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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

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While You Sleep

Chapter 16

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You’re coming to me about soulmate bonds?” Bruce Banner asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Once again, you and Bucky nodded in sync, standing awkwardly in the middle of his lab.

Bruce let out a sigh as he turned back to whatever he had been working on. He hadn’t totally dismissed you two yet, thankfully, so you were just forced to stand there, waiting.

When Bucky had told you this was who would potentially help you, you were a bit hesitant. You had only encountered Bruce briefly in your time at the compound. In fact, you hadn’t really gotten to know anyone outside of Bucky and Steve. So, coming to an Avenger, let alone a literal nationally recognized genius, for help with such a thing...made you nervous, to say the least. You’d have to confess your troubles to a third party once more.

But Bucky assured you over and over again that Bruce could be trusted. He didn’t know the scale of his research on the topic but he felt he was a trustworthy person for this. Eventually, you agreed. After your first shift back at work - a new addition back to your routine as you worked to regain some stability - Bucky took you over to the compound. You had thought he had gotten an appointment or at least gave Bruce some kind of rundown on the proposal but, apparently, no.

“What makes you think I can answer any questions on that?” Bruce grumbled as he furiously wrote notes on his current project. You and Bucky shared a look.

“I heard you did some research on it,” Bucky explained.

Bruce huffed. “So?”

“So,” Bucky sighed, “we think we… we have a problem with ours.”

This vague statement was enough for Bruce to perk up a bit. His writing had stopped. He was looking forward now, away from the project. “A problem?” Bruce asked, slightly glancing over his shoulder.

You shifted your weight as you stood a bit uncomfortable with the admission out in the open. Bucky, though, was the definition of cool, calm, and collected. You were just a little bit jealous of him.

Bucky nodded. “To put it simply, my girl has nightmares.”

Bruce seemed very interested now. He finally turned back around, facing you two fully once again. He looked intrigued but not really excited. You wondered greatly what his research really encompassed.

“Nightmares?” Bruce was beginning to sound like some sad echo. But you and Bucky just went with it, nodding your head in confirmation. Bruce continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of nightmares. They’re dreams we have — soulmate dreams.”

You sighed, greatly out of annoyance. You’d been hearing the same thing day after day after day for years. “I know,” you finally said. “I am well aware of that but it just isn’t how ours work. I’ve only ever seen the…bad things Bucky has encountered. And for a while, after we met, they stopped.”

“As you would hope.”

You nodded. “But then that…thing happened. And it’s all started over again except somehow stronger. I’m seeing it all through Bucky’s eyes. Through his feelings. Through his — his everything. I’m back there twice over and many times after.”

Bruce shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to do. Bucky was very tense beside you, hands balled into tight fists waiting as anxiously as you for Bruce to just say something about it. But he didn’t, not yet, as he raced over to his desk. From one of the drawers, a very particularly locked one, Bruce pulled out a file. He flicked it open and began reading, his finger roaming over the pages wildly, hunting for whatever it was he needed. You and Bucky just watched the situation unfold, practically holding your breaths.

Eventually, Bruce walked back over, a very specific page opened in the filed documents. You couldn’t make out what it was about from your sneaky glance so you waited for the genius to begin. He looked between you and Bucky, jaw slacked in amazement and concerned.

“Before I get into this, I want you both to promise me this knowledge doesn’t leave this lab unless it is on my account, okay?” He spoke strongly and seriously. You two nodded. Once he was pleased, Bruce looked back at the file and began, “Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot about this… You were right, Bucky, I have researched soulmate bonds. I didn’t do it for long, God knows it’s a hot topic, but part of my research involved what I nicknamed toxic bonds.” He looked pointedly at you two. “It just started out as a little theory stemming from the old stories about soulmates ‘moving on.’ It’s really a bit more than just not liking someone. This theory revolves around stories of soulmates, in these cases, receiving unflattering or uninteresting dreams from their partnered mates. I was basing these off the accounts of long ago as there are no known partners that fit this mold. At least, until now.” Bruce motioned between you two. You didn’t like where this was all going. “I believe what you two share is a toxic bond, a sort of glitch in Fate. Except, where you two fall flat in this is the fact the nightmares have come back. All dreams change after meeting your soulmate, right?” No one said anything. Bruce continued, “Yes, they technically should. Something has in fact fallen off with you two. I can’t say what but it doesn’t add it and could be significant to this research. With permission, I would like to run some tests on each of you.”

You stiffened. “T-Tests?” While you should be kind of relieved there’s some answer - or idea - for what you’re experiencing, you were suddenly hung up on the prospect of being an experiment. Bucky’s hand reached out to grasp yours, trying to offer some comfort. The thought of being strapped to a chair flashed through your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky shoot Bruce a harsh look.

“Nothing harmful, I promise,” Bruce insisted. “I would just like to take a peek into your brains, into the bond.”

“That’s possible?” Bucky asked. You were glad he at least had the strength to speak.

“It’s attached to the brain function in various ways,” Bruce explained. “A look into your brainwaves can tell me a lot. Or nothing, if that's the case, too.”

You knew you were doing an absolutely horrible job at hiding your worries but, thankfully, neither man was bringing much attention to it. They just looked at you, waiting for an answer. You were quite impressed by how Bucky was just going along with this. But, at the same time, there was a reason he came here instead of seeking a true outsider. If this was okay with Bucky, it was going to have to be okay with you. At least this time, you weren’t being thrown in a chair alone.

“Okay,” you nodded. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

***

You didn’t know which was more daunting: the actual test itself or waiting for the results.

The test was more like a true test of patience. You basically just had to sit there as Bruce wrote notes and saw things you never could make out from the weird squiggly lines on the monitor. All while he’s doing that, you’re trying not to just break down from being in a lab again. Thankfully, Bucky offered more comfort the best he could. He let you squeeze his non-metal hand, never flinching once no matter how much your nails dig into him. He even tried striking up conversations with you, trying to distract you. He tells you about the new romance movie he thinks you two should go see. You try to stay engaged, feeling a bit bad you couldn’t focus well on it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

When the roles were reversed, Bucky didn’t ask for any help from you. You still tried to offer something by taking his hand in yours. But he just didn’t need distractions, perhaps a bit too familiar with being subjected to testing. This had to be on the easier side, you figured.

Once you both were finished, Bruce instructed you to take a seat and wait. He had some things to double-check. The longer you sat, the more you were worried it was bad news - but you didn’t even really know what bad news would actually entail. What was he looking for? How much of the bond could actually be seen? You hadn’t heard of this ever. If you did, you probably would’ve looked into it a long time ago just to clarify if you were fucked in the head or not.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked, gently. You fiddled with your fingers, unsure.

“It wasn’t so bad,” you said. “Just not sure what he’s going to find.” Bucky agreed and you two fell back into your silence as you waited.

Minutes later, Bruce finally re-entered the room. You two must’ve been wearing hopeful looks because he motioned for you to calm down. Bruce wasn’t matching your excitement. Something twisted in your stomach.

“I’ve reviewed your tests,” he said, holding up a folder labeled with your names. You two nodded. Bruce motioned towards you first and said, “Your test came back perfectly normal. Everything is fine with your part of the bond which quite surprised me but I checked and rechecked. The issues aren’t with you-,”

Bucky sighed, cutting Bruce off as he mentally pieced it together. “They’re with me.”

You felt your body tense as Bucky looked defeated beside you. He wasn't meeting either of your gazes despite you trying to reach for his hand again. He shrugged it off, you quickly turned to Bruce.

“What’s the problem?” You just about demanded. Bruce didn’t look very phased by your outburst. He pulled up a seat in front of you two looking like he had to mentally prepare himself for this.

“There’s an unnatural disturbance in Bucky’s side of the bond,” Bruce explained as he flipped open the folder. You didn’t even try to understand the printed results. Bucky was fully disconnected at this point. “I can’t say for sure what caused it, but if I had to guess when he underwent what...Hydra did, it affected lines in the transmission process. They probably thought they were severing the lines but they were really just scrambling them, hence the nightmares. They’re the dominant memories the bond reads in transmission. Bucky’s missions and recent healing process didn’t help anything. All in all, to put it simply, any intense moments Bucky experiences will be projected back to you due to a disconnect in the function of the bond.”

“So, I really was the cause of all this?” Bucky finally spoke up. His voice was hoarse, almost weak. You knew he thought his hair hid the look of distress written on his face but you could feel it. Boy, could you feel it.

You immediately began shaking your head and reaching for him again. He didn’t move under your touch but at least he was allowing it. “This isn’t your fault, I promise.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest further but Bruce stopped him, “You couldn’t do anything to prevent this.” He looked back at you. “Either of you. These were the actions of some deranged individuals and they are the only ones responsible. I’m just sorry you two have to pay the price.”

“I-Is there anything we can do to fix it?”

Bruce closed the folder, looking more uncomfortable - if that was even possible. “I’m afraid not. It’s hard enough to damage soulmate bonds, essentially impossible to bandage.”

Upon hearing that, Bucky abruptly stood up. You jumped at the sudden action, suddenly convinced he was going to walk away. Forever. But instead, he made his way over to the window, his back towards you two, lost in whatever self-deprecating thoughts were flooding his brain. You’d address that later but were currently focused on pressing Bruce.

“There’s really nothing at all?” You were sounding desperate at this point but Bruce didn’t seem to mind, giving you the most sympathetic look.

“My best advice would be that Bucky finish his healing treatment and then get him out of this...profession.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you two now. “What, like retirement?”

Bruce shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. Essentially, the less he fights, the less traumatizing situations he’s put in, the fewer nightmares you’ll have.” He glanced back at the folder. “In theory, you could be rid of them all. Get back to having actual dreams. It’s an optimistic take but you’ve already proven it’s possible to some degree.”

You looked over your shoulder, your worried eyes meeting Bucky’s intense ones. He wasn’t exactly protesting but you saw the hesitancy. You turned back to Bruce.

“Thank you for all your help,” you said.

He nodded. “I’m glad I could be of some assistance. If you ever want to look even further into it, I think I know someone else that could help.”

“I think we’ve learned enough for a while.”

“Of course,” Bruce agreed and then stood from his chair. “I’ll let you two go. Probably got a few things to discuss. Call me if you need anything.” With that, he exited the lab, leaving just you and your soulmate to move forward. Somehow.

Bucky had turned back to the window. You shifted in your seat, unsure of what to say now.

Thankfully, Bucky was the first to speak. “Do you want to get some dinner?”

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noona-clock · 3 years

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The Dog Walker - Part 5

Genre: Dog Walker!AU

Pairing: Hanbin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,766

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so nervous and so excited at the same time. The only event in your recent history that even came close was your first day of work a few years ago. You’d been nervous because starting a new job was always nerve-wracking, but you’d been excited because this particular job was something you genuinely enjoyed (plus, you no longer had to worry about financial stability).

But, even then, you hadn’t been this nervous and excited.

Going on a date, in general, was definitely enough to make you nervous. Add on the fact that Hanbin was your date, and that was enough to make you incredibly nervous.

I mean, he was basically your dream guy.

And not just the guy from your daydreams -- which he was.

But he was also practically perfect, at least in your eyes. Handsome, smart, witty, caring, compassionate, thoughtful.

And that was just from knowing him for a few weeks!

Imagine how much more perfect he could get if you continued seeing him for a few months. Or years.

And that was the part that made you excited for tonight. Yes, you were nervous that you would be painfully awkward and not know what to say or talk about, but when it came down to it... You were going on a date with your dream guy. The guy you’d had a secret but very intense crush on for months. The guy you’d seen through your window and only imagined meeting and talking to and dating and falling for.

Your daydreams and imaginings were now becoming real life, and what wasn’t exciting about that?!

Okay, speaking of daydreams and imaginings...

If you were ever going to tell Hanbin about the origin story of your crush on him, it should be tonight. If you waited any longer, it would feel like lying. Plus, telling him early on wouldn’t hold him back from thinking you were a weird, creepy stalker and finding another walking route so he never had to see you again. Telling him on the fifth or sixth date might reel him in just enough to make him feel guilty for walking away, and you definitely didn’t want to do that!

...Were you overthinking this?

The answer is always ‘yes,’ of course.

But you still would rather get it over with and tell him tonight.

You just needed to figure out how and when to work it into the conversation.

You shook your head quickly to get thoughts of your date out of your head for now because you were still very much on the clock; it was barely 4 PM, and you had almost two hours before you could stop thinking about work and start thinking about Hanbin.

With a soft exhale, you shifted your gaze back to your screen and turned your attention back onto your work, ready to buckle down. For the next two hours, at least.

When you finally shut down your computer for the day, you thought you would feel a sense of relief.

But you were now discovering it was the exact opposite.

You were glad to be done with work, of course, and glad you were that much closer to seeing Hanbin again... but you were that much closer to seeing Hanbin again.

In just about one hour, he would be at your door.

To pick you up.

For your date.

That was not relieving.

That was daunting.

So, you busied yourself with getting ready. You distracted your mind by focusing on what to wear, how to do your hair, what kind of makeup look to do, and by the time you were fully made up, the clock on your phone read 6:59 PM.

Just as you turned off the light in your bathroom, there was a gentle knock at your front door.

Your heart leapt up into your throat, and you quickly grabbed your bag before hurrying to answer it.

As you reached for the doorknob, turning it and pulling the door toward you with as much confidence as you could muster, you braced yourself for the most butterflies in your stomach you’d ever felt. You braced yourself to nearly keel over from anxiety because your heart would beat so quickly and erratically.

But, instead, when you saw Hanbin’s slightly nervous but very attractive and familiar face... all you could do was smile. You let out a shaky exhale, and you smiled.

“Hi,” you greeted through your grin.

Hanbin, too, was smiling widely -- more than you’d ever seen him smile -- and he said, “Hey” in reply.

In that instant, you realized that your stomach was on the verge of letting out a very loud rumble. So, instead of asking him how he was doing or what the rest of the day had been like or letting him know that he looked very handsome tonight, you said, “I am actually kind of almost starving.”

“Okay,” Hanbin chuckled, standing aside to let you out. “Let’s get going and get you some food.”

Once you closed your front door behind you and locked it, Hanbin led you out to the sidewalk and began to walk down the street.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you clutched the strap of your bag.

“I always pass by this Japanese restaurant on my walks, and I’ve been wanting to try it. It smells so good whenever I walk by.”

“Oh, I know which one you’re talking about!” you nodded. “I’ve been a couple of times, but it’s been a while.”

“Is it any good?”

“From what I remember, yes. Very,” you answered as you covertly watched your feet falling into step with his beside you.

“Okay, good,” he murmured. And, maybe it was just your imagination, but the way he said it made it sound like he was relieved he wasn’t taking you to a mediocre restaurant for your first date.

But, again, that may have just been your imagination because that was an awfully specific tone of voice, and you’d never actually heard someone else use that tone of voice and mean what you thought Hanbin meant...

Whatever.

As the two of you continued to walk down to the restaurant, Hanbin asked you how you were doing, how the rest of your day had been, and he told you that you looked very nice tonight -- all the things you’d wanted to say at your front door just a few minutes ago had you not been almost interrupted by your hungry, growling stomach.

When you arrived, the drool-worthy smells of delectable Japanese food filling the air and tempting your hunger even more, Hanbin opened the door for you and held up two fingers as the host welcomed you.

The host then led both of you over to a booth by the front window, and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself as you slid onto the bench.

“What?” Hanbin asked with amused curiosity after the host laid down two menus and left you to peruse them.

You lifted your eyebrows and your gaze, you smirk instantly dropping. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know -- it just looked like you were smiling about something.”

Wonderful. He had seen you smirking about the whole window thing.

“Oh! I, um -- Nothing. It was nothing,” you answered with an incredibly awkward chuckle. He absolutely didn’t need to know that you had been smirking because sitting by the front window had reminded you of the months you’d spent watching Hanbin walk by through your own front window.

“I definitely don’t believe you, but okay,” he replied as he lifted his menu and began to study it.

You felt your cheeks warm with embarrassment and lifted your own menu, holding it up just high enough to hide the bottom half of your face.

Maybe you would tell him later, but... not just yet.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Hanbin peered at you from over the top of his menu and asked, “What are you thinking? I mean, not -- not like, what are you thinking, in general, just -- about ordering. What do you want to order?”

Well, good. At least you weren’t the only one who was feeling nervous and awkward.

“The udon sounds really good, but I don’t think slurping noodles and soup is the best choice for a --”

...Oh, no. You hadn’t thought your comment all the way through before starting to say it, and now you were on the verge of saying ‘date’ and what if this wasn’t actually a date? What if Hanbin had just wanted to go out to dinner as friends? He hadn’t specified, and you had been too chicken to ask.

Yes, not even two hours ago, you had officially declared that this was a date. But that was to yourself! You had been back at home, and Hanbin hadn’t been around, but now he was here. Right in front of you! And you were questioning things all over again!

Thankfully, Hanbin didn’t seem to think much of the fact that you’d just stopped talking (and were now on the verge of a mental breakdown in your head) and replied with, “I clean up after dogs all day, so I think I can handle some noodle slurping.”

With a dismayed chuckle, you pushed all of your hectic thoughts to the side, set your menu down, and arched your eyebrow teasingly. “You’re comparing my eating habits to cleaning up after dogs?”

“Oh, god -- no,” he assured you without hesitation -- but with plenty of remorse. “I just meant -- no, I didn’t -- not at all. I just thought you meant you didn’t want to be, like... unattractive in front of me something, and that’s not -- you couldn’t --”

“First of all,” you interrupted gently, holding back a very amused grin. “I was joking. And second of all... you’re right. I was going to say that slurping noodles and soup isn’t the best choice for a first date.”

...Wow, did that feel good to say out loud!

Also, wow, what a roller coaster the last minute had been. You had literally just been stressing about whether or not this was a date even though you’d already decided it was, and now here you were saying the words ‘first date’ out loud. To Hanbin directly.

Maybe it didn’t make sense, but hey. Life doesn’t always make sense, now, does it?

Your words seemed to make Hanbin visibly relax, and that familiar, bashful half-smile of his appeared on his lips. “What I was trying to say was... my job is not glamorous in the least, so I’m not used to things being well-mannered or polite or even clean all the time. I would never judge you for slurping noodles in front of me. I like you too much to care about that.”

And, unsurprisingly, your breath caught in your throat hearing him say that.

You typically weren’t one to be so bold, but the words “You like me?” came tumbling out of your mouth before you even had a chance to filter them out.

Because... this was Hanbin.

This was Cute Dog Walking Guy. The guy you had never in your wildest dreams thought would even talk to you, let alone like you!

Even just a month ago, you hadn’t fathomed that Hanbin would ever know you existed.

And now. Right now. He was sitting across from you, saying that he liked you too much to care about you slurping noodles in front of him.

“Yeah,” he answered shyly, just barely meeting your eye. “Of course, I do.”

He liked you.

Of course, he liked you.

That’s what he had just told you, and now, you knew you needed to tell him. Not just that you liked him, too, but... everything.

“I like you, too,” you replied breathlessly. “And I have to tell you something.”

Hanbin’s relieved expression had softened even more upon your return of his feelings, but his brow furrowed slightly now. “Okay,” he murmured, his tone expectant and also maybe a little bit nervous.

“One day, about three months ago now, I just so happened to be taking a break from work when I heard Frankie barking outside. I went over to my window to look out, and that’s when I saw you for the first time, and I knew pretty much instantly that I had a crush on you. So, every day -- every single day -- I’ve been getting up from my desk at the same time, going over to my window at the same time, peeking through my blinds at the same time, and... watching you walk by with Frankie. And any other dog you happen to be walking that day. I’ve secretly liked you for a -- for a long time now, and literally nobody else knows, but I thought -- I knew -- I needed to tell you now just in case it changes things for you --”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hanbin interrupted. And when you pressed your lips together to keep yourself from saying anything more, he continued, “You said nobody else knows?”

You nodded.

“So... you just told me something that you’ve never told anyone before?”

You nodded again -- slowly this time.

...Where was he going with this?

Hanbin let out a short but controlled breath before leaning slightly over to your side of the table. “When you asked me earlier how I’d gotten into dog walking, and I was kind of stumbling over my words, and you asked me what I wanted to say... Right before I asked you out to dinner.”

You knit your brows together in confusion. “...Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you something that I’ve never told anyone before, but I chickened out because I don’t usually open up like that to... to anyone, really. But if you can tell me something no one else knows...”

And now your confusion had only grown.

“Wait,” you muttered with a slight shake of your head. “You -- You’re not going to say anything about what I just --”

Hanbin waved your words away dismissively and shrugged. “I really don’t care. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t change anything.”

You tried not to show just how relieved you were, though you still felt a reassured grin tugging at your lips. You then leaned forward in your seat a bit and fixed your gaze on him. “All right,” you said quietly. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Hanbin took a short but deep breath before leaning forward, as well, and tilting his head toward you. “I love dogs, I really do,” he began. “I’m not unhappy in my career at all, and I don’t plan on leaving the boutique.”

You raised your eyebrows, anticipating the ‘but...’

“...But,” Hanbin continued. “I’ve been coming up with these... songs. In my head. While I’m walking, and -- I just can’t stop thinking about them. Writing them, thinking about the melody and the lyrics and the music, the production...”

Obviously, you hadn’t known that Hanbin had any sort of musical inclination. He had never mentioned it, and you had never presumed that about him. But now that he’d told you, it somehow made sense. It was like the missing puzzle piece to him that you hadn’t even known was missing.

It was a very strange feeling, but... you loved it. You loved that you knew something about him that no one else knew and that it was something that just made sense about him.

“You should do it,” you nodded.

Hanbin’s brow furrowed immediately. “...Do what?”

“Make the song. Write it, sing it, produce it, record it. Even if you don’t do anything with it when you finish, you should still do it.”

For a few moments, Hanbin continued to look at you with a slightly confused expression. But, little by little, his features softened. The corners of his lips curved up gently.

And then he reached across the table and cautiously took your hand, holding your fingers and running his thumb over your knuckles.

Your date had barely started. The server hadn’t even come back to take your order, and you had no idea how the rest of the night would go.

Except... you did know.

Maybe it was the fact you had exchanged secrets, or maybe it was the fact he was holding your hand, or maybe it was... nothing in particular. You really had no idea.

You just felt comfortable, and you knew you had nothing to worry about.

Part 6

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81 notes · View notes

cebinaruavin · 4 years

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Survivors

((Co-written with @thefugitivemango / @brent-sunborn . @pariker / @nepenthea and @kaiekasunwhisper for character mention.))

~*~*~

Shortly after the events of Ny’alotha...

Crash!

