#it is my sacred duty but I am not immune | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

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JaliceWeek2020 Day 7

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7: Yeehaw/Western/Sheriff

Love & Duty

Notes: Okay, I’m pretty sure this isn’t nearly ‘cowboy’ enough, and I’ve already started an alternative piece, but I found an old tumblr post about how cowboys were just daytime witches, and I frickin’ loved it (I’ll link it in the morning) and my excitement got out of hand again. There’s definitely going to be more to this story, but separately.

I also just wanted to prove to myself I could smash out two prompts in one day, honestly. I opted for quantity over quality, and I currently only have some regrets - 4.5 down, 3.5 to go.

The old farmhouse sits outside Laredo, Texas. The wood has blackened from decades underneath the sun and seems to sink in on itself; the ground cracked and dry. The barn roof has caved in, obviously years before if the elaborate nest tucked at the edge is any indication. At the end of the drive, the sign once bore the name of the owners, but that name has long since faded into the wood.

It is an unwelcoming place, for any passerby or stranger - a house that actively discourages anyone from crossing the boundary, even if they never notice it.

But for those that sought it out, and for those few that lived there, it was very different.

—

It was a sacred duty, once upon a time - the Guardians of the Border, sent to protect and prevent the Southern Wars from spilling over from Mexico into America proper. For decades, girls from all the old families across the country were sent to Texas to run the Guard Houses, to protect and shield those. Back then, there were so many daughters that only the very best were accepted at the Border Guard Houses, most of them settled in the city houses, mixing the potions and preparing the weapons. Some girls were even sent home - there were only so many beds, after all.

And Texas remained well-guarded.

But time marches on. Vampire wars, human wars, they all have a death toll, and entire family lines died out. It became less of an honour, more of an obligation, and one that fell to the oldest daughter, or the oddest daughter, or the ugliest daughter. It became more important to keep the bloodlines strong than to protect the South from the never-ending Wars.

Mary-Alice Brandon was never surprised to be banished to Texas on her sixteenth birthday; she’d known her entire life she’d don the blacks and take up the mantle as six generations of Brandon witches had done before her. She was not good breeding stock, with her ‘visions’ and her temper and her complete disinclination to conform to her parents’ social obligations. Cynthia was a much better heiress, and so off to Texas Alice was sent, to three ancient ‘aunts’ who would train her in all she would need to know, having lived their entire lives defending the Laredo house.

The house wasn’t so bad, if you looked past the glamour. The house was in good repair, and the aunts maintained a lush garden out the back, of herbs and flowers. They had two strong horses - Hallow and Haven - and half a dozen well-pleased cats. Her own bedroom looked over the road, hidden only by the branches of an ancient willow tree. Of course, the aunts were strict teachers that expected impossible standards, and third-rate cooks. But no place was perfect, and at least here no one cared about manners or propriety.

But she missed the sunshine. That was one thing the aunts never budged on. “Day is for sleep.” And hell was raged over her head if she wasn’t tucked up tight in bed every morning before dawn, the curtains drawn tight and refusing to budge. Once every moon cycle, her aunts would have a dawn meeting with someone but she wasn’t allowed to join those until she was twenty one, when she formally became a Witch Guardian. Until then, she was just a handmaid and dogsbody.

Which is why she was up to her ankles in mud, trying to pry an overzealous hemlock plant from the ground because it was smothering the chamomile again, with nothing to light her work except the lanterns on the porch. And this was just the first of the positively irritating chores she had been assigned that night.

It was her own fault, really. She should have kept her nose out of the books, and maybe there’d be more lessons for her to finish.

Shoving her hair out of her eyes, Alice glared viciously at the hemlock plant, and wondered if the aunts would consider it ‘inappropriate behaviour’ to curse the damn thing to burn.

“Mary-Alice!”

One of the aunts came dashing out of the backdoor - all three were fairly interchangeable, which felt like an uncharitable thought, but it was the honest truth - looking more agitated than Alice had ever seen her.

“Yes, Auntie?”

“Get out of the mud, and go and fetch one of the horse,” the older woman said, buckling an over-stuffed messenger bag. “Be quick, girl. Change your boots, don’t worry about your dress.”

Struggling out of the garden and into the house to find her riding boots, Alice knotted her hair back before hurrying to the barn, where all three aunts were gathered, Hallow already saddled - she would have thought Haven a better choice, since Hallow was so big and she was not the strongest rider.

“You’re going to Del Rio, girl,” one of the aunts said, shoving over a mounting block with surprising strength. “One of our allies has suffered an injury and cannot be moved. Hallow should have you there by dawn.”

“Del Rio?” Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been into Laredo, let alone more than a hundred miles up the border.

“Yes. Now, they’re expecting you,” the second aunt said, taking her hand and half shoving her up and into Hallow’s saddle. “Everything you need is in the bag; there’s food and water for you, but you’ll need them to provide more for your return journey. Hallow knows the way; if you hit the yellow farmhouse, you’ve gone too far. There should be a scout waiting for you anyway, don’t worry. It’s a long trip, but it’s a good practice for you, and you’re a good, clean healer.”

“The boy’s in a bad way, so you best be off,” the final aunt said, looking grim. “Let us know how long you’ll be staying and when you set off home.”

“Okay,” Alice managed, a bit dazed from the amount of information she’d just been given.

“Blessed and safe journey, my dear,” the first aunt said, looking worried before Hallow decided they had lingered long enough, and moved out of the barn.

Alice suddenly regretted cursing the hemlock.

—

The ride was long and hard. She honestly regretted not getting changed into something more sensible - she’d learnt to ride as a girl English style, side-saddle, but the aunts had laughed at that particular pretension, and Western saddles and long skirts were not a winning combination.

The bag wasn’t heavy enough for any of them to have thought to pack her a clean dress, either, and she was truly wretched at cleaning spells. Perhaps the Del Rio coven could loan her a dress.

Hallow stopped some time after midnight, and she took that opportunity to eat - a floury apple, some dry bread, and cold chicken that was so well cooked it might as well have been ash. But it was food, and the urgency that she been sent off - alone - implied she didn’t have more than a few minutes to rest.

The rest of the trip felt long, and as pink and gold streaks began to hover at the horizon, Alice wondered if she’d taken too long - if the poor boy (boy? she’d never heard of a coven accepting a boy, but maybe the Guard Houses had decided to modernise) had already succumbed. But it wasn’t like she was provided with a map or proper direction…

It was dawn when Hallow began to slow, and she saw a man leaning against a signpost with an indecipherable sign, the road behind him leading to a fire-decimated house on a hill in the distance.

“Miss Brandon?” the man said, looking at her with suspicion before his eyes softened. “Ah, Hallow.” The horse clearly recognised him, nickering affectionately at the man.

“Yes, I am Miss Brandon. You are the scout from Del Rio?” she asked primly, as if she didn’t have mud on her face and dress and sleeves, and no hat.

“Yup. Come on, he’s in the house. I’m Peter,” the man said. “Budge up.”

Within seconds, Peter had swung himself onto Hallow behind her, and Alice gasped at the impropriety, but didn’t get a moment to say a word as Peter clicked and Hallow took off like a bullet.

As Hallow passed another sign that couldn’t be read, the fire-ruins shimmered before reforming into an expansive and well-lived farmhouse, with a large barn. Out the back, she could see pristine fields full of horses and cattle. It was like chalk and cheese from home, and for a moment, she was jealous.

As they stopped in front of the house, Peter slid off, and tied off Hallow’s bridle to the porch railing, reaching up to help her down.

“Quick now, one of the boys will come take care of Hallow, we need you to tend to Jasper now,” Peter said, half dragging her up the front stairs and into the house.

It felt like a bustle of activity, and was so bright and airy. The smell of fresh bread filtered through the house, and Alice couldn’t help but snatch a look as she was dragged deeper into the house.

“Char! The witching’s here!” Peter bellowed, and suddenly Alice was presented with a drawn-looking woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

“Oh, thank gods,” she said. “I’m Charlotte. Come with me. His fever keeps getting higher, and I’ve tried everything I know. We called out to everyone, but your aunt was the only one who got back to us.”

She was lead into a backroom, where a mattress was laid out on the floor, and the curtains were drawn. And in the middle of the room, moaning in pain and sweaty, was a tall man covered in scars.

Alice tried not to gasp. The scars were quite clearly vampire bites, healed ones. Covens had some natural immunity to vampire venom, but it only slowed down the process and allowed it to be reversed. There were dozens of stories of girls who couldn’t be saved, and had been burnt before the change could be completed. It was, unfortunately, one of the risks of their duty.

“He got ambushed,” Charlotte said, kneeling beside the man. “The harpy practically gutted him, but he got away okay.” She pulled back the sheet, to reveal an enormous wound that had been clumsily stitched, from the middle of his chest, slashing downward over his stomach to his hip. “It needs cauterising I think, but I’m no healer.”

Alice came back to herself then. Whatever was going on here - male Guardians, this untrained woman, all the bite marks - could be questioned after this poor man - Jasper, had Peter called him? - was treated.

Dropping to her knees, Alice quickly inspected Charlotte’s stitching of the wound. “It will need cauterising, it’s too deep,” she determined quickly. “And treatment for infection, but stitching it was a smart thing to do.” Charlotte looked relieved. “Did he get bitten?”

“His arms,” Peter said, and Charlotte quickly pulled off bandages, already blackening from the venom. Three bites on one arm, four on the other. Bad, bad business.

“Okay. Do you have a smock, and a place I can wash up?” she said, standing quickly. Walking into a sick room in her filthy clothes and boots had been a stupid thing to do, but nothing for it now.

“Of course - show her the bathroom, Peter,” Charlotte darted out.

Within moments, Alice had a smock over her underthings and a pair of borrowed slippers - Charlotte promising to wash her dress immediately - and she’d scrubbed every visible inch of her skin as fast as she could, her hair pinned under a kerchief.

It was a very, very long day. The bites had to be purified, cleaned, and bandaged to draw out as much venom as possible; the bandages had to be changed four times every day, to prevent the venom lingering against the skin. Jasper had to be fed the tonic that the aunts had sent every two hours to flush any venom that had already ended his system. Then she had to treat the fever, to lesson his evident discomfort, and treat the infection that had clearly set into the wound Charlotte had stitched, whilst reassuring Charlotte that it was nothing actively wrong that she’d done, just the unlucky result of riding home with an open wound.

But by the time night fell, Jasper was somewhat more comfortable - the moaning had stopped, and with a generous dose of pain and sleep tonic, he seemed to actually be sleeping.

Alice wished she could.

Instead, she changed his bandages again before finding herself in the kitchen, with Charlotte piling plates with food.

“We heard from the others,” she said, taking her own seat. “Days away, Carlisle is furious. Emmett’s already on his way back with Rosalie, but they won’t make it here for at least a week.” Charlotte looked exhausted. “At least they’ll bring supplies.”

“What’s done is done,” Peter said smartly, watching Alice as she began to eat, exhaustion in every one of her motions. “Jasper will be okay now, yes?”

Alice looked up. “Well,” she began, and sighed. “There were so many bites,” she managed, trying to be kind. “And he’s been bitten before - even one previous bite decreases the effectiveness of treatment. I swear I am doing everything I can possibly do.”

“You’re young, yes?” Peter shot back. “Not even a full Guardian yet?”

“Peter!” Charlotte scolded.

“No, I’m not of age yet. My title does not affect my ability - I have been trained. I have completed my lessons. There is nothing I can think of that I am not already doing,” Alice retorted.

“And we are grateful,” Charlotte broke in.

“Yup, I’m positive Jasper would be thrilled that his life is in the hands of a schoolgirl,” Peter muttered before getting up from the table and storming away.

Alice was too tired to be angry, and just sighed and went back to her food - Charlotte was far and away a better cook than the aunts; perhaps a week of edible food, and she’d be filling out her dresses properly.

“I’m sorry, Peter and Jasper… they’re like brothers. They’ve been together for years,” Charlotte said, looking at her plate. “…Please, please don’t let Peter’s rudeness dissuade you from helping Jasper…”

Alice looked up in shock. “No. No, of course not. I understand his frustration, I do. And there’s nothing he could say to me that would make me treat Jasper any less, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte smiled, and began to clear the table. “The guest room is at the top of the stairs, I’ve laid out a nightgown for you, and some towels. Peter’s taken care of your horse, and I’m sure…”

“That’s very kind of you,” Alice said gently, “but I’ll sit up with Jasper tonight; he’ll need watching.”

“Could I help at all? Watch him in shifts?” Charlotte asked, but Alice could see the exhaustion and worry in every line of the woman’s face. If they weren’t careful, Charlotte would fall ill too and she’d have two patients.

“No, it has to be me, to make sure the bites are clean and the tonic takes. We’ll have a better idea of how he is tomorrow, though,” Alice offered. “I would like to bathe, though, if you could watch him?”

