that bent to his every will, Dracula must have miscalculated. For when does a home feel truly alive? When there are beating hearts residing within its walls.

Alucard almost loses himself in his own thoughts—a common occurence—until he hears footsteps close behind. Followed by an exasperated “fucking finally...”

“You still know how to announce yourself.” Without turning around, he places the castle’s broken heart back with its brothers and sisters as the familiar presence draws nearer.

“And you’ve still mastered the art of sulking off by yourself.”

“What do you need, Belmont? Usually you don’t come to me willingly unless you want to say something important or crude.”

“It’s not all that important.”

“Then it must be crude.”

Another flinch from Trevor, which Alucard notices out of the corner of his eye. But the hunter manages a smile. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” A second mildly humorous jab almost makes its way out into the open until Trevor receives a look which tells him he should choose his next words very carefully, so he does. “I do need your help with something.”

“Yes, I can see that now.”

“How?”

“You’re slouching more than usual, and you seem discomforted.”

Sure, if you want to use that term. “It’s my back and chest. Must have been all those nights sleeping in that cramped wagon or swinging around the whip, but I’m worried it’ll get worse before it gets better. You know more about medicine than anybody else so...”

Alucard’s cold expression melts; did he just hear a hint of bashfulness in that last sentence? How interesting. Normally Sypha’s the only one who can bring out that hidden side of Trevor. It’s more than enough to convince Alucard. “Alright. Let me have a look at it.” He walks down the altar steps and gestures for Trevor to follow him.

“Wait, just like that?”

“I’m not cruel, Belmont. And I can’t have you injured right before we make our way to Castle Cel Tradat.”

They leave the engine room, which bears more of a resemblance to some grotesque art installation with melted gears and pillars that have hardened over a period of time than a well-oiled facility. “Is that why you’re up here? Trying to figure out how to move this thing so we don’t have to travel like regular human beings.”

“We’ll arrive fine enough using that old wagon of yours.”

“But is it actually possible to get the castle working again?”

Alucard leads Trevor into a different, smaller room filled with more books, more glass vials, and decides to leave the question open-ended. He would have answered a while ago: “this castle is as dead as the man who created it”. Now he’s not so certain. “Sit up on the table.” A convenient way of diverging the subject, to which Trevor thankfully doesn’t pry about any further.

“Am I your first patient?”

“Only if you don’t count childhood toys and small animals.”

Trevor glances over his shoulder at Alucard, whose hands are hovering dangerously close to his body. He lets out a regrettable chuckle. “That wasn’t meant to be taken literally, right?”

“You will be fine. You said it was your back and chest that hurt the most, correct?” Trevor mumbles out a presumable “yes”. Alucard reaches around, placing his fingers upon his ribcage just below his left breast. His touch is firm like a doctor’s yet gentle like a friend’s. He presses into the soft flesh. “Breathe into this hand.” Trevor’s breaths are shaky despite his efforts to keep them long and deep. His ribs barely move due to the pain. He’s stiff, understandably so not only because of his ailment. Alucard tempers his hold on him.

“You’re very warm,” he says with a smile (grateful that Trevor can’t see it else he’d have to explain himself). But his statement is true; he can feel it even though the worn fabric. A comfortable, soothing warmth. If he’s not careful, his hand might sink into the hunter, followed by the rest of himself.

“Is that some kind of diagnosis?”

“No. Just an observation.” Perhaps a compliment as well if Alucard swallowed his lingering pride and just admitted to it.

His hands continue their course along Trevor’s back muscles, searching for any abnormalities, any sources of his irritation. He thinks about every scar and bruise he might have passed over. How many are small; small enough to heal on their own? How many did Trevor have to stitch up with his own bloody, trembling fingertips? As Alucard reaches the other side of his chest, he dismisses any questions concerning past scars. He knows Trevor wouldn’t want to talk about that—not with him. Not yet.

“Well? Am I going to live?”

“Oh, absolutely. It isn’t that serious. A few displaced ribs, that’s all.”

“... sorry, my ribs are what?”

“When you strain your body too much or have poor posture, your ribs can slide out of place. It’s common and easily fixed. I’m shocked this hasn’t happened to you sooner.”

“You know, it’s bad bedside manners to insult the patient.”

“And you would know a lot about manners.”

“Enough to fill a book.”

Alucard tries to hide his smirk—and another snide remark. A very short book, maybe. Adjusting the positions of his hands, he forces Trevor to sit up a bit straighter. “Start counting. You’ll feel much better before you reach ten.”

Unlikely, but Trevor plays along. “One... two... three... four... fi—Jesus fuck!” It lasts for only a few seconds, the feeling that every bone in his body has been broken apart then hastily put back together. At least it’s short-lived. Hand presses against chest as Trevor takes a breath, vocalizing his surprise and whatever’s left of the pain through long-winded gasps. Alucard pats his back, rather pleased with himself.

“Go rest and try not to move too strenuously. You’ll also need to hold something cool against your ribcage. I suggest a damp cloth.”

“Thanks.”

“No need. You could have done it yourself.”

“I still appreciate the help.”

Alucard could let things lie; he’s been blunt and honest with Trevor enough already. Yet his next question won’t leave him alone until it’s let loose. “Why did you come to me? Was it so we could bury the hatchet together?” He pretends to busy himself with another task, unable to watch Trevor’s expression—and unwilling to show his own. The response he receives is... unexpected. A strange sort of comfort.

“I buried that hatchet the moment you decided to stop swinging that needle of yours at me. I just enjoyed pushing your many, many buttons.”

“... I acted like a spiteful brat, didn’t I? You can say so.”

Still feeling tender from the sudden rearrangement of his bones, Trevor joins him as they stand in front of a cabinet filled with things both scientific and occult. Consolation is not the strongest suit of his. There was so little of it during his own life, giving it seems almost alien to him. But he tries. With a simple touch on Alucard’s shoulder, he tries. “We both did. At least we can admit to it now.”

Words stop there, for the moment. Trevor remains at Alucard’s side in an unsure manner. Is this how it’s done? Have they finally made up? Buried the hatchet as they put it? In the midst of his over-thinking, he remembers why else he sought out the dhampir. “Here.” Trevor slips the same Magen David necklace into his cold hand. “Sypha’s got one as well. Thought it might help us when we’re inside the castle.”

Alucard stares down, entranced by the piece of silver in his palm, prompting Trevor to say something a bit too revealing. “Once when I was fifteen, I tried to do some good and handed these around to local communities, so they’d be protected. Made them from sticks and twine I picked off from the roads... felt stupid doing it.”

“Efforts to commit good deeds are never stupid.” Alucard retorts, his voice softer than usual.

Thanks for the vote of confidence. “I managed to get a rabbi to bless them. They actually worked fine until...”

“Until what?”

“Nothing. Forget about it.”

The word “pogrom” tastes like bile in Trevor’s mouth. He’d like nothing more than to spit it out and stomp on it until it’s nothing more than a stain upon the stone floor. But he wants to leave this meeting with Alucard on a much lighter note—or as light as he can make it. “I’ll leave you to... whatever it was you were doing.”

“Trevor...” Before either one can realize what was just said in place of “Belmont”, Alucard swiftly regains his stoic composure. “A bath might also help. With your ribs, I mean.”

Trevor snorts. “Sure. For my ribs.” He leaves the room, determined to own the last witticism spoken between them. Alucard lets him have it, but not begrudgingly. He’s more focused on how the Magen David hangs perfectly in the v of his shirt’s neckline, sitting against his bare skin. It feels warm atop the scar, though that could be from when it was held in Trevor’s hand.

DECEMBER 31

The hunter, the scholar, and the former sleeping soldier make good use of their time. When the day comes and they follow the sun as it descends across the sky, each carries an arsenal of their own. Sypha’s head is full of new spells as though it might burst. Alucard’s sword is sharp enough to cut a single drop of ice water in half. Trevor’s belt is heavy with blades large and small, resting next to his beloved Morningstar. He might as well be married to it.

The Magen Davids hang off their necks, swaying and dangling with every bump the wagon drives over. Tiny pieces of armour they’ve put most of their faith in, but not all of it. The rest goes to each other for support, protection, and morale.

Up in the Carpathian Mountains, the wind blows differently. Through the dense woods, it howls and batters against the wagon’s canvas covering, blowing ice into exposed eyes and exposed skin. The three shelter themselves into the furs around their shoulders as best they can hoping to either wait out or outrun this squall. Then the mountains become quiet and clear the deeper they venture, like a graveyard in the dead of night. Not a single falling snowflake to obscure their vision. Until they turn round another corner on the road, kicking bits of snow and dirt into the ravine below.

The travelers hear Castle Cel Tradat before they see it. Jovial and celebratory music that cuts through the silence, growing in volume as they drive closer—just as Alucard described it. The castle itself seems humble; stout with thick walls and a set of four towers on each corner. Not a ruin similar to the Belmont abode and nowhere near the profuse architectural opulence of Dracula’s. From a distance, the dim torch fire that lines the entrance look like fireflies in the darkness.

They leave the wagon at the foot of the bridge; any closer and they fear something might happen to the horses. Trevor takes a moment to pat their snouts and gives them a few dried apple rings before catching up with his companions. In a rare sight to see (at the suggestion of Alucard no less), all three are dressed in the same dark tones save for their halos of grey fur.

“Someone should tell him we’re going to a wedding, not a funeral.” Trevor whispered to Sypha before they left. He soon realized the mistake of his comment. Perhaps they are attending a funeral and they’re the only ones who know it. As they make their way down the bridge alongside other attendees comprised of both ghosts and unfortunate living nobles who never bothered to read up on their history, Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard wordlessly hope they won’t end up betraying themselves or their true intentions.

“Invitation,” demands one of the gateway guards. Alucard slips the rolled-up parchment out of his coat pocket and presents it. “And these two?” Just as the guard makes eye contact with Trevor, he carefully hides the Belmont crest beneath the folds of his cloak. No particular reason, only an old habit.

“My guests. I assume guests are permitted?”

The guard pauses for a thankfully brief moment. “Go on in. Straight through the doors.” Alucard and Sypha bow out of respect, but Trevor glances over his shoulder as they ascend the front steps. It all feels too easy; he didn’t even check for weapons. The Cel Tradats must have been incredibly trusting or woefully naive that night they all died.

It’s a short walk to the grand hall. If it weren’t for the stench of old blood clouding Alucard’s heightened senses, he would assume the place had been untouched by death. Dresses and fine tunics move across the tapestries in a thick haze caused by candlelight smoke, one can barely see to the other side of the room. Cinnamon, winter cranberries, and pine tree furs line the tables alongside an endless multitude of food. Sypha has never seen so much meat or drink in one sitting. If the butchers and farmers of Targoviste’s most bountiful markets could witness this sight, they would weep as though on their mother’s deathbed. People laugh, cheer, and dance upon the centre floor. They live like they’ve never lived before.

Trevor quickly takes hold of Sypha’s wrist and the back of Alucard’s coat. “Don’t eat or drink anything,” he warns in a dire tone. Neither one needs an explanation as to why. Rather than join the revelry, they hurry off to the side out of sight.

“Look. Up at the front.” Alucard is the first to find Sofia overlooking her merry subjects, seated halfway between the Cel Tradats and the Lupeis, now an envoi of both houses. A sparrow and a wolf. Full rosy cheeks, brown irises deeper than the richest chocolate, and long red hair like a river of blood. Her husband with wide eyes and an even wider smile is almost as beautiful as his wife.

“They seem so happy.” And unaware, Trevor thinks to himself.

Sypha chimes in with her own opinions. “There wasn’t much written about Darius Lupei in the history tomes. Apparently, he was an idiot... but at least a loving idiot.”

“One of us needs to warn her. But don’t make a spectacle of it otherwise this entire room will be thrown into chaos.”

“What about the assassin?”

“We will need to find them as well without drawing any attention.”

“So, we stop Sofia from being murdered and the whole night goes on without a hitch.” There’s skepticism in Trevor’s voice, which doesn’t surprise Alucard. “Is that supposed to bring peace to her soul along with the rest here?”

Sypha turns to Alucard and waits for an answer. He’d say “yes”, but it would be dishonest of him to even think that he knew what they were doing. “I don’t know. But it’s worth it to try.”

Trevor lets out a heavy breath; a common response when he doesn’t feel like analyzing the gritty details of a plan. “Not exactly a traditional exorcism. I’ll go warn Sofia.” Barely a step forward and Alucard already stops him.

“I said don’t make a spectacle of it.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you have as much subtlety and tact as a kitten drunk on milk.”

Sypha mutters “he does have a point” under her breath to no avail as Trevor turns to her, shocked and a little insulted. “You have to admit, Trevor, negotiations are not your strongest skill. You’re better at ending fights with that whip than you are with words.”

“Traitors. The both of you.”

Alucard’s golden eyes narrow with growing frustration. “We don’t have time for petty squabbles. I will go speak with Sofia.”

Trevor places a palm against his chest and holds him back. “She’ll take one look at your fangs and start screaming about a vampire in her court.”

“Boys...”

“Can you keep your voice down?”

“I am keeping my voice down!” Trevor’s short-lived outburst carries itself throughout the hall, attracting the attention of a few confused onlookers. Fortunately, they return to their own little worlds while the music plays on. Alucard and Sypha push their hunter towards the nearest wall, silencing him with their hands.

“If we let you walk up there and request an audience with the bride, will you please be quieter?” Trevor nods, which is enough for them. An unseen clock ticks ever closer to the fated moment between Sofia and the assassin’s dagger; it would be better if they hurried. Alucard and Sypha let go, exasperated but willingly.

“I’ll watch your back in case something happens.”

“I’ll search for the assassin.” Alucard pulls Trevor in close. “Please do not make me beg for you to not fuck this up.”

“When have I ever?”

A sharp inhale, then Alucard decides to let it be. The two men set off in opposite directions while Sypha’s cheeks burn hot with irritation towards both of them. She hides behind a pillar and keeps an eye on Trevor as he navigates himself through the sea of dancers. Her fingertips tingle with fiery embers and the cold prick of ice, yet she holds back. Not yet and if all goes well, not tonight.

“You seem to have your hands full with those two.” A different voice speaks up. Sypha ignores the comment, assuming she had just received a snippet of some unrelated conversation. That it wasn’t meant for her.

The same voice speaks again. “Friends of yours, I presume.”

Still composure turns into masked panic. Sypha’s heart thumps against her ribcage in an almost painful manner. She could stay focused on the tuff of Trevor’s fur cloak as it weaves as it weaves amongst moving bodies, or she could make absolutely certain of one thing: how much did they hear?

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop on strangers.” She does not face whoever’s talking.

“It’s also not polite to refuse a bride and groom’s generosity.”

Sypha remains where she stands, but glances at the crowded tables against her better judgement—one woman, not quite elderly but past middle age, stares at her with friendly curiosity. Sypha tries to avoid another instance of eye contact. “I am not hungry.”

The woman laughs. “You don’t have to eat anything, though it would be preferred if you did. Just come and be present.”

Impulse pushes against intuition as Sypha struggles with herself. If it will please the woman (and possibly shut her up), then fine. She can watch Trevor just as easily from the tables. Finding an empty yet claustrophobic space on one of the benches, Sypha squeezes in between a happy drunkard and her sudden enabler. Already her body wants to close in on itself or leave altogether.

“There. Now I’m present,” she mutters bitterly.

“Well you’ve got quite the tongue... that’s meant to be a compliment, love.” Sypha gives her a hesitant smirk, which fades the longer she speaks. “Though it can’t be easy putting up with two men who have so much pride.”

