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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

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runs in the family // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Jupiter and Penny somehow find themselves in 1981. What else is there to do but meet their moms at Motley Crue's first gig?

A/N: as always, for @misscharlottelee and eva ill edit this and tag u when I find ur new url. @compositionnotebook 💖 why did I write this? Because I love to suffer. Also as always, unedited.

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Of course, waking up in a hotel room they don’t remember, with their cousin asleep in the other bed, only to realise that they’re back in LA when they’re meant to be on the other side of the country in the middle of their tour, Jupiter was understandably panicked. They hadn’t been drinking last night, and they’re pretty sure there was no way of them getting across the country without realising, and the idea that something is up is solidified when Penny wakes up and starts panicking too.

The front desk says they’re paid up for the month; the woman’s hair is sand blonde, feathered and sprayed up to the high heavens, while the uniform she wears is the ugliest shade of green Jupiter’s ever laid eyes on, but the woman has the gall to give Jupiter’s outfit an unimpressed look. They’re all for the current resurgence in 80s fashion trends, but it feels like this woman may have committed too hard to the bit. Jupiter, nonetheless, asks the woman if she remembers how they and Penny had arrived, and the woman actually rolls her eyes and says that she’s not paid to ask nosy questions.

It takes the cousins a full hour to find out that somehow they’ve landed themselves in 1981, a full day to believe it, and a full week to fully understand what that means.

“I hate this, I want to do something, go somewhere,” Friday night and Jupiter’s sick to death of no TV and only the radio for entertainment. Whoever had been staying here, whoever’s place they and Penny had taken, had left a wallet with no ID, but an exorbitant amount of cash, and a closet full of clothes in their sizes. It’s eerie as fuck, but the only person who’s come knocking was the housekeeping staff, and Jupiter tells them to go away every time.

“We are near The Strip in the eighties,” Penny suggests, flicking through a newspaper idly, lounging on the bed, “what if we saw young Guns ‘n’ Roses live, or, oh God, what about Motley, could you imagine?” Penny snorted, and Jupiter’s whole expression wrinkles to something horrified.

“They weren’t around yet, were they? What’s the date?”

“April twenty-fourth,” Penny’s expression sobers considerably from it’s delight, adding, “nineteen eighty-one,” much quieter, “fuck.”

They agree to go out, if only to get out of the room they’d been hiding from the world in, rather terrified to face their reality. There’s hesitation; do they get dressed up? Do they use the makeup sitting neatly on the bathroom counter? It felt safer to try and blend in, but blending in with the 80s nightlife wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world.

Both have the distinct, horrifying thought of ‘I look like my mother’ when they’re finished, looking in the mirror, all dark makeup and patterned jeans and leather jackets; there’s a leather miniskirt that neither of them touch, not wanting to go too hard on their first night in the apparent real world. There’s a half empty bottle of hairspray on the counter that they both eye dubiously.

“It would be weirder if we didn’t spray up our hair, right?” Penny says, and Jupiter feels distinctly like a teenager, uncertain, awkward, not quite sure of their style, rather than the early-30s successful musician they were.

It doesn’t end up looking good, at least not to their 2020 sensibilities, but as they make their way down to the street, a woman in leopard print gushes over how good they both look.

It’s sunset, with people looking just as out there are the out-of-time cousins, band posters and flyers plastered to every wall, every telephone pole, every surface available as they walked the six blocks to The Strip. It takes only the ten minute walk from their shitty little hotel, to the Whiskey-A-Go-Go, for the reality it of it all to settle in Jupiter’s stomach like they’d swallowed ice. More specifically, it takes right up until they’re standing on the corner by the Whiskey, Penelope’s eye caught by one of the flyers on the nearby telephone pole, for Jupiter to think to look across the street at the rundown apartment complex that they realise they already know of.

They gaze upon the window of one of the apartments on the second floor, with, even at this distance, a visibly fist-sized hole, gaff-taped up through the window. Jupiter knows that window, even as Penelope’s calling their name insistently.

“It’s April Twenty-Fourth, right?” Penny calls, dubiously, and Jupiter says something about how that’s what she’d said back at the hotel, not paying attention.

“First ever rehearsal we had for the band, I didn’t even see your mom, she was out somewhere, the gym I think, but before she’d gone, she and Nikki had a fight and she put her whole fist through the window; I thought they were the coolest people I’d ever met.”

Tommy’s voice floats through Jupiter’s mind as they finally turn to Penny, to her insistent tone, only to step back, as if burned by the very sight of the Motley Crue poster. Penny was holding one corner in a fist, eyes wide. Tonight. The Starwood.

“No.” Jupiter didn’t even let her get an word in edgewise, but Penny shook the poster more intently.

“We have to,” she implored, though Jupiter was now adamantly shaking their head.

“We have to do no such thing,” Jupiter crossed their arms, cocking a hip. Turning their nose in the air at the poster, they accidently catch a glimpse of what they’re pretty sure is their mom’s apartment, and their expression reflexively wrinkles.

“What if my mom’s there?” Penny says quietly, and oh God damn it, there’s no way Jupiter could say no to that. The walk from the Whiskey to the Starwood is a good half an hour, and they’re both just glad to have opted for the flat shoes they’d brought from the future, rather than risked any of the platforms or heels that were lined up neatly at the bottom of the closet they’d raided. There’s a Motley poster ever few feet, and while dread had settled in Jupiter’s stomach, Penny was buzzing beside them nervously.

The Starwood had closed only months after Motley’s first performance, but both Jupiter and Penny had heard their family lovingly reminisce about it, with photos from the night, from nights before and after, so it strangely felt like they’d been there before, looking at the club’s name up in shining lights, Motley Crue headlining the night just below.

“Isn’t that the guy from Rock Candy?” There’s two dudes a few feet away, squinting at another poster for the band, then looking up to the sign, both of them in leather jackets and flared jeans.

“Dude, fuck, that’s the guy from London, last gig he played, he broke the singer’s jaw!” The second dude, delights, already tugging his friend towards the club where people were already filtering in.

“No man, their roadie broke the singer’s nose after he knocked out two of the bass player’s teeth on stage -��

It was so strange to hear misinformation spread so casually about people both Jupiter and Penny knew so well; they’d both heard the story of the night Tommy and Charlotte had met Nikki and Lola, how London had a small fight on stage that ended up giving Nikki a bloody nose, and how Lola had knocked out two of the singer’s teeth the in alley behind the bar after the gig. But here, now, it was like it’s own kind of folklore.

They follow the men inside.

No-one check their IDs, thank God, their own wallets hadn’t travelled back in time with them. The bouncer lets them pass without issue, and Jupiter is strangely reminded of their age as they see the people around them, a majority in their early to mid-20s, all looking right at home in leather and black denim. It’s still fairly quiet, the stage looking only half set up with a few clusters of people milling around the bar. There’s two people on the stage, setting it up, but with their backs turned, but they’re not exactly recognisable, long blonde hair and dark hair respectively, though the dark-haired one is in a distinctively spiked jacket. Closer to them, however is, a pretty red-head sat at the end, all tight clothes and effortless elegance, one leg crossed over the other where she was lounging against the bar on her barstool, a beer in one hand. Something about her is so familiar.

Jupiter and Penny carefully sit themselves by the bar too, a few seats away from the red-head, looking around but not quite processing it all. They’re at Motley Crue’s first show.

Jupiter’s squinting at the row of drinks behind the bar, trying to decide what to order, when Penny grabs their hand so hard it hurts. Before they can turn back, however, they hear a voice they’ve only ever heard recordings of.

“Aw, Eileen, so nice of you to get me a drink,” Charlotte Lee’s tone was all teasing and light as she took the bottle out of the redhead - Eileen’s - hand, taking a sip as Eileen herself rolled her eyes.

“Lola is a terrible influence on you,” Eileen said flatly. Penny’s nails were digging into Jupiter’s forearm. Charlotte hands the drink back with a fond twinkle in her eyes.

“Lola hasn’t paid for a drink in her life, so I happen to think she’s a great influence-”

“She only drinks for free because she’s blackmailing half the bartenders in town,” the bartender himself piped up, cracking open a beer and handing it over to Charlotte without her even having to ask, flashing a grin that’s all teeth, “you ladies drink for free because I like making pretty girls smile.”

“Ricky, you’re the one who keeps hitting on her,” Charlotte points out, and his expression falls almost comically fast; “you keep taking her back to your place.”

“Only ‘cos she lives with Nikki and I don’t feel like being fucking stabbed in my sleep,” Ricky counters, pouting and flustered, his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s definitely fair, but it’s not Lola’s fault you’re embarrassed about having a nun fetish,” Eileen’s tone is unbothered in the fact of Ricky’s embarrassment, though her lips twitch in the barest amuse smile as she adds, “Father Richard,” and Ricky turns scarlet as Charlotte spits half her mouthful of beer as a laugh escapes her.

Jupiter can feel their heart beat in their throw. This is so real, what the fuck.

“Can we help you?” And then Eileen’s looking directly at Penny and Jupiter, who realise that they’re staring at the women by the bar, eyes wide like they’d seen a ghost. Ha. She’s got a single, perfect eyebrow raised, shifting in a way that’s barely noticible, but so clearly confrontational, like a cat’s fur raising even when a cat doesn’t move.

“Charlotte Lee,” there’s a wobble in Penny’s voice when she finally speaks, and Jupiter can feel the way her hand’s trembling, “that makes... that makes you Eileen -” and she swallows hard, editing the last name she knows so well for the one that Eileen would have had in 1981, “Austen.”

Charlotte and Eileen share a look, and then look back to Penelope.

“Wait right here,” Charlotte sounds delighted, actually addressing Penny with a hand out.

“How do you guys know who we are?” Eileen asks, as Charlotte takes off towards the stage. Penny moves instinctively to follow her, but Jupiter holds her in place. There’s something in the evaluative look she gives them, lip curling just a little, on edge at being stared at by two strangers who must be roughly a decade older than them, who seem to already know them. “Are you friends of Lola’s?” She asks dubiously, and Jupiter is fighting the urge to run.

“Our little brother went to high school with you both,” Penny blurts out, “he was in the year above you,” but something seems to ease about Eileen’s posture as Penny tells her the exact school, and the year she and Charlotte would have graduated. It’s too specific for Eileen to think they’re lying, and for that both Jupiter and Penny are glad.

For all that Penny is Charlotte and Razzle's daughter, she was still raised, at least in part, by Lola, arguably the best liar of her generation. All the various Lee-Dingley-Sixx children had some innate ability to convincingly lie through their teeth, and though it didn't come in handy for Penny nearly as much as it seemingly did Jupiter, she was never more grateful for that skill than she was now.

“False alarm, Charlie, their brother went to school with us,” Eileen calls out, just as Charlotte is returning, dragging a dark haired woman both Jupiter and Penny knew far too well.

Seeing Charlotte at first had been so overwhelming that they hadn’t really processed what she’d looked like, but now, standing next to who could only be Lola, in 1981, it hit Jupiter just how young they both were.

Lola’s still shorter than her own child, but taller than Jupiter remembers her ever being, curtesy of her intimidating platform boots, leather and buckles and spikes, a good match for her spiked leather jacket and studded bralette. She’s all sprayed up hair, larger than life, dark eyeshadow, and fishnets, somehow wearing so much and not at all at the same time.

Beside her, Charlotte is only a few inches shorter, hair just as high, still with dark makeup, looking like a beautiful middle ground between Lola’s intimidating intensity and Eileen’s high glamour. In flashy denim pants and an artfully ripped, hand painted Motley Crue shirt, Charlotte’s the picture of the eighties, as beautiful and bright as any photo or recording Penny and Jupiter had ever seen.

Charlotte’s expression falls with disappointment, but before she can speak -

“You’re twenty-two!” Jupiter hears themselves say, and Lola looks directly at them, lip curling. Jupiter’s blood runs ice cold.

“What?” The single word is so derisive in a voice that Jupiter has never known to be cold, and before anyone else can speak, Lola looks to Charlotte, eyebrow raised. When she crosses her arms over her chest, even the leather jacket can’t completely hide how well muscled her arms are, “Charlie, I love you but I don’t give a shit about two old broads whose brother you knew, we gotta finish setting up.” It hurt like a physical ache, somewhere behind Jupiter’s sternum, each word somehow hurting more than the last.

“Don’t be rude,” Charlotte told her, elbowing her in the ribs, smiling even so.

“I don’t even know my fucking age - who are you?” Lola’s undeterred, on hand holding a roll of gaff tape in a white-knuckled grip, while the other had curled into a fist, weight shifting from one foot to the other in agitation. Okay, that’s very fair, Jupiter regrets ever opening their mouth. Fuck.

“You don’t know how old you are?” Charlotte asks, disbelieving, breaking the tension, and Lola looks back at her, face scrunching up as the tension drops from her shoulders.

“Why would I know my age?”

“Because that’s a very weird thing not to know!” Charlotte exclaimed in disbelief, eyes wide. Jupiter, on the other hand, wracked their brains for any scrap of knowledge they’d heard about their mother’s past and actually retained.

“Sorry, we know we’re being weird,” eyes closed, they took a deep breath, trying to sort out their thoughts, “our brother Leo went to school with Charlotte and Eileen, but we... talked to a band you roadied for, and they told us roughly how old you were, but you look,” Jupiter pauses, cracking open their eyes, only to see the way Lola's expression had softened upon hearing the name Leo - oh fuck, she doesn't even know the truth about her own dad yet! -“younger than I expected.”

“I’m used to Lola being recognised around here, just got my hopes up that it was my turn,” Charlotte admits with the faintest embarrassment, picking her drink up from the bar and taking a sip.

“One day soon, Charlie, if the boys take off, we’ll be right beside ‘em; everyone in LA will know your name,” the way Lola says it is strangely wry, like she’s self aware of the fact that her own name is out there for some less than reputable reasons, or like she isn’t fully convinced that Motley Crue would be the runaway success they all hoped.

Jupiter and Penny share a look, pained by the dramatic irony the three women across from them couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

It takes a moment, and Lola is definitely still a bit wary, but then it passes, and Lola looks to the stage again, still clearly addressing Charlotte.

"If you wanna help me with the last bit, I just need to do a sound check.” And with that, she was off, and Jupiter lets out a breath that hadn’t realised they’d been holding. Penny is still staring at Charlotte, who's rocking back on her heel as she has another drink, contemplating going after Lola, but also intrigued but the two interlopers enough to stay.

Eileen asks their names.

Penny and Jupiter share a panicked look, because they can't just tell the truth, it would make things weird in the future! What if they end up in the present named something entirely new!? They hadn't even begun to consider the butterfly effect of their being here.

"Lisa?" Jupiter says finally, picking a name they'd used in the past, but not for long, a nickname derived from their birth name in honour of their grandmother. Eileen looks wildly unconvinced, but Charlotte, bright and kind and perfect and alive, tells them its pretty. Penny is struggling to come up with an alternative, before conceding that her nickname is probably common enough that it wouldn't really matter.

"Penny's such a pretty name," Charlotte beams, and tells them its lovely to meet them, and Jupiter rests a gentle hand on their cousin's back, a silent reminder to keep breathing, as Charlotte trots off to help Lola with the last of the sound check.

Jupiter orders them both several drinks.

They end up sitting at the other end of the bar, away from the spot Eileen has clearly claimed for herself and Motley Crue's glorified roadies. Penny is quietly trying not to hyperventilate every time she thinks too hard about what's happening, and made a muffled scream upon hearing Charlotte laugh at one of Lola's jokes.

"I've died, Jup, we've died and this is the afterlife because that is my fucking mother, and she's alive, and she's twenty-one goddamn years old. She is a child. Our mothers are children. What the fuck?!" Penny hissed, and took another sip of her drink. Jup was watching Lola, so young and confident and mean as all hell, a defensive mechanism that's only made apparent to be such because Jupiter's known her longer than this version of Lola's been alive. But she smiles around Charlotte and Eileen in a way Jupiter's never seen her smile before, something grateful and adoring at the corners of her lips, an unfamiliar kind of softness in her eyes for just the barest moment.

Lola smiles like she feels lucky to be here, to be around these women, to call them friends. Here and now it hits Jupiter hard, that even decades later, their mother never fully recovered from losing Charlotte.

"We're not dead," Jupiter tells their cousin softly, and they both watch Lola and Charlotte head back to the green room before the band begins.

"But I- how, explain then, how can I go over there and touch her? She's real, Jup, really real, my mother, Charlotte Lee."

"I can't explain it, it just is," Jupiter muses, and finishes of their next drink as Lola and Charlotte reappear, followed by the band, all looking far too young and overeager, and Jupiter's heart is beating in their throat as Tommy Lee beams and waves to the crowd. They're going to be sick. Or maybe cry. Or maybe have a full panic attack right here by the bar. Fucking hell he's even more of a child than Charlotte, only twenty, and just as bright and excitable as they've known him to be, possibly moreso.

The audience seems underwhelmed, not sure what to make of these boys with their leather and hairspray and nervous excitement; Vince introduces them to the quiet bar with a yell, and Jupiter kind of hates that their future step-dad is giving them gender envy.

And then Tommy knocks over his cymbal after showing off with his drumsticks, and Jupiter bursts into tears.

They're furious at themselves for crying, hand pressed to their mouth for fear of anyone hearing if they would sob, brow furrowed into a scowl, other hand messily wiping at their eyes as they mouth defiant swears against their palm. People are jeering and booing, and out of the corner of their eye, Jupiter sees Charlotte actively holding Lola back, and something deep inside their heart knows that if there wasn't stupid fucking tears in their eyes, they'd be just as ready to defend the band's honour as their mom is.

"Oh, he's always been like this-" Penny's voice is softly adoring as she watches the man who will one day be her uncle and adopted father, before she looks to Jupiter, sees them overwhelmed with it all, and mad at themselves for feeling that, and she laughs, gentle and kind and understanding, and wraps Jupiter up in a hug. Its grounding. Even as Jupiter sulkily tells her to fuck off, they wrap an arm around Penny's shoulders and press their face into her hair.

"He looks like you," Penny murmurs as the first song starts, despite the negativity still pouring from the crowd. Jupiter wrinkles their nose, but can't help but smile. Tommy looks incredibly cool tonight, and it's true that Jupiter had inherited a lot of physical characteristics from their father.

Everyone in the bar hears the jeering way a dude in the audience asks about the 'chick singer', and for a moment, the children unwittingly mirror their mothers as Penny's grip on Jupiter tightens, anticipating when they go to lunge for the stage in outrage, but the moment the guy spits on Vince, across the bar Charlotte let's go of Lola, setting her loose on the vitriolic patrons.

Penny and Jupiter knew Motley's first gig started with a fight, but it was another thing to witness it.

Tommy leaps into the crowd, delighted by the carnage that Nikki and Vince are already taking part in, and Lola’s already knocked a guy flat on his ass. Surprisingly, Charlotte lobs her half-empty bottle at the guy who had spat at Vince, not taking direct part, but not abstaining either, cackling when it shatters against him and he's looking around, angry and confused, and Eileen says her name with a tone thats both scandalised and impressed.

In the end, by the time the bouncers step in, all that's left is Tommy absolutely wailing on a dude, and much to everyone's surprise, most of all her child's, little Lola Gone wraps her arms around Tommy's chest, cops a full elbow to the face, and still hauls him up and off his victim like he weighs nothing, even as he's thrashing and swearing and telling her to go fuck herself before realising who it is. When she puts him down, she snarls something at him, and shoves him towards the stage.

By the bar, Jupiter's mouth is agape, while Penny is trying to hold in her laughter, both of them realising just how terrifyingly similar to their father Jupiter actually is. And that at Twenty-Two, Lola is built like a tank.

The things you never truly understand about your parents because you always think of them as your parents is wild.

But above all, in the wake of the small riot, Jupiter and Penny can only feel a strange and overwhelming pride, seeing how eagerly they'd all defended each other.

"Fuck yeah, Motley Crue!" Leaves Penny's lips, delighted, at the top of her lungs, and suddenly the eyes of everyone in the bar, and more importantly, the people these two time travelling cousins will call family, forty years from now, fall on them. Grateful. Beaming. Then, laughter; Charlotte’s.