The shadows sloppily deposited Brent into his tent in what remained of the Coterie’s camp. The lack of grace wasn’t from wounds or exhaustion… his power was waning. He’d felt it immediately as N’Zoth was destroyed. Ripples had surged through the shadows, wracking everyone linked in any way to the Old God at the moment of his demise; and they hadn’t been the same ever since. Like a wheel spinning off its axis, Ren’dorei could feel the shadows losing stability, falling out of the balanced alignment they once boasted. He brought himself to his feet, and set back the items knocked over by his rough landing; a jeweled vase and golden scarab statuette, both of which he’d uncovered with Nepen’thea in their archaeological days. This tent had been one they shared… and he couldn’t bring himself to change anything about it.

His ear flickered, eyes narrowing as he glanced to the tent’s entrance. He wasn’t alone, it seemed. He drew a dagger - the metal feeling heavier in his hand somehow - as he silently stepped towards the tent flaps. He couldn’t feel anything as clearly through the shadows anymore, unable to tell if it was a friend or enemy he heard in one of the adjacent tents.

He knew it wasn’t Kai’eka, at the very least. For one, it was much too quiet a noise to be her. For another… he’d watched her die in Ny’alotha. Even without the runes connecting them, the pain he’d felt shoot through his body was paralytic. Intense. Sorrowful. Thinking of it now caused his heart to well up in his throat. He swallowed it down, refocusing on the imminent danger. Was someone ransacking the Coterie camp? Or…

“... Ceb?” he called out in a whisper, hoping it was her.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sharp senses, Sweetie,” the familiar melodious voice spoke up.

The shape of Cebina’s silhouette formed among the swirling shadows of the rift, before stepping out to meet Brent. She looked healthy and well. Clearly, she hadn’t been anywhere near the fighting in Ny’alotha… or perhaps she had and was just that good. It was hard to say which. It was rare to find the priestess on the front lines of any battle. Like Brent, she preferred to operate through deceit and choosing the perfect moment to strike.

She could feel Brent drained through the shadow link they shared. They felt significantly weaker since she’d last seen him. It was understandable, given the events that had just transpired. Her own powers had weakened from N’Zoth’s destruction, but only slightly. The Priestess knew better than to draw all of her powers from a single source, and she’d been prepared for the eventual fall of the Old Gods.

“You look terrible,” she said, walking past him and into the tent.

She sat on the bed, her robes opening up at her thighs as she crossed her legs. Her hand patted the spot next to her.

“Just the two of us left, then?” She asked, head tilting, “Haven’t been able to sense much of anything without the runes.”

The Ghostblade slipped his dagger away, as he exhaled a sigh of relief into his mask. He’d had enough fighting… and enough losing friends… for one day. He tugged his mask down, as he took Cebina’s invitation to sit down beside her on the bed.

“Kai’s dead.” he said, bluntly - though his tone conveyed well his sorrow at that fact.

He looked around the room, shoulders slumped and ears drooping. He’d known this was a possibility - a part of him had even hoped for it. But that didn’t take the sting out of this defeat. He’d failed Nepen’thea. And now, he’d failed Kai’eka. The loss took its toll on Brent, whether he cared for it or not.

“What’ll you do now?” he asked Cebina, eyes finally flickering over to her. “There’s nothing left worth rebuilding. The Twilights are done. You have a plan from here on out?”

Cebina remained quiet and attentive until that moment, keeping her hands respectively to herself. She’d noted that Brent hadn’t sought her out since Nepen’thia’s demise, so she left any physical initiative completely up to him. As expected, the ex-Blackened Blade didn’t take loss very well.

She leaned back a bit, as he asked the question, eyes staring at some unknown point as she thought it over.

“Well, I still have my little business in Stormwind. That’s going well, so I’ll keep working at that for now. Might make the occasional visit to Silvermoon to play around with an old friend. Nothing much to do now except wait for the next opportunity, hmm?”

She wasn’t speaking of the cult, of course. The Old Gods had been a transitory thing for her. N’Zoth’s army had been good while it lasted, but their fall was inevitable. Even without them, there was still power and knowledge to be found.

“What about you?” she asked, turning her attention back to Brent.

“I…”

He trailed off, going silent. He stared for a moment at nothing, before looking back to Cebina. His gaze was telling; lost, uncertain… scared.

“... I don’t know.”

His ear flickered. He’d expected it to feel all the worse to say aloud, but somehow he felt… liberated? A weight lifted from him. He didn’t know what to do now, for the first time in years. It was something he’d dreaded for a while, but now it felt… freeing. He didn’t know what to do because nothing was required of him, now. No one had any demands of him. No cosmic force held him in any expectations.

He laughed. Suddenly, surprising even to him.

“I don’t know!” he repeated, smiling.

He shrugged, continuing to chuckle lightly as he looked at Cebina. Ears perked, shoulders back… completely different than just moments before. The possibilities were endless for him! By the nature of how he worked, he wasn’t tied at all to the Twilight Cult. No implications that would cause him any trouble with the law. None he was aware about, anyway. He’d be honestly surprised if anyone could tie him to the Old Gods. Especially now.

“I can do… whatever I want, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Cebina chimed in happily.

She shot him a smile as he finally understood. Brent had been a cultist for years, she’d seen it in his mind when he’d shared how important Nepen’thea had been to him. He’d loved her dearly… to the point where he’d put himself in a prison; two prisons. He was a slave to the cult all the while imprisoned by his love for Thea. Cebina hadn’t bothered to bring it up, knowing he would have never seen it her way; rose tinted glasses.

“Freedom,” she continued, “It’s a powerful feeling, isn’t it? Not having anyone to answer to. No one to hold you back from discovering who you were meant to be.”

“Yeah. It’s… it’s daunting, but…” he nodded. “I’m… excited about it. Is that weird?”

He chuckled again, as he thought more about it. What did he want to do? What should he choose as the next chapter of his life? He had some ideas… but none stood out among the others too strongly. But he liked it! It was a new sensation, such an uncertainty! It fed into his newly-discovered agency to decide for himself! For once, there was no wrong answer!

“I… I want to get back into archaeology.” he declared - of that, he was certain. “But first, I think I want to… interact with people. Somehow.”

He nodded again, firmly. This work had isolated him from all but a few people. And now, with the majority of those people gone from his life, he felt he’d need more. It’d been so long since he made a new connection. That Kal’dorei Death Knight was… possibly one. Before, Cebina was the only other. His eyes flickered to her, as he reached out his hand to take hold of hers.

“I… want to interact with you more, too,” he told her, firmly, “This shouldn’t be the end of our friendship… right?”

Cebina giggled, laying back on the bed as she looked up at Brent.

“Of course not, silly! There’s no reason for the two of us to stop hanging out because of the cult’s fall. Our friendship goes beyond the will of some Old God, hm?”

Her shadows brushed gently against his, not in an attempt to entice him, but more for him to feel she was telling the truth. There was nothing to hide on the subject. Unless Brent specifically put himself in her way or attempted to hinder her work, there was no reason to terminate the relationship they’d cultivated up until now.

“You won’t be dragging me to any of those digs, though. The desert is TERRIBLE on my hair,” she smirked, “I’m much more comfortable in the city, getting spoiled while I gather up dirt and blackmail on all of these foolish nobles.”

Brent smiled at that, and nodded. He felt Cebina’s sincerity, even without the shadowy affirmation. It was nice to be around her again; the latter parts of the Old One’s plans had kept him busy. Too busy to visit her casually. He’d see her in passing and give her a nod on occasion, but otherwise... At least, that’s what he told himself. The real reason was much more complicated. Nepen’thea’s death took more than just his professional drive. And while his libido had briefly sparked back with Kai’eka… her demise snuffed it back out. For… the most part.

But Cebina had an unmistakable allure. He felt it even now, just sitting beside her. In part, that’s why he kept himself too busy to seek her out, knowing she’d happily indulge him in a little release. Of course, he knew she got more than just sexual satisfaction out of their encounters, too. The allure, he suspected, was an accessory to her abilities. The bright lantern to draw in her prey… She was good at what she did, of that there was no doubt.

“The city suits you well.” he nodded. “I… won’t stray far at first. So if you need anything I can help you with, you need only ask.”

He brushed her back with his shadows-- or what remained of them, at least. While his sincerity was conveyed just as hers was, he couldn’t hide how broken, weak, and unfocused his shadows had become. He’d invested far too much in N’Zoth… and now he was paying the price.

Cebina took note of his weakened shadows. She would never show it, but she was glad for it. While their shadow connection had its uses, the priestess hated the idea that anyone was able to track her or read her. She kept her mind especially guarded, and having to tiptoe around the rogue as to not give away some of her true feelings and intentions was especially annoying. It had been one of the main reasons she’d kept her distance after Nepen’thea’s death. Had his shadows sought hers at all, any slight slip up would bring her whole ruse coming down. The idea of being able the sever that link once and for all was enticing; having her mind completely back to herself, free of visitors. Brent wouldn’t suspect a thing, assuming the link was lost due to N’Zoth’s fall.

“Well,” she said, sitting up to scoot over a bit closer to him, “You know I’m never opposed to pretty jewelry and trinkets.”

She brought a hand to rest on his lap. Giving him a playful smile.

“You have good taste. If you find anything you’d think I’d like, I’d be more than happy to take it off your hands.”

“Of course, happy to.” Brent nodded, placing his hand over top of Cebina’s. “And I hope you don’t mind if I drop in on occasion to visit. For healing, perhaps? And… maybe other reasons?”

This bout of familiarity was something the rogue needed, now. With so much up in the air, finding things he knew well helped keep him grounded. Feelings. People. Cebina. His hand clenched gently about hers in a light squeeze, as he leaned into the Priestess. She wouldn’t need to read any shadows to guess what he was thinking and feeling, now.

Cebina smiled, ears perking up at Brent’s suggestion. She leaned in with him, bringing her hand over to cup his cheek as their lips met. She pressed in, tongue dancing with his as her shadows swirled in delight.

“Mmm… it’s been too long, Sweetie. I hope you’re ready for the ride,” she moaned against his lips.

#Character Story #Cebina Ruavin #Brent Sunborn #End of the Coterie #Kai’eka Sunwhisper #Nepen'thea Dusksinger #Fall of N'Zoth

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corpse--diem · 4 years

Text

20 Dollar Nose Bleed | Dewey, Nic & Erin

Takes place immediately following this chatzy.

@deweythedew @bountybossier

Worry teemed through every bone as Erin sped towards the Traveler’s Rest. It was uncomfortable and made her fidget in her seat the whole way, but she made it safe and sound. And fast. She knew this town and it’s roads like the back of her hand. Fast was good, especially with the strange way Nic was talking, and the concern she could read between the doctor’s message. Bag of supplies in hand, she hopped out just as the sound of another car pulled into the parking lot. Did she beat them? Judging by the red silhouette that marred the front seat, she’d say she had. “Jesus,” she whispered under her breath, setting the bag down as she moved to the passenger side. “Dewey?” She questioned the other man, but couldn’t help her eyes flitting back down to Nic. She pulled the door open, eager to get a better look at him. Narrowed her eyes, but there was a hint of relief at seeing him and trying to assess the damage with her own eyes. “You really were just, uh, running around out there half-naked, huh?” She glanced at his bloody front then back up at Dewey. “You weren’t kidding about needing those towels.”

Once the pair had arrived at Traveler’s, Dewey could feel a bit of the tension bound up in his muscles' ease. Half the battle had been convincing Nic to get into his car, which he genuinely thought might be impossible at one point. Not that he would have been able to leave the other in such a state, either, but thankfully he had seen reason and relented. Now all that remained was to get him inside, cleaned up, and patched. And to wait for -- Ah, there she was. “Yes, that’d be me. I was hoping we might run into each other… not literally, of course,” As the doctor got out of the car - and stole a brief moment to relish in air that wasn’t heady with the scent of copper - he moved over to the passenger’s side as well. “I’m afraid not,” He didn’t grimace, but there was obvious concern written over his features. “Thank you for coming. It’ll be much easier to take care of everything with an extra set of hands and eyes,”

A heavy scowl fell on his face as his eyes took in the Traveler's Rest. Ah yes, that fucker again. The worst goddamn ship in the sea to be stuck on. Nicodemus deflated some as they came to a stop. He needed a nap. A big one. The door to his side open and he flinched, looked at Dewey with a wide-eyed face of betrayal. A look that faded as soon as he heard Erin's voice. His head turned quick to look at her and with the light of Traveler's busted ass vacancy sign, she looked nice. "Ah fuck. Hey Erin, nice night, huh? I'm bleedin'. You're not. You look nice." And then his stomach roiled. Instead of unbuckling the seatbelt, he ripped it off and tried to roll out of the seat. Two bodies blocked him and he huffed. The roiling sensation stopped some when he closed his eyes. "Doc Nice Eyes over here almost hit me with a car. But he got me here." Then he scowled and muttered under his breath in French, something about being at the Traveler again and maybe he was in hell. He blinked up at Erin and Dewey. Shook his head to try and set it straight. Reality shook with him. "What are y'all up to?"

“Same here, doc,” Erin nodded. But here they were. And here was Nic, the absolute mess she had been anticipated but couldn’t have been ready for. Thankful for the shitty lighting that hid the slight tinge of red in her cheek. Easy to ignore his ramblings when he was tearing Dewey’s car apart. Doc Nice Eyes? She shook her head, running a hand over her cheek. “Yeah, I can see you’ve got your hands full.” She wanted to laugh. Almost did, if that worry wasn’t still creeping down her spine. He wasn’t drunk. Okay. Then what the fuck was this? “We’re going to take you inside, okay? Get you cleaned up. Can you walk alright?” She leaned down, holding her hand out, trying to ease him out of the car without him taking the damn door down with him too. Wait. She glanced back at Dewey, her voice losing it’s gentle ease, lowering to almost a whisper as if Nic wasn’t right in ear shot. “You almost hit him with your car?”

Dewey didn’t mourn for his seatbelt, nor the interior of the car now smeared in drying blood. Vehicles were physical things, so easily damaged, and could be replaced rather easily. But a man, one who obviously had at least one person fretting over him, would be sorely missed. If not to sate his own conscience, then he could at least do his best to ease Erin’s worry. It was increasingly evident, and Dewey tensed when Nic casually mentioned their literal run in. Mm, well, so much for letting that slip in gently. Nodding in the affirmative, Dewey waited a bit behind her, in order to give Nic some room to straighten himself up. If necessary, he’d have the speed capable to grasp him if he stumbled, but hopefully it wouldn’t come down to that. And then Erin’s question, which caused him to bristle uncomfortably. “It was entirely my fault. I-I took my eyes off the road for too long, and when I looked up, there he was. I was… going to tell you once we’d gotten situated,”

Erin and Dewey appeared to be conspiring. Normally Nicodemus’s hearing wouldn’t allow him to be oblivious as to what it was but whether it was because of the blood loss or general disorientation, he couldn’t grasp the words all too well. All he heard was car. “He was real fuckin’ nice about. Gave me a handkerchief.” He waved said handkerchief, blood and all, in the dead breeze. The hunter glanced at Erin’s hand. Through the blood on his face and neck, he was glad that the other red creeping on him couldn’t be seen. His skull throbbed as he worked his way to his feet, her hand helping to ground him. “Probably looked like fuckin’ Sasquatch, y’know? In those headlights.” He didn’t try to imitate the pose. He was sure they could picture it. “I’m up the stairs there,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut. “‘M fuckin’ head hurts.” He looked at Dewey. “I ain’t old but you’re gonna help me, right? With the stairs. It’s, uh, fuck. Six.” To accentuate his point, he grabbed his hand without much thought. At that moment, he needed some goddamn stability. “I’m good.”

Even with Dewey’s clear guilt and Nic’s lofty explanation, Erin still glared in the other man’s general direction. “Yeah, real nice,” she mumbled, stretching her patience enough to try and give him the benefit of the doubt. The man was standing there in just his pajamas. Something she became painfully aware of once he was steady on his feet directly beside her. “Let’s just worry about getting you inside.” More concern filled her growing eyes, lifting her hand to gently grip his arm, cold as a corpse. “Jesus, you’re freezing,” she glanced at Dewey, that graciousness coming back to her when she remembered the task at hand. Leaned down to grab her bag as she helped guide him towards the stairs. Room six. “Ready when you are,” she nodded to Dewey. She had a feeling getting to the stairs was going to be easier than getting up them.

Nice about nearly running someone over. Well, never let it be said that Dewey didn’t feel remorse even after turning. He didn’t need to look, could feel Erin’s glare directed upon him, but he didn’t wither under it. What was done was done, and the only thing to do about it now was to get Nic inside and warmed up. That was the end goal, and maybe if he kept reminding himself of that, he wouldn’t focus on how tight his throat had become. How the image of his handkerchief and it’s crimson strain lingered in the back of his mind like a cup of water being held just out of reach from a man dying of thirst. His gaze met Nic’s and, at the question, he hurriedly nodded, hand clasping around the one he’d been given. “Of course. We’ll be up in no time,” His other hand hesitated before resting atop the middle of the male’s bare back, and he glanced to Erin with an affirmative nod. “Ready,”

A grumble like a hum came out of Nicodemus. It occurred to him that he'd never really held someone's hand before. Let alone two someone's. A sudden sensation of fear struck him. Oh no. Was this getting close to people? He could blame the sea later. If they were going to his abode, they should probably start walking. That would be good. He felt alright to walk. Up until they got to the foot of the stairs and he looked up. They looked...wobbly. Or he was just wobbly. His grip tightened on both hands. "Pitter fuckin' patter, let's get at 'er." The first step went fine. Alright. Not so bad. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Long enough for the one large eye to watch him again, staring. "Fuck off, would you? Piece of shit fuckin' eye watchin' me. Fuckin' bullshit..." His balance nearly gave and his side hit the stair railing. The cold metal struck some clarity into him and he frowned, the delirium slightly stripped away. "This is fuckin' embarrassing."

One step at a time. They could do this. Erin gripped his hand harder, trailing just a step behind him, bracing herself for the fall backwards she prayed would never come. But it was getting dicey, and he was mumbling about an eye, which didn’t help that sinking feeling in her stomach settle in the least. “Hey, you’re fine,” Erin assured him, soft and cautious. “Just keep going. Don’t worry about it. That’s what we’re here for, remember?” Her other hand pressed onto his shoulder, cold as the wind ripping through the stairwell. With Dewey’s help, they managed a few more steps upward until they were finally at the top. One thing down, another task to follow. She glanced down at Nic’s shorts. “You don’t happen to have your key on you, do you?”

Eye? Dewey wasn’t sure if he ought to, but he glanced behind them once, unsure if what Nic was going on about actually existed in reality. Maybe it was a side effect from losing so much blood? If that was the case, they needed to get a move on. Which wasn’t as daunting when they got a decent pace going. But then Erin pointed out a very important variable he hadn’t factored in yet, fingers along Nic’s back curling in frustration. “Hold on a moment,” Removing his hand from Nic’s grasp, he leaned in towards the door before trying the handle. To his great relief, it had been opened a crack, and he heaved a sigh before guiding Nic and Erin to move inside. “There we are. Thought it couldn’t hurt to try,” He noted as he followed after them, closing the door and locking it. “Can you get him into bed alright? I’m going to see about heating the room,”

The hunter nodded as Erin talked to him. Yeah, he was fine. Just had a huge fucking eye squaring him up and blood smeared down his front like warpaint. But Nicodemus wasn’t alone. Startlingly so. He had two hands holding his, pushing him forward. Oh shit. His throat felt tight. What fucked timing. As they reached the door and pressed into it, he pushed that feeling out in a heave of a breath. “Good thing I didn’t leave the fuckin’ oven on…” His voice was a sleep-addled rumble. He was back in the hotel. A couple jars of mayonnaise sat next to the cracked television. He vaguely remembered buying them but couldn’t bring himself to fucking eat them. A gun or two on the table, clothes everywhere. The faucet on for some reason. Mirror broken. He focused on what Dewey was saying, eyes narrowed. “Get me to bed? I ain’t tired. You want to go to bed, doc?” He yawned. A part of him worried what happened if he fell asleep again. The thought made him twitchy. “Last time I slept, I went Little fuckin’ Almost Murder Mermaid.” He frowned. Murder. His head snapped to look at Erin. “Erin,” he said, deathly serious as he leaned towards her. “Is your dad still in the pot?” He winced. “Ah fuck, I’m sorry.”

Outside of the broken mirror and mayo jars, his room was pretty close to what Erin had been picturing. “Yeah, I think I can--” she turned to Dewey, nodding, but Nic was already fighting them about sleep. Jesus. This was going to be a long night. But she ushered him towards the bed anyway, navigating around the sea of clothes until she practically forced him down onto it, hoping in this state she actually had a fighting chance at overpowering him. Her entire body stiffened when he brought up her dad. In a fucking pot. It was true, but Dewey--she shook her head, giving him a warning glare. “You’re talking a lot of nonsense, bud.” She hoped he didn’t push it any further than that. Hoped to God Dewey wouldn’t either. Reaching into her bag, she immediately went into problem solving mode. “You really don’t know how you got to the beach?” She wet a rag from the already functioning faucet, turned back to him. “No clue where you’ve been? For days?” She kneeled in front of him, brows narrowed, finally getting a good hard look at the bloody damage with another worried grimace.

Ah, there it was. The resistance Dewey had only experienced a portion of upon their first meeting. He had expected it to make a resurgence once they returned to his room, which was one of the many reasons he could never begin to thank Erin enough for being there. “I would like for you to get into bed, if not to sleep then to at least be off of your feet. The beach was quite a distance from where I found you, after all,” His fingers were already fiddling with the less than functional thermostat, and after a few rattles and clanking above, warm air began to flow into the room. There, much better. He tried not to eavesdrop on the pair’s conversation, though it was exceptionally difficult. And when Nic mentioned something about father’s and a pot, he barely inclined his head in their direction, before beginning to roll up his bloodied sleeves. Probably more delirium, similar to the mention of being watched. “He likely sleep-walked there,” He interjected, finally moving to stand beside them, though he felt his chest tighten the closer in contact he came with Nic. It was fine. Just a few more minutes and he could excuse himself. “I’ll… Well, I can reset his nose here. It’s best to do it early, but, if you’d rather wait and take him to the hospital tomorrow, that would be fine as well,”

Erin didn’t want to talk about her dad in a pot. Fair, as it probably wasn’t the time. Not that there really was a good time to talk about that. Nicodemus shook his head at Erin’s question and pinched his brow. Whatever the fuck was going on with him, it was excellent torture strategy. “Nah,” he answered truthfully. “I was here. On...Monday, yeah.” He searched for the day and figured it sounded right. “After that? Ain’t got shit. Just bein’ punched in the face by a guy that kept goin’ on about me tryin’ to fuckin’ kill him.” If he wanted the man dead, he would have been. Some part of the hunter had fought against it. Being back in his hotel room seemed to help him some. His hate for the place brought him some clarity. At the mention of hospital, the hunter jerked away. “You take me to a hospital, I’m gonna be real fuckin’ mad,” he said, gaze flickering up to Dewey. “They ask too many questions there, about a lotta shit I ain’t got answers for.” He looked to Erin as some sort of buoy in the storm of whatever the hell was happening in his head, then back to Dewey. Tried to calm himself from the panic. No. They wouldn’t do that to him, he thought. Or maybe they would. They didn’t owe him anything. He straightened up as best he could and cocked his head, jaw tight. “You do what you have to.”

