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ashasmonsters · 3 years

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The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make, erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity. You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #male reader #tiefling #male tiefling x male reader #monster love #mlm #monster romance #monster fic #mlm romance

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classof99 · 3 years

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INTRODUCTION

Someone, somewhere, likely with a vague spectrum of power and a cruel sense of humor, decided that forcing teenagers to sit through four long years of the unmitigated hell wasn’t enough. There had to be one last “learning” component before students were unleashed into the world – i.e., the commencement speaker...

Mom liked to remind me that I fell asleep during the commencement speech at my high school graduation.

She told the story often and with great relish.

I always knew it was coming at the holidays, because a twinkling lilt would bubble up in her and she’d touch my father’s arm and remind him that local celebrity real estate agent extraordinaire Gary Pace had been our speaker (yes, where I’m from, a real estate agent can attain quasi-celebrity status if he plasters his face on the side of enough public transit). My father would pat my mother's hand in return and shoot me an apologetic look. He knew what was coming.

“We could see him from the nosebleed! Remember, honey?” she'd say to dad, talking about me like I wasn't there. “He was just sitting there and all of a sudden – bloop – his little head drops to one side, and falls onto his neighbor's shoulder,” she said, volume rising, her half-and-half tea slipping over the brim of her glass as she slapped the table in delight.

She'd turn to me directly then:

“How did you manage to fall asleep? During your high school graduation, no less!”

“Well, if you remember I worked – ” but she'd cut me off, not really asking so much as wanting to retell the story.

“ – On, uhm... who was it again?”

“Brian Goodlow”

“BRIAN GOODLOW! That's right. What a lovely boy. Do you still see him?”

You see, what mom remembers the most was the scattered laughter of my classmates as I nodded off, causing Gary Pace to lose his place (we heard later he'd taken it as a personal insult that someone -- me -- dared not to be completely spellbound by the most didactic of commencement speeches).

Not that Gary would have cared, but I had a legitimate excuse. I'd worked the previous night until 3 am as a projectionist at the movie theater. Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace had just been released and I was working the midnight screenings.

I don’t remember exactly at what point I fell asleep during Gary's speech, but I do recall waking to find Brian Goodlow gently petting my hair. It was the closest we’d ever been despite always sitting next to each other due to the fact that our last name's occurred alphabetically.

Among the many things we suffered through that day, the most pandering may have been Gary Pace's self-aggrandizing speech itself:

“Dare to dream!”

“March to the beat of your own drum!”

“Live life to the fullest!”

The obvious mistake Gary Pace made here -- one shared by many highly educated alumni-turned-commencement speakers -- was that he should have known that high schoolers so close to receiving their diplomas are BEYOND learning anything new. Like, over it. They’ve spent the last 13 years absorbing every last detail that every well-meaning teacher could cram between their eyes and ears.

But what do we do? Each school invites a speaker, usually an alumni, and in our particular case, the indomitable and balding Gary Pace, to come give a speech to the bright young stars of tomorrow. He'll remind us that, decades before, he sat in the very same spot with the same ambitions we hold deep, and would serve up an onslaught of platitudes and non-sequiturs of what he'd learned since.

But we, as with most graduating classes, were a captive audience of malcontents, sweating profusely underneath our caps and gowns, generally unfazed by the generic one-size-fits-all life advice being hurled at us from notecards at the podium. I was very busy pondering that things that came next: freedom and what I could only hope would be an endless summer between me and the next four years of college.

We were the class of 1999 — the last graduating class of the millennium (also known as BCC: Before Common Core). Not since the class of 999 had there been so much self-appointed pressure for a class to “go out and do great things” – thank you, Gary, for that pearl.

While I’d like to believe that we all went on to do great things for ourselves and for society, I know it’s simply not true. Not to say that none of us did anything great, just not all nearly four hundred teenagers sitting in that auditorium that May afternoon in 1999 did. Some of us grew up, other didn’t. Some of us succeed and yet others failed and fell down. Some of us didn’t even make it far enough to note a difference.

To frame the stories that follow, please understand a few things (I’m looking at you Gen-Z)... The class of 1999 was born in 1980-81. We were the “Me Generation”, the tail end of Generation X. Latchkey kids who spent summers with MTV on while our parents were at the office. We microwaved our grilled cheeses on Styrofoam plates even though we kinda knew better. Smoking was still cool, kinda. We made it through high school without cell phones, e-mail or any relevant use of the internet which, in hindsight, has probably saved us all from a lot of embarrassment as adults. A weekend might involve a trip to the local music shop to, ya know, buy CDs. How downright old-fashioned!

But, perhaps most importantly, for the purposes of this story anyways, is that when previous generations graduated from high school, they genuinely lost track of each other which is what made a high school reunion so enjoyable. Discovering what became of everyone. Or what didn't. Today with social media, old high school acquaintances tend to circle each other in an uncomfortable, peripheral social media orbit for years and years after graduation. It's much harder to lose track of everyone, which is a true shame, because losing track of everyone after high school is a great and well-earned privilege.

As I sat there, in May 1999, at the end of my high school career, waiting to make my way up to the stage to grab my diploma, I took a moment to absorb the countless young faces around me. In a curious moment of reflection, I wondered what would happen to each of them. Would they achieve what, if anything, they sought to do with their lives. What ironies did the universe have in store for us collectively?

I catch myself remembering certain people at the most random of times – how they were then and what they made of themselves – and can only imagine what Gary Pace might have said about them. It's been my experience that the lessons you learn in real life are hardly close to the vague horseshit you’re lectured with at graduation. In fact, some time’s there no nice way to wrap up the experiences or expectations of life. Some times it just is.

After graduation, I went onto college and kept in touch with a few of my high school friends. We’d get together over summers or Christmas breaks, only to fall away from each other again afterwards. Even when we did get together, it wasn’t as if we were measuring how daring we’d all been, as Gary had suggested. We were just living our lives, however they came.

Most of my classmates went on to do what most adults try and do in the here and now: college, marriage, a few kids, maybe a divorce (but hopefully not), probably a 9 to 5. As it turns out, though, more than a few of my classmates had stories worthy of one of Gary’s platitudes.

Thanks to the unbreakable bond between Brian Goodlow and I, my mother’s general nosiness, and the burdensome genius of Facebook, Instagram, etc., I’ve managed to collect some of the more interesting stories from my class; stories about the things that actually happen after you graduate.

The following stories are true, almost entirely. However, names have been changed, identifying details have been tweaked and obvious things have been left appropriately VAGUE.

Stay awake. This time it’s worth it.

#class of 1999 #class of 99 #true stories #truestories #graduation stories #high school #high school graduation #class of 2020 #class of 2021 #Gary Pace #commencement speech #alumni

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cloudy-coyote · 5 years

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Necessity

(A/N: found this gif on google! HI IT’S BEEN A MINUTE YA’LL. Sorry lol I was very busy what can I say. But prepare for some writing spam 👅please let me know what you guys think I really hope you guys enjoy! 😊 )

Ch. 5: Beleive it or Not it’s Eva!

"Dean, this is pointless," Sam sighs.

Papers upon books, upon papers spread out over their beds and the table. They had their Police Scanner set up on the floor. Sam balances his laptop on his lap, with hundreds of tabs open. And Dean stands over the counter, preparing some coffee.

They've searched from everything to the lore of cursed objects---to the things that do the cursing, like Witches, Ancient spirits, and they can't find anything that matches up.

Their first thought the moment they heard about an animal attack was Werewolf, easy. Except the heart wasn't taken, and it seemed it wasn't even aiming for the chest. Like this thing just went ham on her body, for almost no reason.

So, because it didn't take anything, they thought they were dealing with something vengeful. Something that tried to kill her for a reason. Maybe a spirit, or some creature that felt wronged by her.

But, everything seemed to become more confusing once they talked to her. It wasn't simple, there wasn't a clear pattern. It was scattered, random events. Somehow all connected to her--- but done by God knows what.

Time-travel? That's a new one.

Cursed necklace? Well... they've dealt with that one before.

A cursed necklace, that has an invisible attacker and causes almost immediate death, including possible time-travel?

Not a fucking chance.

Sam couldn't help but feel like he was in some type of book--- like an episode of the X-Files. The utter absurdity with what they're dealing with is off the charts. The power this thing has is mortifying. Even when hunting a spirit, they can be in some serious danger. But with this? Something so lethal, how are they supposed to protect themselves from something they don't even understand?

He shuts his computer. Shoving it to the side with a groan. Dean eyes his brother, watching him succumb to his frustrations. He can't blame him, this case is seemingly hopeless.

They've been hunting together since they were kids. In some ways, Dean can see his Sam as he once was, just a little kid--just his baby brother.

No matter how many times Sam could wrong him, like abandoning him for Standford, he'll always protect him. He knows that. Because when he looks at him, he can't see evil. Even if the world is telling him he's the psychic visions mean he's some type of devil spawn...all he sees is a chubby-faced little kid.

Dean takes a sip of the crappy motel coffee, tasting like burnt water. He looks up from the papers to face his brother.

"You're right, this thing is strong," Dean agrees, "But if we figure this out? We might have an advantage."

Sam looks up from his hands, 'an advantage'?

"What do you mean?"

Dean sighs, moving Sam's laptop off the couch and plopping down next to him.

"That Demon that Dad's chasin', it's strong too. If we can figure out how to kill this thing, we can definitely kill that bastard."

"Kill a Demon? That's impossible," Sam retorts.

"There's always a way, Sammy. Dad taught us that."

He shakes his head.

Something just not sitting right with him. He couldn't comprehend how something as powerful as this entity or curse can't be found anywhere. Creatures not nearly as strong as this one have Ancient stories from all over the world. Vampires have myths from every ancient civilization, but this invisible killer? Nothing. That's the constant, isn't it?

Every time there's been an attack, it's practically deserted. It's like this thing is a void of desolation. No people, no sounds, no face, no evidence-- no Mythology, it makes sense in that light. But, it's too vague to develop anything further. That begs the question, what if it really is something like that-- like this creature is some sort of spirit of emptiness, erasure. That would mean, they really are defenseless in this situation.

Because you can't kill nothing.

"Killing a Demon is actually seeming more realistic than trying to kill this thing right now,"

Sam lays back into the couch, his head laying toward the ceiling, "Dean, this thing doesn't bleed, doesn't have a body, doesn't make sound, I don't get it---how can we kill something if it's not even a thing?"

"Well then we don't kill it, we just try and...stop it, I guess," Dean shrugs.

He shakes the confusion. He's been on a thousand wild hunts, with crazy, wack-job monsters, and if he would've let the fear get to his head then--- he wouldn't have come out alive.