"Fuck yeah!" She echoes her daughter, and a cheer rises around the bar as the band begins playing again, energy revitalised. Charlotte beams at them, sharing in the moment, waving them both over eagerly as the bartender begrudgingly hands over a stack of napkins, while Lola's got her head tipped back, arguing with Eileen as to whether or not her nose is broken as it bleeds profusely.

Even at their first gig, Take Me To The Top sounds good, sounds like it should, all rough and energetic, and Jupiter knows how strange it would be to sing along at the band's first fucking gig, but the song, even now, feels like home.

"Lola, you're a danger to yourself and others," Eileen smirked, "and you're a terrible influence on Charlie."

"Thank you," Lola grins, right as Charlotte tries to deny it, which devolves into Eileen pointing out that Charlotte had lobbed her bottle at one of the offenders, which delighted Lola to no end.

"Don't know if you would know this, not sure how much your brother would have said," Charlotte says, grinning at Jupiter and Penny, "but my cousin, Tommy, he's the one on drums," she says, oozing pride. Jupiter and Penny both bite back on their instinctual responses, but still the surprise reads on their face.

"The one who did this to me," Lola's beaming despite looking a little like a horror movie, sounding only proud.

"He's certainly energetic," Penny says, finally, before letting herself breathe, watching the band for the moment, "they're really good," like she can't quite believe this is all real, still, "they have no idea how huge they're gonna be," the words slip out quite by accident, and both Jup and Penny share a panicked look, but the words don't get the reaction they expected.

"I knew I liked you," Charlotte's grin is sharp and pleased, and before Penny can protest, Charlotte's thrown an arm around her shoulders, "you've got taste." And that's enough incentive for Charlotte to shout both Jup and Penny a drink, oblivious to the way Penny freezes, like a deer in the headlights. Her mother's arm is around her without her mom even knowing how much this means. She looks like she's about to cry.

"Its really good to meet you, Charlie," Penny's voice is strangely hoarse, strangely honest in ways Charlotte can't even begin to understand, and Charlotte gives Penny's shoulder a squeeze.

"You too, Penny, and you, Lisa," she adds, grinning up at Jupiter for a moment, "anyone who thinks good things about my reckless dumbass of a cousin and his band is good in my books." She's so effortlessly earnest and endearing, exactly as everyone had described her, able to make friends wherever she went. Penny tentatively thanks Charlotte when she hands her a drink, and wraps an arm around Charlotte's waist when the younger blonde seemed content with an arm around Penny's shoulders.

"I can't believe you two are the only other assholes with taste," Lola smirks, holding a napkin to her nose.

"Get bent," Jupiter fires off automatically at the vaguely derisive tone, and Lola flips them off while Charlotte shoves her in the ribs. This moment, in its own weird little way, makes sense.

#the angry lizard writes #charlotte&lola #lola & charlotte #motley crue #motley crue imagine

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sierracolorstheworldofwords · 5 years

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EGOTOBER day 11&12-

Swap and Travel, Yandereplier and another self insert

An: I combined prompts! And I feel like I got really creative with this! I hope you guys enjoy. Also this is unedited so warning

Everyone knows there’s a beast in the woods. Every twenty to thirty years, he demands a sacrifice— he asks for the kindest, prettiest, person in the village. Nothing else.

Nobody knows what happens to those the beast takes. If they die, if they live.. or if they’re simply tortured to death, but after every sacrifice, the villagers soon forget them, living in fifteen years of happiness.

….Until the fear sets in.

Sometimes, the beast is known to come early. Sometimes, the beast is known to come late.

The villagers know this, it has been told to them late at night, by concerned mothers and overbearing fathers, the beast became the scary truth, a bedtime story told to naughty children, but they all know the beast is no story. They know. It’s in their blood. As time draws closer, the village is filled with a fear so sharp it stabs the air like a blade. Parents coddle their children close, spoil them rotten so they may not be sacrificed, scar them, harm them in anyway, so that they may survive.

Willow never believed in the stories though. Even when the elders of the foggy village told her that they were true. So, it was no surprise she laughed when she was told about the sacrifice, the willowy young woman thought it was a joke!

Until she realized no one was laughing.

“You can’t be serious!” She cried, looking at her fiancé, blonde, tall pale man with beautiful baby blue eyes and a deep gash on his left eye, “Darling— this is a joke! Right?”

He looked up at her, sitting on a wooden bench, his gaze shifted for a moment to the elders, wrinkled and grey, who wore tawny long capes. They looked like they were bare foreboding skeletons against the grey evening landscape. It was barley evening, he thought for a brief moment, but the sun was setting. Autumn always did that. Sighing sadly, he looked up at her.

“No, no it’s not my dear.” He whispered softly, tears in his eyes as he looked into hers, the color of lavender. Willow looked back at him, white eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She looked at all the faces at the town meeting, distorted noses and eyes looked back at her.

“You.. you’re all crazy!” She screamed, “You’re all.. all mad! There is no beast! Monsters don’t exist! They never have! What kind of joke is this?! What’s wrong with you all—“

“SILENCE!” A deep voice, rough with time, commanded, hitting a wooden gravel against the podium he stood at, “Young lady. I will not tolerate this behavior. Consider your sacrifice an honor. You were chosen not only because of your beauty, but your kindness as well.”

Willow looked at the older man, whose face reminded her of a starving old cat. She said nothing as he hit the podium once more, dismissing the meeting. She looked at her lover, barely noticing the others as they left, barely caring. Sighing, John blinked away his tears and stood up, grabbing her hand. He wanted to make these last days count.

They both walked away in silence.

Sierra found out the news much later, when Willow, her best friend since the age of six, came to her lonely house at the edge of the village, knocking frantically. She answered the door to her crying friend.

“Willow? What’s wrong?”

Willow only sobbed in response, her pale cheeks going red as tears cascaded down her face. Sierra guided her friend to her book filled living room, sitting her down on a soft green chair.

“Oh it’s terrible! Terrible! I can’t.. I can’t..”

Sierra pulled a matching chair next to her friend, rubbing her back as she sobbed. After a few minutes of soothing words, the woman opened up, admitting she’d been chosen as a sacrifice.

“They’re just going to send me to the woods to die when the beast comes. The elders told me.. when they came to my.. my house— that.. that a storm always comes with the beast.. I’m going to die all alone in the woods.”

The brown haired woman looked at her friend, pushing up her round glasses in thought, before saying, “I know you don’t believe in the beast—“

“I don’t! It isn’t real!”

Sierra sighed, “It is, Willow. I’ve seen it myself, when I was younger—“

“Then you’re crazy too!”

She put a hand up, silencing her, as she continued, “The beast is real, Willow. And.. and it asks for the beautiful and the kind amongst us. We don’t know what it does to them, but we sacrifice them anyway, so that other beasts will not come and destroy our village.”

Sierra looked at Willow, thinking once more.

“I know I’m not beautiful on the outside, but.. according to.. well, the village, I am beautiful on the inside, and that has to count for something.”

“Sierra— what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m going to convince the elders to let me go in your place.”

“You’re crazy! You’ll die out there! You’ll—“

“Willow. Look at me and listen to me now.”

Willow’s purple eyes landed on Sierra, looking deep into her brown ones. They were the same age, but sometimes… it almost felt as if Sierra was older than her, like she knew more things than she could ever understand. She hated that, sometimes, but right now, she didn’t care about the advice Sierra gave out, or how often Sierra helped her too much, she didn’t give a damn. She only cared about her friend. About how she loved her like a sister.

“You have a whole life ahead of you, Willow. I don’t. I stay in this big house, all day, wondering rooms and reading books, sometimes writing. I have nothing. I know no one will marry me, and don’t give me that look like you’re going to interrupt me and say they will. If any of the men here had an interest in me, I’d know by now. So you keep quiet and let me speak. You have a whole life ahead of you. A husband who loves you, treats you with respect, and takes care of you, but also who lets you do the same. He isn’t one of the prideful ones, he’s a good man from a good family. The only reason he wasn’t chosen was because of the scar on his eye. He’s a good man, Willow, you take care of him, but you make sure to make him do the same to you.”

Sierra went silent before getting up and grabbing Willow’s hand. She took the blonde woman to her writing room, and dragged a chair to a large wooden table, scattered with papers. It was clear she had used it, since a chair was already there, she just needed another one to make sure Willow watched what she wrote out.

It was her will, leaving Willow all of her estate. Her parents, before they died in a shipwreck, were famous explorers and merchants, often leaving her for months at a time as a child, so more often than not, she had to take care of herself. She was used to being lonely.. until Willow came, and befriended her, giving her everything she owned was the only thing she could think to do to repay her. After writing the will, she made sure to write five more copies, and showed Willow where she hid each one.

“S-Sierra.. you can’t.” Whispered Willow as Sierra lifted up a floorboard underneath her large table, revealing a wooden box, she put in the delicate paper before putting the wood back.

“I am.” Sierra responded, waking out of her writing room and into her living room. She went to the book shelf, “I’m hiding this in Dickens. Do you hear?”

“Y-yes but.. but you can’t!”

“Charles. Dickens. Oliver Twist. Remember.” She put the paper in. Two wills hidden, two more to go. She made sure Willow signed all of them as her witness before hiding them. She wasn’t going to let the elders steal what she left behind.

“I- I remember but you cannot do this!”

Sierra walked out of the living room, down the hall and into her bedroom, hiding the next piece of paper in a book, this time, Jane Eyre.

“Remember. Jane Eyre. By my bedside.”

“You can’t! Listen to me! Please! You’ll die!”

She ignored her friends cries, and hid the last piece of paper in her parents old bedroom, in the safe behind the family portrait they hung there.

“The code is two-four-ten-eight. Remember. If

You forget, look on page 99 of Jane Eyre, I have it written there.”

“Sierra.. please.. listen..”

“There’s money in this safe. Gold, jewels, valuables. If the elders try to take this house, make sure you get to this safe. Please.”

“Sierra—“

“Please, Willow.”

“Okay..” Willow whispered as Sierra handed her the last piece of paper, she held it tightly in her hands as she was guided to the living room and led to the front door. Her friend opened it, eyes shining with tears.

“I love you Willow. Please remember that. This will be the last time I see you.. so.. just.. don’t be too sad about me. I know I can convince the elders. I know it.”

All Willow could do was say a soft goodbye and hug her friend as she left in tears, running back to her fiancé. Sierra had only one place to go, and that was the elders’ cabin. She had three days to convince them, or at least, that’s what the woman at the market who said she felt the storm coming told her— three days.. that storm comes in three days, and with it, the beast.

Sighing, she gathered her cloak and went to swap herself for her friend.

The sun set as she entered their cabin. She caught them in the middle of leaving. She convinced them to talk to her, and to listen, but they did not fulfill her request.

So, the next day, she went to her secret stack of treasures, bringing out a gold statue, four pearl necklaces, two rubies the size of fists, and a small bag of coins. She went to their cabin once more, early in the morning. They considered her offer, and told her she should come back the next day with more, only then would they consider it.

The elders didn’t argue much about it, gold was gold. Money was money. A sacrifice was a sacrifice. That was all. On the morning of the next day, Sierra was granted her request.

All day, the elders prepared her, brushing her hair, filing her nails, reddening her lips and taking away her glasses (she, of course, took them back, placing them in the pocket of the brown cloak they provided) After telling her where to travel, she left the cabin, making sure to steal back her cloak. She hated the dreadful brown one they provided. If she was going to die, she was going to die comfortably.

As she left, a loud clap of lighting signaled the storm. The beast had arrived. Right on time, just like that lady said.

She took off the brown cloak, threw it on the ground, unfolded her red one, and put it on, along with her glasses.

The villagers looked at her through their windows, watching her walk around the elders’ cabin and into the woods. They had seen so many people walk that same path. Sons and daughters, cousins and friends, and with their losses, they learned to forget. They only remembered that pain briefly, before turning away from the rain filled landscape, and towards their bright fires.

Sierra entered the dense woods, where fog swamped her ankles, made the air dense as she walked through. The wind blew her cape away from her body, and the rain soaked her hair clear through. You’d think the elders would provide some form of cover, but after the first five years, they got tired of doing so.

The rain came down in pellets, beating the ground as it created large puddles, the trees didn’t do much to protect her. Their leaves came down on her, bright red and orange, landing on the ground in a soggy mess. Sierra stumbled over a root, that grew underneath the stone path. She groaned, before getting up, determined. Her knee hurt, and she couldn’t help but limp as she continued in the dense fog, only able to see the rain as it came down from the sky. Even the trees, usually so tall and scary, faded into the mist. She didn’t know where she was going, or if she was going to get there.

Did the beast even exist? Was what she saw when she was a child just a bad dream?

She didn’t know anymore. She remembered her mother holding her as her she cried. Her mother saying, “Never, never go to the beast, Sierra. Promise me.” Her mother sobbed, arms wrapped tightly around little Sierra’s was it, “Promise me.” She begged.

“But, what if someone I love—“

“Promise me.” She said firmly. Holding in her tears as her friend disappeared into the woods.

“I promise.” Sierra said softly, sounding like a lonely teardrop that landed on the ground as he mother cried. Then, her mother followed her best friend into the woods, and Sierra followed her mother. That’s when she saw the beast. She can’t remember the rest. Except her mother was different after that. She forgot everything.

Sierra couldn’t help but feel.. a little lonely as the memory passed her mind, she missed her mother dearly. She.. she still loved her, even if her mother hurt her. Always commenting about her weight. Always saying mean things when she was around. Sighing, she slowed for a moment, wondering if she would ever find the end of the path. After a moment, she continued.

How long had she been here, walking?

One hour, or two?

Was she even walking?

She checked. She was. Her feet were moving.

There was no end to the fog, no end. No end to the fog that kept going and going. No end to the rain, no end to the rain that kept raining and raining. Her legs were going to collapse. Her legs were going to collapse like an old house in a storm. She was exhausted.

Panting, she didn’t notice the fog starting to clear ahead of her, or the rain going away slowly.

She didn’t notice until she saw a tall figure in a clearing, sitting on a stone with an umbrella.

Startled, she stood at the edge of the tree line for a moment, before taking a step forward.

“He-hello?” She called, holding her cape close as she shivered.

The figure turned towards her, smiling, “Hello!”

She took a step back.

It was the beast! He was so, so tall! She barely even reached past his waist! He had horns, long, curved and black sprouting from his head and fangs and claws! Her heart pounded as he approached her. All she could do was stand frozen with fear, her legs turning into overcooked noodles as they shook. Her stomach flipped, burning with fear as her body started to shake.

When he was standing in front of her, she took the time to observe everything. He had red hair, and dark red eyes. He wore a black kimono, cascaded with bright red and white roses, he had a bright red sash in the middle, and a white layer underneath said kimono. Then, cautiously, she looked at his face.

...He was handsome.

Very handsome.

He had some black facial hair, which she liked. His chin was also nice.. and he wore glasses too, which she had to admit complimented his face shape.

When he met her eyes, she quickly looked down, noticing his shoes, she recognized those, but forgot the name! She knew her mother brought a pair from Japan on one of her trips at sea. Then, she looked at his hands, long black claws that faded to red at the tips.

Testing her courage, she looked up again, and took a deep calming breath, straightening her shoulders. She met his eyes, pushing up jet glasses defiantly as she could.

Yan, the creature she was looking at, smiled. Gently, he held out his hand.

“You must be exhausted.” He said softly, “I know a place where you can rest.”

He watched caution appear on her face as she lifted her hand, wondering whether to take his.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

Sierra figured she had nothing to lose, and took his hand. He quickly pulled her under the umbrella before picking her up. She stiffened for a moment, before sighing tiredly.

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah, I’ve traveled a long way to get here.”

Yan’s voice was.. calm, as he spoke to her, but still soft, “You should rest then.”

He couldn’t help but feel his heart pounding in his chest as he looked at her, his little human. Papa had been noticing he felt lonely lately, so Wilford told him to go get the next human who came around, hoping to cure Yan’s loneliness. It worked a little too well.

“I have a question.” Sierra said suddenly.

“Yes?” Yan asked, walking towards another stony path, but this time, it was clear.

“How come you aren’t pink?

“What?”

“I saw you once, when I was younger.. and you were pink.”

“Oh! You must’ve seen my papa.”

“Your papa?”

“Mhm, he usually comes to pick up the humans, in fact, that’s how he met my mom! Right at that spot you walked to!” Yan couldn’t help but think of how romantic it was! And now! He met a human who made him feel.. feel like all the things his papa described when he was in love! The fluttering heart and the butterfly filled tummy!

“...O-oh.. I remember my mom followed a friend who was chosen..”

“Chosen?”

“Yeah.. as like a sacrifice.. because that’s why the humans come, right?”

“No! They come because.. well it’s complicated, but in our world their was a big war, and a lot of people were killed. We were dying out so.. so we brought humans over and.. well.. repopulated. But a lot of humans wanted to go, we couldn’t take them all.. so we decided to just take one every few years.”

“Oh.”

“Yup!”

Sierra went silent, leaning on his shoulder as she took it all in. Her mind was too tired to think, she realized, looking up at.. at the beast, she closed her eyes. He seemed trustworthy, and she was just.. so.. so tired..

Eventually, Yan reached a portal and held the small human close, noticing she was asleep.

“Don’t worry Senpai..” he whispered, “I’ll take care of you.”

Then, he stepped into a portal, leading her into a bright new world.

#self insert #self ship #yandereiplier #yandereplier #egotober #egotober2019 #ego #markipler #fan fic #my writing #sierra’s writing

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kneesheee · 5 years

Text

Little Devil

warnings: threats of death | mention kidnapping | mind manipulation | canon-typical violence

|five|

Jason sat back in one of the chairs as he cleaned the crowbar in his hands. His eyes tracked the movement of the man in the middle cell. The man had crying and screaming himself hoarse as he and Jamila took out his companions. It had gotten to the point where Jamila walked into the cell and forced him to silence or she’d give him a real reason to scream.

He hasn’t done anything since.

Jamila herself had hosed her body down until it was clean enough for her to venture upstairs. She had showered and now she was resting in Roy’s friend Kyle’s room. The space cop sometimes came over with Roy when he and Connor were on good terms. They descended into Roy’s workshop and more often enough Kyle was bringing back metals from Planet Vegeta to fix whatever they broke in there.

Whatever.

He needed to go check on Talia. He didn’t know how long he had been down here. Jason stood to go change when an alert went off on the computer behind him.

His computer was better in ways that Oracle’s ad Batman’s weren’t. They searched for crimes and put pieces together. His idea came from a movie. Captain America: TWS if he was sure. The algorithm was wonderful and once he told Talia about it and let her watch it herself, she stopped at nothing to find someone who could make her something similar if not better. So yes, Jason has his own Project Insight except it was filtered. Potential targets were filed away by threat level.

People were like chess and Jason found that he liked moving pieces into his corner. Almost two-thirds of the people that pop up either work for Head Industries or the League now.

If only he could convince Talia that Tony Stark was not that suitable to be her superhero crush.

(“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong Habibi… he is a man with great influence and an incomparable mind. His morals are unbreakable with knowing when to sacrifice them for necessary evils. My only complaint would be this Marvel continuously writing him to be their sacrificial lamb and unorthodox villain for the sake of making Private Rogers look well. [Its Captain America, T?] Have you not watched the movie Jason? Steven Rogers was made captain to sell war bonds and disrespected a chain of order. It was for plot development that he was made into a captain. In a real world, none of his actions would have suffice. Anthony is practical and though his jokes fall short, it is quite easy to see that he makes up for it. And besides, what kind of woman would I be if I didn’t appreciate his appreciation of a strong woman. He clearly sees females as the superior sex.)

Jason shook his head and paid attention to the details crossing his screen. Roy was calling. He rose a brow and answered.

The red head looked frantic. His green eyes were lit with worry and grief. “Jason! Jay, please. I need your help! Connor’s been kidnapped by the League of Shadows!”

Well fuck.

Damian was brought out of his musings as his communicator went off. He spared a glance at his mother who was recreating a picture that Todd had hanging on his wall.

The person on the other end didn’t even give Damian time to speak before they began barking orders, “Get to the Batcave. The others will meet you there. I’m bringing a guest.”

