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teshamerkel · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 21] (32 Pages)

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Tobias and Nia make the journey to Ghatha!

“Are we getting close?”

Tobias swallows back an annoyed growl, trying to keep his temper under control. He will not snap at his partner. Or light her on fire. “For the fourth time, Nia, we’re almost there. Stop asking before I turn us around.”

The riolu shrinks into herself with a sheepish smile. “S-Sorry. I’m just excited.”

Tobias doesn’t answer, hoping Nia will finally fall silent and let them walk through the forest in peace and quiet. He doesn’t mind going on this trip to Ghatha, and although he’d never admit it, he isn’t even that annoyed by Nia’s presence anymore. Most of the time.

But by Entei’s fire, Tobias has his limits. There’s only so much excited rambling he can handle in one short walk to the flight outpost.

“O-Okay, actually important question.”

“Hm.”

“Should I eat before we fly? Or, uh...”

Tobias finally cracks a grin. “Or are you gonna barf your brains out? Dunno. Guess we’ll see.”

Nia‘s nose scrunches up at the mental image. “You sound a little too happy about this.”

“I will definitely laugh if you puke.”

She shoots him a playful glare, so Tobias adds, “If you want an actual answer, I wouldn’t eat before we go up. If you’re fine flying then you can eat on the way there. If not, then we won’t immediately tick off our ride by puking all over ’em.”

Nia fidgets nervously with the strap of the satchel thrown over her shoulder. “That makes sense. I’d like to be on good terms with the Pokémon carrying us 10,000 feet in the air.”

There are a few minutes of quiet after that, and Tobias takes advantage of them to enjoy the cool morning air. Dawn sunlight is filtering through the trees of the forest, clearing away the chilly fog of the night. He notices that the green leaves overhead are starting to shift to gold, catching the morning rays. It really is going to be fall soon.

“Are you nervous?” Nia asks. “About flying?”

Tobias mourns the loss of silence with a sigh. “You do know my final evolution is half flying, right?”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can fly now. So I just wondered. Have you ever flown before?”

For a heartbeat, memories slip by before Tobias can stop them. Vivid snapshots of sitting atop a broad orange back, wings spread endlessly wide on either side of him. His hands, much smaller, clutching tight to warm scales, the blue sky seeming to go on forever in all directions, the wind whistling by and stealing away his laughter.

Tobias shoves the memory from his mind, holds his breath until he knows it won’t shake. Keeps his eyes glued to the foliage around them. Eventually, he manages to say, “I’ve been flying before. A long time ago.”

Maybe Nia can hear the lump in his throat, because she falls silent with a tiny, “Oh.”

They continue on, Tobias focusing his senses on the world around them to distract himself from the memories suddenly trying to rise up and choke him. His heart twists inside his chest, and it takes everything in him to blink back rising tears.

The trio. The outlaws. Focus on them, on taking them down. Focus on what he needs to do.

“Is that it?”

Tobias snaps out of his musings to look up, and sure enough, the outpost is in sight. It’s still halfway hidden by the trees and undergrowth, a lanky structure of white-painted wood, but it’s definitely what Maggie pointed out to him from the mail floor, years ago.

A quiet rabble of voices meet them as they get closer. Calm conversation, occasional laughter. The two of them emerge into a small clearing, and there it is: a tower reaching almost too high up to see the top. Roosts of moss and hay and twigs are haphazardly wedged here and there throughout the structure, and flying Pokémon of all kinds flit about. Some are napping, others chatting, and a few are on the grass, talking with clients.

“Wow,” Nia breathes, eyes wide with wonder.

A talonflame is the first to notice them, and glides down to meet them with a respectful dip of his head. “Greetings. Looking for a lift?”

Tobias nods. “We’re guild members under August. We need a ride to Ghatha.”

The talonflame tilts his bright head, humming thoughtfully. “I don’t take on distances that far, especially with fighting types on-board. But I think I know who can give you a lift. Wait here.”

The fire type beats at the ground and lifts off again, flying high into the roost. Nia follows him with her eyes, brow furrowed.

“Fighting types can be squirmy in the air, and talonflame are already lightweights,” Tobias explains, snorting. “Don’t look so offended.”

Nia’s troubled expression clears, and she gives him a thankful nod for the explanation.

A large, winged silhouette takes off from one of the perches, circling down to land before the two of them in a gust of wind. A braviary. She’s huge, easily four times the size of Tobias and Nia, with navy and crimson feathers and a soft mane of white. She’s clearly a sturdy Pokémon, with a few scars visible on her body, cutting irregular patterns through her feathers. Most startling of all is the closed, puckered skin over where her right eye should be, a thick scar running across the area and cutting into her beak. A bright yellow designated flyer’s scarf is tied around her leg. To say she’s impressive-looking would be an understatement.

“Hey there, folks! Name’s Felicity,” the braviary chirps, her voice bright and sharp. “But y’all can just call me Fliss. I hear you two are hoping for a ride to Ghatha.”

Nia looks as awed as Tobias feels by the flying type’s presence. “Y-Yes, ma’am!”

Fliss laughs, loud and hearty. “You sure look spunky for a fighting type at the outpost. You ever flown before?”

Nia opens her mouth to respond, then pauses, a distant confusion glossing over her expression. Tobias has seen that look before. Are her memories acting up again?

He’s about to cut in when the riolu blinks back to the present, hesitantly answering, “U-Uh. No? I-I don’t think I have, at least.”

Fliss gives Nia a curious look but doesn’t push, instead giving the riolu a firm nod. “Well, I’ll do my best to keep it a smooth flight. Since you’re both small, it’ll only be 400 poke for a one-way trip. Discount since you’re in the guild.”

Tobias nods and gestures for Nia to let him rummage around in their satchel. When he pulls out their team poke pouch, Nia pulls out her own personal bag as well. She grabs 200 poke, handing it to him and answering his questioning frown with a small smile and a shrug. “I’m the one who wanted to go on this trip in the first place—it only seems fair that I pay a little extra from my own cash.”

Tobias doesn’t argue, accepting the poke and gathering it with the other 200 from their team earnings. Fliss holds out her leg, and he dumps the coins into a thick pouch strapped securely to her foot, which she ties shut with her beak.

“Great! You two ready to set off?”

Tobias and Nia nod, and the braviary crouches down low, belly to the grass and wings spread wide to help them get on her back.

Nia freezes, wide-eyed. “W-Wait, there aren’t like, safety harnesses or something? S-Seatbelts?”

Tobias rolls his eyes as Fliss guffaws. “Don’t be silly! We wouldn’t be flying grounders around if we weren’t confident in our ability to keep ‘em safe.”

“But what if we f-fall?”

“Then I’ll catch you,” Fliss replies simply. “Look, hun, what’s your name?”

“N-Nia.”

“Look, Nia. I’ve flown all over the world, and I’ve taken a lot of passengers along with me. Haven’t dropped a single one—promise.”

The riolu still doesn’t look convinced, and Tobias groans. “Arceus, would you just get on? Pokémon do this every day!”

“And the winds are in our favor today, too,” Fliss adds, motioning Nia forward.

The riolu steps up to the braviary’s side, and then uses the offered wing as a boost to climb onto Fliss’s back. Nia sits, paws hesitantly holding onto her feathers. “A-Am I hurting you?”

Fliss laughs, making the riolu jump. “You’re light as a feather. Feel free to hold on tighter if you need to, I’ve been through worse.” Then she turns her gaze to Tobias. “Up ya go. What’s your name?”

“Tobias,” the charmander replies, watching Nia as she fidgets. “Where should I sit?”

“Probably in front, so the little fighter’ll have something to hold onto.”

Right, that makes sense--even if he really doesn’t want her clinging to him the whole flight. Tobias climbs up the braviary’s back and plops down in front of Nia, carefully setting his legs on either side of Fliss’s feathery shoulders and letting his tail curl over his leg.

“Hold on tight to my feathers, now!” Fliss calls. “Riolu, if you get scared just hold on tight to your partner.”

“Or don’t,” Tobias mumbles under his breath.

“I-I think I’ll be okay just holding on,” Nia says, voice high and unconvincing.

“Suit yourself! We’re taking off, so if you need me, tap my back three times!”

And with that, Fliss beats her wings hard, powerful gusts of wind tearing at the grass and billowing out in all directions. Slowly, they rise up, and Nia squeaks from behind Tobias.

Tobias can’t help a sudden burst of excitement. He watches eagerly as the forest sinks around them and they rise higher and higher, above the treeline, into bright morning sky. It’s windier up here, a little more chilly.

It feels like freedom.

The wind smells fresh and whistles past them as they gain altitude, fluttering his scarf and Fliss’ feathers. The world stretches out around them, all at once remarkably small and endlessly large. There’s forest as far as the eye can see, making up Bethoc’s Haven. Tobias laughs, unable to contain the giddy feeling in his gut. He’d forgotten how exhilarating it was to be in the sky like this. To fly.

“All right! Hang on, kiddos—we’re off!”

Tobias grips the braviary’s feathers and grins, thrilled as Fliss snaps out her wings and catches an air current. They shoot forward, picking up speed in an instant.

Nia screams, and then there’s a pair of arms locked around the Tobias’ middle, squeezing the life out of him. Tobias chokes, immediately moving to pry the riolu’s wrists away. A quiet whimper stops him, buried in his shoulder and just loud enough to be heard.

The snarl dies in Tobias’ throat as he hesitates. He doesn’t want Nia pressed so uncomfortably close, arms determined to cut off his breathing, but…he also hasn’t heard her this scared in a while. Plus, shoving her off would probably break the unspoken rules of their Tobias Not Being a Jerk team agreement, so. He sighs, resigning himself to this embarrassing situation and forcing his body to relax.

At least the sights are a distraction. The view really is gorgeous, an expansive sea of forest, leaves just starting to turn from green to warmer shades for the fall. The day is bright and brisk: perfect flying weather. Tobias feels a bittersweet tug in his chest, but tips his head back to enjoy the wind and sun on his face with a content smile.

After a few minutes, Tobias peers over his shoulder, only able to see the top of Nia’s head, her ears still pinned flat to her skull.

“Hey,” he calls.

She doesn’t answer, but the hold around his torso tightens.

“It’ll help if you look around.”

The riolu shakes her head against his shoulder, a muffled, “No!” barely reaching his ears.

Tobias rolls his eyes at the childish response. He knows that fighting types tend to have problems with heights and flying, but this is just ridiculous. He is not going to have this flight ruined by Nia cowering in terror and slowly cracking his ribs.

Plus, this is too beautiful a view to miss.

“Just try looking around.”

Nia whines again. “Why?”

“Because we have three more hours of this and I’m pretty sure you’re trying to suffocate me.”

Nia manages to loosen her hold, just a bit. Tobias can breathe again, but the riolu is still quivering, face tucked away.

“Nia.”

“No! I’m n-not looking!”

“Just look up! Don’t look down, idiot, that’ll make anyone’s stomach jump.” Nia doesn’t respond. Tobias peeks back at her again. “Okay, what’s it gonna take for you to look.”

“Take me back to solid ground!”

Despite his frustration, Tobias snorts a laugh. “Too bad, pick something else.” No response. Stubborn. What would entice her enough to surpass her fear? “I’ll, uh…Tell you about the landmarks we pass if you look. You mentioned wanting to know more about geography or something, right?”

Nia shifts against his shoulder, hesitant but clearly interested.

“You’re such a nerd,” Tobias snorts.

“I-I like learning stuff,” she defends. At least, that’s what he thinks she said. It’s hard to properly hear anything up here.

“Well, you have to look for me to teach you, otherwise you won’t know what I’m talking about.”

Nia slowly lifts her head, still tucked close to his shoulder with her eyes squeezed shut. A few seconds pass.

“We’re gonna land in Ghatha before you open your eyes.”

“J-Just give me a sec.”

“Look up first, not down.”

Tobias can feel the riolu take a deep breath. Then, she cracks her eyes open, looking up into open blue sky. He watches as the riolu blinks, then lets her eyes open a bit more, squinting ever-so-slightly against the wind. Good.

“Still alive,” he teases.

“S-So far,” Nia shoots back.

Tobias moves his gaze away, to the forest underneath them. Even without looking straight down, there’s a huge chunk of the region visible. Mostly trees for now, a few fields and clearings, but a set of mountains can be seen faintly in the distance.

“Try looking forward,” he suggests.

“Y-You sure?”

He shrugs, the movement odd with the weight of the riolu still wrapped around him like a scarf. “Gotta do it eventually.”

The riolu seems uncertain, but takes another deep, bracing breath. Her ruby eyes flick a degree down from the sky overhead, looking forward as they fly. For a moment, her expression drops into something awestruck, and Tobias almost smiles.

Then she shrieks a terrified sound, and is back to burying her face into his shoulder.

Tobias groans. “C’mon!”

“J-Just give me a bit, o-okay? I...I’ll try again in a bit.”

Tobias huffs an irritated breath, disappointed. How can Nia not love this view, this feeling of freedom and speed? It’s so soothing being up in the air like this, effortlessly gliding over miles of woodland that would take them hours—days, even—to cross on foot. The brightening sky is slowly changing the hue of the treetops below them, cooler grays coming alive with color, and there’s just something hypnotic about the gentle dip and rise of Fliss’ flying, the slight shifts between air currents. He almost feels like he’s in a trance, with the heat of the rising sun and the balancing bite of the wind, Nia a warm weight against his back. Tobias could probably fall asleep up here, if he tried.

After a while, the fuzzy silhouettes of the mountain range become more visible, fading into existence as towering peaks of white, their tops cloaked in eternal snowstorms. Even the winds feel colder as they fly on a current slightly closer to the mountains, though they’re still a great many miles away.

“You can kinda see the Silenfroar mountain range from here,“ Tobias says, far too casually. “We’re passing by right now.”

Nia’s curiosity is too much for her, and she tentatively lifts her head to peek over Tobias’ shoulder.

“To the left.”