Nic was just as confused about what had happened to him as either of them were, which didn’t quell any of Erin’s anxieties in the least. “I believe you. Okay? But we’ve got to take care of this first,” she said, gesturing towards the murder scene on his face. Sleepwalking, murder, time-loss, eyes? Whatever was going on wasn’t good, to say the least, and pushing him harder for answers now, in his state? Probably not the wisest avenue to take. “No hospitals,” she nodded, trying to calm some of that panic in his eyes, though it wasn’t a promise she felt good about. “Not unless you’re actually on the brink of death. Then you’re not fighting us on that,” she made sure to add, stern and sure, giving his hand one good last squeeze. She moved to grab her bag of supplies, pulling things out--towels for days, the first aid kit that had been collecting dust under the front desk, and some excess gauze and bandages she had downstairs. Even some sutures had made their way into the bag. She turned to Dewey, holding out her offering, a shrug. “I didn’t know what you’d need, exactly, so I kind of grabbed… everything. What do you need me to do?”

There was no masking the concern etched into Dewey’s features. Monday - he had no memory past Monday. Not only strange, incredibly worrisome. He had studied cases of people recounting periods of lost time, blackouts, up to a certain point where their consciousness rose to take the reins again. Frustration also made a guest appearance - if he had been able to give Nicodemus a physical prior to the present, maybe he could have been more prepared for the situation. It wouldn’t have given all the answers, but it wouldn’t have hurt, either. Dewey glanced over to him, unfazed by the other’s adamant stance on being taken to a hospital. He had heard it far too many times from so many of his patients in White Crest. Signing into a hospital was basically signing your death certificate, one had been so bold to claim. Then again, they were considerably older, but still in decent health. He would have been baffled, if he wasn’t already aware of how complicated the medical system could be to navigate. And he recalled that, Nic not having all of his records. Mm. Dewey resisted the urge to crackle his knuckles - a terrible nervous habit - but he did rest one hand atop the other as he approached the pair. His gaze fell on the kit Erin provided, and he nodded stiffly. “This will be fine. I’ll need to examine his nose a bit more, see exactly what’s displaced and if I’ll be able to manually realign what needs to be,” As he talked, he knelt down beside Nic, gently taking his chin and tilting his head back to get a better view of the damage. “Then, regardless of how broken it is, I’ll pack it… need a stint, more than likely-- No, I’ll need one, definitely. I might… have one. In my bag,” It wasn’t a guarantee, but he could check. “For now, the towels will be enough. I just need space to do my work, and for you,” He caught Nic’s gaze when bringing his head back down, “To try and not flinch. It won’t be pleasant with no anesthetic, but I’ll do my best to be quick,”

She believed him. That made Nicodemus feel slightly better about the situation, but he still felt tense, every cord and muscle in his body tense. Like he was in a perpetual state of fight or flight. Nerves shot, pain everywhere. When he finally felt the slightest bit sure that neither of them would knock him out and force him into a hospital, he breathed out. His fingers, large and rough, squeezed around Erin’s for a second before he pulled them back to his lap. “Alright. Ain’t gonna fight. This time.” Fuck, maybe he was starting to get tired of fighting. Or not, as Dewey’s cold fingers took his chin in hand and the hunter glanced at him. It wouldn’t be hard to kill him. He felt half-dead already. Goddamn, he really needed to stop thinking that either of them were just going to kill him. He snorted at the doctor’s words and cracked a tired, crooked smile. “You’re sayin’ a lotta fancy shit, doc,” he said. With a bloody hand, he gestured at himself vaguely. All faint bullet scars, bite marks, and scars. A roadmap of life. “Ain’t nothin’ ever pleasant. Just go for it, alright? If I pass out, I fuckin’ pass out.”

This was going to suck. There was no doubt about it. All Erin could do for now was nod along to Dewey’s instructions, which sounded like it was going to incite much more blood, and a whole lot of yelling. And the last thing they needed to do was cause more of a scene than they’d already had. Erin grabbed one of the rags, handing it off to Nic. “You should probably… bite down on this,” she offered. She would have offered her hand if she wasn’t more than sure Nic would probably break that too. Maybe. He looked worse than she’d ever seen him and that tight feeling in her gut returned as her eyes dropped to the scars over his chest. Marks of a man who’d seen and dealt with some serious shit. This was probably nothing to him, right? But Dewey was the doctor here, and all she could do was help however she could. “Well, if you pass out, you’ve got a lovely nurse and an excellent doctor to make sure you wake back up,” she tried to smile, though it was slightly pained, knowing what he was about to endure. With more towels at the ready, she hovered just out of the way of Dewey’s range to allow him to work.

Dewey offered a small, gentle smile. “Good,” The doctor was grateful for the option, if things turned out to be worse than he anticipated. It came at a great reluctance, but he could work with that, and had a feeling Erin wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway. Gaze fell on Nicodemus’ features again, as if he hadn’t taken note of all the patchwork lines written into his face like a woven storytelling quilt. Everybody had those little divots and some discoloration - Nic just happened to house them in spades. Though it certainly didn’t render him as ghastly, in any way, shape or form. Not at all. Attention was also drawn to the dried blood cracking among the hollows and curves, creating another temporary layer telling of how he’d spent his evening. He swallowed. “Let’s hope you don’t, shall we?” He directed an appreciative smile in Erin’s direction, thankful she didn’t seem at all squeamish. Not that he had expected a mortician to be, but still, grateful all the same. “Alright, let’s see…” Propped up on one knee, pale fingers rose to clasp Nic’s face in a firm but not painfully tight spider-seal, thumbs delicately placed on either side of his crooked nose. It wasn’t bent horribly out of place, but he could see a definite bend along the bridge that shouldn’t be there. Dislocated just above the nasal septal cartilage. So, in that case… “Discomfort on three, alright? One, two--” With a blunt ‘crack!’, fingers shifted the bone back in place.

Nicodemus huffed as he looked between Erin and Dewey. “Hell. Yeah, ‘spose I do. Don’t know how the fuck that happened.” He took the offered rag and considered not biting it. But better angels told him that he should and so he did, as much of a frown peeking out as there could be over the rag. Better to not shatter his jaw through sheer bite force while he was at it. Then Dewey was there, grabbing his face again and the hunter was compelled to look at him. He held the doctor’s gaze the whole while and when the crack came, he responded by groaning loudly. And then laughing low in his chest. “Ah, yup, that felt fuckin’ great.” He muttered around the cloth and then, he felt that liquidy rush approach without braking. Blood. Thankfully not as much as before, but still plenty. “Ah shit.” He tried to say. God, he hoped that would be the fucking last of it. His eyes shot down to look at Erin, his frown deepening as he felt his bunched muscles start to slightly relax. “Ah, fuckin’ Christ.”

Erin winced, but couldn’t tear her eyes away as Dewey counted down, and the crack that followed reverberated through the entire motel. Jesus, was he laughing? “You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Erin couldn’t help but breath out a chuckle herself, letting some of that squeezing tension filter from her. But then there came the blood. She was ready, a little late, as it gushed down the front of his chest and added onto the cake-y mess already there. “Shit, shit, shit--” she held a towel up to his nose, ushering him to hold it, a gentle hand on the back of his head. “Lean forward, so you don’t choke on your own blood,” she ordered. She learned that one the hard way once upon a time. Glanced at Dewey, half-hazardly trying to wipe Nic’s chest with the other towel to stop it from gushing onto the motel sheets. There was enough there already to be questionable but they didn’t need anyone thinking there was an actual murder in here. “Are you okay?” She immediately questioned at the sight of the doctor.

Dewey smiled in mild relief. “There. All taken care o--...” Blood. Fresh blood. He had mentally prepared himself for it, had ceased any intake of air through his nose and mouth, which was easily considering he didn’t need to breathe in the first place. Even convinced himself that the image wouldn’t be too much of a sight to bear. And yet no amount of planning could prepare him for the actual sight of crimson bleeding from Nicodemus’ nostrils, dripping into the towel clamped between his teeth. The doctor’s chest tightened, his fingers, still clasped around Nic’s face, trembled ever so slightly. Oh God, he could just taste it… Mouth clamped onto his face, sinking down to his neck, draining him completely and utterly dry--

He needed a moment.

“Excuseme!” The words rushed out into one, and Dewey had to pry his hands from Nic and stagger backwards, nearly hitting the dresser behind him before darting into the bathroom. It had been quicker than he meant to be, but perhaps they were too preoccupied with tending to that wonderful blood flow to worry about the peculiar exit. Door slammed behind him, Dewey gasped out a breath, teeth - and protruding fangs - grit in frustration. Fuck! He was a medical professional, for Christ’s sake! He groaned behind his fingers, clawing at his features as he leaned against the sink counter. When he went to bring his other hand up, however, he paused, feeling something soft and wrinkled in his grasp. Narrowed gaze peered down, only to widen as he saw he currently held the bloodied handkerchief in his grasp. When had he… How had… Fuck it. Fuck it all. He stretched the cloth between trembling hands, cradled as if it were the most precious article he had ever owned, before bringing it to his mouth. He suckled and gnawed, a barely restrained moan rising in his throat. Oh, if only he could weep…

“Yeah,” Nicodemus breathed out. “Just a fuckin’ little.” He didn’t fight against Erin’s hold on him, half-lidded eyes looking at her. It was like this final rush of blood took the fight out of him, drained him of it. He felt light, damn near peaceful. The opposite of how he should have felt given the circumstances. How ever many days lost of sleep finally caught up to him. Lucky fucking Alain and only needing four hours. When Dewey rushed away, seemingly having a crisis, he chuckled a bit. “Yup, knew the blood was botherin’ him.” The rush seemed to slow and he peered. “Hey,” he rasped out, blinking at Erin. “I ain’t told you that you’re pretty yet.” A slight frown. “You are. Sorry…” he started to slow down, black cradling his vision. “Sorry for bleedin’ on you. Think I need a nap. He okay?” His eyes closed and his weight tipped forward, head nudging against Erin’s shoulder. “Think I’m gonna just...rest.”

Erin had no words for the quick exit the doctor made. Guy was in the wrong profession if a little blood made him wig out as furiously as he seemed to. “I didn’t know doctor’s could be squeamish. Kinda figured that was in the job description,” she mumbled, glancing up at the door one last time until she heard his voice again, quieter than before. Almost wished she wasn’t making eye contact when he continued his thought though, and her cheeks burned redder than she was sure they ever had. “It’s okay,” she breathed out a laugh, moving to settle on the bed next to him. “For the bleeding and the other thing,” she mumbled, hesitant at first, but pulled him closer as he lost his battle with sleep. Finally. Glanced back at the bathroom once more, hoping the guy was alright, though some of her general concern seemed to settle in her ches for now Even as her eyes scanned along the room, bloody towels lining the floor, weapons in arm’s reach, mayo jars… and the love birds sitting quaintly on the table. And yet, even as she eased him onto the blood-covered sheets, Dewey’s movements and shuffling in her ears, she didn’t really want to be anywhere else.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: dewey #chatzy: nic #20 dollar nose bleed #aka nearly naked nic

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crqstalite · 4 years

Text

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 12

TRI’AMA._ZIOST.

Today was already shaping up to be a bad day, Tri'ama knew that before she even left her private quarters for the forseeable future. And with her oh-so optimistic look on things, that just made this entire excursion more bleak than it really needed to be. Ziost had never been particularily off-limits for her before, but she'd received plenty of transmissions in the past days of travel advisories to the 'Gateway of the Empire'. Had Lana not been a close acquaintance of hers, she would've sent Jaesa or Scorvs off to deal with the situation and heeded the warnings to stay far away from the planet. But the way the blonde Sith had seemed so panicked over the situation, so much more different than her typical and calm disposition, Tri'ama couldn't help but feel obligated to help the new Minister of Sith Intelligence with the mission (also maybe not send her apprentice out to her premature death either; Scorvs could get himself killed for all she cared).

Given, there was also a multitude of other things that she could be getting up to, like properly being on leave for the first time in years, but left idle and without any work to busy her, her mind would continue drifting elsewhere. Or awkwardly try to reinsert herself into the Amarillis family, and with the current climate of the estate, it was best she stay out of the issues entirely. Returning to her old apartment, which she still hadn't cleaned out post-divorce, was a no-go emotion-wise. Staying on the Fury would only remind her more of Theron, leaving her yet again idle and more likely to do something stupid. Getting caught up in yet another conspiracy, apparently, was the best choice out of all the options.

"Going in without backup? This still has to be one of her worse ideas." Tri'ama considers a lot of things to say to the Captain before she hears a sarcastic quip from the Black Ops soldier over the holo, and blocks out Quinn's next response before she can't, turning the corner from her room and remaining quiet as she leans against a door frame, pushing her hood up and around her head while intending to watch the rest of the conversation. Prim and proper as always, standing at a perpetual attention at the holocommunicator in the commons of the Fury, Malavai Quinn had unfortunately returned to her service at the firm request of Raegia (the woman wouldn't budge on her argument) so here he was, apparently fighting an losing unnecessary battle for her safety once again, "Even so, it's blasted Ziost! Alongside already being undesirable to someone such as a Sith Lord herself, it's been overrun by this new issue that's arisen. Every incoming ship has been either directed to its orbital station or deterred entirely. No one quite knows what is going on either, risking her safety is not part of my servitude, lest I remind you for the last time, Lieutenant. Married or otherwise, she is still my charge and I personally believe we're risking quite a lot for this Dark Lord, and our lives is not something I am willing to part with. Talk her out of this insanity, wouldn't you?"

Clearly bored with the entire exchange, Pierce's eyes flicker from the man to her with a smirk on his expression as she nods to him to continue, before quickly returning to his original attention, "I say that's somethin' you take up with her, Quinn, I ain't got any control over what she chooses to do. I've got just about as much pull as you do. I do suggest treadin' real lightly in your next few conversations with her though, Cap'n." And with that, Pierce sarcastically bows. He then very smartly disconnects from the terminal with a wink thrown in her direction, and Quinn runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with the now dark holocommunicator as he focuses on a spot on the ground. A sigh of annoyance, maybe anger as he lifts his head again to shut off the static of the disconnected terminal. He whispers something under his breath, and picking himself up again, he swivels to see her standing only a few feet away. He jumps, but regains his composure rather quickly as he straightens his uniform top while she approaches. There's a new pin on his uniform that she takes notice of, and she supposes either Darth Amarillis or Darth Aghdani had promoted him at some point or another. She wouldn't put it past either of them, Raegia couldn't even be bothered to meet with him before shoving him back onto the Fury.

"My lord, I'm assuming you're ready to depart to the surface?" He asks, as she raises an eyebrow. She tries not to roll her eyes, reminding herself she has yet to slide the goggles on and her expressions do matter. To people she actually cares about, but she holds her metaphorical tongue anyways, "I must warn you, the reports from the planet's defense system have not improved since Lord Beniko hailed us. I still recommend reacquiring both Jaesa and Pierce for this mission to avoid any unnecessary injury." Quinn reminds her like a broken holorecorder.

"To yourself, you mean?" She asks, glad she has she her respirator on to remind her not to say anything too horrible underneath her breath, "Jaesa, Pierce and Vette are all people. I gave them leave because they've been aboard the Fury for years and deserve the break. I can deal with Ziost and its troubles on my own, I only require your assistance until I can find a competent medic to replace you so Darth Amarillis doesn't ground me and the rest of my crew on Dromound Kaas for the forseeable future."

He's taken aback, clearly, as his expression changes but he covers it up very quickly and rather skillfully if he was surprised by her admittance to the real reason he was still in her service, "If that's how it must be, my lord. I'm sure you're entirely capable of what you intend to accomplish, I meant no offense." An odd glint off his cerulean eyes bring her back to a simpler time, when he grovelled at her feet like little more than an akk dog hoping for scraps. Yet again, he'd be by her side as she faced down inevitable death. Tri'ama had felt just a tad too bad about pulling her other four crewmembers from leave early (though what Jaesa and Broonmark got up to without her supervising their activities was a mystery and a half; Pierce and Vette on the other hand were with the Amarillis' to keep them from hunting her down), but the time was well-earned. Raegia, once hearing that she would be leaving again without her crew in tow, had requested a reassignment of Quinn back to her service. The premise of the request was motherly, but the forcing to take him or have the Fury grounded until she found another medic was daunting. Finding one wasn't difficult, one she trusted with her body was another story. One that she could acquire on such short notice was even worse, so she was forced to reboard the Fury with the Captain in tow. At least this time, he kept his distance, "I'm sure Minister Beniko is waiting on us, shall I set course?"

She nods offhandedly, and he disappears off back towards the cockpit. Course set as the ship lurches softly in lightspeed, she leans most of her weight against the holocommunicator. He returns back from the small room as the ship stabilizes, and he then flicks it back on as she moves to sit further away in the lounge seats. He's plotting, as she can begin to recognize the map of the Landing Zone, and as he flickers away from that, the heart of New Adasta. Plotting for what, she isn't sure. but she has noticed the change to bulkier armor instead of only his officer's uniform. What adversaries they'd face on the surface had yet to be seen, but it does comfort her a bit that Quinn can become a battle medic if required.

Lana would surely let her go when this all died down in the next few days, but she'd equipped heavier armor like Quinn anyways simply due to necessity. And fear. Mostly necessity with all the unknowns so far, but also fear of losing her life to a stray blaster shot. Or whatever the hell was down there.

Or Quinn.

She's beginning to consider this may have been another one of Raegia's plays to get her married off again, forcing her to keep her ex-husband around in the hope they'd 'fix their issues' and Tri'ama would 'get back into the right mindset'. It didn't matter that Tri'ama was still facing the demons that he'd brought back upon the Fury, only that Raegia and Yusaits wanted a legacy that would outlive them. No matter the cost. Righting Kadasha off all the military men she'd become infatuated with somehow had been a small win until Pierce had arrived, then the obsession (that the Lieutenant still didn't know about; Kadasha overtaken by the girlish crush and had yet to say anything) had been reignited, getting Typarnk settle down had been unsucessful and Scorvs...Raegia and Yusaits had surely seen the man as a lost cause after this long. After thirty one years, it was fair for her to assume her eldest brother would become little more than a hermit in the Sanctum until he died from unnatural causes.

But now, Quinn knew the rules, he knew what she would tolerate and what would get him thrown out the airlock. He kept his gaze averted from her when it was evident she no longer needed his input on anything, though it lingered just a tad too long to be a look of acknowledgement or respect. There was no need to make a mountain out of a selosian tunnel though, so she sighs and pulls out her own holocom, effectively ignoring any further interaction he may have wanted from her. Even taking her eyes off of him for just a moment makes a cold shiver run down her back as he moves away from her, surely packing up his own things on the opposite end of the ship. It still terrifies her to have him as the only one to defend her if things went inevitably wrong. She'd much rather have a blasted Jedi protecting her rather than him at this point. Most weapons she knew about were in the armory, but she wouldn't put it past him not to have a handblaster or holdout blaster on him somewhere. She wasn't that daft to assume he'd ever be unarmed, and she knew Captain Quinn like the back of her own hand.

The nightmares of being shot in the back had returned in full force when she'd seen him again, bag in hand at the foot of the ramp leading into the Fury. Having blood gush out of her with a vibroblade stabbed through her gut, all with those cold, calculating blue eyes on her the entire time while doing the deed. Baras may have been dead and gone, forgotten quickly by those of the top Sith, and Quinn may have promised to never attempt such a thing again, but her trust would never be regained that easily. And chances are, he would never have it again. Why Vette couldn't be her primary healer was beyond her, the small Twi'lek was rather good at finding injuries and treating them to the best of her abilities. Even Pierce had managed some field healing that had been rather sufficient. Broonmark had never truly been able to, and due to the many unknowns of Jaesa's powers, Tri'ama found it better to simply let her be good at what she was good at.

But apparently, Raegia could not be bothered to find one herself. She didn't trust Pierce as he was apparently little more than a military lackey with rocks for brains nor Vette due her being little more than a prized and glorified slave who didn't know any better (Raegia's words, not her's). But because she was her legal guardian and 'doting mother' she had the right to ground her on Dromound Kaas. So here they were, walking down from the Fury together, Quinn a few paces behind her as she tries to grasp the situation. Evidently, this was horribly unideal, and she was more than glad that she'd acquired all the armor plating that she had for this mission specifically. One could never be too careful, especially around traitors.

Thanks, mother, She thinks sarcastically as they pass by a transparisteel viewport, and she glances at their reflections passing in the reflective surface, Thanks for nothing.

Most of the mission was like running around in circles, she found as she went over the mission report for the third time that morning. None of it seemed like it should be even sort of possible, with people running around as somewhat possessed. It had yet to be updated by anyone from Intelligence, and attempting to get a call in to Lana as they walked through the spaceport, she found it continued routing her to little more than just static instead of the Minister herself. The last communication she'd received from the woman had been hours ago, and were coordinates to somewhere arbitrary on the surface. After that, there was virtually nothing for her to go off of. Hadn't been the first time she'd ever flown into an operation blind (and probably would be far from the last), but she often tried to keep the list to a minimum.

Tri'ama had admittedly only been to the planet once before, and that was assisting Sith Intelligence hunting down an SIS infiltrator. Really, she was only overseeing and paying for the operation without the support of the rest of the Council. Still, she never knew whether they found the Cathar or otherwise, the rogue agent was a cunning strategist apparently and had managed avoiding being found out for whole years on end. She was going in blind to this entire operation, and while not unusual, it wasn't a situation she wanted to be playing fate with either.

She almost runs into Quinn's back before she looks up from her holocom, sliding it back into its designated holder on her belt. Frustrated because of the hold up at first, she quickly realizes that Ziost's situation is much more dire than even she'd first assumed after looking out over the orbital station, people of all races being attended to by medical workers. There was clearly not enough personnel, the few that weren't as injured attempting to help alongside them. Holocoms were beeping incessantly, the arrival board was glitching every few moments with ominous lighting. There were ships scheduled to be coming in every few minutes, but every few glitches appeared for them to be cancelled before being righted again. What was going on was anyone's guess, but anyone that was trapped down there...chances were that they wouldn't be returning before Vitiate took ahold of them, turning them into his vicious puppets.

Her heart picks up the pace at the thought.

What was keeping Vitiate from taking her? Or possibly less worse, taking Quinn? Why were some unaffected, and others driven to their wit's end?