Damian only spared a minute to stare at his phone before he was abruptly standing up. His mother looked up at him and was on her feet and in a defensive position before he could even blink. Damian tilted his head to the side and hummed. She was favoring her right side leaving herself vulnerable to attacks to her left and then he saw the knife in her hands (and where the hell did, she get that---Todd was going to kill him).

“Pack a bag. We will be staying at castle for an undetermined amount of time.”

She roamed her eyes around the room three times before nodding her head and walking away to what she showed him to be her room.

Cain walked over to him and tilted her head. She ran a hand through his hair, and she was one of the few people who could do so without risk of being stabbed. Damian sighed through his nose, “We need to leave and return to the Cave. Todd is bringing a guest.”

He could feel her nod before she was following his mother. Damian wondered just who this guest was. He hoped it to be their enemy, so that he may show them what happens when one attacks the Al Ghuls. The demon inside him cried for blood. This dastardly attack on his mother cannot stand and someone will have to pay.

Damian smiled a cruel smile. Yes, whoever Todd’s guest was will pay dearly for causing harm to his mother.

All Al Ghuls knew where the Batcave was located. It wasn’t a secret. They knew where it was, how to get in there detected and undetected, hidey-holes, and how to navigate the computer without raising alarms.

Personally, Jamila never bothered with it. She was content to living her life traipsing the globe making a name for herself that would one day rival her parents.

And yet, somehow, here she was standing in the cave with all the bat brats staring at her. Well standing wouldn’t be the right word. She was lounging across their debriefing table cleaning her nails with one of her knives. Her green-blue eyes tracked everyone’s movement and took note of the many exits and passageways she had been forced to learn.

And then-

Her knife fell from her hand.

Jason moved next to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Jamila gave a full body shudder as she saw what her stupidity led to.

“Kalh,” the word dropping from her mouth. She was sure she would’ve sunk to the ground if Jason was not supporting her.

This miniature version of her aunt looked at with something akin to suspicion and recognition.

She drank in the similarities to the woman she knew to the child standing before her. She took deep pleasure in knowing that she looked like her aunt instead of her mother when she was an infant. It wasn’t long before the butler was whisking her away at Jason’s order.

“Who are you to claim relation to the Al Ghul line,” her other cousin demanded. Jamila turned her head to look at him and quite honestly, she found him lacking. Oh, so she can see the potential. She can see where he would’ve been great. But it’s this idiotic way of ignoring his instincts and obviously ignoring his birthright that makes him unworthy of her attention. It’s no wonder that he fell to the end of the line of succession regardless that it was only because of the death of their grandfather.

Jamila only manages to stop herself from sneering. Jason informed her of his infuriating plan. Announcing her as the heir? It was the reason they were in this mess to begin with! And he just goes and saddle her with a title she does not want! That she threw away!

She can feel Jason sigh because he just knows how she’s going to react.

And react she did.

Pulling herself to full height, Jamila looked down her nose at her younger cousin. Honestly, even Anastasia wasn’t this infuriating, and that little spoilt princess made Jamila want to travel back in time and put her knife through her egg.

“I am your superior in all that matters. I am the Demon of Death. The snake cloaked in poisons with more blood on my hands than a blood bank. I am Jamila Al Ghul-Wilson. Daughter of Nyssa Raatko and Slade Wilson. Rightful Heiress to the Demon’s Head.”

“Rightful,” the one Jason fondly calls replacement questioned. She ignored the spluttering from her youngest cousin that she was lying. As if she wanted to be born to either of her parents.

Jamila tilted her head to the side, “Jason has informed me that my half-brother has been kidnapped. It is obvious that my Mother has taken him and with Mistress Talia compromised, Mother has the right to the throne. She doesn’t know about me, so she’d name my brother her heir.”

The blue idiot that had once thrown her cousin-heart in Arkham sneered at her, “Why should we even trust you? We might as well beat you and Nyssa and dismantle the League of Shadows. It’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

Jamila smirked, “You? Beat me? Don’t make me laugh.”

He puffed up and took a step towards her and Jamila’s smirk widen. She could feel interest piquing in her and her fist clenched ready to lay down the truths.

“I’ve beaten your father and Cass beat your mom—”

Jamila snorted, “Irrelevant. I’m a better fighter than both. Lady Shiva has said that I am better fighter than herself. So, you and your Cass- “

“Mila,” Jason groaned. “Do you have to antagonize everybody?”

“It’s a part of my charm,” she shrugged. “We need a plan and we can’t really do anything until the Mistress is back to her rightful age.”

She pulled a jump drive out of her pocket and handed it to Jason. He had already read all the information on there and copied it to his own computer. Jamila smirked. She also knew he made the data unable to copied again to try would upload a virus on the device download so viscous that no data would ever be able to be added.

Her cousin looked at her with amusement in his unmasked eyes as he moved towards the Bat. Her eyes tracked the Batman’s movement and she couldn’t see what her aunt saw in him. He was so plain.

Jamila trailed her eyes around the room before the sound of people entering caught her attention. She glanced over at the newcomers. She quirked a brow when she saw Jason’s friends.

The clone that Jason took after like a father to a son bumbled down happily alongside the Amazon with the eye-catching thighs. Jamila was suddenly glad that she had her own mask covering her face. Those thighs looked completely delicious.

Following behind them were the alien princess that Jason also befriended. Jamila trailed her eyes down her body. Now this was a woman. She didn’t understand how Jason managed to control himself with such beautiful women surrounding him. And honestly, it is no secret between the two cousins that they both have a thing for strong women.

Following behind them was the red head archer. The one Jason told her was the adopted brother of her mother’s son. And from the way the others following behind could only be his family. Her lips curled back in a snarl.

She had no use of compromised agents.

Jamila could feel a heavy stare on her, and her gaze trailed across the room until she could see Lady Shiva’s daughter staring at her. Jamila wondered what she could read through her body language before she shrugged uncaringly and made her way to Jason’s side.

“Remind why I exactly did I allow you drag me here with these imbeciles,” the Farsi language dripped off her tongue like water and she inwardly smiled. She had done her research on all of them, and she knew for a fact that none of them spoke Farsi. But she almost remembered Jason mentioning that the alien had to actually kiss people to learn new languages and well Jamila knew a lot of languages.

“Because we have to stop your mom and we have strength in numbers,” Jason replied absently as he and the Bat looked over the information on the junk drive. Jamila glanced up at it and inwardly snorted. She hoped that they weren’t thinking of leading an attack going by the old structure of the compound.

“But- “

“You can also use them as distractions while you proceed to beat the shit out of your mother and declare yourself the best of the Al Ghul lineage.”

Well it was true. It was she who took down her grandfather for good after all. Though it was also nice to have facts and her mother, and her brother was the one Al Ghul she hadn’t fought. Damian hadn’t counted. He would need help to beat her just like Anastasia. She will fight them when they are older and more experienced. She scowled, “Damn you and my competitive nature.”

“What are the two of you talking about?”

It was the blue idiot again. She whirled around ready to continue her verbal onslaught when Jason placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Its none of your business, Dickhead.”

Jamila inwardly smirked before she turned back towards the computer. She noted the routes that they planned on taking. “Shouldn’t we be focusing on fixing Aunt Talia instead of planning the attack?”

“You know Batman has to be prepared. Uh… you know he has contingency plans for his contingency plans.”

If she didn’t stop now, she was sure her face would be stuck in a permanent scowl. “In other words, he’d rather be an idiot and focus on the problem that Connor has been kidnapped instead of the obvious connection that this is just a ploy.”

“Well when you put it that way… Ouch!”

Jason rubbed the back of his head from where she had slapped it and the two of them stood glaring at each other. His eyes to her mask. She sighed deeply and it felt as if a weight had gathered on her shoulders.

“We need the Mistress to be back to her right age. It’s imperative- “

“Okay enough of this! How can you expect us to work together when we don’t even know what you’re saying!”

She was going to shove that escrima stick so far up his ass.

“Jamila knows what’s at stake and I trust her to have our back.”

“You might trust her, but I don’t,” he exclaimed. His fist clenched and his gaze darkened with every glance he spared the cousins. Jamila was struck with a sudden realization and she laughed aloud.

“By the demon, he’s jealous!”

Honestly, she couldn’t stop her shaking shoulders if she tried. It was just hilarious.

“What,” Jason’s words were followed by an almost immediate denial of, “No I am not,” from the Dickhead?

“Hate to say it ‘Wing, but you totally are,” the blonde and purple one stated. “You’ve been in this weird state of confusion and jealousy since everything started. You’re almost bad as B.”

Jamila perked with interest before turning to look at Batman. He was jealous?

“This family is fucking weird,” Jason grumbled before pointedly turning away. “Can we focus on the mission now? I think we’ve got a good plan to rescue to Connor.”

They all moved to crowd around the screen even Jason’s friends and the Arrows. Jamila stiffened and quickly moved away. She knew none of them well enough for them to be so close in her personal space.

She sniffed disdainfully from her reclaimed spot on their debriefing table returned to cleaning her nails. She paid little attention to the plan they were going over and honestly, it was a shit plan. Going in through the cover of night? Cliché. Taking down the systems? Predictable and inclined to fail by the five multilayered and encrypted security systems. Hit them before they see you takedown? Unlikely to work with the patrol.

“It won’t work.”

It was as if the world stopped. She rose a brow in challenge.

“What?” Roy asked with such heartbreak on his face that she might have felt guilty. But she didn’t know him. Didn’t care for him. Didn’t care about him. So no, she didn’t feel guilty.

“It will not work,” she shrugged. “The compound has changed for one. These plans you are looking at come from Construction 855b. It hasn’t looked like that for six months now. I should know. I was there when the changes began.”

“You didn’t think to let us know before we started planning,” the Dickhead growled. Jamila sighed deeply.

“I do not like you and it is only out of respect for my cousins that I have not beheaded you.”

She took little notice of how the yellow bat took a cautious step away from her and closer to Lady Shiva’s daughter.

“Mila,” Jason groaned and pressed his hands into his face. She shrugged.

“I have already stated that we cannot do anything until Mistress Talia is back to her rightful age.”

“I’m sorry, but who are you again?” She switched her gaze to the person that had spoken. The Green Arrow. Her mother’s second husband.

She smiled sweetly, “I am Jamila. Jason’s cousin.”

The alien flew close to her and Jamila deserve a reward for not stabbing her in the eye. “Ahh, you are cousin in the picture on Jason’s nightstand. It is nice to finally meet you. I am Koriand'r.”

A small smile pulled at her lips. It was not fond. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

But the peacefulness couldn’t last long because the Blue Idiot was back, and he brought a friend. The girl glared at her suspiciously and Jamila stared back blankly. “You’re hiding something,” she accused.

“I am hiding a lot of things,” Jamila stated. “‘Tis not a crime. And it is none of your business.”

“Its my business if it leads to any of them getting hurt,” she shot back, and Jamila smiled sharply. The Blue Idiot narrowed his eyes at her before moving to once again complain to Jason. Idiot. “And as I have just stated, it isn’t any of your business.”

“I don’t trust you,” she sneered. And Jamila laughed again, “The feeling is quite mutual.”

The girl searched her features before sighing, “Look- “

“No, you look… I care for none of you. I do not like any of you and if you died, I would not shed a tear. The only people on this property that are worth my attention are Jason, Damian, and my aunt. I am only here out of loyalty to them. You all want to rescue Connor and I do not blame you for that but getting my aunt back to her rightful age is the only way. And I care not for your opinion. It hasn’t been worth anything ever since the words ‘You’ll never be Dick Grayson’ tumbled out your mouth. Do not think that I do not know who you are Barbara Gordon. Because I do and I do not care.”

“Why is getting Talia back so important to you,” the blonde asked as she walked over. If she had been trying to be intimidating, then she needed work.

“She is my aunt.”

The blonde (Stephanie, her mind supplied) looked at her in frustration, “Well yeah, I get that. But why is it more important than saving Connor? I mean she’ll still be here if we go after him first.”

Jamila rolled her eyes at the ignorance being presented in front of her. She cast a glance around the room and notice how they seemed to have garnered everyone’s attention, “Look you guys don’t trust me. I get that. Jaycee’s word isn’t enough. But Talia is my aunt and the only person standing in this room besides me and Jason that she cares for is Damian. You don’t want to help her? That’s cool. That’s fine. But if you so much as think you’re going to stop me… ME… from helping her? I will kill all you right now and fix her myself.”

She laughed at the way they all tensed defensively. She rose a brow watching how the archers’ fingers flexed as they controlled themselves. Batman attempted to stare her down, “We don’t have the time to spare- “

“Make it,” she cut him off. “The Mistress is way more important than my brother right now.”

“Brother,” the Green Arrow choked. She sneered, “You are so not my father.”

She turned back towards the back, “Mother will do nothing to Connor now that she has him, but she does want Talia. She will stop at nothing to get her. Right now, she’s protected. None of Nyssa’s operatives can enter Gotham without facing death.”

“We’re not- “

“Tawaquf,” she stated and watched as all the Bats and Jason freeze up. Weapons were pointed at her and she flipped out of the way as the alien princess and amazon headed for her. “I apologize for the distress Jason, but I do not have the patience to play these games with them.”

“Undo whatever it that you have done, and I will not kill you quickly,” the Amazon snarled. Jamila smiled in challenge. Now that would be a good fight. She turned her head in interest ready to apply pressure. She could feel something awakening in her as its power seeped through her pores. It coated the room before wrapping around her in a cocoon.

“I will like to see you try,” she teased. She could see the way Shiva’s daughter attempted flinched away. She could see how Jason and Damian both wanted to move forward and embrace her.

“The Lazarus Demon,” she heard. Her gaze flittered over towards the Green Arrow and Black Canary. She saw the way the Amazon flinched away. “You recognize my friend? How?”

Then she shook her head, “Never mind. That is irrelevant. The code word I used was a trigger into an automated system that my grandfather had injected into the blood of all operatives of the Bat including you, cousin mine. You might not remember but the Mistress has used it on you plenty because of your past with the pits.”

Jamila moved towards the Bat computer and began to search. Jason had told her that the Bat had most of the things needed for the scientific part of the cure. It was the magical part that will be a problem. But like her cousin, she’s had some fun traveling through the multiverse and she met people.

She turned towards the others in the room. The Outlaws and the Arrows. “I will help you that I promise, but Mother will be prepared for retaliation. By kidnapping Connor, she knows that you all will follow. This can either go two ways. She will believe that Jason will follow you out of loyalty and thus leave Mistress Talia vulnerable. She may cannot get any of her operatives in here but that doesn’t mean she cannot pay someone else to.”

“Pay,” Roy cut in. His eyes widened, “Deathstroke?”

“Yes, the League has been a longtime customer to Mr. Wilson. Stealing the daughter of the demon will be child’s play to him. While she might expect you all, she might not expect Batman and his brood. She will think that Jason somehow managed to convince you all to stay back and guard the Mistress. The other part is that she does expect Batman. The compound has undergone construction made to slow you all down. She will employ these added additions.”

The Black Canary nodded her head as she cautiously moved closer. Jamila’s gaze turned to her and she could Lazarus turn its attention on her. “It makes sense. We all have a connection to Connor and using him can be a distraction for her to get Talia and for her to do whatever it is that she wants to Connor simultaneously.”

Jamila nodded, “You will need someone who knows the compound as it is now, and I only know half of it. I do not know all of it and I rather not run in blind. And these new additions are meant to stall. Any second waiting is a second we cannot afford.”

“Call up your magical contacts. I need someone to bless this bottle and bridge a contact with—” Jamila inwardly winced and her hand automatically raised to cover her now bleeding nose. She ground her teeth together, “Bridge contact with the ancient goddess Manat.” Another hand rose to her ear and she inwardly growled at Lazarus. She didn’t even worship Manat.

“Are you okay,” the Green Arrow questioned with concern on his face. Fatherly concern at that. Jamila never had a father and the only mother figure she had was her aunt.

“Just peachy,” she growled. She could feel a heavy stare on the side of her head, and she turned to see her cousins looking at her. “Harar,” and then regained control of their bodies again. A pity that she will not be able to use it again and a blessing that Mother would not be able to use it at all. “Let’s just get this over with.”

#little devil #Talia al Ghul #talia al ghul imagine #taliaalghulweek2018 #Jason Todd #jason todd the red hood #Jason todd x oc #talia al ghul is jason's mother figure #Tim Drake #damian wayne #dick grayson #barbara gordon #batfam au #fuck batman #roy harper #cassandra cain #Stephanie Brown #bruce wayne #koriand'r

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chisie12 · 5 years

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Dance of Silver, Chapter 3 - Smile

Ah! Took longer than I expected but here’s chapter 3! Hope you guys enjoy it! The bed lulls me to sleep.

¬-¬

The silence was heavy between them, one person on either side of the train. It was deserted in the train, barely another living soul besides the few students grouped in a corner and an elderly lady going home, besides Angela and Jesse.

Her legs wouldn’t stop twitching as she repetitively curled and uncurled her toes. Her teeth was continuously lodged in her bottom lip, eyes blankly staring out the window, unregistering the blur of scenery that rushed by.

Directly across on the left was Jesse McCree, head lowered with elbows heavy on his thighs. With a groan, he dragged a hand down his face before sliding it up and over his head, combing the messy strands of his hair back. Dropping his free hand on his cowboy hat occupying the space next to him, his eyes darted over towards the blonde woman of a sister who was equally hunched over as he was.

“Jesse! No!”

Her shrieks fell on deaf ears. Jesse tightened his hold on her body while he ran, ran as far as he could go, leaping over the roots and fallen branches, making a beeline towards even the smallest sign of civilisation.

“Let go of me! We can’t just leave him there!”

“No can do, sis.” There it was again. ‘Sis’. The underlying tone of seriousness and absolute defiance to any of her requests. Not taking any bullshit from anyone, not even her.

She screamed his name again, pounding her fists onto his back. Bloody scenes filled her mind, the anxiety painting a gruesome play of shredded limbs, broken bones, and the lone, desolate curve of his back, as though he gave up on living, on fighting.

“Fuck! Jesse, we have to go back!”

Jesse dug his nails into her skin, bearing the pain with gritted teeth. His head still throbbed with pain from the fall, and she wasn’t the only one screaming at him. His muscles wanted to give up, to break down, stabbing pains shocking his nerves, but he focused on putting one foot after the other. He needed to run. Keep running.

He needed to bring her back to safety.

Angela fought and wiggled out of his grasp, her mind filled with only the smile Genji last gave her, and that small wave of his hand. He’s all alone, fighting those hordes of vampires alone! And that sniper! Weren’t they after him!? As if by a stroke of luck, she successfully hammered her knee into Jesse’s stomach, and the man doubled over in pain, grip loosening and sending her tumbling forward.

“Oof!” A sharp pain shot up her neck as her back hit the sturdy wall of a stump, and painful groans drifted into her ears. Her eyes flew open, directly landing upon the young cowboy hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle. “Jesse? Jesse!” She scrambled over, tripping over the propped root and falling onto her knees before him. She hadn’t kicked him that hard, did she? It shouldn’t have caused him this much pain!

Her hands trembled as they reached out towards him. Now, it was only now that she took a good look at him. Soft brown locks matted and stuck to his face, sticky with sweat. Splats of blood caked his skin, from his cheeks to his neck, and definitely over his clothes, but as her eyes moved downwards, they widened as fear struck her hard.

A large patch of eerie crimson extended its greetings towards her, the pool growing bigger and bigger, all the while Jesse pressed a hard hand onto the wound.

Jesse glanced down at his black undershirt, having thrown his shirt away after being stained by blood. They barely passed the checks even with his stained undershirt, the dried blood barely visible over the black, and with Angela blocking the view from the front. Security had been suspicious, warily watching them with narrowed eyes at their staggered, slow steps, and laboured breathing.

But at least they got home.

The pair of siblings stared up at the three-story house, brick walls painted a clean white, tall silver gates bordering its large perimeter with lush trees providing a curtain to what’s inside.

Angela gingerly held onto Jesse as she tapped the four-numbered pin and the side gate opened with a click and closing behind her with a light kick and a loud clang.