Sypha scratches the tip of her index fingernail along the table wood until it nearly falls off. She isn’t in the mood for conversation, even with a harmless ghost who seems to understand her. Still, the urge to play the woman’s game is too much and Sypha has just the response for her. “It is easy enough. Find something that gently wounds their pride and they are like puppies with their tails tucked between their legs.”

The woman chokes on her gulp of ale before letting out another laugh that sounds too big for her thin frame. Personally, Sypha didn’t think the joke was that funny but she appreciates the reaction. “And I would not trade either of them for anyone else in all of Wallachia.”

A few drops of the woman’s drink might have somehow made its way into Sypha’s veins, but she speaks truthfully. She’s always let the truth be heard; it’s molded her into the person she is now. Honesty makes her and those around her stronger. So perhaps she should save this particular truth for the ones who need to hear it most.

All these unfocused thoughts cause Sypha to drift away from what’s important, what matters right now in the moment. Only the woman’s next inquiry brings her back, but not in the way she wanted. “Is that why you’re not with your family right now?”

Sypha’s stare drives daggers into the woman’s throat while she sits there and simply drinks her ale, aware and uncaring. “Doesn’t surprise me. You don’t really belong with the Speakers anymore, do you? Bit of an outsider. There are other scholars of magic, of course, but none quite like you. That’s another compliment. It might be best that you stay away from them for a while... maybe forever.”

Fire and ice surge their way through Sypha’s hot blood, begging to be released. Anger dulls her senses along with her movements. “I will never abandon my people.”

“You already have, love. You abandoned them when you agreed to join that hunter and the bastard son of a vampire.”

Sypha’s first instinct is towards violence. She wants to slap the woman with the backside of her hand or wrap her fingers around her neck and squeeze as tight as possible or place an iron hot palm against her cheek and give her something to talk about with her friends and neighbours. But none of it would matter. Sypha tears herself away from the table and regains control. The castle’s deceptions will not get inside of her so easily.

Only now does she notice the smell of sour fruit, moldy bread, and rotting meat being picked apart by greedy flies. Flies to an open stable.

If Alucard were thinking straight, he would have found the assassin by now. If he had found the assassin, this night would be done and the three of them would be on their way back to Castle Dracula. If they were back home, he would be in bed savouring his first peaceful sleep now that he’s no longer alone. But none of those wishes have come to fruition. Alucard’s search leads him away from the wedding feast and down into one of the side corridors. Darkness has never given him much trouble, yet here it blurs his vision. If only he held a torch or even a simple candle.

“Lost, sir?” Alucard turns to face a tall woman with broad shoulders dressed in the same funeral-coloured garb as he. There’s rouge upon her sharp cheekbones, dark hair held back by a golden pin, and demeanour cold yet polite. She must be the Lupei matriarch.

Alucard’s immediate response is to bow courteously, despite his hand twitching closer to the holt of his sword. He could consider Lady Lupei to be the real assassin, but she would never dirty her hands in such a direct way. Killing her now would only quicken the oncoming madness. Better to make an excuse than to act on rash thinking. “Apologies, my lady. I simply wandered off for some fresh air. If you will pardon me—”

“No, I do believe you are lost. You’ve been lost for some time.”

“I’m sorry...?” Her steps towards him are slow, calculated. She keeps a coldly gentle expression on her serene face. Alucard tries to look past the Lady, his eyes searching for the warm glow of the grand hall. He sees nothing, only more of the same corridor he finds himself trapped in. The song of his sword waiting to be unsheathed rings louder in his ears.

“I know you like to think it wasn’t your fault. Once your father went mad, there was nothing more you could have done to pull him back.”

The tip of Alucard’s fang grazes his lower lip, drawing blood. Just a drop, but the taste of metal floods his mouth. “You know nothing of me or my father.”

“But I do know. When you get to live as long as I do and see people for what they truly are, you come to know a lot of things. How you lie to yourself and those around you. How you think it will help mask your guilt and shame.”

“There is no guilt!” Alucard’s voice suddenly cracks. Lady Lupei continues to descend upon him as a shadow—like his father did that night of the blood moon. “My hand was forced... I had no other choice.”

She laughs; more out of bitterness and anger than amusement. “You’re just like my husband. Nothing but excuses.”

“Leave me be, damned spirit.”

“When your father’s ashes scattered to the winds, you should have turned that very same stake against your own heart. Why not do it now? You have your blade, so finish what you started.”

Alucard feels his hand grow heavy. He looks down and sees the silver of his blade trembling. Steadying himself, he knows how to use it. Forget his previous hesitance; if Lady Lupei is in his presence, then better to end this cursed night now. If only she were still here. Raising his head, he realizes that he’s been left alone—and with no easy way of returning. Alucard turns in both directions; the corridor has no end in sight. The castle, its ghosts, the curse, none of them are through with him yet. He sheathes the sword back in its place and follows the faint sound of music.

What’s the polite way of saying “your mother-in-law is about to brutally murder you”?

Trevor snakes a path across the floor, resisting the increased urge to push everyone aside and march straight up to Sofia before pulling her away. Knock the goblet out of her hand, spilling expensive wine all over her pretty wedding dress. She’d struggle, kick about, possibly curse like a sailor in their faces. A small price to pay for sparing her from a violent fate. It would be so easy if they all moved out of the fucking way.

Closer now; it seems he’s been getting closer for hours. The floor feels soft beneath his boots. Yet she’s still out of reach. Maybe if I just shout at her. Trevor remembers the “promise” he made to Alucard and Sypha, but to hell with it. They want this night over with as much as he does.

Something crashes into him. Trevor spins around, thrown off his already weakened equilibrium, and is carried away from Sofia by one of the dancers shoving himself into his arms. “You’re a handsome one!”

“Would you let me go...”

“Come and dance! It will clean that scowl right off your face.”

“Thank you but no thank you. I need to—” He doesn’t care for his protests, no one does. They hand him off from dancer to dancer; it’s a miracle he hasn’t tripped over himself yet. In his disorientation, Trevor is struck by a familiarity. A much better time than this. He said he didn’t want to dance, never learned it enough as a child so it would be at best humiliating and at worst painful as an adult. The Speakers convinced him otherwise—they always manage to. Placing a crown of wildflowers atop his head, he turned away so they wouldn’t see how red his cheeks grew. He couldn’t hide it forever, not when Sypha took his hands and lovingly teased him. That night felt like a dream blessed enough to be real. It felt like something he’d been missing for so long.

“It felt like home.” Trevor stops, unsure if the voice came from him or one of the dancers. He’s not given the luxury of time to think or resist when he’s thrown into another’s arms, then another’s.

“You miss that feeling. You miss having a home.”

“You miss being part of a family.”

“You can have a home here. You can stay if you would let yourself.”

“Come home.”

“Mother? Father?” There’s a warm sensation in Trevor’s stomach that burns and aches. Home, family, and stay meld together spoken by the sickly-sweet tones of the dancers and the voices of two dead Belmonts. His worst nights after crawling into the very bottle he emptied at a local tavern were never so terrible.

“Trevor! Trevor, look at me!” Cold hands press on either side of his head, dragging him away from all the suffocating bodies. Eyes shut tightly; he now finds the will to fight back.

“Fuck off of me! I want to go home!”

“Trevor, it’s me. Calm down.” He tears open his watery eyes and feels his heartbeat slow when Sypha wraps her arms around him. Trevor holds her, terrified that she might fade as all the other ghosts will. Even more scared of what he had contemplated.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry.”

“It’s just the curse. You’re alright.” Sypha repeats it until Trevor can believe it himself. He catches a glimpse of Sofia—does she know? From the way she laughs and clings to her husband’s side, she evidently may not.

“Sypha, where the hell is Alucard?”

“Honourable allies of the Lupeis and the Cel Tradats.” Trevor, Sypha, and the rest of the party turn in the direction of the announcer. “May I present to you, Sir Darius Lupei of House Lupei.”

“Shit...” They’ll have to make do without Alucard. While everyone else stands at attention, the two of them use this as an opportunity if not a fleeting one. As Darius begins his speech, they run.

“I wish to thank all of you for witnessing this momentous event. Once the Lupeis and Cel Tradats were enemies. Now through this bond of love and marriage, we are made friends and equals.”

“Stop! Sofia! Lady Sofia! Move, you fucking idiots!”

“We need to speak with Lady Sofia!”

All members of both houses stare in confusion at the man and woman attempting a mad dash towards them. “What is the meaning of this?”

“She’s not safe! None of you are!”

Darius takes pause, considering the roguish man’s warning, yet dismisses it just as quick as he heard it. Sypha should have better taken those passages written about the living but small-minded lord to heart. “Must have let all that drink overtake their common sense. Remove them. They shall be dealt with later.”

Sypha and Trevor wrestle with the guards, driving their feet between their legs and beating fists against armour until their knuckles turn a sickening purple. They create more of a spectacle while Darius carries on with his public address. he extends a hand, places it in Sofia’s, and motions for her to stand.

“May I present to our joined courts, my wife and your new lady, Sofia Cel Tradat Lupei.”

Trevor’s vision is momentarily obscured by his own thrashing, though it does not matter. He, Sypha, and the entire castle hear Sofia’s screams all the same. A dripping rose appears on her white and green dress, spreading over her abdomen and turning her fingers a similar dark coloured red. Darius’ own shouts of shock devolve into choking gurgles as knives slash across his throat. The grand hall erupts like a pack of beasts let loose from their cages to attack whoever is nearest. There’s panic from all except Lady Lupei and her house, including the guards that hold Trevor and Sypha. They should have noticed the wolves on their chest plates.

Sypha acts the quickest. One guard shrieks in horror as blue and red ice daggers appear straight through his arms; the other spits blood and teeth upon contact with Trevor’s sword. The two find shelter underneath a table and watch the centuries-old carnage. Sypha never knew ghosts could bleed so much.

They fear the worst for Alucard. The castle with its lies has swallowed him whole. Until another Lupei guard falls dead in front of them, a familiar sword lodged in his back. “Where the fuck were you?” Trevor snarls as a disgruntled dhampir joins them.

“Trying to survive this wedding, same as you both.” Before any of the bickering can start, a far more dire sight begs for their attention—Sofia and Lady Lupei on the ground, their nails digging into each other, one of their mouths spraying blood the louder she screams.

“This is not working, Alucard. What do we do?”

“It’s too late. I don’t know if there is anything we can do.”

“You’re saying we just let this happen, wait until next year, so this whole shitstorm can repeat itself until we get it right?”

“I would prefer to hear a better plan come out of your mouth, Belmont.”

Alucard is being facetious (to ill effect), but Trevor does have something better in mind. He fiddles with the Magen David like a nervous tick. There is no maybe; this will get him killed, he’s certain of that. When has it ever stopped him?

“Clear a path for me.” He’s already out from under the table before Alucard or Sypha can rightfully question him. They react fast, moving in front so he might have a shield. Fire scorches bodies into blackened cinders; limbs fall to the floor with the effortless swipe of a thin blade; Trevor uses his whip sparingly. He doesn’t touch it when he reaches the bride. She turns with wild eyes, blood seeping through the cracks of her teeth. Rivers of red flow from her stomach and down the steps, mingling with the rest. The tapestries did her rage no justice.

“Don’t touch me!” She violently sputters.

“I just want to talk.” Trevor raises his hands, his voice oddly calm. When she doesn’t listen, he removes his cloak and shows her the embroidered emblem on his breast. Sofia’s fury melts into realization.

“The Belmonts...” As Sofia gazes down at her defiled hands then towards her mutilated court, something shatters within. The past hundred years of darkness and repetition make themselves known. “Merciful god, what have I done...” She whimpers, face wet with tears and blood. “What have I done...”

“Sofia...”

“Get away from me! I know who you are! The Belmonts kill monsters. You’re here to kill me.”

“You’re not a monster.” Along with his cloak, Trevor lays the Morningstar and his Magen David by his feet. Alucard and Sypha stay behind with the shaky hope that he knows what he’s doing. “I know what it’s like to lose your family to violence. Betrayed by the very people you wanted to help. You deserve every right to be pissed off and hate them. But you also deserve peace. You shouldn’t have to continue suffering like this.”

“It hurts so much.”

“I know it’s hard. But let go.”

Sofia forces herself to look up. The tears have turned her bloodshot eyes into shining glass. “If I do, will I face eternal punishment?”

“You won’t.”

It’s quiet behind them. No more sounds of the dying or killing. No more broken bones or blood-filled screams. Sofia grows weary, her last few breathes slow. Pieces of skin begin to peel and float like snowflakes. Before they can see how she’ll fade away back into the annals of history, the windows shatter and release a blizzard that had been waiting far too long to break in. It blows through the grand hall, carrying itself around the castle as a cascade of snow, dust, and wind. The last time a curse was lifted in this manner, there were ashes and the disembodied moans of despair.

Then it’s over. The three of them stand in the middle of a dark empty room. Trevor picks up his belongings, leaving the unchanged Magen David for last. There are no words shared amongst them because they cannot find the right ones. Alucard steps up, perturbed by Trevor’s silence. He offers a hand on his shoulder for comfort, mirroring what Sypha once did for him, but his touch is too light for Trevor to really notice.

“We should go.” After such a bout of silence, Sypha’s voice makes them jump slightly. They leave the castle in its true abandoned state and hope never to come back. Perhaps a brief visit at the end of every Yule to place flowers where Sofia used to stand.

Halfway across the bridge, Sypha turns her head up to the snow speckled skies. Shouts of merriment and well-earned victory grace her ears; the arrival of a hunt returning with its spoils. Though she cannot see it, nor is she completely certain of its presence.

“You alright?” Asks Trevor.

“... I thought I heard something.”

JANUARY 1

The first early morning of the new year is always strange, even stranger to spend it alone inside Dracula’s castle. A disheartened hunter, a thoughtful scholar, and a tired dhampir retreat to his library without so much as a “happy new year”. They should sleep and yet they crowd onto the same chair, silently wishing for someone to lighten the mood before shuffling off to bed.

While the other two stare at their feet, Sypha looks around for some topic of small conversation. Her eyes eventually bring her to the top of a bookshelf, squinting at a tiny branch of green leaves which didn’t seem to be hanging there before.

“Mistletoe?”

Alucard overhears her mutter and glances upwards. His explanation is very matter of fact, with no joy. “Sometimes pieces of nature will appear on their own... an old spell put in place by my father to make my mother happy. He never had the need for growing things before he met her.”

Sypha knows the traditions and the good superstitions, despite never partaking in their origins. Standing up (the first one taking initiative to do so), she kisses Trevor’s cheek then does the same on Alucard’s forehead. “Shame to waste it.”

The boys are left in pleasant surprise—and with ideas of their own, especially on Alucard’s part. He doesn’t want to end the night with nothing to say to Trevor. They’ll step into this new year on good footing. Just when the Belmont least expects it, Alucard kisses his opposite cheek. An admittedly risky act on its own accords, but he thinks it was worth it to try.

“I was wrong. You did well tonight.”

Pink faced, Trevor’s gaze never leaves Alucard until he’s through the door and out of sight. “Mistletoe is supposed to be poisonous; you know.” He says to no one in particular.

#castlevania #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes #sypha belnades #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #my writing #*cvfic #its done..... its finally done.....#oh god i hope the read more works

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

Text

Thank you so much @bdiduk2003, both for your compliments and the request :) I’m always happy to see your name pop up 💞 Even though I shifted the focus a little, I hope you enjoy this piece in which:

Mute’s Halloween outfit overstays its welcome and Smoke demonstrates what a good dad he is. (Rating M, some sexual elements + heaps of fluff, ~3.5k words) - Thanks a lot also to @i-dnt-know-either for allowing me to reference your wonderful Halloween fic!! 💙💙💙 It’s not required but highly recommended to read it first.