Nia follows his instruction, and all at once he sees amazement take over the fear. She unfolds, ears pricking up, head lifting, the hold around his gut loosening until she’s lightly gripping his sides.

Tobias can’t help it—no one can see him up here anyways. He grins, gazing at the mountains as well. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“They’re beautiful!”

“There’s a village on top of those mountains!” Fliss shouts over her shoulder, catching their attention. “I hear they aren’t fond of outsiders, so I’ve never been there myself!”

“August trained up there for a while!” Tobias yells back. Maggie had mentioned it once or twice, quoting it from the rillaboom’s younger days. Apparently the treacherous Silenfroar settlement is infamous for being an incredibly challenging training ground—or so August says. “He’s still on good terms with ‘em, from what I hear.”

“Whoa,” Nia murmurs, still mesmerized by the intimidating mountain peaks.

Tobias shifts his own gaze down to look at the landscape below them. The trees are starting to thin out a bit, meaning that they should be hitting the Bethoc Bluffs and the Obsidian Sea relatively soon. Tobias is nervous about crossing the stretch of open ocean between them and Ghatha, but Fliss seems strong—

A tiny eep! of fear is Tobias’ only warning before Nia grabs him in another death-hug, crushing the breath out of him.

“Arceus, Nia, give me some warning!” Tobias wheezes, pulling her arms a bit looser. She’s stronger than she looks. “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole way?”

“N-No, it’s getting better! J-Just, uh. Slowly.”

Tobias rolls his eyes and focuses back on the flight, determined to enjoy the peaceful feeling of it all. As they fly, the landscape transitions from forest to rocky pines as they near the edge of the region. They pass several different settlements and tiny villages along the way, the homes and Pokemon living there barely visible from their height. Some are set up in clearings, quaint little homes and businesses clustered close together, and some are nearly hidden by leafy treetops, a bit more spaced apart.

Tobias has traveled to villages like those in the past, he thinks, with Maggie. Usually to treat a severely ill Pokémon or purchase rare herbs. He can’t really recall much about those trips, and certainly not any of the tiny towns’ names. Fliss, however, seems to know them by heart. She calls out each village’s name as they soar over them.

Nia leans forward to hear the braviary better as she speaks, hanging onto every windswept word. After the second or third village, Nia leans back, tightens her grip on Tobias, and cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of the town below. She retreats almost immediately, and Tobias isn’t sure whether to encourage her or make fun of her, so he settles for both.

“Wow, don’t get too adventurous,” he drawls.

Nia gives him a powerful squeeze in retaliation that makes him cough.

From there, the flight is quiet and uneventful, Nia’s face once again hidden in Tobias’ shoulder as the charmander enjoys the wind whipping past them. He doesn’t speak again until he can finally see the glitter of the ocean on the horizon, meaning they’re almost to the bluffs, where the region drops off into the sea.

He taps Nia’s arm to get her attention. “Ever been to the ocean?”

There’s a moment of thoughtful silence, and then, “I-I...don’t think so? I don’t remember seeing the ocean, at least.”

“Now’s your chance.”

That catches Nia’s attention. Slowly, the riolu peers over Tobias’ shoulder. Then she gasps and straightens up, ruby eyes blown wide with wonder. The ocean and the scraggly cliffs of the seaside are coming at them fast.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Fliss calls. “That’s the Obsidian sea! We’ll be flying over it for another hour or so before hitting Ghatha.”

Tobias isn’t particularly fond of the sea himself, for obvious reasons, but he does have to admit that it’s pretty to look at. And the salty air smells nice.

To Tobias’ surprise, Nia stays where she is, watching with open awe. She doesn’t even flinch as they finally meet where the water touches the cliffs, Fliss’ wings carrying them out over open waves. The water is dark with slices of white waves, choppy ripples reflecting pieces of the sky. The braviary’s flight levels out into a gentle glide, and she slowly lowers them closer to the water until they can see their own reflected shadow speeding across the waves.

Tobias holds on tighter to Fliss’ feathers and brings his legs up higher, feeling a pang of fear in his gut. If something were to suddenly happen to Fliss and they dropped into the sea, he’d be a goner this far from the shore.

A wave crests underneath them, spraying up a salty mist. Tobias leans away from it, hissing, and Nia laughs. It’s so unexpected that he looks back at her, caught off-guard by how she suddenly looks totally unafraid. She’s leaning right over Fliss’ side, watching the ocean waves with delight, one paw outstretched to catch more of the ocean spray, one paw still gripping Tobias’ side. Tobias blinks. He knew the height was an issue for the fighting type, but seeing such a drastic shift just from them lowering their altitude is really…something. Too bad Tobias feels like he’s currently dangling over certain death if Fliss gets so much as a wing cramp.

“S-So you haven’t ever like...crashed or anything, right?” Tobias yells, turning to look forward again.

Fliss’s back rumbles underneath them with a laugh. “‘Course not, hun! You think I’d offer to fly a fire type across the ocean if I had? We’ll be fine, trust me.”

Tobias takes a deep breath and tries to relax. It doesn’t work. Nia leans forward to catch his eye. “Hey, you okay?”

Tobias snorts, eyes forward and resolutely not on the ocean below them. “Fantastic.”

Nia stares at him with a little frown, before her expression clears. “Oh! It’s the water, huh? I didn’t even think of how scary that’d be for you. Sorry.”

Tobias doesn’t answer, trying not to feel embarrassed by how tense he is, and for a moment Nia is silent too. Then she leans forward, past him, and yells, “Hey, Fliss? Can we go a bit higher? J-Just a little!”

Fliss turns her head to give Nia a confused look, and Tobias does the same. “Odd request from a fighting type,” the braviary says. “But all right.”

Fliss tilts her wings and flaps, catching an updraft that takes them a bit higher. They’re still over open water, but it feels less threatening when it isn’t clawing at Tobias’ feet and spraying his skin with salty, stinging mist. He relaxes, and both of Nia’s paws hold firmly to his sides again. When he glances back at her, she still has her eyes open, looking out over the horizon. She doesn’t look quite as at-ease as she was before, but she doesn’t seem terrified, either.

Nia notices his stare and furrowed brow, and shrugs with a little smile. “S-Seemed like a good compromise to me. Better for both of us to be a little uncomfortable rather than either of us being completely terrified, right?”

Tobias blinks, surprised by the explanation. He…guesses that makes sense. If it keeps him from getting sprayed with stinging water and Nia from breaking his ribs, then he’ll take it. He nods and looks forward again.

After that it’s silent, save for the roaring wind and the crash of sea waves below them. They’re making good time from what Tobias can tell, but they’ve still got a bit of traveling ahead of them. Tobias has taken to closing his eyes and losing himself in the relaxing sensations of the flight when Fliss makes a mildly surprised sound that puts him immediately on edge. He looks around, not seeing anything, then follows the braviary’s gaze down to the ocean, heart jumping in his chest when he sees the shadow of a Pokemon speeding along below them, serpentine and absolutely massive, easily multiple times longer than Fliss is large. Before he can get concerned, Fliss takes them higher, safely out of range of the mysterious Pokemon.

“By Yveltal’s wings, that’s a big ‘un!” the braviary cries out. “Must be a gyarados. Likely travelling to Ghatha too.”

Tobias watches the shape, frowning. It’s still matching their pace perfectly, nothing but a dark blur broken up by the choppy waves. A gyarados, huh? He can’t remember seeing one before so he can’t be sure, but something about the silhouette seems…different from what he remembers in the books.

“Th-That’s a Pokemon?” Nia asks, clinging closer to Tobias. “I-It’s huge!”

Tobias doesn’t respond, watching as the shape suddenly falls back and out of sight.

Nia cranes her head back to watch it go, then leans into him again with a more relaxed grip. After a moment, she asks, “‘By Yveltal’s wings?’ Yveltal is one of the, uh...the legendary Pokémon, right?”

Tobias nods. “God of destruction, but also a deity of flight and war.”

Nia blinks, looking startled. “War?”

Tobias glances back at her. “Yeah. Hasn’t been a war in centuries, but a lot of Pokémon still look to the war deities for help in battle.”

After a beat of silence to digest that information, Nia hesitantly says, “I’ve been meaning to ask, a-and I hope this isn’t like…offensive? But, uh. What exactly is the deal with legendary Pokémon? I’ve heard people reference them and I’ve read a couple of books but are they, like...real Pokémon?”

Tobias bites back a sharp retort. He’s not allowed to snap at her for asking questions about the Pokémon world, no matter how ridiculous they are. “Did you not have gods in your world?”

“Well,” Nia says thoughtfully. “From what I can remember, there were different...religions, in the human world. So, like…I think my family believed in one god and one god only. But some people believed in a different god. Or multiple gods. Or no gods at all. And there wasn’t ever really any hard...proof, I guess? Of any of them existing. So I guess I’m wondering if it’s the same way here.”

Tobias frowns. “The gods here are real Pokémon, as far as we know. According to records and some of the older Pokemon, we used to see them and interact with them regularly, but in the last century or so they’ve just...disappeared. We don’t know if something happened or they just abandoned us or what.”

“You don’t sound all that worried about it.”

Tobias shrugs. “What’s there to be worried about? The situation’s been the same ever since I’ve been alive. Nothing’s changed for me.”

“But most Pokémon still believe in them, right?”

“To an extent, yeah.”

“Do you?”

Tobias pauses and looks up at the endless blue sky, thinking about how to respond. He hadn’t ever given it much thought, honestly. “…Maybe. My parents prayed to a few of them, and Maggie is pretty devout even if she keeps it quiet. I don’t really know if I believe in them or not. All I know is that if they used to be real, they aren’t watching over us anymore.“

“Really? Why do you say that?”

Tobias feels something tighten in his chest as he remembers rain and fear and a terrible sense of being completely alone, no matter how much he cried for help.

“Because they sure weren’t watching over me when I needed them.”

Nia goes quiet. Then, softly, she says, “I think I believe in a higher something, but I don’t know for sure what that is. Especially now, coming here to this world. I’m just more confused than ever.”

Tobias makes a noncommittal noise in his throat.

“I’ve read about some of them,” Nia continues. “You’ve mentioned an, uh...Entay?”

“Entei,” Tobias corrects. His parents had taught him to pray to the legendary beast when he was young. “Protector of fire types and children. Part of a trio alongside Suicune and Raikou. Suicune protects water types and watches over lakes and rivers. Raikou protects electric types and watches over storms.”

“Oh! I think I remember seeing a picture of those three. They kind of looked like…dogs? Or tigers, maybe? Weren’t there two birds, too?”

Birds? Tobias thinks Nia has called some of the flying type Pokemon that before. “Probably Lugia and Ho-oh—deities of the moon and sun. Lugia controls the seas and protects ocean voyages, and Ho-oh controls the Summer and Autumn seasons. Protects from fires.”

“Wow,” Nia breathes, sounding fascinated. “That’s so specific! And there are a lot of other ones, too, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re not all that specific. Like…Mew is just called the Mother of All Pokémon, so she’s more of a common deity. It’s said that she’s willing to help any Pokémon because in a way we’re all her children or something.”

“I think I remember Mew. Little pink cat Pokémon?”

“She’s definitely pink.”

“Okay. So is there like...a god above all the other gods?”

“There’s Arceus,” Tobias says, slowly. “I guess they’d be the closest thing. Although that’s one Pokémon they say no one ever saw, even when all the others deities were pretty common. They say Arceus created the other legendaries, who in turn created us.”

Nia’s silent again, probably thinking, and Tobias takes advantage of the brief moment of quiet, closing his eyes again to fully enjoy the sun against his face. He really missed flying.

“But not all gods are like...good, right?” Nia asks eventually. “Like yuh...yuveltel? He’s a god of war, right?”

“Yveltal is the god of destruction,” Fliss corrects, startling them both. “But that doesn’t mean he’s bad. All things have to die for new life to take their place, after all. It’s just the natural order of things. Yveltal destroys and ends, and Xerneas creates and starts anew.“

“I...guess that’s true,” Nia says, still sounding doubtful. “But war isn’t a good thing, or necessary.”

“But it still happens,” Fliss says. “Battles happen and we all need someone to turn to for hope in bleak, bloody situations. So Yveltal got that job, as a destruction legendary. If it’s too late to hope for peace, it gives a lot of hope to think you have the god of destruction himself on your side.”

Nia hums. “Okay…I guess that makes sense. But what about that one kind of scary legendary Pokémon? The legends made him out to be really, really bad.”

“Darkrai?”

“It looked kind of like a dragon. Something about dimensions?”

“Ah,” Fliss says, nodding. “That would be Giratina. He was exiled long before the other legends disappeared, banished to the dimensional rift. I will admit he’s a real piece of work, according to the stories.”

“I couldn’t find much about him,” Nia admits, leaning past Tobias to talk more directly to the braviary.

“That’s because a lot of Pokémon ain’t comfortable talking about him!” Fliss crows, sounding amused. “But I ain’t scared of some dusty old tall tales. Wanna hear about his banishment? My granny told me the story when I was just a chick.”

Nia grins. “Yes please!”

Fliss laughs, and Tobias doesn’t complain when the braviary slows, leveling her flight into a smoother glide over ocean drafts. The charmander is admittedly curious, too. He can’t remember anyone telling him much about Giratina’s story before, though he’s heard the name whispered once or twice over the years.

“Well, the legends claim that Giratina was once the guardian of our world’s borders,” Fliss begins. “He kept our dimension safe and sturdy, keeping out anything that didn’t belong in the Pokémon world and making sure no Pokémon got too big-headed and tried to explore past its borders. Myths about humans existed even hundreds of years ago, y’know? Some suspected that if we could cross that dimensional border, we’d find them. It was part of Giratina’s job to keep Pokemon from trying to do so.”

Nia’s hold on Tobias tightens as she whispers, “The human world?”