What was he after, all these months after the events of Yavin IV? The Hero of Tython maybe, for weakening him so severely? In that case, wouldn't Lana and the rest of Sith Intelligence be searching for him instead of wandering aimlessly on-planet? It couldn't have been Lana herself (as rude as it sounded, she doubted Vitiate would be after little more than a Lord, tied to Arkous or otherwise), and it shouldn't have been her. Other than defeating Revan and attempting to keep him dormant for many more years, they hadn't be directly responsible for anything he'd suffered in the past months. And she was his Wrath, as far as she was still concerned. Killing her would surely be a break of some protocol, and the Empire and Vitiate himself would suffer from the loss of their precious Wrath.

She hoped.

"Oi! 'Less you're here to help, I suggest gettin' lost." A scruffy black and white Cathar male says in a deep and thick Ziosti accent, buff arms crossed across his chest with loose pieces of armor over the undersuit that matches his fur tone, "Last transports came in a few hours ago. Results were less than stellar, as you can see." He answers, gesturing to those lying about on the ground and groans the sound from them. Tri'ama tries not flinch as she catches a glimpse of someone -- no a corpse on a stretcher, their face pale and body unmoving as other assistants cover them, "Hate to see that happen to you, girlie."

Ziost wasn't just a battle against an unknown force. It was an entire massacre of the Ziosti people. As much as she didn't feel bad for them, she still was curious if people were taking advantage of the chaos and maiming others to survive, or if this was the product of Vitiate's reign over the planet. The people who had to fight their family members and their loved ones to even have a chance at evacuation, those who'd been possessed themselves. She quivers at the thought of having someone in her head. Someone controlling her thoughts, her every action.

"Do you know who you're talking to?" Quinn asks before Tri'ama can even open her mouth, and she groans inwardly at the overly defensive tone in his voice. The Cathar man chuckles darkly, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope. And don't care much either, I'm gettin' paid to treat folks and keep people off the station 'till all this dies down, not to deal with little Imperial pricks." He answers, his white canines evident over his smirk. He looks shocked for a moment after he catches a glimpse of her, a hand over his mouth, "Oh no, what are you going to do to me Lieutenant? Arrest me? Like to see you try, I don't live under Imperial jurisdiction as of now." He responds with a laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Quinn is speechless at the nonsensical taunt, still trying to formulate a response, an eye twitching at the mis-read assignment, "I suggest you show the Wrath of the Empire some respect." He answers after a moment, not bothering to correct him.

The Cathar's green eyes move from him to her, analyzing her up and down before scoffing, "Right. And I'm the Hero of Tython. I ain't risking any of these pilots to go back down to that hellscape. Barely made it off myself, and as much as I'm considering sending you right back out that airlock without your fancy ship, I'm still morally obligated to make you stay far away from this planet."

Rolling her eyes, Tri'ama pushes past Quinn to stand directly in front of the man, sizing him up herself. He doesn't budge in the change of position, so spying a Nautolon with a bottle of water a few feet behind, she shatters their glass with a quick explosion of the Force, a shriek erupting from the patient and medical worker, water splashing to the ground. He whips his head around to witness, the back of clothes entirely soaked before growling, "Hey! We needed that!"

"And I need to get down the surface. I suggest you don't continue to deny me that." Tri'ama answers, a look of disbelief on the Cathar's face, "There are other, much pricier things I'd suggest you wouldn't want to lose should you do so, yes?"

His argumentative state is diminishing, and she knows that she's won now. He throws down his hands to his side in defeat, a sigh escaping him, "Fine, you win Sith. Head down to the surface all you want, but I ain't sending any of our pilots with you. Too much of a risk to the system."

"Perfectly fine. I can pilot the transport down myself." Tri'ama answers. As if that'd keep her from going anywhere, he was dead wrong. Still, she picks up another matter that passes through her consciousness as she eyes one of the smaller transport ships aboard the orbital station out of the corner of her eye, "A certain Sith Lord Beniko, has she passed through this station as of late?"

"Lord Beniko?" The Cathar considers for a moment, still wary of her but willing to comply as he genuinely thinks on the matter, "Blonde woman, travelling with a Twi'lek that was way too upbeat for where she was going and a human woman I think was with Intelligence?"

The others, she couldn't vouch for, but the description matched the Minister's. She'd have to do some other digging on the Twi'lek, though she figured Lana wouldn't have gone without someone else from her new division. The backup was evidently necessary for any excursion to the planet, so she nods, "Yes. I'm assuming that means she passed through onto the surface a few hours ago?"

"She did, yes. A couple hours after that, actually about an hour before you another force user passed through, 'long with another Twi'lek. Also blonde under some white hood like your's." The Cathar shakes his head as he recollects the meeting, "Dunno why ya'll want to go down there instead of stay up here, but apparently I ain't in the right for questioning it.Well, that's all I can tell you about anyone of note in here, Wrath. Have fun down there, hope I see you again." His tone clearly makes it sound like he could not care less if she and Quinn actually returned or not, and she can kind of understand with the state of medical procedures occurring around them. Not that she does excuse his behavior towards her, but she digresses. There are more important matters to attend to. This ill-mannered Cathar happened not to be one of them.

Tri'ama doesn't bother bidding him a farewell as they walk away from him, boarding the shuttle. She allows Quinn to work his magic at the controls as she takes her dutiful place next to him, scanning the skyline at the off-white planet on the horizon. His vision flickers to her every few moments, eyes full of apprehension, before finally focusing on the task at hand.

Surely he wonders how things would've been, had Baras not been a deciding factor. Flexing her hand, she's sure her finger would still be heavy with a ring. She'd have learned to fly by now, at least.

She steels her eyes forward. To reminisce was one thing, to lust after something one no longer needed or wanted, was another.

The first thing that Tri'ama notices about the plagued planet once they touch down is just how quiet it is on Ziost when she opens the doors out into the landscape. With how the reports painted things, she thought she'd at least hear offhanded screams and shouts of violence and whatnot, but not even a blaster shot paints the sky as the pair departs the transport vessel. Holding out a hand to stop Quinn and make him wait before he continues on into the hellscape, she pulls her holocom from her belt and rereads over the coordinates Lana had sent her for what feels like the the thousandth time today. Not far away, but it's eerily empty around where they've landed. It makes her uneasy. No one is milling about, and somehow that scarier than running into someone out here. She doesn't immediately want to leave the faux safety of the ship, fearing someone is simply hiding in the shadows.

Trudging her way through the snow with Quinn's light footsteps behind her toward the bunker, Tri'ama feels her signature buzzing with force energy, bouncing off of her and everything around her. She's hypersensitive to everything, feeling where cloth meets skin, even the microscopic prickles of cold against her exposed face. As if the force is living about her, making her more aware, more powerful. The wind picks up at this thought, throwing her hood off her head entirely and her hair whipping around in a whirlwind of it's own. Ziost is in it's winter cycle, Life Day is rapidly approaching, as the expensive decorations in the heart of Kaas City reminded it's citizens annually. Her heart clenches, these people are supposed to be celebrating with family, not running for their lives from their family. Poor or not, they were still Imperial citizens, and she had a duty to them.

Poor timing, but she remembers just then that she has taken the holiday for granted and hasn't acquired anyone anything just yet. The situation is a dark reminder for her to hold what she has dear, lest she and her crew, her family become victims of this mass murder. Whether the Emperor will become dissatisfied here and become bored of Ziost, has to be seen. She's worried he may jump to other planets, to start the entire thing over again somewhere else, more populated. More important to her, that is.

Pushing her gold tinted goggles up and off her eyes onto her forehead, she peers inside the bunker's open blast doors, both lightsabers lit with a crimson red. A dark light above her sparks, and if her anxiety couldn't jump any further, it did in that moment as she took in her surroundings. Someone else was here, or had been here recently. Feeling out in the Force, she can feel whispers of something familiar -- but it isn't as sharp as she remembers Lana's being. Softer...but more mysterious. That of someone who didn't want to be found, or known. Another lingers behind it, one she had definitely felt before. Sharp, regretful. But also angry, frightened. Not force-sensitive, yet one who made themselves known.

The question was, who was it? It couldn't have been Nox, she had some sort of Life Day party planned for later today in the City, and Aghdani wouldn't have set foot here. She remembers the mention of the two others who'd be travelling with Lana, but then she would've felt her here as well. The mention of the other Force user who'd touched down shortly before Tri'ama and Quinn had arrived reminds her to be leery. The Cathar hadn't mentioned whether they were Sith or Jedi. Not to mention the possibility they may have been mind controlled. A further look, the bunker is completely ransacked. The light isn't the only fixture that has suffered, including racks that looked like they had been used as training dummies. Crates with the with the Imperial insignia have toppled over, some broken open in a corner. How the Empire would recover, if the Empire recovered, it would take a lot of money. What supplies had been lost, what manufacturers and other important people had been lost in the siege, would never be recovered. At least not in the way they had been before everything had happened. The economy here, at the very least, would be disrupted for months, if not years. Chances are people were thinking about relocating to Dromound Kaas. If not there, then somewhere else under Imperial jurisdiction. The rulings would take months, the Fleet would see so many in limbo, so many waiting to be placed somewhere else.

If they made it off, that was.

Quietly stalking her way to the stairs, she follows it up slowly. Thoughts of murdererous force users, dark and light, soldiers or worse, civillians fill her mind as she reaches the landing, before she pauses entirely. A voice, two voices as the other responds to a question. Her eyes widen at the tone, clenching her teeth together. One sounded feminine, the other a gritty masculine voice. They quiet down as she gets closer to the top, and if she's correct, one of them has drawn a long-range weapon from the sound of the strap hitting their hand and the cocking of it in rapid succession.

She prepares herself for whatever she may find, tightening her grip on her hilts. Tri'ama and Quinn share a look, and he nods in understanding.

A shot from the weapon just as she gets a look at the messy overlook and she spirals out of the way, Quinn audibly drawing his blaster and ducking. It just narrowly misses her head, and she sends her lightsaber back towards wherever it had originated from. It hits an arc, slicing the wall behind the dark holoterminal without making contact with it's intended target. Tri'ama just barely gets a glance at the pale yellow Twi'lek with the rifle (who'd dodged the saber expertly, still firing off shots at Quinn, who returned them with his own well-placed shots) before rushing forward, targeting the person she could feel in the Force nearby with her single saber, attempting a Force leap as the other returns to her left hand and slashing at the presence. They couldn't be seen, but the signature was so familiar it was nearly painful when she focuses on it. Even so, they throw her backwards with a well-placed Force push and she skids backward on her haunches. Raising her head, she's confused for a moment. It isn't immediately obvious where they are at first, though slowly, golden tinted light reveals their form, a green doublesaber being lit at their side and blonde hair hanging in a ponytail at the base of their neck.

Their face is exposed though, and true to the Cathar's words, they were in mostly white. Something she'd tune to the Jedi with, though decked out with battle mods and plating. Squinting gently as she yanks herself back up off the ground and pulls her saber hilts back to her hands with the Force, she pauses before leaping again toward them. Tri'ama recognizes that face, and they grey eyes that reminded her of storms. The silver orbs glint with familiarity as well, and her eyes widen her stance relaxing and saber lowering, "Wrath? What in the blazes are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Barsen'thor." She deadpans, getting to her feet and disgniting her saber. The Twi'lek lowers his rifle, and Quinn's shots stop as well as he quickly returns to her side. He keeps his weapon drawn, as expected, "All other moral questions aside, how did you manage to get onto Imperial soil? We don't exactly hand out boarding passes like candy."

"I managed to receive clearance in my own way, to no concern of yours. I'm here to rescue Theron." The Barsen'thor responds after a moment of consideration, doing the same to her own doublesaber and hanging it back on her belt. Tri'ama tries to keep a straight face, but shock runs through her system. First at the thought of Theron being back on the same planet that she was, closer than she thought. Then one of panic, Theron was on Ziost for some reason, and someone had sent the Jedi's warden after him to bring him back to the Republic. What reasons did he have to be here in the first place, and why now? Why did he require a Jedi's rescue, if not one from his precious SIS?

"I heard that the Republic was here. Sixth Line, if my intel remains correct correct." Tri'ama muses, keeping her voice steady. Theron would of course get involved in some of the Jedi's business, his mother probably at the helm. As 'her agent' she's sure there's some responsibility he has there, "I can't imagine why. Your faction always did have the oddest responses to situations, I assume this would be no different."

"Because the Empire has such a grasp on the situation at hand, Wrath. I'm sure you weren't even aware there were Jedi here until now." Naji snaps back, setting her lips in a grimaced line.

"And I'm sure you weren't even aware your darling Jedi Order was causing trouble until now either, we're you? They've done little more than add to the issue." Tri'ama says, raising an eyebrow as she crosses her arms, "But I assume you didn't know that, did you?"

Naji recoils at the veiled insult, turning to her companion. She opens her mouth to say something else when they hear a blast door on the opposite side of the room slide open. Her heart rate rises again, drawing her sabers rapidly and rushing to stand at the edge of the overlook. Naji hesitates, but follows after her quickly, also drawing the hilt of her doublesaber. The Twi'lek holds back, curious but not afraid.

"I had foreseen your arrival, but I didn't believe it." A chilling voice says loudly, and a dimly glowing soldier clad in red and black steps out of the shadows. Tri'ama hears His voice through the man, the voice that has haunted her for no less than years. Naji's face is contorted into one of confusion, surprise maybe. Has she also heard His voice before? Is it as unfamiliar to her as it is to her companion, or to Quinn?

Has she faced Him before?

"I thought, after bearing witness to my rebirth on the Yavin moon, why? Why would you stand in the face of certain death?" Another arrives, this time in the form of a woman in Black Ops soldier armor. Her heart drops, it's nearly identical to Pierce's set. Had she not put him on leave, would he also be here? Serving his faction to his very last breath?

Tri'ama decides she doesn't want to think about that. Doesn't want to think about how easy it would be to lose everyone if she didn't do what she'd done, "You both are far from stupid. The Wrath and Barsen'thor, I know that much. Overly ambitious, perhaps. Well, regardless, I do hope you find your time on Ziost enlightening." Naji gasps, a gloved hand over her mouth as her eyes widen.

"Master Garault...no...how could they have done this to him?" Naji whisper asks, her grip tightening on her hilt. Perhaps an acquaintance of hers, yet Tri'ama can't find it in her to feel any sort of bad about it. Everyone knew the cost of war, everyone knew that no one was guranteed a life sentence. Though, had a member of the Council been in Garault's place, she could feel an inkling of emotion there. Her companion gently touches her shoulder in solidarity before he draws his rifle again.

"You'll bear witness to a world's end if you survive long enough." The Jedi answers darkly, the three people below also drawing their weapons. Green lights her vision, Naji taking a battle stance. The Jedi has a gold saber, and soon they're being shot at as Tri'ama leaps off the overlook, the force radiating off of her.

It isn't a long fight, as Tri'ama expects it to be should these really be the Emperor's pawns. She thought they would've been as strong as how they'd been when they'd been possessed initially, but both of the soldiers fall quite easily to her sabers, any former training falling away with the loss of self-control. The Master is being pelted with debris and blaster shots from above as she duels with the pair of Imperial soldiers. She doesn't feel particularily bad about it, but shoving a saber through the Imperial insignia still feels weird. It simply feels wrong. The light leaves their eyes, but so does the light red on their bodies. Their eyes are no longer pure white, instead returning to their typical colors as they loll back into their heads, blood pooling out from their wounds. Kicking the bodies with the toe of her combat boots, they remain motionless, the color returned to them properly. Death seemed to be the only escape from the Emperor's control.

Zenith, as she learns (or rather remembers, his name had been escaping her since they'd arrived) later takes the killing shot while Garault is distracted with Naji and Tri'ama's saber fighting. He topples over in a heap when it happens, both women jumping out of the way in surprise, and hitting the ground with his back as Tri'ama just barely moves out of the way. Had she not been in immediate danger, she would've had some very choice words for the Barsen'thor's sharpshooter and his choice of timing. Hopefully her sharp glance back towards the Twi'lek gets her point across sufficiently.

Right in the middle of his forehead is the entrance and exit wound, a gory sight. The same happens with this corpse, the crimson color leaving his body and his eyes returning to normal. He whispers something that Tri'ama can't make out, heaving out his words, before he takes his final breath. Naji bends down, hesitating for a moment before lowering his eyelids over his lifeless eyes. As Naji does whatever she intends to do with the dead man, Tri'ama finds that her once white robes have already had parts of it dyed an ominous red. Blood has already seeped onto them, and she pushes Quinn away, wordlessly letting him know that she hasn't actually been injured badly, that she isn't wounded enough to warrant healing. That it isn't her blood. Zenith arrives from his perch shortly after, helping the Barsen'thor stand from her kneeling position. They speak quietly for a moment, though Tri'ama isn't privy to the details of their conversation.

The clacking of more boots on the duracrete behind them at the main entrance sends Tri'ama back onto high alert, taking a protective stance over those in her charge. At the very least, these soldiers have helmets on. It keeps her conscience from reminding her that these are people, that they have stories and families and things to return to. Things they'd never see again. They begin shooting at them, and she does her best to deflect and fire back at them before someone else leaps onto the scene, a crimson lightsaber cutting through them in a flurry. One sniper can also be seen, clad in black and finishing the last soldier that had been part of their party.

When the last of them fall, Tri'ama once again disignites her sabers. Naji stands next to her, supposedly done with whatever respects she was paying. Lana Beniko had finally arrived.

"So you've arrived. Good. There's much to be done." Lana says, barely breathing hard from her last altercation. She didn't look too different from the last time that Tri'ama had seen her, though the bags under her eyes pointed her to believing her sleep had suffered since Ziost broke out. The woman behind her seems to have fared the same, simply sliding her own rifle, Imperial-issues of course, back onto her back and brushing a loose hair back into her blonde bun without another thought. A quick glance over the uniform reveals she's Imperial Intelligence, which clears up who was brought down with her. Still, it doesn't answer who the Twi'lek was, but her tone says she wouldn't appreciate questions right then, so Tri'ama buries the question for another time.

"It's good to see you again, Minister, but the Jedi are on Ziost, an Imperial homeworld no less. Odd, isn't it?." Tri'ama responds. Naji's force presence smothers her with apprehensiveness and mild annoyance as she says this, which is frustrating in itself. Another planet worth of this oddity invading her senses, overloading her conscience, she was going to die before the Emperor even got his hands around her mind.

"Yes. You don't belong here, Jedi. You shouldn't have come." Lana turns her attention to Naji, her tone hardening as Zenith crosses his arms at the accusation.

"I'm not about to start backing down from the Emperor now. And from the look of things since I touched down, I'm starting to think you could use the help." Naji responds in a tone she hadn't heard from the Consular before, "Jedi or otherwise, I don't think you're in any place to complain, Minister."

Lana isn't taken aback, or hides it very well, "Well, you're not wrong about that. As you can see, things are already out of hand." She answers, shrugging almost nonchalantly before turning back to Tri'ama, "The Jedi you fought belonged to the Sixth Line. SIS commandos who follow their own addendum to the Jedi Code, hence the name."

"'There is no contemplation, there is only duty.'" Naji says, almost breathlessly if she knew it by heart. Another time, she would have to ask what made the Sixth Line so different from the Jedi they typically met (and in her case, fought), and why so much was at stake if the Republic lost them.

"Right. Great point of view--so long as they're working for you." Another agent. Not a Twi'lek, but how many had Lana brought down with her?, "Pardon the interruption. I sent a probe droid to look into that crashed shuttle, Minister Beniko. It's empty."

Lana gives him a nod of acknowledgement at the information, "Agent Rane Kovach and Cipher Nine of Sith Intelligence. Agent Kovach has been somewhat of a rising star in Sith Intelligence here on Ziost."

"We do know Theron Shan was on that shuttle. And we know he's responsible for the Sixth Line being on Ziost in the first place." Cipher Nine says, a crisp Imperial accent accompanying the information. To be expected, of course, but again her heart jumps at the mention of his name. So he was here, but with a botched Line of Jedi who'd been unknowingly mind controlled. Tri'ama prays that he's still okay, unharmed for the time being. If not, she's not sure she wants to see him in his current state, or what she would do if she found his corpse. Cipher Nine shakes her head, perhaps in annoyance, "So far, this 'Theron' fellow has only added to our troubles. I do hope he's not here to cause more."

"Theron's here to stop the Emperor, same as me." Naji speaks up again, "Sadly, I doubt that he's just your problem anymore."

"Vitiate is not our Emperor. Not anymore." Lana responds, and Tri'ama shares the sentiment, "As you've witnessed, Vitiate is taking hold of an increasing number of soldiers and Sith. His goal continues to be the accumulation of power, Agent?"

"The dark side is strong on Ziost. Using the outpost's resources, our former Emperor can massacre the defenseless to fuel him." He sounds just as tired as his companions, if not moreso. She can imagine why, she would be too if she were working under Lana for this entire operation, already more than a week old by Intelligence standards, "The more powerful he becomes, the more people he can control. He will keep on killing until nothing is left."

A pause, as Lana receives a message a moment later, the information sinking in, "Yes, I'm on my way." An audibly frustrated sigh as she returns her attentions to the people at hand, "I'm needed everywhere, all at once. I've already lingered too long. Agent Kovach and Nine have a plan to stem the bloodshed."

The Cipher agent finishes her own listening, turning her head to Lana, "They found the shuttle, Minister. Destroyed, no body inside. It may be safe to say she's become one of them and wandered off. I told you the Emperor would target you first, I believe it's time to give up the search."

Lana's expression drops entirely now, anxiety taking over her features as she doesn't even attempt to hide or stem her real emotions anymore, "I will do no such thing. I know she's out there, she wouldn't just die like that, Nine." Both hands form a fist at her sides before she takes another breath, and bids them all a hurried if not also stressed goodbye, a finger still pressed to her ear a muttering under her breath into it. Whoever 'she' was must've been extremely important to Lana.

Kovach and Nine turn back to them, Kovach beginning, "It's an honor, my lord, for us both. Here's what we have in mind. The outpost armory is wide open right now. It's where the possessed have been getting their firepower."

"It needs to be placed on lockdown, is what the agent means." Nine finishes, a bored look on her face.

"That won't be enough to stop him, Agent." Tri'ama responds, flabbergasted at the lackluster idea. The Emperor wouldn't be stopped by some petty lockdown system, hell he had the whole planet underneath his thumb already, "You're trying to stop the flood of an ocean with only a river dam. You need to think bigger."

"It won't stop him, you're right. But we have to start somewhere." Kovach says, lowering his voice and softening his tone at the mild scolding, "Cipher Nine will stay with you to escort you there. I'll go out ahead, I'll be your eyes and ears."