“I really should’ve gotten you some heels”, Smoke drawls, still lazily palming the not uninterested dick right next to his face.

“Want me to moan an octave higher, too? Because I’m not sure I actually can. Might sound like a cat dying.” Mute continues to struggle with getting that blasted dress over his head, wondering how he managed the previous evening. Not having been hungover must’ve helped. It’s early morning now, darkness lurking outside the windows still. They’ve only gotten about three hours of sleep in total, and those not even as a whole but scattered in between frotting and petting and more making out. Smoke had mentioned picking up Charlie after breakfast, and so they decided in favour of staying up the entire night before crashing completely as opposed to waking up like zombies. As a result, Mute’s crotch is sore and so are his nipples and all the bruises on his neck from Smoke acting like a vampire, and still his boyfriend is insatiable.

“Babe, you could yodel for all I care, I’d still fuck you.”

“Is that a challenge?” Finally, Mute manages to pull the playboy bunny outfit back on – Smoke requested a reprise of last night and if it helps tire him out, Mute is more than willing to dress up once more. Even so, his partner is more interested in playing with his half-hard cock peeking out between the lace instead of marvelling at how good he looks. Mute has to admit, the piece of clothing does flatter his physique.

“That depends entirely on whether you can actually yodel or not. Do we have any fishnets?”

Mute rolls his eyes but spreads his legs when questing fingers nudge them apart, already preparing for round number… he’s not even sure, actually, lost count somewhere along the way. “Are you sure you can go again? Or will this end in half an hour of aimless humping?”

The only reply he gets is a bright smile and a finger pushed inside, at which point he stops caring and gets into position to guide the tip of his cock into Smoke’s mouth, partly for the actual stimulation and mostly to shut him up. A tired, hungover Smoke is a Smoke full of bad ideas, and maybe this way he can prevent at least some of them slipping out.

A ringing stops both of them in their tracks. They exchange a meaningful glance.

Unimpressed, the sound continues.

“You should probably get that”, Mute sighs and withdraws all body parts from inside other body parts so Smoke’s hands are free to accept the call. Whoever thinks it appropriate to disturb anyone at this hour, the morning after Halloween, should be shot.

“Is she alright?”, Smoke suddenly blurts out, voice full of worry, and Mute’s stomach drops instantly, all annoyance forgotten and replaced with mild panic. This sounds serious and he doesn’t breathe until Smoke slumps in relief. “Okay. Then what else – really? Where? Gotcha. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Mute likes absolutely nothing of what he’s just heard. “Charlie?”, he guesses and earns a nod.

“She, uh, got picked up by a sergeant, Driscoll. Sounds like local police.”

Pardon him? “She what.”

“Something about trespassing – I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that we’re picking her up now.” Smoke is already halfway out the door, pulling on jeans and disregarding his lack of underwear. “Come on!”

“I actually know that guy”, Mute provides helpfully and rises as well, begins gathering clothes. “If she really has broken some laws, he’ll let it slide. He likes me.”

“You’re a godsend, babe. Now get rid of that costume and let’s go.”

Sure, no problem. All Mute has to do is take it off again and replace it with reasonable human clothes. No biggie. Piece of cake. After all, he wants to look presentable when facing any kind of law enforcement, and wants to set a good example for Charlie, and doesn’t want to appear like a cheap hooker Smoke dragged along. Easy.

Easy peasy.

“James.” The slight panic in his voice has his lover shift his attention back to him. “The fucking thing is stuck. I can’t get it off.”

They stare at each other across the messy bedroom.

“You can wear your coat?”, comes the weak suggestion and while it’s a good one, Mute shakes his head.

“Gave it to Manu the other day. She hasn’t returned it yet.”

“Put on jeans?”

“The bloody lace won’t fit.”

Another silence. Smoke is radiating impatience and Mute vaguely understands, he’s also worried about Charlie having gotten into trouble, about her hanging out with the wrong crowd and having made choices she might regret later. He knows how important she is to Smoke. Is aware of how important she is to him.

A minute later, he’s sitting in the car next to Smoke, boxer briefs peeking out from under the scandalously short dress and struggling with a hoodie he grabbed on his way out, all the while having to listen to Smoke trying to sugarcoat the situation: “Look, if you hide the top, you can pretend you just forgot to put trousers on or that you’re going as, uh -”

“The zip’s broken”, Mute sighs in defeat and demonstrates that the zip is, indeed, broken. So no hiding any part of the dress, except for the back. Wonderful. Great. Just what he needed. “Just forget about it. She’s seen you in worse.”

“She’s seen me in socks with sandals, true, but she’s not seen you in a dress like this. In a come-stained dress. I’m not making this any better, am I?”

“You might wanna stop talking, yes.” From what he knows, Charlie went out with friends to a Halloween party and was meant to sleep over at one of their places – Smoke seemed familiar with the name, so it’s surprising they ended up at the police station. Charlie is picky and, while drawn to troublemakers, she sticks with the sensible ones. The ones who know how to blow up the chemistry lab and yet refrain from doing so. She really takes after her dad in a lot of ways.

It’s not until they’ve actually stepped inside the building that Mute considers what they must look like: him in a very short dress, sneakers without socks, a sliver of bright orange boxers visible under voluminous lace with suspicious stains, a ratty red hoodie finishing the whole ensemble, and then Smoke looking like a homeless person, with the two of them undoubtedly smelling like one as well. At least they washed their hands. Well, Mute did. He doesn’t actually remember whether -

And then he notices the three teens gaping at them in shock. One of them is Charlie, the other two are siblings Mute has met once or twice before, the girl having attended the same elementary school as Smoke’s daughter and the boy only being one year older. And all of them are dumbstruck.

At least they seem to be alright, that’s something. Sighing, Mute turns to the perplexed-looking police officer apparently in charge of the three kids and greets him with a nod. Maybe if he pretends everything is normal, he won’t have to justify himself. “Sergeant.”

Recognition flashes on the man’s face. “Wait – I know you! What was your name again?”

“Mark Chandar. Pleasure seeing you again, Mr Driscoll.”

“Of course! What a coincidence.” They shake hands, the other man now beaming. Mute knows him from his days in Cambridge, was close friends with his daughter and hopefully left a lasting good impression on her dad. “Apologies for not recognising you right away, the, uh, ears threw me off.”

Fuck. He’s still wearing them? Well, taking them off now would only draw more attention to it – except that the teens’ eyes have unanimously shifted upwards to stare at his long bunny ears.

“What are you up to these days, Mark?”

He didn’t come here for friendly conversation, in any case. “Losing bets”, he replies defeatedly and watches as Charlie’s aghast expression tilts over into unbridled mirth.

To his relief, Smoke draws their attention back to the matter at hand: “I’m Charlotte’s father. So what happened?”

“Oh, yes. We received a call from a local farmer about teenagers trespassing in one of his fields and lighting a small bonfire. When we arrived, we only encountered these three next to said field. As it was very early in the morning and quite far away from… anything, really, we brought them back here and contacted you.”

Smoke furrows his brows in displeasure and Mute mirrors him – setting fire to things isn’t one of Charlie’s hobbies and neither is trespassing. She’s a model student where her marks are concerned, even if her classroom behaviour sometimes leaves things to be desired, but overall her rebellious phase has involved dyeing her hair, listening to wild music, cooking all the spicy food Smoke can’t stomach and drinking a few mixed beers here and there. It could be a lot worse.

“It wasn’t us”, Charlie chimes in, now serious again. “Gavin was driving us home and he wanted to keep the party going somewhere random, we even tried telling him that it was a bad idea but he wouldn’t listen. We didn’t climb the fence with them and waited by the road, but they must’ve bailed without us.”

“So you had nothing to do with the fire and didn’t even trespass?”, Smoke clarifies, to which his daughter and the other two teens simply nod. The two siblings seem to intimidated to lie, and this version fits more with what Mute expected, so he turns back to Driscoll.

“In that case you can let them off with a warning, right?”

The sergeant fixes the three with a grave look clearly meant to deter them from any future trouble, but he nods. “Yes, I suppose I can. Maybe you should choose your friends more carefully. Can you drive the other two home as well?”

“Sure.”

And just so his reputation isn’t permanently tarnished, Mute makes some more polite conversation while Smoke herds the teens outside into the car. Their relief is palpable, none of them acquainted with ending up at a police station, and therefore they’re grateful to be rescued. Driscoll threatened to call the siblings’ parents regardless, so they might face some more stern words, but Charlie is her usual relaxed self now.

Well, she should be. She’s chewing on her lip, however, and avoiding Smoke’s gaze in the rear-vision mirror.

“Was this seriously your Halloween costume this year, Mark?”, she blurts out as soon as he’s joined them in the car.

He responds with a weary sigh. “I should know better than to keep betting against your dad by now.”

“Who’s that?”, the girl sitting next to Charlie wants to know quietly.

“Mark? He’s my second dad.” And Mute would be lying if he claimed his heart didn’t skip a beat at that. They took some time warming up to each other, but when she invited him on a concert and he let her have a few sips of his beer, their friendship was sealed. He has trouble viewing her as a daughter since they’re barely ten years apart, but whatever it is that binds them together, they’ve reached mutual respect and understanding. “And apparently trying to get on next month’s Playboy cover. Mark, this is Roisin and this is Niall.”

“I told you we should’ve insisted on costumes”, Roisin continues in a stage whisper, “imagine Gavin in that. Or, even better, Mike. Oh my God, Mike in heels.”

“Why does everyone keep going on about heels?”, Mute wonders out loud and prompts an embarrassed giggle from Charlie’s friend, but Smoke isn’t laughing. All he does is drive through the English countryside, eyes on the road, mouth shut. He’s listening, though. And Mute gets the feeling he’s missing something.

Behind him, the three teens joke around some more, with Niall getting more and more boisterous as time passes and Roisin giggling endlessly – he’s not sure why they’re friends, but Charlie seems to like them, so he leaves them to it. They recount their own party from the previous night and gossip until Smoke stops the vehicle, pointing with his chin.

“Thanks, Mr Porter!”, Roisin hurries to say, with her brother echoing her less enthusiastically, and then both of them hug Charlie before jumping out and racing up the stairs. Probably hoping their parents are neither awake nor have received a phone call from Driscoll yet.

On the back seat, Charlie is back to chewing on her lip.

“Did you set anything on fire that wasn’t meant to be?”, Smoke asks, turning around to examine his daughter closely. And wait.

She just shakes her head, apparently expecting the questioning. “No. Of course not. I was careful, I built a proper pit for it and all.”

Wait. Mute looks back and forth between them.

“Did you remove all traces afterwards?”

“Yes, dad. Please. I’m not an idiot.”

“Why did you go into the field in the first place?”

It’s the first time Charlie actually looks embarrassed. “To stargaze. But then Niall said I couldn’t actually make a fire without a lighter, so I had to prove him wrong.”

“And it was only you three involved?”

“Yeah. We asked to be dropped off there. It was just us.”

“Anything else you have to say?”

She nods, sounding earnest. “Sorry for worrying you. And thanks for picking us up.” When Smoke remains quiet, she adds: “Thanks for getting us off the hook, Mark.”

He continues to be flabbergasted by the exchange – Charlie is not in the habit of lying, but looking back, he begins to understand: she doesn’t lie to Smoke. Everyone outside is fair game. He supposes this is what they call paternal instinct – he would’ve believed her everything. “No problem, Charl. I love making a complete fool of myself in front of casual acquaintances.”

This seems to break the ice, and the two Porters let out a laugh along with a breath they’ve been holding. “You look fantastic”, Charlie lies smoothly. “But why are you still wearing it?”

“That reminds me, we don’t have anything for breakfast”, Smoke announces brightly, inconspiciously changing the topic. “We should go shopping.”

And Mute just groans.

On the way through the parking lot, Charlie is back to being her bubbly self now that she knows Smoke isn’t mad at her, laughing unselfconsciously at most jokes and giving a rundown of her Halloween while Smoke feeds her bits and pieces of their own. Mute mentions Blitz’ collar and Charlie is both intrigued and scandalised, and when the topic shifts to Jäger’s cat ears, her eyes light up in a very familiar way. Seems like Mute already knows what he’ll get her for Christmas. They pass by a few leftovers from the past night, a handful of costumed drunken blokes swaying in place and holding a contest for the loudest burp.

Just as they’re walking past them, the wannabe-Jack-Sparrow who indubitably glanced at Mute’s attire yells for everybody to hear: “Ewww, a homo!”

Without missing a beat – and before anyone can even react –, Charlie replies loudly: “Ewww, heteros!”

Mute swallows a grin. He can’t encourage her because Smoke has been trying to teach his daughter the non-confrontational approach in a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ way, and all her dad does is walk a little faster now, gently pulling her with him. It’s not that they couldn’t beat these guys to a pulp. It’s not that Smoke wouldn’t normally make a huge display or ridicule arseholes like this. This is purely about didactics.

“The fuck did you call us, brat?”, roars severely underweight Batman whose fake abs hang on his thin frame sadly.

“I’m sorry you missed out on so much necessary education”, Charlie shoots back, cheeks reddening in anger, and then Smoke guides her through the sliding doors into the Tesco’s. “Wow, those idiots are dumb. They don’t even know what hetero means, that’s ridiculous, they thought it was an insult or something, how can you -”

“Charlie.” Smoke stops, regarding her calmly and waiting until she deflates.

“I know, dad. Pick my battles. But I get so bloody annoyed at guys like them. Bloody Niall is almost as bad, you didn’t see his face when I introduced Mark. Tosser.” Smoke is still looking at her, a fond smile on his lips which only grows when she rolls her eyes and stomps off. “Walk away, I know. Not worth my time and efforts, I won’t change their minds anyway, no need to force a confrontation, blah blah. I know.”

Mute’s heart continues melting when Smoke just laughs and captures his daughter in a hug to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Now all you gotta do is translate your knowledge into actions, sweetie. And Niall is someone whose opinion you can influence – you’re friends with him after all. Those lads outside? Worthless. They won’t listen.”

“I guess.” She doesn’t seem appeased but at least she’s not stewing anymore. While they scour the aisles for the unhealthiest breakfast they can find (Smoke insisted on a full English), she turns to Mute, curious. “Did you have to deal with crap like that a lot?”

“I won’t lie, outfits like this increase the frequency drastically.” She snorts yet seems to understand it’s a topic on which he’d rather not elaborate – in time, she’s become adept at reading him and leaving him alone if he’s slightly uncomfortable. It’s just one of the many reasons why he likes her so much.

If he’s honest, he’s on Charlie’s side, but fully understands where Smoke is coming from: she’s a teenager and while she’s capable of defending herself, a bunch of drunken men is too much for her to take on. Despite her tough attitude, she hasn’t developed a skin thick enough to not let hateful comments get to her either, and Smoke would rather she get angry than be riddled with self-doubts.

Regardless. If it was for Mute, he’d at the very least have given them a show for free. Just out of spite. Spite is a great motivator.

“You go get the eggs, we’ll fetch some toast”, Smoke suddenly decides and directs Charlie to the back of the store while dragging Mute with him to the front, ignoring his weak protests.

“We have more than enough toast”, Mute gets out just before he’s dragged past the bread aisle and pressed against the glass front, warm lips capturing his and a tongue pushing its way inside his mouth immediately. He’s always ready to make out with his boyfriend, no matter how little sleep they’ve gotten, no matter whether his dress is riding up and clearly exposing Smoke groping his arse, no matter whether anyone can see them, but this comes a little unexpected.

Then he understands. Anyone can see them. And so he starts kissing back with the appropriate enthusiasm.