“Angie!” A raspy voice called out. A figure padded his way over with arms open wide, face marked with the vicissitudes of life and a bright smile. His blond hair faded into a silvery white but unlike other old men his age, his head still had a full head of hair, and that was something he was still proud of.

Angela’s eyes, tired and rimmed with shadows, lit up at the sight of her grandfather. “Grandpa!”

“Come here, my darling angel.” He kissed her hard on the temple, ignoring the spluttering of a certain cowboy in her arms. “I’m so glad that you’re finally home. Are you alright?”

“Yes, grandpa. But we need to tend to Jesse. He’s been wounded.”

The old man scoffed, eye-rolled at Jesse and gave the younger man a pointed look. “Weren’t you supposed to be tough? ‘Those vampires ain’t got anything on me!’, or something. Didn’t you tell me that?” The grandfather mocked with a badly done accent, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

A pleasant laughter bounced on Jesse’s chest. “It sounds funny coming from you, old man. Good to see you’re alive and still kicking.”

“And I can easily kick you a hundred meters away if you weren’t injured!”

Altherr Ziegler was an old man in his mid-60’s, standing tall and proud at nearly two meters. His biceps were still bigger than his own (and there’s no way Jesse would acknowledge that. His were always going to be bigger) and he was still as fit as a fiddle, as healthy as an ox even.

“Come on. I’ve already prepared the room just in case.” A warm, deep voice carried over from the door, watching the trio slowly make their way over amidst their banter.

Jesse looked at the man leaning against the doorframe. Unlike Altherr who was muscle-bound, Wendell Ziegler was tall and wiry. His body was lean and defined, blond hair tied into a low ponytail. Rectangular glasses framed his vivid blue eyes and the cowboy’s lips twitched upon seeing the smile on the man’s face. From the hair to the eyes and to even the smile.

Like father, like daughter indeed.

Wendell helped his daughter bring Jesse into the medical ward of the house, set aside for emergencies like this. Altherr wordlessly stood outside the door, watching his son and granddaughter do their medical magic through the small window. He clicked his tongue, seeing them clean the wound, flit and stitch it with deft fingers, made him clueless yet proud. He knew the young cowboy was definitely going to live.

Enough for him to beat him up again.

“Done? Is he done?” Altherr voiced out, an eagerness unmasked in the tone.

Angela and her father cleaned themselves before bringing a bandaged Jesse out of the room. Altherr trailed behind them like an oversized puppy. When they set him down in a clean bed, he repeated again: “Done? Is he finally done?”

Angela giggled and held onto her grandfather’s hand. “Yes, yes. He is, grandpa. What’s wrong?”

The old man beamed, stretching the laugh lines on his face and patted her hand lovingly. “Come! Grandpa has something for you!”

At the mention of a gift, Jesse shot up but he groaned and fell back down onto his back. “Gift? I wanna see too,” he whined.

“It’s not for you,” Altherr snapped, bringing his granddaughter away.

“Rest well, Jesse.” Wendell graciously wished before closing the door behind him, leaving the young man to his sulking.

Alther set his granddaughter on the three-seater couch of the living room before running upstairs. Angela faintly heard the sound of metal clanking and doors slamming before an excited grandfather bounded down the steps. Her father watched in amusement at his own father, sitting on the sofa on the other side of the couch. Turning her head at the nearing footsteps, the smile on her face froze.

“Is that…?”

“The one and only! Our ancestral weapons: Caduceus Staff and Blaster!” Altherr plopped himself down onto the space next to her and gently set the two weapons in her lap. The staff’s body gleamed an inky black with a silver head and the blaster was similarly coloured.

“But why…?”

She knew of the two weapons, having been brought down generation after generation, but all this time, she didn’t think they worked, having only ever seen and heard of them.

“As you know, our family is a descendant of Angels,” Altherr began solemnly. “And unlike other hunters, we rely on our blood to sense and hunt the vampires. The reason you hadn’t seen it being used is that our blood wasn’t strong enough.” He folded her hands over the weapons. “But yours is.”

She spluttered some words, half-formed from confusion and shock. Her mind was reeling at the turn of events. Half her heart was beating furiously at the pride and happiness at being given the responsibility, to actually be acknowledged, strong, yet it was that very same responsibility that weighed down on her like a ten-tonne boulder, pushing her shoulders down and holding her there.

Could she do it? What if she disappoints everyone?

“I was supposed to give it to you on your 21st birthday but…” Altherr trailed off in a nervous laugh, the words stuck in his throat.

“Father forgot where he left it. So he never gave it to you. That’s why he was so excited the moment you came home,” Wendell filled in, cheeks on his knuckles and a leg over the other.

“Wendell!”

Instead, Wendell chuckled and grinned at the frantic spluttering of his father, but his eyes turned worried as they landed on his daughter’s quiet figure. Her head remained lowered, fingers absentmindedly stroking the metal on her lap. He furrowed his brows.

What was she thinking?

———

Red. It was only red in her vision. That dark, sinister colour painted everything in her sight, the Caduceus weapons turning into the backdrop as blood spilled.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

It had been the scent that day. Their sweet, young fleshed aroma that counted. Their sugar levels were high, having been only 15 years old. The vampire had been like an uncontrollable diabetic and the first crazed one of their kind.

Her eyelashes trembled, her eyes squeezed shut tighter.

The warm blood splattered onto her fear-laden face. Her body froze. Her muscles were heavy, stuck to the ground, unmoving. His voice, just having cracked from puberty, screamed. Screamed so loud, so terrified. But she couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even twitch. Couldn’t even goddamn scream.

She didn’t know what to do.

“J-Jesse…”

Her voice came out weak, utterly weak that even she was disgusted.

Swoosh!

A gust of wind blew with a dark, lithe silhouette dropping beside the pair of hunter siblings. Hidden by the shadows, the figure easily ripped the diabetic vampire away from Jesse’s neck and sunk his own teeth in his new victim’s neck.

Why it chose the vampire and not Jesse? … was something they couldn’t comprehend.

And it had happened all in practically three breaths; The time short enough that Jesse wouldn’t turn into a vampire even if he wanted to.

When Jesse slumped forward, hand clutching his bleeding neck, Angela swore as she caught his body, wishing and hoping that she just had something, anything, to patch him up. But she didn’t.

The bone-crunching crunch and slurps caught her attention, yet all her eyes could catch in the utter darkness was a glimpse of bright green hair crowning a pair of demonic red eyes.

The scene faded and blurred. The darkness stayed. But instead of a bleeding, screaming Jesse came the screams of another young man, no, vampire. He was being ripped limb by limb, scratched and torn by a horde of newborns, all because he wanted to protect. Her. Protect her. She didn’t know if he escaped, or if he was even still alive.

The smile he threw her way, that wave he waved before Jesse dragged her away, that heart-wrenching, gut-stabbing pain in her soul; She couldn’t forget.

She wouldn’t forget.

If only she had the ability, the strength, then things would turn out differently. If she could protect others and protect herself, wouldn’t that change so many things? Not just to her as a vampire hunter, but as a combat medic.

Gripping onto the staff and blaster, Angela’s eyes glazed over with a newfound resolution, and the silent men in her life could see it, the change happening in her mind, in her spirit. They watched her lift her head, a fire blazing in her gaze, and they knew they made the right choice in entrusting the Angelic articles to her.

“Thank you.”

Just those two words, nothing more, nothing less. It was her pledge to them and they understood the silent pledges; She believed she could save the world, both humans and vampires alike.

And they believed she could change the world the way she wanted to.

One step at a time.

The door to his temporary room slid open and Angela emerged from the doorway. He was pleasantly surprised to see her there when surprised crossed his face upon catching sight of the staff in hand and blaster holstered on her waist and to complete the oddity, there was a brown box tied with a big red bow in her arms.

“What’s that, darl’?”

She beamed at him. “Your last gift.”

Jesse grinned at the box shoved into his arms, body jumping in excitement. Who wouldn’t from being given three birthday gifts? The suspense could have killed him! Tearing open the bow, he lifted the cover just as Angela sat on the edge of his bed, watching his face change from surprise to utter glee.

“BAMF indeed!” he exclaimed in joy, removing the belt from within the box. The gold buckle was engraved with the same four letters in uppercase on a neat leather strap. “You spoil me too much!”

Angela hurriedly leaned over and accepted his hug so that he wouldn’t have to move too much, and accidentally straining, as well as ripping the stitching open. Knowing him? The possibility of that happening was well within the 90’s. This brother of hers couldn’t stay still no matter what.

“Happy 21st birthday,” she softly said with a smile.

Jesse caressed the leather, a loving gaze in his eyes. From the cowboy hat to his Peacekeeper and now the BAMF belt. He didn’t think things could get any better.

Oh, yes. He didn’t have to watch the unrestrained flirting of that damned green-haired vampire.

Other than that, he was blissful.

“Grandpa gave this to me just now,” she showed him the weapons, finally getting to the main point she came in instead of letting him rest. “As a late birthday gift.”

He nodded at the weapons. “Did the old man forget where he left them and that’s why he gave them to you now?”

Her mellifluous laughter made him grin wider. “You sure know him well. It’s our Angelic artifacts from way back when. To fight against the vampires.”

Jesse nodded. He knew of the family’s Angel’s blood, that they were all descendants. “What does it do?”

“I’ll show you.”

She lifted the staff, hand in the center of the body and clicked onto a mechanism with her thumb. The three ribs at the head of the staff flicked open and a yellow halation appeared. The blood in her veins boiled, rushing faster at the sudden connection between her and the staff, and willing it in her mind and thumb still on the button, she gently waved it towards his wound. A yellow ball of light separated from the halation, extending out into a beam that floated towards the side of his body.

It was an icy, itchy sensation the moment the beam touched him. His muscles shivered, mind refreshed with the chill and he felt it close. The wound that was held together with the stitches twitched and waved towards the other edge, skin automatically grafting together and swiftly closing. Gasping, he threw the blankets off and lifted his side, inspecting the wound he — the wound that was supposed to be there.

“Holy shi—” Jesse’s mouth gaped open. Sure, he had thought that the Angels were cool, but not this cool.

Now this, this topped it off. Cowboy hat, revolver, and BAMF belt could only come second to this. Alright, maybe not. Those three still meant a whole lot. It’s a close battle for first place.

Angela also leaned over to inspect the wound, glad that it had disappeared with a simple heal. Her thoughts wandered over to a certain vampire whose smile she couldn’t erase. “Now you can keep going. I’ve got you.”

———

Haa…

A breathy mist drifted out of his mouth, white fangs drenched in blood. A pile of newborn corpses lay by his feet in a mound, strewn over the trees and covered the ground.

His demonic red eyes darted up towards the opposite canyon where the sniper’s glint was not seen in the last hour. They flickered with an intense heat, the glare almost burning through the thick clouds that obscured the sky. Despite the weariness in his bones, the aching of his muscles, it did little to diminish the hate that he kept buried inside.

“It’s not over yet.”

The face of a gentle smile flickered in his mind and the anger promptly sizzled away like a bucket of cold water splashing his face, and he found his own lips curving upwards at the mere thought of seeing her.

“It’s definitely not over yet.”

#reversed vampire au #gency #gency fic #dance of silver #we see her staff and gun!#finally!#Genji gonna go back and get his blood #they made a deal

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youcannotcancelquidditch · 6 years

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Below the fold you can read all about my time at Romeo e Giulietta in Milan (Friday, 12/10/18). I didn't want to forget anything so it's very chaotic, I'm sorry.

(edited on 29/01/19 - I added some things as well)

- I’d like to start by thanking the orderly who gave us 2nd category seats in the middle of the ground floor (we had 2nd gallery central tickets, aka almost the cheapest ones) because they didn’t sell out and he was impressed that we came all the way from Belgium to see the show. Grazie mille, sir! You made our night even better! He checked in on us twice during the break to ask if we liked our seats and the show, what a cutie.

- To understand why I would write an 2500 word post about this performance, you must know that I have been waiting to see this show since I was 6 years old (that’s 16 years!). I even have a very clear and detailed memory of the first time I heard a song from this musical, Koningen from the Flemish/Dutch production. This was my absolute number one bucketlist item and I still get teary eyed when I think about this experience.

- Lorenzo’s apprentice (I think his name is John in the play but don’t quote me on this) was scary as fuck before the show began. He was just roaming around the venue and stopped every once in a while to stare at someone without blinking for an uncomfortably long time.

- The costumes in this show are to die for! CAPES FOR DAYS!! This production works with the same choreographer and costume designer as La Légende du Roi Arthur and it’s just as beautiful.

ACT I

- Tebaldo just casually hanging around ‘Capuletti House’, applying his Scar-like scar with eyeliner and then falling backwards onto his crew (my friend had a fit, she did not see it coming and genuinely thought he was going to fall flat on his back).

- The prince may sing that two families make the laws in Verona, but everything about him says he is in power. He is just so impressive, physically and vocally so demanding.

- Our Benvolio wasn’t bad but he didn’t make the part as interesting as Riccardo did. His Benvolio was pretty plain, okay vocal performance but he didn’t bring the same flare to the part that Riccardo did. Benny isn’t the most interesting part in the show and he didn’t add anything more to it than what the songbook or choreography said. Ric’s Benvolio was every bit as playful, joyful and a player as the other to two in the main trio but there was such grace and gentleness to him, whereas our Benvolio was more like the ‘no fun, boring’ friend. The original Italian trio has great chemistry and he just wasn’t very convincing.

- Davide as Romeo: his singing has improved so much, he seemed to sing with so much more ease compared to the dvd-version. During ‘Io Tremo’ he had a lot more interaction with the Montacrew. I absolutely love his Romeo, Damien always was a bit to fatalistic for me. He is much more youthful and moves quite impulsively on stage. In dutch I would say he is a ‘kwajong’ and a ‘spring in’t veld’, Google tells me it’s a ‘rascal’ and a ‘little filly’ but I don’t know if that really covers what I want to say. (He kinda gives of the same energy as Maria during ‘how to solve a problem like Maria’ in The sound of music.)

- On a related note: I only realised during the show how different the two houses are. The Montagues seem a lot closer than the Capulets. The reds are a divided house, they seem a lot more competitive and aggressive, only Tebaldo has an obvious bond with the rest of his family (maybe even a bit too close to his aunt, this production hints on a possible incestuous relationship between the two). The fact that they have a pretty scary cat only proves my idea about the house.

- L’Oddio is a ride! I always loved the song but most of the time staging was off and boring which made it almost annoying to watch. I only listened to it but never watched any clips of it. This production however absolutely nails it and finally does the song justice. It’s one of my favourites parts in the show.

- Paride definitely changed a lot compared to the previous Italian production. He used to be innocent and polished, now he is arrogant and they changed his dancing style to a more modern vibe instead of ballet. Overall, I had a bad feeling about him and I was even happier that Giulietta didn’t have to marry him because she wouldn’t have been happy with him at all. I also miss Tebaldo singing the ‘give her to me’ part in the background,like they do in the French productions.

- I never liked the French Juliettes, Joy’s was like a spoiled brat sometimes and she wasn’t a great singer either. It’s mostly due to the way the production was written and the directors they worked with though. But Giulia Luzi is a perfect Giulietta for me, she is defiant, she has a mind of her own and her own ideas. This Giulietta isn’t a child, she is a young adult which makes more sense for a girl her age in this time.

- La Nutrice and both Ladies are such impressive vocalists! An absolute joy to hear them live!

- Il re del mondo live made me sooooo happy! (I don’t think I stopped grinning until the Duel started anyway)

- Luca GF!! What a performer!! You simply can’t look at anyone else when he’s on stage. He has such a fascinating way of moving around the stage and his vocals! I don’t have words! He was out of this world and I feel incredibly privileged to have seen him live. I was looking forward to his falsetto notes, but the dvd recording did not prepare me for his normal singing voice. The recording in no way does justice to how full and warm his voice is.

- The ball: they got rid of the ugly masks (thank the gods). This scene is so beautiful and I love the costumes. There is just so much going on I feel like I’d have to watch it at least 5 times to fully capture everything.

- The big ‘smack’-sound every time R e G kiss, because the microphones picked it up pretty hard.

- I like the order of the song better in this one then in the French production, it works better for the story (especially Tebaldo’s songs and the Verona reprise) and the acting is so much better!

- I have a hate-love thing going on for count Capulet. He seems tired of the feud when he fights with Tebaldo during the ball but he is such a dick to Giulietta and then has this solo song with a ‘Man only realise women are people once then have a daughter’-theme. Don’t get me wrong, I love this song and it’s always a song I look forward to in any production. You have to applaud the actor though for going from ‘Vedrai’ to ‘Avere te’ so fast, that’s one hell of an arc in so little time.

- I don’t get Belli e Brutti and I don’t think I ever will. But it gives me more stage time with the trio so I’m a happy girl. Also, the Montacrew eavesdropping on Romeo and Nutrice was really cute.

- The Balcony scene is so cute and I ship this R e G so hard. I usually care more for the supporting characters then the main pair in this story but I really believed these two.

- The official, original Shakespeare dialogues work better for me then the R et J dialogues.

- Romeo’s relationship with Lorenzo is so wholesome, I love them.

- Tebaldo had a throne!! Like, Yaaasss Bitch!! I loved the choreo for this song (I’m a sucker for swords), especially is contrast with his other solo song. This one is pure lust and anger while the other is so much more intimate and shows his yearning for love. The musical has made me love Tebaldo so much as a character and Gianluca did a great job. I always underestimate him for some reason, he sometimes sounds like he won’t make it but he always hit’s the notes perfectly.

- Nutrice’s solo song gets me every time, fantastic performance. I think she had a problem with her earpiece because she kept fidgeting with it but it didn’t affect her singing at all.

- Ama e cambia il mondo was so beautiful and emotional. I really like this tagline for the story, it perfectly captures the message I take from it. This song is such a victorious celebration of love (and it has no gender pronouns) and I’m living for it. Lorenzo is like the head of R e G shippers, such a proud and smiley dad.

ACT II

- Yes, thank you, a short version of ‘on dit dans la rue’ is enough. We don’t need a whole song about his friends knowing who he married and being unsupportive little shits.

- IL POTERE!! Need I say more? One of the songs I was looking forward to most. It suits this Prince so well and the whole scene is so beautiful! The choreo and the stage setting, ugh, so pwetty.

- I just want to hug Tebaldo, what a lost puppy.

- the side door entrance of the Montacrew before the Duel! They were so close to us!!

- La Follia. That’s it. Just La Follia. I have no words.

- Okay, I have a few words: that last note. The entire audience lost their shit and was clapping and screaming for what felt like ages and he was still holding on to that note when we finally calmed down!! Again, what a performer.

- The Duel is a journey. What a scene! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more complicated and impressive scene in any show I’ve been to. I also want to take some time to talk about the ensemble in this show. These people are great dancers but their acting was so on point! Especially the crew guys. A show is nothing without the ensemble and they did so much more than just support the story. They really lift it to another level.

- That piece of bloody cloth they pull from Mercuzio’s wound had me gagging. I could almost feel it.

- I knew there would be a kiss when Mercuzio’s died but this was a full make out session. I was like ‘yeah, same, Mercuzio’. I made the mistake of looking at Benvolio during this scene. Pro tip: don’t. Just don’t. It’s painful and you don’t need more pain at this point.

- Romeo stabs Tebaldo in the stomach and not in the back, I don’t know what the original play says about it but I feel like it fits Romeo’s character better. My boy is no backstabber.

- La Vendetta and Duo de désespoir broke me. The Prince seemed really sad about losing his cousin. Lady Montague’s acting in this sequence was perfect. Lady Capulet is more sad when Tebaldo dies than when her own daughter does, he must have had a golden dick. Tebaldo and Mercuzio are dead on stage for a long long time, kudo’s to the actors for putting up with that and actually looking dead.

- The Prince saying ‘mercy is the killer when it’s granted to the killer’ (that’s the best translation I can come up with right now) was such a deep mood, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

- Giulietta’s duet with Romeo’s Mom is the only time she wears her house color. For Tebaldo? I don’t know, if anyone has a theory on this please let me know.

- Romeo and Lorenzo crying next to each other at the altar. Romeo curled up like a baby, so sad. Poor, poor child.

- Romeo’s pj’s are really funny.