“Oh, of course - there’s a washroom in the guest room,” Charlotte said, gesturing to the stairs. “Thank you, Alice. I mean it. Thank you for coming, I feel like everything is going to be okay now that you’re here.”

—

It was a long night, with exhaustion setting in for Alice - she hadn’t slept in over a day, had ridden half-way up the border… she felt like an old woman. But it was her duty. And she would do it to the best of her ability.

Charlotte had leant her several dresses, and it was quite strange to wear a colour that wasn’t black or grey, but a welcome novelty, even if the dresses were a size too big.

Settling beside the sickbed, Alice administered the tonic every two hours, and found herself changing the bandages obsessively, as soon as she saw or smelt the venom. She flushed out the bite wounds - one would need stitching. She’d have to cauterise the chest wound first thing in the morning; his fever still lingered, but the tonics and potions seemed to have had a powerful effect on the infection, with the red veins having already retreated.

Though, she might have to teach Charlotte how to administer stitches whilst she was here. The woman was clearly unfamiliar with stitching flesh. Maybe some rudimentary treatments so that they didn’t have to wait twelve hours for help.

The aunts had packed her two new books to read - purely educational, histories of the coven, that were not even a little bit relevant in her current situation, or interesting. But they did keep her awake.

Morning came, and Jasper’s fever had broken. She nearly cheered at that, and when Peter and Charlotte burst in at dawn, she gave them the good news. She thought that Peter was going to cry - Charlotte certainly did. But then she required the couple hold him down as she cauterised the chest wound.

Charlotte ended up vomiting at the smell, and Peter looked at little woozy, but at least he was held together with more than embroidery thread now. She quickly applied a fresh layer of ointment that smelt like mint and tea leaves to the raw wound and bound up his chest up in fresh bandages. At least Charlotte had the practicality of preparing an immense quantity of fresh, sterile bandages that looked like they been cut from good quality bed linens or petticoats.

The day moved slowly; Charlotte brought her meals in on a tray, and sat with Jasper whilst she changed her dress again, and sent a message to the aunts. Peter was very respectful around her, and brought her anything she asked for - purified water, feverfew, lavender, aloe vera. Jasper seemed to sleep more comfortably each day, as she fed him cold tea laced with every possible tonic and potion she had in her bag and could create from scratch. His bite marks were cleared every day, settling into fresh scar tissue. She was genuinely sorry that they had scarred, but there was nothing for it.

But only time would tell if the venom had made it to his heart.

—

Seven days. She had been at the Del Rio house for seven days and seven nights. Jasper had passed out of danger, and was now just healing, though he hadn’t regained consciousness. But Alice continued to nurse him, as was her duty and purpose here. She fed him careful sips of tea and then herbal broth, to build up his strength and hopefully reinforce his immunity; she rubbed ointments into his new wounds to keep the skin supple and preveshe lnt thick scar tissue and ease any discomfort. She helped Charlotte wash and dress him as soon as she deemed it safe.

That she had not been expecting. She hoped her poker face was good, because she’d really never seen a man’s body before. Not like that - she was only nineteen, had lived with the aunts since she was sixteen and had never been courted. Even her lessons had been done on whatever animals they could hunt or trade for from the market, not really humans. And this man, he was… handsome. He was tall and just the right amount of muscular and tan and, she shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

She couldn’t even imagine her embarrassment if this Jasper had seen her in such a way.

Oh, she was definitely sleep deprived. She had yet to sleep a single second in the guest room, snatching cat naps in the corner of Jasper’s sick room when she couldn’t hold her eyes open a single moment longer.

Which was what she was doing now. She twisted her neck uncomfortably; she’d been sleeping at a funny angle, she’d be feeling that all day. Stretching out, she looked over at her patient, only to see Jasper staring back at her curiously.

“Oh my gods!” Alice gasped, scrambling over. “You’re awake? How are you feeling? How long have you been awake?”

She quickly helped him sit up, reading for the water cup on the beside table. He took two deep swallows before coughing.

“Oh, it’s got lemon and mint in it, for healing,” she explained. “It’s helped, I promise. Hopefully we can get you back to normal drinking water and food tomorrow.”

“Who are you?” croaked Jasper, looking up at her with glazed eyes.

“Oh. Um, I’m Alice Brandon. From the Laredo Guard House,” she said, embarrassed. She was acting like a bumbling sixteen year old trainee, not a proper Guardian. “I was summoned when you were wounded.”

“Alice Brandon from Laredo,” Jasper repeated, a quirk of his lips. “Thank you.” His energy seemed to drain out of him all at once - totally normal for the severity of his wounds and his recovery.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Sleep now. It’s a great healer. Charlotte and Peter will be awake in a few hours.”

He nodded half-heartedly before he closed his eyes again, and Alice sat backwards. He was okay. Two blue eyes without a hint of red, talking and lucid, and drinking easily. She did it.

He lived.

—

Both Peter and Charlotte had wept when they realised that Jasper was conscious again, and Peter had nearly tackled the man when he saw Jasper sitting up, drinking water and talking to Alice, trying to piece together what had happened to him, and to learn how she had treated him - the Del Rio Guard House had fallen to the Whitlock-Hales several generations ago, and many of the old skills - like healing - had been lost.

In fact, it was only him, Peter, and Charlotte who were at the house full-time now - they hired local boys to help out on the ranch that funded the Del Rio clan. Jasper’s own sister and brother-in-law visited regularly, as did various other friends and allies, “but none of us are witchlings,” he coughed. “We were raised in the sun, not in the night.”

She smiled at reference to the old rhyme. “Even your sister?” she asked; girls were kept to the night, boys to the day. Old attitudes that had held true - girls were protected and cloistered (and much less likely to be caught poisoning or cursing) in the darkness. Their herbs and plants bloomed and grew so much harder under the moon than the sun. But boys, they were the fighters, the warriors, and battle against vampires and other dark creatures was best done when there was no darkness to escape into.

“Even my sister,” Jasper had smiled. “Rose would have made a horrible healer - punched me in the arm and told me to ‘man up’ the first time I fell off a horse; my arm was broken. She’s not nearly as committed as I am, but she helps. Her husband’s good at it too, he just married into the madness.” He spoke about his family with such affection, Alice felt a little jealous, but before she could ask any other questions, Charlotte and Peter were there, Jasper just as pleased to see them as they were to see him.

Alice slipped out to give them privacy - a bath and a clean dress sounded heavenly right now, and she ought to send another message to the aunts. She’d help Jasper wash and change afterwards, and hopefully be able to move him from the sick room to his usual quarters with fresh sheets. He’d sleep more comfortably in his own bed.

By lunchtime, Jasper was safely ensconced in his own bed, in a room that overlooked the a paddock of horses. He’d eaten some broth and drunk as many cups of herbal tea as Alice could press on him, as she fussed around. Peter had headed off to get ranch work done, and Charlotte had taken up a vigil at Jasper’s bedside with some sewing.

“Alice, please, you don’t have to do anything of that,” Charlotte laughed as Alice began folding clothing. “You should rest - you must be exhausted.” Turning to Jasper, she continued, “I don’t think she’s rested this entire time - she sat with you every night, didn’t even wake us to help change your bandages. She insisted Peter and I sleep.”

“Oh, I’m up at night anyway,” Alice laughed. “And I’m here to help.”

Jasper was watching her carefully now.

“She hasn’t stopped at all. I cannot imagine how efficient the Laredo House is,” Charlotte shook her head. “Though, I’m sure having proper recruits makes a difference.”

Alice shook her head, as she reached out to plump a pillow behind Jasper’s head. “Oh, it’s just me and the aunts,” she said airily. “All the old families are dying out, and, well, it’s not exactly a glamorous position. I knew I’d be sent to Laredo since I was very small, so I suppose my mother and father prepared me for it.”

“It sounds lonely,” Jasper said quietly.

And it was. She always tried to think of the positives, that she had her own bedroom, and she got to learn so quickly and do hands on practice much more quickly, and there were practically no chores but she had still been alone there for three and a half years. No companions, just duty. It hadn’t felt quite as bad until she’d come here, to this bright, happy place with sweet Charlotte and practical Peter and handsome Jasper…

“It’s home,” she finally said, honestly. “But I will take you up on that offer for a rest. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Jasper said.

“See that you do - you’re my first official patient, and it would look terrible if you died when I was napping,” Alice teased, before slipping out of the room. She could sleep, finally.

—

The next week and a half fell into a routine. Jasper regained his strength surprisingly quickly, and went from being bedridden to eating meals in the kitchen with them all, to back on his horse - an enormous brown beast named Duke - within the week, though he did seem to tire quickly.

He took to showing her their operation - the wall of blessed weapons in the barn and in the house, the modified saddles to carry the weapons, the horses carefully trained to protect their rider and be desensitised to the presence of vampires.

It turned out that Charlotte was a newcomer, a local girl raised as a kitchen-witch whose brother had worked on the ranch. Charlotte had fallen quite hard for Peter, to hear Jasper tell it, and hadn’t flinched when she realised she’d married into a quasi-family of cowboy vampire hunters. She had started a small greenhouse with many common herbs that was a good start, but Alice knew that they needed something a little more robust for their ‘business’. She immediately promised Jasper to write them a list of additions they needed - and send them seeds and samples - and their purpose as soon as she was back in Laredo.

It was all very pleasant, but Alice realised quickly that Jasper was, for all intents and purposes, healed. She had no place here any longer; his sister would arrive soon, and he had no use of a nurse or witching now. She needed to leave.

She announced those plans at dinner that night, as Charlotte presented another one of her delightful spreads.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said ruefully, as they all dug in. “The aunts cannot cook at all.”

“Miss this?” Charlotte asked innocently, passing out hot rolls.

“Jasper is healed,” Alice smiled, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “Your recovery will continue, and you should be conservative about what you take on for a months or two, but you have no need for me any longer. I should return home first thing tomorrow.”

Everyone froze.

“So soon?” Jasper managed, almost looking… hurt?

“The aunts need me. They’re elderly,” Alice explained, “and it’s where I belong.”

Silence.

“Well, we’re mighty grateful you came all the way out here for us,” Peter said. “We’d all be happy to see you around here again.”

“Ah, but that would mean one of you was hurt, and that would be acceptable,” Alice teased. “You’ve been very kind to me. If I could trouble you for some food for the trip home, Charlotte…”

“Oh, of course,” Charlotte nodded. Jasper was focused on his potatoes and not looking at anyone. “You must stay in touch, yes? It’s been so nice having another woman here.”

“Of course,” Alice gushed, trying to ignore the reaction she knew the aunts would have if she started using the messaging system for socialising. “I’m going to be lost without you!”

“You’re not the only one,” Peter murmured, and Alice chose not to pull at that thread, and instead turned the conversation to Jasper’s sister’s arrival and tried not to dread the next morning.

—

It was a moment of weakness when she waited til Jasper was downstairs helping Peter wash up, when she slipped the medallion into his cowboy boots. He’d never feel the tiny silver charm, blessed with protection and a long life, but it would keep him safe.

She tried to convince herself it was because he probably wouldn’t survive another bite, but it didn’t work.

—

She left just before dawn, once again clad in her blacks - freshly washed and mended by Charlotte - and Jasper was waiting there, holding Hallow’s bridle as she walked out, Charlotte’s food tucked into her bag.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said, realising Hallow was saddled and ready to leave.

“I wanted to.” He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful.”

Alice smiled - her black lace dress, from ankle to wrist to throat - was practically her uniform; she had four more just like it hanging in her wardrobe at home. Any particular beauty in the garment had faded the one hundredth time she wore it.

Jasper stepped closer to her; standing on the second step of the porch, they were nearly eye-to-eye.

“I never truly thank you for what you did for me - Peter and Charlotte filled me in,” he continued.

“It was truly nothing, it was what I was born for,” she said, wondering if it was Jasper’s proximity that was making her so warm, or if summer was coming early.

Jasper just stared at her and all of a sudden his lips were on hers.

She had never been kissed before, not even once, and it was… unexpected. Within a moment, Jasper deepened it, and she was properly clinging to his strong shoulders and oh, how could he do such a thing to her when she was about to leave?

Pulling back slowly, Jasper ducked his head. “I just wanted to do that once,” he murmured. “I couldn’t let you walk away without…”

“I can’t,” Alice whispered, somehow unable to pull away. “I… I’m not allowed. I would have to recant my vows, and the aunts have no one else to take on the Laredo house… I just can’t.”

Jasper looked at her. “That seems cruel,” he said in a low voice. “Looking after some old ladies until they die, then being left alone without being allowed anything more.”

“It’s how things are done,” Alice took a shaking breath. “I’m sorry. Please thank Charlotte and Peter for their hospitality.”