Kovach leaves them with the new agent, and she draws her rifle once he's gone. She's devoid of emotion, and Naji and Tri'ama share a look, one of confusion. Her presence is empty, as if they're being sucked into a void of nothingness when she prodded at her mind, "It's an ugly hellscape out there, my lord. If you're looking for fight, you've found one. You're just in time for a showdown right in the middle of the end of a world."

"Lead the way then, Cipher." Tri'ama says, Quinn muttering under his breath before the small party steps back out into the cold. The smell of blood stings her nose from her robes and the bodies before them, even the respirator not doing enough to filter it entirely. Now staring out over the small landing zone, she can see the apocalyptic ending that everyone else did. Ships flying out, people milling about that are't even really...people. She was really facing death head on by the side of a Barsen'thor, her sniper, a Cipher agent and her ex-husband.

The galaxy always had it out of her. If it was waiting for her to snap in two and fall apart, it had another thing coming.

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jordanianroyals · 4 years

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13 January 2020: France 24 TV channel conducted an interview with King Abdullah II that covered a number of domestic, regional, and international issues.

In the interview, conducted by France 24’s Marc Perelman, King Abdullah noted that the impact of regional developments has added pressure on Jordan, stressing the importance of providing opportunities for young people.

“We do want a better life for Jordan. We are stuck in a very difficult neighbourhood… the Syrian refugees have been a tremendous burden on us,” His Majesty told France 24. “We are saving Europe tremendous amount of pressure by looking after the refugees in our country,” the King said. His Majesty said Jordan is strategically committed to peace, noting that “the two-state solution in my mind, and I know in the majority of European countries, is the only way forward”, and reaffirming that “moving dialogue back between the Israelis and Palestinians is essential”. Asked about the late Sultan Qaboos bin Said of Oman, who passed away recently, the King said he was “known for being a neutral voice, a voice of reason and a leader that actually brought people together”. Noting that the region has the “largest youth cohort in history”, His Majesty said youth want a great opportunity at life and stability, which calls on all countries to deal with economic conditions in a way “to give people a better life”. The King also warned against plunging the region into further instability, underscoring that “instability in our part of the world affects Europe and the rest of the globe”. (Source: Petra)

Following is the full text of the broadcast interview:

Perelman: Your Majesty, you’re about to go to Europe. And among the discussions, the topics of discussions you’ll have with European leaders, clearly there will be one, and it’s a big question, a daunting question—are we on the brink of an all-out war between the United States and Iran? King Abdullah II: Well, I think that the quick response to that is I hope not. We will be in Brussels, Strasbourg, and Paris in the next couple of days, reaching out with our friends and the leadership of Europe to look at multiple subjects in this area and how we coordinate this region with Europe. Obviously, on the forefront of people’s minds is what is happening between Iran and the United States. So far, it looks like de-escalation. We hope that that continues to be the trend. We can’t afford any instability in our part of the world. An instability in our part of the world affects Europe and the rest of the globe, so I think a lot of our discussions will be centred around Iran, but mainly around Iraq. I feel that in this last phase, at the end of the day, it’s the Iraqi people who have suffered, who have paid the price. They deserve stability; they deserve a movement to the future. And I think a lot of the discussion in Europe is how do we all embrace the Iraqi people and give them the hope of stability and a future of their nation, and all the other subjects unfortunately that are in the region that we have to discuss. Perelman: Yes. Was President Trump’s decision to kill Iran’s top General Qasem Soleimani the right decision? King Abdullah II: Well, I mean, that’s an American decision, and what we want to make sure is that—this is something that has happened. We are ushering in a new decade, not just a new year, and we hope that in the next several months, we set the right tone for the region, which is, to really, bring the temperature down, and the sensitivities. As you know, everything in this part of the world is interlinked, so whatever happens in Tehran will affect Baghdad, will affect Damascus, will affect Beirut, will affect the Israeli-Palestinian process. So I think this is why this trip to Europe comes at the right time, where we need to talk about how do we talk to each other with maturity and respect, as opposed to rhetoric that could create this problem that takes us to the brink. Perelman: You mentioned Iraq, obviously. Are you afraid that the country could again go into a period of sectarian strife, maybe civil war? King Abdullah II: That is a possibility. I have tremendous faith in the Iraqi people. I think that— Perelman: But you’re worried. King Abdullah II: We have to be worried. And I’m worried. Again, I have faith in the Iraqi people being able to move towards the light. Iraq was moving in a tremendous positive trajectory over the past two years. I think that the loss of government has created, maybe, a couple of steps back. I have all the faith in Iraqi leaders to move back into that, into the positive direction. We have to work very strongly in making sure that sectarianism is not an issue that we have to deal with. But again, I think my major concern in the discussions I will be having in Europe is that we have seen over the past year the re-establishment and rise of ISIS not only in southern-eastern Syria, but also in western Iraq. So if there is a split in Iraqi society as there is today, and I know that the leaders of Iraq are making sure that that is overcome. We have to deal with the re-emergence of ISIS, and that is going to create a problem for Baghdad, and we need to be there to step in and help the Iraqis deal with that threat, which is a threat to all of us, not only in the region, but also to Europe and to the rest of the world. Perelman: Well, obviously, as you mentioned, you must have noticed that ISIS hailed the killing of Qasem Soleimani as “divine intervention”; the coalition fighting ISIS has suspended its operation in Iraq; there’s obviously talk of US troop withdrawal from Iraq. We’ve seen it in Syria. So this begs the question, are we dropping the ball in the fight against ISIS? King Abdullah II: I think common sense prevails. As we’ve seen what has happened over the past week or so, there has been a lot of discussion, with not only the United States, but a lot under the umbrella of NATO members, on how we go from protecting, for example, maybe coalition troops in Iraq, to getting the discussion back in the right direction in working with Iraq and others in the area in defeating ISIS and the rise of ISIS in Syria and Iraq, keeping in mind it’s not only those two countries. We have an issue in Libya, where we’re seeing the strengthening of foreign fighters coming out of Syria, going to Libya. And so from a European perspective, Libya being much closer to Europe, that is also going to be an important discussion in the next couple of days on how do we look at Libya making sure that we are actually fighting the fight against terrorist organisations. Perelman: Well, speaking of Libya, what’s your reaction to Turkey sending troops? King Abdullah II: Well, again, that will only, I think, create more confusion. There is a very important Russian decision today. We hope that that helps de-escalate the issue, but several thousand hard-core foreign fighters have left Idlib through the northern border and have ended up in Libya, and that’s something that we in the region, but also our European friends will have to address in 2020, because we do not want a failed state in Libya, and a major conflict between all of us in a coalition against extremist terrorist organisations. Perelman: Just coming back to Iran, President Trump warned that Iran was targeting four US embassies, do you know if the US embassy in Jordan was one of the targets? And more broadly, have you seen any indications of Iran proxies maybe plotting attacks against Jordan? King Abdullah II: There has been a higher threat level over 2019 to certain targets inside of Jordan. I know from a military perspective we’ve been on a higher alert state for proxies possibly targeting— Perelman: So not ISIS, you’re talking about Iranian proxies? King Abdullah II: Yes, that has been a concern. Luckily, nothing has happened, but again— Perelman: There have been attempts. King Abdullah II: Not attempts; there has been—when we say higher state of level, because we hear chatter that there are targets in Jordan, and as a result, we’ve had to react accordingly, so that we can be prepared for anything. Nothing has happened. But again, I think we have to get the discussion back that dialogue by all of us, because any miscalculation for any side creates a problem for all of us, and all of us end up paying the price. Perelman: Iran—obviously you mentioned the Iran crescent several years ago; Iran’s role in the region being a power player, but at the same time, we’ve seen protests inside Iran brutally repressed against price hikes. We’re now seeing again protests because of the downing of the— King Abdullah II: The tragedy of the loss of the aircraft— Perelman: —Ukrainian jetliner, so there seems to be a disconnect—Iran projecting power, but isn’t the Iranian regime very fragile? King Abdullah II: Well, and I’m glad that you said—I think when I had mentioned that statement many years ago, I said the Shiite crescent, but more, I think, realistically, it’s the Iranian crescent that has obviously its reach not only in Iraq and Syria and Lebanon, which has been an issue that we’ve all had to deal with, and we have all seen the internal challenges that the Iranian people have had. And I think that the economy is difficult. It is a stress on the regime, and I think, like all of us in the region, we have the largest youth cohort in history that all want a great opportunity at life and stability, and so all of us are having to deal with how do we deal with the economy internally to give people a better life. And that’s a major challenge, I believe, for Iran and the Iranian people, who deserve, the Iranian people, a chance at a good life and prosperity. Perelman: Just briefly, Sultan Qaboos of Oman just died, and he was, in a way, he was at some point a channel between Iran and the United States. Will this be someone missing even more due to the current circumstances? King Abdullah II: Absolutely. His late Majesty the Sultan was an icon. There was a tremendous friendship between His late Majesty King Hussein and the late Sultan. I was very fortunate to have inherited that friendship. And His Majesty was known for being a neutral voice, a voice of reason and a leader that actually brought people together, specifically, I think, that he was a strong conduit between Iran, the Arab world, and the international community. I am fully convinced that Oman will continue to play that positive role, but definitely, he was one of those, sort of the last generation of leaders that we have all terribly missed, and I think the world will miss the ability that the Sultan had to bring nations together. Perelman: I want to get to the Israel-Palestine issue; Benyamin Netanyahu has said he wants to annex the West Bank or large parts of the West Bank. The Israeli government is taking steps to do so; the US government has changed its policy two months ago regarding settlements. It says now it doesn’t violate international law. You warned that there would be “severe consequences” if this annexation happens, what do you mean by severe consequences, could this be downgrading or severing diplomatic ties? King Abdullah II: Well, Jordan is strategically committed to the peace between Jordan and Israel, and that is a major element of stability in the region. We understand, unfortunately, that the issue of elections that have been going on for over a year means that there is Israel looking inwards as it’s dealing with its domestic issues. And as a result, our relationship is on pause. We hope that the Israeli people will decide on a government sooner rather than later, and then we can all see how to move forward. The two-state solution in my mind, and I know in the majority of European countries, is the only way forward. The one-staters that are pushing their agenda makes no sense to me whatsoever, because there is two standards there, two sets of laws for two sets of people. That can only create instability, and the only way that we are going to move forward is stability for the Middle East, and the only way you can do that is stability between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Perelman: What if Israel does annex the West Bank? What steps would you consider? King Abdullah II: So again, this is what I’m saying. Israel, there is a certain rhetoric coming out of Israel, because of the election politics, which is creating tremendous concern to all of us in the region, because they’re moving way often to a direction that is completely uncharted territory for all of us, and can only create more instability and miscommunications. From the Jordanian perspective, the relationship is important; moving dialogue back between the Israelis and Palestinians is essential, and moving the dialogue back between Israel and Jordan, which has been on pause for the past two years is essential. We have to wait to see what the Israeli people decide. Perelman: The 25-year-old relation, is it at an all-time low? King Abdullah II: Because of the electioneering season, which unfortunately is taking a long time, there has been no bilateral communications or movement that has affected. And so, when you have certain announcements and decisions, like you said the West Bank, creates a lot of doubt in many of us on where are certain Israeli politicians going and— Perelman: Starting with the Prime Minster— King Abdullah II: Well again, the West Bank is an issue that has tremendous, I think, negativity towards the Israeli-Jordanian relationship. We need to have a better understanding of where that is going. So let’s see what happens with the Israeli elections and once there is a government formed that is stable, we can then look how to move forward. Perelman: What about Donald Trump’s deal of the century? He promised it; we’ve seen the embassy move to Jerusalem; we’ve seen the shift on the settlements. The Palestinian Authority is not talking to the Trump administration. The Palestinians, and I put it bluntly, believe that actually instead of delivering the deal of the century, Donald Trump is in cahoots with Benyamin Netanyahu to bury the two-state solution. Do you still believe in this deal of the century or? King Abdullah II: So, I’ve had numerous discussions with President Trump on this issue. I think he understands what is needed to bring Israelis and Palestinians together— Perelman: But he’s not doing it. King Abdullah II: Well, I think that we are waiting for the plan to be unveiled by the team, and as a result, that has been a grey area for all of us, because unless we know what the plan is, and again, here is the role that not only Jordan and the regional countries play, but with the Europeans—how do we look at the plan once it’s announced, and I think it will be announced. Perelman: Before the US elections? King Abdullah II: I’m not too sure when they’re going to do it, but we keep hearing that sometime soon, the plan will be presented. Our job then is to look at the glass half-full. How do we build on the plan and how do we build it in such a way we bring the Israelis and Palestinians together. And so the problem is, it’s difficult for us to make decisions on the plan when we don’t really know what it is. And that’s not a problem just for Jordan, but for our European friends. I know that we will be discussing this in Europe this week. So we are supportive of bringing the Israelis and Palestinians together, but we need to have the plan unveiled for us to be able to see it from a point of view of the glass half-full. Perelman: Right. I want to get to Syria quickly, because I don’t have much time left. Bashar Al Assad seems to have won. Why not admit it? And in your case, there’s talk, I’ve heard of re-establishing full diplomatic relations between Jordan and Syria. King Abdullah II: Well, I think there’s a reality on the ground that you have just alluded to. And I think the international community looks at it from—that is a reality. The regime is in a much stronger position. There is still a long way to go, and again, I think we have to continue to remember not only as how do the Syrian regime moves on the issues of constitution and a new governance, keeping in mind that there is still a second part of Syria, which is the war against ISIS, which I’ve just mentioned earlier, is back on the rise again. So we are working as part of the international community to make sure that the political and constitutional status is moving in the right direction. I don’t think that is going to be a quick fix. And then you have the immense challenge of rebuilding Syria and giving an opportunity to the lives of all Syrians. So this is something that we’re going to be at for quite a while. But as you alluded to, there is a reality on the ground that we have to deal with, and I think that reality doesn’t mean that they get off scot free; the reality is that we all have to talk together to make sure that the endgame is what we’ve all agreed upon, and that is the new constitution and the new life for Syria. Perelman: So full diplomatic relations is on the horizon? King Abdullah II: So, from the Jordanian perspective, we are in discussions with Damascus, but a lot of countries around the world are moving in that direction based on an international understanding of where Syria is going. Perelman: Obviously, Syria has been a big issue for Jordan. An estimated 1.3 million Syrians are in Jordan. The main border crossing has been reopened, but only a trickle is going back essentially in Syria, so they are here to stay. Europe, you’re going there, Europe wrote a big cheque to Recep Tayyip Erdogan to keep the refugees in Turkey. It hasn’t done so with Jordan—far from it. I mean, have you been let down by the international community? King Abdullah II: Because we do not threaten Europe by pushing refugees towards Europe because we think that is a responsibility that should be taken care of by us in the area. Having said that, I mean, last year was probably the least supportive year for Jordan, we have to borrow from the international community to house and look after and care for an increase of 20 per cent of our population. Imagine any European country that has just the increase of 10 percent of their population. So we are frustrated. We are thankful there’s a lot of countries that do help us, but at the end of the day, the burden is on the Jordanians to put all these Syrians in school, to look after their health, housing. It has been a tremendous struggle for us to move, and we’re, sorry to continue this, being let down for doing the right thing. We are saving Europe tremendous amount of pressure by looking after the refugees in our country. Perelman: Are you hoping to get some commitments from Europe on this trip? King Abdullah II: So the European leaders understand the challenges of Jordan, and many of them are extremely supportive of Jordan, and we are very grateful. And I’m sure there will be discussions on supporting—but again, part of the reality of life is there is donor fatigue, there is refugee fatigue, and Jordan suffers as a result. Perelman: Just as a last question; we’ve seen recently in Algeria and in Sudan long-serving presidents being pushed aside. We’ve seen in Iraq, we mentioned it. In Lebanon, the prime minister is being pushed out by protests against bad governance, corruption and so on. This hasn’t happened here. I know you’ve said many times that what keeps you up at night is providing a future for the young Jordanians. Do you fear that something similar might happen here unless the international community and reforms are being implemented? King Abdullah II: Well, I think the discussions that we’re having in Europe is to again highlight that the region needs 60 million jobs for young people over the next several years, and if we don’t find an opportunity for young people—this is an issue around the world. So you’ve seen demonstrations not just in the Middle East, but in Europe and elsewhere. But we have to work together to give those opportunities to young people, because if we don’t, then instability will continue to be on the rise. So, as I keep saying, it does keep me up at night, because we do want a better life for Jordan. We are stuck in a very difficult neighbourhood, as you alluded to, the Syrian refugees have been a tremendous burden on us. We have a good recovery plan. The government is coming out with packages to move the economy in the right direction. We’re seeing that, but we do need more support from our international friends to be able to make sure that at least Jordan is a model moving in the right direction, but as you alluded to, many other countries are dealing with the same problems in the Middle East.

#King Abdullah II #interview

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ranwing · 5 years

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Kadam Fic: Learning To Fly (15/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 15/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

A/N - Three chapters posted today (chapters 13-15).

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen

One AO3

Madam Tibideaux entered the grand ballroom of Gotham Hall to a resounding show of applause from the guests at the gala, flanked by Professor Carmody and other members of the faculty. She smiled and nodded greetings, accepting compliments on the spectacular performance that many of their guests had the privilege to see that evening and was already mentally calculating how to translate this into leverage to be used on behalf of her school.

It might have been something of a gamble, but it appeared that things had gone exactly as she’d hoped. NYADA’s profile as one of the premier performing arts conservatories in the country has been conclusively reestablished and there was generous financial support being pledged by their major donors. Even more importantly, her students would find their profiles raised significantly and she had little doubt that at least a few of them might leave tonight with some solid employment prospects. She could not be more pleased with the outcome.

She turned to greet Thomas Paskin, the director of one of the most popular shows from current Broadway season. “Carmen… only you would be daring enough to pull off something like that,” he exclaimed, holding his arms out to her.

She smiled warmly, leaning in for a quick air kiss with an old and respected friend. “Thomas, as much as I’d like to take credit for this, I’m afraid that I have to give it to my dear colleague here. My primary contribution was having the sense to stay out of her way,” she chuckled.

The director turned to the tall woman dressed elegantly in a black evening gown and reached out to take her hand and press a dramatic kiss to her fingers. “Alexa, I have to admit that staging of production on that scale would be daunting for anyone. To do it entirely with students… remarkable,” he insisted.

“Thank you, Thomas,” she said with good grace. Now that she had successfully navigated the opening night performance, the stress of the past few months had finally eased. It showed in both her demeanor and her appearance, and she was very much in the mood the celebrate her accomplishment.

“I actually enjoyed the challenge,” Professor Carmody claimed. “They are a remarkable group of talents and I doubt that any director would ever have such an extraordinary body of ability at their disposal.”

“Well, you certainly surpassed anyone’s expectations,” he assured her, with a wide smile. “It was an exceptional night of theater.”

“Then hopefully you’ll keep this night in mind when you stage your next show,” she prodded gently. “There are quite a few of them who are going to be looking for work in the not too distant future.”

“I every intention of doing just that. There are a few that I have my eye on,” he promised. “Well, I’d best not monopolize you two all night. We’ll talk more later.”

“We’ll catch up later, Thomas,” Madam Tibideaux assured him, smiling when he raised his glass in toast to the two women.

As they strolled away, Professor Carmody looked to her friend. “Well, that’s something of a relief,” she sighed. “If he liked it…”

“I told you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about,” Madam Tibideaux assured her. “I saw how the audience was responding and you did a spectacular job.”

“The kids deserve all the credit,” the other woman insisted. “They’re the ones who rose to the challenge. I just set it up for them.”

“Don’t sell your own contribution short. This was your vision,” Madam Tibideaux reminded, accepting a glass of champagne from one of the waiters. “Go bask your accomplishment. We’ve got a room full of people just itching to congratulate you. I’ll see about shaking some additional pledges from our benefactors.”

Professor Carmody nodded before heading over to a small group to accept the accolades from some of her old theater friends, leaving her friend to do the work of ensuring NYADA’s bright future and financial stability.

* * *

“Wow… this is some place,” Finn marveled as they walked into the spectacularly decorated ballroom. Between the red carpet at the theater and now at the gala venue, he was getting a little overwhelmed. But he supposed that he’d better get used to this kind of thing because he had a strong feeling that it was something that his brother and Rachel would be experiencing quite often in the future.

Carole smiled as she walked in on her husband’s arm. “It is gorgeous,” she agreed, gazing at the ornate stained glass ceiling above them and the creative way the lighting in the room highlighted the colors. It would be easy to get star-struck in a place like this.

“This isn’t just a big party. It’s all about supporting the school,” Burt reminded. After months of navigating Washington’s social circles, he was getting more used to these sorts of gatherings even if he didn’t feel entirely at home at them. He had taken some cues from his son and figured that he’d become an actor himself in his own way. “I’m just glad that they’re going to make this about celebrating the kids as much as squeezing the wallets of their donors.”

“Speaking of the kids, where are they?” Carole asked, looking about the room.

“They’ll be here in a bit. Probably all getting ready and cleaning up from the show,” Burt guessed.

“What happened to Sue?” Finn asked, looking about. “She just kind of ran out of the theater.”

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” Burt chuckled. “Why don’t we find the bar and take a look around while we wait for them?”

Finn followed in his parent’s wake, gazing about the room and feeling very out of place. There were a lot more celebrities and famous people than he’d originally expected, and he was taken aback to see several really famous television and film people that he was sure would have Rachel squealing over. He was grateful when his stepfather handed him a beer to give him something to focus on other than all the rich people in the room.

There was one woman who looked somewhat out of place amid all the designer evening gowns and tuxedos, and Finn immediately recognized the dean from Kurt’s and Rachel’s original auditions back at McKinley. Her silk turban and elegant caftan looked nearly as if it was designed to coordinate with the stained glass over their heads and the stern expression that Finn had remembered was relaxed into a calm smile. She paused periodically to chat with the guests and accepting praise from everyone she spoke with. Despite how she didn’t appear to fit in with the more conventionally attired crowd, she had total command of the room, reminding Finn that her reputation was probably a well-earned one.

Burt sipped at his beer before explaining to his wife, “That’s the dean of the school. She runs this whole show. According to Kurt, she can make or break you in a heartbeat.”

“When she came to McKinely for Kurt’s and Rachel’s audition, just mentioning her name was enough to send Rachel into a total tailspin,” Finn added, watching the woman warily.

Carole cocked her head thoughtfully. “She seems nice enough.”

Burt chuckled. “She’s like Sue in a lot of ways. A bit more cultured maybe, but just as much a shark.”

Finn saw her head turn in their direction before the woman started to approach. “She’s coming this way,” he hissed, feeling a trace of apprehension.

Burt seemed calm enough when the dean stepped up to him. “Congressman Hummel,” she greeted. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” She offered her hand, letting Burt shake it.

“Likewise. Kurt’s spoken a lot about you,” Burt answered. “This is my wife Carole and Kurt’s brother, Finn.”