- Vedrai is such a heavy scene to watch. It’s very painful but I like it better than the French version. I was pretty mad at Lady Capulet for not standing up to her husband but she did push his hand away Melania-style when he tried to touch her after calling their daughter a whore. Also, Nutrice was so hard on poor Giulietta, I felt betrayed. I can’t help but feel like Count Capulet would have given his blessing for a wedding to Romeo if he had known, Lady Montague maybe too, she really did want her son to be happy. Lady Capulet would have been a problem though.

- Giulietta turning to Lorenzo for help and him turning her down! He is the only one they have left and he doesn’t want to help (at first)!

- Romeo being all alone during Mio Dio.

- There were Giulietta look-a-like dancers standing around her bed before she drank the poison and it was very creepy.

- The Verona reprise with a teary eyed prince like: “Look at this place! You thought I was joking the first time I said this?”

- another side door entrance for a very anxious Montacrew and Benvolio almost fainting when he hears the news about Giulietta’s death. These people are A+ friends. The stage was too small for the original choreo of ‘con che pieta’ but it was really beautifully staged anyway.

- Okay so now it’s time for one of my favourite solo songs in the whole entire show: Mai piu. I was very nervous for this one because it’s so important to me and our Lorenzo looked so much younger than others I’ve seen online, I was really curious as to how he would interpret the song. Throughout the musical the theme of doubting their religious beliefs is very present and it’s come to a climax during this song. Most interpretations I’ve seen where very angry and questioning, some even go slightly mad, but after the first few lines you could already see this Lorenzo had an entirely different take on the song. He was very accusing at first toward the crucified Christ and after a while he looked so disappointed and angry with himself for what he had done. He took of his robe and I thought it was a symbolic gesture to show he would leave his function, but he took of his belt to punish himself and it was so intense and sad and I was shocked at how beautifully raw and human he portrayed his character. Like I said, this performance would make or break the show for me for a big part, but it was so much better than I could have ever imagined.

- The songs Romeo and Giulietta sing before they die usually don’t really interest me on dvd because they drag on for too long in my opinion, but when you watch the show live you really need that time to process everything that has happened. Especially after such an intense Mai piu. The scene looks pretty uncomfortable on the tilted stone bed, I was scared that Romeo was going to fall off.

- GIULIETTA WAKES BEFORE ROMEO IS FULLY DEAD!! HOW RUDE!! Why would you do that to me?

- Paride wasn’t killed even though this one deserved it more than the babyface from the 2013 version but he does appear next to Mercuzio at the end, I don’t really know why, it’s not like anyone cared about him anyway.

- Culpa Nostra is so beautiful. Everyone was dressed in white so you couldn’t see who belonged to which house. I’m pretty sure Benvolio forgot to put on his blue vest when they first came on because everyone takes their house colors off on stage except for him, he was already completely in white. Maybe because he is actually an innocent smoll bean? I do think he forgot though, because him and one the dancers had a short interaction with him nodding to Benny’s clothes with a confused face that seemed out of place. And the Ama e cambia il mondo reprise/theme; very strong ending for the musical.

End of PSA.

#romeo e giulietta #ama e cambia il mondo #davide merlini #giulia luzi #luca giacomelli ferrarini #gianluca merolli #leonardo di minno #retj #romeo et juliette

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alexiela73 · 6 years

Note

YoooooOoo that NSFW witchmercy/werewolf s/o piece was sooo good 👀👀 thank you for writing it! Could we get a small follow up to the ladies week with mercy doting on her s/o with some good aftercare, healing all the marks, praising her and asking her s/o to let her know when these urges hit again because it was so fun 👌👌

Sure, absolutely.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked as you were forced into the bedroom. Mercy, your witch girlfriend, had decided of her own free will to take this evening off…it astounded you honestly. It was so difficult for you to convince her to take nights off yet she’d made the decision herself this time…

Giving you a look, Mercy pushed you gently into the room. “Take off your shirt and get into the bathtub,” she commanded, crossing her arms. Why did you always have to be so difficult?

“My my, we’re awfully pushy today,” you muttered but you flashed her an amused smile before starting to undress. “If you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

Turning, you spotted the large tub that Mercy would magically poof into the bedroom for you both whenever you needed it.

In the middle of your bedroom was a large porcelain bathtub, full of hot water that bubbled lightly. You knew it wouldn’t be too hot-this was Mercy’s magic and it made the bathtub feel like you were sitting in a hot spring. The water was pink, and a calming scent of roses and honey drifted from the surface.

A smile tugged at your lips and instantly you were excited. It was the beginning of winter and the first snow had just touched the ground a few days before. So much had happened in the last few months that a herbal bath such as this looked rather heavenly to you.

And it was, you thought, a moan slipping from your lips as you eager got into the deep tub and sunk into it. The water came up to lap at the top of your shoulders, and the heat of the water just instantly claimed your body.

“I take it you like the bath,” Mercy said with a smile, watching as your head rolled back onto the edge and you just lay there motionless in the water, eyes closed. “I thought…that maybe it would be a good day to do something for you for a change.”

Slowly your eyes opened, and you forced yourself from the cloud of bliss that was your mind. “What do you mean, Angie? You do things for me all the time,” you said, voice dreamy. How nice it felt, the water on your aching muscles. It encompassed you like a soft blanket.

Pulling up a stool and a small table behind you, Angela sat and gently smoothed the hair from your face. “You’ve done a lot recently,” she said gently. “You’ve fought off murderous travellers for me, and while I’ve been working, you even tended my entire garden for me. Not to mention you went to help the townspeople rebuild the church in town…”

A smile played on your lips at the thought. “I’m glad they don’t mind my being a werewolf. Its nice…like having a huge family, you know? They do stuff for us, and I like to do things for them. It feels…good to be accepted,” you murmured.

It had surprised you when they had asked your assistance, especially knowing what you were. At first you wondered if they’d think you would taint the church for being what you are, but none of them had been bothered.

“I understand, baby,” Mercy murmured, and you sat up when she tapped on your shoulder. Dipping a cup into the water, Mercy began to dump multiple cups of water over your head, wetting the long length of your hair until. “Trust me.”

How weird, you thought sometimes, that the two of you were so lucky. Lucky to have found each other-you couldn’t imagine a love any fiercer then that between the two of you. And then the fact that as supernatural creatures, to have come together as you had…was incredible.

But not as incredible as finding a home like the quant little village that had seemed to take to you both instantly. Not once have you ever heard of another village allowing such a thing, and yet you all lived in perfect harmony.

“Mmm…Thank you for the bath. You were right…I really needed this,” you said softly, closing your eyes once more as her fingers entangled in your hair. Mercy had squirted some home made shampoo into your hair, a mixture of sandsoap and lavender. The feeling of her fingers running through your hair and massaging it in felt nice.

“You deserve to be pampered, baby,” Mercy said with a laugh, soaping up your hair good, till you were fully lathered and bubbly.

It felt good, you admitted, and just let Angela do her magic. There was four minutes of silence as her fingers worked, combing through your hair, before beginning the rinse. The water felt wonderful gliding down your shoulders and over your hair…

Another moan left your lips when Mercy started rubbing your shoulders after finishing with your hair. “Pampered is one thing. Worshipped is another,” you gently said, starting to sit up but her hands wouldn’t let you.

“Y/n…just let me do this, okay? Please?,” Mercy said gently, her fingers massaging your shoulders and neck. They were doing a fine job, too, and you loved the circling motions as her hands moved to rub over your chest and throat.

You wanted to argue but it was hard to when Mercy said something like that. “Okay,” you said finally, with a over-exaggerated sigh of defeat. “Whatever suits you, baby. I can’t deny you, especially when I haven’t felt this relaxed in ages.”

“Well, you certainly treated me out to a fine week not long ago. I figured I could try to at least give you one night,” she said with a smile, and you winced, knowing she was referring to the week you’d gone into heat. The week had been a constant haze of hot sex and crazy fantasies.

The next two hours was spent mostly in the tub. Mercy spoiled you, rubbing oils and lotions into your skin, all of them sweet smelling like flowers and honeysuckle and ocean breezes. Each one left your skin softer, smoother and your muscles loose.

The callouses on your fingers were gone, and your hair smelled like the garden outside the house. Angela had even trimmed and polished your nails, an adorable smile on her face.

You two spoke the whole time, spoke of how you hoped winter would go and how the village would fair. Speaking of one memory led to another, and soon you two were reminiscing over the past.

Getting out of the tub, you forced yourself to hold still for Angela to dry with a towel, despite the urge to shake yourself dry. “Do you remember that time the baker you baked cookies for the first time and they turned out inedible because you’d forgotten the eggs?” you said with a giggle, holding your arms out.

Angela giggled too, rubbing down your feet and slowly moving up. “I do. Oh, they were so terrible too…Cookies are meant to taste….” Angela’s voice trailed off.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you said looking down at her when she didn’t continue her sentence. You saw her staring at your outer thigh, before she reached up and trailed her fingers across pale scars.

Immediately you knew the problem. Your body had many scars, not just from the fight a few months ago but from the past too. Werewolves were territorial, and you had without thought gotten into many fights earlier on in your life before realizing this.

This scar though, was from the travellers. They had stabbed you in the rubs and legs with daggers and pitch forks. It was a fight that had left you on deaths door, and was a painful memory for your lover.

“Angie, don’t think about it,” you said gently, not wanting her to focus on the past. “C’mon, lets get me dry and then we can go make dinner together. What do you say?”

You watched for a moment, and then sighed softly as Mercy’s fingers caressed the scar. A small tingle went through you, the scar going warm… and then disappearing.

Taking her hand, you made her look at you. “Baby, the scars don’t matter to me. What happened doesn’t matter, as long as you are okay,” you remind her.

For a moment, her eyes looked glassy, as if she was back in that moment. Then Angela blinked and was brought back to the present. “Your right,” Angela said after a moment, stroking her fingers where the scar had been. “But…may I heal the rest? Please?”

The look in her eyes was impossible to resist. “Fine,” you said, letting her move slowly around and over your body, not at all disturbed to be standing there in the nude before her. Angela moved around you quickly, healing every scar she could find, and it took her awhile.

“My girl is a fighter,” she said with a soft smile, knowing those days were behind you. “I think I’m satisfied with the care I’ve provided this evening. Can I ask one favor in return though, love?”

You couldn’t help grinning in return, starting to shrug on a fresh pair of clothes, feeling cleaner and more healthy then you have in a long time. “Yes?” you ask, only to have her catch your wrist when your about to put on your shirt.

“If you ever get, you know…frisky again, I’m more then willing to sate you,” she purred, fingers trailing up your wrist. “ Just let me know the moment your in heat again, okay?”

Immediately your face went bright red and you refused to look at her. Your lack of control while in heat was embarrassing.

“I’ll let you know,” you mumbled, and she giggled at how flustered you were.

The two of you had a wonderful night together, making dinner together and spending the rest of the evening reading to each other in the living room by the hearth.

#Mercy #Mercy Overwatch #Mercy x Reader #Mercy Headcanon #Angela Ziegler #Angela Ziegler x Reader #Witch Mercy #Werewolf Reader #Overwatch #Overwatch X Reader #Overwatch Headcanon #Overwatch Headcanons #Overwatch Imagines #Overwatch Stories #Overwatch Writings

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lilixbetty-blog · 5 years

Text

Chapter 3. Part1 (Page 5-8)

Pop leads us through the staff entrance of the hotel, dishing out instructions, pointing to the serving area and ensuring that we’re aware of the type of clientele.

Bottom line: posh.

I can deal with that. Once I’d checked on Nan, she virtually pushed me out the front door and chucked my black Converse out after me before she went to get ready for bingo with George at the local oldies group.

‘Never leave anyone with an empty glass,’ Pop calls over his shoulder, leading on, ‘and ensure all empties are delivered back to the kitchen so they can be washed and refilled.’

I follow Veronica, who’s following Pop, listening intently as I pile my heavy hair up and secure it with a hair tie. It sounds easy enough, and I absolutely love people-watching so tonight could be fun.

‘Here.’ Pop stops and thrusts a round silver tray at both of us, looking down at my feet. ‘You didn’t have any black flats?’

Following his line of sight, I look down and pull my black trousers up a little. ‘These are black.’ I wriggle my toes within my Converse, thinking how much more my feet would hurt if I were wearing anything else.

He doesn’t say any more; just rolls his eyes and leads on until we’re in a chaotic kitchen space where dozens of hotel staff are flying around, shouting and barking orders at each other. I move closer to Veronica as we continue walking. ‘Is it just us?’ I ask, suddenly a little alarmed. All of the frantic activity suggests a lot of guests.

‘No, there will be the agency staff he uses, too. We’re back-ups.’

‘Does he do this a lot, then?’

‘It’s his main income. I don’t know why he keeps the cafe.’

I nod thoughtfully to myself. ‘Doesn’t the hotel provide a catering service?’

‘Oh yes, but the type of people you’re about to feed and water call the shots, and if they want Pop, they’ll have Pop. He’s notorious in this game. You have to try his canapés.’ She kisses her fingertips, making me laugh.

My boss shows us around the room where the function is being held and introduces us to the many other waiters and waitresses, all looking bored and inconvenienced. This is obviously a regular thing for them, but not me. I’m looking forward to it.

‘Ready?’ Veronica places a final glass of champagne onto my tray. ‘Now, the trick is to hold it on your palm.’ She picks up her own tray, her palm underneath in the centre. ‘Then swing it up onto your shoulder, like this.’ In one fluid movement, the tray glides through the air and lands on her shoulder, without even a chink from glasses touching. I’m fascinated. ‘See?’ The tray glides back down from her shoulder until it’s at waist level again. ‘When offering, hold it here, and when you’re moving around, keep it up here.’ The tray swishes through the air, landing on her shoulder perfectly again. ‘Remember to relax when you’re on the move. Don’t be stiff. You try.’

I slide my full tray from the counter and position my palm in the centre. ‘It’s not heavy,’ I muse, surprised.

‘Yes, but remember when empty glasses start replacing full glasses it’ll get even lighter, so bear that in mind when you’re transferring it up and down.’

‘Okay.’ I swivel my wrist, taking the tray up to my shoulder with ease. I smile brightly, taking it back down again.

‘You’re a natural.’ Veronica laughs. ‘Let’s go.’

Transferring the tray back to my shoulder, I swivel on my Converse and head towards the increasing sound of chatting and laughing that’s coming from the function room.

On entering, my eyes widen, taking in the wealth, the gowns and the dinner jackets. But I don’t feel nervous. I feel stupidly excited. This is people-watching at its best.

Without waiting for any prompt from Veronica, I lose myself in the growing crowds, presenting my tray to groups of people and smiling, whether they thank me or not. Most don’t, but it doesn’t dampen my mood. I’m in my element, and I’m surprised by it. The tray glides up and down with ease, my body shifts effortlessly through the masses of wealth, and I dance back and forth to the kitchen time and time again to restock and redeliver.

‘You’re doing good, Betty,’ Pop tells me, just as I’m leaving with another trayload of champagne flutes.

‘Thank you!’ I sing, keen to get myself back to my thirsty crowd. I catch Veronica across the room, and she smiles, encouraging a further beam from me. ‘Champagne?’ I ask, presenting my tray to a group of six middle-aged men, all kitted out in dinner jackets and bow ties.

‘Ah! Bloody marvellous!’ a stout man gushes, taking a glass and handing it to one of his companions. He does this a further four times before taking one for himself. ‘You’re doing a fine job, young lady.’ His free hand moves toward me and slips into my pocket as he winks. ‘Treat yourself.’

‘Oh no!’ I shake my head. I won’t take money from a man. ‘Sir, I get paid by my boss. You really mustn’t.’ I try to retrieve the note from my pocket while holding the tray steady on my palm. ‘We don’t expect tips.’

‘I won’t hear of it,’ he insists, pulling my hand from my pocket. ‘And it’s not a tip. It’s for the pleasure of seeing such beautiful eyes.’

I immediately blush bright red, stumped for anything to say. He must be sixty, if a day! ‘Sir, really, I can’t accept it.’

‘Nonesense!’ He dismisses me with a snort and a wave of his chubby hand, before returning to the chatter of his group, leaving me wondering what the hell to do.

I scan the room but I can’t see Veronica to ask and Pop is nowhere in sight, so I quickly offload the remaining glasses before heading back to the kitchens, finding Pop tweaking canapés.

‘Pop, someone gave me this.’ I slap the note on the counter, feeling better already for confessing, but my eyes bug when I see it’s a fifty. A fifty? What’s he thinking?

I’m even more stunned when Pop starts laughing. ‘Betty, you star. Keep it.’

‘I can’t!’

‘Yes you can. These people have more money than sense. Take it as a compliment.’ He pushes the fifty towards me and continues arranging the tiny flatbreads.

I don’t feel any better. ‘I’ve only served him a glass of champagne,’ I say quietly. ‘It hardly justifies a fifty-pound tip.’

‘No, it doesn’t, but like I said, take it as a compliment. Put it back in your pocket and get serving.’ He nods at my empty tray, reminding me that it is, in fact, empty.

‘Oh! Yes, sure.’ I fly into action, stuffing the obscene tip in my pocket, ready to dispose of it later, and reload my tray before quickly making my way back into the crowd. I avoid the gent who’s just thrown away fifty pounds and circle in the other direction, halting at the back of a red satin gown. ‘Champagne, madam?’ I ask, flicking a gaze across to Veronica. She nods her reassurance once more, smiling, but I don’t need it. I’m nailing this.

I turn my attention back to the satin-adorned woman, who has glossy Red poker-straight hair falling to her pert bum. I smile as she turns towards me, revealing her companion.

A man.

Him.

J.J.

I don’t know how I prevent the tray of freshly filled champagne glasses from falling to the floor, but I do. I don’t, however, prevent my smile from falling. His lips are parted again, his eyes stabbing at my flesh, but there’s no emotion on his exquisite face. His dark stubble is absent, leaving nothing but perfect tanned skin beneath, and his dark hair is a little less tousled, instead falling in perfect waves to the tops of his ears.

‘Thank you,’ the woman says slowly, taking a glass and pulling my eyes away from the strange man. A huge, sparkling, diamond-encrusted cross is suspended from her delicate neck, the brilliant stones nestling just north of her breasts. I’ve no doubt it’s real. ‘Would you like?’ She turns to him, holding up the glass.

He doesn’t say anything. He just takes the glass from her perfectly manicured hand, all the time keeping his shocking blue eyes on me.

He’s not at all receptive, and far from warm, but there’s something strange burning inside me as I gaze at his face. It’s something I’ve never experienced before – something that makes me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable . . . but not frightened.

The woman helps herself to another glass, and I know it’s time for me to leave, but I can’t move. I feel like I should smile, anything to break the staring deadlock, but what usually comes so naturally to me is completely failing me now. Nothing is working, except my eyes and they’re refusing to break from his.

‘That will be all,’ the woman prompts harshly, making me jump. Her delicate features are screwed up in annoyance and her dark eyes have darkened further. She has a stunning face, even if it’s scowling at me right now. ‘I said, that is all.’ She steps between me and J.J.

J.J? I decide right here and now that he is a mystery, one I can’t help wanting to solve. I say nothing as I finally swing my tray back onto my shoulder and slowly turn, walking away, feeling compelled to glance over my shoulder because I know he’s still staring at me and I’m wondering how that might be going down with his girlfriend. So I look, and it’s as I suspected – steely blues burning holes into my back.

‘Hey!’

I jump out of my skin, the tray tumbling from my hands, and I can do nothing to stop it. The glasses seem to float down to the marble, champagne trickling slowly from the flutes, the tray spinning in mid-air until it all comes together in a collective crash on the hard floor, silencing the room. I’m frozen on the spot as broken glass dances around my feet, seeming to take forever to settle, the piercing, drawn-out noise ringing through the quiet space around me. My eyes are cast downward, my body tense, and I know all attention is pointed at me.

Just me.

Everyone is looking at me.

And I don’t know what to do.

‘Betty!’ Veronica’s panicked voice snaps my despairing head up, and I see her hurrying towards me, her brown eyes concerned. ‘Are you okay?’