And with that, Alice took Hallow’s bridle from Jasper and mounted her horse, leaving for the Laredo house, trying to drag her mind away from what was behind her, from the first (and likely the only) kiss she had ever been given. From the way he looked at her, like she hung the moon.

She was, in all probability, never going to see him again. And that was how it was supposed to be.

#jaliceweek20 #does this even count?#it's set in texas and there are horses #alice cullen #jasper hale #my fic: love and duty #jalice #alice/jasper

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ridetherain · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 7

Febuwhump Day 7: Poisoning

Rating: G

Words: 2379

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Poisoned

After pulling the Master Sword, Link found his life much changed. Moving to the barracks within Castle Town felt similar to his regular soldier quarters in Hateno Garrison, but the city was very different. His old garrison was some distance from the nearest towns, and any mischief stirred up by soldiers was unlikely to be discovered by the public. The ruckus and gambling antics kicked up by the uncouth soldiers were generally ignored. In contrast, people of all kings surrounded the castle barracks. The city folk viewed the soldier's training as a sort of entertainment. The practice yard always had a crowd which kept the soldiers relatively on-task with their training and exercise. Families came with their unruly children and let them mimic the soldiers, and the servants used the area as a breakroom. Occasionally, the captains would lead an exercise for the older boys as a pre-recruitment opportunity. Young women were always around during these sessions as it was their best opportunity to flirt with the soldiers in training. The nobles weren't immune to the fervor surrounding the training yard either. They tended to stop on a walkway and gaze down at the warriors before turning and bustling away whenever another noble happened across the same path.

Several times, in the heat of midday, the Princess even paused on the noble walkway. She gazed down at the orderly sea of soldiers and knights from high above like an angel looking down from the heavens. The men were not unaware of her presence; they worked harder in her view, the ones sparing took more risks, and the ones running moved faster - even Link found himself striking his dummy harder and transitioning between attacks quicker. The air was thick with tension in the yard, and it only broke when the Princess turned her back and continued into the castle. It seemed that the whole company exhaled when the doors closed behind her form. Whispers broke out all around whenever she disappeared from view.

"...the goddess..."

"...Hylia on earth.."

"...beautiful..."

That was another difference between Hateno and Castle Town. Everyone in Castle Town was devout in their piety to the Goddess Hylia. They recognized the old goddesses but did not worship them any longer. Only Hylia filled the hearts of the people here and all others were cast aside. Pockets of the old faith lived in the people around rural Hyrule, and Link himself was raised to know and love the Goddess Hylia in addition to the old goddesses. The Goddess Farore oversaw his birth in the spring, so he worshiped her above all others. She was the patron of his birth, the land he was raised on in Faron, and, now that he pulled the Sacred Sword, patron of his Courage. Link's worship was not widely known but, it would likely cause a stir even without the added interest as Hylia's Chosen. The people of Castle Town were fascinated by the Spirit of the Hero. The children would look from face to face in the crowd of soldiers trying to discern which sweaty body belonged to Hylia's favorite. Their eyes would skip over him and hesitate on the tall and the bulky. It was welcome at first but insidiously worked in Link's subconscious. Why was he chosen? A bigger man, a more devout one, or a more charismatic one would be better than him.

They were used to seeing Hylia on earth when they looked at their Princess. It alarmed them that the Chosen was among them, but hidden. When Link wasn't training in the yard he was put to work as a royal guard. Despite the name, he generally spent his time guarding High Priest Volk instead of the royal family. Volk's fervor for Hylia was off-putting to nearly everyone around him which made him a prime target for pranks but not real attacks. He berated everyone for their failure to observe their devotions to the Goddess to his satisfaction while simultaneously shirking every tenant that he didn't personally agree with. Even the King was not safe from his admonishments though he was kinder about it with the monarch. The Princess took the brunt of his ire and could be seen standing steadfast as he accused the vilest concoctions his mind could invent. She was less than her mother, too frivolous for the Goddess's favor, not pertinacious enough to convince anyone of her worthiness, too emotional for wisdom. The list went on, and the Priest never relented even when the Princess stood before him with a straight back, clasped hands, and a wet face. She endured all manner of physical torments at the behest of the horrid man as well. He would dump buckets of water on the floor to simulate the sacred springs and order days of fasting for her to keep vigil in the temple without rest. When he ran out of steam he would send the Princess to the statue of the Goddess to pray alone while he preached to those who witnessed his tirades.

Volk spared Link his attitude for the first week of guard duty. The Priest seemed to find him lacking but kept quiet since he bore a physical reminder of the Goddess's favor on his back. He was spared, that is, until the Priest caught sight of a wooden talisman sewen to the inside of his tabard. The circular charm was fashioned in the shape of the Mark of Farore and the High Priest nearly fainted at the sight.

"What is that!" He cried in genuine fear. "You are the chosen of Hylia, why do you wear that blasphemous symbol?"

Link looked down at his tabard and back up at the Priest. The Mark was barely visible and pressed to the inside of his uniform. It was a wonder that the Volk had noticed it at all much less recognize the shape for what it was.

"You must remove that device at once," Volk ordered, "It is an affront to decency for Hylia's chosen to wear the device of a different goddess. We do not worship Farore in Hyrule, Master Hero, you cannot think to dishonor yourself with this blasphemy."

The High Priest of Hylia seemed to think that was enough of a rebuke to end a lifetime of devotion. He turned on his heel and walked back into the Temple to begin a new sermon. Link followed behind and stood guard while listening to the lecture on the evils of straying from Hylia and the depraved practices of those who loved Farore. He seemed to think that Link was planning to ritually sacrifice half of Castle Town and then eat the remains. At best, the ignorance was obviously false, at worst, it was actively demonizing Link's family and friends in Faron. By the time Volk was suggesting that the Princess's powers were locked away until such time as the country turned from "false deities" Link was seething behind his blank poker face. When he suggested a quick remedy of shifting the line of succession to a cousin Link was forced to turn his back on the priest under the pretense of facing the statue of Hylia. The Princess still knelt in the damp on the floor in obeisance to an unmoved Goddess. Several days of standing the nave while High Priest Volk made oblique references to Link's "barbaric" worship of Farore and Farosh gave Link all the practice he needed in keeping a straight face and his mouth shut. The vitriol became commonplace and Volk never escalated beyond preaching. Link was not required to like his charge so he stood at attention and let the words wash over him. The common people didn't know about this war of words and silence between the two men. A fervor began to take hold of the community, who believed the High Priest's sudden interest in the old goddesses was in response to a demand from Hylia herself. Volk was revered more than ever now that the people believed that Hylia spoke to him directly.

So, it was odd a few weeks later when Link was nearly done with his shift and saw that nearly no one showed up for the last service of the day. The temple was clear of the usual devotees, and the High Priest looked harried. Link was immediately on his guard, nothing was out of place, there was no suspicious activity or person, but the air felt different. His instincts screamed at him to return to the castle where a whole army was in residence.

"My lord, High Priest," Link said in a low voice, "I believe we should return to the castle. I am concerned that the congregation has not appeared. It is unusual, and I believe you can observe the required rituals from the chapel."

"No." Volk said crisply, "You do not understand the importance of this worship. Since few are here, come closer and observe the practice fully. I insist."

Link ground his teeth together. He could force the priest to return to the castle. He was allowed to force his charge to observe any safety requirements as he saw fit. But should Volk take offense, then he could retaliate. He could make Link's worship of Farore public, which would turn the citizens and possibly the royal family against him. Volk's followers could be convinced to turn their back on not only Link but also the Princess and the prophecy. It was better to get his consent.

"I worship Hylia daily, sir. I am familiar with the forms and I am certain they can be performed in the chapel. I would prefer your safety is assured."

Volk gave a pretentious sniff but bowed to Link's experience. They hurried together back to the castle and found a mob at the gate. They were shouting incomprehensively and pushing against each other, all trying to get as close to the closed doors as possible. Nervous-looking sentries stood guard on top of the wall looking down at the people. Link pulled the Priest to a side door before anyone could recognize either one of them. The sconces were unlit, and the hallway was dark. The stone floors didn't have any carpeting, and the bare walls left the enclosed space chilly.

"Apologies, my Lord." Link said in an undertone, "We will need to cross through the servant's quarters to avoid the throng. Please wait here while I ensure that none of the crowd has entered as we did."

"I want a second guard starting tomorrow," The Priest returned, too loudly, "This is unacceptable."

To keep from rolling his eyes, Link scouted the corridor, and found no unusual people wandering the halls. Several rooms were occupied by castle staff, of course.

"...poison they said..."

"...too late..."

The stable boys were gossiping in their rooms. Link tried to ignore their words until he had a chance to get some real information. He returned for Volk and led him through the maze of corridors until they reached a better lit hall, and Volk seemed to recognize where he was. He took the lead and led Link in the wrong direction for the chapel. They were following a direct path to the royal quarters and from there to the council room. Link took a step inside, did a sweep of the room, then stepped out and nodded to Volk before taking his place outside the door. Other council members trickled in over the next hour until the King arrived, and an impromptu session began. Relief guards arrived when Link's eyes started to blink more frequently, and his stomach rumbled ominously. He quickly made his way to food and information.

The mess hall was packed with the day-shift guards and the afternoon patrol which was apparently pulled in early. Link found a table with the Court Poet, Shant, and a young knight, Zain, who Link found to be restful company and good for local recommendations since he grew up in Castle Town.

"Zain," Link said in greeting. Zain nodded his welcome and moved his tray slightly as an invitation to sit.

"What's going on?" Link asked in a low voice. Despite the press of people, it wasn't loud in the hall. Everyone looked over their shoulders and whispered in hushed voices to their friends.

"The Princess," Zain said, "She's in the infirmary, and they've locked down the castle. Closed the gates and whisked the King off someplace. They say she's been murdered, and the King is dying as well."

Link's heart clenched. This was a disaster. With Ganon on the way and no royal family left they would be sitting ducks. But, he had seen the King not long ago. They couldn't have taken him out of the council room without Link noticing.

"The King is fine. I saw him enter the council room midafternoon, and he was still there when I was relieved a few minutes ago."

"The Princess is alive but unwell," Put in Shant, "I saw her to the infirmary. The doctor said something about silencing a princess, so it must be malicious. I'd guess poison."

Link tuned them out. This Princess was a magnet for danger. It must have been horribly difficult for her to be poisoned right now since the High Priest was restricting her to a cruel fasting regime. There simply wasn't enough opportunity with fewer meals sent to the Princess every day. Unless... Volk clearly was not pleased with the Goddess's chosen duo. The Princess was powerless, and he had made his opposition to Link very clear over the past few weeks. The common people believed the Princess to be the Goddess. It was only the nobility that thought of the Princess as someone replaceable. It was only Volk who policed the Princess's food.

Link couldn't accuse Volk outright. He didn't have enough clout in court. And Volk knew about his Faronian roots, which could turn the King against him. He needed evidence. The spirit of the hero within him screamed for the threat to his Zelda's life to be removed. He would find the proof... After he found an excuse to visit her in the infirmary. She didn't really know him but he needed to see with his own eyes that she lived. She was his to protect.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday7 #loz botw #loz #botw #rainworks

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jewish-privilege · 4 years

Link

...As an Orthodox Jew and an ordained rabbi, I am fully aware that the Torah and CHAZAL/Rishonim/Achronim/Halacha mandate that we pray every day. Ideally, praying with a quorum of ten men, at a minyan in a synagogue is the better way to do the “service of the heart.” From my perspective the Halacha is unequivocal and we are duty-bound to accept it in both theory and practice.

...We must understand the complex reality of human beings in an imperfect but real world. Rav Yochanan ben Zakkai instructed his five great students to “GO OUT and SEE a good path to follow and a bad path to avoid.” Why should five of the greatest Rabbis of the Mishnah have to “Go OUT and see”? Why not tell them to “Go IN and see”? Doesn’t the Bais Midrash contain all of the answers inside its sacred walls? The answer is that perhaps the Bais Midrash alone is insufficient if the Torah is to be a living Torah! Perhaps the lessons of the Bais Midrash must be applied in a practical way to the realities of an imperfect world.

A choice had to be made between observing our religious “normal” and adjusting in a safe way to our coronavirus infected world. What is a valid halachic determination as to how to conduct ourselves? On the one hand, we could choose to change nothing and continue to function as we always have. The downside of that choice is to put ourselves in a clear and present danger of getting sick and dying.

Jewish law is clear that danger to life takes precedence over everything else except for three unusual circumstances. The sanctity of life supersedes all religious obligations. Indeed, protecting the sanctity of life is the overriding choice of Halacha. Hence the social distancing and all sanitary guidelines that we have been following is the expectation of Jewish law. That means no communal prayer services. That means no normal funeral services. That means no Kaddish. That means no Shiva visits. This determination is absolute and irrefutable.