Both of them are grinning when they separate, and maybe they’re overdoing it a little with Mute slapping Smoke’s arse so loudly it actually echoes and Smoke blowing the stupefied blokes outside a kiss, but neither of them care.

“You’re the most hypocritical dad I know”, Mute mutters as they hurry back to reduce suspicion, “and somehow she still turned out fine.”

“And you are the second best dad I know.”

“After yourself?” Smoke wordlessly beams at him. “Of course after yourself. Why did I even ask.”

By the time they’re leaving, the drunkards have disappeared and Charlie seems to have forgotten all about them anyway, bragging about how she managed to win a bet against Niall about how many marshmallows they could fit in their mouths. As Smoke is returning their cart and leaves them to put their groceries in the car, Mute can’t help but reference the earlier topic: “Be prepared if you actually want to confront him about his views, Charl. He might not take it well.”

“Oh I kinda expect him to go mental. But that’s okay. I’ll just date his sister.” And a wink conveys that this is meant to be a secret between the two of them, for now.

Mute just shakes his head. He could’ve met Charlie on her own, without ever knowing who she is, and he would’ve guessed her to be related to Smoke in some way. Like father, like daughter.

Not that he’s complaining. In fact, he’s looking forward to making breakfast with his two favourite people in the world. He’d just… prefer to get changed beforehand.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #charlie #fanfic #oneshot #request #look you can't give me a smoke/mute request and not expect me to run with it #this got a lot longer than I anticipated #charlie is my queen all hail charlie

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hoodmara · 5 years

Text

Lying •Zion Kuwonu•

A/N: I’m in a writing frenzy and listening to this song got me SAD.

Concept: Zion gets drunk and calls his ex to invite her to a party. When she shows up, he doesn’t know what to do but stop lying

Warnings: angst, language

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

Y/N sat out on the patio, her feet moving in circles as she dangled them over the edge of the pool. Her face was wearing a soft frown and her hands clenched the tiled concrete, trying hard not to let tears escape her ducts.

She couldn’t be inside at this party anymore, hell, she didn’t even know why she was still here. But her subconscious was aware, often times it would surface and never let her forget.

The back door slid open, letting the loud chants and laughter from the party seep out into the night. Quickly closing the door, Y/N heard footsteps approaching her slowly. She didn’t have to turn around to see who it was, his presence alone caused goosebumps across her skin.

“Why did you invite me to this?” She asked, not mad but genuinely confused. Even though she asked for a reason for his out of the blue call, she couldn’t explain why she actually showed up.

Zion rolled his pant legs up to his knees and crouched down, eventually sitting so he could match the girl’s movements in the pool. They were separated by two inches of space, clearly not being enough for Y/N, since she made the choice to scoot away from him.

“To be honest, I didn’t think that you would show up,” He responded, looking down into the cerulean water. Y/N let out a quick laugh, but it wasn’t from joy. The sarcastic and angry laugh stabbed at Zion’s chest, he could sense the annoyance that probably sprouted from his answer.

“So it was a joke? You called me after a year of not speaking as a joke? God, you’re so funny, Z.”

Zion flinched at the tone of her voice, not hearing it since their breakup. She had a special way of getting through to him, his stubbornness had never been a match to her sarcasm.

“Y/N, I was drunk, someone brought you up and I knew you couldn’t pass up a party,”

“Is this..is this you trying to explain yourself, ‘cause you’re doing a shit job,”

“I’m surprised you weren’t asleep…or that I wasn’t blocked,”

“If you would’ve called two months ago, you would’ve been,”

An awkward silence fell between them, giving Y/N a chance to calm herself down and Zion a moment to think about something smart to say.

“Why did you come, Y/N?” Zion asked quietly, scared that the girl would lash out again. She didn’t, because how could she possibly be mad at him for asking the question she had been asking herself for the last hour.

“You still mean something to me, regardless of how wrong you did me, and you sounded kind of..messed up on the phone,” She replied, looking up at the boy. He was scared to meet her eyes. They always had a way of pulling him in and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Oh, I was messed up, but I think I sobered up a lot when I saw you walk in,” He admitted, toying with the dreads that hung low in his eyes.

“You looked like you were having fun,”

“I wasn’t,” Zion quickly corrected, then continued, “I walk around here, acting like I’m hot shit and flirting with all these girls, but I’m just trying to prove that I’m ok after what happened, you know, between us.”

Y/N sat quietly, processing Zion’s honesty. He was never like this, it was clear that he was still very much under the influence.

“I’m not over you, at all,” Zion finished, laying back onto the concrete. It was still warm from the summer sun, the humidity causing a thin sheet of sweat to appear on the boy’s forehead. That, and his latest confession.

“You— you what? You’re the one that’s not over me? Zion, you fucking cheated on me, twice!” Y/N exclaimed, moving her legs out of the pool. She scrambled into a standing position and Zion matched her movements, feeling a wave of anxiety crash over him at the sudden confrontation.

“I know, Y/N, and I’m sorry for that, I truly am,”

“You’re a goddamn sociopath, you know that? It’s like you enjoy seeing me like this,” she ranted, the hot tears now flowing down her cheeks. Zion raised a hand to wipe them away, but the girl quickly slapped it away. “You don’t get to miss me, Zion, you gave me up, you lost me.”

The words felt like a knife against his throat, cutting deep and hurting just as bad. He couldn’t blame her for being mad, if he was in the same position, he’d be just as pissed.

“Can you just listen to me? Please? I know I don’t deserve it, but I never got to explain myself,” Zion begged. Y/N rolled her eyes and shot an annoyed glare at the man in front of her, giving him a space to continue. Zion’s hands began to shake as he spoke.

“What I did with her, I regret it. I keep lying to myself, thinking that if I act like it doesn’t affect me, it won’t, but it always does. Thinking about what I did to you makes me hate myself and I can blame you for doing the same,”

“I don’t hate you,” Y/N mumbled, looking down at her damp legs.

“You should, I was an idiot, I am an idiot,” Zion said. Y/N looked up at Zion and soaked into his brown eyes, missing the soft way they would scan over her face to try and understand what she was feeling.

“We can never be back to where we are, I’ve moved on and I think you need to do the same,” Y/N spoke, picking up her sandals from the side of the pool. She walked to the back door, getting ready to go back home before she left Zion with one more painful thought, “I loved you with all I had and I really hoped that we could be ok, but you took too long. So delete my number, I can’t wake up another night to your name on my screen.”

With that, she left, leaving Zion to stand in the sticky summer air. Trying to hide the tears that coated his cheeks, he walked back inside, going back to being the life of the party.

He could only hope that they believed his lies, because he was not ok.

Even in the slightest.

#zion kuwonu #i made myself so sad thinking about this #this song HURT BRUV #zion kuwonu imagine #prettymuch imagines #prettymuch writing #zion kuwonu blurb #nick mara #austin porter #edwin honoret #brandon arreaga #zion kuwonu preference #i am a full blown zion stan now dont come for me #prettymuch

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the-dreamer-traveller · 3 years

Text

Recording: N9TT_9G0A

Wandering in the ruined, mountainous trail-like slopes of a city whose name is lost in the sands of time, I am busy searching something, or perhaps I am trying to explore, as I cannot tell as I have accidentally doze off while listening to my online classes.

The air is hot and dusty, while the dust on my feet can kick up small clouds that might irritate my nose. As breathtaking and eerie as wandering in a ruined city was, I am also concerned with my health because the dust and sand on the ground could be carcinogenic or just plain irritant to my nose and eyes. This part of the Nightmare Realm is quite peaceful, with a clear sky and a shining sun or star high in the sky. Still, I am just contented with wandering or looking for something here.

How I landed here is unknown, but perhaps it is to search for something here. I found myself somewhere in this ruin where there are several trees growing on it, creating some green in this otherwise dry brown landscape. It is also best noted that this particular part is also what used to be a junkyard, so I can see some of its former structures and items, such as heaps of metallic scrap and trash that is sometimes covered in vines, compressed and rusty cars and drums that are filled with nothing.

I also saw a little girl in one of the stairs, looking at me with curious and wondering eyes. Her brunette hair is tied in pigtails, which are resting on her shoulder. She wears a simple yellow dress, a hot pink hooded cloak over her body and brown boots. She looks clearly lost, as if she is trying to find something, just like me.

I can’t help but decide to just go and talk to the girl, you know, just to extend a helping hand to a friend.

“Hey there, little girl.” I said it while getting her attention. Gods, why does this sentence sound like a MAP? I only wanted to help a lost child in this incredibly dangerous zone, that’s all! “Are you alright?”

“Hello, mister.” The little girl said, greeting me back. “I’m looking for someone, but I can’t remember.”

The girl shyly puts her hands behind her back while she twists her booted foot on the ground. She’s clearly young to be out in the wilds, perhaps a bit too young for that. “Can you help me find them? I’m REALLY worried about them.”

Saying no to a kid in a middle of the wilderness like this is a bad idea, so I relent. “Sure, but stay close near me so that you won’t-“

Just as I am close to finish my sentence, the little girl giggles and started running off deeper in the scrapyard in a sudden, an act that instantly drops the temperature of parents around the world.

Because of this random and daring act the little girl is doing, I quickly cut in to the literal chase and follow her. The scrapyard seems to have more additional details as I am running deeper into it, such as taller grass growing on it, moss in some of the grassless ground, and what appears to be a cracked, bricked sidewalk with a small booth-like building nearby, overgrown with vines. It seems that, wherever I was, I am no longer in the scrapyard.

The little girl is a fast runner too, as she is able to dart and pass through various obstacles, something that I note that is highly improbably for a little girl to do. We continue with this chase for a while, until the little girl stops on a pair of short stairs.

This is… eerie. The little girl suddenly stops running seems to be that something is seriously off here right now.

“I… remember…”

The little girl speaks slowly, by each word, as if she seems to be lost in a trance or something. I stood short a few feet away from her.

“I remember…”

The little girl repeats of what she says, but this time as if she seems to be aware of it and lifts her head high in the sky. Concerned with the little girl, I slowly walk near to her and try to pry her to respond.

“I remember. I remember! I REMEMBER!”

The little girl repeats of what she says, but this time with increased volume and speed. Then she starts laughing manically and I was surprised by this happening.

“I AM A MONSTER! I REMEMBER! I REMEMBER! HAHAHAHAHA-”

The little girl continues to laugh manically, each time as her laugh is clearly becoming more deranged. Then the sclera of her eyes turned red and starts crying tears of blood. Then she heels over and a massive red skeleton emerges from her back, before it forms large, black membranous flesh that flies off before the “little girl” is converted to reveal the creature’s face; a white human-like skull with an underbite, several sharp teeth and the eyeballs of the “little girl” in its eye sockets. The large, cape-like membranous flesh flying behind its skeletal back are its… umm, wings, while the lower torso of the creature is a large, twisted, gnarly and thorny black mass resembling a large, slightly curved thorn. It also has a pair of large, red claws with very sharp nails, along with guts sticking down from its visible ribs, which has very pale flesh clinging to it.

The “little girl” that I encountered isn’t actually a little girl at all but is actually a freaky monster that successfully baits its prey.

I gasp in surprise and fear but waste no time to scream and instead turn my tail and started to flee.

Alas, the creature is already within my reach and grabs my body with its claws. Lifting me high off the ground and with its face in full display for my view, I helplessly thrash in my place as I am helplessly watching it dominate over me.

o----------------------------------------------------------------------o

I open my eyes, and I found myself in a bed in a room.

How long have I been out lately?

I slowly rise up and look around my surroundings. It seems that this is one of the rooms that is intact in the ruined city. Boarded windows with some of the sunlight peeking through the gaps of the board, some cabinets with some parts missing, a ragged carpet and a bed with a missing bed covering and a small blanket seems to be what could be left of this place. The place is still warm, but at least we are still within the shade of a building that is at least usable.

There were also other people in the house as well. Most of them are human dressed in ragged cloaks and clothes as if they are wayward travelers who make their living walking around the Nightmare Realm, either by looking for a living or looking for something to eat. There were also two children in this group, playing wooden toys and dolls on the floor, something that I believe could originate from one of the cabinets of the house. A few adults were also here, resting in the bed, wall or floor, as if they have been arriving from a long journey.

There is one person here that catches my attention, in a way that I did not expect for it to happen. I look at him with dark brown eyes, and he turns back to me with his blue eyes.

Sitting in the bed is Sharkie… but he is now known as Kagetaka Kawazame.

Though he would look the same kindhearted and friendly shark man that I once remembered, he seems to be very different now. Perhaps it is because he was placed near to a group of realistically designed and rendered humans, that would be why he looks different. Heck, he even looks very mature in spite of his youth-like energies that radiate from him.

The sharkman is still muscular, and he still has a shark head. I would reckon that he still has his braces on his teeth. However, because of the better way the dream depicts him, I am attracted to him even more. His body is more humanoid, with a visible neck on his head. His clothes are also a bit tight, similar to a skinsuit that he wears. The skinsuit is black, while he has a cloak draped on his body as well as strap sandals on his feet.

I give a soft smile when I saw Kagetaka as he notices me. “Hey, there.” I greeted to him and appears to be taken back. Was he genuinely surprised? Happy? Whatever is his response, he returns with a smile. “Its been years since we last met with each other.”

Then I quickly went back to sleep.

o----------------------------------------------------------------------o

I wake up once again.

The same place and the same bed.

But when I raise my head high, Kagetaka is nowhere in sight.

One of the women is seen next to me, sitting on the bed while she is knitting some fabric. She seems to be busy making the fabric, probably something to sell with.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but where is Sharkie?” I asked to the woman, who seems to be confused for a bit before answering.

“Him? Oh, he returned back.”

“Returned back?”

I mutter on what she said, confused on what she says.

Until I realized that she says “returned”. It made me realized that, for some reason, he already left and returned back to his home.

I was saddened by his disappearance and thought that I might be able to spend time with him. Must it be magic or something that I unconsciously did so?

Then, I let out a soft laugh, a laugh that makes it sound like I am broken. It is a laugh that is a mix of a laugh that reminds me of people who are mentally broken and a deranged giggle. My broken laughter only gets worse as I am left to be disappointed, saddened and broken. There is not much for me to do her, but to quietly leave the adobe, as I am just going a bit crazy of what had happened.

o----------------------------------------------------------------------o

Jumping over and grabbing on a nearby small fence, I fling myself over a window and landed on my feet. The shaded parts of the building ruins provide enough protection from the harsh sunlight and gives me some time to rest.

The part of the Dead City zone is close to a large sinkhole, where many of the buildings’ ruined infrastructures were kept there, along with some broken pipes and sewer tunnels. Some of the water are flowing from a large pipe and forms a small pond somewhere deep in the sinkhole. I stay above in one of the upper parts of the sinkhole, as there is somewhere that I have to go else. Something compels me to do some adventuring for now, especially since something calls me to follow it, with said something being more of an instinct.

Going through one of the pathways where tall buildings are toppled and touch each other, I walk through with the shoes on my feet, looking at the designs of the buildings that once stood tall in front of me. It entertains to me the idea that a phenomenon like this could create some wonder like this, though I am also kind of worried of what kind of creature could be living in a biome like this.

Suddenly, I can hear a shriek behind my back and realized that it is the same creature that attacked me earlier! The thing doesn’t seem to be bothered by the sunlight, since I thought that ghostly creatures are supposed to be weakened by them. Then again, any horror can happen even at the brightest days of our life. Knowing of what it is capable of, I quickly take off and run away.

#dream #dream journal #adventure

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brannonstravelblog-blog · 5 years

Text

I’m Alive!