Albeit, he's not the best at calming people down or consoling them. But, if he can keep his head screwed on straight, maybe it will help Sam relax.

With all the things going on with his brother, he doesn't need another thing to drive his mind in circles. He knows that if they have any chance with this thing, they have to be calm, they have to think clearly, and most importantly, they have to think realistically.

They might not be able to kill it, purge it, or do whatever the Hell to it-- but they can do their best to survive. He has to tell himself that he'll figure it out. Because truly, saying those things more times than once can help him believe them. And he can't have doubt at a time like this.

"So we're in the vicinity of 'Cursed Objects', right?" Sam asks.

Dean snaps back from his thoughts, nodding, "It's the only one that fits."

"But the curse isn't death by touching it, otherwise Eva would've died at her Baptism when they put it on her."

"No, no," Dean collects his thoughts, "When she got attacked, the necklace fell."

Sam nods along, "And at the diner, the necklace wasn't on her either."

"...But she was wearing it when we got there, when we sat down, don't you remember?" Sam continues. Dean remains silent as Sam starts to piece together the memory.

"-When we sat down Marlene complimented her necklace. And after that, when she was going through the details of her story, and she told us about it falling, I looked straight at the necklace, I remember it, Dean."

Sam can't help but wonder, what exactly made the necklace fall off. Both times it dropped off her body right before she was attacked, it was like the initiating factor.

"That waitress complimented her necklace? Huh, didn't hear that."

"You were too busy staring at her ass to hear her."

Dean laughs, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "And what an ass that was."

"Dean, c'mon! " Sam shoves his brother.

"Why didn't I go home with her, again?" He asks, a cheeky grin still on his face.

"Because I stopped you. Honestly, can't you keep it in your pants, man? We're working on a case, and..." Sam pauses,

"Wait a minute... "

"What?"

"...She also disappeared."

"Well everyone did, pretty suddenly too," Dean says.

"No, but it was right after she showed Eva to the bathroom," His eyes meeting his brother's.

"Shit," They say in unison.

Eva walks along the sidewalk, just a few blocks from the hospital.

The night sky seemed to have clouded up. She couldn't see very many stars nor the illumination of the moon, it was murky and dark. Downtown Willow wasn't that busy it seemed. It also wasn't that much...different.

In fact, it wasn't different at all, give or take the old cars; stores that would be replaced in the near future; odd advertisements. But besides all that, it was still her home town. It made her stomach twist at the strange familiarity because it wasn't quite right. Like in a dream where it resembles your home but... it's all wrong.

It only makes her wonder, is her house still there? Is some other family living in it? God, she couldn't bear to see that. Or, what if it's torn down? What if it's some apartment complex? She shivers at the thoughts. The last thing she wants is to have a breakdown in the middle of the street.

She was feeling something in between fury and exhaustion. She was pissed at the boys for ditching her--how the hell was she supposed to find them on her own? They left her nothing, absolutely nothing. But, on some level, she was so damn tired, she didn't even have the energy to get that angry. There was something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. She felt, well, weird. She wasn't really sure what it was.

She looks down the street to see a 24-hour Convenience store. The 'Open' sign glowing blue and red, standing out in the dark street. She doesn't have money, but she does need help. Doesn't matter if it's from a corner store. She shakes her thoughts of home away. Putting her legs in motion towards the end of the street.

Still in her nurse scrubs, she enters the store. The little bell rings when it opens. The small shop wasn't very busy. She saw maybe only one or two people in there, buying beers or cigarettes.

She went to the back of the store, mindlessly wandering the isles. She needed to distract herself. Sure, she wanted help, but she wasn't just going to ask anybody. She was planning to wait until someone who looks trustworthy comes in, not just a late-night drunk.

Plus, she wanted to gather herself a bit first. She didn't want to break down in tears in front of some stranger. Crying combined with the scrubs...they might assume she escaped from a psych ward. That would be a nightmare.

The shelves were packed with endless amounts of chips, pretzels, sodas, candy--- all the junk food, essentially.

Eva feels her stomach growl. But, she hasn't got a single dollar. She stares at all the foods stacked upon the shelves, her desire growing--- like that point when you get so hungry, your stomach starts to hurt.

"You lost, baby?"

The voice was deep, gurgly sounding. Just hearing him sent shivers down her spine. Detest gorging her mind. 'Not this,' she shuts her eyes. She thought having a breakdown was the last thing she wanted but, oh boy, she's changed her mind. The dear to God last thing she wants is to deal with is some desperate pervert.

When she opens them to reluctantly identify the man standing next to her, she regrets it. Making eye contact with him only made him smile. In some ridiculous irrationality that made him think, he's struck gold.

"No, but thank you, sir," She says.

She grits her teeth so hard, trying her best not to cuss at him, trying to remain polite. But, honestly, when has that ever worked?

He mistakes her niceness as a sign of flirtation. She sees it straight away in his eyes when he doesn't move away, doesn't blink, only becomes more engaged.

He's well over his 50's, and as he got closer his breath smelled like cheap booze and unbrushed teeth. She stepped away from him, turning around very dramatically, hoping he'd leave her alone. The smell of disgusting, bad hygiene stinging her nose.

Then again, did she really expect that to work?

She groans when he follows her, "You want me to buy you some drinks? Cause I can do that, sweetheart. I can show you a real good time," He calls desperately to her.

When she keeps trying to ignore his words and walk away, his grimy, sweaty hand latches on to her arm.

"Seems like somebody's got an attitude problem. Can't even turn around and say a 'thank you'?"

She turns. Her body rotating like a rusted screw. Her neck moving so eerily stiff, so slowly, that when she met his face, his smile dropped. She narrows her eyes, clenching her jaw hard enough to fracture it.

"I said, no thank you," She repeats through gritted teeth, "Touch me again, I call the damn police." She shoves his nasty hand off of her and turns back around.

"Bitch," He calls out, before walking away.

Her body was pulsing, both with anger and pain. She just escaped a damn hospital and now she had to put up with this sicko? At this point, she really began to feel the rage for being abandoned. Sure, the voice in the back of her mind suggests that they may have been in danger or that they were trying to keep her safe--but, she shuts that little voice up.

There's nothing she despises more than being left alone. She's without safety, without family. She has to defend herself against a gross drunk. She had to break out of the hospital by herself.

And the thought crosses her mind for a second, why even go back to those dicks? But--she can't just go anywhere, it's not safe. Besides, they're her only chance of getting back home. All of a sudden, she feels the fatigue hitting her a little stronger than before.

She hurries through a few aisles, before realizing she doesn't have anybody around her, literally. She makes her way to the register, approaching it.

Behind the desk stands a relatively friendly-looking man. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties, nothing creepy about his smile or his gaze. Just a cashier doing his job.

"Excuse me?" She asks. He looks up from whatever he writing down.

"Oh," His eyes soften, "Is that man still bothering you, I can kick him out if you want."

She smiles at his offer, a breath of fresh air. Based on his nice demeanor, she prays he'll help her out.

"Thank you, but actually I was wondering about something else."

"Sure," He answers, "What is it?"

"I don't have any money with me, and I need to call my--er, brothers, would you let me use your phone?"

"Yeah, no problem," He pulls out his silver flip-phone from his back pocket and extends it over to her.

"One more thing, sorry to ask, do you have a phone book?"

He nods his head, bending down beneath the counter and pulling the yellow-paged book out. He places it in front of her.

She flips it open, searching for Motels,--this 'Lotus Motel' on Semple.

Little Bed & Breakfast

Loaf and Tin Inn

Lot 48

Louis Trackman Hotel

Lotus Motel

"Finally," She whispers. She carefully drags her finger across the dotted line toward the number. She flips open the phone, looking at the time: 2:00 am. She quickly clicks the number into the phone's keypad.

She places it up to her ear as it rings. It rings again, again--- again.

"-Hello, Lotus Motel! Would you like to book a room?" The voice answers.

"Uh-No, actually, I'm looking for my uh- brothers," She rolls eyes at the stuttering, trying to pull herself together, "They checked into a room, and I can't remember the number. They're both tall, Sam is the taller one with longer hair and Dean is shorter with short hair, please- if you could tell me."

"Sure, ma'am just give me a second," He pauses, placing the phone down. She taps her fingers nervously, wanting to reach for her lost necklace.

"-Okay, it says here they're staying in room 29. Will that be all?"

"Yes sir, thank you," She ends the call. Eva hands the phone back to the owner who was only standing about a foot away from her.

"Get what you need?" He asks.

"Sort of, now I need a ride. Don't really wanna be walking the streets by myself this late."

She looks back to the window, seeing the darkness, the danger. That man in the store was just the beginning of it. Once you're outside at night, alone, female-- they don't care if you scream or yell, they'll attack you regardless.

"Here, take some bus fare," He opens the register, pulling out 2 bucks. He hands it to her.

"You really don't have to," She feels bad, not wanting to take his money. She needs it of course, but this man was already nice to her, now helping her even more.

"No, take it, you need it."

She looks up to his face. His eyes were sincere, he knew what was out there, and most of all she was only 18. He could see she was just a kid.

She takes it, gratefully smiling to him, "Thank you so much, sir. I'll pay you back for this."

And with that, she hops on a bus, straight to Semple street. In approximately 40 minutes, she'll be whooping some Winchester ass.

"That's exactly what I've been saying, Dean," Sam shakes his head, "There's a reason this thing is hunting her, she has to have been marked in some way."

"What if it has to do with her blood? Her parents maybe," Sam suggests.

"No, no," Dean, gets up from his seat, "Then this thing would've been after them, attacked Mom or Dad, not her."

"Then it has to do with that necklace, that has to be the target."

Dean nods, "This thing must be connected to it, maybe some Ancient Spell."

"Wait," Sam stands up, walking over to his laptop and flinging it open, "Like the Hope Diamond...?"

"Hm," Dean tilts his head, "Whenever you lose possession of it, you die,"

"It's just weird...why did she hear footsteps that night? It doesn't match up with the lore."

"Yeah, and neither does the time-travel, Sammy,"

"We're missing something," Sam sighs, putting his head in his hands. He looks to his watch, reading: 2:40 am.

"Okay, let's start over," Dean suggests, "Her friend goes missing."

"Could be anything, ghost, Demon," He snorts, mumbling, "Hell, a Wendigo."

"Well if it was connected to Eva's necklace, to her attack, what options does that leave us?"

Sam tilts his head, intrigued by the thought. They both think in scribbles, trying to make some sort of relationship between the attacks.

"We know that the necklace dropped from her body that night-- like it triggered the attack. We know that when she lost it at the diner, she was attacked again."

"But that time we didn't hear any footsteps," Dean replies.

"Well, what if that night someone was trying to save her?"