I nod and kneel to start collecting the broken glass, wincing as a red-hot pain shoots through my knee, and the material of my trousers is sliced through. ‘Shit!’ I pull in a sharp breath, tears immediately pinching the backs of my eyes. They’re a combination of pain and pure embarrassment. I don’t like any attention on me, and I do a good job to avoid and repel it, but I can’t escape this. I’ve brought a room full of hundreds of people to an eerie quiet. I want to run away.

Don’t touch it, Betty!’ Veronica pulls me up, giving me an all-over assessment. She must conclude that I look ready to break down because I’m quickly dragged to the kitchen, removing me from my audience. ‘Jump up.’ She pats the counter and I lift myself, still fighting back tears. She takes the hem of my trousers and lifts up until my wound is exposed. ‘Youch!’ She flinches at the clean slice and steps back, looking up at me. ‘I’m shit with blood, Betty. Was that the guy from the cafe?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper, shrinking when I see Pop approaching, but he doesn’t look annoyed.

#chapter 3

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blisserial · 7 years

Text

Five

Derby grew rich, as some villages do. A cousin to our king, one of many bastard by- blows, headed the ruling council and as such carefully retained royal favor. Derby, as it happened, was also blessed with low, sandy hills easily adapted to the king's new favorite crop; oil seed.

During the short summer the villagers of Derby farmed. During the long cold months seeds were pressed and every hand became slick with oil. The product was shipped north and east in tiny stone bottles. As the king's approval grew, so did Derby.

Any village can be quickly judged by the number of good taverns along the main street. Derby had six. I found work in the oldest of the group: a sagging two story building known as the Cat'n Hammer.

The Cat belonged to a middle aged ex-infantryman whose title was Rickson but who preferred to be called Garve. He was a big man, and merry. His face was pocked with old shrapnel scars and he limped when he walked but he seemed to have survived military service relatively intact.

Garve ruled his workplace fair and proper. The cook kept his hands washed, the bar maids took their own private customers to bed only after tavern close, and the dish boys drank the absinthe Garve left out in the back room, but never the good ale behind the bar.

I started work as a dish 'boy', and despite the addling affects of absinthe, quickly mastered that skill and moved on to the duties of the bar. I'd learned the battle of coin versus hunger very well and was rather naïvely determined to make Granda rich as Fox. I had no real qualms about taking customers to bed for good coin, so long as they were free of disease, but I was not quite sure how to begin.

Rorik, a barkeep with freckles across his nose and perhaps too much experience in the way of after hours commerce, came to my rescue.

"Go and watch old Jessica's puppet show on Broad Street. Pay attention. Come back after moon's up and I'll show you the rest."

Jessica's anatomically correct puppets were very explicit. I imagine I blushed. But the crowd about the small brick and stone theatre grew heated and the boil of the blood was contagious. I remember that a harlot with garish ruby on her cheeks attached herself to my arm and stole a kiss. I remember the warmth of her tongue in my mouth and the scrape of her long finger nails against my flesh, and then the sudden flush of understanding.

Sex was not only about coin, after all. This was hunger again, in a different guise.

Rorik was a good mentor. He deftly taught me the commerce and principles of village whoring. When he died of lung rot three springs later he left me what little coin he had not spent on cosmetics and ale.

*****

Bliss waited to unwrap Shaara's bundle until they were half a day's ride north of the border.

They found shelter from the weather in an old barn well off the main road. The barn stank of chicken shit and mold, but Maurice managed to kindle a small cook fire to life as the sun set. Thin white smoke rose straight through the pockets in the roof. The snow had turned to rain. By the time they crossed the border, Maurice hoped, winter would begin to feel dry.

Shaara snored contentedly in the sagging hayloft. The horses, equally weary, stood tethered out in the wet, lazily lipping up muddy grass.

"These fields used to be rich with flax." Maurice picked a shriveled seed from the sole of his boot and flicked it into the fire. "Now they're all but barren."

"Flax went out of style two life times ago." Bliss folded back velvet sleeves and bent closer to the firelight. "Oil seed is cursed. And so are the fields it was farmed on."

"Villages starved to dust on a king's whim."

"May He Reign Forever," Bliss quoted absently. Whatever she had found in Shaara's cloak rattled beneath her hands.

Maurice grunted and rummaged about in his pouch. His cigarettes were running low. He needed to save them for the next performance. But the damp made his bones ache and thoughts of the next day made his spine itch, and he wanted a smoke now.

He shrugged his shoulders, lit one tiny cigarette, and inhaled gratefully. "What is it?" He asked at last, as Bliss did not seem inclined to reveal Tamner's gift.

"Art." She glanced up, puzzled. "Portraits."

Maurice stood, knees creaking, and walked around the fire to crouch at her side for a better look. Bliss spread the velvet out, a puddle of color over packed mud. Sorting in rows onto the fabric, as she might have dealt cards before a companionable game, she laid out armies of broken sea shell.

Maurice had to lean forward to see that the shells were not, after all, broken, but filed into near perfect ovals and then embellished with what appeared to be milk paint.

"Coastal style portraiture. Mementos" He rocked a little on his heels. "Old Andrew carried one very like, do you remember?"

"Of his two sons, yes." Bliss took the cigarette from his hand and sucked thoughtfully. "These are all women. Young women." She handed the cigarette back and then began rearranging the painted shells, this way and that. Maurice could make out no pattern to her shuffling.

"What do you suppose happened to them?"

"Andrew's sons?"

"No." Maurice blew contemplative pastel smoke rings. The rings drifted away after the camp smoke. "The villagers. The rivers and rivers of villagers who could no longer farm this cursed land."

"Went the way of the rest of us, I suppose." Bliss tapped fingers on her thigh. "Conscripted, if they were lucky. Moved on, if they were not."

"Moved on where?"

"How should I know?" Bliss speared him with an irritated glance. "I've learned better than to go about asking stupid questions. So've you, I thought."

Maurice finished his smoke and sighed. "The stars make me want to ask questions."

Bliss glanced up through the torn roof and made a rude sound. "Leastways the rain has stopped. Look at these, o seeker of answers." She stabbed a finger, demanding his attention. "Why would Lady Alyce need one hundred and twelve tiny coastal portraits?”

"Perhaps milord enjoys the female form."

"No. They were Alyce's. Shaara said he found them in her sitting room. In her writing desk. Milady's desk would not be Tamner's province."

Maurice shrugged. "Well, then. Perhaps milaldy enjoys the female form."

Bliss glowered. “Nay.”

Maurice sighed again. "Could be she collects them. Coastal portraits. Southern mirrors.”

"Why hide them, then?" Bliss held a bright shell to the firelight. "Shove them away in a drawer. Why not display them, like the mirrors, and the little cat?"

In the hayloft above, Shaara rolled and mumbled in his sleep.

"There's nothing to connect them but their gender," Bliss continued after a moment. "And, roughly, their age. Look, here. This one's obviously of good blood, Northern. And here's a Southern priestess. This pretty princess looks as though she's spent every hour of her every day struggling on your barren farm, Maurice. And here's another with jewels through her hair."

"They've eyes in common."

"Ah?"

"Eyes," Maurice said, leaning over Bliss's hunched shoulders. "They're all green. Green eyes."

Bliss frowned. "Trout and Fox, but you're right. You've still got your wits, old man, and hawk's gaze to match. Eyes. Some of them are faded, but they've all got green eyes. That’s something, I suppose. But what?"

Maurice straightened, stretched, and grabbed his pack. His spine cracked. "Come up into the loft. Roof's better there. Sleep warm tonight, Captain."

"In a moment," Bliss replied, absently reshuffling the miniatures.

Maurice started to haul himself over the edge of the hay loft then paused. "The artist, too. They're all done in the same hand. Whoever he was, he had some talent, but he’s no master. Look at the noses. They’re all the same, and crooked at that.”

He waited for a properly mocking retort but Bliss sat silently. He pulled himself into the hay alongside Shaara and waited several hear beats longer. Then, vaguely alarmed, he stuck his head back into thin air.

"Bliss?"

He couldn't see her past the fire but he could hear the sudden understanding in a breath exhaled.

"Same age, eye color, gender." Bliss said. "Same artist. It's a map, a record. She's looking for someone, Maurice. She's got some idiot with a bit of skill and a box of milk paints sending her samples. And so far I reckon she's had at least one hundred and twelve misses."

Maurice always found the River Ann baffling. The clear water was not terribly deep, nor dangerously wide. Nor was the bed softened with curves or joints. Ann ran straight as a pin, she did, never deviating from her chosen path, even during flood season.

It was exactly as if the land, prescient, had cut a swath of wet precisely across the center of the continent and said: Here is north, here is south, and never shall they cleave or bend together.

Maurice said as much to his companions as they sat their horses beneath a clump of alder trees and watched the river race.

"Foolishness," Bliss scoffed. She'd shed her gaudy finery and gone back to the threadbare tunic and trousers she favored. Maurice suspected she had also rubbed grit through her hair and dirt across her face.

"My gaffer used to float stick rafts across the river," Shaara added, sliding from the saddle, groaning as he stretched kinds from his legs. "Mama used to tell stories of the children he'd meet, fielders from the other side. One family had twelve biddies, all red hair. They grew grapes." Shaara sounded properly amazed. "And they sent good wine home to my gaffer's ma, every Summerfest."

Bliss ran her fingers through her pony's mane. The pony bobbed and snorted, unnerved or enticed by the river's faintly sighing rush.

"Your Great Granda must have been one of those first to see the border closed," she said. "And the twelve biddies across the way. Did they mourn long when the bridge was closed, I wonder?"

Maurice shifted in the saddle. He knew very well that any river homesteads had long ago been razed, on both the Northern bank and the Southern. Even so, he felt vaguely like a trespasser.

"Do we cross here, or on the bridge?" He pressed his horse forward, eager to move on.

Bliss's pony clopped after. Shaara was slow to follow.

"The bridge," Bliss decided after a brief hesitation. "Takes longer, but I'd rather not run the horses out before nightfall."

Only one bridge spanned the River Ann. Built of hewn granite and rare limestone, it grew from the earth in a perfect half circle, arching more than Ann's shallows required.

The loam at the foot of the bridge on the northern bank was clean, burned clear of weed or sapling every new moon. On the southern bank, stalks of lavender bobbed.

Ten good strides up the northern curve the southern king had ordered a gate built of steel and barbed wire. The Seat, apparently, had no need for such ostentatious display; there was not matching gate on the southern half of the arch.

Two guards dozed against steel in the light rain. One straightened as Maurice dismounted and led his mare onto the bridge. The other did not so much as twitch beneath his crested helm.

"Nobody crosses but soldier and supply. Go back."

The guard was petite and cocksure, and obviously bored and uncomfortable in her heavy leathers. A pistol hung at her belt. She wore a thin sword across her back.

"Go back," she warned again, and when Maurice did not move, she spat on damp limestone. "And if you ford downstream we'll shoot you, sure as you stand. The weather's miserable and I ain't going out in it so as to rope up three runners and send 'em home. We'll shoot."

"Where are the others?" Bliss tossed her reins to Shaara and squeezed past Maurice's mare. She looked the guards up and down with distinct, elaborate disgust. "There are supposed to be four guarding this gate. Where are the other two?"

The first soldier stiffened. The other, warned by Bliss's tone, decided to pay attention.

"Supply wagon got caught in the mud over the ridge," he jerked his chin past the grove of alders. "Needed a push."

"One goes, three stay." Bliss pulled a sheaf of dirtied paper from her pack and slapped it across the woman's palm. "Or have you forgotten how to count? Mayhap the rain has washed all good sense from your head, wench?”

Maurice coughed. Shaara sneezed. The pony nibbled at the mare's tail and earned a halfhearted kick for the insult. The first guard unrolled Bliss's papers as the second, now wide awake, tried to save face.

"Ben couldna handle a mired supply wagon hisself. He ain't got the strength of a tadpole. Ryan went along to lend a hand, see. And me and Myra, we stayed behind as we're -"

"The best hands with a pistol." The petite conscript returned Bliss's papers, rigid with disapproval. "Open the gate, Wen. They're rank. Just barely."

Wen unlocked the king's gate, silver key glinting in his hand. He stood, attentive, as first Maurice and then Bliss and her apprentice filed through. Myra spat again.

"Wench, is it?" she shouted after as the gate closed. "Leastways I ain't no camp grubber. Too afraid to pick up a knife in the lines to be of any real use."

Shaara made an ugly face and then laughed as the pony farted in affront. Maurice swallowed back his own amusement.

Bliss led her pony off the bridge and into southern lavender. She snapped a sprig of purple and stuck the flower behind one ear.

"How things change," she said, tossing Maurice a crooked grin. "Four years ago and they would have thrown tomatoes, at the very least. Lazy young conscripts. Have they no passion to speak of? I fear for our future."

Bliss rolled her eyes mockingly at Maurice, lavender flower bouncing in behind her ear, and the tight, cold pinch he had been carrying at the base of his spine melted away.

Shaara caught a hare amongst the lavender. Maurice set it to stew for supper on a hummock just out of sight of the river. Bliss, dropped her pack with a grunt and set the pony free to graze.

"I'm going down the road," she said. "Put the last of Shaara's yams in that stew. I'll be back with bread afore it boils."

Maurice nodded. He rummaged in Shaara's bag for the roots. The boy took a handful of scrub weed to Bliss's pony. He sang as he brushed damp from the animal’s coat.

Bliss stepped off the grass onto the wide southern road and slouched away, whistling low accompaniment to Shaara's tune. Maurice watched until she disappeared over a dip on the horizon. There would be village and temple just over the next hill. It was the way of the Seat and the shadow.

"She took it well," Shaara said from behind the pony.

"Took what well?" Although, of course, he knew. Maurice began to dice the two remaining yams with his belt knife. They smelled of sugar and the earth.

"I thought she'd balk at the gate," Shaara said. "Or break into weeping over the flowers."

Maurice glanced up, wry. "Have you ever seen her weep?"

"No." Shaara paused in his ministrations. "Not even when we buried Ross."

"I thought she'd want to ford wet," Maurice admitted after a moment. He dumped pieces of root into the pot after the rabbit, wincing as hot water splashed. “Swim the channel.”

"Chased after by gunshot?" Shaara laughed. "No turning back or lead in your thigh."

"Yes." The lad was growing up, Maurice realized. Shaara had always seen clearly but the boy was gaining wit to go with clarity. Maurice wondered, with a pang, how long yet they would manage to keep him before he flew the nest.

Bliss had taken Shaara on out of sympathy and duty, and because Ross had insisted. They had raised him best they knew how. And the lad was a fair hand at the trickery and the show.

But they would never be a full circus troop again and Shaara deserved better than living hand to mouth. He was growing up and soon, gods willing, he would find a way out.

And then Ross's troop would be only two. Which was right and proper, Maurice supposed, as they had always been the heart of it.

"Have you?" Shaara asked, turning away from the pony.

Maurice started. "Have I what, lad?"

"Ever seen her weep?"

"Oh," said Maurice. "Yes. Once. Just the once, but it was a long time ago."

#reading #writing #fantasy #lgbtq

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giantpower87-blog · 5 years

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Put it on my tab.

Here you go, chapter 10

Name: Lee Race: Human Class: Herald - None

Level: 9 Health: 190/190 EXP: 1333/2000

Primary Stats:

Power 19(20) Toughness 19(20) Spirit 19(20)

Secondary Stats:

Charisma 8 Courage 5 Deceit 2

Intelligence 48(50) Honor 1 Faith 26

Personal Faith 39

Skills:

Unarmed Combat Initiate Level 2 Swordplay Initiate Level 3

Sneak Initiate Level 3 Cooking Initiate Level 1

Trap Detection Initiate Level 1

Divine Skills:

Golem Sculpting Initiate Level 5

Appreciative Drunk Initiate Level 9

Faith Healing

“Are we done here?” Lee asked. He had needed the extra time to come up with a plan, and Ling had needed to hear the rant in order to fully understand the betrayal, but more empty words didn’t mean much at this point to Lee. He didn’t care why Ramon had been the bad guy: he just cared that he was and that he was the only one who knew where the other herald was. But all this talk was starting to get worse than those movies where two people were about to fight to the death and the hero and the villain always felt like they needed to have a ten-minute monologue first. If one of us is going to die, what the heck is the point in wasting so much time? He looked around the room and realized that it was empty except for Ramon. “Do you have anything else you want to say? Like, last chance to tell me where your boss is.” He added the last bit sarcastically, unable to help himself. Wait, is he stalling? He’s stalling so that the messenger can get out. There’s no one here because the messenger has already left!

“Oh, we’re done here,” Ramon laughed. “This is exactly where your tomb lies.”

“Then how about we get the show on the road?” Lee smiled as he jumped over another rather obvious floor trap and rushed forward to shield-slam Ramon.

In the process of avoiding the obvious floor traps though, he had missed the possibility of a remotely activated one. As soon as he got within five feet of Ramon, the barkeep kicked over one of the chairs.

Click.

The sound was as obvious this time as it had been before, and one of the floorboards moved away less than a second later to reveal another sharp spike hurtling toward Lee. Thankfully, he had transitioned into a bit-more-cautious, tank-oriented, sword-and-board style of fighting, so instead of impaling him, the spike slammed into his shield at just the right angle to change direction and continue its path upward.

“Tch!” Ramon clicked his tongue in anger. “Clearly, you haven’t read the ending of a good book yet: the bad guy always loses. Prepare to die!” The clichéd villain shouted as he lunged forward and swung his flail at Lee.

Lee clung to his protective wooden treasure for dear life after it had just saved him from certain death. He instinctively shoved it forward to block the spiked ball at the end of the long flail, only to have misjudged the trajectory completely. Instead of being blocked, the chain hit the surface of the shield, and the fat five-pound ball wrapped around the front and slammed into his shoulder, the spikes digging into his flesh.

Great, ten damage already. Lee grimaced as he tried to retaliate with a stab. Unfortunately, the weight from the flail had taken away his momentum and sent him sideways at the same time, knocking him into the bar and sending his sword thrust into the empty air.

As he was knocked around, however, he caught sight of a spear hurtling past him that plowed right into Ramon’s chest. It clearly didn’t do enough damage to cause a fatal wound, but it was enough to relieve the pressure off of Lee and force Ramon back. For a moment, the spear seemed like it had gone through Ramon entirely, as the man was pushed back into the wall behind him, but that thought was quickly dispelled as the weapon fell away.

“Hahahaha!” Ramon chuckled, wiping a few drops of blood from his mouth as if he were the hero of a typical Asian martial arts movie. “I saw this scene playing out a few ways, but I never would have imagined this idiot’s stupidity would reach this level. Throwing away your weapon just because you think it’s safe to do so? Fool!” Ramon shouted, quickly turning to the wall and hitting another switch.

The ceiling over the doorway collapsed, burying a girl and sealing off the entrance in the process. At the same time, a seemingly harmless closet door opened up and three Leprechauns walked out.

“They don’t look so tough,” one with red hair observed.

“Tough or not, we get paid the same either way. This ain’t part of our usual orders,” another with brown hair and yellow eyes added.

“I’m expecting a pot of gold for all our work,” the green-eyed one cackled.

Miller finally lost his cool as soon as they finished their little introduction. “Easy?! Idiot?! There is nothing stupid about hitting an enemy when there is an opening! You’re the idiot for thinking that I would only carry one spear!” he yelled, pulling five spears out of his inventory. “Let me show you the power of a man who has no scruples with buying victory in this game so long as it is purchased with evil blood!”

Welp, Ramon, this is on you. You ticked off the bloodthirsty giant. Before the thought had even entered Lee’s head, Miller slammed one of the spears into the ground and released his drunken shout, changing all of Lee’s stats over to their drunken version. Miller immediately hoisted that very same spear into the air and chucked it at the redheaded Leprechaun closest to him. Unlike before, where the spear failed to pierce, this one nailed the guy right into the wall and left him pinned against the wood.

Ling fired off two arrows, sinking one into each of the green eyes of the other Leprechaun, leaving only one remaining. Before the remaining Leprechaun could even scream in shock or respond to the rapid death of his buddies, he was hit by both an arrow in the eye and a spear right in the middle of his sternum.

You have killed Bubblywink. Your party has been awarded 85 copper and 109 experience. Your share of this is 43 copper and 55 experience.