Life Update:

I have successfully made it back home to Hawai’i from the most adventurous and fun semester so far! Since I never blogged the last few weeks due to the stress of finals and traveling I will provide you with little updates on what I did since I last saw Jasmine and Gavin in Rome!

The weekend after Jasmine and Gavin left back for London, I was suppose to go to Croatia with the company Smart Trips. Smart Trips and Bus to Alps are two companies based in Europe providing students with either day trips, weekend trips, or spring/winter break trips to places in and around Italy. It is a nice way to tour places without having the hassle to book transportation and lodging as it is usually included and at a reasonable cost. It is also nice because you have a fellow students (99% of them are from LdM) to travel with you and they plan activities with tour guides that are not much older than us.

My Smart trips was unfortunately cancelled due to low booking so I can’t give you an accurate review on them but I heard many great things so be sure to check them out!

I ended up booking a cheap last minute flight to London to visit Jasmine and Gavin since they were on summer break already.

Finals:

Finals at LdM are set up the exact same as midterms. Be sure to expect 2.5 hour long finals with are mostly essay based. None of my finals were cumulative and it was easier to prepare for the second time around as I knew exactly what to expect. It is almost July and I have yet to receive my grades back on my STAR so lets keep our fingers crossed!

Traveling:

After the semester I said a tearful goodbye to my host mom to travel around Europe and Africa for two weeks. I went to Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Brussels, Prague, Barcelona, Morocco, and then London again. I highly recommend all those places especially Prague and Morocco! Morocco is only a 2 hour flight from Spain but it is such a different experience from Europe! It is so close and so cheap. I ended up doing a 3 day and 2 night tour which lead me to ride a camel ride into the Sahara desert and camp under the stars in the Sahara. It was truly breathtaking! I recommend doing a tour instead of venturing by yourself as it is safer and you get to see way more. I did a high atlas mountain tour with the best tour guide Ali! His company is Morocco Joy Travel and I could not stress how nice he is and how good his tour was! He was so funny, had a nice clean van with wifi, and our tour was only with 6 other people so we were a lot more personable! I actually made friends with two Australians on the tour who lived in London and we actually met up in London the following week to go to a bar and club to celebrate her birthday!

Tips:

Now let me share with you some of the most important tips and tricks to studying in Italy!

1) Eurail Pass

I can't stress how important this is to get BEFORE leaving the US. The Eurail Pass allows anywhere from 3-8 days per month of free train travel (depending on the package selected). I would choose the 8 days a month as you will be using Italiarail/Trenitalia frequently to travel within Italy. I think they have Eurail passes for all of Europe as well but you probably won't be taking the train outside of Italy frequently enough to warrant it. I believe you can only get it when you're still in the US so be sure to make that one of your priorities!

2) Safety

Italy is as safe as any developed country can be but with big crowds and tourist comes risk of pit pocketing. Always be sure to keep your phone and wallet in your front pocket or in your purse that is zipped shut! Never in your backpack or in your back pocket! Time and time again I would hear from either my friends or classmates that they got pit pocketed! They are very sly and they watch people in crowds, unzip bags without you noticing, create distractions, and even work with more than one person. I hope I am not scaring you off from studying in Europe but it is the reality you will face. As long as you are aware of your surroundings and belongings you should be fine! Also during orientation week LdM will go into further detail on methods they use to pit pocket people and how to be more protected.

Also be very aware of con artist. They are present all throughout Europe. In Florence, men will lay 6 to 8 posters on the ground in a busy square so someone will step on it. After it is stepped on they will force the person to buy it off of them. Always be aware of your surroundings and if this happens to you call the police as what they are doing is illegal and they will avoid confrontation with the police.

3) Bring multiple credit cards and one or two debit cards!

This relates to the previous tip as in the event you do get pit pocketed or if your card gets declined you would have a spare one. This means never carry more than one credit or debit card in the same wallet at the same time just in case.

Credit cards are better as they are harder to get your information stolen and if it has no foreign transaction fees it won't charge you extra like your debit card. I only used my debit card to withdraw Euros from the ATM. I only used a legit ATM from an actual bank so I would have less chances of getting my debit information stolen and I wouldn't be charged as much with fees.

Make sure your credit and debit is either a Master Card or Visa. I went up with only my Visa debit and Discover credit and realized Italy does not accept Discover and hardly accepts AMEX. I had to apply for a Master Card and have it shipped to my house and then have my parents ship it to Italy. Not only was it expensive but it took 3 weeks. So the first month I was basically just using cash.

4) Hostels

When traveling throughout Italy and Europe I stayed at hostels. I used Hostelworld.com to help me find the best and cheapest hostels. It helps keep the budget low and allowed me to travel to so many places for so cheap. Do not be afraid as you will be probably traveling with friends and most have age limits! They also provide you with lockers so make sure to bring your lock from home! Most hostels are modern, clean, and cater to college students! I have met some nice students from other countries in my hostels too!

When traveling try not to bring expensive things like your laptop or nice clothes unless you absolutely need them! We do not want the added risk of them getting stolen also bring all your cash and cards with you just to be on the safe side!

5) Pack the appropriate clothes!

This should have been the first bullet on this list! I studied in the Spring semester from January to May so take this with a grain of salt for the people studying in the Fall! Italians are very conservative but also very stylish. In January it is cold. It will hit the low thirties and this will stay until March when it SLOWLY begins to rise. By May the temp would still hover around high fifties to low sixties. It barely hit above seventies but when it did the Italians would still wear heavy jackets, jeans, boots, and scarves!

I packed over 5 shorts, countless T-shirts, and sandals all for it to be used only once for my spring break in Greece and a little in Rome! I am not being over dramatic when I say I have never seen a local Italian’s knees or toes because all they do is wear jeans or slacks and shoes or boots! I ended up using my same 3 jeans all the time and eventually buying a few new pairs to spice things up! If you do decide to wear shorts and open toed shoes or sandals you will just look like a tourist and will get weird looks. Pack a lot of sweaters, long sleeves, jackets, jeans, and shoes!

I really hope reading my blogs have either inspired you to study in Florence or helped you prepare for it! I got cold feet the weeks leading up to my departure but I assure you this will be one of best, if not the best semester of college! Have so much fun but always be safe! If you have any other questions please feel free to reach me through my Facebook or Instagram even if we haven't met or if this is 3 years after I wrote this! My instagram handle is @brannonkusumoto Buona Fortuna!

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boschlingtumbles · 4 years

Text

White Wedding (Chs 34-36)

Brienne (Vice and Wish 3 of 12)

Brienne tried to take a deep breath as the spa attendant applied the mud mask, and lightly placed slices of cucumbers over her eyes. Her body was tightly bound in some kind of aluminum cocoon that was moisturizing her body while keeping it very warm.

So far so good right? She’d made the executive decision that they didn’t need a three day weekend together. She had booked them all a night at a five star spa resort on the Island of Faces that Vogue had called ‘a transcendent experience elevating the soul through purifying the body.’

Everybody had met up Saturday morning, they’d had a full day of waxing and manicures and pedicures and highlights and haircuts and eyebrow threading and body buffing. They’d had a classy dinner from the tasting menu, where everything came in spoon sized portions. And then they’d retired early because Brienne had scheduled them for all of the pampering treatments on Sunday.

She was trying to keep things low-key, because Cersei couldn’t drink, but she was prepared to concede that this hen party might be a bit duller than they tended to be portrayed on screen. Really, it was just as well that they’d had the massages this morning, because Brienne needed something to eradicate her building stress. She was tired, she was hungry, Cersei was clearly both as well and being unbearable, and Brienne knew it had only been a day but she missed Jaime. How many more weeks until this wedding? She was nearing the end of her rope.

Worse, the maid of honor’s dress had come. Cersei had insisted on ordering it a size smaller than Brienne actually was—proper motivation to stick with her diet—and it was still too tight. She had managed to get into it with great effort, but was keenly aware that if she so much as sneezed, seams would split.

“Psssst,” the voice whispered.

Brienne tried not to frown, for she did not wish to crack her mud mask and make more work for her attendant.

There was a light touch, and then one of the cucumbers over her eyes disappeared. Melisandre stood over her, smirking. As Brienne tried not to raise her eyebrows, Melisandre popped the slice of cucumber in her mouth and crunched down.

“If I don’t get some real food in the next hour, I will be forced to resort to cannibalism,” Melisandre stated, matter of factly. “Are you in?”

“Mel, I really can’t,” Brienne tried to explain without moving her lips.

Melisandre rolled her eyes and ate her other cucumber slice.

“Why not?”

“I won’t fit into my dress,” Brienne tried to explain. “It came earlier this week and I can barely breathe in it.”

“I’ll let out some fabric for you. These dresses are designed to be fitted, I promise,” Melisandre sighed. “Believe it or not, I’m pretty good with a needle.”

Brienne hesitated. She knew it wasn’t the right thing to do but...

“Nobody will ever know,” Melisandre smirked, her voice tantalizingly confident.

Brienne bit her lip, and the movement inadvertently caused her mask to crack. Well now you’ve done it, she scolded herself. The attendant will have to redo the whole thing, at which point you may as well get up and stretch your legs.

She emerged from her aluminum cocoon, less like the promised rebirth of a Phoenix from the ashes, and more with a great deal of mud and crinkling.

“Why Miss Tarth, you’re beautiful,” Melisandre drawled, and Brienne flicked some mud at her.

A quick dip into one of the plunge pools later, Brienne was making a break for freedom in cloth sandals and a fuzzy bathrobe.

“What’s the plan?” Brienne asked Melisandre as they furtively skirted the compound, looking for a way back to the main hotel.

“Well I’m not talking raiding the mini-bar. We are well past cashews. I want a slice of pizza from the greasiest dive I can find, or maybe a burrito from a food truck that smells like chorizo,” Melisandre had to wipe a strand of drool from her face.

“Wait,” Brienne froze, and Melisandre smacked into the back of her. “They collected our key cards at the front desk! We’re locked out from our rooms!”

“I have not come this far to be stopped because I didn’t have anything to wear,” Melisandre lifted her chin haughtily, gathered up her bathrobe, and continued on. Brienne gulped and followed.

It was always so easy for Melisandre, who simply floated over to one of the grounds-crew, wearing her robes like they were, well robes, and not a bathrobe, and demanded to be escorted to town. Brienne hovered behind, as Melisandre commandeered a golf cart, feeling a bit like an escapee from an asylum.

All the same, she wasn’t complaining, as the security gates slid open for their break to freedom. The half of the island that was not dedicated to the resort was mostly inhabited by locals who survived on the tourist day trade. Melisandre pushed the accelerator to the floor as she drove them toward town, and the speedometer crept from fifteen to perhaps seventeen miles per hour.

Brienne felt the breeze from the lake, and looked at the faces carved into all of the trees. Don’t judge me! She wanted to cry. You don’t know what I’ve been through!

Upon reaching town, there was a brief discussion of where to go.

“Oh look,” Melisandre grinned, slowing to a halt in front of a thrift store. “Bridesmaids dresses! Still time to ditch your dress entirely!”

“I probably wouldn’t fit into those either,” Brienne said glumly.

“Lame,” Melisandre rolled her eyes. Fortunately she was too hungry to press the matter further. Ten minutes later, they were sitting across from each other in the darkest booth they could find in the grottiest pub they could find—Cersei would never look for them here—as Melisandre dug into a four cheese macaroni with bacon bits and Brienne tried to eye her burger without drooling.

She felt less guilty than she thought she would, all things considered. Brienne reflected, as she wiped a smudge of ketchup from her face, that this might give her the fortitude to survive this afternoon mostly in once piece.

“Only seven hours until checkout,” Melisandre sighed contentedly. “What do we have to be back in time for?”

“We’re meeting the other girls at the hot springs,” Brienne checked the calendar on her phone. “I thought we could talk and play some bachelorette games this afternoon.”

“Bachelorette games? With Cersei?” Melisandre sounded dubious. Brienne flushed.

“Well it is a hen party! I looked a bunch up online, some of them seemed rather cute.”

“If you say so,” Melisandre wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me? I’d like an order of the fried jalapeño poppers to go?”

“The thing is,” Melisandre said around a mouthful of jalapeño popper, as they drove the golf cart back to the resort, “it’s Cersei.”

“I’m aware of that,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“And there’s no alcohol.”

“I am deeply aware of that.”

“Half of those silly games are only funny when everyone is hammered.”

“But it’s a hen party! We can’t just avoid each other and get spa treatments all weekend!”

“Fine,” Melisandre’s lips pursed in a moue of disapproval. Or maybe it was just the jalapeño popper. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Melisandre could be a little doom and gloom, Brienne consoled herself. There was no reason to think that things wouldn’t work out. Sure enough, they got to the grove where the hot springs were, to discover that only Catelyn Tully had gotten there first.

“Hi Catelyn,” Brienne waved.

“Hi,” Catelyn replied tonelessly. Brienne and Melisandre exchanged a glance. Catelyn had been quite worked up over the situation with her father and Ned. And Brienne felt for her, truly. It was just she had been somewhat counting on Catelyn being somebody she could lean on this weekend, a pillar of good cheer and rationality to counterbalance Cersei. And well, it hadn’t worked out like that.

Catelyn heaved a wistful sigh and sank under the water entirely. There were only a few bubbles from where she sat at the bottom.

“Should I?” Melisandre started.

“I’m sure she’s just um meditating,” Brienne said. “The Tullys are all very good swimmers.”

The bubbles stopped.

They both peered down into the water.

“On the other hand,” Brienne wrung her hands.

“On it,” Melisandre plunged into the water, hauling Catelyn up by her hair.

“He punched him in the face!” Catelyn said mournfully, by way of explanation.

They were saved by the sounds of Cersei and Lysa coming up the path.

“I feel the most deliciously dizzy, don’t you all?” Cersei beamed at them.

“I think that’s the lack of caloric intake,” Melisandre snarked.

“So delicious!” Lysa agreed quickly.

“You know what they say—nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” Cersei shed her bathrobe and joined them. “You’ll get there eventually Brienne.”

Brienne tried to smile, and wondered if Cersei could see her little food-baby under the water. Hastily she crossed her arms.

“So we still have all day to kill before checkout,” Lysa chirped. “What should do?”

“Well,” Brienne said, stoically avoiding eye contact with Melisandre, “I thought we could play some bachelorette games in honor of the big day!”

“Oh fun!” Lysa clapped her hands.

Catelyn sighed and started to slip under the water again before Melisandre grabbed her.

“...games?” Cersei asked uncertainly. She did not seem familiar with the concept.

“Well okay, here’s a classic one. And you don’t even need to drink,” Brienne tried to explain. “I have here a box of chewing gum. I asked Robert twenty questions about your relationship. I’ll read you the question, and you have to guess his answer. If you get it wrong, you have to put a stick of chewing gum in your mouth. The more you get wrong, the more chewing gum is stuck in your mouth and you get all drool-y. It’s fun!”

“It sounds like public humiliation,” Cersei said.

“Well it’s just us bridesmaids, nobody will tell,” Brienne frowned.

“Well what if I get a question right? Do all of you take a piece of chewing gum?”

“I mean, I guess we could,” Brienne said uncertainly.

“Very well, you may begin,” Cersei said briskly.

“Um where was your first date?”

“It was Sadie Hawkins of my junior year, but Robert will say it was the King’s Landing Dragons game he took me to that December.”

“Uh right,” Brienne glanced at the card in her hand, with Robert’s strangely childish handwriting. “Dragons v. Suns game.”

“You may each take your bubblegum now,” Cersei waved a hand imperiously. Brienne winced as Lysa and Melisandre favored her with decidedly annoyed looks.