This idea causes both of them to turn silent. Their brains soaring up into a frenzy of thoughts. They were thinking about how realistic that was. And if somebody actually was trying to help her, who the hell was it? That would explain why she heard footsteps running after her. Was that the reason she ended up in 2005---did this person send her here to save her life?

"What would even have the power to do that?" Sam whispers.

"I'm not so sure that this case is just about a cursed object anymore. We've got something bigger on our hands."

"If any of this is true, whoever was protecting her before isn't here now. I mean, she nearly died, Dean."

"Wait a minute," Dean sits up, his eyes alarmed, "If we know Marlene must've swiped the necklace at the diner, Eva's bound to get attacked again,"

There's a knock on their door that startles the both of them.

Dean's hunter instincts kick in. Both of their bodies freeze. They know pretty damn well it's not housekeeping.

Having been hunters their entire life, they know it's always something bad. They've learned to expect the worst. John Winchester, unfortunately, made many enemies. They grab their pistols, holding them up. Dean slowly inches toward the door, keeping the gun pointed.

There's a loud knock again.

"Who is it?" He demands.

His voice low, his arms still as a statue. He was prepared for anything. Demon, ghoul, skin-walker, you name it.

"It's Eva! Now open the damn door!" She yells.

Sam and Dean look at each other, 'Eva? How did she get here?' The voice was certainly recognizable, but they couldn't trust that. There are about a dozen things that can not only mimic voices but also take on her appearance. Besides, she should be in the hospital.

"Should I open it?" Sam whispers to Dean.

He nods, gesturing his pistol, for him to move forward.

Sam unlocks the door. His mammoth hand slowly pulling it open to reveal a girl. A girl who looked exactly like Eva. Sam tilts his head, his posture relaxing for a moment as he recognizes her. But, his face is washed with confusion.

"Eva?" He asks.

Dean doesn't lower his gun, "Sam, Holy Water,"

"C'mon it's clearly h-"

"-Holy Water Now!" He says raising his voice.

Sam rummages through his pockets, pulling out a little black flask. He unscrews the top,

"Did you guys seriously just leave me at a--" A splash of water hits her face.

"--What the Hell was that for?" She shrieks. Her hands, shaking with anger, come up to harshly wipe her face.

Dean lowers his gun, seeing no black eyes and no smoke. He opens his mouth to speak- but she stops him.

"--You two give me one good reason why I should still trust you after abandoning me like that!"

"Uh- well, Dean and I had to--"

"--Had to what? Do research? You couldn't do that with me in the room? Are you serious?"

"It was Dean's idea!" Sam adverts the blame.

Immediately, her face twitches, and she turns to the elder Winchester. Her eyes boring right through his wide ones.

"Look, I'm sorry okay? But, we had to figure out what this thing was, and that Doctor from before could've seen us and we would've been busted, kid!"

"Yeah, well imagine what would've happened if he saw me. I'd be locked up in an Asylum!"

"Probably Prison, considering it looks like you impersonated a Nurse," Dean eyes her up and down.

"Ugh! You don't know how close I was to getting caught! It was terrifying," She exclaims.

"Why did you come here if you're so pissed at us?"

"Dean," Sam shoves him.

"What? I can't ask a question?" Besides, it's what we're all thinking, he thinks to himself.

"Where else do I have to go? You guys told me you were going to help me find my family again, and that you'd keep me safe," Her voice falling to a whisper, "I trusted you guys."

"We're so sorry, Eva." Sam steps closer to her.

He gently ushers her inside and softly closes the door.

"This case is getting to our heads, we've never had such a confusing one," Dean admits, "Even after hours of research, we barely have anything."

"I know, it's scaring me too."

She moves some of the papers sprawled out on the bed and sits down. She sighs heavily, thinking about how her fear got the best of her. She didn't want to freak out on them, she felt bad about yelling. All she wanted was a sense of security.

She needed to know that she was going to find her family again and that her life isn't hopeless. But, the longer she thinks on it---in this completely different world--- she feels she might not ever be able to see them again.

"We'll figure this out, kid. Even if we can't gank this psycho, we can do our best to keep you safe," Dean places a hand on her shoulder. She places her fragile one on top of it.

"Jeez, your hands are freezing," He comments.

"Well yeah, it's like 30 out there, and I'm wearing scrubs."

"Speaking of that, do you have your real clothes?" Sam asks.

"Nope. They weren't in my room, and I had to get out of there before someone saw me."

"So...you're not wearing any underwear?"

"Seriously, Dean?" Sam groans.

"It's a joke, Sammy!" He grins, but his brother continues to glare, "Relax, 's just tryna lighten the mood a little."

She wants to laugh, but she can't really conjure up enough energy. She thought that if she found the boys, she'd finally feel safe enough to lie down. But, her brain won't stop the constant ache of sorrow. Her body feels incredibly raw, pushed to its limits. She remains tense, sitting stiffly on the mattress.

"Where'd you get the money to buy a pack of cigs?" Dean asks.

His eyes falling to her right hand, clutching the life-saving gift to her chest.

"I didn't. A stranger gave them to me. It's the only thing that saved me from being caught."

They notice the sad look in her eye. With their job, it's important to be observant. They need to be able to find the smallest clues, indications in order to track down creatures. Though, it's not something they can really turn off. All they can feel is pity. They really did leave her to fend for herself.

Eva's fingers start to unbearably cramp. She lowers both arms to her lap, gently cradling them. She can feel the rawness of the flesh, her bones and muscles were not yet healed. Throwing away those splints was vital, but now she really wishes she had them.

"Got any ice?"

Sam and Dean's eyes immediately fly to her arms. They were red and tender.

"What happened to your bandages?" Sam asks. She was covered in them when they were at the diner, and he's sure after the second attack she'd have even more.

"I had to take them off."

"Well you're dedicated, I'll give you that," Dean comments.

She only hums in agreement, her head still facing her lap.

Dean turns to his little brother, "I got the bandages, you get the ice."

They both stand up and scurry around the cluttered room. Eva tries to focus on something other than her hysteric mind. She can only hear the sounds of the boys moving around the room, stepping awkwardly to avoid the scattered papers and books.

She could hear faintly through the walls to the other rooms. A muffled television program, a few car engines, some murmuring voices down the hall-- it wasn't much, but it was something.

She gets sucked into her own head, wondering why she must feel so weird. It's probably because of walking through Willow while being in the past, that's weird, right? She feels her stomach twist, knowing deep down that something else was a little off. Must be that damn necklace.

Sam softly treads back to the bed she's sitting on. He holds a sock filled with ice, a thick knot at the end of it to prevent spilling.

"Here," He places the ice gently down onto her arms, "Sorry, it's all we had."

She exhales sharply when the cold object touches her tender skin.

"Thanks," She shudders.

Sam sees her hunching over in pain, and probably exhaustion too. She's sitting at the foot of the bed, due to the fact that it's the only clear space. He moves behind her. His large hands gathering all the loose papers and books and shoving them to the side. He makes a clear space for her by the pillows.

He props a few of them up against the headboard, fluffing them.

"Here," He nudges her.

She turns slowly, not wanting to strain anything. When she notices the empty space, presumably prepared for her, she smiles.

At this close proximity, she could smell the scent of his cologne. It was subtle and light, not like those overpowering ones people drown themselves in at the club. It was soft and smelled like something clean and woodsy.

He pulls back some of the covers before patting down the pillow one more time. She then pauses for a moment--trying to calculate how exactly she's going to get over there. Her body feels like it's going to shatter if she moves even in the slightest.

Though, she's embarrassed to ask for his help again. He sees her hesitation and before he can offer her some assistance, Dean pops back up.

He's holding quite a lot more than bandages. She sees a first aid box, some booze, a couple used slings.

"Before you left, did the doctors tell you what your injuries were?"

"I need to know what I'm stitching up," He adds.

She straightens her back, that's right, "They actually said I was...okay."

Dean and Sam both cock their heads at her. Their eyes nearly about to pop out of their sockets. What the hell was she talking about? She was practically dead the last time they saw her.

"You're...okay?" Sam gawks at her, "You're not serious, are you?"

"You were dead as a doornail, kid. No way you're fine."

"Really? I mean, I still have all my broken bones and stitches from before, but--"

"Nothing from the diner?" Sam interrupts.

"No...actually."

Both of the boys look to each other. This didn't add up.

"God...this thing, whatever the hell it is, just keeps getting more and more confusing," Sam groans.

All of a sudden they hear a voice. But not from a person outside the room. It was a radio voice--- the Police Scanner.

"Uh- we've got a 10-35."

"10-20?"

" 16 Mason and Carter."

Another voice responds, "10-101?"

"10-106. We're gonna need the Medical Examiner"

"10-4"

"What was that?" Eva asks.

"Major crime alert, a homicide," Dean answers.

Sam goes over to the radio, about to turn it off--

"Victim...Marlene Woods."

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! Let me know what you guys think xoxo 💋

#Sam Winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #sam winchester imagine #eventual smut

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rwbyconversations · 6 years

Text

Why I think some fans don’t like Ruby

A good protagonist can make or break a story. You can have an incredibly detailed world and setting, fill it with the most fascinating lore and and have an encyclopedia’s worth of information on every street, but if the person you’re following in that world is uninteresting or just dull, the audience will never let that slide. Watch Dogs is a competent game but Aiden Pearce is such a dull scumbag that it taints the entire setting. Echo from Dollhouse was perhaps the dullest character in the main roster, making the show more interesting when she wasn’t around as it gave the much more varied supporting cast a chance to shine.

This is unfortunately a problem that people have with RWBY’s Ruby Rose as well. Ruby is a do-gooder with aspirations to become a Huntress and help people and that’s basically it in terms of explicit character growth. For a variety of reasons over the past two years since Volume 4, Ruby has become a far more divisive character than was ever intended. With Volume 6 now on the horizon, I’ve decided to look into our inarguable main protagonist and to answer the question of why I think some people don’t like Ruby.

(also before anyone jumps down my throat I don’t hate Ruby, I think she’s a weak character but I don’t want her removed from the show. Also, yes, she is the protagonist, we’re not having this conversation)

1) Ruby’s development in Volumes 4 and 5 is lackluster at best and actively shunted at worst

To be quite blunt, Ruby’s not interesting in her current form and she hasn’t truthfully been since Volume 3′s conclusion. Ruby started out as a fine character, with some good early development from Ozpin about what it means to be a leader, development which had a payoff when Ruby then shared this lesson with Jaune during the Jaundice episodes. “We have to put our teammates first and ourselves second.” Back then Ruby also had several more facets to her personality- she was a naive child brought to Beacon two years early and a lot of her dynamics, especially with Weiss in particular, reflect this in the early volumes. Volume 1 also gives Ruby her overly romanticized view of Huntsmen and Huntresses, further emphasizing her naivety regarding the wider world which is challenged multiple times in the first three volumes- most notably with Roman’s “The real world is cold!” speech in Heroes and Monsters.