“I guess it would have messed with something, if we were allowed to hop between worlds like that,” Fliss continues. “So it was Giratina’s job to upkeep that land surrounding our own, keep us in and others out so nothing would be disrupted. He was always a bit of a shiny wooloo among the gods, never deigned regular Pokémon worthy of his presence and kept to himself. But he did his job! They say Pokémon would see him sometimes in reflections, blood-red eyes cold and fierce. But he was never aggressive, never abandoned his duties.”

“Until one day,” Fliss’ voice drops to something low and dramatic. “He just lost his head. Attacked another legend out of the blue and nearly killed ‘em! I believe it was Cresselia? Or maybe it was Celebi. Anyways! As punishment, Arceus themself banished Giratina to his own dimensional rift, trapping him so that he couldn’t leave it or even contact our world. They say he’s still there to this day, plotting his revenge, and that on still nights you can see the shadow of him flickering in reflections, watching and trying to break free.”

A beat of quiet, and then Nia shudders behind him. “O-Okay, that’s creepy. So no one knows what set him off? Why he would just attack another legendary like that?”

“Beats me!” Fliss says, chipper once more. “Most Pokémon don’t even like to talk about him, so we don’t know a lot about the story anymore.”

Nia makes a dissatisfied noise, then asks, “Well, what about the dimensional rift between the Pokémon world and other dimensions? Has anyone tried to cross it since Giratina was trapped? There are humans popping up in this world, so wouldn’t that mean something’s gone wrong there?”

There’s a heavy, out-of-place pause. Then, Fliss says, “You aren’t a normal Pokémon, are you Nia?”

Nia jerks back in surprise, and Tobias freezes.

“Most every Pokemon knows about the gods, after all,” Fliss continues casually. “You wouldn’t happen to be heading to that human meet-up in Ghatha, now would ya?”

For a moment, Tobias thinks of August’s warning for them to keep quiet about Nia being human. From how Nia clutches him tighter, he bets she’s remembering the same thing.

“I, u-uh. I am, actually,” Nia finally says, quietly. “Is that okay?”

Fliss laughs as Tobias gives the riolu a nasty glare for blowing their cover so easily. “Sure! It’s just fine with me, lass. Just hope you weren’t trying to keep it a secret—if so, you’re doing a right poor job of it!”

Nia makes a quiet, unhappy sound in her throat. “Should…Should we be keeping it a secret?”

Fliss makes a thoughtful trilling sound. “Heard about that squabble between the humans and Pokémon, eh? I doubt you’ll run into any real trouble around here, but if you’re worried about it then don’t go asking such obvious questions in front of other Pokémon, all right? I knew something was odd since we left port.”

Nia groans and bumps her head dejectedly into Tobias’ back. “I’ll…try to keep that in mind.”

Fliss laughs again. “Aw, cheer up! I’m excited, at least! Never thought I’d be takin’ a human across the sea! What a world.”

Nia and Fliss continue to chatter on about humans and Nia’s experiences since coming to the Pokemon world, and Tobias closes his eyes to relax again. He gets dangerously close to dozing as they continue into the roaring wind, sun rising higher to warm them and dazzle the sea. Nia and Fliss eventually fall silent, and the riolu slowly relaxes against him as the minutes pass, probably falling into a nap herself. Tobias idly wonders if every charmander or bagon feels this connection to the sky, or if it’s just him.

They stay like that until they hear a distant cry, nearly snatched away by the wind. Fliss calls back, loud and jarring, and Nia jumps. A moment later, Tobias spots a small flock of Pokémon flying to the left, veering towards them. Fliss doesn’t seem alarmed, and as they get closer, Tobias can pick out a togekiss and flygon guiding a group of smaller flying type Pokémon, letting them ride their drafts in the harsh wind.

“Fledglings?” Fliss calls, eyes fond as she spots a little rufflet in the pack.

The togekiss corrects a wobbly swablu’s form and the flygon nods, eyes flicking from Fliss’ designated flight scarf to Tobias and Nia before he smiles. “First day out over open ocean.”

Fliss laughs. “Terrifying, ain’t it? Feels like Kyogre herself’s gonna leap outta the ocean and snatch you up! If y’all are out here, that must mean we’re getting mighty close to Ghatha, right?”

Tobias feels a stir of excitement—comfortable or not, he’s ready to stretch his legs—and squints at the direction they’ve been heading in for the past hour or so. Is that a faint silhouette on the horizon or is he just imagining it?

The flygon nods again, looking at Tobias and Nia. “You two been to Ghatha before?”

Nia must shake her head no, because the flygon smiles. “Well, you sure picked a perfect time to come visit. There’s a magic show planned for tomorrow evening! A big one, at the convention center at central square”

Nia gasps behind him. “A magic show?!”

Flygon nods. “Cheap admission too. I think there’s a big meeting happening at the conference center beforehand so it’s sure to be packed, but I’ve heard of these guys so they should be good. I think they do a lot of fire manipulation.”

At that, Tobias perks up. A magic show could be all right, but a fire-based one? He doesn’t get to see many fire types aside from himself in the Haven. It can feel a bit isolating, especially with so many grass and bug types around.

Fliss sighs. “Darn. Wish I could stick around to see it, but I’ll likely get called away for a flight before then. The kiddos could probably go, though!”

“Thank you for letting us know!” Nia yells over the wind.

The flygon nods, then glances at his flock. “I have to head back. Enjoy Ghatha!”

The dragon type tilts his wings and wheels back to his group. Tobias watches him go, wishing somehow he could join them, until Nia squeezes him.

“Look!”

Tobias does, eyes widening at the sheer size of the city they’re approaching. The silhouette of it becomes more detailed as they get closer, murky grays revealing tall stacks of stone buildings, almost all of them painted with bright accents of color that give the city an immediate sense of life. It’s huge, sprawling along the oceanside cliffs and stretching from one edge of Tobias’ sight to the other.

Fliss is clearly familiar with the area, and immediately flies to a tall flight tower right along the edge of the cityscape. She circles it, finding an empty loft before gliding in and flapping to a stop. It’s dim inside, and a few flyers glance over at the new arrivals. A swellow lifts a wing in greeting, calling, “Fliss! Long time no see.”

Fliss laughs and calls back, “Cobalt! Good to see that handsome mug. Gimme just a sec to set these two off.” She crouches low to the ground, wings spread, and glances back at Tobias. “All right, kiddos, Ghatha awaits!”

Tobias slides off the braviary’s back and barely manages to catch himself before his legs buckle from the long flight. With a yelp, Nia falls onto the ground beside him in a heap, clearly as stiff as he is.

“Thank you for flying us, Fliss,” Nia says once she gets back to her feet. She gives the flying type a grateful smile. “Really. It would’ve been a rough ride without you.”

Fliss laughs and retracts her wings. “Not a problem. You’re two of the most pleasant customers I’ve had in a while!”

“Maybe we’ll see you again on the way back,” Nia suggests hopefully.

“Maybe so!” Fliss gives the two of them a wink. “For now, you two just have a good time in the city and enjoy that magic show. Stay friendly, okay?” Her gaze flicks to Tobias, an unfamiliar note of something serious entering her voice. “Just not too friendly.”

Tobias stiffens. That...was that a warning? Fliss hadn’t acted particularly concerned about Nia keeping her human life a secret during the flight, but…

Fliss gives them both another nod before walking over to the swellow. Tobias looks at Nia, wondering if she caught the braviary’s subtle warning, but the riolu is just digging through their satchel with an oblivious smile on her face. Great.

Tobias sighs, wordlessly turning and leading the way to the staircase when Nia finally looks up with an eager expression and a thumbs-up. They descend to the ground level and wave at the check-in Pokémon, an emolga. Before they can step out into the street Tobias reaches out to grab Nia’s arm.

“Wait.”

Nia does, looking at him with a tilt of her head.

Tobias glances back to make sure the emolga isn’t listening. “Look, I know it’s important to you that you used to be human.”

Nia pulls her arm away from him, open expression becoming more wary. “Yes?”

“And I know we’re here for the human meetup. But I’ve been thinking about what August said, and I think he might be right. Just…try to be discreet, all right?”

Nia frowns, looking disheartened. “What? But I thought everyone said not to worry about it too much.”

Tobias has to take a deep breath not to retort with something sharp. Nia’s not dumb by any means, but she’s just so trusting. It’s gonna be a problem one day. Fliss might’ve wanted to spare Nia any unwarranted panic, but Tobias is more concerned about them being attacked than the riolu’s soft heart.

“Did you not hear Fliss up there on the flight floor? That was a warning. Whether anything actually happens or not, it’s a good idea to lay low when we can.”

Nia looks away and whispers, “I guess.”

Tobias sighs. “Good. Let’s get a move-on, then. We should find this place right away so we know where to go tomorrow without getting lost. We can decide where to stay afterwards.”

They step out onto the street, and Tobias barely catches Nia’s sullen expression smoothing away to something awed and starry-eyed as she looks around. He’s too busy doing the same.

If the city looked huge from far away, then that’s nothing compared to being in the heart of it. The streets are bustling with all kinds of Pokémon going about their business, types and species he’s never even seen before in real life. A huge copperajah passes by, making the cobblestone road beneath them shake with her steps, and a group of tiny mincinno dodge around her legs with ease, not even breaking their conversation. A Seeker team lead by a rapidash trots by, laughing, and a couple of starly swoop by overhead. The stream of Pokémon is endless, a thick crowd blocking out the buildings on the opposite side of the street entirely. Everything is in noisy motion, and the energy in the street is unreal. Beyond the passing Pokémon there are shops bracketing the path, and a few vendors yelling to try and market their wares. It would be stifling if not for the brisk sea breeze cooling everything down, a cut of bright sunlight slanting down between the maze of buildings.

“Oh wow,” Nia breathes, a beaming smile forming on her face. “And I thought Afon’s Cap was amazing!”

“This place makes Afon look like a dump,” Tobias agrees, still looking around. He’s never been here before either, and it more than lives up to the hype.

“How’re we ever gonna find the meeting place?” Nia asks, digging into the satchel to pull out the crumpled flyer for the human meetup.

Tobias leans over to look. “It says it’s just north of the main plaza. Whatever that means.”

“I guess we’ll have to just ask around?”

Tobias nods, looking around at the crowd. “Yeah. Let’s just ask for the plaza, so Pokémon don’t start wondering why we‘re looking for the convention center.”

Nia wilts, giving him a pathetic look. “Do you really think Pokémon would attack us? If they knew I was—well. You know.”

Tobias sighs. “No, not really. But I’d rather not take any chances. This place is different than the Haven, and we don’t know anyone, either. We get in trouble here and we’re screwed.”

Nia doesn’t look happy with that answer, but she nods. “I…guess you’re right. Pokémon have just been so nice to me that it’s hard to believe any of them could be cruel like that.”

Tobias looks at her, then gestures to the scarf tied around her arm over fang-shaped scars. “You already forget how you got those?“

Nia winces. “Of course not. But that was an outlaw.”

“Any Pokémon in this city could be an outlaw. Trust too easily and it’ll get you killed,” Tobias counters, looking around. He nods to the left. “C’mon, we should get moving before someone needs through to the flight tower.”

Nia still looks pensive, but tucks away the flyer and follows as Tobias steps into the flow of Pokémon and starts moving with the crowd. It’s hard to keep up the right speed and dodge stray tails and paws when neither of them are used to it, and they quickly find themselves being jostled and tripped by the overwhelming crowd. He and Nia almost lose sight of each other when a stantler charges right between them. After that, Nia hooks a paw around Tobias’ elbow, stepping closer. He gives her a look but otherwise doesn’t comment. It’d be nearly impossible to find each other if they got separated in a crowd this big.

“S-So where exactly are we going?” Nia asks.

Tobias shrugs. “The crowd will have to open up eventually and we can ask around when that happens.”

Nia nods but doesn’t answer, still too focused on looking around at the colorful variety of Pokémon and buildings they pass.

Eventually they reach a small plaza where the crowd thankfully thins out. There’s a large fountain in the middle of the space, and Tobias steers them over to it to catch their breath.

“Whew! I thought we’d never get out of that,” Nia says, hopping up to sit on the edge of the stone fountain and kick her paws. “I think it’d be too lucky for this to be the plaza we’re looking for. There are some vendors and shops around, though. Wanna start here?”

“As good a place as any,” Tobias huffs, still a bit on edge from the walk. He’s not sure he’s ever been surrounded by so many Pokémon at once, and he doesn’t like the feeling. “We could—“

“Get back here and let me peck your nose off, you coward!”

Tobias spins around at the shout, just in time for a flash of brown fur to zigzag past him. A moment later, a furious ball of blue, black and yellow feathers flies into view from the crowd of Pokémon. A rookidee?

Tobias doesn’t register the flying type’s sudden expression of panic or how they try to backpedal until they slam into him, knocking them both to the ground.

Tobias immediately shoves the rookidee off, snarling, “Watch it!”

The bird shoots him their own glare. “You watch it, you overgrown lizard! That scrap of fur stole my money!” And with that, they’re off again, fluttering back into the air and shooting off after the brown-furred Pokémon.

“Jeez,” Tobias grumbles, brushing himself off. “Warm welcome, huh?”

When there’s no answer, Tobias looks up to find Nia gone. Of course. He whips around, just in time to see the riolu’s fluffy tail vanish into the crowd—in the same direction as the rookidee and the thief.

Tobias groans, tipping back his head and shoving his palms into his eyes. They’ve been in the city for half an hour and Nia is already sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong and trying to stop a street robbery. He’s going to kill that riolu.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #braviary #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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lady-charinette · 3 years

Note

Can you do a reader insert for Ranmaru from Kakuriyo? Maybe a human brought to Orio-ya by Ougan douji to turn the old building into a restaurant and he's surprised that it's become so popular?

“That woman…” Ranmaru adjusted his position against one of the wooden beams supporting Orio-ya, hands crossed over his chest at the sight before him.

Ayakashi bustling about, Orio-ya’s staff cleaning and guiding customers to their seats and in the center of all the controlled chaos was one woman.

One human woman.

Mistress Ougon-douji had brought you into Orio-ya, there had been no doubt in Ranmaru’s mind where she found you.