But in the days of social media, rabbinic authority goes as far as the choice to agree with the Rabbis or not. If one feels the Rabbis are wrong, then one chooses to do as he wishes. Hence, wherever the government has not forbidden it, one goes ahead and creates a religious service that does not comply with community standards. You implore mourners to come and say Kaddish. You find a Rabbi who agrees with you and who is willing to break the communal unity and norm. That is what has happened both in our community and in other places all over the world.

In my view, the services that have been conducted to date in defiance of the community are worthless. They are a violation of Jewish law. The Kaddish is of no value. It does not honor the soul of the deceased.

Some rabbis and attendees at these services are well meaning but misguided. Others use the cover of piety. From their perspective, they see themselves as wiser than the community. The Talmud has a term for that. It is called ‘yuhara’, hubris. They say that they are praying for the community and saving everyone from a terrible disaster. They have done a very poor job. Just look at the numbers of sick and deceased people.

...Now we come to a new situation. There is no question that things have gotten slightly better. There is no question that there are ways that safe services can take place. But once we loosen our current standards, chaos will ensue. It is human nature to seek a social environment. Many unsupervised social gatherings (Kiddushes, invitations to meals in someone else’s home) will transpire. Safe standards will be dropped. The possibility is that nothing will happen. So why not take a chance?

The alternative possibility is that one person will get sick and one person will die. Who will it be? Is relaxing our standards of caution worth the risk of the loss of even one life? To my mind, that is called, ‘safek pikuach nefesh’, a possible risk of human life. Jewish law is very clear that for a circumstance like this, it is forbidden to take a chance.

There is always the possibility that the worst has passed and with the arrival of warm weather, the virus will disappear forever. But there is also the possibility that there will be a resurgence. And there is the possibility that the resurgence will be so bad that it will not only afflict people who were not sick this time around, but also those who were sick and felt a sense of immunity. Do we take a chance? Governments are under tremendous pressure to relax standards. And they are doing that! But the jury is still out.

We have no control over what the government does. But we do have control over what we do. My view is: in the meantime, we should maintain the restrictions. I know it is painful. But I also believe that the more pain we suffer now, the better off we will be in the future, for a long period of time. Life might even return to normal without having to suffer the consequences of a resurgence of the disease.

Let us be disciplined. Most of us are well. Let’s stay well. Let’s hope and pray those who are not well recover quickly and completely. Pray at home. No Kaddish yet. Make Shiva calls by phone or zoom. See the light at end of the tunnel. Be hopeful. We shall overcome.

...Going forward, our doctors and religious authorities are of the opinion that at present, things must remain the same for us.

But you will also see that in some communities standards are going to be gradually relaxed sooner than we will do it. As long as they function with their religious authorities and good medical advice, I have nothing bad to say about them. From their perspective they are behaving responsibly. Everyone has the right to follow responsible halachic advice that coincides with responsible medicine...

#Whoever destroys a soul it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world.#And whoever saves a life it is considered as if he saved an entire world.

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edge-lorde · 4 years

Text

original vampire bullshit 2

yep its part twoooooooooo! part 1 here part 3 here part 4 here

i got more than like 3 notes on my last post so.... thats pretty good for an original thing for me, and what is this blog but my magnum opus? theres even room for a part 3.

if u think this stuff is cool and you like it and have questions please ask them of me there is nothing i would rather talk about.

Vampire fast fact I forgot before: vampires don’t have to bite someone on the neck, just anywhere where there is a major artery. They have a sort of venom that puts their human meal into a stupor and it is just the natural painkiller in saliva with an inhibitor thing that makes people not be immune to its effects anymore. Most vampire bites are not fatal and few lead to new vampires.

Think about it.

The average human has 9-12 pints of blood. Red blood cells only live 100-120 days. Plus the fact that the blood vampires are taking is likely to have already been around for at least a few days. I am not going to do any kind of math right now but if every time a vampire bit a human they made another vampire then they would run out of blood eventually and die out. They can take blood from other vampires, but once the humans are all gone they'd be just passing old blood around until it died and so did they.

Much of vampire culture revolves around this idea. Is ebola smart enough to figure out that if all of its hosts die, so does it? No! That’s why it's not the one who gets to decide what a living thing is. Vampires see human blood for what it is to them-- a finite resource.

No one knows exactly how vampirism and other similar viruses first came into being, but it is said that the first vampires were solitary stragglers who had been abandoned by their human communities after they had fallen ill for a time and appeared to have died, only to reawaken and attack someone like a mad beast. These individuals lead hard, lonely lives, for it is difficult for anyone to live in the wilderness alone and vampires are not immune to the many associated dangers of that way of life.

The vampires most sacred bond is that between the sire and the fledgling. The discovery that one lone vampire can make another is not as straightforward as sexual reproduction is for humans (though some may argue that that’s not straightforward in all cultures either) and can be more commonly compared to the discovery of fire or the wheel, though perhaps more appropriately compared to agriculture. With this new tool mastered, the organized structure of the vampire clan could finally take shape, and my pretend world would be changed forever.

A vampire clan is a group of vampires who claim to be descended from the same ancestor. many clans claim to trace their lineage back for 10,000s of years, as vampires tend to live for hundreds of years individually. The social hierarchy of any vampire clan, or “vlan” if you will, places the individuals with the least degree of separation from the founder in the most esteemed positions. This does not necessarily correlate to age because, as was stated before, any individual vampire might be alive for hundreds of years and will thus have plenty of time to sire new fledgelings at any point in time. All vampires in the same clan are considered related. The clans count the number of degrees of separation from the founder as generations, and everyone in the same ‘generation’ are considered equals/cousins. Some clans organize themselves into smaller sub-clans that hither toward a more recent shared ancestor. They do also have the concept of two vampires who were sired by the same parent as being siblings, but the only vampire relationship with assumed warmth is that of the sire/fledgeling. Other familial connections are formal relationships that have to do with status and duty. In everyday life vampires prioritize found family as being the people who should be closests to someone.

This is often used as a metaphor for the entire clan being one large found family, different from human families. While humans do not get to pick the family that they are born into, vampires do get to pick who their children will be. At one time, this was often at the full discretion of the already existing vampire. Nowadays, this is a highly bureaucratized process that takes many factors into account. I'll summarize it here for now-- they look for someone who is in good health, proven themselves trustworthy, shown that they have some value that will benefit the clan as a whole, displayed the drive to ensure them that this person will continue to have all these characteristics even after they lose their connection to human life, and most importantly are a volunteer.

Some clans retain cultural practices from their human cultures, such as marriage. What that entails would vary tremendously throughout time and space. For some it may mean formal alliances with other vampire clans where the spouses don't ever even have to see each other, for some genuine affection, and others a means of blending in with the human population.

Some clans of the past operated as marauders that see all humans as little more than game, others affiliated themselves more closely with particular human communities to the point that they were practically inseparable. Both strategies had their benefits and drawbacks and most clans fell somewhere in the middle. All saw themselves as above human affairs and lamented their reliance on them. Just like in twilight many vampire clan wars were fought over sole access to specific human populations. Many wars were fought against and even alongside humans as well, but vampires do not consider these wars. Vampires are loathe to spill human blood on the battlefield as anything other than a show of power against their true foes, other vampires. They saved their worst war crimes for these true foes as well, the worst vampire-specific one being the removal of their blood fangs, cursing them to an inevitable death drawn out over months. Battles fought alongside humans are remembered either as defending the home front as a shepherd defends his sheep or as matters of the individual. If facing a human foe, the average vampire much prefers to capture the assailant and drain them of blood in their own time. This would mean either all at once or slowly, depending on the relevant circumstances.

Which brings us to how vampire communities are organized in modern times.......

#vampire #vampirism #vampires #oc #original #rambling #Thoughts #murder orcs

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dangermousie · 5 years

Text

I try to slog my way though Kushiel’s Dart

Third time is the charm? In my making it through this book at least.

So far, I am about a third in, which is way more than I made the other two times. By now, I am going to finish this out of mix of stubbornness and sheer boggled curiosity.

Thoughts so far:

1. I tend to love ornate, flowery language (too many Victorian novels in my misspent youth) so the writing style doesn’t bother me. Fake France or Fake Vikings or whatever always make me roll my eyes (just name them France and Sweden and be done with it) but that’s a thing that happens in fantasy too often, so I am immune (case in point - I am currently also reading a trilogy which is very much fake Wales fighting against fake Edward I to get their country back led by son of fake Dafydd ap Gruffudd.)

2. The politics and intrigue are boring. Some people can make machinations seem fascinating (Dorothy Dunnett, I am looking at you), but Jacqueline Carey is not one of them.

3. I have rarely read a novel so antithetical to my world view. I am generally of the belief that people should only have sex with those they love, but I realize that is very old fashioned and people sleeping around in novels (or real life) are not a deal breaker for liking them/understanding them/whatever.

HOWEVER

It is a whole other matter to create a world where infants and toddlers are sold into sexual slavery (ahahahaha sure they consent! A two year old is a master of consent!) and trained to that work from the age of 10 (!!!!!) and this is viewed as holy and awesome by the characters and, more importantly, written as totally fine and cool by the author herself!

But then, it’s the same author who thinks burning a woman with a literal brand or cutting her into semi-ribbons is fine and dandy because the woman gets off on it!

The fake sex positivity of this world is insane. I am sorry, if someone likes to be literally burned with pokers or cut with knives, there is something seriously wrong with them and they need therapy and not being trained to be a sub from the age of 10!

I am not getting into the supposedly lovely father figure for our heroine, who is a literal groomer. In addition to Phedre herself (who of course sees nothing wrong with a grown man buying a child and training her in hardcore BDSM, because she knows nothing else), he has a boy he trains in the flesh trade and is utterly surprised to be later told by Phedre that the boy didn’t like doing the work and was only doing it because he owed the daddy figure a debt. Ummmmm - you basically guilted an unwilling kid you groomed to prostitute himself for you. I hope you burn in hell forever.

Honestly, pretty much every single character in this needs either therapy or jail, and most of them need both. I literally breathed a sigh of relief when Joscelin the Cassiline Brother who actually believes in chastity has appeared at about the quarter mark, because there was finally a character who didn’t bang everything that moved and viewed it as holy duty. Every time he thought Phedre’s job was insane and morally disapproved of all the prostitution = sacred calling, especially if it involves broken bones or extensive bleeding, I felt like my heart grew three sizes too big.

Now, I am sure this is not going to last long, because I know he is the love interest to a woman who loves to be tortured half to death so he will soon join all the depravity the author views as awesome (I have never before rooted so hard for a man to stick to religion before) but for now, at least one character I don’t view as a lunatic.

PS I am a little spoiled and I know that even when they become an official couple, she is gonna keep taking occasional clients either because she just likes variety for her “holy calling” or because she needs someone to stab her with scissors or w/e and he’s not into that and OMG WTF. No, I am not saying she should become a vanilla homemaker who only has missionary sex on alternate Tuesdays. She doesn’t have to compromise herself. But neither should her boyfriend! Either he is OK with sharing her with other dudes and it bothers him zero (in which case I don’t get it at all) or it bothers him but he puts up with it because he loves her. If it’s the former, OK, I can’t get into his headspace at all but you do you, dude. But if it’s the latter, that’s not a good relationship. I think they should go their separate ways.

PPS As you can tell, I loathe this book, but by God, I will finish it this time!

#books #kushiel's dart #jaqueline carey #rants #worst book i've read in a while

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amyscascadingtabs · 6 years

Text

long as my heart is beating, this is it

or, happy halloween have some plotless peraltiago fluff on me

read on ao3

There is no tradition at the Nine-Nine more sacred than the Halloween Heist. There are no excuses, no exceptions, no forgetting the yearly spectacle that is a bunch of cops blatantly ignoring their assigned duties for a day to team up and go through the ordeal of attempting to steal a chosen object in order to be crowned an amazing detective or human slash genius; until there is.

Early in October, Holt announces he will be at an important conference in Washington during the day of the heist. A week before, Charles and Rosa are asked to go undercover for two weeks to get more evidence on the dealer they’ve been tailing for months. Then Terry’s kids bring home a nasty case of the flu, spreading through Terry to the rest of the precinct and resulting in the majority of remaining detectives coming down with a fever.

Calls are made. Cancellation fees for body doubles and ruse pizza delivery guys are paid. Sighs echo through the bullpen when Holt announces the heist will indeed be postponed until further notice.

No one won the Halloween heist last year, but this year there won’t even be one.

It’s lucky there are other things to celebrate. The day after Frans Bruggen’s birthday, National Knock Knock Jokes’ day or Caramel Apple day; the possibilities for festivities are endless, and yet Jake is focused only on one.

“You know what today is, babe?” He whispers it in her ear when the alarm rings at seven a.m sharp. The shrill noise is hurtful as always, but after a full night’s sleep curled up next to his wife for the first night after three night shifts in a row, it could practically be a new Taylor Swift hit.