Volume 3 set out to tear those perceptions down, as Ruby bears witness to some horrifying actions in the back half of the Volume- Penny’s dismemberment, Grimm swarming Vale, Roman being eaten alive and Pyrrha being shot and incinerated right in front of her. Ruby breaks from this, Volume 4 was touted as a recovery volume. And yet Ruby’s development is a phantom for Volumes 4 and 5. She puts on a bright smile and other than a few nightmares which exist for very little reason- especially since RTX 2017 confirmed that Ruby was having dreams about Pyrrha because she overheard Jaune’s night-training and not because of other circumstances- Ruby doesn’t ever confront the trauma she faced like Yang and Blake did over their arcs in Volume 4. The one time she tries taking responsibility in the back half of the volume... Jaune shuts her down, literally cutting her off so he can tell her she’s inspiring, which she agrees with blindly, her inner conflict having been forgotten and blown away like leaves falling off a tree in October.

You know I mentioned this in my Jaune post but it bears repeating that the one time Ruby really tries to get development this season, Jaune literally steals the spotlight and tells the audience, rather than shows us, how far Ruby’s come

Most of the other RWBY girls get scenes on their own during Volume 4- in fact, the other three members all have moments of solitude in their first episodes. It shows how the Fall of Beacon has separated them and scattered them across the world. Ruby gets no such moment of isolation. Ruby not having this doesn’t give her character any moments where she has to confront the events at Beacon, and that lack of isolation or ability to reflect harms her. The one time her facade breaks away in Volume 4, Jaune swoops in to prevent her from having a realization and the problem is smoothed away like it never happened.This also has an adverse effect on our ability to sympathize with Ruby- her not blaming herself despite Jaune’s act of kindness makes it difficult to identify with her struggles and any growth she might have experienced.

I think that half of Ruby’s dialogue in all of Volume 4 comes from her reading her letter to Yang in the finale is a fairly harrowing example of where Ruby’s focus is not going.

Volume 5 did take a step towards addressing this by having Oscar ask Ruby how she remains so cheerful- a scene I firmly believe should have happened a year earlier with Jaune instead of handing it off to the farmboy who never before or after this scene addresses the stresses of the shadow war with Salem. The scene is fairly obviously damage control for Ruby’s lack of reaction to Volume 3 but this scene has no payoff. Ruby just admits she’s sad, we get a traditional hero speech about moving forward and then the status quo resets for Ruby’s next adventure in sitting around a house.

To cut this rant short, Volumes 4 and 5 do very little with Ruby and the opportunity for development that the Fall of Beacon presented. Rather than having a hopeful naive child face reality, something Roman was trying to do with his dying words, Ruby just backtracks and almost flanderizes into this upbeat chipmunk who spews out inspirational speeches. Ruby’s never allowed to grow in 4 or 5 and her character stagnates as a consequence. A pivotal moment for Ruby should have been her confrontation with Cinder at Haven (something I’ve written about before) and seeing Weiss get stabbed, but Cinder refuses to acknowledge her for the entire battle and she’s unconscious when Weiss drops. Two moments that should have defined her character... and Ruby sidesteps both of them and the challenges therein.

If I may repeat myself, half of Ruby’s dialogue in V4 comes from her letter to Yang in the finale. Half of her dialogue is in the finale of the season. If that doesn’t speak about bad agency and character handling I’m afraid I don’t know what does.

And all of this leads us into...

2) Ask about the eyes! (or: Ruby’s lack of agency)

I’m sure if you’ve been a part of the fandom you’ve heard this a thousand times, so I’ll keep this quick:

Ruby’s eyes are supposedly the key to stopping the Grimm and the only reason Cinder was defeated at the end of Volume 3, and will almost certainly play a role in fighting Salem. Despite knowing about them thanks to Qrow and spending a significant amount of time with Qrow and Ozpin, people who knew her mother (a fellow Silver Eyed Warrior) intimately well, Ruby never asks about the eyes during the month she spends with Ozpin and Qrow in the Mistral House. There’s no logical reason in or out of the narrative for her to not immediately ask about this when she reached the house and when the eyes manifest again in the Battle of Haven, no fuss is made about them and they don’t get acknowledged for the rest of the volume.

... OK that was relatively quick. But put bluntly, Ruby not asking about her eyes or Summer has crippled her development. Summer’s death would be an almost childishly simple way to give Ruby a personal stake in the fight against Salem, since it’s all but been confirmed (”We’ve dealt with their kind before”) that Summer was slain by a member of Salem’s cabal. It speaks poorly about Ruby’s priority levels and the agency of herself, Ozcar and Qrow that Ruby never stops to ask either of them about the eyes and instead decides to ask Ozpin if his cane is the Beacon Relic.

There is however a meta out of universe reason, in that Miles and Kerry aren’t ready to ask about the eyes yet. In my post about why the birds twist failed to land, I mentioned this as an aside that Miles and Kerry have a particular fondness for cliffhangers and plot twists, and while this works sometimes, it means that it can take a fair while for them to answer questions that would otherwise spoil their little tricks and twists in advance. Ruby asking about the eyes would ruin whatever twist is tied to them- be it that they steal life energy or have the risk of blinding her- so she... doesn’t. And there isn’t even a throwaway line about her referencing the existence of her Silver Eyes.

If V4 or 5 had just had a scene of Ruby about to fight a Grimm like say, the Geist and trying to manifest them or just having a scene where she explains she’s trying to activate the powers, it would at least show initiative on her part- she would be at least trying to activate her powers since she knows they pose a threat to the Grimm and Cinder. But she doesn’t. In fact, Ruby herself never even says the word “silver” after Volume 3. At this point any explanation of the Silver Eyes is going to feel... almost too little too late. It wouldn’t feel natural anymore, since the information was held back because it would make for a better twist or some nonsense.

3) The Squeak

I mean no offense to Lindsay Jones, she’s a capable actress and by all accounts an all-around good person. I love Kimball from Red vs Blue and Lindsays’ other appearances for Rooster Teeth have proven she has great comedic timing and dramatic chops. But that said... Ruby’s voice was awful in Volume 5.

youtube

Lindsay has always been on the record as disliking how Ruby sounded in Volume 1- too much like herself, far too old sounding for a 15 year old girl, to the point where she’d like to go back and re-dub Volume 1. I get that, especially hating how your voice sounds since I work in radio and I know that pain, and I think how Lindsay evolved the voice over Volumes 2 and 3 was a great place to keep Ruby’s voice until she grew up and went back to the Volume 1 voice. The problem is that in the above video, Lindsay evidently never stopped upping the pitch. Ruby now sounds almost like a caricature of herself and one that steadily worsens each passing volume- I’ve made my dislike of “This is my fight too!” plain as day on various occasions on Discord. I don’t want to harp too much on this, like I said I deeply respect Lindsay’s other work, but this is a list of why the fandom is cold on Ruby and unfortunately for Miss Jones... her voice is one of those reasons, however petty it may seem. If you do ever read this Lindsay:

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(still gotta support Lindsay for being the only person in RT at the moment who seems to want Ruby to have a breaking point because moooooooooooooood)

4) Decreasing skill levels

More than any other character, Ruby was the one most hit on a fighting-level by Monty’s passing. In hindsight having a weapon such as a scythe was going to spell trouble for Ruby’s fight scenes- scythes are hilariously impractical weapons in real life and aren’t made for fighting. There’s a reason most farmers didn’t bring their scythes with them when they went to war and were taught the spear.

With Monty, Ruby was still given flashy choreography and her scythe’s recoil was used to make it slightly more practical in a straight fight. In the opening to Ruby vs Neo and the Red Trailer she looks lethal with the thing.

The problem lies in how Ruby’s skills have waned since then, thanks to not only the general nerf everyone took across the board, but Ruby’s scythe took in particular. Ruby’s only seriously used her scythe once, in the V4 Character Short. Otherwise, she hasn’t gotten to cut loose in the show since then, meaning Ruby’s been reduced to running around and sniping or doing... this...

You thought I was done bitching about the weapon spinning but joke’s on you, I’m never done bitching about the weapon spinning

This has been Ruby’s fights for the past two years. In a show that prides itself on fights, Ruby’s last good fight being more than two volumes ago paints a poor picture in the eyes of many, especially in light of the Death Battle team admitting that they can’t have Ruby fight Maka from Soul Eater until Ruby gets a few more feats to be judged by (which still reads to me like “we need Ruby to do some more bullshit feats so we can BS a win for her” after the whole Yang/Tifa debacle). This also ties in with Ruby’s lack of activity in the Battle of Haven- it’s Raven, a low-rent villain, who gets the standout fight in the volume, while Ruby’s left headbutting Mercury. The protagonist of the show is left with little of the agency.

And speaking of Mercury...

5) The hand to hand “plot”

Like the Silver Eyes part I’ll keep this quick- Ruby’s hand to hand weakness, while set up in Volumes 1 and 2, still comes out of nowhere as a random flaw for her to overcome this volume and feels like a poor attempt to give her something to do during Volume 5. Her headbutting Mercury required Merc to take a massive dive in intelligence and skill, and ultimately was her only significant moment in the Haven Battle outside of getting smacked over the head. The worst part of this “arc” to me is how no one else gets anything from it- you could genuinely make an arc of each member of RNJR teaching Oscar something (Ren with Aura and CQC, Nora with strength training, Ruby with weapon repairs, etc). Why not tie in the conversation about Semblances by having Ruby train to use her speed semblance in close quarters? With her speed, Ruby would be nearly impossible to dodge in a fist-fight, or she could engage in lighting fast strikes while withdrawing before the opponent and counter.

Also while I’m offering suggestions, let me point one thing out. Ruby has a lot of leg strength. Like, a lot. Why not skip teaching her to use her hands and train Ruby in kickboxing or another leg-based martial art? Yang already has the punchy-punch category fairly locked down, so giving Ruby a kick-based style would make for more dramatic fights in future.

It would certainly have been more dynamic than this abomination that I am loathe to call “the conclusion of an arc.”

In conclusion, Ruby as a protagonist is... flawed. She’s a character I want to like more than I do, the simple soul who knows the world is cold and dark but aspires to change it herself. But various conflicts hold her character back, most primarily the writing team’s own refusal to let her have agency by making her refuse to acknowledge her special powers or her dead mother. Add in lackluster performances fighting wise and an absolute slog of a “training arc,” and Ruby fails to stand out. Volume 5 reached the point where Ruby was an absolute blank slate of a character, content to make bland speeches about companionship at the pitch of a chipmunk addicted to helium while the mystery of her dead mother and special heritage practically slapped her in the face.