Ever since Aoi and subsequently Tenjin’ya had visited their inn, life as they knew it began to change.

Ayakashi from far and wide visited their inn, intrigued by the knowledge of the temporary reunion between the two most popular inns, as well as Tenjin’ya’s resident human having been an esteemed guest. “Esteemed” might not have been the word Ranmaru would’ve used since the beginning of Aoi’s stay here, but that had certainly changed with time. Now that peace existed between the two inns, even Ginji visited more often.

And today was one of those days.

“There you are Ranmaru! The restaurant sure seems to be successful, its almost as popular as Aoi’s back at Tenjin’ya! What’re you doing here standing all alone? Huh?” the nine tailed fox followed the dog ayakashi’s line of sight and spotted you who’d transformed the old, unused section of their inn into a lively restaurant. A devious smile spread the sly fox’s lips, “Ah, I recognize that look.”

Ranmaru bristled, hair standing on end and tail hitting Ginji completely intentionally, “What are you talking about?” he barked, pushing himself off the beam and moving onto a different less populated area.

He didn’t notice your curious gaze staring at his back as he rounded the corner.

Ginji, of course, followed suit. “You look just like the Master whenever he looks at Aoi! They make quiet a couple, you know?” Ginji switched sides and moved to Ranmaru’s right, just in time to avoid the violent arm swinging at the spot he had previously been in.

“Nonsense! Maybe the sake got to you Ginji, you’ve never been a good drinker.” Ginji allowed the remark to slide, watching his childhood friend stomp his way towards the general direction of the receptionist desk.

He scoffed, a lopsided smile on his lips. “I haven’t, but you’ve never been a good liar, Ranmaru.” With a shake of his head, Ginji made his way back to the festivities, making his way towards you to ask if you needed help with anything.

It was late when the restaurant in Orio-ya closed, you were kindly helping customers up to their feet and back into the inn, their steps heavy and uneven as the sake still buzzed in their bodies.

Your back hurt from all the preparations made for the restaurant, at least you didn’t have to cook everything on your own, the talented chefs of Orio-ya had been more than welcome to help you out.

“Of course, you’re now a part of Orio-ya, we help each-other here.” You appreciated how attentive everyone seemed to you, willing to help you adjust in the Hidden Realm among ayakashi as a sole human.

Well, almost.

There was always Aoi, who had been a tremendous help in getting you back on your feet and making sure you were protected and could hold your own against ayakashi. Tenjin’ya’s master had been kind enough to recommend you to the mistress of Orio-ya for hired help, since they were short staffed and needed fresh ideas to get their inn back on track.

You were more than alright with that, you missed leading your own restaurant back at home, and since you didn’t have the same abilities as the ayakashi, you thought it might be best to stick to what you knew and help them out.

As it turned out, Orio-ya had accepted you fairly quickly. Apparently, Aoi had humbled them quite a bit, some staff members were a bit brutish towards you for being human, but for the most part you felt perfectly safe.

That was largely thanks to Orio-ya’s lead manager, Ranmaru. Having not met a dog ayakashi before, you had been pretty taken with him, especially due to his big mane and his fluffy tail. Not to mention those ears.

Unfortunately, he acted anything but like a dog.

He seemed to be more of a cat than a dog, at least like the animals in your world.

He would mostly avoid you if he could, slipping past you whenever he could, only appearing when it suited him. But you weren’t stupid, you felt his gaze whenever you ventured outside of the inn, taking a walk through the forest. You were warned not to venture too far away, for the possibility of encountering monsters or unfriendly ayakashi but so far, nothing happened to you.

You thought it might’ve something to do with the dog ayakashi always being somewhere in your vicinity. Far away enough he thought you wouldn’t notice, but close enough to keep an eye on you.

Hideyoshi once corrected you on Ranmaru being a komainu, a lion-dog ayakashi, not purely a dog ayakashi. When you asked what the difference was, Hideyoshi had been curiously tongue tied, just snapping at you to never treat him like a lowly dog from your world.

You’d felt mildly offended, what was wrong with dogs? They were cute and fluffy and very loyal companions. So far, Ranmaru didn’t seem to really fit her world dog’s description.

Well…he was fluffy. At least judging from his hair and tail.

And he was cute or at least as cute as you were willing to admit to yourself.

You did know he was loyal to Orio-ya and its inhabitants but you didn’t think that same loyalty extended to you yet..or if ever.

Ranmaru didn’t seem to like you very much, no matter how hard you worked at befriending him and getting on his good side. It just seemed like he put walls all around him to keep you as far away from him as possible.

Your troubled musings were interrupted when something hit the ground with a dull thud.

It was Ranmaru.

The komainu had set up a table near the edge of Orio-ya’s porch, overlooking the sea. A bottle of sake and two bowls were on the table.

He didn’t even look at you when he spoke, his voice low and uncharacteristically lacking the typical bite which he usually barked commands at you, “Sit.”

Debating whether or not to tell him you weren’t his servant nor a dog, you took a deep breath and decided to follow his lead. This had been his first direct attempt at engaging in conversation with you, at least conversation that so far didn’t have anything to do with Orio-ya or the restaurant.

You sat on the opposite side of him, your gaze straying to the beautiful night sky before your head whipped around at the sound of trickling liquid.

Ranmaru was pouring you sake.

Finally, his gaze briefly met your stunned one, scoffing at the bewildered look on your face. “You seem surprised,” he nudged the bowl of sake towards you, before moving to pour himself a cup.

This time, it was him that was stunned when your hands landed on his, gently taking the sake bottle from him. He seemed even more stunned when you poured him sake, “Can you blame me? This is the first time you tried to talk to me and didn’t just watch me from afar.”

The komainu seemed oddly flustered, whether at being caught red-handed or that you were aware of his guarded gazes.

He cleared his throat, choosing not to comment and taking a sip from his sake. You did the same.

You drank together quietly, at the now clean porch of Orio-ya, both staring up at the night sky littered with stars and the moon.

Perhaps it was the fatigue hitting you from working a full day at Orio-ya with the newly opened restaurant, or the alcohol in your system, but you felt compelled to utter the words that left your mouth, “You know, ever since coming here, I’ve been scared what would become of me. If I would survive in this world, or if I would ever find a way to go back to mine. Since I met Aoi and saw how happy she was here, I’m beginning to think that…maybe its alright if I don’t return to my world.” You stared down at the clear liquid in your bowl, watching the moon’s reflection staring back at your pensive face.

Ranmaru was listening intently, trying to find the right words to answer you. It seemed like the bowl of sake gave him the inspiration, or the confidence, to finally speak. “You’ve been adjusting rather well here, despite all your…shortcomings.”

You huffed in annoyance at his remark, turning your head away from him.

A low chuckle filled your ears and his voice followed, “I think you’ll live here just fine, as long as you stay at Orio-ya, that is.”

You looked back at him in surprise, blinking rapidly. “You…you want me to…stay?”

The ghost of a smile adorned the komainu’s handsome face. “You’ve opened up this restaurant, someone has to lead it.” He lifted his bowl to his lips, blue eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts. “And…some of Orio-ya’s staff seemed to have…developed a soft spot for you.”

You weren’t sure if this was the sake talking or not, but you found yourself mirroring his stance, your voice soft when you said, “Well…I…developed a soft spot for…them too.” You could feel your cheeks heating up but blamed it on the alcohol.

The stars seemed to wink down at you, so mesmerized were you at their beauty that you failed to catch Ranmaru’s gentle smile.

Thanks for reading! It’s been a long while since I wrote for the fandom, so I hope it’s not too OOC and that you liked it :3

#kakuriyo no yadomeshi #bed and breakfast for spirits #ranmaru x reader #kakuriyo bed and breakfast for spirits #my fic #my fics #ask #Thanks for the request!#kakuriyo fic #kakuriyo fanfic

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raelly-writing · 3 years

Text

The Lord of Embers

Since I started in Limsa, the Ifrit questline is the first time Thancred and my WoL really interacts and work together, so I wanted to write something for that first impression sort of stuff.

---

The merciless midday sun bore down upon the land, and only a mild breeze stirred the dry air, barely managing to keep it from feeling too stifling.

For all his years in the region, Thancred felt grateful for the shade of the solitary tree that clung to the rocky slope. Leaning against its trunk, he kept one eye on the Amalj'aa encampment further up the ravine, while scanning the lands below, seeking for any solitary figures moving across the flat plane in his direction.

Hopefully the latest addition to their merry band wasn’t completely incapable of following the directions he’d left with the alderman.

Fishing out his water flask, Thancred took a small mouthful to wet his throat. Even for Thanalan, the heat was near unbearable. If he drew Viana’s ire for making her trekk out here for what was a task he could easily do himself, then so be it - he wanted to see for himself how capable this mercenary from Limsa was.

Not that he doubted Y’shtola’s estimation of her abilities - Hells, by his dear colleague’s strict standards, her praise had been positively glowing.

Still, while he’d had no cause for complaints for her conduct so far, his curiosity remained piqued. Even if Y’hstola hadn’t informed them that their new recruit was training with the marauders’ guild, it’d been plain to him from the moment she had stepped into the solar, just from the way she moved, that she didn’t carry that axe just for show.

Just then a dark shape moving amidst the low brush of the lands below caught his attention. Thancred straightened up a little, instantly on the alert. The figure was too small to be one of the beastmen, and there wasn’t much reason for anyone to be heading this way towards the Amalj’aa’s encampment. So, either it was Viana following his directions, or it was another spoken in league with the beastmen.

Fishing out his small spyglass from his bag, he focused onto the figure. Though the armoured figure stayed off the well-trodden path the Amalj’aa utilised, it was easy to pick out their dark red hair and the great axe on their back.

“Well, well, she did not get lost at least,” Thancred mused to himself as he folded up his spyglass. He should be easy enough to spot from her angle of approach, but if needed to, he’d leave the shade of the tree and meet her at lower ground.

But it soon enough became clear that she’d seen him, and Thancred leaned back against the tree once more to wait for her, his eyes locked on the Amalj’aa encampment and ears trained on the sounds of rocks sliding that slowly grew louder. Seven Hells, he didn’t envy her wearing that armour out in this heat. But she was quieter in her approach than he had expected.

Turning his head, Thancred offered her a welcoming smile when she crested the edge of the slope. “Ah, there you are, Viana,” he greeted her. “So good of you to come!”

Viana gave him a curt nod and joined him under the shade of the tree. Wisps of hair had escaped the bun she’d gathered it up in, but other than a mild flush to her cheeks she seemed fairly unbothered by the trek across the plains. “Apologies, didn’t mean to leave you waiting.”

“No harm done,” he replied with a shrug and held out his water flask to her but she shook her head and unhooked her own from her belt. Well, perhaps he should’ve expected a Highlander to know to be prepared for hot weather.

“Did you hear about Sister Ourcen before you left?” she asked before taking a sip from her flask.

Thancred kept his face neutral as he replied, despite the small pang of guilt. “Indeed, I’ve heard all about good Sister Ourcen. Isembard said her wounds were serious. It would seem my suspicions about the poor rose were misplaced.”

Not for the first time in the past few days, he was on the receiving end of a cool and an appraising look. But rather than saying anything, she merely gave him a silent nod and took another sip from her bottle.

Taking the measure of one's comrades was probably something of a useful skill in the mercenary field, but at the back of his mind Thancred had the distinct feeling that he came up short to whatever expectations she had of him. Oh well, he’d play the fool for a while longer still. “But, onto why I asked you to meet me out here,” he spoke casually. “False though they were, perhaps my suspicions were not entirely without merit. Whilst following Sister Ourcen near the Golden Bazaar, a band of Amalj’aa caught my eye.”

He gestured towards the encampment. “And I tracked them as far as here, but…” He slipped on a charming, apologetic smile as easily as one might put on a well-worn glove. “Well, let us just say that I would much prefer to keep my distance and remain here.” He watched her eyes narrow ever so slightly, clearly anticipating his next sentence. “This, of course, brings me to why I requested you, dear Viana. Would you be so kind as to take a look inside?”

There was a flash of something sharp in her expression, a subtle tightening of her brow and flexing of her jaw, before she exhaled in a slow and controlled manner, “As you wish.” It was the polite, well-practised tone of someone used to not making her annoyance with a request too obvious.

Disregarding the feeling that he was poking a bear with a stick, Thancred put his hand on his hip and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Is aught amiss, my dear?”

While making her way past him towards the slope down into the ravine, Viana hooked her water flask back onto her belt, and loosened her axe from its holster on her back, taking the hefty weapon in one hand. “Nay,” she replied over her shoulder. “Merely trying to figure out if there’s more to you than just a pretty face and clever tongue.”

Thancred couldn’t help but chuckle. “Pretty am I?”

But she’d already begun to jump and slide her way down to the encampment below.

----

The distant sounds of soldiers groaning in pain bore down on Thancred’s shoulders as he made his way out of Camp Drybone’s inn and into the mercifully cooling evening air, with a tray of simple breads and pitcher of water in hand. He did not look forward to reporting to Raubahn how things had gone. Luckily, they had suffered minimal losses on their hasty rescue mission at the Amalj’aa’s inner sanctum.

But there were those who still drew breath who were all but walking dead.

Thancred grit his teeth, his eyes searching for the one person who had somehow escaped the primal’s influence. After a moment, he spotted Viana perched atop some crates in a solitary corner. There were a few bandages wrapped around her arms, but scrapes, singed hair and minor burns had thankfully been the worst of her injuries and from what he could see, they did not seem to hinder her much as she gave her weapon and armour a critical look-over.

“Ah, Viana, there you are!”

At the sound of his voice, she immediately looked up. Despite the attentive edge to her gaze - the look of someone expecting orders to move and continue onward, that rest could wait for later - he could tell that she was tired.

“Come now, at ease, you’ve more than earned a rest, I’d say.” He held up the pitcher and tray in his hands, a couple of simple clay mugs balanced amidst the bread rolls. “Some refreshments.”

Her body language relaxed a little, and she pushed together her gear before moving to the side, making space for him where she had been sitting.