Madam Tibideaux smiled genially. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m afraid that I don’t often have a chance to meet the families of my students outside of events like this. Even those who are such fine champions of the arts such as yourself.”

“Well, Kurt certainly taught me about how important they are to kids like him so if I can help make sure that schools keep art programs, that’s the least I can do,” Burt explained, wanting to give proper credit where it was due. His son had opened his eyes to a great many things that he’d been completely ignorant about. “He’s told us quite a bit about you and how much he’s been learning here.”

Madam Tibideaux’s smile seemed to grow warmer at the mention of her student. “Young Mr. Hummel is certainly a credit to our institution and we’re very glad to have him there.”

Burt nodded understandingly. “Being at NYADA means a lot to him,” he stated. “It’s very exciting for us to see him doing so well.”

“It’s exciting for us as well,” Madam Tibideaux assured him. “There’s nothing that makes me happier than to see a talented student start to discover what he’s truly capable of. And he is discovering that he’s capable of a great many things.”

“It was a remarkable show,” Carole added with a smile.

Madam Tibideaux nodded. “I’m very glad that you enjoyed it. I think your young Mr. Hummel and the others will be quite pleased when they see the reviews,” she said with a calm smile, as if she expected nothing less.

“Will they students be getting here soon?” Burt couldn’t help from asking.

“They should be here shortly,” Madam Tibideaux assured him. “I would like to have a chance to speak with you when we have a bit more time, if that’s all right. I’m quite an admirer of your work and would like to discuss how it might be possible to expand artistic education programs to reach students that don’t get access to early exposure. I think that there are a great number of children out there who would benefit from having more access to the arts than they’re currently receiving.”

Burt nodded with a quiet smile on his face. Children like his son, he thought, who missed out on the chance for the kind of training that he needed when he was young. He wondered how many kids like Kurt were out there who might never get the opportunity to fulfill their dreams because their parents didn’t understand what their child needed or because their schools didn’t think that the arts were worth funding.

He reached into his jacket for his wallet and fished out his official business card, presenting it to her. “Give me a call whenever you’d like,” he offered. “Maybe with your help, I can pry some real funds out of the next budget.”

Madam Tibideaux smiled, tucking the card into some safe place in her robe. “I certainly will,” she assured him. “It’s been a pleasure meeting all of you. Congressman Hummel, I look forward to speaking with you again.”

Burt nodded, knowing that they couldn’t monopolize her time when there were donors and benefactors to coax into opening their checkbooks. “Me too. It’s nice to meet you,” he said politely.

She smiled and moved to drift back to continue her rounds about the room and Carole breathed out a sigh of relief. “Wow… she’s rather intense,” she marveled. “I don’t know how Kurt handles being in her classes all the time.”

Burt sipped at his beer thoughtfully. “Judging just from how he performed tonight, I think that he’s doing just fine with her,” he surmised with an amused smile. Kurt always did seem to find the strangest champions and he didn’t think that Dean Tibideaux was a bad person to have supporting him.

Carole saw that the party was now starting to really get underway, with waiters walking about with trays of finger foods for the guests. “Why don’t we just enjoy ourselves until the kids get here?” she suggested.

Burt smiled and gave his wife a quick kiss. “Sounds like a plan,” he agreed before looking to his stepson. “Are you hungry?”

Finn opened his mouth to affirm that yes, of course he was but Burt cut off his answer with a rueful chuckle. “You’re always hungry,” his stepfather teased. “What was I thinking?”

“Thanks,” Finn snarked back, but unable to keep from grinning. “But if I have to stand around this fancy shindig, then I’d better be fed.”

Carole laughed and took her son’s arm. “Come on… let’s go see what they have,” she offered.

It actually wasn’t that bad, Finn considered as he munched on a miniature crab cake. He’d probably want to run out for a burger or some pizza afterwards if nothing more substantial was served, but at least he wasn’t going to totally starve to death. And he was glad that he could keep his mother company because it seemed like quite a few people knew who Burt was and wanted to talk to him.

Burt was currently talking to the mayor over school arts programs and the two of them seemed to get getting along well enough. Carole had exchanged a few words with the mayor’s wife but was happy to let Burt take the lead and stick to her role as supportive political spouse. Before too long, the head of a major charity stepped over to chat with his stepfather. It seemed like once Burt was recognized, a lot of people wanted to stop by to talk to him.

His mother just nodded tolerantly, having gotten used to this in Washington. “Why don’t we take a look around?” she suggested. “I can use another glass of wine.”

“Sure,” Finn agreed, offering his mother his arm.

She smiled brightly. “Such a gentleman,” she teased gently. “I apparently did raise you right after all.”

“Let’s also see if any of the waiters have some more of those little crab cakes,” Finn proposed.

“Ah yes… we mustn’t let you go hungry for more than fifteen minutes,” Carole laughed as they walked over to the bar where she ordered a second glass of chardonnay. There was plenty to enjoy until the students arrives for the party. There were lots of famous people to see and a wonderful band to listen to. Maybe she might be able to drag Burt out onto the dance floor later on without too much argument.

About a half our later, the band stopped playing and Madam Tibideaux took a spot behind a waiting microphone. The conversations filling the room slowly died as the guests turned their attention to her.

“Good evening guests, friends and supporters of the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts,” she greeted the attendees graciously. “Tonight we have gathered here to celebrate the wonderful legacy of our school that has produced some of the finest talents currently working in theater, film and television. Many award-winning actors, singers, directors and industry technicians got their starts at NYADA. But as proud as I am of our past accomplishments, I am even more proud of the potential in our current and future students and I thank you all for your continued support for our institution.”

The attendees of the gala applauded and she smiled and nodded in thanks to them. When the applause died down, she continued.

“Tonight though, is about more than just celebrating NYADA as a school. After all, a school is nothing more than a building without the talented and dedicated students that put their hearts and souls into developing their craft. Whether they are actors, singers, dancers, directors or costumers, they strive to be the very best in their fields. Tonight, you had the opportunity to see that passion and dedication in action. Ladies and gentlemen… I present to you the cast of NYADA’s production of Les Miserables.”

Finn’s mouth dropped into smile of astonishment as music from the show began to fill the room and a young woman dressed in a lovely pale peacock green dress stepped out from the crowd. It was only when she began to sing that he recognized her as the actress who had played Fantine.

“He slept a summer by my side,” her voice rang out purely as she sang a section of her featured song. “He filled by days with endless wonder… He took my childhood in his stride, but he was gone when autumn came.”

Her smile was dazzling as she threw her voice into the brief performance, giving her best for the few moments when the entire room had its attention focused on her. “And still I dream he’ll come to me… that we’ll live the years together. But there are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather.

“I had a dream that life would be, so much different from this hell I’m living,” she sang gently, offering a reminder of the pain that her character had endured. “So different now from what it seemed. Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.”

The gala attendees applauded and cheered her performance and she smiled and gave a brief curtsey before stepping back and vanishing into the crowd. A different piece of music began to play and more figures began to step out from the assembly.

“One day more…” A young man with dark blond hair and a bright smile that belied his character’s tragic and somber disposition emerged, dressed in a conservative black tuxedo. He looked nothing like Jean Vanljean, but the voice was unmistakable. “Another day, another destiny… This never ending road to Calvary. These men who seem to know my crime will surely come a second time! One day more…”

Another man that Finn immediately recognized as having played Marius stepped forward and joined the other, at the center of the ballroom. “I did not live until today,” he sang sweetly, his gentle tenor rising through the room. “Who can I live when we are parted?”

“One day more,” the singer who’d played Jean Valjean sang as a young women with dark brown hair and dressed in a pale blue gown stepped up to his side.

“Tomorrow you’ll be worlds away,” she dueted with the Marius player. “And yet with you, my world has started…”

Another young woman joined them, the rags of Eponine exchanged for an elegant evening gown and gentle smile on her delicate features. “One more day all on my own,” she sang while the actors playing the lovers continued their romantic duet.

“Will we ever meet again?” they asked, while the other actress stepped forward.

“One more day without him caring,” she answered with a subtle touch of sadness that suited the song.

“I was born to be with you!”

“What a life I might have known…”

The actors playing lovers gazed at one another from across the room with soft smiles. “And I swear I will be true!”

“But he never saw me there!” the other actress lamented, her voice ringing out as Kurt strode forward, his chest thrust out and chin raised high.

“One more day before the storm!” he sang, his voice soaring operatically as the boy playing Marius fell into counterpoint with him and drawing a contrast between their motivations.

“Do I follow where she goes?” he asked.

“At the barricades of freedom!” Kurt commanded, clearly trying to keep from smiling too broadly. There was no need for him to stay in character, but he managed to keep from looking too pleased with himself. Not that Finn would have blamed him in the least, but he admired his brother’s control.

“Shall I join by brothers there?” the other young man pondered.

Kurt stepped to the center of the ballroom, and Finn grinned widely at seeing his brother all but dominating focus. “When our ranks begin to form,” Kurt belted, turning a happy smile to the other singers.

“Do I stay or do I dare?” Marius’s player questioned, and Kurt gave a resounding answer.

“Will you take your place with me?” he demanded, and the rest of the company rushed forward to fall in behind Kurt. Finn saw all of them there; Rachel and all of Kurt’s friends dressed in formal wear and looking like they couldn’t be happier than to be there at that moment.

“The time is now,” the entire company sang in unison as their audience applauded. “The place is here!”

“One day more!” the handsome blond man belted out, his tenor voice ringing out through the room as the man that Finn immediately recognized as having played Javert stepped out.

“One more day till revolution. We will nip it in the bud!” he proclaimed. “I will join these little schoolboys. They will wet themselves with blood!”

The chorus, lead by Kurt continued to sing their proclamations of revolution, and Finn looked up to see Burt grinning widely at the sight of his son dressed like some kind of movie star at the head of the group. “One day to a new beginning,” they proclaimed passionately. “Raise the flag of freedom high!”

“Every man will be a king,” the men sang, with the women repeating the line in counterpoint and creating a beautiful effect.

“One day more!” the blond lead belted out, stepping closer to the main group of actors, smiling down at the actress who’d played his daughter.

Another pair of actors stepped out and it wasn’t until they opened their mouths to sing that Finn recognized that they had played the Thénardiers. Instead of looking like the unsavory criminals, they were well turned out in their formal wear and bore mischievous smiles as they expressed their own characters outlook on the brewing battle.

“Watch’em run amuck,” they sang mockingly, casting conspiratorial glances at one another. “Catch’em when they fall! Never know your luck when there’s a free for all. Here a little pinch, there a little touch. Most of them are goners so they won’t miss much!”

The main chorus continued their song of battle, filling in the layers of song that dominated the room. “There’s a new world for the winning,” they asserted, the actress who played Fantine joining them. “There’s a new world to be won! Do you hear the people sing?”

The man playing Marius joined Kurt and placed his hand on Kurt’s well-dressed shoulder. “My place is here! I fight with you!” he declared with a wide smile and the cast burst out in a loud cheer.

The entire cast was now in full voice, filling in multiple layers of sound that left Finn breathless. The sound continued to rise and build until it reached its climax with the show’s lead actor declaring “Tomorrow is the judgement day!”

The entire cast stood together, singing with passion and expertise that would leave even the most jaded audience dazzled. Finn laughed when he saw that someone from the cast bringing out the red flag of the revolutionaries and wave it over the heads of his castmates.

“Tomorrow we’ll discover what our God in Heaven has in store!” they sang together, the cast united as one. “One more dawn! One more day!

“One day more!”

* * *

The gala guests applauded loudly and cheered the students, who bowed and accepted the ovation of their audience. After the students embraced one another, celebrating their performance before starting to disperse so they could enjoy the party. The cast had already suspected that the reason for this little performance was to let all the producers and industry VIPs at the gala have a chance to see the performers as individuals and apart from the characters that they’d played. It would be a lot easier to approach an actor now that they’ve been seen out of costume.

Not to mention that it was a nice reminder that, yes, they all were really that good. The opportunity to rub shoulders with so many influential people was a rare opportunity that they didn’t want to squander, and several moved to make sure that they remained where they could be seen and approached.

Kurt looked to Rachel and took her hand. “Let’s go find my family,” he proposed. “Finn’s probably jumping out of his skin by now.”

“God, I need a drink!” Rachel exclaimed, her eyes shimmering happily. They might be mentally and physically exhausted, but now they could really celebrate what they’ve done.

“Me too,” he said agreeably. “But let’s find my dad first.”

She smiled and nodded, letting him lead her through the crowd. There would be enough time to play “spot the celebrity” later, she told herself.

“I think… there they are,” Kurt said happily, beelining over to where his family was waiting. “Dad!”

Burt grinned and held his arms out. “Hey, sport! Come here!”

Kurt threw himself into his father’s embrace, feeling a monumental sense of relief. He felt like, finally, he could relax a little bit. He was passed to Finn, who left off greeting Rachel to give Kurt another solid hug and then to Carole. Once the round of hugs and kisses had been completed, he pulled Rachel to his side and couldn’t resist asking, “So… what did you think?”

“It was a fantastic show,” Finn assured him, hugging them both again. “You both were amazing.”

Carole nodded in agreement. “I can’t remember enjoying a show quite as much,” she insisted. “Kurt, you were absolutely fantastic up there.”

“Thanks,” he said, blushing a bit.

“And Rachel… I don’t know how you managed to do all that,” Carole stated admiringly. “You were all over the place.”

“I know,” Rachel laughed brightly. “We were joking that the ensemble should have been fitted out with roller skates.”

“Which would have been an entirely different show,” Kurt teased, earning a jab in the ribs from his friend.

“You still have it in for ‘Starlight Express’,” she complained playfully, swatting his arm.

“It’s still awful!” Kurt insisted, laughing. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it back into place before accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter. “I just can’t believe that we survived this,” he claimed, taking a sip.

“Well, we only have to do it ten more times,” Rachel reminded him.

“Has Adam called you yet?” Finn asked.

“I’m expecting a call any minute,” Kurt confirmed. “So if you see me ducking out of here, you’ll know why. He’s probably just finishing up for the night about now.”

“Kurt!”

He turned around just in time to avoid being surprise tackled by a petite figure dressed in a cloud of tulle. “Isabelle!” he exclaimed happily, embracing his boss and lifting her off her Louboutin heels. He looked over her shoulder at the well-dressed, grinning man behind her and released his boss so Chase could pull him into an enthusiastic hug.

“Hey, superstar,” the older man greeted happily, patting Kurt on the back. “That was some show.”

“You were totally wonderful, which we knew that you would be,” Isabelle trilled, positively bouncing excitedly in her towering heels and making a few onlookers a bit concerned for her safety. She then realized that she and Chase was pulling Kurt away from his family.

“Oh my God… I’m being totally rude here,” she exclaimed, releasing Kurt from her grasp. “We were just so excited to see Kurt tonight. He was so fabulous that I just couldn’t contain myself!”

“That’s okay,” Burt laughed indulgently. He wrapped his arm about his wife to pull her close. “We think a lot of him too.”

Kurt quickly stepped in to make introductions. “Dad, this is Isabelle, my boss at Vogue.”

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she insisted, shaking Burt’s offered hand. “Kurt’s told me so much about you and I’ve been so looking forward to meeting Kurt’s family. We absolutely adore him at the office.”

Kurt smiled and let Chase rest an arm about his shoulders to keep him close. “And this is my fashion fairy godfather, Chase. He’s the Artistic Director in our office and responsible for my spectacular suit tonight.”

Chase smiled down at the younger man. “It’s fun having you around to be my personal Ken doll.”

“It’ so lovely to meet all of you,” Carole said, nodding a greeting to the couple.

“This is my brother, Finn,” Kurt introduced, and Isabelle’s eyes widened almost comically.

“Wow… you are tall,” she said in astonishment. “Kurt mentioned how tall you were, but he didn’t say anything about how handsome his brother was.” She threw a playfully admonishing look at her employee.

“You can’t have him,” Kurt informed her bluntly. “He lives in Texas and has a band there.”

“Oh poo… you’re no fun anymore,” she pouted playfully.

Isabelle then turned to Rachel and held out her arms to embrace the younger woman. “Rachel, you look so lovely, honey,” she praised. “Kurt was right… the Marchesa gown was absolutely perfect for you.”

Rachel couldn’t help from smoothing down her skirt. “It was so kind of you to let Kurt dress us,” she said sincerely. “We could never have managed to find anything nice enough on our own.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” Isabelle insisted. “After all, I do owe you for taking me in that Thanksgiving. That was the most amazing kiki ever!”

Burt smiled indulgently at his son. “Sounds like your life in New York is pretty interesting,” he mused in amusement.

Kurt chuckled as he accepted a little pastry filled with goat cheese and honey from one of the passing waiters. “It can be eventful,” he admitted with a grin before biting into his treat.

“Well, it’s about to get a bit more interesting,” his father informed him, nodding his head in the direction behind Kurt. “There’s someone who’s waiting to see you.”

“Dad, believe me, they only are going to be interested in the leads,” he insisted, swallowing the pastry. He’d have to think about making them for his next party.

Burt nudged Kurt to turn around. “I think that this one only wants to see you,” he stated with a smile.

Kurt sighed and turned to see who his father was talking about and felt his jaw drop open in surprise. He felt himself stepping forward, his eyes fixed on the tall women who seemed a bit apprehensive about approaching him herself. He stopped a bare foot outside of what he knew her personal space preferences were and offered a smile.

“I knew that you planned on coming to see the show, but I wasn’t expecting it to be opening night,” he said softly.

Sue looked down at her protégé. “Did you think that I wouldn’t? After finding out from your dean just what role you were playing, would you really believe that I would skip it? “

He couldn’t help from laughing a little at her retort. “I should have guessed that you would have found out. I was kind of hoping to surprise you.”

Sue smiled indulgently. “As if you could ever surprise me, Porcelain,” she teased. “I’d think you would have learned that by now. You know that I have very high expectations for you.”

Kurt nodded, knowing too well that trying to fool his former coach was an exercise in futility. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked carefully, knowing that if anyone would give him an unvarnished opinion, Sue would.

She pursed her lip thoughtfully. “The show itself was… adequate,” she granted, as if saying anything positive was like pulling teeth.

Kurt felt himself relax marginally.

“Most of it was what I expected,” she granted. “But you…”

He looked up expectantly, his eyes betraying a hint of wariness. She never held back in her criticisms, no matter how minor.

The tall woman inhaled sharply, looking up at the ceiling as if her gather her thoughts. When she finally looked back at Kurt, there was a suspicious shimmer in her eyes.

“You were extraordinary,” she said softly. “I tried not to build up my expectations because I cannot count the number of times I’ve been disappointed. But you’ve never disappointed me.”

Sue bent slightly so that Kurt was able to look her in the eye. “Anything I could have possibly have hoped to see from you tonight… You surpassed all of that and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Before she could withdraw back to their usual boundaries, she was taken completely by surprise by Kurt all but flinging himself at her and wrapping his arms about her. She froze for a second, but quickly relaxed and returned the gesture and pulled his close. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to the top of his head, savoring that he was succeeding when so many had been determined to stand in his way.

“I’m so glad that you were here tonight,” he stated, turning his eyes up to look at his old mentor.

She smiled into his hair. “So am I, Porcelain” she admitted.

With a bit more reluctance than either of them wanted to admit to, they released one another and Kurt held out his hand. “Come on,” he invited. ‘We’re all celebrating over there and it doesn’t feel right not having you there.”

“Are you sure?” Sue asked, arching an eyebrow wryly.

Kurt grinned, squaring his shoulders. “You’re with me,” he insisted, pulling her behind him.

Burt gave Sue a welcoming smile as the tall woman approached. “I was wondering where you were hiding,” he chuckled.

Before Sue could respond, a muffled rendition of “I’ll Cover You” emitted from Kurt’s pocket and he fished out his cell phone. “Ah, it’s Adam,” he proclaimed happily. He turned a wide grin to his family. “If you’ll excuse me for a little bit…”

“Tell him that we all say ‘hi’,” Burt insisted. “We’ll behave until you get back.”

Kurt brought the phone to his ear as he hurried to find a quiet place to talk. “Hi sweetie!” he greeted happily. “Did you have a good show tonight?”

“I’m the one that should be asking that,” Adam claimed, laughing warmly over the connection. “How did it go?”

Kurt found an alcove by the bathroom and ducked in, hoping that no one would bother him for the next few minutes. “I think it went well,” he stated. “But I haven’t had a chance to see if any of the reviews are out yet.”

“Well, I did,” Adam teased. “I checked as soon as I got off stage and I think that you all will be very happy. Make sure that you check the review for the Times.”

“I will,” Kurt assured him. He leaned against the wall behind him, closing his eyes so he could picture Adam’s face while they talked. “It just feels surreal now that we’ve had our official opening. Not quite anticlimactic, but just strange.”

“I know how that feels,” Adam admitted. “You work so hard for so long and when it all pays off…. You just expect more out of the moment.”

“I’m just being silly,” Kurt sighed. He didn’t need his own silly brain ping ponging him with emotions like this. Not when he knew that he did a good job.

“No, you’re not,” Adam assured him tolerantly, and Kurt could almost hear the smile in your voice. “I know how much work you put into that show and it’s not strange to feel a little let down in some ways. You’ll definitely feel it after the last show, so make sure that you go out and celebrate. That helps keep your spirits up.”

“Definitely,” Kurt promised.

“I don’t want to keep you from what must be a smashing party, so I’m going to let you go for now,” Adam proposed gently. “But I am so proud of you, darling.”

“Thanks. Can I give you a call when I get back to the dorms? It might be late,” Kurt warned.

“I’ll be very cross if you don’t,” Adam teased.

Kurt smiled, “Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Go have a good time and make sure you have a glass of wine for me,” Adam urged. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Bye,” Kurt said, smiling as he ended the call. Talking with Adam always helped him put things into perspective and he was glad to know that his unsettled feelings were perfectly normal. The past few months have been an emotional rollercoaster for him and the ride hadn’t come to a complete stop yet.

When he returned to the party, Rachel was waiting for him with Finn and their friends and looked absolutely ecstatic about something. “Kurt! You won’t believe this!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands happily.

“What’s going on,” he asked, eyeing them curiously. They all looked uncommonly delighted over something.

Jamie clapped Kurt on the shoulder and pulled him into their little circle. “We were looking over the reviews,” he explained, waving his phone.

Kurt nodded, now understanding. “Yeah, Adam said that they were out and pretty good.”

“’Pretty good’ is an understatement,” Katya confirmed happily. She took up her own phone and read, “According to the Post, if people haven’t already gotten their tickets that they’re going to miss out on one of the best theater events of the year.”

“Wow,” Kurt marveled with a grin. “That’s going to make Professor Carmody happy.”