You have killed McWoozy. Your party has been awarded 4 silver, 32 copper and 124 experience. Your share of this is 2 silver, 16 copper and 62 experience.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned . . .” Ramon frowned for a moment before turning to run up the stairs. “But there’s always tomorrow!”

“Careful when you follow!” Lee yelled out, but he didn’t heed his own advice as he charged up the stairs after the fleeing barkeep. When he reached the top of the winding staircase, he realized the entire upper floor was dark--not exactly pitch black, but rather dark in a way that a room with poor blinds near street lamps gets at night. Lee was suddenly super conscious of his surroundings and extremely wary as he tried to avoid any traps Ramon might have set. And, no more than a second into trying to find a hint of a rope or loose floorboard, he heard a click.

Crap, did I step on something? He looked down at his feet only to have a bolt from a crossbow strike him in the arm for 25 damage a second later. The sound of laughter echoed from the end of the hall, and Lee glanced up to see Ramon illuminated by the small amount of light that had snuck in from outside.

“I love making traps and setting up plans, but it’s so rare for me to actually get to see them in action . . . to see how the story plays out.” Ramon broke into that awful cackle of his again. “That’s why this is such a pleasure. I had been so worried that you would die in a boring fashion, that the tale they would tell would be this: Two idiots charged the barracks and were stabbed to death. Who would have thought that it’d be so vibrant instead! Back from the dead, quest for revenge, killed by the friend he trusted! What a perfect twist ending.” Ramon punctuated this final part by firing and missing another bolt at Lee, who was more concerned with searching out the floor for traps at the moment.

It’s too dark, Lee grumbled as he debated making a charge at Ramon. The downstairs layout of the bar had left him wary of booby traps, and unfortunately, Ethan hadn’t managed to make it through the door before the ceiling collapsed. Using the golem would have been an easy solution to both of his lack of sight and his need to discover the traps Ramon had set. Still, as a habit, he peered through the rodent’s eyes as soon as he struggled to use his own. What he saw, in great detail, shook him.

David and the young girl who had been buried when the ceiling collapsed were dying. The young woman couldn’t be a day over twenty, yet she held onto David’s hand and simply smiled at the others as if this were a welcome and expected outcome. A few in the group were crying, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by her fate. Instead, she gripped David’s hand and put on the best face she could despite the pain she had to be in from being still buried from the waist down in debris.

Some of the others were trying to remove the debris, but David just shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve seen a temple of the god with Lee. I know it’s real. It’s all real. They have their own language and everything. He didn’t exaggerate at all,” David continued.

“Just hang in there! You’re not going to die yet!” a woman of roughly the same age as David assured him as she held his other hand. “You’re going to make it. We didn’t put up with all of that together for you to just die on me.”

“You don’t get it,” David continued. “I’m not going to just die. I’m going to the better world, the world where Lee will take care of us. I’m a believer, and he promised.” He coughed a bit of blood then continued. “He promised it’d be a better life than this.”

“Don’t say that! You can go there later,” the dejected old lady insisted. “Come on, Davey, you’ll pull through this.”

“Just . . . promise me.” He coughed again, his eyes starting to droop.

“Yeah?” She answered pleadingly.

“Just promise me that you’ll believe . . . that you’ll be meeting me on the other side when you go too . . .” The light faded out of his eyes, and a part of Lee died along with him.

Lee was torn between the part of him that felt like his con had taken away the man’s will to live, his desire to fight, and the part that was satisfied he had given the old man some small semblance of peace on his deathbed.

The more difficult part was that he was still fighting for his life as he watched David’s death. The entire time, he had been rolling from side to side as he dodged Ramon’s crossbow bolts--bolts that were somehow aimed rather well in the dim light and reloaded at an even more impressive speed.

Ethan, can you understand me? Do you know what you must do? Lee asked the mouse, hoping that this communication between the two wasn’t just words but also intention.

When he felt Ethan nod, he knew that the rat understood, so he switched off his vision through the mouse’s eyes so that he could focus on his struggle against Ramon.

“Come on, oh herald of the end of times! Proclaim my doom to me! Tell me how this story ends!” Ramon’s cackle wormed its way through Lee’s head as he laughed between each sentence.

Screw it. Lee pushed all of his energy into his feet and charged down the right of the hallway toward the lunatic at its end. Right before he reached him, however, Ramon kicked the wall next to him, and two small ankle-high blades popped out from both walls and started rotating toward Lee.

With a reaction speed much faster than he remembered ever having, Lee leapt over the two blades with the grace of a seasoned hurdler before landing and ramming into Ramon shoulder-first. The blow was hard enough to send Ramon through the wall and down a full story onto the ground. Lee quickly pulled out his stashed bow, readied an arrow and shot Ramon in his leg while the other man was still moaning and writhing on the dirt. He had truthfully been aiming for a gut shot, but he was still relatively unpracticed with the bow and his aim was still a bit off.

“Hey!” he called out toward the front of the bar. “Hey, he’s over here! Restrain him until we get the map!” Quickly, the injured Ramon was surrounded by five of the former slaves grabbing onto his limbs.

“We have him, Lord Lee!” a middle-aged man called up after they successfully managed to restrain the barkeep.

Lee couldn’t help but sigh as he stared at the incredibly poorly-made wooden wall that Ramon went through. Man, they just don’t make walls like . . . Lee paused, his brain wanting to say ‘they used to,’ but at the same time, he remembered that this was technically what his society would count as the ‘used to.’ . . . Like they will? He finished the thought before shaking his head and making his way down the stairs back to the storefront.

The first thing he noticed when he arrived downstairs was that the doorway was mostly cleared. He also felt a good deal of relief when he saw that the legs of a young woman weren’t sticking out of it. Does that mean she made it? Lee realized he was hopeful that she had as his feet stopped and his eyes fixated on the spot where she should have been.

“Victory?” Miller asked Lee, interrupting his thoughts. “I didn’t see a kill message for him. There wasn’t any EXP. Did he run, or did we get him?”

“Yes, did we succeed? Did we get him? Did we make that bastard pay?” Ling asked with a mix of anger and excitement in her rushed words.

“He’s outside on the ground and heavily injured,” Lee answered. “The others have him secured so that he can’t run away, but I don’t want to wait too long.”

Lee checked in with Ethan as he made his way to where Ramon was being held. He intended to have the rat start searching the bar for any traps that they might not have found yet, but he held off on that request as soon as he saw what his mouse was doing. The little, winged mouse was in one of the alleyways with one of its tiny little paws on its chest spitting out tiny pieces of wood. When it noticed that Lee was paying extra special attention to him at that moment, it scowled long enough for Lee to understand before it went back to pushing the pieces of debris out of its body.

The command he had given the mouse while he was fighting off Ramon wasn’t to chew the girl free--rather, it had been to crawl into the pile and help the villagers identify which pieces of debris could be removed safest so that they could excavate her more easily. He hadn’t been happy about having to let Ethan act where others could see, but if it came to a choice between saving the girl’s life and keeping one of his powers and abilities a secret, he wasn’t going to regret his decision.

He didn’t know she was okay, however, until he saw her bandaged up and leaning against the wall next to David’s corpse. He was actually worried that she might be dead at first until he saw her chest rise and fall a few times. Well, with the way this world works, it’s not like she has to worry about a permanent injury so long as she doesn't die, he thought to himself as he rounded the corner and came face to face with the pinned-down and crying Ramon.

“Come on, Ramon. Don’t do this.” Lee frowned when he saw the clever, manipulative villain snot-faced and bawling his eyes out like a punched baby. “You’re supposed to be tough and defiant. The daring antagonist that laughs in the face of death,” he continued, feeling rather let down by this development. It had felt like a knife to the metaphorical gut as he endeavored to reason the madness behind such a colossal betrayal of his fellow friends and neighbors when he first realized that they had been duped by Ramon. He had subconsciously shifted Ramon from being the jovial information guy into a cold, calculating demon . . . and that image was once shattered again just as quickly as it had been created.

“Let me go, please! Please, let me go,” Ramon begged between tears. “It hurts so much! Just . . . just let me pull it out! Let me go!”

“Ramon. Ramon, Ramon, Ramon. This is just pathetic. It’s disheartening to see you embarrass yourself like this. It’s just plain cruel.” Lee’s frown turned into a scowl. “These people . . . You betrayed them and sold their lives away like livestock, but you can’t even act like a man about it. You can’t even accept any responsibility for your failure. What happened to your laughter?” he asked as he walked closer. “I guess that all the edgy life-doesn’t-matter crap falls out the window when it’s your life on the line, doesn’t it?” Lee knew his speech was probably stupid, but he felt he deserved at least one monologue. He had taken a bolt in the arm and had been forced to reveal one of his trump cards, so the least he could get out of this was a moment to feel like the cool guy while he ranted on.

“But I’ll tell you what,” Lee continued, now close enough to kick Ramon’s face without moving his foot more than a few inches. “Why don’t you help me out? You see, like you said, I’m stupid. I’m the unimaginative idiot who relies on technology to create complacency. So, I need your help after all. I need a professional storyteller: someone who can help me figure out an end to this story where I don’t kill you slowly. As slowly as possible. Can you do that for me, Ramon? Can you tell me an end to this story where I don’t chop off one of your fingers every few minutes? Followed by your toes, your legs, and your arms? Can you stop me from having to whittle away until you’re nothing but a stump? Can you do that for me, Ramon? Because, right now, I think everyone here kind of wants to see that ending. It’s their happily ever after. Am I right, guys?” he turned to the group and addressed the last question to them. It was met by a series of emphatic affirmatives. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t sound excited about that ending.

“I . . .” Ramon paused to suck the snot and drool back up his nose and mouth respectively. “I don’t know. Please, just let me go.”

Lee almost felt some bit of pity for him, but then he remembered the condition that he had found the villagers in, and it instantly vanished. He took a moment to look at Ramon’s injuries, making sure that he could survive what he had planned, before leaning over and pulling one of his swords out. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”

“Wait! Wait! No, what are you going to do?!” Ramon pleaded, his voice passing any metric that might be used to gauge a scream by a mile as it pierced the air. But Lee ignored it. He blocked it out of his head and did his best to keep his stomach down as he used his sword to follow through on his promise, slicing one of Ramon’s pinkies right off of his hand.

“GODS NO!!” Ramon’s scream reached a decibel level that made the stomach-churning act of taking off a man’s finger feel that much worse. The only thing that helped Lee follow through the action was when he thought about what type of hell on earth this monster of a person had put so many people through.

How is killing so easy when torturing is like hell on me? Lee didn’t understand himself at all, but he still had to do his best to steel his nerves. He needed Ramon to be afraid. Terrified. I got to look up more about this. This can’t be the best way to do this. Lee closed his eyes and put the act out of his head for a second. “Alright,” he began again after calming himself enough. “Now, you’ve only got nine digits left on your hands before I have to start moving to the toes. Why don’t you tell me that story? You told me that you love stories. Surely you weren’t lying to me. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Lee asked.

“No, no of course not,” Ramon insisted over and over again. “I can tell you a story! I can tell you a story!”

“Well, good. Now, why don’t you tell me the story I want to hear, or I will have to make sure your right hand matches your left.”

“The . . . the valley in the east. His temple is in the east,” Ramon said, pausing to suck more snot back into his nose. “If you follow the path toward Middlefart, just . . .” He paused again, devolving back into a whimpering mess.

“Ramon!” Lee slapped him after a minute. “Stick with me. Where is it off the path?”

“T-take a left after the first signpost. The trail is easy to find. Follow the trail . . . I-It’s in the valley,” he finished.

Wait, how can I trust him? Lee suddenly realized the error of this method. The chances of Ramon handing over accurate information were just as high as the chances of him leading them into another trap. This sad sack routine could be another ploy to make him more believable. He could just be wearing another mask. “Okay, Ramon, do you have a map in the bar?”

“I . . .” He paused. He paused long and hard.

“Ramon, my blade is getting antsy. Do you have a map, or do I have another finger? I can’t trust you without a map, can I?” Lee asked, levying his blade against Ramon’s next pinky.

“It’s . . .” Ramon had stopped crying. It was evident that his earlier assumptions of him were wrong. This was a ploy. Ramon knew exactly what he’d ask for. “It’s in the dark liquor bottle labeled Quester’s Fury under the bar. There isn’t anything in the bottle. I just painted the inside so it would look like it’s full,” Ramon finally said.

There. “Ramon, I’m going to let you in on a secret. I have a method of scouting, one that lets me see a place without ever having to go there. I can know if you’re lying to me before any traps are sprung,” Lee said, referencing Ethan as indirectly as possible. “If I use this method, by the end of the night, I’ll know if you’re lying. If you are . . . Well, I can’t help you then. But if you’re not, then I’ll let you live in this town without fear of death for the rest of your life--until you die of something other than beating or stabbing or general weapon and fist related injuries.”

Ramon stayed frozen for a long time. “There is a trap on the way. You have to spin the signpost to disarm it.”

Lee patted his head patronizingly. “That’s good, Ramon. That’s good.”

“Are you going to keep your word?” The now-once-more arrogant face of the villain was back, much to Lee’s actual joy. He couldn’t take the crying. His face was still mucus-covered from his play earlier, however, destroying any ability to take him seriously or treat him like the actually ominous evil character he was.

Ethan, can you fly over there and check it out for me? We’re going to need to do some planning. He sent the directions to his little mouse friend who had just finished heaving the last piece of wood out of his gut.

“Just take this scum into the main room, get the map, and we’ll deal with him in a bit,” Lee ordered the villagers. Between all the murdering, the torture, and the bossing around of villagers that now somehow felt like henchmen in the back of his head, he was really starting to feel less like a prophet, demigod, savior, hero or whatever else and much more like the wicked, evil boss. The only thing he was missing was a permanent base.

Though, I do now own a tavern . . . Lee looked up at the building, only to see the hole Ramon had left. He spent so much time installing trap after trap in his bar, but in the end, he was done in by cheap corner-cutting during the building process. That wall might as well have been thatch the wood was so thin. He let out a hollow laugh at the irony.

“Umm . . . ” The lady Lee had seen holding David’s hand at his last moments came up just then to Lee and meekly lowered her head.

“I’m sorry about David. We’ll do everything we can to make sure he’s buried and treated properly,” Lee said as soon as he realized who she was. “He’s gone to a better place now,” he said with certainty, even though he had no idea if David actually made it to the upstairs or the downstairs of his own conceptions of the afterlife. He wasn’t even sure this world was connected or watched over by the god he actually believed in, but saying that wouldn’t matter now. Lee was going straight to the worst punishment imaginable for all this blasphemy and paganistic teaching as far as his own personal religion was concerned, so he might as well at least do it right and console people and make them feel better along the way.

“Will . . . Will we be together there when I die?” she asked with a level of love and determination he had not come face to face with before. It wasn’t just in her voice or her near-mute-but-determined words that confronted him with a level of adoration he was unfamiliar with. It was in her every gesture: her eyes were swollen and sparkled from as-yet-unfallen tears, and her lips were pressed together so tightly after she spoke that they vanished into each other. It was visible, and it was touching, and it made Lee feel all the more awful that David had died because of him.

“Of course you will. And it’ll be a much better life than this one was,” he assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying not to be a creep while he comforted her--a talent he had no experience with. She looked him straight in the eye, wiped her eyes dry with her arms, and then pulled out a knife.

“If you live a good and full life,” Lee quickly added as he stopped her blade. What the hell?! You can’t do that! There’s a difference between faith and stupidity here! “If you live a good, honest and long life, you’ll definitely be with him in the afterlife. As one of the first true believers, he was so determined and faithful, going so far as to die in battle for a cause within such a short period of time, that I promise he’ll have one of the highest positions in the afterlife. You need to work hard and earn a seat next to him.”

He wasn’t sure if he stopped her suicidal impulses, but at the very least he had quieted them. She pursed her lips as she stared at him before she nodded and headed into the bar on her own, leaving Lee alone. He couldn’t help but worry as he watched her go. He sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t off herself because of her faith in his charlatan antics.

“How is it that you’ve actually met a god, yet you view this all as blasphemous, Charlatan nonsense?” Augustus’s voice pierced his mind with familiar background noise that often accompanied voice chat servers in video games. “I mean, come on! I’ve heard of people having trouble believing in a higher power because there is no proof, but you’re tangibly living in an entire world of proof after meeting the very god himself. It’s not like I’m asking you to preach about some spaghetti monster in the sky.”

“But I still have faith in someone else, you know?” Lee said. “First come, first serve. Literally.”

“Your mother would be so disappointed.” Augustus let out a hearty laugh, and Lee could swear there was the sound of a beer glass hitting a table in the background.

“Yeah, she would.” He nodded at the thought and then put Augustus out of his head completely as he went back into the battlefield of a bar, noting the potentially suicidal girl sitting next to David’s body where the injured teen had been moments ago. I guess they took her somewhere to rest, he thought, the whole scene still feeling too chaotic to grasp the full picture.

-----

While Ethan was out searching for the spot that Ramon had mentioned, the group found the map and laid it out on one of Ramon’s tables after dragging him into the bar. After they searched the bar, they had found not only the map but also several other unequipped traps and gadgets, making Lee thankful that Ramon hadn’t had the time to finish setting them all up before they arrived.

“So, do we actually let him live?” someone asked.

“Who needs a beer? Come on, people! Free beerrrrr!” Miller shouted from the bar as he started pouring glasses. “We don’t even have to pay! What a loot haul! Am I right, Lee?”

Lee’s face scrunched up as he looked at his overexcited paladin. Yes, you’re right. This has been a great loot haul, but can you maybe learn to read the mood some? Everyone other than Miller was either sober and somber or drunk and depressed. There wasn’t a cheerful face to be found anywhere in the room. It hadn’t been a clean victory, and as much as Lee hated to admit it, he missed the talkative guide already. Even though he had only known him for a day, he was already starting to miss David’s particular sense of humor.

“Here’s one for David,” he said, hoisting the glass in front of him and chugging it.

“Oh, are we drinking for the fallen?” Miller piped up, talking around a mouth full of food.

“What are you eating?” Lee asked, noticing for the first time that his friend was munching away at something.

“Fried chicken? Seems the cook finished making a few batches before he was killed,” Miller responded, not even bothering to chew his food properly as he talked.

“He killed Jeffrey?” someone asked.

“That’s horrible,” the girl on his right said as she jumped up and went to the kitchen.

“Look at the bright side: it means he wasn’t in on it.” Miller could really be an insensitive jerk when he wanted to. “Wait, I got it! Let’s have another drink for him too!” he offered, likely because he saw her horrified expression. “I mean, Lee did it for David, right? It has to be a religious thing for Augustus. He is a god of alcohol, after all.” With marked enthusiasm, Miller poured several beer glasses as quickly as possible from the tap.

“Yeah . . . to David!” the table said in unison before chugging a round of beer just like Lee had done. When they finished, they grabbed the fresh brews that Miller had poured.

“And to Jeffrey!” Miller shouted, and they downed that round before grabbing another.

Lee was caught between his fascination with how quickly a ‘religious tradition’ had started and how much he wanted to smack some sense into Miller so that he would stop acting so happy-go-lucky. He glanced over worriedly at the tables of morose people drinking quietly next to the Leprechauns’ corpses. The Firbolg really didn’t seem to have any clue as to how to act appropriately.

“So . . . what do we do now?” one of the younger girls asked. They were all on their third beer, and her eyes kept darting between the entrance, where a few of the regular townsfolk were, and back to Lee. The few individuals poking their heads in weren’t the first group of people to pass by, stare, and then leave without saying anything. It was a small town, and Lee and his followers had already caused an uproar in the middle of the day. If there was someone who hadn’t heard about what had happened already, Lee would be surprised. He was sure that at least a few of the onlookers were parents or loved ones of the kidnapped victims, but for some reason, none of them intruded on the scene.

“I don’t know,” Lee answered, looking down at his cup. They had been drinking for half an hour, and no one had really said much during that time. Miller poured drinks and handed out the chef’s last batch of fried chicken, Ling stared at the table as if there were some great secret to be had in it, and Lee just watched. He studied the face of each and every person in the room. There were quite a few women and some older men, but there weren’t any guys younger than David. It was as if they just hadn’t found the men necessary. Or maybe they were worried that the men would have been strong enough to fight back, making them harder to kidnap and then control.