Thancred set down the pitcher and tray by her side, before he with a long exhale sank down on the crate. It’d been a long day, both physically and emotionally.

“You alright?” Viana asked just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the people milling about camp Drybone.

Thancred shot her an easy, disarming smile as he poured up some water. “Flattered as I am about your concern, there’s no need to fret, my dear,” he replied while offering her the mug. “Despite the rather diligent attempts of the Amalj’aa zealots, I’m quite unscathed.”

Viana sighed, the tilt of her head giving him the impression that she’d only just resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she gave him a weary, contemplating look as she accepted the mug from him. “Good to hear.”

“Well, my contributions to this mission have been sorely lacking,” he responded while helping himself to a piece of bread, “so it seemed the least I could do.” He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but before she had the chance to reply, he continued. “Speaking of, I do believe I was in the process of apologizing. I do hope you can forgive me.”

“For what? There’s nothing you did wrong.”

Thancred huffed out a laugh that sounded more tired than he would have liked. “That’s kind of you,” he replied, managing a casual, carefree tone, while he tore off a piece of bread. “But there’s no denying that I arrived too late to be of any use… to you or the abductees.” A heavy silence followed his words. Absently, he popped the chunk of bread into his mouth but barely registered the taste of it as he chewed slowly. The heaviness on his shoulders grew deeper. If only he’d been faster. Stronger. More alert.

It was never enough. He was never enough. And people always died because of it. The bread tasted ashen in his mouth as he slowly ate piece after piece.

“But you tried.”

To his surprise, the firm, guarded edge was gone from her voice.

When he looked at her, he expected it to just have been a momentary slip, but gone was the reserved professional facade. In its stead was perhaps not the relaxed demeanour he might have expected from a friend, but there was an earnest warmth to her gaze when she looked at him.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a shite situation,” Viana continued with a brief, wry smile, “And it would’ve been the practical thing to just write us all off as an unfortunate loss and not risk any more lives.” She paused, briefly, and he caught the flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “But you mounted a rescue anyway.” She shrugged and looked back out over Camp Drybone. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I’d probably have survived Ifrit only to get skewered on some Amalj’aa’s spear while trying to get out of there.”

At the back of his mind, he noted how frankly she spoke of her own potential demise, with not a hint of mirth to soften her words. The reassuring words did nothing to soothe the choking sense of failure lingering in his chest. If he had been faster to mobilize a rescue force, he might have been able to reach them before they’d even been brought before Ifrit to start with. Despite his internal turmoil, Thancred mustered a disarming smile and winked at her, “Of course I did, I’d hardly leave a fair lady as yourself to her demise!”

This time, Viana did roll her eyes and sigh, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips. “Suppose I should thank you for risking a scratch to mar that face of yours,” she drawled, then gave him a side look. “Thank you, Thancred.”

The earnest, somber tone made his chest feel tight. Thancred swallowed and was a little grateful that a sudden commotion between a couple of residents of Drybone gave him an excuse to look away from her. He watched as the two men were quickly shushed and led away by a guard, before things escalated. Try as he might, his smart replies didn’t come as easily to his far too dry tongue. “Well, at any rate, I should have accompanied you to the ambush site,” he murmured.

“For what? It was a simple mission, you had your own tasks to see to and couldn’t have known there was a mole amongst the Flames.” He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off, her voice growing rough with poorly contained bitterness that echoed what he himself felt about the situation. “And if you had been present, you would have risked ending up tempered as well and about to be mercy-killed with the rest of the soldiers.”

His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought all while his overactive mind was constructing a dozen what-if scenarios where he successfully turned the tide at the ambush, or slipped away unseen to swiftly return with reinforcements before the prisoners even set foot within the Amalj’aa’s stronghold.

A multitude of alternate realities where a score of good men and women were free to return home safely to their families tonight. But wish as he might, there was nothing to do but to face the harsh reality before him, once more. “You know of the unavoidable fate of those put under a primal’s thrall then,” he remarked matter of factly.

Viana made a low noise of acknowledgment. “I’ve been around long enough to have heard the tales,” she replied grimly. “In Limsa, they often speak of the Company of Heroes’ victory against the Leviathan.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms, and he could all but picture the mournful frown on her face when she continued, “I wish I could have somehow saved the others, maybe lent them whatever power it is that kept me from falling under Ifrit’s control.”

With a quiet hum of agreement, Thancred picked at the forgotten remains of the bread in his hand, feeling the slight brush of the crumbs that fell to the ground. “Well, loathe as I am to say it, there’s naught we can do for them now, but to give them a swift, merciful end,” he said. Taking a deep, fortifying breath he pushed away those dark, churning emotions into the deepest recesses of his mind. Surprising as it were, he’d rather not risk losing this sudden favourable improvement of his standing with her. Smiling, he met her gaze. “And I dare say there’s still some reasons to rejoice this day.”

Curiosity and confusion flickered across her features as she frowned at him.

Thancred made a gesture that was the faint echo of a bow as he inclined his head, bread still clutched in his hand. “Ifrit is slain, and by your hand no less. That, my dear, is the deed of no ordinary individual.” He leaned back with a satisfied look on his face, almost relieved to slip back into the theatrics of this well-worn cover persona of his. “Not that I ever thought you were ordinary,” he finished with a dramatic wave of his hand, like he was presenting her some magnificent work of art, rather than waving about the sorry remains of a piece of bread.

Viana raised an eyebrow, the doubt clear in her eyes, and snorted. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“What can I say? My fine eye for talent remains undimmed.”

“Mhm, and would that be why you didn’t just investigate that Amalj’aa encampment yourself?”

Inclining his head, he gave her the placating, pleading look of a man begging for forgiveness. “Why, I hardly had the pleasure of fighting at your side as lady Y’shtola did. You can’t fault me for wishing to see your prowess with his own two eyes, surely.”

She huffed out a short laugh. “Could have just asked me to slay a beast, rather than doing all the theatrics.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that, my dear?” he retorted. “Anyhow, on the topic of your splendid victory; I dare say Minfilia will be proud beyond all reckoning when she hears of your deeds.” With that, he rose up from the crate, letting the rest of the bread fall back onto the tray. He’d barely eaten a quarter of the already modest roll. “I trust you shan’t object to my bearing the tidings to her. That way I can claim to have contributed something to this mission,” he continued and dipped into an elegant bow, then busied himself with straightening his clothes. “You, meanwhile, have earned yourself a rest. Take some time to relax, and return to the Waking Sands when you are good and ready.” He glanced up at her and gave her a wink. “Just don’t take too long, will you? The realm’s problems won’t solve themselves.”

Viana was giving him a barely concealed look of exasperation, clearly waiting impatiently for him to finish talking. “Seven hells Thancred, sit down. You’ve barely eaten, nor drank anything.”

Thancred paused, a bit taken back by the firm tone of her voice that was a rather disconcerting reminder of Y’shtola when she got in a particularly stubborn mood. “As much as I would love to-” He interrupted himself when she tilted her head to the side and the crease between her brows deepened a fraction.

“Really, you’ll be of no use to Minfilia if you collapse on her doorstep due to dehydration.”

HIs posture tensed. He felt torn between the guilt that spurred him onwards and that well-honed, professional instinct to dig deeper for more information - the urge to seek out the next task and try to succeed there instead to make up for this failure fighting the curiosity that bid him to stay and see what else he could learn about her. Another, more logical side that he ignored far too often, saw the wisdom in her words. He was hungry and the back of his throat still felt dry with dust and ash. Thancred swallowed thickly, which did nothing to alleviate the sensation. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, surely? Just long enough to fill his belly and quench his thirst. “Very well,” he finally relented with a charming smile. “It’d be rather ungentlemanly of me to leave a lady to dine on her own, after all.”

Viana huffed out that weary laugh once more, its dryness betrayed by the hint of amusement in her eyes and faint smile on her lips. “Aw Hells, maybe I made a mistake,” she drawled.

“Ah, how you wound me, my dear,” he replied as he settled back down onto the crate. “Many a fair maiden can vouch that I am a most entertaining dinner companion.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all.”

#Thancred Waters #Thancred #have struggled concentrating #just wanted to finish something :)#my writing

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friggsdc · 3 years

Text

Title: little delinquent pt iv

part iii | part iv

Warnings: Female!reader (bat!sis), mostly plot with family fluff, AU, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4600~

Synop: It had Bruce and Dick sharing a look for a moment before the latter spoke up, “It’s not like I’m against continuing to expand the family, but…” he eyed the child you held nervously, “please don’t start bringing home every child you find…” he tilted his head, “he’s bad enough.” Bruce settled a light glare at his first son (that definitely wasn’t what Bruce was thinking), though Dick was stilled by the way your eyes narrowed at him instead.

“His name is Terrence,” that was all you said, brushing past as they were suddenly on guard at the inherited Wayne-scowl on your face.

---

A/N: ee;;;; enjoy me not knowing what this plot is, idk tbh, but it’s fun to write. It’s more plot than fluff, which wasn’t what i meant to write sighs. I’ll probably write companion pieces to this that’s zero plot all fluff. The plot wasn’t meant to be so deep, but I mean, uhm… enjoy papa Bruce and mama Alfred~

---

[bigR] Dad’s upset.

[bigR] He’s talking less than usual, not even grunts.

[bigR] I think he’s ignoring me?

[you] crap

[bigR] Worse, there’s no news.

No news? True, you hadn’t seen the info feeds light up, the networks had been offline all day, but nothing from Tim’s side? If you didn’t hate Luthor before, well…

[you] this is giving me a headache ::dizzy_emoji::

[bigR] No kidding, I think he’s figuring a few things out.

[bigR] Patrol with B, everything’s unlocked, bb @ late.

[you] is typing…

“You sure it’s okay?”

The taller male gave quite the toothy grin, a large hand coming up to pull the awkwardly fitted shirt collar back to center, admiring your new outfit. “You can just bring it back later, besides, I think it’s cuter this way.” After a few hours and an incredibly long phone call between Jason, Tim and yourself, the three of you combined were able to get the suit to come off.

Tim said he still had a lot to go over, but that the laptop was actually incredibly useful. Much of what Tim had been talking (and geeking) about had been lost on Jason and you, too focused on Terry and wrangling the alien suit off.

Jason said he’d be jealous of the strange futuristic-like material if it weren’t for the second skin-like fit, happily poking fun at Nightwing’s taste in suits.

Most of the work was done on Tim’s side since he apparently already had the ability to take control of the suit. It was something you were rather… anxious about, but unlike the manor, Jason’s place had the advantage of no Bruce and no cameras.

So now you sat in the same pair of pants you’d come over in, the only pair of flip-flops he had. They were far too large for you, but your toes would have to hang on till home, and a large t-shirt that fit well enough.

“Muscle up, Buttercup” was written on the front, Superman’s flexed arm between the words.

“Your taste in clothes is…”

“Cheap. Like second-hand cheap.”

“But… why…”

“To spite Bruce? I pay more for job-related injuries than money I actually have, it’s been tempting me to go back to crime, honestly.”

“…you sure that’s not to spite Bruce as well?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, an impish grin on his face as he lightly ruffled the top of your hair, causing you to childishly swat his hand away, “isn’t that what everyone else does? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

“Uh-huh…” you were honestly too much of a—

“Daddy’s girl,” he snorted lightly, unimpressed.

Before slipping one of Jason’s unused backpacks on, you stuffed the batsuit in the bottom, and the jacket you arrived in on top. Turning just in time to see him picking up Terrence’s sleeping form with incredible gentleness, you cooed lightly.

“You know, you’re not bad at that,” he looked at you, frowning, ears flushing before his attention went back to the bundle in his arms.

“Not even…” instead of moving to take the child from him, you opted to stand still and just watch the interaction instead, as if a point were being made.

Big boy looked like he was terrified of breaking the child in his arms, like an heirloom British teacup, “You look cute like that, a giant teddy bear and a tiny uh... new bat?” Walking over, he turned his eyes to the side, not a single trace of anger towards the situation in his voice anymore, “don’t get used to it,” he muttered, unsure of himself. “But you could get used to it,” you smiled, taking the giant marshmallow from him, “he’ll be around from now on, you know. You’ll have uncle duties~” Your teasing only increased his rising timidness, “right…”

“Well,” he began, heading to the door once you had everything, “I’m already late for patrol, let’s get you home.”

Alfred had greeted you at the door and mentioned putting on some tea, and you gladly accepted, though not before you went up and changed. With the promise to be back downstairs in a few minutes, he took Terrence from you to ready him for bed. Adorable child was actually quite active, having tired himself out at Jason’s temporary housing.

Quickly, you’d headed to Tim’s room to empty the contents of your bag in his faraday cage, hoping that it was secure enough being in his room. Once you’d locked the safe’s door, you headed out of his room and down the hall to your own. Sorry Jay, but the shoes were uncomfortable, and the shirt kept trying to strangle you more than the shirt of a giant should. Pajamas sounded wonderful right now.

The now empty backpack was tossed to the side near where Duke had left the your clothes from earlier in the day, and a few immediate items for Terrence. You figured everything else was probably in the nursery now, hoping it was all waiting for you in the next few days. The awkward clothes you’d worn over the suit had been tossed on your day clothes, and then Jason’s shirt and shoes were dropped on top.

The shower was quick, and having changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, you suddenly felt sluggish, your shoulders now heavy with tightness. Come to think of it, your thighs also felt rather wobbly, like jelly… but the only strenuous activity you can remember doing in all honesty was… base jumping… was it the wings? It’s all you could honestly come up with. Maybe you weren’t used to such a thing yet, and as you rubbed your shoulders, you headed back downstairs to the sitting room. “Nn…”

“Sore?”

It was still too early for anyone scary to be home right now, so…

You nodded, collapsing on the small sitting couch, Alfred going to stand from his seat to fix you a cup of tea from the tray on the table. “I did a dumb thing today. I’m not certain if I regret it or not.” He handed you the tea plate and cup before returning to his original position on a rather regal looking chair, “I’ve already put the Little Master to bed for the evening. The Young Masters went to bed awhile ago, though I suspect, they are not, actually sleeping.” He gave an amused hum at the thought of Damian and Jon and what they were totally not doing.