I am very much aware that over the Volume 5 hiatus, much has been said about Ruby and her lack of growth/dive in popularity. Hell I’m even linking to some at the bottom of the post as recommendations for further elaboration on my points and alternate perspectives. I know I’m at a well that has been well and truly dried of content. But with Volume 6 on the horizon I think it’s worth keeping Ruby’s agency/lack thereof in mind with the premiere looming. Ruby is a problem that the show does need to fix, especially after Volume 5 and the numerous story opportunities that were presented and never followed up on for Ruby- Weiss’s stabbing, Cinder’s return, Summer, etc. Her big character moment in the back half of Volume 5? Saying “I’m angry.” They really did pick the perfect character moment for Ruby.

Ruby has been said to take a more direct role in Volume 6, and Lindsay has implied that Ruby will finally have her breaking point this volume. If this turns out to be the case, I genuinely look forward to see Ruby regaining the charm that made her likable in the original volumes. But if all the talk about Ruby getting more focus turns out to just be hot air or fails to fix any of the cracks in her character that have been present for two volumes in a row now? I’ll be tragically disappointed, partly at the show and mostly for myself in jumping the gun in writing this. I want Ruby to be more than a glorified cheerleader in her own damn show. She’s what got people hyped back with the Red trailer. Let her be that heroine again Rooster Teeth. Ruby inspires people in the show, now let’s see her inspire hope in the fans.

Thank you for reading.

Additional recommended sources:

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#rwby #rwde #ruby rose #rwby analysis #silver eyes #crtq #jaune arc #cinder fall #character analysis #ozpin #roman torchwick #roman was such a good foil for ruby in hindsight

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deadskepticfiles · 5 years

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THE DREAMING PROPHET TRANSCRIPT: Ep 6, Mission Possible

PODOMATIC LINK

Welcome to the club! You're joining at an exciting time, but you're going to need to hit the ground running. The good news is, we're all happy to help you learn the ropes, and which ropes to skip.

Talking points: A correction on Episode 5; All missions, all the time.

Featuring cohost, Be11amy. Spoiler + Content warning begins at 1:07.

Content warnings: General horror, death + injury to children.

Eric Switzer's article on The Gamer: https://www.thegamer.com/blackout-club-lore-explained/ (+ The Gamer's review of The Blackout Club: https://www.thegamer.com/the-blackout-club-review/)

The Blackout Club Lexicon, for player/game lingo & terminology [on Google Docs]: bit.ly/TBCLexicon

Credits:

- lavanya: host, transcript, video editor, asset artist, speak-as-one's #1 fan

- astriferal: host, audio editor, puncher of things

- be11amy: host, advertising, fact-checking

- xaviul: moral support

- intro & outro music, "ringing bells": a weirdly handsome individual

- transition audio clips, music, voice lines: the blackout club/question games

- spooky ambiance: KRISTIANKULTA on freesound (https://freesound.org/people/KRISTIANKULTA/sounds/326962/)

- weird ambiance: Magmi Soundtracks on freesound (https://freesound.org/people/Magmi.Soundtracks/sounds/475737/)

- creepy sounds: JOHNWALLY on freesound (https://freesound.org/people/JOHNWALLY/sounds/32805/)

- the blackout club: question games (https://www.blackoutclubgame.com)

ASTRO: Hello, dear listeners, and welcome to the Dreaming Prophet. The sky is bright. The sun is shining and the birds are singing.

ASTRO: Or are they? Those aren't birds. Oh God, those aren't birds at all. Wake up! Dear listener, wake up, before the sheep comes back.

LAVANYA: That's my line. Well! My name is Lavanya and I'm your host for tonight along with this thieving thief of a bastard.

ASTRO: Hi, I'm Astro.

BELLAMY: And I'll be joining you for the first time today. You may or may not recognize my voice, but my name is Bellamy Bell for short.

ASTRO: This is a Blackout Club show for Blackout Club players with minimal speculation, all lore, and a focus on the known facts. Our topic of the day is the missions. We'll be giving you a guide on the basics of missions, and all the things we've learned while playing them.

LAVANYA: So, our spoiler warnings for today are pretty much none. There are no spoilers unless you are deeply invested in the lore of the missions, in which case, there are a lot of spoilers. So, you have a general horror warning as always, and emphasis on the death, plus injury to children warning that we always do. Because this will be explicitly talking about the missions that do include dead children!

BELLAMY: B-b-b-breaking news, listeners, we have exciting news for you today!

LAVANYA: And that is we have received an official correction on our last episode episode 5, A Light In The Darkness, about everyone's least favorite morally grey Daimon Thee-I-Dare. So this correction came from the developers and clarified a point of slight confusion in the podcast specifically about the word in the song.

LAVANYA: This is the statement that we received:.

LAVANYA: Word and Song can exist in the same mind without turning instantly lethal. In fact, most minds in Redacre are burdened by both. But the pure expression of the Old Tongue, while *conscious* - has led to madness or death in the rare cases it has happened. Over prolonged periods, even Sleepers who have been induced to peform it have been lost to it, because under the surface, their brains were still organized by the Word, so a corrosive cognitive dissonance builds up if they try to perform a long, complex thought in it.

LAVANYA: So, to clarify that further, basically what that quote is saying is that the Word in the Song being present in an individual's head does not instantly kill you! It is not an instant game over. Instead, the Word is present in every individual's heads, and Red Acre residents are largely burdened by the song already, which can heard at any point, if you turn down your sound effects or raise your music in-game.

ASTRO: We are planning a full corrections episode later so you can watch for that. But for now that's the facts.

BELLAMY: For this episode, however, our main goal is to provide comprehensive info, and some tips and tricks about the missions that currently exist in a game. We'll be going over each mission, individually outlining what's required for the mission, and some tips that we have for you.

BELLAMY: As a general tip before we start, please remember that if you're ever confused while you're playing, you can always close your eyes, and you should actually see footsteps leading you to the next step of your mission.

ASTRO: So, in game, there are three mission types. They are search, steal, and disrupt. After a certain level, the missions are randomized. But your first few missions will mostly be the same.

BELLAMY: So, our first search type mission is the one titled INVESTIGATE: BREAK IN. Break in the purpose of this mission. As it's explained to you in game is that there's been a strange break in at one of the Red Acre houses and you've been tasked by your club members with sneaking over there and recording anything strange that you find there are actually two variants on this mission. The regular variant that you will see for most of your time playing the game and the variant that you actually get the very first time that you play any mission.

BELLAMY: This one, we'll be calling the NIGHT ONE VARIANT.

BELLAMY: So, the Night One variant takes advantage of the fact that investigating a break in is one of the simpler Missions you can receive. So, it's used as a pretty good introduction for certain game mechanics, and it will prompt to you regarding how to record evidence in the game when you're first learning.

BELLAMY: The main difference between the Night One variant, and the regular version of this mission, is just the introductory flavor text that you see when you load into the mission, rather than in the actual gameplay.

BELLAMY: The Night One break investigation is a fun one, because it provides you with a lot of inner universe fictional details as to what's going on and additional explanations as to what to do now.

BELLAMY: What you actually do for both variants of this mission is that you need to sneak into a house, and record three strange things that have happened in the house.

BELLAMY: These can range from a smashed in front door, to dirty footsteps in the living room, even to strange and unnervingly red stains splattered across the bathroom sink. Remember, like we mentioned earlier, these pieces of evidence can be scattered around the house.

BELLAMY: So, like we mentioned earlier, if you get lost or can't find one, you can always close your eyes and there should be a trail of footsteps leading you to the next piece of evidence. This may even help you identify evidence that you didn't realize was evidence in the first place.

BELLAMY: A dirt smear to your open eyes may manifest as a glowing footprints one burned into the backs of your eyelids. And when it comes to outside evidence the trail will unfortunately not lead you directly to it. But it will lead you to outside in general which should be your clue to look around the small outside area such as the backyard in which you've ended up. The evidence should be nearby.

ASTRO: The second "search" type mission that we'll be covering is find a club members phone. The purpose of this mission is to get sensitive information out of the cults hands. Three chests in the maze are locked. Only one has the phone. It's a guessing game, and it helps to have lock picks, although you can kick in chests. It creates a lot of noise and it creates a lot of sin. And in this case, unlike kicking indoors, foam canisters will not save you. There is no way to foam an item chest and kick it open at this time.

BELLAMY: Now, our next mission category is DISRUPT.

BELLAMY: The first mission in this category is the dual pick up posters, and place recruitment posters mission. There are actually two variants on this mission as well. There is the House posters variant, and The Maze posters variant. First, we'll be talking about the House posters version as it's the slightly easiest one and it comes up a little bit earlier for most players. The purpose of this mission is to recruit new club members by pasting invisible propaganda all around town.

BELLAMY: Now, the first step of this mission is "PICK UP POSTERS", of which, eponymously, involves picking up some posters from trash cans or bins around town.

BELLAMY: When you collect these posters, try to split up who has how many posters, or else you will end up with one proactive member of your team picking up all of themm advancing the mission to the next stepm and leaving no posters for the rest of your group to pick up!

BELLAMY: A recent update actually allows you to drop quest items for your teammates, so it's not the end of the world if you grab all the items yourself, but it does take a little more work to distribute the quest items that way.

BELLAMY: And step two of the mission, you place the recruitment posters! For the House posters variant of this mission, you generally put them up on houses and trees. This is pretty easy because posters are absolutely silent to put up. They just take a second, and as long as there's nobody around that can see you, you should be absolutely fine.

BELLAMY: Now the Maze posters variant of this mission is a little bit tougher. This is essentially the same mission as putting the posters up above ground, but it's more dangerous, because your mission goal is to wake up adults instead of convert children. So you'll be doing the most of your work underground in the maze.

BELLAMY: Aside from that, the mission details are about the same!

BELLAMY: You pick up posters and put them up in the maze and, you know, pray that you don't get dragged, kicking and screaming, into the bowels of the Song's terrible underground machine, never to be heard from again.

BELLAMY: And lastly, regarding both of these mission variants, when you put up those posters, you know ,they do look like regular posters if occasionally rather meme. So if you're wondering how they help recruit the club, or disrupt the adults wandering the Maze, well, just try taking a look at them with your eyes closed.

ASTRO: The next DISRUPT mission is picking up the yard signs and planting the yard signs. The purpose is to recruit for the club! No need to go into the maze this time. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will begin when you retrieved boxes from inside two houses, which have all of the yard signs inside.

ASTRO: Like with posters, it's important to split up who has how many yard signs.