“Okay,” Brienne said as she chewed, trying to find a harder one. “What is his favorite sex position.”

“Cowgirl,” Cersei replied promptly. “He’s so LAZY!”

A coincidence! Cersei and Robert had never seemed that in tune with one another, Brienne though as she passed around the gum once more. Surely it was just a matter of finding the right question?

Many, many sticks of chewing gum later...

“Wash ish hith pet peef ooooh do?” Brienne tried to read, swabbing at the saliva leaking from her mouth in vain.

“Oh give it here,” Cersei plucked the question card from her hand. “What is his pet peeve that I do?”

“Eee ettah get ith wrong!” Melisandre glared from behind her own wad of gum.

“Whah?” Brienne frowned, trying to make out the words.

“I ed eee ettah get ith wrong!”

“Nothing,” Cersei replied, previously furrowed brow abruptly clearing. “He loves everything I do!”

“Ahah!” Brienne pointed. “No! Ith all-ays eeing on or phone!”

“What?” Cersei snapped. “Are you sure?”

Brienne looked down at the card.

Always being on her phone. Lolz jk! I love everything she does <3

Brienne looked guiltily up at a fuming Melisandre and Lysa. Even Catelyn had woken from her catatonic state to look a little put out.

“Tho Therthee winth,” Brienne spat out the enormous disgusting lump of bubblegum.

“I love games!” Cersei clapped her hands enthusiastically. Everybody else scowled at Brienne.

“What’s next?” Cersei asked brightly.

Brienne swallowed. She had planned for their next game to be a zucchini-carving contest with the winner producing the most lifelike penis. But somehow, giving knives to the other girls at this exact moment seemed ill-advised.

She frantically consulted the Pinterest page on her phone.

“Well that’s a drinking game,” she mumbled as she looked at the next option. “... and so is that. Um that’s an icebreaker when people don’t know each other... that’s another drinking game.”

She looked up guiltily.

“Maybe we just talk for a little bit?”

Cersei’s expression had soured.

“Sooo,” Brienne looked around the circle frantically... “Lysa! What have you been up to?”

“Well,” Lysa’s rather pale blue eyes lit up and she preened, not accustomed to being the center of attention. “I’m finding myself in the middle of a love triangle!”

“Oh?” Brienne said politely.

“Well you see, my high school boyfriend Petyr and I have been together for years and years! Seven years actually. And three months and six days. And I always thought he was the love of my life! But what if he isn’t? You see, there’s been some... fidelity issues. It’s not his fault exactly, he just has some needs that are a little outside my personal comfort zone. If I were better at satisfying him, he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere! So I’ve tried to be patient, but it feels like it’s getting worse, not better. And he’s so wrapped up in his stupid photography thing and never has any time for me!” Lysa pouted.

“Then on our family trip, I met the most marvelous older man. He’s sophisticated and charming and so well read! He’s very kind and always interested in what I have to say. And I always thought Petyr was the love of my life, but now I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be better off taking a chance on this other guy!”

“It’s Mr. Arryn from senior English,” Catelyn said flatly from her corner of the hot springs.

“Wait, Jon Arryn?” Cersei sat up. “He gave me an A Minus on my Tale of King’s Landing and Lys! An A MINUS!”

“But seducing your high school teacher? I love it!” Melisandre grinned. “Lysa, you have hidden depths!”

“I just don’t know who to choose,” Lysa beamed, a mixture of emboldened and abashed by the sudden surge of interest in her life.

“It doesn’t matter,” Catelyn said glumly. “They’ll only disappoint you.”

“I’m sure they are both equally good options,” Brienne jumped in, anxious not to let Catelyn bring the mood down. Personally, she did think it was kind of weird to date your former high school teacher, and she did not have fond memories of Petyr Baelish.

“There is no such thing as equally good options,” Cersei stated matter of factly. “Only whether or not you can figure out which one is better.”

“But I have to figure out who to ask to Daddy’s brunch tomorrow,” Lysa fretted. “I can’t possibly figure it out in one afternoon.”

“Well who is the sex better with?” Melisandre asked matter of factly.

“I haven’t had sex with Jon yet, he wants to wait until we’re exclusive,” Lysa blushed. “But Petyr... he does this thing with his tongue and his fingers that—“ she leaned over to whisper something in Melisandre’s ear. Brienne was relieved. She didn’t really need to hear what Petyr Baelish did with his tongue or his fingers.

“So Petyr gets the nod there,” Melisandre said slowly.

“But like, Jon says the nicest things! Look at this text he sent me!”

I woke up this morning thinking of you—you must have been in my dreams. Regardless, you are in my heart.

“That’s so romantic!” Brienne blurted, touched by the sweetness.

“I don’t think Stannis has sent me a text like that ever,” Melisandre agreed.

“But that doesn’t help me pick!”

“These are basically the different love languages,” Cersei said thoughtfully. “Physical touch and words of affirmation. Who buys you better presents?”

“What?” Lysa frowned.

“Well you have the other three left. Receiving gifts, acts of service and quality time. Whomever is better in more of the love languages. That’s your answer as to who the better fit is,” Cersei explained.

“I don’t know if I can compare them—especially since I haven’t spent as much time with Jon,” Lysa chewed her lip uncertainly. “I definitely couldn’t figure out the answer by tonight when I have to invite one of them.”

“Unless you set up a series of tests for them this afternoon,” Cersei offered, sounding far too intrigued for Brienne’s comfort.

“Texts?”

“A competition! Tell them you’re dying to see them and that they have to bring you a present!”

“A competition?”

“Wait, I don’t know that this is such a good idea...” Brienne had a distinct sensation that things were spiraling out of control.

“It’s like a bachelorette game!” Cersei beamed at her.

Brienne gave a pleading look at Melisandre.

“It’s not really a bachelorette game,” Melisandre interjected smoothly. Thank you gods. “...unless we all bet on the outcome.”

What.

“What did you have in mind? I’m afraid you girls have used up most of the chewing gum.” Cersei smiled, showing a few too many teeth.

“Whomever loses has to take the winners out to a place of the winners’ choosing...”

Cersei frowned, not terribly excited at the prospect of allowing her little chicks to eat.

“...wearing an outfit of the winners’ choosing,” Melisandre finished, crossing her arms.

“Deal,” Cersei announced promptly. “I pick Petyr.”

“Jon Arryn,” Melisandre smirked.

“It doesn’t matter. Our father will just drive him away,” Catelyn said apathetically. Cersei and Melisandre glared. “...Petyr,” Catelyn sighed.

“I don’t know that we should be turning Lysa’s love life into some kind of game show!” Brienne protested.

“Oh I don’t mind,” Lysa said brightly.

“Unless you wanted to keep going with the bubble gum game? You skipped a couple of the questions, I noticed,” Cersei responded pointedly.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow.

“I take Jon Arryn too,” Brienne caved. It was just such a lovely text.

“Perfect. Now here’s what I’m thinking for Round One,” Cersei leaned forward, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. And against her better judgment, Brienne leaned in as well.

Melisandre (Vice and Wish 6 of 12)

It wasn’t that Melisandre hated Cersei per se, although she was fast approaching her very last nerve. It wasn’t that Melisandre hated hen parties—oh wait, she did. She hated them just as much as she hated every stupid asinine forced tradition surrounding weddings, up to and including weddings themselves.

But Lord of Light, if anybody deserved to feel what it was like to lose...

Lysa Tully would pick Jon Arryn if she had to be dragged kicking and screaming every step of the way.

It wouldn’t come to that though, Melisandre told herself firmly. Petyr Baelish was a weaselly creep who was using Lysa for her social connections and would absolutely dump her the moment a more advantageous opportunity presented itself. He cheated on her, belittled her, and wouldn’t know love languages if the book hit him in the head.

Jon Arryn might not be age appropriate, but he was a kind sweet man who seemed to genuinely like Lysa for who she was. As far as Melisandre was concerned, this game was in the bag. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take precautions.

“I think we should all trade phones,” Melisandre said sweetly. “That way nobody can ruin the game by cheating.”

“Such a good idea,” Cersei gave her a patronizing smile. “You can take mine.”

So Cersei and Melisandre swapped and Brienne and Catelyn swapped, and then they put their heads together to craft the appropriate text that Lysa Tully would send to each man.

“Petyr was going to pick me up anyway, so that’ll be easy. I’ll just tell him we’re wrapping up and can he come early. And that it’s our seven year anniversary so he better surprise me,” Lysa added.

“Won’t he know it’s not?” Brienne asked doubtfully.

Lysa rolled her eyes.

“Hardly, most years he forgets. What do I say to Jon though? We’ve only been on a few proper dates.”

“If he’s as thoughtful as you think, you probably don’t need to say anything,” Cersei chipped in.

“You’re saying something,” Melisandre interjected, glaring. “It’s not fair to say something to Petyr and not to Jon.”

“How about ‘Having a disaster of a weekend, can you please pick me up? Bonus points if you can think of something to cheer me up.’”

“That’s still not the equivalent of an anniversary,” Melisandre protested.

“Well if you have an alternative suggestion, I’m all ears,” Cersei arched her eyebrow.

“My ride fell through and everybody’s forgotten it’s my birthday. What a disaster of a weekend, can you please pick me up?” Melisandre recited flatly.

“Ooooh,” Lysa began typing.

“Not bad,” Cersei conceded grudgingly.

“I still think this is silly,” Brienne put in. “An artificial demand that each of these people find you a gift in thirty minutes as they’re driving to pick you up doesn’t tell you anything about them.”

There was a ding of a text.

“Jon’s on his way!” Lysa announced brightly.

“So he’s a fast responder than Petyr. Interesting,” Melisandre couldn’t help noting.

There was a pause as they stared at Lysa’s cell phone for Petyr’s text. Nothing happened. Maybe she would just win by default?

“If you’ll excuse me girls, I need to use the ladies’ room,” Cersei reached for her robe.

Melisandre promptly pulled herself out of the hot spring pool as well.

“We can go together,” she said. That was something girls did wasn’t it? She didn’t have many female friends. Regardless, she wasn’t giving Cersei an opportunity to wander off and find a pay phone.

“Of course,” Cersei dipped her head.

“But...” Brienne blurted, glancing at Catelyn, who had not said a word in twenty minutes, and then back at Melisandre.

“She’s fine, aren’t you Catelyn?” Melisandre said soothingly.

“I’m creating a mental flow chart for brunch tomorrow, gaming scenarios that might go wrong, and coming up with back up plans for each,” Catelyn answered absently.

“See? She’s doing... that,” Melisandre waved a hand. “Totally fine.”

She hurried after Cersei, who had not bothered to wait for her.

“Oh there you are!” She feigned enthusiasm, grabbing her arm. “Such a fun weekend, right?!”

“Simply marvelous,” Cersei smiled back, and was it Melisandre’s imagination, or did it look a little strained?

“The ladies’ room is the other way,” Melisandre gently turned her in the right direction.

“So easy to get turned around in these woods,” Cersei shook her head, and Melisandre definitely saw her eye twitch.

Once they were in the bathroom, Cersei cleared her throat.

“You don’t mind waiting outside do you? I have a shy bladder.”

“Take your time, no rush,” Melisandre said cheerfully as she breezed past into the next stall.

She was wondering if they really would be here until Cersei actually had to use the restroom, but fortunately there was the telltale tinkle after not too many minutes.

“You don’t mind if we stop by our suite, do you? I’m sure the girls would prefer some clothes besides these bathrobes,” Cersei suggested.

“Actually that’s a good idea,” Melisandre admitted. Certainly she wanted Lysa dressed to impress.

Under close supervision, Cersei found some outfits for everybody. (One thing Melisandre had to admit—Cersei had good taste in clothing. And like Melisandre, she subscribed to the ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it’ style.)

This momentary charitable impulse toward Cersei dissipated promptly upon returning to the hot springs, where Brienne, Catelyn, and Lysa were still lounging. Well Brienne and Lysa were lounging. Catelyn was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and staring into space.

“Petyr responded! He apologized for the delay, he was busy at the jeweler’s shopping for my anniversary gift,” Lysa beamed.

Melisandre shot a look at Cersei who seemed innocently pleased with the outcome.

“That’s clearly a lie, because it’s not actually your anniversary,” Melisandre pointed out rather testily. Something was clearly fishy. Somehow Cersei had forewarned him.

“An important attribute in any partner is a willingness to blindly agree with you,” Cersei countered.

“Well it certainly explains your choices,” Melisandre muttered under her breath.

“I didn’t catch that?”

“Just something in my throat,” Melisandre growled.

“Okay, Jon’s getting here at three. I’ll greet him, then ask him to bring the car around. Petyr will get here at 3:30. So we’ll be done with the first test by four,” Lysa said happily.

“Excellent,” Cersei nodded. “For quality time, you can tell Jon that you’ve changed your mind and want to do a walking tour of the forest before you leave. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to Petyr about outstanding wedding issues—“

“Which Brienne will be present for,” Melisandre added.

“—and then you can tell Jon you need to pack and we’ll keep him occupied while you tell Petyr you want to take a boat out on the lake before you go,” Cersei finished.

“What about acts of service?” Lysa asked, hanging on to Cersei’s every word.

“That’s just a tie-breaker. I don’t really think it’ll come to that,” Cersei said airily.

Melisandre glowered. Thought she had it in the bag did she?

The next hour was a flurry of changing, scoping out the best places to meet Jon Arryn and Petyr, and fussing over Lysa. They brushed her dark auburn hair until it positively shone, and Cersei worked some makeup magic that made her normally pale blue eyes glow.

“Don’t seem too impressed with either of them. Make them work for it,” Cersei lectured her.

“I don’t think you should be unkind,” Brienne frowned.

“Just be confident,” Melisandre assured her.

Catelyn only sighed and came out of her shell enough to hug her little sister.

“Either one would be so lucky,” she told Lysa. “But this is silly and if you’re upset with Petyr, you should really talk to him instead of playing him against your high school Lit teacher in some kind of secret game show.”

Poor thing was just so undone by the Ned situation.

“Do you want to know who to invite to brunch tomorrow or not?” Cersei pressed, and Lysa slipped from Catelyn’s hug, eyes wide.

Jon Arryn arrived ten minutes early in his sensible sedan. A little beaten up, but it got good gas mileage and as far as Melisandre could tell when it was her turn with the binoculars, very clean inside.

“Why do you have these?” Brienne asked Cersei when Melisandre handed them over for her turn.

“A lady should always have a pair of good binoculars in her purse,” Cersei said absently, as she adjusted the focus. “He kissed her on the cheek. What’s she saying? Is she pointing at us?!”

Catelyn turned up the volume on her cell phone, which was in minute five of a telephone call to Lysa, who had her phone on speaker in her pocket to catch conversation.

“Our suite was up there, it had the most marvelous balconies,” Lysa was saying. The girls, huddled on their balcony, crouched lower.

“Well I’m glad you were able to enjoy something—I was so surprised to hear about everyone forgetting your birthday, that doesn’t seem like Catelyn at all!” Jon Arryn put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“Oh, ha, she’s just been so caught up in the drama with Ned and Daddy,” Lysa covered quickly.

“But the other three? You can’t tell me Cersei doesn’t have a master spreadsheet of every friend’s birthday and an automated text program to send out personalized well wishes,” Jon Arryn laughed.

“I do have that,” Cersei mentioned to the other three.

“Well... I just really keep my birthday under wraps! I don’t like to make a fuss,” Lysa twisted for a second. “Why, I bet you didn’t even know it was my birthday!”

Oh well played.

“You caught me,” Jon admitted. “I’m so sorry, I would have planned something more elaborate if I’d known in advance.”