He definitely hadn’t noticed when they’d snuck out earlier. Nope, not at all.

It was a long day filled with heightened emotions, anxiety, stress, confusion, and at the end of it, you were just so tired, and Alfred had always been your confidant next to Tim, and—

You tried to keep quiet as you spoke.

“I jumped out of a really tall building. Like… ninety feet up? I’m not certain, I was watching my life flash before my eyes.” He sighed and frowned into his own tea, “Master Bruce has already left for the night, Master Tim is accompanying him, as the boys are… supposed to be here for a night off. I really had hoped you’d grown up to be more intelligent and not as reckless as your brothers.” Or your father, Alfred mused, sipping at his tea, pinky out, the proper macaroni gentlebutler he was.

“I mean, I panicked, I was in a batsuit, I had a lot of intel on me, like, literally stole a laptop and backed up something called Project B (whatever that meant, though you had your suspicions having met Conner), there was a ton of guards outside going from door to door… I don’t have the same muscle mass to fight like my militant brothers, I was scared of what would happen if they caught me, like dad’s reputation?, I may have been overwhelmed by the—”

“—batsuit?” Ah, you looked up from your tea with wide eyes to see him staring, uncertain if the twinkle in his eye was worry or mischief. “Yeah, that. Uhm… Please don’t tell dad,” you sat up straight, gave him your biggest crocodile tears, and were about to clasp your hands together like a beggar before he waved your antics off. “I would not, not unless it endangers your life, Young Miss, you know that. Including young Master Terrence, of course.”

“This afternoon I must ponder over, What you did was, how shall I say, not okay,” he spoke, stern.

He stood to walk over, seating himself next to you while smiling gently, “though I must admit, I am quite curious as to the story behind all of this.” You gave your own small smile as you stared at your tea, “Yeah. I still don’t know all of it yet, myself, but… it’s actually really cool…” The two of you spoke in hushed tones.

Bruce may have been your father, but much like him, you were raised by Alfred, and seeing as you usually weren’t allowed out on the field like the others, your disposition was as Alfred’s was; support. It was something your brothers and father relished in when they had any extra time over the years. You loved to spoil them, and they were readily eager for it.

It was also thanks to Alfred that you’d learned you had a unique knack for espionage.

Your brothers were raised to protect themselves and others, getting to go out nightly on risky (and deadly) vigilantism escapades. More than that, they not only got to be of use to your father, but they were able to grow up around him, their lives dedicated to the same purpose.

To say you were jealous was an understatement, often worrying Dick and Jay at times.

To say you were your father’s daughter and just as like-minded as him was also an understatement. This was something Tim and Damian understood better than your two eldest siblings.

You were determined as heck.

You graduated from avoiding Alfred’s detection to stalking your father and brothers, skills honed even further as you learned how to use their toys and listen in on their coms system. It was your father’s own fault, leaving you alone all the time.

You would never be useless again.

You would never be left behind again.

“So, your brothers are helping you, then? I am glad of that, it means I need not worry as much,” even though Jason and Damian only knew half the truth, it was Tim who knew everything you did. Duke didn’t want to know and apparently Jon’s dad had warned him not to get involved with “bat business,” and Alfred… “If… If Terry’s parents…” how were you supposed to frame this part, exactly? You ere bothered by the truth of it, so... maybe making it sound worse than it was? If that was even possible... “if they were bad people, like really bad people,” as if suddenly remembering the walls had ears, you lowered your head and voice, barely audible for him to hear, “do you think dad would let me keep him?”

The both of you knew that wasn’t the issue, Bruce had no problem with the child staying, but…

There was something about the boy that seemed to be worrying you…

“If there is one thing I take great pleasure and joy in,” Alfred beamed like the proud father he was, “it’s that at least one of you children turned out more like myself than Master Bruce.” No, honestly, he was so glad you weren’t gloom and doom like your father and siblings, “I’m certain you could tame the wildest of beasts.”

His parentage held no ground here, the two of you understood the meaning behind the words, memories of when Damian met you for the first time after arriving at the manor surfacing, “I think you’ll do just fine with the child. I have all the confidence in the world.”

Maybe you were being overly paranoid about the whole situation.

The evening was finished in comfortable companionship between the two of you, and he’d shoo you away to bed long before it was time for the boys to come home.

After cleaning up and assuring himself that at least someone in the manor went to bed properly, he busied himself with the surveillance of the manor.

He made certain you wouldn’t be caught just because of his curiosities.

Through part of the night, you’d begun doing as much research into the relationship between Luthor and CADMUS as you had time for, the past few days having been spent going over only CADMUS information. That was until you got a ping on Luthor’s name written on several specific checks, and gathering as much information available. You looked for key phrases in the news cycle over the past day’s incident, as well as dating back several months. You’d even taken the chip out of your work phone and popped it into the laptop sitting on the bed in front of you, allowing network protocols to take over.

There was only so much the news would give you, so you checked in on security feeds from the area, keywords during phone calls used to see if anyone noticed, satellite intel snapshots, everything. Anything.

The time-sensitive channels still hadn’t opened, no information from other informants was anywhere in the Societies channel logs, not even the time-delayed backlogs.

Someone else was cleaning up.

Early morning, the best time to avoid anyone in the manor who had a night life, also just in time to get breakfast as Alfred made the first batch of the day. Though mostly for himself, he’d generally make extras as you’d often join. Heading down the foyer stairs, Terry’s barely conscious form bundled in your arms, you beelined to the kitchen, the smell your guide. “Ah, good morning Young Miss! I even made some for the Little Master, just in case,” Alfred smiled down at the boy in your arms, holding up a small bowl of minced and steamed veggies.

The kitchen was large for an older-modeled mansion, constantly rebuilt with minimal changes, but still cozy and incredibly sustainable. Between the door to the foyer and the opposite wall, where the door to the dining room was, there was a large table. Several shopping lists, foodstuffs, and cookware took up a good portion, but there as still enough room for a small few people to sit comfortably at once.

You smiled, sitting down in the chair the older male pulled out for you, then pushing you in, food for the child set on the table. You situated Terry in your arms, finding a nice spot to rest his bottom without worry of him slipping off, and reached over to spoon some of his meal to him.

Strangely, he didn’t resist much, yawning in between bites as you had to scoop up what tried to spill out of his mouth, “so, how old might you say he is? I’ve been thinking about it, perhaps about a year?” you nodded as you looked up, agreeing with Alfred as he sat down, food cooking behind him in the meantime. “I think… if not that, maybe a few months younger… he can stand, and seems okay with soft solids… I think you’re right, maybe a year?” his clothing size certainly seemed to think the same, Duke having gone to extreme lengths to get a perfectly fitted wardrobe for the boy. He even included a few different larger sizes for the coming year as well.

“Hm…” Alfred leaned on his crossed arms, rested on the table as he eyed the boy, “I suppose we could begin early development lessons with him, signing especially, but I think he can do more, words, possibly.” In response, Terry sneezed, food spraying all over the spoon and bowl in front of the two of you, his eyes still groggy as he slumped in your hold. “Oh dear,” Alfred hummed in amusement, standing to bring you a small terrycloth towel to clean up.

Terry gave a small grunt as he pushed at the cloth now cleaning his face.

“Gonna… Gonna have to get used to that…” the suddenness surprised you, you knew it was a normal human function, but you just hadn’t… expected it.

“I think there will be a great many things for you to get used to from now on, even I will have to relearn a few things. It’s been… a very long time since an infant was in this home.” He went back to finishing his and your meal, a nostalgic and wistful look masking his face. Bruce had no idea what to do with you when you were an infant handed over to him, and it amused Alfred to this day.

Thinking about it, you looked down at Terry, your chin coming to hover over his head, almost as if you were trying to nuzzle him, loud enough for only him to hear, “…mama. S… Say mama.” The child just tilted his head and cooed at you instead, reaching up to pull at your hair again ohdeargodpleasestop.

Releasing your hair from the child’s grasp and holding both of his hands in yours this time, you tried once more, “mama.”

“Mmba,” he blew a raspberry at you as he slurred his speech, becoming more fascinated with the bubbles he blew than your inquiries. “Mm… bah.” He let out a giggle, popped his lips at you and then smiled, trying, and failing thanks to your hold, to reach for your hair again. After several attempts, he settled for turning slightly, resting his head on your chest as he watched Alfred and all of the very shiny cookware.

You flushed, wanting to beam but also feeling incredibly self-conscious about the situation still, it was honestly a lot to get used to. Frowning in determination at the snuggly bug of a child, you tried a different tactic this time, “ma.” He was still more interested in the food being cooked, however, and you heaved a sigh into his head of hair. “Mma,” well, it was a start, and you repeated your previous chant of mama to him, your own eyes wide with what felt like pride.

Was this how Alfred felt?

“Mmba.” Well, as you said, it was a start. With a sigh, you went back to shoving food in his mouth, though quickly you had to wrangle the spoon from his mouth each time. “Stop… biting it, Terry…” you wondered how Conner had gotten so smart in such a short amount of time, wondering if Terry had still been too young when you took him from the bio labs at CADMUS.

“Ah, good morning Sir,” Alfred greeted, and your head shot up to see your father standing in the doorway, bags under his eyes and a yawn hidden behind the back of his hand. “Good morning, Alfred,” he stared at the older man with a frown, obviously trying not to say something. Instead, he looked at you and the child for a long moment, giving both of you a morning greeting. And even though Terry couldn’t properly respond, he did give Bruce the same challenging look as the last time.

He was looking for something out of the ordinary, however, the only thing in the room that was new was Terry, nothing else seemed to be amiss. But you could tell, looking up at him from the corner of your eyes, head still downturned, he was searching.

“Morning dad…�� you tried to be light as you smiled at him, nothing is wrong.

“Daah,” Terry tried imitating, but it was lost in the rest of his babbling as he grabbed the food from the spoon. He was making another mess as he shoved it in his mouth, fingers fiddling around tongue and mushy carrots. Thankfully you still had the terrycloth to wipe at his chubby cheeks.

Bruce’s footsteps were as silent as his entrance, stopping next to you and squatting down, large hand, warm and gentle, landing on Terry’s head as he ruffled his hair, “I’d like to talk to you downstairs soon, okay?” He studied Terry for a moment, eyes as brilliant as his own, though it seemed like Bruce almost enjoyed the small head of hair in his palm. You couldn’t tell beyond the awkward chill in the air, but the two of them were giving each other knowing looks, both challenging, though Bruce couldn’t understand why Terry looked at him that way.

He made to stand up, pulling his hand away before Terry could do any damage, cheeks puffing out in a pout. “There’s something I’d like you to look into,” he spoke as he headed back towards the door, a morning coffee handed to him by Alfred, “oh, and you’re not allowed to leave the grounds for the time being. The tracker seems to be faulty.”

Considering you broke them often over the years, well, yeah, of course it was faulty.

Again.

The smile he gave you before he left was smug and you weren’t completely certain as to why, and it was making you really really nervous, “the League computers picked up something quite interesting yesterday.”

“Uh…” Ah yeah. Well heck.

Yeah, metropolis was both a huge risk AND your last outing, you were glad you took the chance though, even if your stunt escalated the situation. You were now officially on house arrest by the most observant secret-wannabe cop in the world.

Then again, there was no telling exactly what he knew.

He might be bluffing.

“Maaam… ah…” Huh? Did he just… Quickly as if borrowed from the speed force, your thoughts of Bruce and the problems at hand seemed to flee as you beamed at Terry. “Mama?”

“Mamhh.”

[bigR] Was able to give the drive a quick look.

[bigR] I don’t understand villains. I just don’t.

The hell did that mean?

[steph] c u soon <33

Ah, crap.

The table before Bruce had only a few pieces of paper and only two photos. You’d come home nearly a week ago with a new addition to the family, from where he still wasn’t certain. He’d checked and there’d been no missing infant reports that matched up with him, both in looks and location. Tim seemed to be in on it, hiding secrets along with you, and holding back when Bruce would inquire about anything even remotely familiar to the situation. Tim had also been keeping busy with something the past few days, and ever since you’d come home from shopping, he seemed unable to stay still, constantly fidgeting.

Then there was yesterday, when Duke took you out shopping with the boys while Batman had been at the Womb at the League’s watchtower, digging up as much as he could. Which, unfortunately, was just the few scraps of confusing ledes in front of him. The annoying part is how well you avoided the cameras, there were only a few times where he had been able to make you out, the rest he had to guess based on your profile that day.

The subsequent events had started stacking up in a rather annoying fashion. Your tracker’d been broken since you gave everyone a scare a week ago, returning with a child in your arms and something akin to paranoia. Even Tim had been clueless (until he wasn’t), and now even his attitude was giving Bruce pause. It felt more unnerving than bad, something making Bruce’s own stomach knot when he kept coming up with dead ends.

The day you’d gone shopping, the Womb had picked up something the news hadn’t, as the news was calling it nothing more than an accident, and it was that that gave Bruce even more pause. The worst part is that he couldn’t just take a deep dive into the LexCorp building’s system, knowing that much was out of their (or his) hands.

If Cyborg found out that Batman was secretly looking into a non-incident on the League system for family-related business, then he’d never hear the end of it from Superman and the others. He’d have to go out of his way to get into the building, and right now wasn’t the best time to do so, security was increased ten-fold. He’d have to wait it out.

LexCorp wasn’t even reporting it as an incident themselves, but the fact that they were being very stringent about the details, the increase in surveillance, Bruce felt it in his gut; an obvious coverup. The problem was why, there was no way what had happened had been anything short of problematic for Lex, and yet they weren’t filing any kind of paperwork.

They did their best to act as if they didn’t care, but Batman saw all the extra measures, and he also saw the information black hole happening.

LexCorp, no doubt, was scrubbing.