ASTRO: Hammer them into the ground without getting caught. The hammering process takes time: a couple of seconds. You should plan for this. Unlike with the posters, enemies will hear you and will come to your location to investigate, and if they can see you, it's even worse if someone interrupts you while you are placing a yard sign. You will have to start all over from the beginning of the process.

LAVANYA: The third DISRUPT type of mission is "Foam Party".

LAVANYA: Foam Party is pretty exciting because this is a pretty active mission. All things considered, if you're heading out into the streets, getting ready to strike directly back against the cult that is trying to murder, brainwash, or possibly just going by some of their call lines, *nag* you back into serving them.

LAVANYA: So, what you'll be doing in this mission is - you'll be picking up phone canisters at the Maze's entrance. You need at least 10 for it to start into the next part of the mission, but you can gather pretty much a shit ton more, if you feel like just roaming around the level.

[00:09:09] You will take these foam canisters and you will damage the cult technology. Don't be like me. I literally spent three months, until Xaviul was kind enough to tell me to read the fucking mission, thinking that I was supposed to be disabling the proximity mines. No. You want to disable the mines that electrocute you.

[00:09:27] So, this is a normal variant. You formally deactivate every speed trap aboveground. There will be 10 total!

LAVANYA: There is a second variant, which is the Maze Foam Party, which is foaming or deactivating every speed mine underground. There are still 10! The only difference is the location.

LAVANYA: The maze is more dangerous, and because the maze is fuck-huge, it will take you a great deal longer.

ASTRO: The fourth DISRUPT type mission is titled "Get the Dampeners". The purpose of this mission is to disrupt the instrument, which keeps track of the player's sins and alerts the Shape.

ASTRO: The dampers are wooden cases that have been stuffed with pieces of blankets crafted by the kids. Handmade, and each one is perfectly formed to fit onto one string. The soft material will stop the strings from vibrating quite so fiercely, and it will change the sound of the instrument.

ASTRO: To complete this mission, your first task is to pick up dampers. Collectively, you only need to pick up four, but there are 12 scattered around the map. You will need to put these dampers on four different strings in the maze. They can be anywhere in the maze, in any room, and you may need to change the way you're positioned in order to reach certain places.

ASTRO: Completing this mission wipes away your sin up to that point, and will often cause the Shape to stop targeting players. If he doesn't go away immediately, he will soon. Sometimes, he just needs to shape someone before he goes. You know, it's his job.

ASTRO: He wants to feel fulfilled.

BELLAMY: Our last disruption oriented mission involves audio bugs. The purpose of this mission is to give kids a way to listen in on the adults. After all, we do have plenty of adults trying to snoop in on what the kids of Red Acre are doing, so it's about time that we get a chance to turn the tables on parental controls, and hopefully get some warning ahead of time if there is anything particularly nefarious getting plotted.

BELLAMY: To get your equipment for this mission, you'll be nabbing one of four boxes located on a delivery bike somewhere outside and above ground in town. These will be your audio bugs. You then take these listening devices and, ironically, very very quietly sneak into the targeted houses to install them in specific locations that the mission will point out to you. The caveat here is that the installation process for the bugs makes a lot of noise, so you want to make sure you'll be safe before starting installation.

BELLAMY: There's actually a couple of different tactics you can use for this!

BELLAMY: Firstly, you can scout the house first and tag the Resident Evil resident sleepers. Well, you know what I mean. Secondly, or if you're daring, even alternatively, you can have an escape plan ready to open a window nearby and get ready to book it across the rooftops before you get bodily tackled and sent off to the world's worst overnight camp.

ASTRO: More on this after a word from our sponsors.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled commercial break with a public service announcement.

Here in Red Acre, we are a lovely and close-knit community. However, we can at times feel slightly detached from the rest of the world. As a result, it is important to keep an eye out for our most vulnerable population: Our children.

Feelings of isolation, distant behavior, and even beginning to speak to “imaginary friends” can be signs that your loved ones need help.

CHORUS provides free counseling for any children experiencing symptoms like these.

Please, don’t hesitate to make the call to help your loved ones today.

BELLAMY: Our third mission type is STEAL. Because who doesn't love a good bit of petty theft, after all? Doesn't that stuff get wiped off your juvenile record?

ASTRO: I hope so.

BELLAMY: Now. Our first mission is pickpocketing evidence bags, because, you know, who doesn't want to pretend they're in Skyrim? The purpose of this mission is damage control. A previous Blackout Club mission went awry, and some chorus agent is carrying the evidence. You're here to retrieve it.

BELLAMY: Your goal in this mission is to retrieve the bag of Blackout Club evidence that a chorus agent is carrying. It's perfectly possible, and in fact, ideal to do this without ever alerting them to your presence.

BELLAMY: If you dot get noticed, however, you can still freely complete the mission. You'll just have to run very very quickly!

BELLAMY: There are actually two variants of this mission as well. The first variant is Sleepers Elite. This is the low level version that you'll get on levels 2 and 3 or so, where the chorus agent carrying your bag of evidence is an elite sleeper.

BELLAMY: This version is on the easier side, as sleepers are blind and will be unable to see you approach. Make sure to stay totally silent!

BELLAMY: Secondly, there's the regular version of this mission that you get once you're at higher levels in this variant. The evidence bag is being carried by a lucid dreamer. Even worse, the lucid is almost always down in the underground maze. You'll have to dive down and face the nightmare underground to the best of your clandestine abilities.

BELLAMY: Do your best to snatch the key evidence of your club's doings from a fully cognizant agent that can, and unless you're a master of stealth, probably will see you.

BELLAMY: Getting the bag from a lucid dreamer without being seen is pretty difficult. So, my best advice for this mission of area is to pack a candy bar for a swift escape and have your exit route in mind ahead of time.

ASTRO: The second seal type mission you'll encounter is "Carry the Torch!" The purpose of this mission is to retrieve cult tech and bring it home to study at the boxcar. Your objective is to get into the maze, retrieve an item called the First Fire, and carry it out of the maze and to the drop point without being apprehended.

ASTRO: If you lose the fire, another one will spawn on the table - but try not to lose it. The First Fire makes you highly visible to Lucids and the Shape. There is no off switch on this thing,and it glows brightly in a large radius around you. And lucids, as we all know, have perfect 2020 vision.

ASTRO: Really, the only hot tip about this mission is to take it and fucking go. There is nothing you can do to make this mission better for yourself. You can try to weave around corners, but that's about it. The faster you get it over with, the more grateful you'll be when it's done. If you should run into trouble while carrying the fire, pass the baton to a teammate! It is Baton shaped, after all.

ASTRO: You can call it a relay race, whatever makes you happy - but ultimately, the Blackout Club is a co-op game, and your teammates are there to support you.

LAVANYA: All right. So, now that we're done talking about stealing precious religious artifacts from innocent worshippers, just trying to live their own life, we are moving on to a different kind of mission!

LAVANYA: In which we are returning what may, or may not be, a priceless religious artifact.

LAVANYA: Because we're good people.

BELLAMY: And, to be clear in my opinion, which is otherwise known as categorically, this is the absolute worst and most difficult mission in the game, especially if you have to do it solo.

LAVANYA: Yes, see, that's wrong, but that's OK, because this is not the Song, and we do accept controversial and incorrect statements.

LAVANYA: This mission is called "TO CARRY A TUNE". It's one of the most interesting missions, in my opinion, in that we do get explicit lore with it. The screaming head is essentially -.

LAVANYA: Well, I guess, you could say that is not screaming, but if you look in your heart, it really is screaming -.

LAVANYA: The screaming head is actually releasing part of what the game refers to as the "Sleepwalker Song." You can kind of reach the conclusion that it is actually transmitting part of the Song above ground, which is fascinating!

LAVANYA: Our goal with this mission is to take it back underground. You take it off with an electric stand that they've usually set up by one of the house's - sometimes in the road - and then you take it back underground to a randomized location in the maze. It screams whenever you move. It attracts attention and it accumulates a fuck ton of sin.

LAVANYA: So the best method in which to handle this mission is, If you do not have unstoppable, you can actually throw the head. In early access, there was sometimes an issue where the head would become stuck if you did this. This is less of an issue now, but if it does become stuck then you can just go ahead and get a new one.

LAVANYA: Throwing the head gives you a certain amount of leeway. For example, if you're standing an instrument supply and you throw your head through the hole that leads to String Relay -

LAVANYA: You can make that throw. You may not make that throw, and you may regret everything, but you can make it, and the only way that you can guarantee that you'll make it is to try and try again.

ASTRO: And truly yeet the thing.

ASTRO: So, now that we've gotten through all of that, you may have noticed that we left out a few key missions. This is because we've categorized these missions as multipart missions.

ASTRO: These missions require a different kind of thinking and a different approach.

LAVANYA: The first of multi multipart missions is the Cryptograms. This is a real tight mission. Basically, the point of it is that the player characters discover that CHORUS is researching something interesting down in the maze in the Cryptogram Library, one of the largest rooms. What they are researching functionally appears to either be a very fucked up type of yoga, or else incredibly tepid dance moves.

LAVANYA: So, it's up for grabs on how hateful your feeling towards the cult on what decision you make here.

BELLAMY: Spoiler: it should probably be pretty hateful.

LAVANYA: Don't insult my religious background, Bellamy!

BELLAMY: Religious background suggests that you follow some sort of moral code, and I'm not sure that Simon says "OBEY" qualifies.

LAVANYA: As was confirmed by Speak-as-One themself, who does dictate a beautiful and extensive moral code to their followers, so go fuck yourself - the cryptograms are actually written forms of the Old Tongue.

LAVANYA: As we've mentioned before briefly, the Old Tongue is the original language of the Daimons. It cannot safely be spoken or used by humans, but, for whatever reason, Speak-as-One is just - you know - collecting information on endless cryptograms for them to stare at, I suppose.

ASTRO: When you spend half your life in a place as dreary as the Maze, I suppose anything will spice it up.

LAVANYA: The way this mission goes is that you will find the cryptograms in a random room in the Maze. This can be Dream Therapy, this can be Sleepers Lockers, this can be Cryptogram Library. Basically, the range of rooms that the crypto gamescryptograms can spawn in is pretty fucking far ranging.

LAVANYA: All three of them, however, will always be in the same room. The only exception to this is the Somniloqs, because technically, those aren't the same room they're just on opposite sides just like this.

LAVANYA: Once you get those, the mission can change slightly depending on what level you are. For low level characters, grabbing the cryptograms sometimes is all that you need to do, but as you gain levels in the game, you'll discover that the mission grows with you. Once you reach a higher level, the game will spawn a projector as the second part of the cryptographic mission.