“I guess you didn’t get me anything then?” Lysa bit her lip. Melisandre realized she was biting her own as well. Cersei looked smug.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Jon Arryn said, a little mischievously. He reached into the car and pulled out a small wrapped package.

“I bought this in the Summer Islands, I keep waiting for the right moment to give it to you. At first I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, if you felt what I felt, and then the last two weeks have been such a whirlwind...” Jon Arryn was blabbering on a bit, but Melisandre could tell he was nervous. It was cute!

Lysa opened the package, and under the pretext of holding it to the light, turned the box towards the girls on the balcony.

It was a hair pin in the shape of a dragonfly, the wings a shimmering iridescent that had to be turquoise.

“Oh it’s beautiful!” Lysa exclaimed, her finger gently tracing the delicate craftsmanship.

“It was the blue I noticed at first, because it reminded me of your eyes,” Jon Arryn was saying. “But then I realized it was in the shape of a dragonfly and how appropriate that was.”

“A dragonfly?”

“You’re my princess of dragonflies, like the old legend. The beautiful sweet and mysterious girl who showed up and bewitched the Targaryen prince. And he ran away with her and left everything behind,” Jon said shyly. “I thought at forty-five, I knew the arc my life was taking. Rowena and I never could have children, but we built our own kind of family, and after she died, I never felt the need to go out and try again. Put myself through the whole rigamarole of dating. I was happy with what I had. My friends, my hobbies, my job. And then you showed up and everything changed.”

Lord of Light, Melisandre had had no idea. She had liked him as a teacher sure, but she’d found him overly attached to the old Westerosi canon of Great Works. In Great Works, the women were always in distress, which Melisandre had found rather tiresome and dull. But clearly he was just an old-fashioned romantic, lonely and pining for some girl to sweep off her feet. It was adorable!

“Lysa would be lucky to resell that for a couple hundred dragons on the secondhand market,” Cersei sniffed.

“Would you do me the honor of letting me pin it in your hair?” Jon Arryn asked. And Lysa giggled and nodded, and as he fastened it, the light caught the turquoise and in that moment, Lysa, who Melisandre had always thought of as a poor man’s version of her prettier smarter more vivacious sister, fairly sparkled.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow at Cersei. Cersei rolled her eyes.

“Where is Petyr, anyway, he should be due shortly,” Cersei sniffed. “Do I have your permission to use your phone to make sure he knows where to pick Lysa up? You will of course be able to read the texts.”

Petyr, it turned out, had gone to the hotel side and not the spa side, so Cersei walked around to meet him, Melisandre stoically following after.

“Petyr darling!” Cersei swept the weedy fellow into a hug. He was wearing a suit, which was inherently suspicious.

“Is Lysa ready?” Petyr asked. He gave a slick smile. “It’s our anniversary after all.”

Melisandre tried her best not to scowl. If anything this was proof that she had backed the right horse.

“Lysa’s actually over this way,” she said, and escorted him around the back, even as a surreptitious glance at her phone confirmed that Brienne and Catelyn were taking Jon Arryn around the front.

“Babe!” Petyr broke into a light jog when he saw Lysa, sweeping her up and spinning her before he set her down again with a lingering kiss. Melisandre personally thought it was a little tacky to grab your girlfriend’s ass in public, but Lysa just laughed.

“I’ve been missing you,” Petyr brushed a strand of hair out of her face, frowning briefly as he noted the hair clip.

“But you haven’t been responding to any of my texts all weekend,” Lysa pouted.

“Work, no rest for the wicked I’m afraid,” Petyr sighed. “But I brought something to make up for it!”

“Oh?” Lysa tilted her head, curiosity sparked.

“Close your eyes,” Petyr smirked. Lysa’s lashes obediently fluttered shut.

He pulled two large emerald pendant earrings from his pocket, carefully clipping each one to her ears.

Melisandre goggled. They were huge! There was no way that Petyr Baelish, a fellow scholarship kid from Prep, had managed to afford those. Even if Cersei had warned him, there was JUST. NO. WAY.

“Open,” Petyr commanded, and Lysa opened her eyes.

“Earrings?? They’re heavy, let me see!”

“Of course, smile—“ Petyr pulled her into a one armed hug and took a selfie of the two of them. “What do you think?”

“Gods,” Lysa breathed. “They’re absolutely gorgeous!! How on earth did you afford them?!”

“Selling some photos. That’s what’s kept me busy all weekend sweetling,” Petyr have her a saccharine smile. “They match your eyes.”

Melisandre ground her teeth. Lysa’s eyes were blue!

“They look just like the earrings that Cersei wore in her interview in Yes! last month,” Lysa beamed, looking at Cersei for approval. “Don’t they just?”

“Not exactly,” Cersei laughed as Melisandre slowly turned toward her with an icy glare. “Mine were actually the pair worn by the famous Lysene actress Johanna Swann in The Stepstones Saga. They are one of a kind and I really wouldn’t part from them for any extended period of time.” This last part was said with slightly narrowed eyes at Petyr.

“Of course, mine were designed by a jeweler who specializes in reproduction. Give him a week’s time, and almost nobody would notice the difference,” Petyr nodded back at Cersei. Was Melisandre seriously the only person picking this up?! She turned around for Brienne and Catelyn’s acknowledgement, only to remember that they were last seen escorting Jon Arryn in the opposite direction.

“Petyr, can you give us a minute?” Melisandre tilted her head. “We need to speak briefly with Lysa and then I believe Cersei had some wedding issues she wanted to go over with you.”

“Of course ladies,” Petyr gave a bow that had Lysa tittering and Melisandre rolling her eyes.

“I think Petyr wins this round,” Lysa said as soon as he was out of earshot, touching the earrings dreamily. “I’ve never gotten a gift this nice.”

“Jon Arryn’s gift was thoughtful and sweet and he actually knows what color your eyes are,” Melisandre growled. “Petyr obviously regifted some of Cersei’s earrings.”

“How on earth would he have done that?” Cersei smiled at her bemusedly. “You’ve been with me the entire time.”

“I. DON’T. KNOW,” Melisandre bit out.

“Poor dear just doesn’t like losing,” Cersei said in a stage whisper to Lysa who pulled a sympathetic face. Melisandre seethed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to take a walk and clear my head,” Melisandre said tightly.

“I thought you wanted to be present for any discussions I had with Petyr,” Cersei replied coyly.

“Clearly you have already managed to convey everything you need to,” Melisandre said haughtily, and swept out.

So Cersei wanted to play it like this did she? Melisandre absently began walking toward the boathouse on the edge of the lake. Cersei wasn’t the only person who knew a little something about ruining people’s day.

An hour later, Melisandre finished washing the engine grease off her hands and found Brienne and Catelyn in the library of the hotel listening to Catelyn’s phone.

“Oh look at all the funny faces these trees have!” Lysa was saying tinnily from the speaker.

“These carvings are said to pre-date the arrival of Andals in Westeros. The First Men worshipped the weirwoods as gods,” Jon explained. “This is one of the best preserved historical sites in the country and I’ve always wanted to visit. Look at you Lysa, making my dreams come true.”

“So it sounds like it’s going well?” Melisandre asked.

“He’s such a dear. I would have never guessed from senior lit, that class could be so boring!” Brienne admitted.

“What if the reason Ned isn’t responding to my texts is because he’s not coming?” Catelyn suddenly asked. “Like this whole time I’ve been planning out doomsday brunch scenarios, I’ve forgotten the most obvious problem. What will I do if he’s decided to hell with my family and to hell with m-me?!”

“You know that Ned worships the ground you walk on,” Brienne said immediately. “He would never do anything to hurt you. You have a family together! His phone battery is just dead, you’ll see.”

“That’s right,” Melisandre agreed. Granted she hadn’t been spending all summer with him like Brienne had, but from Stannis’ occasional off-hand comments, Ned seemed like one of the good ones. “There is such thing as overthinking a problem, you know? Distract yourself,” she eyed the cell phone meaningfully.

“You’re right, I know you’re right,” Catelyn massaged her temples. “And I know the two of you don’t think much of Petyr, but we grew up together. And at least he’s Lysa’s AGE! I’m not saying I love the way he treats her, but she also has literally never confronted him about anything. I just think sitting down and having a conversation about her expectations in a relationship is the healthier option here.”

Melisandre shifted uncomfortably. Gods, when did Catelyn Tully become such an adult?! Was this because she was a mom?

“Look, it’s all in good fun,” she finally allowed grudgingly. “The prize is an invitation to brunch, not Lysa’s hand in marriage.”

“You guys, they’re heading back now,” Brienne warned, still listening to the phone conversation. “We should make sure Petyr is ready to take Lysa out on the lake.”

“Say Lysa can swim right?” Melisandre asked casually.

“Like a fish,” Catelyn smiled fondly.

“How about Petyr?”

“Um not super great as I can recall.”

“Excellent,” Melisandre smiled.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason at all.”

Cersei (Vice and Wish 9 of 12)

Cersei tried to maintain a pleasant expression on her face as Jon Arryn animatedly expounded on the symbolism of the weirwood in the legends of the First Men to her and Brienne.

Honestly, she didn’t have a dog in this race. If she were Lysa, she wasn’t sure whom she’d pick. Petyr Baelish was penniless of course, and Jon Arryn might play at being a high school lit teacher, but everyone knew that the Arryns owned half of the Vale. They were one of the largest landowning families in Westeros. But money wasn’t everything. Petyr had ambition and his career would be exciting and come with power and influence. Personally, that appealed to Cersei more than being some high school teacher’s wife, no matter how loaded he was.

But Petyr cheated on Lysa, and Cersei couldn’t imagine tolerating that kind of disrespect without eventually being driven to killing him.

But Jon Arryn had once given her an A minus on a book report on Wuthering Heights! An A MINUS!

It really was a difficult decision.

But at the end of the day, Petyr was an occasionally useful person to have around. Cersei just didn’t see how Lysa dating Jon Arryn benefited her, Cersei Lannister. And once she was committed, well Cersei Lannister had never lost in her life.

But she’d realized, the moment that Jon Arryn responded immediately and Petyr Baelish did not, that she might have her work cut out for her. The problem, at the end of the day, was that while Petyr was great at digging up dirt on people and subtly manipulating them, he was not great at being a boyfriend. If Cersei didn’t intervene, Petyr would just pretend he hadn’t seen the text, and when he finally did show up to pick Lysa up at the original time, Jon Arryn would have already walked away with the prize.

However actually warning him proved to be trickier than anticipated. Cersei had turned her phone over uncomplainingly—she was never without a burner or two in her bag—but getting away from Melisandre to actually send the text proved nigh impossible.

Finally ensconced in a bathroom stall, Cersei had been forced to pour out a small bottle of perfume into the toilet to get the desired sound effects as she quickly typed out a warning to Petyr. After that, it was a simple matter of grabbing an extra pair of earrings while she was getting everyone’s outfits sorted, and transferring them to Petyr’s pocket when she’d hugged him hello.

Now though, she’d laid all the groundwork and could relax and enjoy her victory. Petyr could easily be charming when the occasion called for it, and he had a seven year head start on Jon Arryn. A tranquil boat ride across the misty lake, some beautiful sights, some emotional reminiscing... Some of the grounds crew went running by the window, looking harried. Odd.

“In fact, the sheer wilderness of the forest, the untamed tangle of it existing nearly upon civilization, reminded me of your essay on the moors as an expression of the soul. Do you remember that Cersei? I submitted it to that national essay contest on your behalf and it won third prize!” Jon Arryn beamed at her.

“...you submitted that?” Cersei said in a strangled tone. She had never known who had sent it in, but had rather assumed it was Jaime.

“Of course! I remember writing in my comments that it was the best essay I’d read in years!”

“But you gave me an A minus!” Cersei sputtered.

“I gave you an A plus,” Jon Arryn frowned. “I had to write a note to Aemon Targaryen explaining why the curve would be thrown off and getting special permission.”

Had Cersei misread that grade? She did recall him having atrocious handwriting... There was a low buzz of conversation as some new guests walked by the library.

“...can’t think what could have happened. Those poor people stranded!”

Cersei glanced at her watch. Lysa and Petyr should have been back half an hour ago.

“Would you just excuse me for a brief moment?” Cersei smiled sweetly, leaving Brienne to keep him entertained.

She hurried down to the docks, only to see Catelyn bundling her dripping and shivering sister into a large fluffy towel as a flustered dock manager tried to offer her hot cocoa and a discount on future trips.

“Well Jon wins quality time,” Lysa huffed, upon seeing Cersei.

“What happened?” Cersei frowned.

“Well first our engine started making a funny noise and then it died when we got out to the middle of the water! And Petyr made me swim to get help and my dress is sopping wet!” Lysa recounted dramatically, although she seemed more excited than upset. “You know Jon would have never made me swim for it. He’s a great swimmer, we saw him in the Summer Islands all the time! Or he could have fixed the engine himself. Did you know he was in the Air Force?”

As Lysa prattled, Cersei analyzed the facts at hand. There was no way that the boat had just ACCIDENTALLY broken down. Someone had sabotaged it. Someone who had disappeared for an hour shortly before their boat ride. Cersei turned on Melisandre who was surveying the scene with disinterest m.

“You couldn’t have possibly known which boat they would take out,” Cersei began slowly. “Why you would have had to tamper with...”

“All of them,” Melisandre said boredly. Cersei’s gaze slowly lifted to the lake where at least eight boats could be spotted stranded, their occupants frantically waving to shore. Suddenly the commotion amongst the staff made sense.

“Why that’s...” Cersei began.

“Cheating?” Melisandre asked wryly.

“Brilliant,” Cersei conceded.

She had cheated on an epic scale, and not for any normal reason like Cersei who wanted Petyr to be around to continue to do errands for her. She couldn’t be bullied, bought or reasoned with. Some women just wanted to watch the world burn. Cersei had new found respect for Melisandre, and reminded herself to cross her only if the occasion absolutely called for it.

“So that means it’s one all,” Cersei folded her arms.

“Guess we’ll need acts of service to be our tie-breaker after all,” Melisandre allowed the faintest smirk to curve her features.

“No holds barred?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Melisandre riposted.

“Then give me back my phone,” Cersei said haughtily. You didn’t ask Michelangelo to work with a sledgehammer after all. An artist needed their tools.

“Fine,” Melisandre tossed it back.

Cersei checked it and then did a double-take. Three HUNDRED texts?! She’d been away for a couple hours sure, but even for her this was a lot.

Then she opened the first thread. Then she sat down on the dock.

“Oh what happened?” Melisandre snarked. “Don’t tell me your Vogue coverage got pulled.”

“It might be worse than that,” Cersei admitted flatly.

There was a pause and then Melisandre huffed as she smoothed her skirt and sat down on the dock next to her. Cersei handed the phone over without looking, choosing to squint instead at the figure in the lake that she was fairly sure was Petyr Baelish.

“Oh shit,” Melisandre breathed. “Is this for real?”

“Taena was sorority sisters with Alysanne Hightower who’s Alerie Tyrell’s sister and Alerie says she got it from Mace who spoke to Ashara herself,” Cersei said matter of factly.

“So...?”

“Almost certainly.”

According to Taena, according to Alysanne, according to Alerie, according to Mace, Ashara fucking Dayne had a bastard child with Ned Stark and wanted him to take it.

Clearly there were questions. Was it before he married Catelyn or after? Had he even known about the child? What would this do to her seating arrangement?

“One of us has to tell her,” Melisandre said slowly. Cersei looked back down the dock where Catelyn had cajoled Lysa into taking the hot chocolate and was popping a marshmallow into her mouth. Finally distracted, she seemed almost happy.