What he had been able to do, however, was gather two snapshots of a black blur that sped out of the building before disappearing into the thick of the city below.

About the same area where Damian’s own tracker took a detour.

“I preferred it when you used to use electrical tape to tape a transceiver blocker to your arm to hide the trackers,” Bruce hadn’t looked up as you approached (and you were dang silent too, even Terry was being chill), “It was much less of a headache.”

“Yeah, but that was when I was a kid. Nothing I do now can hide me from you anymore, the technology is different from back then.”

“Except breaking it.”

“Except that.”

He snorted as you stopped at the table, situating Terry on your hip, and looked down at the photograph that Bruce pushed over to you. It took every bit of training not to give anything away as you picked the photo up and gave it a once-over.

“This is…?” you turned your head to see him with that smug smile from before, tapping the image in your hand with his finger, “this is what I want you to look into.” You would have bristled if you hadn’t known your father better, this was some kind of trap.

“The same day you headed off to Metropolis, intriguingly enough, the LexCorp building had a break-in,” he paused to gather more words, rolling them around on his tongue before swallowing them, I’m worried, and you’re the reason.

“A break-in? I hadn’t heard—”

“No, you wouldn’t have. LexCorp seems to be keeping it from the public knowledge.”

“Then the League computers?”

“Was able to take a few photos from another satellite, these two were the best ones I could find. One of whatever broke in as it took off flying, and another of the same building a few minutes after. No police, no fire crews, nothing.” He was watching your reactions like a hawk, unfortunately you’d played this game so often growing up (learning to lie and stay out of trouble was a skill your brothers and you freaking perfected, even if they got into trouble on purpose), that it was really very easy to just—

“Uhm, but… dad, how? You grounded me, remember? That makes gathering any kind of intel like, y’know, hard.”

The smug smile was back as he pointed at the rather established medical area, the two of you heading over together, “you’re the information broker, I’m sure you can find something useful. It’s not the first time you’ve had to gather information from behind bars, after all,” you really hated how he still felt compelled to remind you of that.

It was once, in a country where no one knew you and where records were shoddy at best.

And on purpose, dangit.

You still weren’t certain how he even found out, besides, he and your brothers had done worse by comparison.

As he began removing the old tracker, you ignored the pain, the lack of anesthetic nothing new to you, too used to it at this point. Not that it was terribly painful. He was precise in skill, second to Alfred, you were too preoccupied with keeping the child still in your lap to notice what he’d been doing prior to your arrival.

All jokes aside, he’d finally gotten ahold of something that could yield actual results.

He looked to the boy again, staring at his familiar features, at his hair, like midnight, “striking how much he looks like us.” You frowned at him.

It was a statement.

The joke wasn’t lost on him.

Or on you.

#tim drake x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #stephanie brown x reader #duke thomas x reader #bat!sis

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toysoldiers-rwby · 3 years

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[CS] 11. Error. Permission Denied

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Characters: Penny Polendina, May Marigold, Winter Schnee Word Count: 6.5k

Healing isn’t always a painless experience.

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Ciel and Xanthic were already at the Polendina Facility when Winter’s summon landed. Aro was still sleeping, and without any knees she was a little difficult to carry but May figured out a way to gently cradle Aro against her.

Xanthic scowled and jogged up to them, “Dr. Polendina and my bots just finished a room for her,” May nodded and quietly left. Xanthic then glared at Winter who was already a little exhausted, “And you! Just because she’s not in critical condition doesn’t mean you can just run off with her!” She nearly yelled. Her voice then dipped into a whisper, “Second, tell me before you bust her out! There was a lot of witnesses but I erased the footage anyway.”

“You know Aro doesn’t do well in confined spaces,” Winter argued. Knowing she gets rather stubborn and impulsive behavior is less controlled when she’s angry, Penny concluded she snuck Aro out without thinking, “Staying there would have caused unnecessary stress and panic.”

Xanthic frowned. She calmed a little and crossed her arms, “You don’t want to take that fall, Schnee.” She said carefully. Penny stepped next to Winter and was a little surprised to see a subdued expression. Ciel and Penny exchanged confused and lightly concerned glances. Xanthic didn’t sneer but instead walked inside the facility with her partner.

“That seemed like it was more than it appeared…” Penny noted.

“Xanthic censors a lot of the rumors that circulate around our little social circle,” Winter explained. Her voice had a weary edge to it and her expression was a little sad, “She was just reminding me to be careful.”

For now her processors where trying to find a solution to a problem other people were more than capable of handling. She knew Aurora was okay whenever her partner was in her immediate vicinity but once May took her inside, Penny started to worry. Winter took her hand again and held it tight for a moment.

“I want you to hear this from me,” Winter started it. For some reason it activated Penny’s fight protocols. She may have squeezed her hand harder than necessary but the soldier pushed on. “Aro nearly ended up in a coma.”

Penny’s felt like she was in zero gravity again. Her gyroscope spinning wildly as she fumbled for the ground she firmly stood on. She watched Winter’s calm face slowly slip into worry.

Then Penny felt too many things at once.

She squeezed Winter’s hand, consciously harder than she should, “You shouldn’t have snuck her out.” Winter flinched a little, she did nod in agreement. Then an immense fear and worry. Aurora told them she was okay but what if that changes. “What if she gets worse!”

Winter gave her a small smile. It was completely unguarded and even her strong shoulders relaxed. “I’ve known Aurora for years now. She survived worse.”

“Her brain nearly melted!” Penny’s Aura built up in her eyes. It was pressure that couldn’t escape and glitched out her ability to focus. Her eyes kept wandering until Winter gently cupped her cheek.

Her pale face was the only thing her frying processors could focus on. She looked confused, thumb brushing near the corner of her water-less eyes. Penny threw herself into Winter’s arms. She was hugged tightly but her Aura still felt like it was pushing at all of her seams.

“She survived the reason she has those cybernetics didn’t she?” Winter murmured.

“I… I don’t want to hear it.” Penny choked. Every system and protocol was conflicting with each other and her synthetic voice came out uneven. “Reason and rational isn’t working right now. I know Aurora is going to be okay but- but it doesn’t feel like it!”

“Sometimes you need to ride through it,” Winter whispered. Penny found her eyes closed, face pressed to her chest. “What can I do to help you?”

“I don’t know!”

“… And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out, Penn.”

For a moment Penny thought everything went offline. She heard a soft and steady beeping along with the sound of breathily purrs and a light snoring. When she finally opened her eyes she slowly focused on Winter. She was tired, worry pinching her brows and corner of her lips. She still stood strong yet the ungloved hand that cupped Aurora’s sleeping face was gentle.

So light Penny felt like if she looked away it would float away from memory. Instead another one drifted in, You should kiss her, her simulators and memory must have malfunctioned at the same time because in her head she heard May’s voice instead of Winters and Penny knew something about that sentence was altered.

Then she noticed the room and the machines. An IV of cool saline running through Aro’s system to keep her temperature down. All the monitors showed signs of health like she wasn’t in danger of her own systems. Then she noticed a warm hug and arms around her. She turned enough to get a good look at May.

At first Aro’s nickname for her made Penny… uncomfortable but for May, it was accurate. Her face was a little rounder than Winter, skin a few shades tanner and… Penny gently cradled May’s face, detecting the temperature difference between her jaw and the blush that always dusted across her cheeks.

Winter, Aurora, and a few other Huntresses traded the arbitrary title of Most Attractive Women of Atlas, but Penny was starting to think May might be the most beautiful. She brushed the loose strands of hair behind her ear and found herself coming through nearly and arm length. She looked nearly unrecognizable without the lion tail wrap controlling it.

During one of her passes Penny much have pressed a little too hard because May stirred. She tried to pull Penny close but with her weight, Penny had to cuddle closer least she wakes up. Her other hand started to pat blindly at the space behind Penny. The more she grabbed at empty air the more displeased she was in her sleep. Winter came up behind them, hand sliding into May’s just as she woke.

“Good morning,” Winter said. She smiled at the pair and brought a kiss to May’s wrist. May mumbled indistinguishable words in an affectionate tone. Content May let go and Winter’s hand gently cupped Penny’s cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Immediately upon awakening? Dazed and lethargic. Presently?” Penny thought about it. She saw Aro on the bed, unconscious but stable. She was surrounded by two elite Huntresses with enough stimuli from the skin contact to keep her Aura active through her system. There was something she couldn’t quiet grasp, an emotion her processors struggled to identify because of so many variables and history and behaviors of the three ladies. “Safe and comfortable. I should be content but… I’m not.” Penny frowned. Her body had no needs so why didn’t she feel fulfilled.

Winter and May locked up for a second and stiffly glanced at each other. Winter licked her lips, her cheeks pinking ever so slightly. “… Really?”

"Good morning, Platinum!" Xanthic’s voice sang loudly into the room.

“Gah!” May practically screamed. She half jumped, half thrashed her way onto her feet. At the door was both the hacker and Dr. Pietro. Penny smiled getting to her feet and pushing past two very nervous looking Huntresses. “Good morning… sir…” May mumbled, “Xanthic.” For one she didn’t address the hacker with guarded anger.

“Good morning father!” Penny said, adding a hug to the greeting.

“Good morning, darling,” Dr. Pietro smiled at her. His grin grew a little when he looked at May and Winter. Penny tilted her head. She could tell Winter was struggling with her composure. Her movements were a little too stiff. May always worn her heart on her sleeve and she looked extremely guilty with blood crawling up her neck and cheeks. Perhaps she could go and comfort the women? Though the way she hunch in on herself seemed withdrawn, so Penny decided against it. “Good morning, Ms. Schnee, Ms. Marigold.”

“… Sir,” Winter’s voice was clipped and she barely nodded her head. It was more of a small bow and a reason to glance away for a moment. She regained herself and looked at Xanthic. “Platinum? Is that a… team name?”

“Me and Robyn’s other two misfits were talking about it,” Xanthic said with a grin. Her eye cybernetic eyes constantly glowed but this time it looked far to amused. “P-A-W-M. All of you are rich, two is heavily cybernetic, Winter usually has a heart as cold as steel and May is… dense.” In an oddly passive behavior, May lightly glared at Xanthic.

“It is a rather appropriate team name,” Dr. Pietro mused, “And you four tend to gravitate to each other.” This time her father’s eyes were twinkling in amusement while May looked ready to feint. Winter endured it, posture like a soldier but she was blushing rather hard now.

Penny frowned up at the pair, “Are you two okay?”

“F-Fine!” May barked out, voice squeaking a little. She cleared her throat but didn’t relax.

“Relax! I’m just teasing,” Dr. Pietro laughed. “Penny, Ms. Soleil is in the kitchen making breakfast, would you kindly help her?”

“Of course!” Penny smiled. She hugged her father once more before leaving. Oddly Xanthic was the only one following. She glanced back to see her father nonverbally gesturing for the Huntresses to stay. Xanthic laughed and pushed Penny forward. “Xan… why does it feel like I’m not quite understanding the full context here?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you and Aro are not neural typical,” Xanthic’s hand heavily clasp her shoulder. But it wasn’t a menacing gesture, the grin on the hacker’s face was too happy for that.

“Good morning,” Ciel greeted as the pair entered the kitchen. Xanthic took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of fried bacon and rice. Penny’s systems didn’t have any olfaction or gustatory simulating hardware but she hummed in appreciation for Ciel’s work. It was usually Xanthic that helped in the kitchen, or cooked outright but Penny took over the cutting station, slicing some meats and greens with mathematical accuracy and factory precision.

“Think you two can multitask?” Xanthic asked, “There’s somethings me and Glade should have told you two.”

“I think there’s a lot of things you need to confess,” Ciel said. She took the diced foods and sprinkled them over a cooking omelet. When she didn’t get the usual bite back the officer paused and raised a brow at her partner. “Alright. You’re being boring so this is actually serious… Oh.”

On the table was a hovering projection of Aro and Xanthic’s body. Their organic parts were in a muted gray. The cybernetic additions that was readily visible was in a vibrant blue, that included the cybernetics that raised out of the back of their heads. The color muted as it entered the body. Blue lines crawled deep into their brains, branching off into many directions. Another bulk of it traveled down Xanthic’s spine a little.

For Aro it traveled all the way down to her legs.

A coma was just one of the things that could have gone wrong. Penny quickly set the knife down and took a deep, even breath. She cleaned her hands with a rag, everything working without though as her processors tried to shut down her overactive simulators. Aro was covering, in a room with her father and Winter and May.

Instead she distracted herself by remembering Aro’s file. As Dr. Peitro’s assistant, Aurora Glade was one of the few civilian personal files Penny was installed with. She was from Menagerie, moved to Atlas five years ago.

Two years ago some SDC executives from the Watts family went to Vacuo for a business trip. Aro accompanied them. Despite Aro’s survival my military personal considered the rescue mission a failure.

“Official records state that there were a handful of survivors*,”* Xanthic told Ciel. “Only the family attendants and Glade survived.”

“Didn’t peg you for a servant,” Ciel said, crossing her arms.

Again Xanthic smirked, “Bitch, I live as many different lives I’d want. Anyway,” Xanthic tapped at the Scroll again. Slowly some parts of Aro’s cybernetics turned red many of the components in her legs turned a deep red. It faded along her spine but there was another intense patch of red in Aro’s skull.

Very close to her brain.

“People with intense augmentation such as me, Glade, Penny and Ironwood need Dust to run our cybernetics.” Xanthic started. Penny felt her Aura panic wildly in her chest. The statement was true. But for Penny and Ironwood the power was housed in her chest and had several fail safe to prevent it from overheating non-replaceable equipment, such as her memory core. None of Ironwood’s cybernetics was directly integrated with his organic neural network, instead input was transferred via the bluetooth transmitter on his forehead.

“Aro has three power units, one for each leg and the base of her skull for her aids.” Xanthic explained, drawing out the shape of Aro’s horns with her hands. “We’re getting rid of the dust core with these upgrades but if the back of our heads gets too damaged or overloaded with power, lightning Dust, whatever we’re done…” She made the motion of slicing off her own head with a clean flick of her wrist.