LAVANYA: The rest of the mission is functionally the same, but you will now have additional objectives. You will get to put them into the projector, and record the slides that show up, and then escape from the mob that you've probably attracted around you - because when you film their projector, it will make noise.

LAVANYA: This will attract enemies and as with anything that causes that, it will attract the Shape.

ASTRO: Our next multipart mission begins with HIDE EVIDENCE.

ASTRO: We referred to this colloquially as the bird mission. It's a search type mission, and the purpose is to protect fellow club kids who are doing weird shit while they're possessed. Your task is to go to a specific house! Inside this house is a cutting board that has been desiccated with the blood and feathers of a dove.

ASTRO: Upon finding it, though, you will realize that the dove itself is missing. You will have to follow a trail of four to five bloodstains between the cutting board and the bird's corpse in another house or another location. Cleaning these bloodstains makes a lot of noise, but each one is bonus evidence. So, if you want a top tier clear, it's a good idea to pick up some kitchen cleaner on your way.

ASTRO: Our third multipart mission is the drone retrieval mission. Like the crypotograms, this is a steal type mission and in this case your club mate, Dax, has tried to steal some of the chorus codes documents by means of a drone. He was ultimately successful, but unfortunately, it's malfunctioned and dropped all of his ill gotten gains across town.

BELLAMY: Now it's up to you to do recovery, and this mission, you will be hunting around for a few things. First, you must search for and repair the crashed drone itself. It will often be found in a place that requires some climbing to get to, like a rooftop. When you find the drone, you need to initiate a slightly time consuming and loud repair, so be ready to run, or make sure there's nobody around it before you start.

BELLAMY: After you have the drone repaired, it will begin to fly and retrace its previously malfunctioning flight path.

ASTRO: At the time of its initial malfunction, it dropped several bonus papers and the all important chorus binder and you need to follow it to find and pick up all of the missing items. This part is pretty easy though: the papers can end up just about anywhere aboveground. On outside rooftops, the middle of the street, you name it.

BELLAMY: Watch out for adults and you should be fine.

ASTRO: The next multipart mission we've decided to call: "Find the Kid." There are three variants to this mission, and they change the objectives drastically. However, overall, this is a search type mission. The purpose is to rescue fellow club members.

ASTRO: The first variant of this mission is called "Untie the Kid". You will follow the marker to your objective underground. There will be a kid tied up in the maze. You have to untie this kid, as the name of the mission suggests. But after that, they can get themselves out just fine. Everyone in the club is very capable.

BELLAMY: The second vary on this mission is pretty similar to the first, with one very jarring difference. Now, you get told in this mission to find the missing person - in this mission, you follow the marker to your objective. But unlike in the last version, when you find your friend, they're already dead. Your job in this mission is to record the evidence and leave as quickly as you can.

ASTRO: The last variant of this mission is called "Follow the Trail", and it combines elements from both previous variance. Your mission object marker will take you to the start point of a trail.

ASTRO: At this location begins a trail of blood, which eventually leads down into the maze at the head of the trail. There are usually about three to four pieces of bonus evidence. The exception to this is Old Growth, at this time of recording. You will follow the trail of blood into the maze, wherever it leads, and at the end, you will either find one of your friends alive -.

ASTRO: - or one of your friends that you will dearly miss.

LAVANYA: So, something that's interesting to note here is that the game explicitly says that the lucid do not want to hurt the player characters in the guide that serves as the access to the tutorial.

LAVANYA: However, in the first part of the mission, when you are just looking to untie your kidnapped friends, it states that they are being interrogated, which is bad.

LAVANYA: In the "Find the Missing Person" mission, it states that "you just hope that you're in time: free them if so, record the crime if not.".

LAVANYA: Then, in the final part of the mission, where you are finding a dead child - you're dealing with a dead child. What we can get from this is that the Lucids may not want to hurt the player characters, but when they're interrogating them somehow, this interrogation does involve of risk enough of death that the Blackout Club children are heavily invested in reaching their friends in time - and when they can't reach their friends in time, it's shown that their concern is not hyperbolic, because that's when they're discovering that their friends have been killed.

LAVANYA: So, our next mission is the recording mission, which is a steal type mission - not actually a Pokemon reference.

LAVANYA: To backtrack slightly towards a previous topic, what's fascinating about the recording mission is that this is the first example of the Old Tongue that we see directly in play. This mission involves the children gathering some sort of electric boxes, placing them around a circle that they draw with chalk, and activating something on the boxes. When they do so, the symbol that they've drawn lights up and when they lure the sleeper - or Lucid - inside of it, they are trapped.

LAVANYA: They begin performing a symbol endlessly.

LAVANYA: What this mission is is that you set up the devices around the symbol and you lure an enemy within it - either lucid or sleepers, it doesn't really matter.

BELLAMY: It doesn't work in the Shape, but it has no sense of dance moves anyways, so that's OK.

LAVANYA: Once you get them inside, they will begin performing the gesture "CHASE THE SUN" endlessly on repeat until they are interrupted. As the sidebar notes, if you read it during the mission, sometimes the sleepers perform these even to the point of dying. The mission insinuates that this is the Old Tongue - but a conversation with Speak-as-One actually confirmed it. If you do not tackle the enemy after recording, they will remain kneeling for the rest of the game.

ASTRO: Extended tasks can be assisted. Examples are not limited to fixing the drone, cleaning blood and untying the kid - multiple people working on one extended task will help it go faster significantly.

ASTRO: Friendship is, again, the core of the Blackout Club. Without it, you get into a lot more trouble.

BELLAMY: Some additional notes and game etiquette that I alluded to earlier include trying to leave someone objectives for your teammates, if they want them. Most people do like to help, and they got the game because they wanted to play it - not because they wanted to watch other people play it. Communication is key, and this will also mean that you can finish the game faster, like we mentioned for missions such as the posters and yard signs.

BELLAMY: It also helps spread sin out a little bit more, so no player will get shaped immediately. And, like I mentioned earlier, the latest update allows you to drop quest items if you're ever in trouble. Take advantage of this, especially for items that attract a lot of attention or might have you spread out all around the map to complete your objectives.

BELLAMY: There may be more mission types in the future. If so, we'll try to make a follow up to this guide. But for now, this has been a guide to all of the missions currently in the Blackout Club.

ASTRO: Thank you to Eric Switzer from the gamer who gave us a shout out in one of his recent articles in the description for this episode.

ASTRO: We're leaving a link to his article entitled: "OK, What the hell is going on in the Blackout Club?" It's a great read, especially if you're new to the game, and it will introduce you to the bare basics of the lore, and also tell you how you can get more of it.

ASTRO: As a reminder, if you are new to the game, we have another resource to help you - which is our Blackout Club lexicon. That's a bit dot l y forward slash. Capitalized lexicon with the first letter capitalized. That link should be in our podcast description, and in every episode description, so take a look at it. It's a guide to player and game lingo to help you get acclimated.

LAVANYA: And before we go, Astro almost forgot the most important mission of all!

LAVANYA: The newest mission, just recently released by the development team, on the public test server, which is the steal type mission called "Recover the Shape Body Pillow --".

ASTRO: Lavanya, I love you, but I was trying to forget.

LAVANYA: You can never forget in the Song. You're welcome.

ASTRO:

Blackout Club is made by Question Games.

Our advertising director and host is Bellamy.

Our transcript and video is by Lavanya.

Audio editing is by me, Astro.

Xaviul was buried in Grant's tomb.

#the blackout club #podcasts #the dreaming prophet

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medproish · 6 years

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[This story contains spoilers through season two, episode two of HBO’s Westworld, called “Reunion.”]

“You’re smart enough to guess there’s a bigger picture, but not smart enough to see what it is.”

The late Theresa Cullen (Sidse Babett Knudsen) spoke these words to an ambitious and desperate Lee Sizemore (Simon Quarterman) in the very first episode of Westworld, indicating that the Delos board in charge of the theme park had greater aspirations than allowing visitors to enact their wildest fantasies. Ever since, viewers have wondered about the true motivations of the people pulling the strings behind the scenes. The second episode of season two appears to have delivered an answer — part of one, at least.

The episode, called “Reunion,” written by Carly Wray and Jonathan Nolan, directed by Vincenzo Natali, primarily focuses on two different characters across multiple points in time: Dolores (Evan Rachel Wood) and William (Ed Harris and Jimmi Simpson) — the leader of the host revolution and the number one Westworld fanboy, respectively. Perhaps that’s minimizing the Man in Black’s contributions to the series overall, both in terms of his deadly proficiency as a gunslinger (even with the safety turned off on the hosts) and his even deadlier instincts as a businessman.

During the course of “Reunion,” viewers are treated to trips down memory lane, as the younger William (Simpson) brings his father-in-law James Delos (Peter Mullan) to Westworld with an eye toward investing in the park. For his part, James is a no-nonsense type with little interest in indulging people’s fantasies. But William pitches his prospective business partner on a broader and deadlier idea.

“This place is fantasy,” William says, standing within earshot of a frozen Dolores (who we later learn has access to these memories and more). “Nothing here is real, except one thing: the guests. Half of your marketing budget goes to figuring out what people want. Because they don’t know. But here, they’re free. Nobody is watching, nobody is judging. At least that’s what we tell them. This is the only place in the world where you get to see people for who they really are. If you don’t see the business in that, then you’re not the businessman I thought you were.”

William’s pitch ties directly into something seen in the season two premiere: Bernard (Jeffrey Wright) witnessing two drone hosts data-mining a fallen host, and realizing that the park has been “logging records of guest experiences,” DNA included. The Man in Black all but spells the theory out in conversation with his old friend Lawrence (Clifton Collins Jr.), when talking about the weight of sins within the walls of the park.

“[People] wanted a place hidden from God, a place they could sin in peace,” the gunslinger reveals. “But we were watching them. We were tallying up all their sins, all of their choices. Of course, judgment wasn’t the point. We had something else in mind entirely.”

What exactly did William and the Delos board have in mind? Those specifics will certainly be outlined in the future, but in this moment, we can hazard a few guesses. Blackmail, for one. Cataloging personal data for advertising purposes at best, total manipulation at worst. In essence, William has sketched out a vision of Westworld as a flesh-and-blood internet, where private information isn’t quite as private as one might think — a notion that’s all too real in our very own world.

Here’s what else happened in “Reunion,” an episode brimming with new alliances, old friends, faraway worlds and one very Bad cameo.

Stars on the Ground

“Reunion” begins faraway from the story’s main action, both in time in space: a moment long ago, when both Arnold (Wright) and Robert Ford (Anthony Hopkins) were still alive, hoping to draw money in from the outside world. In order to accomplish such a task? They have traveled to the outside world (China, seemingly, based on the “Space 47” building sign seen a scene or two later) with someone very familiar along for the ride: Dolores, now revealed to have visited the world beyond Westworld at this early point in her trajectory.