“Well, it gets better,” Analisa claimed with a delighted grin. “The review for the New York Times is up, and I’m quoting here… ‘not enough can be said about the cast of students, which to an individual would be standouts on any professional stage’.”

Rachel nodded enthusiastically. “Keep reading,” she urged, nudging Analisa playfully. “Get to the best part.”

Analisa giggled, her eyes shining. “It goes on about all of the leads… yadda yadda… ah! Here it was,” she exclaimed. “’Two remarkable actors created an intriguing juxtaposition between the romantic Marius, played by Brett Sosa, and the fierce Enjolras, played by Kurt Hummel!’”

Rachel laughed excitedly, jumping up and shaking Kurt. “You got named in the Times!” she chortled, hugging him tightly while he tried to absorb what he’d just heard.

“That can’t be right,” Kurt said disbelievingly.

“Oh, it is,” Jamie confirmed, taking a sip of his wine. “You, my friend, are now a known theater actor. Congratulations!” He raised his glass in toast.

Rachel leaned in to kiss Kurt soundly on the cheek. “And it couldn’t happen to a better person,” she insisted. She reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Oh God! I’m so happy for you!”

“Totally agree, Kurt,” Finn stated. “You were amazing tonight.”

Kurt read the review himself, trying to absorb what he was seeing. He looked up to where his parents were waiting with Sue, the three of them watching him with amused smiles.

“Can you believe this?” he asked, shrugging in confusion.

Burt didn’t nod but looked uncommonly proud and kept his arm around his beaming wife. Sue looked to her former protégé with a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“I’d be very put out if you weren’t getting the credit that you so obviously deserve,” she proclaimed. “And given that I have the phone number for the editor-in-chief, it’s a good thing that their cretic had the good sense to make proper note of your worth.”

Rachel draped her arms about Kurt’s shoulders, all but leaning over his back. He laughed and playfully swung her around. Surrounded by his friends and family, he could almost believe that this was real. That he had somehow made a debut on a New York City stage that mattered and was noticed and might really mean something.

He’d spend some time to try to make sense of this later, when he had a chance to talk things over with Adam and his friends and put everything that was happening into their proper perspective. For now, he decided that it would be better to focus on celebrating their shared accomplishments than dwelling on his individual one.

* * *

“That’s him?” the woman at Carmen Tibideaux’s side questioned dubiously.

Hearing the doubt in the voice of one of NYADA’s most dedicated donors brought a slight smile to the Dean’s face. She had a feeling that she’d be hearing that quite often and would savor the satisfaction of seeing those reservations silenced.

“Yes,” she assured the other woman. “That is him.”

“Huh…”

It took a great deal of Madam Tibideaux’s carefully honed control not to chuckle at the dubious tone in the other woman’s voice. But her opinion on her donor’s short-sightedness was not what mattered here. She was asked to make an introduction to the student who had caught the woman’s eye during the performance, as she had with other students throughout the evening. Normally, she’d be leery about setting this particular sponsor on one of her students, but she had a feeling that this introduction would go smoothly. There weren’t many who could handle this woman’s peculiarities, but this one…

She plastered a warm smile on her face as she approached so she wouldn’t unduly alarm her student. “Mr. Hummel? Do you have a moment?” she asked politely.

Kurt had been sitting with his family and friends, laughing at stories recounting the mishaps of their rehearsals and looking quite happy and relaxed. She supposed that the glass of wine in his hand helped with the relaxing and she could hardly begrudge him that small comfort. It was a rare occurrence to observe any of her students so at ease.

He looked up at her, blue eyes wide with curiosity about the woman standing at his teacher’s side and having his time with his family interrupted. But he politely rose to his feet to greet them with the manners that he had always displayed. “Of course, Madam,” he said.

She smiled reassuringly and gestured at the woman standing just behind her. “I’d like you to meet June Dolloway,” she introduced. “She’s one of NYADA’s proudest sponsors and she was quite eager to meet you.”

Kurt blinked in surprise but quickly rallied and turned his attention to the other woman, dressed in the gown and jewels of a high society matron. She was older than his teacher and the red hair she boasted clearly was not the result of nature. While she probably never was a classical beauty, even in her youth, her sharp features retained a vulpine element that would have been quite intriguing when she was younger. She held out a slender hand to him, her blue eyes clearly sizing him up and waiting for a response.

He gently grasped her hand and shook it warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dolloway,” he greeted.

Now that her task was done, Madam Tibideaux turned to Ms. Dolloway. “I’ll leave you both to talk now,” she stated. “We’ll catch up a bit more later, June.”

“Of course, Carmen,” Ms. Dolloway answered, not taking her eyes off the young man before her. “I’m sure that Mr. Hummel and I will have quite a bit to talk about.”

Once the dean had stepped away, Kurt made quick introductions between Ms. Dolloway and his family in order to maintain and air of proper courtesy before offering the older woman a seat. “What can I do for you?” he asked inquiringly.

She smiled in a manner that reminded him somewhat of Santana, in the way that it didn’t completely reach her eyes and seemed more about challenge than anything else. “Well, that remains to be seen,” she said. “I was rather intrigued when I saw your performance tonight. It was… quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” he answered sincerely. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it. Please, have a seat.”

“I was very surprised when Carmen told me that you were originally cast as an understudy,” Ms. Dolloway jabbed as she settled into the offered chair. Her sharp gazed was fixed firmly on Kurt, apparently looking to see if her point about him not being originally cast in the role would cause insult.

Kurt just smiled graciously. “I was,” he admitted without any trace of embarrassment. “Given that I am only a sophomore and all of the principles were seniors and juniors, I knew that I was being given a very special opportunity. I certainly didn’t expect to have to take over the role, but I hope that I did it proper justice.”

Ms. Dolloway nodded, pursing her thin lips thoughtfully at the lack of any display of ego. “Well enough that I wouldn’t have thought you would be so young,” she admitted. “Admittedly, seeing you out of character is a little bit jarring. You don’t strike me as the type to be able to pass so adeptly.”

Kurt blinked a bit at surprise at her choice of words, recognizing them for what they were. He didn’t have any illusions that people wouldn’t immediately peg him as being gay, but to have her so bluntly state it…He couldn’t help from wondering if he would ever get to a point where he wouldn’t be judged so quickly.

Behind him, he could all but feel Sue Sylvester bristling at the thinly veiled insult that this interloper just paid him and she seemed ready to jump to his defense. In order to avoid having his school embarrassed by having one of their chief donors laid out flat, he made a quick and subtle motion for her to leave it to him. He’d been hearing things like this all his life and dealing with them. He could handle this.

Forcing a calm smile to his face, he retorted, “Well, I suppose that it shows the quality of my acting abilities. After all, the whole point is to make the audience believe that I am whatever a role needs me to be. Correct?”

Ms. Dolloway allowed a reluctant smile to touch her features, and Kurt couldn’t help from feeling that he had passed some kind of test.

“Apparently you are a bit tougher than you appear,” she granted reluctantly.

Kurt couldn’t help from glancing over to Sue and giving her a fond smile. “I learned from the best,” he claimed, enjoying the fond gleam in her eyes.

Ms. Dolloway cocked her head, studying Kurt appraisingly. “I’ve always enjoyed the theater,” she explained. “Finding new talent has always been exciting. Being the first to really discover a performer is like catnip to me.”

Kurt nodded, showing that he was paying attention while wondering where she was going with this. Society doyennes like this were always a challenge to deal because they were so accustomed to being deferred to. As annoying as catering to her whims might be, getting her favor could lead to opportunities for himself and his friends.

She looked at him frankly. “You are an interesting prospect,” she stated. “On the surface, I don’t know if I would say that there was something particularly special about you, but there’s clearly a lot more to you. Being able to carry a role like this tells me that you’ve got a lot more to you than just a pretty face.

“I’m planning a showcase of new talent,” she informed him. “Singers from several of New York’s theater programs and you would make an interesting addition. I’m curious to see what the response to you would be.”

Knowing that this was as much of a compliment as he would likely get from the prickly sponsor, he just nodded. “If you could let me know the details, I’ll see if I can manage to fit it in,” he said carefully. While the offer was intriguing, he really did have a lot on his plate over the next few months. He had an audition for the Shakespeare festival shortly after their show closed and he did need to get through the rest of the semester.

Besides, it didn’t hurt not to appear too eager. Playing hard to get seemed to be the best course of action.

She seemed surprised that he wasn’t jumping at the opportunity presented to him and arched a thin eyebrow curiously. “I’ll let Carmen know the details. Hopefully you’ll be able to participate.”

“I’ll certainly try,” he granted, rising to his feet to see her off. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

She accepted his offered hand and shook it. “You’re an interesting young man, Kurt Hummel. I’m going to be keeping my eye on you.,” she warned.

Rachel came up to him as the older woman walked away and placed a hand comfortingly on his arm. “That was… interesting,” she said appraisingly, giving her friend a reissuing smile. “Are you going to take her up on her offer?”

“Maybe,” he answered, considering the option. “It sounds like it might open a few doors but I’m wondering of dealing with her might be more headache than it’s worth. I’m not sure I’d want to be beholden to her.”

“I think you might be right,” Rachel agreed. “Still, I wouldn’t rule it out completely.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. “Maybe I can steer her in your direction. You mind taking her off my hands?”

Rachel smiled and shook her head. “She wasn’t at all interested in me,” she stated plainly. “But that’s okay. You deserve all the attention that you’re getting tonight.”

Kurt couldn’t help from marveling at the sincerity in Rachel’s voice. The girl who had been so jealous of any attention paid to someone other than her was truly long gone. In her place was a charming, mature young woman who supported her friend and wasn’t interested in trying to draw focus to herself. He was so proud of the person that she’d become and couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms for a quick kiss to her cheek.

Before they could rejoin their friends, a portly man about his father’s age with a ruddy complexion and wide grin hurried over. “Finally!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “I thought that harpy would never leave!”

He held out his broad hand to Kurt. “You’ll please pardon my presumptiveness and not waiting for a formal introduction, but I’ve been hoping to catch you tonight Mr. Hummel. I’m Nicholas Bowden.”

“Oh!” Kurt immediately recognized the name of the now famous director. “You won the Tony last year.”

The man nodded, puffing up a bit proudly. “After twenty five years in the business, it seems like my work is finally getting some notice.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kurt said cheerfully. The motioned towards Rachel. “This is my friend, Rachel Berry. She was in the ensemble tonight.”

“A pleasure, young lady,” he said graciously, taking Rachel’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to her fingers. “You all were truly remarkable tonight.”

“Thank you so much,” Rachel answered cheerfully. Knowing that this was Kurt’s moment, she kissed him on the cheek again. “I’m going to get another glass of wine. White for you?”

“Please… thank you,” he said gratefully. Once Rachel had stepped back, he turned his attention fully to the directors. “I’m quite a fan of your work,” he admitted. “I thought that you should have won years ago for your revival of ‘The Pajama Game’.”

“That’s very kind of you, Kurt. Do you mind if I call you that?” Mr. Bowden asked.

“Of course!”

The older man smiled broadly. “I just wanted to take a moment to compliment you on your performance tonight. Absolutely spectacular work.”

Coming from a man of Mr. Bowden’s stature, that was high praise indeed. “Thank you so much,” Kurt said sincerely. “That means a lot to me.”

“You know, I asked Carmen about you. She said that you’re one of her most promising students,” Mr. Bowden advised. “Coming form someone as hard to impress as her… you’re doing something right.”

Kurt could feel the heat warming his cheeks. He wasn’t at the point where hearing that he was well thought of by Madam Tibideaux wouldn’t affect him and he doubted that he ever would.

“She told me that you’re still a sophomore,” Mr. Bowden prodded.

Kurt nodded. “I actually started in the spring semester last year.”

“Then what you’ve accomplished so far is even more impressive. It makes me feel a little guilty about approaching you,” Mr. Bowden admitted.

He looked at Kurt frankly, measuring the younger man up. “Carmen really hates it when her students get poached before she thinks they’re ready, but I did want to talk to you about your future career plans. Because I know of several shows currently in the work that you might be well suited for.”

Kurt inhaled sharply, not really having expected such a direct offer. “To be honest,” he began before pausing, taking a moment to consider his words carefully.

“As much as I would love to just jump into serious work, I know that I’m really not ready,” he admitted. “I have another two years of school left, and to be honest, I know that I really need it. I’m sorry, but..”

“Kurt, that’s quite all right,” Mr. Bowden assured him with a smile. “If anything, this impresses me even more. It takes a great deal of maturity to make that kind of choice. And I know that you’ll continue to grow at NYADA.”

The director reached into his wallet for a business card and pressed it into Kurt’s hand. “I’d like you to promise me that the minute after you graduate that you’ll call my office,” he insisted. “I’m not going to risk someone else snatching you up before I get a shot at casting you.”

Kurt felt nearly overwhelmed by the offer, taken aback by the offer. After being worried for so long about measuring up, he was finding a bit of a challenge to really appreciate that so many seasoned professionals were interested in him.

Realizing that his dreams of a stage career weren’t so outlandish was almost a shocking revelation. He didn’t have Rachel’s confidence in her preordained destiny so understanding that his aspirations weren’t hopeless musings was going to take a bit of work to wrap his mind around.

Proud that he was able to pocket the card and shake the other man’s hand without trembling. “I definitely will,” he promised. “Thank you so much.”

Mr. Bowden smiled and patted Kurt on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to hearing from you, Kurt,” he insisted. “Keep up with your studies, because I’m expecting great things. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Definitely,” Kurt assured him. “And thank you much.”

“My pleasure, young man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best go reassure Carmen that I’m not going to drag you out of school before she pronounces you ready.” He shook Kurt’s hand again before returning to the main group of party guests.

Kurt exhaled deeply, trying to absorb that a Tony winning director expressed even the slightest interest in him. “Holy shit,” he breathed, before turning to see the knowing, amused smiles of his friends and family. Rachel handed him a glass of wine that he very much needed.

“Come on, superstar,” she urged with a teasing glint in her eyes. “We have party to get back to.”

Kurt nodded, letting her loop her arm through his and pull him back to where his family was waiting for him. There would be plenty of time to worry about the future, he told himself. Right now, he wanted to enjoy what he and his friends had managed to pull off.

A few hours later found him deposited back in his dorm room, feeling very loose and relaxed from one too many glasses of wine. His gorgeous tux was neatly put away, because no matter how drunk he was, there was no way he’d abuse a garment that spectacular, and he lay curled up in bed with his phone. Regaling to his lover with all the details of the amazing night he’d had helped him start to grasp that this wasn’t just any performance. It still felt a little-dream like and he wondered how long it would take before it finally sunk it just how real it was.

#kadam fic #learning to fly #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #burt hummel #finn hudson #carole hudson #sue sylvester #carmen tibideaux #nyada students #original characters #not blaine or klaine friendly

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rksakura · 5 years

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🔊: gogobebe ( lyrics + lines ) | 👚 trio performance with 💖 sakura, yuri, & xuxi! mentions: @rkmason, @rkxkikwang, @rkchoutzuyu, @rkkenta, @hyojinrk, & @rkkyungsoo

tw: anxiety!

the more the merrier, the better. this theme's featuring three bodies instead of two, which feels like a small group performance. which gets sakura pumped up, eager to work harder so that she holds up to the team. signs of trepidation flow through her though, that seems to be on every episode that she feels the tension itching but she can only focus her intent on having fun to come up with a piece with her new group! eliminations are inevitable every round, there's no point in wasting time dwelling on a circumstance bound to happen as written out by the judges based on impressions and several opinions.

she spends her days in the practise studio, working more and more on to pick up her vocals as she wasn't only going to rap this time. there are moments when she sits down and ponders thoroughly that she should've pressed on with her choir lessons but she'd already found a strong drive for rapping and its unique elements. she truly admires yuri and xuxi for being such hard-working individuals, the pace that they go through pushing themselves through it all, she lets the two know that she appreciates all of their hard-working whether through statements or gestures.

still, there's not a moment when she doesn't think about her friends or the fact any of the two other than herself have the potential to be eliminated. that's how it usually goes, right? rather, there are remnants of favouritism from the judges but she'd like not to trap herself within her own mind. the thoughts aren't on the brighter side so sakura shakes her head away as it'd only shuddered her, render her swelling with nervousness and going back to where she'd been so hesitant to reveal her face to the public before she'd reach this breaking point, blooming with confidence and becoming a better performer comes from trial and error!

not too long ago, just about a year. those were the days when she'd only discover that she'd been comfortable enough to put her musical content out in the world through the form of social media but never going out of her way to actually audition. this isn't the first time that she did it but she'd take every opportunity she could find to attend them in hopes to expand her knowledge and throughout, meet all sorts of other people that shared the same interest: a passion for music. it was a promise she'd carry out for tzuyu and kikwang, even gray that she'd enter. the truth is, she didn't expect herself to make it here. all the way to episode five but tonight, that could be changed. if she comes down to that fate, at least she knew that she did her best at the end of the day. that she sang, rap, and danced her heart out.

the building has such a warm atmosphere to it, maybe it's the fact that she isn't daunted and everyone has been nothing but kind souls to sakura. she'd do her best to return the gesture by putting out the same matter, with smiles and greetings. small meetings during lunches and small talks. she loves the friendliness and lightheartedness that flows through the room when she's listening to music or moving her body to a beat of the song. it doesn't feel forced, nobody hates one another or feels like strangers. this is the specific kind of environment that she aims to surround herself with all the time.

she hadn't met xuxi prior to this, but left a great impression with his performance on the last episode! she'd gotten to know him a bit more, exchanging contact information and numbers so that she didn't lose track of a new friend that she'd been excited to meet and even have the honour to work with him on the stage, alongside yuri. seeing the girl who she shares a cordial friendship with off-the-set and have dorky adventures with yena ( which sakura still wishes even now that she'd be here with them ), she's just glad to see her friends really.

tweaks are made with the choreography and dividing the lyrics out to three people, originally four and she finds herself having to dance, rap, and sing at the same time. she has to take some time at home to polish her vocals and breath stability whilst dancing. she'd have a small rap part given to her as both xuxi and yuri are strong vocalists. she believes that the only factor she found intimidating was the capabilities they had as vocalists with remarkable techniques and unforgettable charisma. she couldn't be on that level but her dreams are coming true slowly, she's grateful to even step on the trc building which is her dream company. it piqued her interest right off the bat when she came to south korean soil a year ago.

the outfit choice came down to light-colored suits. sakura could use a cool outfit to keep in her closet to use for another occasion. she had a good day shopping with the two. shopping's a favourite hobby of her's but she didn't like to overindulge unless she needs to. she'd have a horrible history in the past with using her debit card, her parents were from wealth but she didn't like to present that side about her upfront. at least, she's doing better with handling money now.

it's not long until the big day hits. her alarm sets off, she rises up from her bed with messy, untidy hair. sakura finds that it's easier to pack her items in her backpack and change her outfit in the bathroom. but with a suit, it's a tad bit complicated and she tries to pack the items carefully so that the condition doesn't look worn out with wrinkles all over. the clothing's covered with plastic so that nothing stains the high-quality item. she takes a small apple and banana with her for a small breakfast, starting off her day. the time comes up when it's time for her to go filming. she sets out to her designated destination, entering the building and greeting familiar faces. she'd arrive here early to see the others perform as she liked to stay longer even though she could have gone home, it was way better to see performances in person. being there physically, right at the moment is more exciting than seeing it on a flat-screen.

she spots mason, he's one of the first few to perform up. before he sets on that stage, sakura wanted to wish him luck and let him know that he's got this. kyungsoo's there as well, she walks up to him and greets him a hello, waving her hand and smiling at the male. first, she was speaking english with mason and korean with kyungsoo then she switches over to japanese with kenta, yelling out "頑張ってください "! ( ganbatte kudasai ; translation: good luck! ). then, she sets out to find the chairs are and finds yuri immediately. heyaaa!" she hugs her friend briefly before pulling away to sit down on her assigned seat. hyojin is someone she couldn’t forget to visit! she wants to make sure she gives him the best wishes.

once she hears their names being called up, that's when she knows she has to stand up from her seat and have an upbeat smile on her face! she introduces herself along with the others on the stage, bowing politely prior to letting the background music play. she finds a state of reassurance and relaxation when she releases some distressed sighs and takes a couple of deep breaths. she can sense the pressure already from the eyes. she's facing the judges and looks down on the ground then back up. in a moment of deep thought, she takes the few seconds to thank her goddess, amaterasu and says her prayers.

the tempo starts playing, the sound's ebullient and uplifting. the dance isn't exactly difficult to tag along with, just sultry in some segments but she can work with the theme and calibrate herself. xuxi starts with the first line and it's a nice sound to it. yuri then sings with her angelic voice. she's grinning and jamming to the song energetically, sakura moves to the centre and delivers her rap portion of the song. she doesn't have a hard time pronouncing the korean as the lines were short, her flow is smooth and clean. her australian accent can be heard when rapping in english words.

야야 하루아침에 내가 변한 건 아냐 별거 아닌 거에 의미 갖지 마 인마 괜한 ANTIPATHY 등 떠민 적 없지 아이고 아이고 BUTTERFLY 그냥 잔을 부딪쳐 짠

she's got a lot of zeal. getting a good night's rest, her sleeping schedule has been better this week than the recent month that has gone by. she's cluttered with piles of schoolwork on the side, there's also the aquarium volunteer work that she's been doing for her internship. she's managed to take a couple days off from the volunteer work instead of being there five days a week, it was down to two as of the moment. she's astonished at the high notes that yuri and xuxi are able to reach. she's skipping on the stage with a curve on her lips and her eyes forming to a crescent shape. she switches in between the formations, staying on the side and drops a small line.

DROP DROP DROP

she moves to the sound of the beat, primarily a drum-based noise and she's quick to pick up on it, moving her body as she prepares to transition over to singing. while she may not belt out notes and do runs and riffs, sakura could hold a note and tune with the sound of her voice, soft and airy, also lighthearted. she doesn't want to hold any of the others back sakura can show her own shining charisma with her charms!

너와 나의 MIX AND MATCH 빼지 말고 DRUNKEN

고고베베

sakura forms in a line with xuxi and yuri, in the center and winks at the camera cutely, with a cheeky grin on her face as she finds the meaning in the song that the best thing to do is enjoy living in the moment. she has minor levels of anxiety and which is what contributed to her being afraid to go on the stage and presence left unknown in the music industry until she found people who helped find out the possibilities of her blooming talents! being with xuxi and yuri gives her that sentiment, she'll remember being on the stage with her friends.