“Yes”, she groans, voice croaky and eyes still closed. “It’s the first day in three years I’m calling in sick to work.”

“Are you sure? It just might bring about the end of the world, Ames.” She is warm - he feels the unnatural heat emanating from her skin as he presses soft kisses to the side of her forehead. “I’m honestly impressed they invented something you weren’t vaccinated against.”

“No one invented viruses, Jake. And yes, I’m sure. I feel like I’m doing that horrible winter bath with Holt and Rosa again, but I’m also burning up and my throat is sandpaper.”

“Miserable you is kind of cute”, he muses, handing her the cup of water on her nightstand. “But that might be because all you-s are cute.”

“Sure.” She empties the water cup in big gulps and launches straight into a coughing fit before slumping her head back down on the pillow. “Cute is definitely top ten of things I am feeling at this moment.”

He shakes his head, unable to stifle the smile creeping up on his lips when he sees her. She does look pitiable blinking at him with glossy eyes, but damn it if she’s not still the cutest sick person he’s ever seen. “Happy engagement day, babe.”

“Aww. Today’s Halloween, huh?”

“Sure is. And you look so much like a zombie you won’t even need a costume!” His grin is short-lasting, abruptly interrupted by a pillow to the face after only a second or two.

“Screw you”, she mumbles, but he can see the corners of her mouth twitch.

“While a tempting offer, you, m’lady, need to save your energy.”

“Very funny.”

“Constantly. In all seriousness, flu-friendly celebrations will be taking place tonight, so be there or be square.” He gives her one last brief kiss before reluctantly slipping out of bed. “Call if you need anything, okay? I will be checking my phone obsessively.”

“Jake, you’ve got work to do.” “Amy, my wife is sick.”

“Right, right. I forget my husband is a hopeless dork.” She rolls her eyes before coughing and pulling up the covers to her chin again. “See you tonight, babe.”

He’s heard her say it for three years, and it still makes every inch of his skin tingle.

He misses her at work. He successfully bargained with Terry to have the night off - the man loves love after all - and so he only needs to survive up until seven p.m before he’s allowed to leave, but today it’s an eternity. An Amy-less eternity, which is arguably the worst kind of all eternities.

She texts him hourly updates to assure him she’s not dying. He sends back cute bitmojis of the two of them, retellings of the most fascinating arrests of the day and encouraging compliments telling her she’ll kick this flu’s ass and be back in tip top shape in no time. It’s not quite waiting for the last minutes to pass while feeling the ring box burn inside his back pocket, heart fluttering like it’s threatening to jump out of his chest, but she sends him a Die Hard gif after one of the updates and he swears he falls a little bit more in love with her right then and there.

It never gets tiring.

“One Whole Foods chicken noodle soup and one Meat Supreme pizza served room temperature, delivered to your door.” He places the plastic bags on the kitchen island quick as he can when he gets home, eager to join her on the couch. “They made sure to send their most good-looking delivery guy too, so you better give them a good rating.”

She snorts, laughing at him from beneath the three blankets she’s buried herself under. “They did, huh? Can’t argue with that. I’ll leave him a tip.”

“Kisses are accepted as currency at this particular chain. Especially if the customers are hot.”

“Sexist”, she mutters. “And I don’t want to make you sick.” “My immune system has survived thus far, ergo, it’s unbeatable.” He leans over to press a chaste kiss to her forehead anyway. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better, thanks.” Amy gestures to the assortment of napkins, empty teacups, medicine and crossword magazines occupying the couch table. “Lucky there’s no heist this Halloween. I would never have been able to win in this condition.” “You would have figured out a way.”

“Oh, for sure.”

He hums something soft in agreement, moving one of the blankets to minimize the space in between them. Amy looks like she’s about to protest for a split second, but then he gestures for her to move over and soon she’s in his arms, the little spoon for once this time because she’s sick and Jake’s not a monster. She lets out a content sigh when he lets his fingers run through her hair, drawing circles and playing with it to design a strictly alternative hairstyle. A few strands of hair gets caught under his wedding ring somehow, making both of them laugh, and it’s not the electrifying suspense of a Halloween heist but it’s perfection still, this intimate moment of safety and satisfaction and the intangible definition of knowing things worked out in the end.

“I knew you were going to figure it out, you know”, he says when her breathing has grown so even he fears she might be falling asleep. “Last year. I designed my entire proposal after that assumption.”

“I know, Jake.” “Humble as always.”

She shakes her head before turning around to face him with a smug look, lips together in a confident smirk. “I am the last one in this relationship to have been crowned an amazing detective slash genius. If you recall.”

He grins, remembering this night three years ago. “Pretty hard to forget. That was epic.”

“Was kinda brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“It was a genius move.”

“Mm-hmm. And how is that word spelled again?”

“Sheesh, Ames, that was one time!” He punches her teasingly in the shoulder.

“Five, and I screenshotted them all because the fact that you were calling yourself a genius while spelling the word itself wrong was absolutely hilarious.”

“You never forget something, do you?”

“Nope. Congrats on marrying me.” She lights up at her last words, that infectious smile shining brighter than should be allowed, and kisses him. It lasts too short, and will probably cause him to wake up with a fever tomorrow, but he still considers it worth it. “Sorry I’m such boring Halloween company. I know take-out and binge-watching The Good Place maybe wasn’t how you’d planned on celebrating.”

This time, he’s the one to kiss her before answering. “Every day I get to -”

“Nope, nope, nope.” She places her hand over his lips without letting him finish the sentence. “You don’t get to repeat your wedding vows at any given occasion just because they were good. Come up with something new.”

“You’re asking too much of the man who complimented your butt twice in his proposal speech, Ames.” She sticks out her tongue at him in response and he laughs sweetly, linking their hands under the blankets to run his hands over the two rings. “But as long as it’s with you, it doesn’t matter whether it’s takeout and Netflix or crazy-ass heists. Honestly.”

“I love you.”

“Love you more. Dinner on the couch tonight?”

“You got it.” She curls up like a ball with the blankets in the corner of the couch after he untangles himself from her, watching him get to work on heating up her soup. “Oh, and Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for making me like Halloween.”

(Flu-friendly engagement celebrations end up being dinner and ice cream and Amy falling asleep halfway through the second episode, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#oh look at that she actually wrote something #my writing #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fanfiction

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duhragonball · 5 years

Text

Dragon Ball 059

Mercenary F’N Tao! Even Commander Red is polite to this guy, because he knows better. Tao briefly explains that he charges a high price for his services. 100 million zeni per assassination. But, since it’s his 20th anniversary as a professional killer, he’s doing a sale, so it’s only 50 million a kill right now. Black wonders if this is the real Mercenary Tao, but he isn’t so curious as to find out the hard way.

While these guys talk business, General Blue arrives to bring the Dragon Radar he captured from Goku. It’s a big deal for the Red Ribbon Army. Their own Dragon Radar isn’t portable, and it can’t pinpoint the Dragon Balls with the same precision as Bulma’s design, which is why they’ve needed so much time and manpower to locate them so far. Even so, General Blue had an entire company of soldiers and equipment, and he lost all of it just to bring back this one prize.

Commander Red isn’t impressed, since the mission was to recover Dragon Balls, not the radar. However, in light of General Blue’s service, he offers him a second chance... if he can defeat Mercenary Tao in a fight. Blue accepts, though he really has no choice. He can either die to Tao or die to the same goons who executed Colonel Silver a while back.

And hey, maybe General Blue has good reason to be confident. He couldn’t beat Goku, but Goku never really beat him either. He took everything Goku could throw at him, and he kept on coming. Maybe he could beat Tao, in spite of his fearsome reputation.

Back in the Land of Korin, Bora explains the significance of Korin Tower. Legend has it that a hermit sits at the top of the tower, and if a person manages to climb all the way to the top, the hermit will give that person a drink of holy water, which will magnify his strength. Bora tried climbing the tower many years ago, but he couldn’t reach the top. Upa heard a story that one person made it up there a long time ago, but that’s about it, and no one even knows if that story is true or not.

For that matter, Bora admits that the story about the hermit and the Sacred Water may be a myth as well. This is kind of an important insight into Bora’s character. He guards the land because of his sense of duty and piety. For him, it’s the right thing to do, and it doesn’t matter whether there’s actually a guy at the top of the tower or not. It’s not like that guy needs protection anyway, since no one can reach him to begin with. Bora’s a man of great faith, but he’s also very sensible.

Back at RRHQ, Blue and Tao are about to square off. Blue offers to let Tao use weapons, but Tao declares that he won’t even uses his hands or feet. No, he’ll end this with only his tongue. Holy shit this arc rules so much. This is insane.

Starting out, Blue can’t even lay a hand on Tao, and that’s pretty demoralizing, but Blue still has his trump card. He locks eyes with Tao, and uses his psychic powers to paralyze him. Well, that’s the ballgame right there. There’s no way Blue can lose, right?

Wrong. Tao just stands perfectly still, then shrugs off the effect of Blue’s power like it was nothing. I don’t know if Tao is simply immune to Blue’s telekinesis, or if he somehow overpowered it with a ki technique, or maybe the idea here is that Tao is so strong that he can still move even when Blue’s psychic attack is in full effect.

Needless to say, Blue is terrified by this. He’s already tried fighting Tao hand-to-hand, so we know he can’t beat Tao without the psychic power, so he’s screwed. Desperate, he charges right after Tao and hopes for the best...

And then Tao sidesteps him and pokes his tongue into his temple.

Holy fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccck.

Holy shittttttttttttttttt this is nuts. There’s gorier battle damage in this show, but for my money, that dent on the side of Blue’s head is one of the grossest injuries I’ve seen in this cartoon. The discoloration really makes it clear that Tao hit him pretty hard, and at the same time what the hell did he do to him? Blue drops dead immediately. It’s like Tao did some sort of pressure point thing, or he hit him so hard that he liquefied his brain, or... dammit I have no idea.

And Blue was a major player. If there was a stronger guy in the Red Ribbon Army, they never showed him. His rope trick nearly killed Goku, Master Roshi, and Krillin in one stroke. Tao took General Blue down in one hit, and he delivered it with his tongue.

Oh, and by the way, Commander Red owes Tao 50 million for that work. He made that clear up front, but Red agreed because he wanted to see Tao’s skills firsthand.

Red and Black brief Tao on his actual mission. He’s to go to the Land of Korin, kill Goku, and recover the Dragon Balls. Also, he’s to kill anyone else who gets in his way. Tao promises to prepare a thorough invoice for his work. What does Tao even need all this money for, anyway? Black shows him the Dragon Ball they have on hand, so Tao will know what he’s looking for.

Black also offers to take Tao to a Red Ribbon jet, but Tao refuses, as this would take too long. Instead he simply chops a pillar away from the buildng and chucks it into the air, then leaps on top of it, so he can ride the pillar to his destinaton. He promises Red that he’ll be back in thirty minutes. Holy shit...

This guy is off the charts. What am I even watching?

A few minutes later, Tao arrives in Korin and announces his intention to kill Goku for the Red Ribbon Army. Bora insists on fighting Tao himself, as he is the guardian of the land, and he owes Goku for saving his son earlier. But Tao grabs his spear with one hand and physically dominates him. Bora’s a strong dude himself, but he’s nothing compared to Tao.

Tao just tosses Bora into the air, and kills him with his own spear.

THIS IS ALL ONE EPISODE. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE? FUCK.

So now Goku’s pissed and he’s gonna fight Tao. Uh... yeah, good luck with that.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #goku #mercenary tao #bora #commander red #general blue #staff officer black #this saga rocks #commander red saga

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darkballsofsight · 5 years

Text

If two ride on a horse, one must ride behind

PI 03/08/2019

Your name is Pembrooke Ingleton and by the bequest of the equestrian sort, you're on your way to the Church of the Mirthful in the hopes of seeing if any of the goers there have any insight to the whereabouts of one Gamzee Makara. The friendly baker, who you really do hope nothing bad has befallen him. Which is likely why you offered to be the one to speak to the Baron.

Admittedly you are a bit worried about your backup. Not out of anything personal. Just that well, the Baron certainly had a sway of his own when it came to your troll inclined officers. And you haven't had much a chance to see Darkleer in action on the field.

Still, Redglare has full confidence in him so you stand by her, and as you make your way up to the churches door...you are standing by him as you knock. Or ring a bell. Or honk something. Whatever this church has for their door alerting of guests device. Not that you're really too concerned...the way you feel watched gives you the impression he likely was alerted to your approach before you made it up the steps. Also gives you the heebie jeebies.

Creepy creep clowns.

GHB 03/08/2019

Sam was notified when they were about two blocks out. The clown had been...restless. His hier hadn't come to church, hadn't spoken online. For some time...

Others of the church suspected foul play. Sam suspected a bender. Which happens to the young ones, here and there. But.

But.