Staring out at the cityscape, Dolores is awestruck, noting how it “looks like the stars have been scattered across the ground. Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor?” Arnold, with his human existence, has indeed seen such sights before: “But it’s better to see it through your eyes.” Soon, Ford arrives at Arnold’s room and asks if Dolores is almost ready for her “presentation.” Arnold says she’s not, that her improvisation isn’t up to par yet. Ford — who remains unseen, save for a reflection, but is fully heard, with Hopkins (or an excellent impersonator) providing the voice — tells Arnold that he used to be charmed by his favoritism for Dolores.

“You need to let go at some point,” Ford tells Arnold as he leaves, an ironic statement given the turbulent journey the two men will soon take together.

Following his conversation with Ford, Arnold decides to take Dolores to see more of the city. They swing by the new home that he’s having built (“I’ve been very fortunate,” Arnold responds when Dolores reacts with blissful surprise that someone could live in such a place), and once again look out into the wonder of the world. Arnold remarks that Dolores and his son Charlie have so much in common: the ability to see that wonder.

“Maybe they don’t have the courage,” Dolores says, about the people who can’t or refuse to see it. “A strange new light can be just as frightening as the dark.”

“That’s very wise,” responds a melancholy Arnold. “But sometimes I think we’re simply not the ones who deserve it.”

The wisdom ends there, as Dolores repeats her commentary about the stars in the streets, and the splendor of the city. Resigned, Arnold tells Dolores it’s time to leave. “They’ll be expecting us,” he says. Dolores makes Arnold promise that he’ll bring her back to this place — a promise we can assume went unfulfilled, given the rest of the scientist’s grim journey.

The Hard Sell

Later, we see another host visiting the world beyond the park. Several hosts, in fact. Among the many flashback scenes studded throughout the episode, there’s this: Logan (Ben Barnes), whose full name is revealed as Logan Delos (fancy that!), on the receiving end of a very wild pitch from two very convincing salespeople: Akecheta (played by Fargo and Longmire veteran Zahn McClarnon) and Angela (Talulah Riley).

At first, not only is Logan unimpressed by what the pair is offering; he’s outright annoyed by the “cloak and dagger” tactics surrounding the prospect. But Angela provides an intriguing tease: “Everyone is offering you VR. We’re offering something more tangible.”

As always, it’s more useful to see something in practice than hear about it, and to that end, Angela and Akecheta take Logan into a room filled with hosts — some familiar, like Clementine (Angela Sarafyan), and others who will soon become familiar, like Jonathan Tucker as a much less violent version of the character he’s playing later on in the episode, Major Craddock. Eventually, Logan comes to realize the full extent of what’s on display in this scene, as he first correctly identifies Angela as a host, only to find out that every single person in the room except himself hails from the park.

“Welcome to Westworld,” Angela tells the dazed Logan. “Nobody can do this,” he stammers in response. “Nobody’s even … we’re not here yet,” he adds, referring to humanity’s technological achievements. Angela corrects him: “We’re right here, Mr. Delos. All of our hosts are here, for you.”

Soon, we see that Logan took Angela all the way at her word, having slept not only with her but several other hosts, as is the man’s wont. At night, Angela emerges from bed to dress herself. Nearby, Dolores, still wearing the same clothes she wore during her previous scenes with Arnold, watches from a distance. She and Angela exchange a curious look; perhaps nothing too loaded in the moment, but one that will resonate further down the line, once the two become partners in the crusade against mankind.

Retirement Party

Logan serves as the gateway between Delos getting involved in Westworld, but it’s William who acts as the closer. Midway through the episode, William takes his father-in-law James Delos to the park, and gives the surly older man his sales pitch on why it’s worth investing in this vision of the future. The details of the scene were outlined several words ago; no need to rehash them any further, except to say William is pretty clearly positioning guests’ personal privacy as the main driving force of how they can turn Westworld into a profitable business.

Sometime later, with Delos’ investment in the park fully in place, a party is held for the outgoing James Delos, whose hacking cough indicates his remaining time on Earth may be coming to a close. At least he’s going out in style, given the party, and given the pianist at the party: Dolores, handpicked by William himself.

During a break in the party, Dolores finds herself drawn to the terrace outside, where she can once again stare out into the city lights. In this private moment, she finds herself reunited with a man she doesn’t know, but who recognizes her thoroughly: Logan, bitter and bitterer still from the experience he shared with William in Westworld. He’s a far cry from the man who was joyously pitched on the park earlier in the episode. This version of the man knows all too well the dangers the park poses to humanity at large.

“Do you wanna know what they’re really celebrating up there?” the drugged-up Logan asks Dolores. “That, darling, is the sound of fools fiddling while the whole fucking species starts to burn. And the funniest fucking part? They lit the match.”

Face Off

Let’s turn toward the “present” action of the episode, which all takes place within the two-week time span before Karl Strand (Gustaf Skarsgård) arrives. The Man in Black rides again, now seeking some company as he steps into the late Robert Ford’s new game. His first recruit: Lawrence, the host he spent so much time traveling with in the first portion of season one.

As usual, William speaks candidly with Lawrence, who always seems to follow the details just closely enough, without ever fully questioning the nature of his own reality. After saving Lawrence’s life from a trio of nasty host brothers (although not without a need for Lawrence to provide an eleventh hour assist; the game is a lot harder than the Man in Black anticipated, now that the hosts are free), the two men set about completing Ford’s game. For his part, William has an idea of where to go next: a place due west, three days away on horseback.

There are two ways to reach this western point, and the seemingly easier path is through Pariah, the den of sin seen in the first season. But when they arrive, William and Lawrence find little more than ghost town — except when they run into El Lazo and his men, who are basking in their proud new ownership over the glorious Santa Pariah.

El Lazo, by the way? He’s no longer played by Lawrence, obviously, but he’s played by someone very recognizable all the same: actor Giancarlo Esposito, also known as Gus Fring of Breaking Bad fame. It’s an exciting and surprising casting choice, especially as El Lazo monologues about why he’s done with adventure, retelling a story about a childhood visit to the circus from a childhood that never really existed.

Frustrated, William takes El Lazo at gunpoint and tries to compel the man into committing his soldiers to the Man in Black’s cause. Instead, El Lazo speaks with a familiar voice: “This game was meant for you, William, but you must play it alone.” With those ominous words, every single man in El Lazo’s army shoots himself in the head at once. For his part, El Lazo offers some parting words of his own before shooting himself: “I’ll see you in the Valley Beyond, William.”

An even angrier William proceeds to unload bullets into El Lazo’s corpse, complete with a wonderfully delivered line of pure frustration: “Fuck you, Robert!” William openly muses about what he’s learned: “He doesn’t want this to be easy for me, so we’ll find another way.” For his part, the eternally confused Lawrence wants to know who Robert is. Is he the person who built the place of judgment they’re looking for?

“No, he doesn’t get that honor,” grumbles the Man in Black. “I built it. The place we’re going is my greatest mistake.”

The Road to Glory

Elsewhere in the park, Dolores leads Angela, Teddy (James Marsden) and their companions to an outpost, so Teddy can finally see the truth of Westworld for himself. When he’s finally confronted with images of his many deaths, Teddy nearly chokes the life out of a lab technician, before his better nature stops him from going too far.

Dolores and Angela interrogate a member of the security team, who reveals that somewhere between 600 and 800 soldiers will soon come to the park in response to the catastrophe. They will respond to the system-wide failure by securing one sector at a time, beginning by meeting at a rallying point. Even with this knowledge in place, Teddy tells Dolores they’re going to need several others if they’re going to stand a chance against the human forces; they only have 50 hosts on their side right now, if they even have that many.

Fortunately, Dolores has a plan for how to bolster their numbers — but first, she and her allies run into another host on a journey of her own: Maeve (Thandie Newton), traveling with Hector Escaton (Rodrigo Santoro) and Lee Sizemore (Simon Quarterman). A tense conversation ensues between them, with Dolores and Maeve at the center.

Dolores suggests Maeve must have a great need for revenge. According to Maeve, not so much: “Revenge is just a different prayer at their altar, darling, and I’m well off my knees.” Maeve questions the way in which Dolores is choosing to combat humanity.

“Yours is the only way to fight?” she asks Dolores, before turning her attention toward Teddy, someone she’s spent some time with. “I know you. Do you feel free?”

Reluctantly, Dolores lets Maeve and her companions pass on by without further incident. Besides, Dolores has her own mission: recruiting Major Craddock (the aforementioned Jonathan Tucker) and his army of Confederados, who are all on a mission to find a place called Glory. When she finds them, Craddock and his crew are understandably shaken at the sight of one of their old companions, returned from the dead — someone who Dolores resurrected in order to begin the process of waking Craddock up to his true nature. The plan doesn’t work out as intended, at least not right away. After some back-and-forth, Dolores has Teddy and Angela kill Craddock and all of his men, before bringing them back online and into the fold.

“We have toiled in God’s service long enough — so I killed him,” Dolores tells the shocked Craddock. “If you want to get to Glory, you won’t be looking for his favor. You’ll need mine.”

The Great Mistake

The episode ends as Dolores, Teddy and the others ride to meet Craddock’s own boss, and as they look out on the horizon, they talk about how their next destination has many names. Some call it Glory. Some call it the Valley Beyond. Apparently, it’s known to William as his “greatest mistake.”

The penultimate scene of the episode features a young William taunting an unaware Dolores, saying she’s nothing more than a thing — and, in fact, is even less than a thing. “You’re a reflection,” he hisses. “You know who loves staring at their own reflection? Everybody.”

William twirls his proverbial mustache some more, filling Dolores in on his vision for the park: “Everybody wants a little bit of what I found here, and I can’t wait to use you and every one of your kind to help give it to them. And now there’s something else. There’s something beyond that. I think there’s an answer here to a question no one has ever even dreamed of asking. Do you want to see?”

From there, William takes Dolores outside and stares out at a massive dig site. “Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor,” he asks her, mimicking her own words from the beginning of the episode. For her part, in the future, standing on a cliff side of her own with Teddy as a companion, Dolores remembers exactly what William showed her.

“It doesn’t matter what you call it,” she tells Teddy about Glory, or the Valley Beyond, or whatever name people choose to use. “I know what we’re going to find there. An old friend was foolish enough to show me long ago. It’s not a place. It’s a weapon — and I’m going to use it to destroy them.”

What did you make of the latest episode of Westworld? Sound off with your theories in the comments below and keep following THR.com/Westworld for more coverage.

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