LOOK UP THE HERE FOCUS FOCUS FOCUS 난 나의 피사체 무시해 잔소린 음소거 CLICK CLICK 삑 이렇다저렇다 가타부타 꼭 말 많은 애들이 먼저 영화에선 DIE해 SO RAISE 자기애

she places her hand on her hip, following through the choreography and raps one more time. her rapping style has cuteness but is also chic, she's trying to go for more of a sassy and chic vibe! from the genres, she's experimented with being on the mnet global auditions made her a capable and versatile rapper. she'd been discouraged in the past that she couldn't rap cause her sound wasn't suited for rapping or she didn't fit the "criteria" but that didn't stop sakura, she views it as empowerment to continue to pursue what she wanted to do and develop her skills in rapping. xuxi takes over singing and his deep voice is a smooth transition from her rap.

DROP DROP DROP

너와 나의 MIX AND MATCH 빼지 말고 DRUNKEN

she sings the best she can, the lines aren't very hard either. xuxi and yuri are in charge of belting and harmonies, she's responsible for rapping and the rendition of the piece came out lovely. she's learned a thing or two about harmonizing in groups, breath control's essential to singing, just as much as rapping relies on that too. together, all of the three dance and sing! her favourite part about the song is the beat. she moves her hips, swaying them and her hand gestures are lively!

고고베베

sakura sings her line and then continues to jam to the sound of yuri's sweet voice.

NINE / SIX SIX NINETEEN NINE / SIX 고고베베

her pre-recorded voice is louder than her rapping out loud, ringers and she breaks into several poses before stretching her leg out as part of the dance. then, pulls herself back up and continues rapping while holding the microphone carefully. xuxi and yuri are singing in between lines after.

너와 나의 MIX AND MATCH 빼지 말고 DRUNKEN

the song was coming to an end soon, that was her last line and it was short and simple. the korean words in this song weren't hard for sakura to memorise either, she got them within an 'or two. she grins and holds up a peace sign as she enjoys the last half thirty seconds she has on the stage before the next trio comes up! running her fingers through her hair, she skips and dances happily. the formation of the choreography was adjusted to make it three instead of four! she sings one more time, harmonising with yuri and xuxi. lastly, she makes a pose prior to the song being cut.

it's ended.

she takes a bow and thanks the contestants and judges for their time, waving both hands in the air to say her goodbye and leaves off with a smile on her face. she'll definitely stay longer until the show ends to see how everything else turns out. it's better to be safe than sorry anyway. it seems that this day, the nervousness is rising back up once she's not on that stage anymore. music is a source of peace for sakura, helping her when she feels that there's a strain in her feelings or when everything else didn't feel right. the fire is growing in this competition, sakura didn't want to feed into it. the best weapon is to smile!

#*solo.journey*#*mga.5*#rkmga5 #rkmga5trios #rkxuxi #rkyuri #*tw:anxiety*#rkmason #hyojinrk #rkxkikwang #rkchoutzuyu #rkkyungsoo #rkkenta

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mokatedi · 5 years

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actualized alleviation.

Today I bear witness to triumph.

The event occured whilst rushing through a task at work which involves running garments from our stores fitting room back to the customer display area. It’s often a hurried job and I regularly fall into tunnel like focus while completing the task. As I scanned the area looking to where I might put the item I clutch, my attention was grabbed by the utterance of my name.

As I looked around trying to localise the source, I saw my team member Daniel marching up the escalator, eyes filled with an intensity I seldom see, locked onto my position.

Before I continue, it would be useful to provide some backstory to the type of relationship Daniel and I share. Daniel was a third year engineering student and had been working at this retail job casually whilst he studied. He was already working for about a year before I was hired. He is southeast asian, about 5’8 and has a subtle charisma about him. He is soft spoken but well socialised, holding friendly relations with most of the people from our work place. The only time we’ve met outside of work was briefly down by the river ( which divides central and south Brisbane ) after what looked like a night out drinking, playing casanova with a girlfriend.

Two weeks prior, Daniel was describing the final few weeks of his university life for he was due to graduate on the upcoming weekend. He shared with me his class grades for his final semester. “I ended up getting two sevens and a six” he said nonchalantly ( seven is the highest grade you can receive at the university he attended). Upon hearing this I lit up in excitement, patting him on his shoulder and continued to profusely congratulate him on such incredible results. He gave a laugh and was taken aback. “Man, you’re more excited than me to hear this!” he said. He went on to tell me that he was beginning to sit for interviews for different positions now that he was due to graduate. He seemed genuinely happy to share his excitement.

I’ve read that a true friend is someone you can tell your bad news to and they won’t tell you how they’ve had it worse or immediately try and find a solution, disregarding your current sense of loss. I’ve also heard that a good friend is someone who you can tell good news to and they’ll celebrate with you as if the good things are happening to them directly. I believe it’s important to positively reinforce good behavior when you see it. Sometimes sharing positive news about your own life can be daunting, thus it’s important to reward individuals for sharing theirs. I try to abide by these principles and managed to remember it at the time Daniel told me the news of his results, and I'm glad I did.

Coming back to the event I mentioned at the beginning, Daniel storming up the escalator. I smile thinking back on it now because I have not experienced such intense energy from an individual in a long time. His eyes were locked onto me even though he had to navigate around several slow moving customers, it was as if his brain was split, one component to take care of the rudimentary and the other was completely focused on attaining his goal. After what seemed like minutes of him traveling across seven meters to my location, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the side, out of scope of managers and other staff.

I was slightly confused but mostly curious to what had sparked such intense energy in this man. He spoke to me, with such excitement “Y-y-ou know that job I applied for ?! I got it ! I got the job !!”. The words coming out of his mouth were electric. I felt a warm glow ignite inside me, which continued to swell throughout my being as I understood the meaning of this news more deeply. I felt filled with so much happiness and excitement for this tremendous news. He continued to tell me about how the interview did commence, explaining that he thought he had answered some of the questions in an unsatisfactory manner and that he had performed badly. All the worries of his interview, all the months spent studying hard, the sacrifice of time with loved ones and friends, all this suffering was completely alleviated by the news which came through a simple email just before Daniel came back from his lunch break.

At the moment he told me this news I experienced such a pleasurable phenomena. It was as if in that moment I was standing at the epicenter of an alignment and balance in the world. Here, standing in front of me was a man who had worked hard and diligently for years in his degree, who had clearly done everything right and received transparent justification for the efforts he put in. I’m interested in how this short moment of peace allowed me to escape all the pain I was feeling, all worry and any anxieties vanished if just for a moment. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he told me first? He will tell this news to others who are much closer to him and know him more deeply, what type of effect will it have on them ? The temporary alleviation of suffering of all people within his circle of influence, cascading from person to person as the news is relayed through his network. This news means so much. The start of a career, financial stability and potentially the foundations to start a family.

Now the event has passed, I still see Daniel at work on Sundays. He refuses to completely quit his current position because he enjoys the pay rate Sunday brings. Each time I see him I am reminded of this event. I don’t think he knows the impact this news had on me, I don’t feel it is necessary for him to know. Anyhow, so many interesting things have been happening recently which I wish to write about. But for now, I will finish my tea and do some reading.

- Mokatedi

#mokatedi #studyblr #programming #meaning #psychology #journal #writing

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comicessay123 · 4 years

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dust2dust34 · 7 years

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Pieces of Always: May 2018 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: Ellie's birth changes a lot of things for Felicity, but not in the way she'd thought it would.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

PLEASE READ THE READ THE AUTHOR’S NOTE UNDER THE CUT.

Excerpt:

She’s not sad. Sad would be better. Sad would be… Well, it would be something.

(read on AO3)

Author’s Note:

TRIGGER WARNING - Postpartum depression

I put off writing this oneshot for more than half a year. This has been my headcanon for Felicity since we started Pieces of Always, but it’s not an easy thing to write and I was wary of how it would be received. Postpartum depression is a mental illness and it’s common in new mothers (and sometimes fathers). I was never diagnosed with it, but I think by reading this you’ll see it’s pretty clear I’ve got some firsthand experience with it anyhow. I know my mother did, too. I’ve talked with her and some friends about their experiences and I researched symptoms online to make sure everything fit. I’ll be quite honest - I left out the worst of my own symptoms (hallucinations made worse by a reaction to medication I was on) because this was already hard to handle writing and reading. I hope for some of you, you can look at this and see solidarity in your own experiences. If you can’t relate, that’s even better and I’m very glad for you, but please keep in mind that mental illness changes how you think and any blame toward Felicity for how she’s processing things here would be misplaced.

May 2018 - In Restless Dreams

She’s not sad. Sad would be better. Sad would be… Well, it would be something.

Right now, Felicity feels nothing.

There’s a gaping hole in her chest, a vacuum where everything that makes her her should be. She’s broken, shattered into tiny bits and she doesn’t know where all the pieces went or how it happened. She knows there’s a way to find them, to collect them again, to put herself back together, but it’s just so daunting, so overwhelming.

Like everything else is these days.

Ellie is just over two weeks old.

She’s a good baby. A great baby. She’s everything that Felicity has always known she’d be. Everything she’s wanted for years, since that little girl with blonde curls had reached for her from Barry’s arms and called her ‘Momma,’ since she’d woken up to a pillow fort in Oliver’s bedroom at the Manor, since she scaled the ladder to an otherworldly fairy kingdom in the trees. She wants this. She knows she does.

But she doesn’t feel it.

The newborn is sprawled across her lap, utterly passed out after a feeding. She’s in that dazed, happy, sleepy place that Felicity’s mom has always called a ‘milk coma.’ Even fast asleep, her little lips are turned upwards in a contented smile, tiny puffs of air slipping through her lips, her eyes darting about under closed lids.

It should be endearing. It should be heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Instead, Felicity feels like she’s separated from the moment, like there’s a giant chasm between her and the baby. Ellie doesn’t even feel like hers, doesn’t even feel real. Everything around her is just mimicking life, like she’s watching someone else’s reality play out in front her, like she doesn’t actually belong, and it leaves her wondering what the hell she’s even doing.

One tear slips down her cheek and then another. Burning sears her eyes, turning Ellie into an indistinct blur.

They deserve better than this, than her. Ellie is beautiful, perfect. And Jules, God, but Jules deserves a mom who can do things for her, who can connect and not have to fake her smiles. And Oliver? Oliver’s the best husband and father in the entire world. He deserves a wife who’s happy, who feels. He shouldn’t have to wonder if he’s done something wrong. He shouldn’t have to pick up the slack while she flounders and fails on every possible level.

Maybe she should just go. Maybe they’d be better without her. Maybe she’s just dragging them all down. Maybe…

“Hey.”

Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears away before looking up.

Oliver leans against the doorframe, arms folded casually across his broad chest as he watches her.

How long has he been there? She has no idea. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been sitting here herself. She’d been going through the motions earlier, doing what was required, what she needed to, and then…

She swallows past the lump in her throat and sits up a bit, adjusting Ellie like she should have been.

If she’d seen him earlier she’d have put up a better front, tried to seem more normal, more okay.

He’s not the only one who can wear masks.

“Hey,” she echoes. It feels like she waited too long to respond. She forces a smile onto her face. It’s unnatural, ill-fitting and she has to fight to keep it there.

“She’s really out,” he notes, gazing down at Ellie’s prone form sprawled across her lap. The grin on his face doesn’t just pull at his lips, it lights up his eyes, crinkles the edges of them with happy adoration of their little girl. That’s a thing Felicity knows full well she can’t fake. He pushes off the doorframe. “Let’s get her to bed for a bit.”

Oliver crosses the room before crouching down to gently lift the newborn into his arms. Ellie makes a little noise and her arms jolt like she’s grappling for stability, but she doesn’t wake, instead turning toward the warmth of her father’s chest with a contented, sleepy sigh.

They look right. They look suited, like a picture you might find on Pinterest of some beautiful little perfect family moment that people pin with notes that say ‘goals for someday!’

Felicity doesn’t fit that and she knows it. She’s as far from put together as someone can get and no one’s goal for their future right now. Makeup feels pointless and she can’t remember the last time she bothered with more than a messy ponytail for her hair or clothes beyond sweatpants and Oliver’s shirts. It’ll be nearly another month before the bleeding that follows birth finally stops. She’s carrying excess weight that makes her feel like she’s somehow slipped into someone else’s body. Her breasts ache, and they’re leaking. It won’t stop until she’s done nursing and the smell of breast milk constantly follows her. Dark circles beneath her eyes are well earned, but they leave her feeling hollow, emptied out, like she has nothing left to give and nothing to keep for herself either.

She watches Oliver with their daughter, feeling like a stranger in someone else’s house.

Ellie doesn’t wake when he places her gently into her crib. He leans over to kiss her forehead, brushing his fingers through the blonde wispy curls at her temple before stepping back. And then he turns all his attention back to his wife.

Felicity can’t help it - she shifts, wrapping her arms around herself, shrinking back into the rocking chair. His gaze doesn’t waver an inch. She’s not sure what to do with that. She doesn’t really want to be seen right now. There’s too much she’d prefer went unnoticed.

“Come on,” Oliver says, offering her his hand. “I made us lunch.”

She hesitates before placing her fingers in his and he helps her stand.

The second she’s up, an irrational bolt of annoyance surges through her. She doesn’t need his help, she wants to bite out. She can stand on her own, thanks. Except… except this isn’t new and he’s not saying that at all. He’s always offered her his hand and it’s never once meant he thought her incapable of doing things herself. So maybe her irritation is because she’s not sure how long she’d have sat without his help. Her limbs feel heavy, sluggish, like there’s weights attached to all of them.

Even moving seems like a chore.

Felicity sighs, one she feels to her bones. “I think I’d just like a nap,” she says, letting go of his hand to run her fingers through her hair.

Oliver tries to hide his reaction, but she knows him too well. He doesn’t like her answer. She can tell from the way his face tightens in a grimace and she’s pretty sure she can see him physically biting his tongue in an effort to think through his words before letting them out.

It only annoys her more.

“Just say it!” she wants to yell at him. “Stop walking on fucking eggshells. I’m weak. I’m not good enough. I know that. I know you know that. So just fucking say it!”

But she is weak and she is broken.

Felicity looks to the side, gritting her teeth. A cheerful cartoon elephant wall decal stares back at her. She wants to peel it right off just to get it to stop smiling at her.

“When was the last time you ate a meal, Felicity?” Oliver asks her. She hates the hesitation in his voice almost as much as she hates the question.

“What does it matter?” she snaps, turning back to him with a sharp glare.

It’s enough that he flinches and that gaping hole where her heart feels like it should be drops further. He doesn’t deserve this. He just cares about her. God, how can she be so horrible to him? She should just leave, just go. He wouldn’t understand, but it would be better. He’d be happier without her, eventually. They all would. But the idea of going makes an echo of sorrow slice through her. How horrible is it that the feeling actually comes as a relief? It’s something. It’s an emotion, a resonance of sensation that feels like the tingle of a missing limb. And she just wants… she just wants…

“I’m sorry,” Felicity whispers, her voice choking, energy draining from her with each word. “I’m just so tired. That’s all. I just… I just need some sleep. I’m just tired.”

“No,” he says quietly. He rests a hand on her elbow, a ghostly touch, like he’s afraid she’s going to scatter. She hates it. “You’re not.”

“I am,” she counters, pulling away from him. She rubs the spot on her arm where he’d touched her. “I have a two week old and a three year old. I’m exhausted. Of course I am.”

“Sure.” Oliver presses his lips together into a thin line. “But that’s not all this is. I know better this time. And so do you.”

Felicity blinks hard, refusing to look away for a long moment because no, no, that is all, but it’s too much and she bows her head. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she sees the drop slide down her nose and plop down onto her bare foot. She cries so much these days. You’d think she’d feel it, that it would seem cleansing or at least emotionally charged, but it’s more like a compulsive reaction, something she has to do. And it means so very little.

“It’s all in my head, Oliver,” she says. “It’s fine.”

“No, Felicity, it’s really not,” he replies firmly. She scowls through the tears, looking up at him, annoyance suddenly overtaking the emptiness again, but he doesn’t back down. “You need help. And that’s okay.”

“No,” Felicity snaps. It’s too loud and she glances toward Ellie to make sure she hasn’t accidentally woken the newborn. But the baby sleeps soundly, unaware of everything going on just a few feet away from her. “No,” she repeats in an intense but quieter voice. “It’s not okay. I just need to… I just need to push myself more. I’m sorry, okay? It’ll be fine. I just need to find a new routine and it’ll be alright.”

Oliver watches her, seeing right through her.

She hates the sudden wash of vulnerability that runs through her.

“You aren’t alone, Felicity,” he says, stepping forward and taking her hand in his. She tries to tug it away - she’s fine, she will be fine - but his grip tells her that he’s not letting go, not giving her an avenue of escape. When the realization hits her, it almost comes as a relief. “I already called your doctor.”

Felicity’s jaw drops. “You called my doctor?” she demands. “Did you have a nice chat about the crazy new mom who’s just a little overwhelmed and just needs a damned nap?”

“No,” he counters, shaking his head. “I told him how worried I am about my wife and asked what I could do to help.”

Well… shit. That saps the fight right out of her.

“I love you more than anything, Felicity. You’re sick. And you’re hiding how much you hurt. Everyone wants to help you, honey. But you’ve got to let us.”

“Who is ‘everyone?’” she asks warily.

“Your mom,” he replies before letting out a hard sigh. “Me. My mom. Your doctor. Thea, Digg… Will.”

Felicity starts. “Will?”

“He asked me why you were sad today,” Oliver tells her. “He wanted to know what he could do to cheer you up.”

She shakes her head, turning to the door before looking at Oliver again. “He’s here?”

“Felicity…” Oliver pauses, frowning. “You said hi to him when he got here an hour ago. He’s playing with Jules out back right now because he thought if you saw her happy it might make you happy, too.”

Oh God.

Felicity sags at that, her free hand pressing against her mouth trying to cage in the welling sound of sorrow that suddenly feels like it might drown her. “He noticed?” she asks, horrified by the idea.

“He’s almost ten,” Oliver says, stepping closer. He knows, now, that it’s easier to let her come to him. He doesn’t grab her like he would have a few weeks ago. Now he just skates his hand up her arm, brushing it over her cheek, his touch so soft she barely feels it. “And he loves you. Of course he noticed.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes out against her hand. She’s nauseous. She could throw up right now if there were anything at all in her stomach. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, Oliver. I promise. I’m so sorry.”

“He’s not hurt, honey,” Oliver instantly replies. “He’s fine.” This time he does pull her into his arms as he talks. Felicity tenses, because she doesn’t deserve this at all. She shouldn’t be comforted right now. This is all her fault. And, honestly, she doesn’t feel a whole lot better, even with his arms around her. But she does feel like a bit of the weight slides off her shoulders. She’s still hollow. Still empty. But she’s a bit less pulled down and for the first time in days she feels like she can breathe. Oliver’s voice is just as gentle, just as soft as he continues, “He’s just worried about you. Just like the rest of us.”

“I’ll try harder,” Felicity promises. “I will.”

“Wanting to get better is the first step,” he agrees, kissing her forehead the same way he’d kissed Ellie’s a bit ago. She wants to shake her head and wipe it away, because she doesn’t deserve something so tender. “But you can’t do it alone. You need medication and you need therapy. Just like you did after Jules was born. Suffering in silence isn’t doing you any favors, Felicity. It’s not doing anyone any favors.”

“You all deserve someone better than me,” she tells him in the quietest voice imaginable. “What kind of mother looks at her baby and doesn’t feel anything? What kind of wife just gets pissed off when her husband tries to help her?”

“The kind who’s fighting a battle no one else can even see,” Oliver says. “None of this is your fault.”

“But it is!” she argues. “It is. It’s in my head. It’s how I think and how I feel. Of course that’s my fault. How could that not be my fault?”

“You’re a smart woman,” Oliver reminds her. “You know better than that.”

She does. Some part of her knows he’s right. She did research after this happened with Jules, after months of suffering in silence, completely unaware of what was going on with her mind and her body. Once she’d started feeling better, more like herself, she’d read up as much as she could. She knows something like one-in-five mothers wind up with postpartum depression. She knows the sudden drop in hormones in her body have probably set her emotions in a tailspin of hopelessness and anxiety, that she wouldn’t feel this sense of worthlessness or total lack of joy if she were in her right mind.

But knowing that and feeling it are two different things entirely and with an illness in her head, it’s her head telling her she should be able to fix it on her own.

She should have to fix it on her own.

“I made a phone appointment for you with your doctor,” Oliver says. She jerks at that, but he’s not done. “It’s in half an hour. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to be on the call, too. If you tell him what you’re going through, he’ll call you in a prescription right away and we can start fighting this.”

No. It’s her gut reaction. It’s her only reaction. But… she hesitates. She wants to push back, to swear she’ll be fine, that she can handle this on her own. But… but can she? And should she have to? Especially if everyone around her is noticing it in spite of her efforts, if even Will is seeing it… God, has Jules picked up on anything? She can’t even imagine how unfair that would be to the toddler.

“Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, Felicity,” Oliver says. “It means you’re strong enough and smart enough to admit when it’s too much for you.”

“It is,” she whispers before she even realizes she’s speaking. “God, it really is too much, Oliver. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No one’s blaming you and there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Oliver tells her. He looks relieved as he pulls her closer, holding her. He kisses her forehead again, and this time he lingers. “I’m proud of you. I can’t understand what you’re going through, but I get that it’s hard and I know it’s not easy to ask for help.”

“Took being shot by your mother for you to ask for help,” she points out.

It almost sounds normal, almost seems like her usual self and the grin on Oliver’s face makes her so very happy that she voiced the thought.

“Imagine if I’d asked for help earlier,” he points out.

Felicity scoffs. “You didn’t need me earlier. Not really.”

“Felicity… I’ve always needed you,” Oliver tells her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Even when I didn’t know it yet, I needed you.” Just the thought of that makes her want to cry again, even if she can’t quite pinpoint why. “Come on,” he urges. “Let’s get a quick bite to eat before that call and then I’ll have your mom pick up the prescription while we sit out back and watch the kids play. You can take a nap on the lawn chair, if you need to.”

“That sounds pretty good,” she allows. She closes her eyes, her shoulders falling. “Especially the nap part.”

He pulls her along, leading her from the room, grabbing the baby monitor as they go.

It feels good, honestly, letting him take charge and giving herself permission to show everything she’s feeling - and everything she’s not. They talk about it over tuna sandwiches as Will and Jules laugh together out back and Ellie sleeps. Oliver doesn’t judge, doesn’t hold anything against her, instead wanting only to understand and help her. He keeps hold of her hand as she talks, sliding his thumb against her skin when she cries for no apparent reason. The relief of that is monumental.

Oliver can’t fix her. That’s not how this works. But he’ll help her pick up the pieces as she fixes herself.

And that, in the end, is exactly what she needs.

Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, please go send some to @so-caffeinated!

And please mind the author’s note, which I’m reposting here:

Author’s Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING - Postpartum depression

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak #forever is composed of nows #ficon #pieces of always #trigger warning #postpartum depression #arrow #arrow fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: cowritten #so-caffeinated #dust2dust34

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