“I’ll tell her,” Cersei said grimly. Crushing people’s happiness was a specialty of hers. “But first we need information.”

She got Alerie’s number from her wedding spreadsheet, and dialed it. The phone only rang once before she heard Alerie’s eager hello.

“Cersei Lannister! What a surprise!” Alerie sounded positively delighted. Cersei pulled up her mental Rolodex. One of the Oldtown Hightowers, mediocre grades, went to Sunspear even though her family practically built the Citadel. Spreading her legs for the likes of Mace Tyrell was probably the smartest move she’d ever made. Second smartest, if rumors about a safety pin and a condom were true.

“I realized I never thanked you for the lovely—“ Cersei checked the spreadsheet on her phone and rolled her eyes, honestly if this was the best you could do why bother, “—dish towels you sent as an engagement present.”

“Oh you’re so sweet!” Alerie said. “Say, while you’re on the phone, have you heard the latest?”

“About Ashara Dayne? Naturally, Ned is Robert’s best man,” Cersei replied lightly. “What have you heard? I do so love how the details get twisted in each retelling.”

“This wasn’t a retelling,” Alerie sounded a trifle affronted that Cersei thought she had better sources. “This was straight from the horse’s mouth. My husband spoke to Ashara herself, and she told a Mace that Ned was family and that he’d be a wonderful father.”

“Ah,” Cersei said, brain dissecting the words frantically, trying to produce any alternative but the one inescapable conclusion. “That’s not exactly right.”

“No?” Alerie sounded suspicious. How to sell this?

“Let me just get permission to spill the beans,” Cersei dropped her voice conspiratorially. “I promised I wouldn’t tell, you know how these things are.”

“Of course,” Alerie still sounded on the fence.

“But tell you what, I’ll call you back with the real scoop. You’ll be the very first to know. Deal?”

And on that, Alerie Tyrell née Hightower was sold.

Catelyn was still talking to Lysa.

“Just remember at the end of the day, this is your decision. It’s your life, not some silly game we’re playing, and you shouldn’t pick who you date based on what will make certain people happy...”

“Excuse me, can I talk to you for a moment?” Cersei interjected. An expression of annoyance flashed across Catelyn’s face, but then she saw Melisandre hovering behind her, face ashen.

“What’s happened?” Catelyn said, and her voice quavered and for a moment even Cersei felt a little queasy.

“There is a malicious rumor going around that Ashara Dayne had a child with Ned,” Cersei said briskly, squelching any squeamishness.

“What?” Catelyn said slowly.

“It’s Alerie Tyrell who’s spreading it, that little gossipy twat, as if she’s one to talk about children out of wedlock,” Cersei gave a judgmental sniff. Melisandre cleared her throat and Cersei wondered if she was coming down with something and made a mental note to have her personal physician pay a house call to all the bridesmaids. Nobody would be getting sick on HER wedding day.

“What?”

“When really all Ashara said was that Ned was family to her son. So I think this is just a misunderstanding but it is IMPERATIVE that we get out ahead of this story.”

“What?”

Cersei ground her teeth. She just did not have time for this kind of coddling. She grabbed Catelyn’s shoulders and stared her in the eye.

“Would Ned cheat on you?”

At last from the wellspring of hurt and bafflement and confusion came a spark of something angrier.

“He certainly would not. He’s not Robert.”

Okay, just this once, Cersei was going to let that pass. But if Catelyn ever made a comment like that again, Cersei would hack off her stupid braid in her sleep.

“Right. Who would cheat on you? Who DID cheat on you sophomore year of high school as I recall?”

Catelyn frowned and then there was a dawning recognition.

“Brandon.”

“Right! Brandon Stark never could keep it in his pants. Who’s he married to now? Barbrey Dustin? So he has some torrid little affair with Ashara, gets her in the family way and waltzes back north to his political career and pretends it never happens. Meanwhile Ned runs into Ashara in Dorne, and the whole secret come spilling out,” Cersei finished with just a note of pride. She could totally be a detective. Not that she would ever take a job that paid below six figures. What did a detective make?

“So Ashara had a baby with Brandon, but now Alerie Tyrell is telling everyone it’s mine?!” Catelyn repeated as she worked through the information.

“Oh gods,” Lysa breathed. “The brunch!”

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Cersei said flatly. “Jon Arryn is going to turn around and go home and surprise Hoster Tully with eighteen holes of golf at his club. Or whatever it takes to get him away from his phone. The last thing we need is someone like Olenna Tyrell calling him up ‘just to say hi’. I’m going to go through out school newspaper archives... remember when Brandon asked Ashara to dance at spring fling and it made front page? I’ll text that photo to Alerie. Meanwhile, Petyr is going doctor one of Brandon’s recent publicity photos to have Ashara in the background. He’ll casually ask one of Alerie’s friends if Brandon and Ashara are dating, it’ll get back to her within a couple of hours and by tomorrow morning, the truth will be known.”

“I’ll get Jon and Brienne and let them know,” Melisandre said and hurried back toward the hotel.

“What should we do?” Lysa asked.

Cersei rolled her neck, feeling the joints popping into place. Now this was a challenge worthy of her time.

“You are getting Petyr off that fucking boat,” she said.

While Lysa and Catelyn swam back out, Cersei closed her eyes to think. She needed a student ID to access the school newspaper archives. Who did she know in at Prep? Tyrion had graduated the year before, and it’s not like he’d had many friends... wait a minute.

“Go for Renly,” Renly Baratheon drawled on the third ring. Cersei, who could hear a decidedly masculine giggle on the other side, gritted her teeth.

“I need your user name and password for Prep,” she said.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“You know who this is!” Cersei snapped.

“Ah I didn't recognize your voice without that hysteric pitch. Do I even want to know why you’re trolling your old high school’s intranet? Or are you on the prowl for fresh meat already?”

“Renly, if you give me your account information this instant, I will have you cast in your first television role before the month is out.”

“You can’t do that,” Renly laughed, although Cersei detected an undercurrent of interest.

“If I can make Beric Dondarrion famous, just think what I can do for you,” she purred.

“My username is RBaratheon2,” Renly said, sounding slightly sour about that fact, “and my password is Tywin4Evah. Do you need help spelling Tywin? It’s—“

Cersei hung up on him with a shudder.

When Petyr was finally towed by the Tully sisters to dry land, Cersei was carefully cropping the archive photo on her phone to make it look like a candid.

“I hear my services are required,” he said in an oily voice that showed a lot of confidence for someone who hadn’t just been saved by his girlfriend and her sister.

“I need recent photographic evidence that Brandon and Ashara Dayne are a thing,” Cersei said, fiddling with her phone to try and lighten the photo.

Petyr didn’t even ask how he was going to be paid. Maybe he did care about Lysa.

“Don’t worry Cat, I have just the photo,” he put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “I caught a candid of Brandon walking in the rain with an aide under an umbrella that I never found any use for. I’ll just swap in Ashara’s face, and nobody ever need to know Ned Stark’s dirty secret.”

“It’s not true Petyr,” Cersei said crossly.

“Of course it’s not,” Petyr stroked Catelyn’s hair.

“Right, I’m just going to say goodbye to Jon Arryn,” Catelyn mumbled, extricating herself. Cersei would have scolded her for blowing the game and scolded Petyr for not acting surprised, but there just wasn’t time for that.

She finished doctoring the photo to her satisfaction and leaned back to craft the perfect text.

You’re right about one thing, she began to Alerie, Ned is family.

She texted the photo of Brandon and Ashara dancing.

He’s just not the father. Did you know that Brandon and Ashara had a torrid affair sophomore year? It was our school’s best kept secret.

Alerie called her almost immediately, but Cersei let it go to voicemail. A little mystery added to the charm of the story.

“I texted Jorah Mormont, who was my year at Prep and knows the Starks. He’s dating Alerie’s cousin Lynesse,” Petyr said briskly. “In my experience, he tells her everything.”

“Isn’t Petyr brilliant?” Lysa beamed.

“Not bad,” Cersei conceded. “Let’s find the others.”

By the time they located Brienne and Melisandre, Cersei’s phone was buzzing like an angry hornet. She smirked. Dance puppets.

“Catelyn went back to the library, she just needed a moment alone,” Brienne said worriedly.

“Jon promised to keep Hoster away from his phone even if he had to drop it off a cliff,” Melisandre added.

“I’d better check on Cat,” Petyr said solicitously and excused himself.

“Our counter story has been leaked and is making the rounds,” Cersei smirked. “Also apparently Barbrey Dustin threw a plate at a waiter’s head ten minutes ago, so you know SHE’S heard it.”

“Barbrey and Brandon always seemed rather happy,” Lysa shook her head. “Volatile, but happy.”

Cersei shrugged. She had difficulty feeling empathy for people she didn’t know. And for people she did know. Everyone really.

“I have to admit,” Melisandre looked around to make sure Petyr had actually left. “As far as acts of service go, Baelish did come through.”

“Yeah, that photo was so romantic,” Brienne chipped in. “I never would have thought it was a fake for a second!”

“We stopped playing the game, it was a draw,” Cersei waved her hand magnanimously. Even though she totally had won.

“Just saying, now is your chance to make us eat salads and wear silly outfits,” Melisandre said drily.

Cersei was about to respond that they really shouldn’t be eating at all when there was a scream from the library.

“What was—“ Brienne began.

“Cat!” Lysa bolted toward the sound. There was a second scream, this one definitely Lysa. The remaining three looked at each other.

Brienne, having much longer strides than either Melisandre or Cersei, managed to get there first, but all that time on the treadmill had made Cersei plenty spry, and she arrived second only to bounce off Brienne’s back. Shit, that better not bruise.

Petyr was standing before Catelyn and Lysa, his eyes wide and his face branded with a dark red handprint.

“Let me explain,” he began desperately.

“You TRIED TO KISS ME!” Catelyn howled.

“I misread the situation...”

“She’s MY SISTER!” Lysa screamed.

“I just thought that with Ned’s recent indiscretions...”

“GET OUT!!!” They yelled in unison.

Petyr looked at Cersei plaintively. She gave him her coldest death stare and pointed toward the door.

“Fuck having a conversation with him,” Catelyn sniffed, wiping away a tear. “He’s the worst Lysa.”

“He’s dumped,” Lysa hugged her. “Choosing Jon. Don’t cry, why are you crying? I’ll start crying!”

“It’s just been such a shitty week,” Catelyn admitted, scrubbing at her face as if she could erase the evidence of the tears. “Gods Cersei, I’m so sorry, this weekend is supposed to be about you and I’ve made it all about me and my problems!”

“You haven’t,” Cersei protested, after a small nudge from Brienne.

“I have!” Catelyn gave a hiccupy sob.

“Listen, it takes a selfish bitch to know a selfish bitch, and you my dear don’t have what it takes,” Cersei put her hand on her hip, which at least earned a smile through the tears. But then Catelyn kept crying. Ugh she was always shit at comforting people.

“It’s going to be fine,” Lysa was crooning, dubbing her back. “You’ll see.”

“I can’t even get him on the phone!!”

“You know they’ve made some stupid boy bet to turn off their phones because they’re stupid boys,” Brienne had sat down on Catelyn’s other side.

“Petyr was supposed to pick us up! Now we don’t even have a ride home!”

Petyr. The snivelly weaselly untrustworthy little TURD! Cersei clenched her fists, feeling her nails digging into her palms. After all she’d done to help him with Lysa!! She had given him her one of a kind earrings!! How the fuck was she supposed to get those back! And worse... technically... from a certain light... if you squinted...

Cersei looked over to where Catelyn was still a pathetic blubbery mess. She closed her eyes. Was she really going to do this? Gods help us all.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat. Nobody paid her any mind.

“BRIDAL ANNOUNCEMENT!” Cersei bellowed. That got their notice.

“As I was saying,” she continued sweetly. “It has come to my attention that Catelyn and I have lost.”

“Lost?” Brienne blinked.

“The bet. You see...”

“Lysa chose Jon Arryn,” Melisandre breathed.

“Therefore...”

“You have to wear anything we want! And you have to EAT anything we want!” Melisandre finished triumphantly.

“Cersei, I don’t think...” Catelyn began.

“Hush, eating your feelings away is a time honored tradition for a reason,” Cersei shushed her. Only to gulp at Melisandre’s slightly deranged smile.

Two hours later, they were eating at the most disgustingly greasy pub Cersei had ever set foot in. It made Robert’s old favorite Hollow Hill look fancy by comparison.

“I recommend the jalapeño poppers,” Melisandre said politely.

“Boys suck,” Catelyn announced to the table, shoving a nacho (piled high with ground meat of some kind and sour cream and... was cheese supposed to be that color?) into her mouth. “Brandon sucks, Petyr really sucks, and my father is THE WORST.”

“Have some more beer,” Cersei sighed and pushed the pitcher over.

“And you need to eat,” Brienne said firmly, depositing a burger on her plate.

“Excuse me?” Cersei arched an eyebrow.

“I mopped up the oil with my napkin, and you can take the bun off, but I don’t think you’ve had solid food in days and it’s making you even worse than...” Brienne realized what she was saying and abruptly shut her mouth flushing, but still shoved the plate toward Cersei.

Cersei eyed the bare patty suspiciously. She cut off the smallest sliver and placed it in her mouth as Brienne watched her, chewing slowly with narrowed eyes. They might break her diet but they would never break her will.

“Um hi,” some local yokel who fancied himself a ladies’ man had approached the table. “Me and my mates couldn’t help but notice your dresses.”

Cersei looked around at the five of them in their equally tacky thrift store wedding dresses. She’d insisted on the other girls joining her and Catelyn when she’d seen what Melisandre had planned. And well, Lysa didn’t take much convincing, and then it was three against two.

“Where are your grooms?” The guy grinned, running his hand through his hair.

“You’ve been watching us for the last twenty-five minutes and that’s the best you could come up with?” Cersei asked boredly.

“You’re a man. Do you suck?” Catelyn squinted at him suspiciously.

“Are you going to date me for six years and then try and get it on with my sister?” Lysa stuck out her tongue.

“Um what?” The guy gave a nervous laugh. “I should be getting back to my friends.”

“Please stay,” Melisandre purred, tossing her veil behind her. “You can marry all of us.”

The man fled.

There was a pause and then they all burst out laughing.

“Can you imagine Stannis’ expression if he heard you say that?” Brienne teased Melisandre.

“Hey what happens during the hen party stays with the hen party,” Melisandre tsked.

“But what happens at brunch needs to be shared with all of us,” Cersei put in.

“Maybe it’s just the beer but I’m rather looking forward to brunch,” Catelyn gave a rather dreamy smile. “I’ve been spending all this time trying to make everybody else happy. Well now we’re going to try something different.”

“That’s right! Hear me roar!” Cersei encouraged.

“You’re Catelyn fucking Tully-Stark!” Brienne piled on.

“Tell your dad where he can shove his eligible young men!” Melisandre whooped.

Lysa didn’t say anything, just slid a quarter into the jukebox.

In retrospect, Cersei was almost glad that she wasn’t allowed to drink. Had she been drunk, she might have missed the Tully sisters belting “I Will Survive” from on top of the table. Had she been drunk, she might have missed Melisandre dragging Brienne on a crazy cheek to cheek tango down the aisle. Or throwing a glass at the bartender when he cut her off. She would have missed them all fleeing into the night, laughing hysterically, when he called the cops. Catelyn insisted on carrying her bridal style as Brienne shout-sang the wedding march, and Lysa skipped ahead of them, stealing flowers from people’s window boxes to sprinkle in their path.

Had Cersei been drunk, she might have missed any number of details. But she didn’t take a single photo to use later. Now that was friendship.

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