There had been other dissaperances too. Other derse borns who had come. That do not any longer. If it is a Challenger in his own ranks, he would accept it. But the sneaky sneak of slipping away doesn't sit well.

Silently the churchlings had begun a recovery mission earlier in the week, finding little. But still they search.

Azriphale opens the doors, eyes Byzantine bright purple as he assesses the visitor. He recognizes the inspector ...less so his tall companion. But he has suspicion.

Wordlessly he turns from the door, beckoning them in.

There's prayer, quiet and whispered that feels like it's coming from nowhere and everywhere, candles and inscense rising and guttering with the sound rhythmically. The walls are painted...in paint. Maybe blood, the tang of it heavy in the air. Skulls and bones tinkle in chimes, crunch underfoot...

Then they hear the growls, rattling the windows, echoing off the walls. The throne was empty, but bright eyes flashing purple hung in the shadows of the rafters. Sam's voice sounded like an angry tiger trying to speak, wrath tinging his words.

"Why is you desecrating my sanctum, Expatriate." They can hear claws scratching on wood, but can't see it, fear wreathing around them.

Darkleer 03/08/2019

You've been uneasy since the moment you heard 'clown church'. Purple bloods on Derse you could deal with. Even with the Makara heir, the very same that went missing now. But to know that they dragged their whole faith here... You have a lot of thoughts, and none of them positive. Most of all though, you're concerned about the influence they may have on this city.

But you don't back down from the assignment. After all you want to prove your capability for this job. And you don't want to let this puny human your boss walk right into the clown's den alone and unprotected.

You follow Lt. Ingleton, as quiet and stoic as the Zahhaks tend to do, and you follow inside when the clowns invite you. When you left Alternia, the inside of a clown church is the last thing you ever expected to see again. And the stench.. you're far too familiar with the smell of troll blood. How can this even be tolerated on Derse?

You can hear him before you see him, a still far too familiar voice. The Grand Highblood. That, in their language, motherfucker. Of COURSE he'd be here. Your concern for the planet just increased tenfold.

You don't flinch. Even with his overdramatic greeting, he doesn't scare you. The mind games his ilk can do are not a concern. You have fiddled with your brain long enough so that no one else could. And gone are the times where he is part of the royal caste you have to bow to. He doesn't have power over you, not anymore.

You have a healthy amount of respect, sure. He's still a dangerous individual. But you're more concerned for your company than yourself.

A displeased puff escapes you. You wanted to leave the talking to the Lieutenant, but that ass decided to adress you personally. Oh, how you want to tell him there's nothing sacred to be found in these halls. No, you're on duty and in fact not here to pick a fight with the second-biggest tyrant of old Alternia.

"We are investigating the missing report of a purple blood, Gamzee Makara" you state factually.

PI 03/09/2019

Oh. There's that sensation again, as you feel your heart start to race and a shivver go up your spine. The Baron certainly had...something about him didn't he. Sort of an aura that certainly instilled a fight or flight into a person. Cold and bone chilling indeed.

You inhale slowly, and exhale as well. Logically, you know this is an unnatural sensation...but not that it really helps in regards to lowering the emotional hackles that are now raised and screaming in your nerves.

If there was a history between these two, you'll get to that later. For now, you inhale again and nod as you refocus on the task at hand. "Indeed. According to close friends, he has vanished and in a manner unlike himself. Officer Darkleer and I were tasked to come by to see if you could ask a few questions about when you saw him last."

Glancing up at the rafters, you frown ever so slightly as you briefly recall the last time you were in this building during the whole Trickster fiasco...

"If you would prefer an interview off church grounds, we'd be happy to oblige."

GHB 03/10/2019

He bloody well should be uncomfortable with the clown church. The bright eyes extinguish over the throne, and the fear dissipates. There's silence for a few moments, save the chanting of the Mirthful themselves, ever in crescendo or diminuendo in strange, dysphonic patterns. Sam is moving silently in the rafters, considering how to respond...

He's an asshole, choosing to drop just behind them -Out of reach with the Expatriate- with a Blazing Fear designed to shock and cower. They only hear the softest of footpad falls when his feet connect to the ground, as he stands his full regal height of...not taller than Margrave... Shirtless, polkadotted pants neat andd trim,, but bones and beads threaded together in necklaces and bracelets. Blood maybe crusted under his claws. The glow of his eyes is enough to cast a shadow of the two over the throne. Paint crisp and terrifying as ever.

Sameadi bares his teeth, snarling. "And you bring an ingrate to my church. I am being thankful of the offer, Inspector...but you is already here." Perhaps there's enough to strip the calf from the herd, bring him to his rightful motherfuckin slaughter. He sizes them up out of habit...the only back exit is a hidden door--perhaps perhaps. Give it time, old man. He'll finally reign himself in-giving the impression of instability is always useful.

"You investigate but do not give information, Darkleer. Your report is motherfuckin incomplete, yo work below par. Motherfuckin expected of a traitor and coward." ...Okay he can't help but instigate a bit. Ooops~ A sneer is directed breifly at Darkleer as he turns his attentions to Ingleton.

"We is take care of our own, brother. I is appreciating of yo offers, but our people are our people. Iffen you find them before we does--perhaps it be better for they." He lets that sink in as he pauses. "But We's been searchin fo th boy, being finding little as of yet. His scent been grown dark and cold. There is been others. An I is motherfuckin disappointed you ain't been made th connection. Derse borns not of th church, but come and praise. Gone an missin. Or gone an returned by fire. Do you think not we want vengeance an justice?" His wrath is ticking up juuust a bit.

Darkleer 03/11/2019

He finally deigns to come down. A wave of something washes over you and tickles something in the back of his head. His vile magic doesn't affect you, but you're aware what he's trying. Curse him.

You turn around towards him, making a small step to the side to position yourself between the Baron and the Lieutenant who is probably not as unaffected. While you try to make yourself as small as possible around everyone else, being faced by him, you straighten your back to reach your full height. Taller than him, you'll have him know. Not by much, admittedly, but the point is being made.

You try to keep the thoughts running through your mind low and listen to hi- Incomplete. Did he just. Hr. You huff. He may call you all kinds of names, but to call your work inadequate. No, of course you don't bring information, you have none yet. You came here to get some you have JUST started the work. He ought to know this. How DARE- Hhh.

You choke down so many unnecessary angry retorts and chastise yourself for lowkey wishing to find the heir dead. For all you know, the boy may not actually deserve that.

He doesn't know anything and even if he did, he wouldn't tell you, the Baron made that much clear. "He is not to be found under this roof" you state, for the Lieutenant, most of all, but also as the probably most single weakest jab you could make at the Baron.

Though, the remark about the Derse born. Your ear flicks when he mentions that. That may be a thing worth investigating. "You have no right to take justice into your hands. Not on this planet. You need to desist from action." You're aware what kind of vengeance purplebloods are out for. He won't stop, you know. Part of you hopes. A reason to bring him down for good.

PI 03/11/2019

Despite your frame and average jitters, you aren't what would be defined as weak-willed. One really can't be in this line of work where you're at. But, that doesn't necessarily make you immune to emotion, even when you know something is amiss. And even if you're not cowering, the wave is enough to cause you to find yourself unable to breathe as your legs lock up, freezing you in place as you try to regain your breath.

Inwardly you are thankful for Darkleer stepping in front. Outwardly, you're slowly replacing the pale shock with an agitated expression. You are indeed well aware of the burned bodies, half the reason you came here personally is because you had a hunch perhaps there was a connection.

"That is the problem with making a connection, sir. When people don't take the time to inform us people have gone missing because they're too busy trying to handle it themselves...lo and behold we miss a detail. It would have been nice to know there had been others vanishing, versus discovering this fact after so many others had gone missing." Your stance straightens as you straighten your coat, breathing returned to normal. "We came here to help, so your aggressive posturing and....whatever it is you are doing...is rude. And the implications of vigilantism is noted."

Your nerves are screaming, but you stand ground since you all know if you two were to vanish right here and now that it would be a mess that the Baron and ultimately the Crew would not want to deal with. Especially on a cusp of a gangwar brewing.

"Is there any other connections than Derse born? How is someone able to differentiate a Derse born member of your church from offworld?"

GHB 03/11/2019

That doesn't mean that Sammy isn't thinking on it mightily. His scelera flash red briefly, a low grumbling snarl under his breath.

That puny human is fodder. Darkleer is. Again. On the wrong side. How frustrating. Sam tilts his head to the side, a too wide smile draping over his face lazily.

"S all bout presentation, brother inspector. " He steps around them easily, a sashaying stride back to the throne.

"An you is dismissed, Darkleer. 'd rightly prefer speakin at yo superior." His wave is as condescending as his tone >

But at least he's focusing on the Inspector alone. For now. Darkleer is going to be noted and dealt with later, if his scathing expression relates anything.

"It ain't uncommon fo those who ain't been grown in th church to come an go 's they please." His voice takes a wounded tone when he looks over the inspector. "Were I knowing earlier I woulda said sommat earlier. It were part of us lookin this here week, so's sommat coul be said 't all." If he had had his way, he'd merely point him at the corpses of the desceased and say they came to an unfortunate end.

His head rests on his palm, watching the two of them intently. "Cain't rightly say. Sometides they ain't wear th paint an protection. Th gods cain't see they wi'out 't. Were there of the church bretheren missin I woulda raised th alarm 't a mo punctual tide t yo likin. We is tight knit, we is alway on guard." We're always ready to kill is unsaid.

Darkleer 03/11/2019

Your gaze stays fixed on him as he walks past the two of them. Nothing about his attitude and unnecessary pompous act has changed. The only thing that has changed is that you don't need to bow to him anymore. And yet..

"You are not the one dismissing me" you reply with a snarl. If the Inspector wants you to leave, you will. But it wouldn't sit well with you to leave anyone alone in this place.

PI 03/11/2019

This marks the second time the Baron has pulled rank on of your officers in front of you. Well, in this instance tried to. God...damnit you swear the powerful players of this city are singlehandedly having a contest amongst themselves of who can dance the longest on your last nerve with their flaunting.

You inhale.

Despite your utmost desire, you will not poke this bear. It's tempting to, there's certainly a few choice words and barbed sentences you could respond with...but you have a job to do. A job where someone's life is potentially at stake.

You exhale, and put a soft step on your bubbling pride internally.

"I see." you say, acknowleding Darkleers comment but choosing to ignore outright as you stay on task. Though you mentally note to have a talk with all your blue blooded officers later. Turning to the Baron you continue. "A list of names of those missing would be appreciated, as well as the names of any deceased. We may be able to uncover an unexpected link your own have missed in our teams."

Folding your arms, you give him a somber expression. "We all want to get to the bottom of this, and save those gone missing. Find out those responsible. The more hurdles set up, the longer it takes, and the higher the odds of Mister Gamzee being the next body found increases."

You've already prepared for him to refuse or to continue his focus on Darkleer, which is fine. You've gotten enough information from this meeting as is.

GHB 03/12/2019

Sam has a smug smile on his face as Darkleer is summarily dismissed regardless. The foal could pretend Sam didn't have pull, but clearly Sam is still higher on the food chain.

His fingers snap and there's a wordless whisper, a paper appears in his hand. "Considerin you done notified me a one, this shouln't be necessary. These is ones what haven't come, though they names coul be assumed an not original. Derseborns are...not as strict with names an titles. They's not as often named in records nuther. Sommat I's been tryina address wi th council here."

The thought of these tech phobic fools being able to find something the Alternians could not is a fantasy. Clearly. Hmph.

"An 's Mr. Gamzee Makara. A brother of high birth an accord. An heir to th head of church, should he take ambition." Sam shifts, standing up with an unnerving grace.

"Iffen 't all possible, 'd prefer you t be workin th case, Inspector. Yorn insight an diligence---is far superior. " that's mildly directed at Darkleer.

Darkleer 03/12/2019

The Lieutenant isn't dismissing you, so you stay, though quietly. It's somewhat of a relief that the Inspector has taken over the conversation now and the Baron actually makes a pretense of cooperation.

Your lip twitches a bit at his comment, but you don't let him drag you down on his level anymore. The sooner the two of you can get out of here, the better.

PI 03/12/2019

Gamzee being a potential heir was something you weren't aware of, so huh...another thing to factor. "It would not be my first rodeo when it comes to aliases and I expect it will far be from my last. Still, I've yet to have a case where I had too much information so the list is appreciated."

The possibility someone is targeting purple blooded individuals is unsettling, but that they're somehow able to target specifically Derse-born is peculiar. Perhaps there is a secondary link involved that hasn't made itself aware. You have a few hunches, but that will take work to follow them.

"I fully intend to. He's a good sort, a talented baker. I've had the fortune to meet him before so I'd rather see nothing ill befall him." You stand proper as the Baron rises. "If you discover any further things, it'd be appreciated if you let us know." Appreciated, but frankly not expected. The internal clock in your mind has already set this as a race to solving this before the Baron and his men get their claws on whoever is responsible and then...well you expect everything is going to hit a not mysterious at all dead end.