The first thing I’m doing when I get back home is donate to foundations that stop human trafficking, Lee decided. He had plenty of money saved up from the fact he wasn’t a socialite but had a very well-paying job. That decision untied the knot in his gut for a minute until he realized how rarely he followed through on these type of things. He was the type of guy who constantly thought ‘let me give my first class seat to that soldier on his way home’ or ‘I should let that old lady take my seat on the bus,’ but then he’d always waffle until someone else did it instead. Whatever temporary good he felt would be erased by the shame of not actually doing anything.

“I’m tired,” Ling sighed, the first one to put forth any semblance of a direction.

“I am too . . .” a girl in her twenties agreed. She had just come downstairs after helping move the doorway-collapse-victim to a bed, and she picked up a beer from Miller before sitting down.

“I could drink more.” Miller’s voice came in much louder than the others’ like it was an advertisement on the radio. “I could also go for more killing. Lee, if you’re not tired, we can go hunt down and butcher some wolves while the women rest. I wonder . . . How do you think they would taste if you fried them like this chicken? I bet they’d be delicious! Fried wolf, fried deer . . . I want to try fried cow!”

“You know, you can fry other foods too. Like vegetables.” Lee laughed. The absurdity of Miller’s train of thought may have been out of place, but it provided a comedic relief from the tense atmosphere.

“Really? You have to show me how to do that. Can you make some right now? Better yet, can you make that fancy fried coating around an egg?” Miller asked with wide eyes.

“We can’t take everyone with us,” Lee responded, switching topics. The diversion was nice, but he didn’t want to get carried off on Miller’s train of thought. As he glanced around the room, it finally occurred to him what had been bothering him. On some level, he had known it the entire time and had been puzzling it out, but it hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind. Compared to what was coming, the fight through this trap-laden bar was probably only a minor scuffle. In a way, it might have even been a blessing.

“I don’t care what you say, I’m coming with you. I want to make him pay, and I don’t want anything to happen . . .” Ling started off rather vehemently, then she trailed off midway through. “I’m coming with you.”

Lee tried to nix the idea again.“But, what if--”

“I’m coming with you,” she repeated again with even stronger resolve.

“Okay, we got one person that will come with us. Miller, you’re definitely going to be coming with us to kill the other Herald, right?” Lee didn’t feel like arguing with Ling again. She had essentially saved his life by coming last time, so if she insisted, what could he say? She had bailed him out the last time he was in a tight spot, and she had shown that she could hold her own.

“I’ve been thinking . . . if we need a sacrifice, I could beat someone to death with their own limb.” Miller’s gore-heavy sense of devotion was rather disturbing to watch, but Lee had no doubt that he planned on realizing his idea. He had always been faithful to his word in that regard.

“Don’t change the subject. I’m coming too,” the girl who had just walked downstairs added.

The old woman who had held David’s hand during his final moments stood up. “Like Porter said, I’m coming as well. I don’t care if I die, and I want to be of some use. I want to make sure no one goes through what we did.”

“Henslee . . . ” Porter looked at the older woman pensively. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Henslee, as she was apparently called, was now void of everything but hate. That she was ready to die.

“I . . . I want to help if you need me. But . . . but I really just want to go home. I want to see my dad. I want to . . .” another girl at a table in front of Lee started trying to speak, but she just couldn’t get the words out. She had been looking sad for hours, and opening her mouth caused the dam to break and she burst into tears. One tear fell, slowly rolling down her cheek, and then a flood. The sobbing was soft and quiet, and whatever bravado the others had built up was washed away by that flood of tears.

“I want to go home too,” an older man in the back said. “I’ve been away for so long.”

“Wait, stop,” Lee said loudly, silencing the group. “I won’t stop you if you insist on coming, but we’re all tired. We’ve been up all night, and life hasn’t been kind to us either. So, why don’t those of you who want to go home just head on home? It won’t make you any less of a man or woman. You’ve done everything above and beyond, so just get some sleep. I’m sure most of you have lives life to rebuild, so you might as well get started now.”

“But are you going to be okay?” the older man asked. “Are they going to be okay?”

“We . . . might need more people. Tomorrow, we’ll try to recruit able-bodied men and women who are used to fighting--not people who need to be with their families. If you need to go, go now. Take a beer for the road, and we’ll hopefully see you all when this whole thing is over.” No one moved at first, but eventually, they started leaving one at a time. When all was said and done, four women and two men remained.

“You know, the chances of us dying aren’t exactly low.” Lee looked at those who didn’t leave. They didn’t appear to have any muscles, and they had held their weapons like they were first-time LARPers playing around with Nerf bats. They didn’t have the smooth, skilled archery that Ling did.

“What do we do about him?” Amber asked, pointing toward Ramon. She was one of the women who had stayed behind and appeared to be around the same age as Porter. Ramon had been bound and gagged in the corner the entire time the group was lugubriously drinking, and someone would go over and kick him every now and then, but no one had killed him yet since Lee hadn’t sentenced him.

“Would you feel better if we killed him?” Lee asked.

“Yeah, absolutely. Let’s do it slowly!” Amber shouted with more enthusiasm than a girl talking about killing someone should have. “Make him suffer on the way out!”

“I say we go with your original idea: We take a digit off every day until he dies,” Henslee chimed in, giving Lee the chills.

“We could hang him or cut off his head . . . maybe be humane about it. We’re better than him, aren’t we?” one of the two men gave his own input. “I wouldn’t feel right about that other idea. It seems like it would make us worse than he is.”

Something, something . . . forgiveness. Wait, if I make them forgive him now, then that would ruin me. I can’t lose more followers! Lee had checked to affirm one of his suspicions when David died, and he had been proven correct. He had only lost one personal follower, and he hadn’t gained any zealots. In fact, he hadn’t gained any faith since the fight started. So they all want vengeance, but they all want it to differing degrees. I could say something about how he’ll suffer some horrible fate in the afterlife, but I don’t want them to think this religion is all fire and brimstone, even though that is clearly the direction Miller wants to take it.

“How about we think about what he did to you all,” Lee said after a moment. “I think that would be the best way to punish him.”

“What do you mean?”

Lee felt that the plan he was slowly forming would easily be accepted. He just had to lead them to it. “Well, for the past few months, he’s been sending you all to a hellish camp with little food or comfort to mine away nonstop, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah. He did, and they treated us awfully! They . . . ” Amber bit her lip and swallowed whatever she was going to say further. “They just treated us like tools to be used at their discretion.”

“Then, that’s easy. Why don’t we give him back exactly the same punishment he gave you,” Lee said.

“What do you mean?” Ling asked, lifting up her head.

“Well, between the lot of you, there couldn’t have been more than sixty. We add in the two or three months you all served at maximum, and that’s at most one hundred and eighty months or fifteen years,” Lee continued. “So in order for him to fully suffer as much as you did, he needs to suffer for at least fifteen years--if not more. He needs to suffer in the same way you did, with no fewer arduous and painful experiences. But his punishment will be worse than yours.”

Lee smiled. He felt a joyful dichotomy as his scheme seemed both evil and vindicated of evil at the same time. He was going to make someone break, make their life awful and torture them, but he wasn’t going to use torture by the definitions that he imagined. Rather, he was going to make him go through exactly what he put others through. That was why he felt vindicated even though the whole thing reeked of wickedness.

“How will it be worse?” one asked.

“Well, we’re going to put him through worse labor. We’re going to use him until his body breaks, day after day, but he won’t have companionship. You all had each other. You had families to think about returning to. There were those that cared for you, but he will be alone. He will suffer alone, day after day, with barely enough food, no free time, no guests, and no god to watch over him after we kill the Herald and last bastion for the lord he chose.” Lee stood up and stared directly at Ramon. “Fifteen years minimum. We need to make sure he doesn’t die a day sooner.” The punishment might not exactly be the same as what the women went through, but the pain of solitude would normally break a normal person by itself. Hermits existed, but they were rare.

The others looked at Ramon, and even the man who was against torture nodded.

“It’s cruel,” the man said, “but it’s no less than he deserves.”

“Indeed. If he had made a point of understanding how his actions affected others, how they would feel if he was the one they were done against, then we wouldn’t be here today. We’d all be drinking in this bar, enjoying delicious food, and exchanging stories. Lee had to stop himself from smiling. Great ones, too. There’s about a thousand LitRPG and Fantasy books you would have loved, idiot, Lee cursed at him silently.

“That seems fair, but can I stab him once?” Miller asked. “He made fun of my spear. I really want to gore him just once.”

“No, but you can slap him a few times if it makes you feel better.” Lee had to shoot down the stabbing idea right away. He’d normally be all for it, but if each of the people who suffered because of Ramon stabbed him, he’d be dead before nightfall.

Miller seemed perfectly fine with the idea, so he put down his beer and walked over in front of Ramon. He reached down, picked Ramon up with one hand, and then slapped him so hard the man was sent sprawling two feet to the left. “Oh, man, that was a blast. Come on, everyone, get a slap in! It will make you feel so much better. I think I’m going to have to slap him a few times tomorrow.” He picked up Ramon again and dragged him over to the table, where the girls and the guy at the table actually did just as he suggested. In fact, Amber slapped him three times.

“Well, does anyone else have an issue with the punishment?” Lee asked. “I know it might seem light, but trust me: he’ll suffer worse than you did.”

Porter frowned at Lee then slapped Ramon so hard that even Miller wasn’t able to keep ahold of him, sending him to the floor once again. “Fine. But I want to be able to hit him whenever I feel like it.”

“Could they do that to you at the mines?” Lee asked.

“Yes, and they did,” Porter retorted, spitting on Ramon at the same time.

“That’s fine then. Whatever they did to you, feel free to do to him. But I think we have more important matters to discuss now, like the battle ahead.” Lee returned to his table but didn’t sit down.

“Are we heading over there right now?”

“No.” Lee shook his head. Since he was able to fly, Ethan had managed to reach the area relatively quickly, but Lee didn’t trust Ramon’s word about the number of traps that might be hidden along the way. He wanted to make sure the area was thoroughly searched, and even Ethan seemed eager to double and triple check the pathway. The small mouse had started working his way back on his tiny little mouse feet while looking for levers, ropes, pitfalls, or loose earth. He was even using his extremely acute mouse nose to sniff around for possible poisons or odd smells. Fool me once, Ramon, good on you. But you won’t fool me twice. “We’re not ready yet. I need you all to do me a favor, something that will help me greatly.”

“What do you need?” Porter asked, slapping Ramon again before Miller dragged him over to the other table.

“Well . . .” Lee looked at the remaining group. “I said we needed to recruit able-bodied people, but I’m just a stranger to these lands. I know that the others I’ve rescued are probably with their families or sleeping, and they’ll bear witness to my story, but it’d be better if you all went out ahead of me. Before I have to say anything tomorrow, I’d like it if you all can go door to door and recruit the best warriors and hunters so that we can put an end to this blight before it reappears. Tell them to meet here an hour after sunrise tomorrow. We’ll serve breakfast and make sure everyone is well geared before we head out. After you’ve done everything you can, just try to prepare yourselves. Try to say goodbye to anyone you meet tomorrow,” Lee finished.

“I’ll get my brother. He’s the best swordsman in town,” Porter said.

“What about your brother, Bock? Isn’t Eim supposed to be a hunter?” Amber asked, looking at the man who had reservations about torture earlier.

“Yeah, he is. I’ll go find him. You should come with me, Brandi. He’d jump off a roof if you asked, so it’s a sure thing with you along,” Bock answered.

“Okay.” The oldest woman still remaining, around forty at the least, nodded. “But I need to also talk to my father and sister. They’re both great at fighting.”

The five girls and two guys talked about who they were going to recruit and then eventually left. One of the two men carried Ramon along with him to ensure that he wouldn’t escape while they went out. The town didn’t have a jail, and even if they did, no one wanted to trust someone else to watch over him. Even the people they had talked about recruiting were either friends or family of victims, so it was obvious that there was still some real concern that one of them might betray them just as Ramon had done.

Miller went into the kitchen to mess around with the food, leaving Lee and Ling alone. She turned to him as soon as the Firbolg was out of the room, and with the same sharp tone she had earlier, she said, “I don’t want to drag my dad into this.”

Why is she so terse? Did I do something to make her mad? “I understand.”

“Good.” She scrunched up her face and went back to staring at the beer glass in front of her.

Lee looked at her, then looked away, trying not to stare as he wracked his brain for what to say. This all felt more awkward than a blind date with a vegan at a steakhouse. “Do you want to at least see him before you leave? I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

Her voice seemed even tenser when she answered. “No. I’m not going home.”

“Okay . . .” Lee looked to where Miller had disappeared into the kitchen, hoping to be rescued from this. They had been just fine in the mine shaft and even on the road back to the town. He wasn’t entirely sure what had changed, but something was definitely different. “Mi--”

“You’re going to go out again. You’re going out killing again, aren’t you? That’s why you want me to leave.”

“What?” Lee was starting to see why she was behaving the way she was. “Well, yeah, but just some wolves around town. We need food for breakfast, we need practice and . . . experience.” He was constantly lost about what was and wasn’t an okay topic for NPCs, so he didn’t just say EXP.

“Invite me to the party then,” she said. “We’ve been traveling together for a while. Invite me.”

“I can’t . . . It’s technically Miller’s party,” he admitted. And I’ve been stuck in it without a choice for a while, and I’m not even sure how to leave.

“Miller! Invite me to the party right now, or I won’t let Lee cook you any fried chicken! And I’ll bust every beer keg in here until you have to go to the tavern next door for your drinks!” Ling demanded.

Miller popped his head out of the kitchen, a giant drumstick between his teeth and a mystery barrel in his hands. “Can do, boss lady,” he said--or at least that is what Lee thought he said. He couldn’t be certain since it was hard to make out anything with the food blocking most of the sound.

“Good.” Ling’s stern face cheered up a little. “Now, don’t leave me when you go training.”

“Me or him?” Miller asked, his voice now clear as he had somehow managed to devour the entire drumstick in that incredibly short amount of time.

Ling looked over at him, rolled her eyes, and then looked back to Lee. “So, are we going now, or are we resting first?”

“Well, I think we’ve all pulled all-nighters before, so let’s head out now and then come back to get some rest before the sun sets. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Hey, if I throw a wolf on top of a sword you’re holding, and that counts as the finishing blow, would Augustus give me or you the credit?” Miller asked as he put away the mystery barrel. “I mean, it’s a serious question. I need to figure out what counts as a good sacrifice to Augustus, and since I’m your first Paladin, does that mean I need to worry about a crest? A symbol of sorts? Are there some fancy colors you want your order of Paladins to wear?”

Lee had little to no talent in artistic design despite apparently being the heir to a God of Alcohol and Crafts, so he had no idea what to do for the symbol. Colors, on the other hand, he could actually do. “Are dyes cheap around here? Is it easy to dye armor?” he asked, wanting to pick colors anyone could use.

“Oh, yeah. Dyes come in from the city of CowTip all the time. I want to dye every piece of armor I have. BLACK! Just really black. Super dark black. Then, when I stab people, the blood will wash over my armor, and I’ll look awesome.” Miller went full goth for a moment, making Lee cringe.

Ling pouted.“No, that won’t do at all. Black is a very expensive dye. I can’t afford it.”

Well, that’s two reasons not to use black. I’m from the modern era where we specialize in war, and no one uses black unless they’re sneaking in somewhere at night or starring in a spy thriller. Instead, they’d always wear the color of their surroundings. “Green. That’s my color,” Lee said.

“But you’re supposed to be the god of burney burney--”

“And rebirth. And what burns better than leaves or symbolizes life more than nature? The colors of nature are my colors, but green specifically.” He knew Miller really wanted black, but he’d also probably accept red, yellow, white or even blue since they all were related to flames, which he no doubt thought were ‘very cool.’

“Green is cheap.” Ling nodded her approval while doing the math on her fingers. “Green is very cheap.”

“Do they make the dye from local grass and leaves?” Lee asked, hoping it was the case so that it would act as the perfect camouflage.

“Yeah, they use a lot of the local grass and leaves to make the dye,” Ling responded as she continued to go through some numbers on her fingers.

Lee watched her go from a frown, to normal, to pouting, to a deep frown, to normal and then back to pouting in the course of two minutes while counting on her fingers. “Miller, check around the bar for Ramon’s cash stash. Give enough of it to Ling so that she stops worrying about the money.”

“Sure, and if she doesn’t have enough, it won’t matter. I know a good spot near here with dozens and dozens of wolves. We’re going to be swimming in blood!. There are big wolves too! Dire wolves! And I’ve heard there is even a Gan Ceann King near there too. It’ll be a blast, and we’ll leave swimming in cash and blood and blood and cash!” Miller’s grin was ear to ear as he rambled on for another few minutes. He seemed to be incredibly happy with himself as he made hand gestures and used his spear as a prop to talk about all the butchery they’d be able to do.

Lee laughed, cutting him off after a few minutes. “I’m sold. Let’s head out now.”

“Wait, wait. I haven’t even told you about the best way to kill a--”

“Just show me,” Lee chuckled. Even Ling seemed to be amused by it all.

-----

The entire process was a lot easier than before. Whereas previously had Lee struggled to kill a single wolf, the swords he had obtained as loot were much higher quality and the shield provided a lot of defense, so he barely took any damage while still being able to deal it out.

One thing he noticed about the fights was that armor made the importance of hitting weak spots far more valuable as it got better and better. The armor seemed to create a flat reduction and not a percentage. This meant that, when a wolf went to bite him for six damage, his armor, which had seven points of armor, completely canceled out the damage. On the other hand, his natural armor was very low, so if a wolf ever bit him on any of his skin, he’d take the full damage. Even with the regular starting sword that only did four damage, he was able to do nine more damage than when they started. Armor was a flat increase, and so was damage. Each point of power seemed to offer exactly one more damage to his weapon, regardless of what the weapon was. Lee knew that this meant skill with how to take a blow and where to strike would become increasingly important as he gained levels in this world.

For this reason, while Miller just went about his usual carnage with seemingly little care for grace or style, Lee spent the entire time focusing on his sword skill and doing his best to direct blows he couldn’t dodge onto the armored parts of his body. He went three fights in a row without even taking damage due to this.

During this time, Lee was also focusing on how to tap into Ethan’s senses and movements more finely without breaking concentration. It was at this point that he got a full understanding of the area they were going to. It was a stone fort in the middle of an open field by the river. The stones were placed in such a way that the whole thing completely lacked any mortar. While the size of the fort wasn’t exactly up to castle standards and didn’t tower more than twenty feet off the ground, it was easily as large as a small mansion. Considering the fact it had been built in the last 2 weeks, Lee knew without a doubt that the Herald had to have been using slave labor or have a ton of people working for him. Neither case was particularly good news.

Before Ethan even got a chance to scout inside the fort, he noticed a few of the guards on the wall pointing at him. One of them even shot an arrow, which missed horribly, but the attempt was still made to let Ethan know that his encroachment wouldn’t pass, and that they had guards on the walls. They had five to be exact: one on each wall and two at the main gate. The gate was large and wooden, and Lee hoped it was made as cheaply as Ramon’s bar, but he doubted it.

The only good news to come from to the whole stealthy venture was that there weren’t any traps leading up to the fort. The little autonomous golem had been incredibly thorough, and he couldn’t find a single booby trap.

Lee had the rodent return home once the report was done, which took didn’t take long at all considering how fast the winged golem flew. The mouse wasn’t the only one being productive and making great headway. Thanks to Ling’s arrows never missing a vital weak spot, Miller’s shout continuously causing incredibly tough and coordinated beasts to act like drunken idiots at the start of each fight, and the general fact that Lee was no longer running around with the worst gear imaginable with no idea of how to fight, they were able to slaughter their way through several mobs of enemies without a problem. At one point, it was even going so smoothly that Miller stopped using his weapon altogether and simply ripped the arm off of a giant, twelve-foot-tall corrupted sloth and beat it to death with its own arm. When Lee asked what he was doing, he only replied: practice.

Source: http://thebathrobeknight.blogspot.com/2017/10/put-it-on-my-tab.html

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