GHB 03/12/2019

He makes point to note it due to the fact it could give a greater possibility that Gamzee survives. He hands over the paper easily, the ink is of a questionable nature. "Th list ain't complete by far, but these is th missin we've associated wi."

He wouldn't know the secondary link, but he'll gladly postulate on one. "I ain sure whyfor th church folk is targeted, but I am wondering if 't is political in natures. There are many that would be of a dislike of me fo former days--" Pointed look at Darkleer.

"But I's got faith you is in th right in yo search, brother. Iffen you is need any 'll be glad t lend towards 't. " His desire for additional information...mmm. "I'll does mah best if by an large I's come by sommat else. Be looking you on the toolmarkings of th dead, they is alway tell us stories."

He pauses, glancing at a middle distance as whispers of magic float his way. "Our words is alway carried somewheres."

Darkleer 03/12/2019

What. Is that look supposed to mean. Well, yes. You dislike him for former days. And current ones. He's not implying you would have it out for him and his church, is he? You wouldn't sink so low. You're intending to act well within the laws of this planet.

You let out another irked snort, jaw clenched tightly. You're not going to respond to his prods. Not today. You have weathered enough insult and ill demeanor from your superiors over centuries to build enough patience to deal with his.

PI 03/13/2019

Looking down at the paper, the names listed don't give an immediate ping of recognition. But then again names are what they are. Still...it is something to lead onto. Though the realization this could be part of a serial killer or targeted attack is still settling into the equation.

"The help is noted and appreciated Baron." you say aloud, remembing that right...courtesy and protocol. This man is still very much an ambassador for Alternia after all. "I think we can all agree that getting to the bottom of this is in everyone's best interests. And I fully plan to do just that."

There is a pause, as you glance from Darkleer...to the Baron...then back. There's a history there, and as much as you'd like to know it, time and place. "Thank you for your time and assistance. And this information. I'd say we shall no longer darken your doorstep...but..." turning back you look at...well you just wave your hand in the direction you assume the door is in. "...I honestly expect I'm going to bang my shins on every object on the way to the door at this time. Next time I'm bringing a flashlight."

GHB 03/15/2019

Yeah he definately means he thinks Darkleer would sabotage something. Sam's voice rumbles with a growl as the candles in the church grow brighter. In a few padded steps, he's turning the inspector in the correct direction with an amused smile. " D ast tha certain parties being not included in th investigation, but I is thinking that is an ast too far. Th door 's t th right, brother." He straightens again, smoothing down his hair quickly.

"An I knows you is will do yo level best, as I would. Be sure t keep a brother updated some, yeah? I ain't much like t be out th loop in such things." Eyes shine in the shadows as they trace the procession, breaths held in anticipation. Surely the Highblood would spill the blood of the offender. The sancrosanct demands it. He waves off unspoken pleas for blood with a wave of his hand.

Darkleer 03/16/2019

You will personally make sure the Grand Highblood will hear as little about this as possible. Or you will at least advice the Lieutennant of as much, since you are not the one to decide these things.

At least you're leaving now. During the talk your gaze has been fixed on Samedi the whole time. You're only hesitantly turning your back towards him, but you're not granting him even a second of attention morer than absolutely necessary.

You did take notice of the Inspector pointing out his apparently insufficient eyesight. Right, humans don't see as well in the dark. You would offer to guide him or even carry him, but considering your rank, you're not sure if that would be compatible with his pride. You still go ahead, some of your technological parts on your head and under your shirt lighting up just a tad more to help him find the way.

PI 03/16/2019

Curse your Prospitian totally human eyesight. How nice it must be to be a troll or Dersite in the sense of being able to see in the darkness easier. Probably saves a doozy on the electric bills as well.

"Of course." you say, then note the candles light raise. Ok...that was actually pretty impressive presentation. What you'd do to have an ambience like that when officers came into your office. "I'll keep in touch."

You follow Darkleer and graciously manage to avoid dinging into several objects thus allowing you a graceful departure to the door. "Take care, and talk to you later." Even if not about this, you doubt it will be the last time you speak to the Baron.

As you make it outside the door, you give a sideways glance to Darkleer to gauge his disposition. Not really wanting to speak up just yet until you're well out of any remote earshot of the church. This place you swear. The heebies AND the jeebies.

Darkleer 03/16/2019

Your face is hard and grim. This has been a frustrating and frankly mildly shocking encounter. You're not going to speak up about this unless PI asks you.

PI 03/16/2019

After a few blocks, you finally speak up.

"Are you doing alright?" you say with a concerned tone. Now that the pressure of keeping things proper and official is off, you find yourself more worried about how the interraction between the two had gone down. "I apologize for not acknowledging the dismissal commentary. At the time, I felt it would turn the discussions focus on that rather than the task at hand...but I did not want to give the impression that I was ignoring you."

Darkleer 03/17/2019

His question takes a moment to register, so deep into thought and frustration you are. But you stop to look at him.

"You did absolutely nothing wrong, sir. He did, that. Wretched. Two-faced. Pisspoor excuse of a-. Hrhk, pardon the language." You give an angry snort.

"I did not.. expect him to be here. But that explains the presence of his violence-thirsty church."

PI Last Monday at 12:12 AM

"Mmm...my apologies. He has been here a time, somewhat of an ambassador representative to Alternia, or so the cover be." You give a glance around, making sure you're both well out of earshot of anyone and you suspect Darkleers hearing is good enough to catch your quietest mumbles. "All but confirmed to have Crew ties, would not be surprised if his church operates alongside gang activities."

You give him a sympathetic look as he apologizes. "Is it wrong of me to assume the two of you have history? Or is this just an idealological difference in a very severe way?"

Darkleer Last Monday at 9:35 AM

You catch his look around and try to keep your own voice low, even if the anger is boiling up inside you. "I.. served as the Executioner under the Alternian Empire, and he the judge. It was my task to bring down anyone he wanted to see dead - if he didn't choose to take care of it himself. I deeply regret my actions back then, even when I believed I had no other choice."

You had no intention of keeping any secrets, but just as well you didn't expect this to ever be a matter of concern on this planet. Obviously, thinking for yourself has never been your strength.

"He is one of Alternia's most influental figures besides the Empress, much to the chagrin of every other seadweller.. and the cost of everyone below. An embassador he may be, but he cares little for anyone not sharing his color. That he is here.. I am not sure if he would do less harm here or on Alternia.. Best would be neither."

PI Last Tuesday at 8:57 AM

A solemn nod is given. Some of these things were things that you had pieced together, but there was something to be said for having suspicions confirmed and to hear it from the individual themselves. A notch of respect given...goodness knows he isn't the first person on the force who has had a dark past.

"It always baffles me why some of the more...influential individuals would have an interest in Midnight City. It's not even like there is...a lot here? Pardon my rudeness and racial insensitivity here, but I would figure they'd have more important things to do than run a church and petty mobster crimes on a backwater planet....so says the hypocritical man working as an officer on said planet."

Darkleer Last Tuesday at 8:06 PM

You fall silent for a moment as you think about that. That is a good question that you're not quite sure you got the answer to. You have a hunch... a terrible one.

"The Alternian Empire was built on the discovery and... conquest of other planets and their residents. A small planet this is, but a planet regardless." As you try to explain this, another idea creeps up on you.

"Another terrible reason may be that the Empire's control of its people has been gradually slipping since the rebel movements have risen up. A lot of the more.. free-thinking trolls seem to find their way to this planet. Should they ever decide to return, they could bring some radical changes with them."

You haven't gotten to spend much time with the trolls of this city and precinct yet, but considering the fact that trolls of all castes work together and with such a different hierarchical structure was proof of that enough. Putting that thought into words makes you realize though... should the baron choose to influence or cull any of these young trolls, be it your own descendants, the young Peixes or any of the lowbloods, there is very little standing between him and them that can take him on.. besides you, maybe.

PI Last Tuesday at 10:20 PM

That was not something you had considered, but it would make a decent amount of sense if it was the case. From what you've gathered, the trolls born on Derse have already shown radical differences than those who were born under Alterian influences. And who knows...if they were to show that such a life is inherently better, yeah you could see how that would affect a word such as Alternia.

Your frown deepens. "I do...worry for officer Piexes. From what I've gathered, her blood type is royalty. Meaning from old system standards with there being a lack of empress, she would have means to attempt to claim said throne. Considering her connection to Ampora and Amporas connection to Dualscar and..." you take a breath. Curse you connection chain. "Dualscars connection to the Baron...I have no doubt the Baron could see her as a very tempting target to pull under his sway..."

Mm. Yeah no. You don't like that. No sir ree bob. Maybe your just feeling overprotective cause you fed her fish as a grub or something. But mmm...yeah no. No like. Adjusting your coat, you shake your head. "I suppose we'll have to keep alert."

Darkleer Last Wednesday at 9:37 AM

You just give an agreeing grunt. Though you hadn't realized she was connected to.... "Dualscar." That is a name you didn't hear in a while. Not someone you ever got to interact with, but yet another old troll on a planet full of unsuspecting young ones. Hhn.

"We do." Maybe you should talk with the young Peixes about that? She seemed to innocently unaware and unaffected by all of Alternia's system and her heritage and you'd hate to ruin that, but you don't want to have her stumble into the hands of people that might use or hurt her.

PI Last Wednesday at 7:35 PM

"We do." you echo as you bundle yourself up, the biting cold outside suddenly feeling more intrusive than before. "As an aside, thank you for your assistance earlier and for coming along with me for this."

Darkleer Last Wednesday at 10:08 PM

You nod. "No thanks needed. It was my job to accompany you." And you're glad for it. There's a good chance the Baron had no intentions to hurt him, but.. he is still a dangerous and unpredictable man. "If you need assistance in dealing with him in the future, let me know."

PI Last Thursday at 5:41 AM

"Hehe..." you chuckle. "Here I was about to offer the same to you." It's true, you lack the...well beyond obvious physical clout that most trolls boast much less those of Darkleer or the Baron. But you were not without your own authority and connections in this city.

Not that you really expect a lot of legislation and regulations would necessarily stop the Baron from popping your head off your body like a dandelion should he feel inclined. BUT NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO CONSIDER THAT.

"Let's get back to the precinct. We have a lot of investigating and work to do."

Darkleer Last Thursday at 9:22 AM

"I will keep that in mind." You didn't expect him to be of much help to you for dealing with the Baron, especially with him being someone that has grown up outside of Alternia. You might peruse his advice so you don't act against Derse's law. Though admittedly, he dealt with the clown fairly well back then, and especially with his outsider's view, he might open a few new perspectives.

You give him another nod. With all said and done, you quietly follow him back.

#logs

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literaryhaven · 4 years

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Channeling #Hurricane : Prelude: After doing some preparatory #energywork setting some #intentions etc. I connected with the #energy & #consciousness of the Hurricanes and their Higher Self. Hurricane: I am here, I am listening. Channel: The anticipation of your arrival is having an effect of stress and unrest amongst many here in Florida, it is my intention and desire to receive information that would be useful and be in service of the highest and greatest good of all. Hurricane: Fear not my children My nature is not evil I do not cause any greater harm than it’s absolutely necessary I too serve the #DivineWill I too am a child of God I too have a sacred purpose and a sacred duty Mine happens to be to cleanse and to re-align Anyone who experiences me as devastating Is at some level on #energeticagreement with the experience There are no victims In this experience or in life Everything happens in accordance with the #lawsofnature I do not say this without compassion I am aware of the devastating effects I have upon entire communities, villages, towns But it is important for humanity to understand That every experience that comes about You are in collective agreement with I too was created for a purpose As divine as anything else in the natural world I am the effect of a cause Part of which is what you call karma The other part is beyond the understanding of your mind Channel: Would you be willing to elaborate regarding your purpose to “re-align” ? Hurricane: Listen well, do not try to understand I re-align collective energies which are operating out of alignment with the #naturalworld I remove dissociated energetic forms that operate outside of divine will and #naturallaw And cause great imbalances to the natural order of things You could say, I am part of the immune system of the natural world Human mis-creation is only part of that which I cleanse and re-align Channel: Why is it so often the case that certain information is “beyond the understanding of our minds”? This is unpleasant to hear. Hurricane: Humanity has not yet reached the cognitive development necessary to grasp the intricate order of things https://www.instagram.com/p/CELLZpaBp7Q/?igshid=167hgjy3isa99

#hurricane #energywork #intentions #energy #consciousness #divinewill #energeticagreement #lawsofnature #naturalworld #naturallaw

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thesweetblossoms · 4 years

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Buddha’s In The Moon 🌝

🌴One of my dearest memories of childhood, is of my Dadi, i.e, my paternal grandmother, an exceedingly gentle, simple, resilient, wise and pious lady, who I once heard telling my mother, that I had “onek buddhi”, in Bengali, which means, very enlightened. Since then, I have always been attracted to the Buddha, for their stillness, silence and peace. I admire my grandmother for many of her personal qualities, but perhaps the one that strikes me the most is her lack of materialism, often ignoring the expensive silk saris and jewels presented to her by her large family. As an ascetic, she firmly believed in the hereafter and ones duty to those less fortunate then oneself. Now, when I meditate, I attempt to clear my mind, pay attention to my breath and remain fastidiously in the present, to try to awaken to the oneness of infinity, where we only exist here and now. I came across a trio of Buddha figures, at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in the Asian Art wing, reminding me of the awe inspiring figures I saw in Thailand, Cambodia and Indonesia. These sculptures inspire me to rise to higher conscious planes, hoping to ease suffering and expand compassion, however subtly, like the noble Buddha. 🙏

🌕It’s uncanny that the same day I painted a moon, on a full moon day in March, I also read a book on Islamic geometric patterns and purchased by first compass since math classes for my O Level exams many decades ago. With this tool, I am eager to learn more about the properties of lines, curves and circles, as I submerge deeper into my quest to learn about spirals, whirls and sacred geometry. Perhaps the moons I paint with be contained in perfect circles, immune to the flaws of the hand and the mind. Even though it may require patience, skill and persistence, I am eager to learn the skill of drawing the patterns that adorn many mosques, sanctuary doors, harem windows, tiles and gardens, eager to recreate them before I am lucky enough to visit Egypt, Morocco or Iran. I am hoping to give these compelling, provocative and mysterious pieces as gifts, while they teach me more about the indelible patterns that exists steadfastly, intrinsically and mysteriously in reality. ♾

☁️ On a cloudy full moons might, though I cannot see the lunar apparition, I sense it’s energy as it lulls the plants in a lyrical, potent and mystical spell. Here, in my petite balcony garden, double wrapped in blankets, replete after nighttime snacks of kefir, cashews and dark chocolate, pacified by the bejeweled shimmer of a tealight candle dancing in Himalayan pink salt, exhilarated by delicate, eucalyptus, orange blossom and sweet pea perfumed breezes, and delighted by the night birds chanting sweet melodies, I know that I am in a sanctuary, where the lack of sweeping romance, the drifting away of hearts and the unraveling of love affairs, have no sway, where I am bathed in healing balms so rich that I cannot tell if I am awake or dreaming. I notice that the antique street light by the balcony is extinguished, another gift from the universe, like the tantalizing music of wind chimes and the swish of date palms leaves in desert mountain gales, it is, of a darkness, that lets me see. 💫

#healing #lifestyle #gypsy #writer #writers #travel #travelers #buddha #meditation #mindfulness #magic #alchemy

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artsy-alice · 7 years

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you really seem to... like... music? don't you?

i seem to like-… dude. dude. you are wrong.

i don’t like music. i fucking love music. it is my blood. my family.

let me enumerate some fun facts:

my mom as a teen used to work in a small-time record store.

my dad was and still is a DJ.

that was how they met.

they named me, their eldest child, after singer Alison Limerick.

the family business is lights-and-sounds system and services. basically we provide music on special events and occasions. i grew up around speakers, mixers and microphones. it was normal around the household to have a big professional-grade speaker blasting music that can be heard as far as the next street over.

indie late night disco parties were a thing here back in the 90′s. i was like, four, when i started hanging out at the DJ area where my dad was playing music.

also he made sure i knew what songs to play for any and all occasions while i was growing up.

this is how i am immune to all genres of music tbh.

as early as fourth grade, i’ve been tagging along with my dad/uncle/cousins whenever they’re going to be on duty operating the sounds systems on the weekends.

i began joining them and earning some cash for it when i was in sixth grade. :D

i went to a high school with an arts/music program. i majored in music since art materials were expensive. there were at least three guitars in the classroom at all times. half the class knows how to play. lunchbreaks and free periods were always a jam session.

my dad had a decree that no children of his shall listen to music using sucky earphones/headphones.

it was a rite of passage for us five siblings, receiving an mp3 player from santa on the christmas of our first year of high school.

and he had another decree stating that playing music on loudspeaker is not allowed unless the speaker is good.

“why are you using your shitty phone,” my uncle said after finding me playing music via my phone. “play that in the giant bluetooth stereo in the living room that’s what it’s for”, and the whole house was subjected to a recording of a local alternative rock band’s live session.

i am filipino. karaoke is our lifeblood. also, the family rents out karaoke machines for business. my officemates think i’m this god of knowing all the songs in the songbook. i always answer with “it was mandatory education and family tradition.”

so yeah music is sacred. it is life itself.

#personal #(ask)#anonymous

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seppukuspecificallyontuesday · 7 years

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Inheritor of the Well

Entering the throne room was a daunting experience in of itself. And though he had been within many of varying shapes, colors and sizes, the Well had always been too serene, too solemn. From the smooth slate floor- etched with patterns filled by the glowing blue of three different ley lines crossing directly underneath the throne -to the dark ceilings of polished basalt, the pillars that opened the room to the surrounding outdoors, the greenery of the gardens and the forests beyond. The Well proper was intimidating in its stoicism, towering in the center of the room, a throne carved of dark stone and alluring in the power it bestowed upon the rightful king. Through the centuries the kingdom had stood, this hall had never changed; immune to the rigors of time. The tranquility of the room betrayed the tension the knight-protector felt in his soul, a sure sign that his ward was anguished. His ward, his friend, the crown prince.

He stood in the room, hazel orbs sweeping across the room before resting on the throne. Tradition had ingrained upon him that he should take a knee before the monolithic symbol of the monarchy, and so he did, palm resting on the pommel of his sword. Briefly, a prayer passed from between his lips, asking the Above for peace of mind- for himself at least, if not also for his liege. Himself, for the tumultuous duty that lay ahead and for his own eventual knighting; though he had the training, he was still little more than the prince's bodyguard. Only by a realized king could he be knighted, and there had not been a king strong enough to succumb to the Well without dying in generations. The peace of mind for his liege was far more pressing, as his coronation was the very next day. His time as prince was coming to an end, and so would begin his reign as king.

"It's not nearly as holy as everyone makes it out to be."

Adal turned on his heel, his tunic and scaled mail forming a circle as he moved. His prince stood before him, disheveled, eyes rubbed red, cheeks glistening in the muted light. Skewed on his head, the black circlet that represented his position in the royal family hung at an odd angle, tilted on pale skin. Ambriel had never looked quite so tired before, and Adal was familiar with the paragon sorcerer's sleeping habits; he was, after all, charged with protecting his life. He felt a small tug at his chest, like a kitten playing with his heartstrings as if they were yarn, but he quashed it and recalled the reason he had even entered the room. "Her Majesty requests that you present yourself for the vigi-"

"I'm terrified, you know." The pitch-haired prince laughed bitterly, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that threatened to return to his cheeks. A shuddering, another. His shoulders shook as he resisted the urge to sob. Toying with the mink fur at his collar, he took his retainer's silence as an indication that his attention was had. "That thing, the Well, it changes people. I've seen tyrants become shepherds after sitting there, an-and sound minds go mad. I can't stand the idea that I could change, Adal; I don't even know if I've found myself, and now I know that whatever I am now will be gone by this time tomorrow."

The knight-protector Nevarra took a deep breath, releasing it in a gradual sigh as he compiled his thoughts. "If you're looking for sympathy, then your words will fall on deaf ears. Don't give me that look, Ambriel- you know that this is your responsibility. It's your birthright. You are the first prince in generations of the royal family to even be capable of assuming the throne, and you're speaking like you want to back out? That's- that's an almost treasonous waste of your gifts. You have all of the right aptitudes, the schooling to prepare you for your reign, all of the proficiencies-"

"Above damn your proficiencies!" Ambriel's voice was shrill, breaking at almost every consonant as he struggled to keep standing, clutching at his own elbows. The golden-haired bodyguard staggered for a moment, almost taken aback by an outburst from the usually-soft spoken princeling, but he recovered his composure almost as quickly as he had lost it. "What did you expect? I'm first your advisor and foremost your protector, not your friend. That has come over the years, and only after Her Majesty had me swear fealty to you. She has given me orders to take you to the sanctuary to begin your vigil, and I will take you there now."

Adal's lunge to seize the prince was met with a parried hand and a nigh-feral "Don't you dare touch me." He reached out to grab him again and finally clutched at his wrist, securing his grip on the taller but slighter royal. "Now, you will head straight to the sanctuary or I will escort you there mys-"

For a royal whose training consisted mostly of perfecting spells without tomes, Ambriel's left hook was a savage and unexpected blow that left Adal reeling. He released his grip on the crown prince to rub at his jaw, eyes narrowing, leveling a stare that showed the anger and indignation he felt in that moment. "Your majesty, I think you must've mistaken me for a common burglar. The queen mother will be upset to hear that her son struck his retainer on the eve of his coronation."

The prince was clearly incensed and driven mad in this moment, as his next swing was wild and without aim. It was easily dodged and countered with another grab, this time for his waist. As his fingers dug into the black plates of his liege's armor, Ambriel pulled away, sending them both sprawling to the warm stone floor. Adal was quick to seize the mage's wrists, locking them in as the black circlet went bouncing away and Ambriel gasped for breath. He must've been seeing stars, or had the impact jar his vision, as he was slow to retaliate, bucking his hips madly to shove off his perceived assailant. When it failed, he rolled, losing Adal along the way as both rushed to their feet.

For a moment, the two circled one another like lions at the time of challenge. That was before the knight-protector saw the crimson and tyrian flames licking and swirling around the sorcerer prince's fingertips. This less-than-subtle declaration was met in turn, and stark white lightning clashed with a dark inferno as the circle widened. The sacred Hall was scarred by bolts and pulses, the battle increasing to a frenzy as the rest of the palace's inhabitants cowered in their safe places or watched with grim reluctance. Geometric burns crawled across Ambriel's body as a bolt struck him in the shoulder, setting the prince's cape to flame. The blow was returned with vigor, and Adal sported a smoldering burn on his side, turning his cloak to cinders around the burn site. Prince and Protector alike returned to their original place before the Well, clutching and clawing with fingers of fire and digits of crackling electricity.

Finally, the crown prince, burned and gasping for breath, collapsed underneath a blow, sprawled against the steps to the throne. His armor and clothing alike lay in tatters, his pale skin marred by fractals and blood from the corner of his mouth and center of his split lip. His eyes were wide and glassy, and breath came like the tide during a windstorm. Adal still held a sphere of lightning in his palm, charged and ready to burn, scar, or cease the prince's pulse. Ambriel's dark eyes, usually so bright, so happy, held a despair the likes of which no man should ever have to see. They fixated on the pulsing orb, illuminated in the dark room by the light.

"Do it. Kill me." His voice was a hoarse whisper, stark in contrast to the horrendous insults and curses he had flung at his protector, his friend during their battle. His chest rose and fell like an empire, a dynasty, all held in a single exhale and inhale, all protected by the beating of his breaking heart. "I don't want to be someone I'm not. As your prince and your liege, I order you to kill me. Protect me, dammit, save me from being a monster. I can't, I won't, live with myself turning into that."

The orb ceased its pulsing, the hand that held it going slack and falling by the wielder's side. Adal sat down, his leg curling at the knee. He peeled off his cracked glasses, wiping his eyes- whether to get ash out of them or to hide tears, Ambriel would never know -before looking back at his liege. "The queen has requested your presence in the sanctuary. I think we've kept her waiting long enough."

Despite his protests, the screaming and weak slaps to his body, Adal lifted the prince onto his shoulders and carried him to Queen Merhilde. His duty was first and foremost to the queen, not the temperamental princeling who had taken to mood swings and crying in his quarters in the days leading up to the coronation. He reminded himself of that over and over again, well into the night as clerics diligently went over his body with their light. He reminded himself of that as his beloved rushed in, worried as she saw the flashes and assumed the worst had come to pass. He reminded himself of that as he lied no, no it was fine, he and the prince had simply taken to a quick spar and it had gotten out of hand.

He reminded himself of that as he saw the power wash over his king, stilling the fluttering of his eyes and the fright in his countenance, turned his expression into little more than a cold, detached mask of what he used to be. He reminded himself of that as he saw the light in Ambriel's eyes die. He reminded himself of that as King Ambriel Krakenburg, Inheritor of the Well, declared that Adal Nevarra would swear fealty to him, reject the Queen Mother, or suffer the consequences.

He reminded himself as he took a knee and rejected the queen, swearing over and over that his king was his lord and none other would take him from being Ambriel's loyal servant. He reminded himself of this as he rose, a Knight at last.

#fantasy fiction #sort of like #middle fantasy?#never using these characters again lol #hey look i write

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