“You two are a video game boss, got it,” Ciel said turning around and resuming cooking. The bored drawl took both Penny and Xanthic by surprised. It stopped the panic from spreading and she looked at Xanthic, curious about her reaction. Interestingly the hacker had a slight flush and a surprised anger on her face.

“… Bitch. See if I open up again,” Xanthic grumbled quietly to herself.

“What was that?” Ciel asked. She kept her voice flat and disinterested but from her angle, Penny could see both their expressions. Ciel glanced at Penny and gave her a small smile and a wink.

“The operation will be around 6pm.” Xanthic lied with some bite. She surrendered the white Scroll Dr. Pietro lent her, “Here are the schematics so far. Since you are her partner we’ll like your input but Glade will have the last word.”

“That’d be a first.”

“Aurora!” Penny gasped and turned around. She saw green hair and horns, all the little detail turned into a blur as Penny launched herself at Aro.

For once Penny slipped past the Glyph but May quickly intercepted. She grunted hard, taking the full on tackle of a metal women plus the additional force of pushing into it. Penny was a little surprised at her strength but happy enough to wrap her arms around anything she touched. So May was good practice.

“Ow, loosen up Penn,” May said with a small laugh. Still she affectionately ran a hand through her hair- or was about too. She suddenly stiffen and it changed to awkwardly patting her head. Penny frowned in disappointment. May and Winter tried to hid their smiles at the pout. Behind them Aro and Dr. Peitro laughed. She managed to walk over on unsteady legs to play with Penny’s puffed out cheeks.

“Ms. Glade is still injured,” Dr. Pietro said and signed. Penny was a little surprised at how fluidly his hands moved. His sign language wasn’t as good as May’s but he was Aro’s mentor years before.

“Technically, I suppose,” Aro sighed with a slightly amused smile. Penny promised to be gentle. She let go of May and gently hugged her partner. Penny noted that Aro squeezed back with only a fraction of her strength at maximum effort. But she was alive and not in a coma. So Penny squeezed just a little harder and buried her face in the warmth of her shoulder and neck.

For once breakfast was almost peaceful. Possibly because Xanthic was half busy talking about the possible upgrades with the Polendinas and occasionally Aro. The mechanic was a little slow and lethargic from the anesthesia. Her sea green eyes would sometimes glaze over from behind her glasses and it looked like she fell asleep for a few seconds. It happened less as the morning passed. One startling adjustment was Aro’s deafness, it was much more pronounced with her older aids. She preferred sign language over verbal communication, happy to converse with May or to teach them new signs.

Occasionally Winter and May would give the hacker an odd glance or they seem to stay a little too long at Penny. Whenever Penny gave them a confused look they both blushed and turned away.

“If the brat is working here, I’ll like to request time to visit my family.” Ciel said glancing at Aro and Winter for permission. Aro blinked and raised a brow.

“If the bat… Oh! Brat,” Aro glanced at Xanthic with a sneer. “I’m not worried about falling behind in lectures. Robyn can drop us off. I have…” She looked at Winter and May, “Plans…”

Under the table there was a hard sound and Xanthic visibly wincing. Everyone paused to stare at the hacker. She tried very hard to keep her composure but ended up crumbling a little from pain. Ciel’s snort and hard laugh broke the stunned silence, “Did you really try to kick her metal legs? Bare foot?”

“Shut it,” Xanthic hissed, “One. No eating or drinking five hours before the operation. Two. Be more descriptive, you idiot! It sounds like your ditching them.” May and Winter frowned. If Penny had to guess why, it was that Xanthic knew Aro’s secret while the pair was kept in the dark. Penny laughed at the soft envious look on their face.

Aro rolled her sea-green eyes. With a little more confidence she gave May and Winter a small smile, “I have a surprise for you two, and no… it’s not me disappearing.” She looked at May and sign, “I promise.”

The huntresses seemed to relax but Penny frowned, “You’re in no condition to set up a party.”

“It’s not…” Aurora had to pause, a deep embarrassed flush blooming across her face and to her wiggling ears. “Joanna, Robyn and Fiona are helping me. I’m just… getting a haircut.”

“You are a shitty liar without Focus, Ms. Glade,” Winter said with a sigh. Aro made a complaining whine but didn’t argue. She didn’t look guilty but had trouble finding the words. It didn’t help that May looked rather skeptical. “How long?”

“Two hours tops!” Aurora said earnestly, fist clenched tight and wiggling before her. Penny was remind of a child at first. But then remembered Xanthic’s comment about needing a possible diagnosis from a psychotic. Perhaps it was more of a physical stimulation habit? No matter the reason, Penny smiled back. It was an adorable display of happiness from her partner that could have ended up in a coma or worse-

“I suppose that’d give us time to… discuss things with Penny.” Winter said. Penny took a small breath, trying to focus on the present. She focused on the slow blush that raised to Winter’s pale cheeks. She was trying to maintain her composure but slowly crumbled. Penny and Aro laughed softly at it.

The Mantle members of APCX headed back to Atlas with a curtsy ride from the rather happy group of huntresses, minus May. Fiona was practically bouncing in place while Joanna was grinning widely. Robyn was the only calm huntress of the group. May didn’t speak much. She signed gently with Aro, possibly trying to staying or to allow her to help. Fiona groaned and had to push May away.

"Take the hint, Marigold! It’s a surprise for PASM!"

“… You really did talk about it with Xan…” Winter murmured giving her former teammate a disbelieving look.

May just shook her head “Oh! Yeah but…” May still looked nervous. Penny wondered if that’s how she looked as soon as Aro left her sight yesterday. As a precautionary measure Penny took May’s hand and squeezed it, similar to Winter’s strategy of calming her down. May looked down at her and squeezed back but the worry never left her face. “Promise me you’ll be careful, alright? Dr. Pietro said to-”

“Avoid anything that’s heat up my neural augments, don’t manipulate Dust, let my Aura recharge,” Aurora said droned on in a playfully bored tone. She rolled her sea green eyes, “I have three people to makes sure I don’t do anything too stupid.” Fiona giggled hooking their arms together and tugging Aro to the airship.

“She’s been planning this thing for almost a year and I don’t have your patience!” Fiona said. She pulled a little hard, making Aro jerk and stumble a little. May let out a distressed noise and tried to surge forward but Penny linked their arms tightly. With her superior strength she kept May rooted to that spot while Fiona hurriedly dragged Aro onto the ship with a laugh. “You’ll thank us later.”

“See you soon!” Aro called out as the door closed. May grumbled staring as the airship left with a sad pout.

“What me and Penny aren’t good company?” Winter asked a little teasingly.

May pouted a little harder, arms crossed. “It’s not the same without Aro… and… and her semblance is off because of the drugs so I wanted to spent some time with her.” She said softly. An sympathetic silence fell over the three. She did manipulate the General of an entire Kingdom and misleading May seemed to be a common occurrence in the past.

Penny could not simulate the history the other two went through and she only knew Aurora for nearly two months now but there wasn’t a day they haven’t been at each other’s side. "Her company is always a pleasure, but even more so without Focus," Penny agreed squeezing her hand. “But… If you waited five years to be romantically involved-” At the word May grumbled and tried to run. Winter laughed gently and stepped in her way. Penny pouted, complete with a soft verbal que to get May’s attention. Penny grinned and giggled to see how flush her face was. It reminded her of the Welcoming Fair. “Your patients is astounding, Two hours should be easy for you.”

Winter stepped in close, standing shoulder to shoulder in leu of linking arms, and leading May away from the military facility.

“Speaking of romantic intentions…” Winter started. There was a light blush on her cheeks again but not as bad as May’s, who’s flush caused her steps to falter a little. Penny quickly slid her hand up, linked her arms with May and helping her catch her feet. “Penny… you mentioned earlier you wanted something more,” Penny nodded. It was a conversation still in her cache memory, “Were you talking romantically?”

Penny paused. She looked her hand joined with May’s. Her scheduled maintenance reminded her of all the reason they weren’t compatible. She needed to change knee and ankle joints due to the heavy impacts from her dive maneuvers with Floating Array, her gyroscope needed an upgrade to adjust to Aro’s artificial gravity that was in constant flux. Penny’s artificial nature…

“I… I don’t think I’m capable of romantic-” Penny’s explanation was cut short. May snorted back a laugh but it slipped out of her anyway. She pulled her arm until their hands were intertwined again and held them to Penny’s face. Her face was oddly smuggled for the blush on her cheeks. Beside her Winter raised a brow with a small grin as well. Penny huffed back at them, pouting a little as her Aura stirred up excess heat. “It’s a comforting gesture!”

“Y-yes…” May blushed and looked away. “But you do it when we’re not sad or stressed.”

“I like the physicality,” Penny admitted looking down at her feet for a moment. Touch was such an odd sensation. There was so many things behind it from texture to application, and in this case context. She was inexperienced many of its but not ignorant of them.

“I understand returning Aro’s physical gestures, but you’ve never cuddle Ciel or Xanthic.” Winter stated.

“Because they are different people.” Penny answered. With the current line of inquires Penny was able to spot the one information she was missing. “What’s the difference between romantic and platonic affection? Aro blows kisses and cuddles with Fiona.”

The two paused for a moment, stunned. Then May let out a soft human growl of frustration under her breath, “Aurora… Making shit hard even when you’re not here.”

“Platonic and romantic affection can be very similar…” Winter mumbled, “But with many people there is a distinct difference, they usually aren’t as physical as we are.” She glanced at their joined hands with a small smile.

Penny tilted her head. Her simulators tried to create a scenario of the four dating but she couldn’t imagine anything new, “What would be different?” She asked.

“I’d get to kiss you,” Winter said. The new tone and intensity surprised Penny. For a moment her shoulders squared and eyes darken in a way that sent her Aura spiking unevenly throughout her body in a shiver and pleasant hum. Several offensive protocols were triggered, but one protective code caused an odd malfunction. It was a challenge she wanted to win and lose, watch and participate. Penny refused to turn away from those blue eyes but she did tilt her head in confusion.

“By the Goddess and Brothers…” May muttered softly. She was a little short of breath and couldn’t meet either of their eyes. “She’s a top.”

“You didn’t pick that up during the Welcoming Fair?” Winter asked with a raised brow. May didn’t respond verbally, she was a little too embarrassed. She flashed several rude signs.

During their talk Winter had steered the group to the bubble tea place they had visited when Penny first met them. May quickly fled inside to order their drinks, leaving Penny giggling while Winter laughed softly. They took a seat at the same table Winter had sat her down after her first panic attack.

Penny took Winter’s hand and squeezed it gently. She recalled the memory for nearly two months ago. It was different with Aro, no excited buzz in the air or a lazy ocean calm. It was different with Winter now too. In the past and present Winter was happy and content, but there was subtle differences in behaviors… Now her touch lingered longer, she seemed content to be in Penny’s presence rather than completing an objective.

“I think I understand what you mean by platonic and romantic affection,” Penny said. The memory of the Welcoming Fair came to mind, the happiness she felt light in her chest as she watched Aurora and Winter hide in plain sight with affectionate touches. Ciel ended up winning back the money she lost during the first bet but Penny felt like she benefited the most from it. “Though I don’t know if I am capable of romantic relationships…”

“Your father mentioned something similar when he was talking with us,” Winter said. “Aurora… confessed that she only had one romantic partner.” For a moment Winter’s gentle expression soured and she glanced away at Penny, “which ended up with her unable to control her semblance.”

“Oh…” Penny felt… oddly relieved but a little furious. Relieved that she wasn’t the only inexperienced member, furious that someone hurt Aro so much her semblance couldn’t deactivate.

“Would you like to try it?” Winter whispered. The slight wavering and fear in her voice was an alarmingly new inflection. Penny didn’t like it and she tried to comfort Winter by rubbing her thumb over Winter’s and squeezing her hand. “Date all three of us?”

“Hm…” Penny ran a quick simulation but no matter what parameters she set she kept getting an error. “You three are only people I’m interested in trying with.”

Penny hadn’t realized how rigid the other women had become until all tension melted from Winter. Her spin relaxed and she looked almost smaller somehow- Penny tried to hold in a gasp, her sensors flaring wildly as her analytic systems tried to interpret a new sensation. A simple and gentle kiss to her fingers.

“Your father also explicitly asked us to take it slow,” Winter added, “He was rather confident we’d be able to restrain ourselves to your pace, since we waited for Aurora.”

“It was really embarrassing,” May said. The two jerked apart, head looking wildly for their third partner. Penny’s systems kept directing her forward but her visual analysis confirmed… May dropped her invisibility field, a tray of four drinks in one hand and a Scroll with a blinking recording light in the other. Her face was almost as red as Winter’s and a bright grin on her face. “You were always such a white knight, Winn.”

“I can’t believe- You recorded it?!”

“Aro would want to see it!” May protested. “Would you rather have Xan show her a recording?”

“Ugh, please don’t mention her,” Winter groaned relaxing back to the table, shoulder pressed comforting against Penny. May only pocked her Scroll and quickly pulled the pair up by their joined hands with a laugh.

“Aurora’s done! We’re meeting her in Mantle.”

“That was not two hours. Not even an hour,” Winter frowned.

"She did say two hours maximum," Penny clarified. She linked her arms with Winter. At first she tensed then relaxed and leaned into her, she glanced down at Penny with a warm smile it nearly overheated Penny’s power unit. Winter leaned back into her.

Winter may have misused her rank to get the fastest transport as soon as possible and May might have pushed her semblance a little far so Penny could pilot the airship beyond safe city limitations. They didn’t end up at Aro’s home or a salon, instead it was a body modification shop with experimental dust procedures called Turk’s Bodily Transformations.

Penny and May gave Winter a worried glance. Amongst the three she was the most experience Dust user, so she would understand the full consequences of direct applications of Dust on an organic body.

“Joanna Greenleaf…” Winter muttered between gritting teeth.

Through the window they could see Joanna and Robyn calmly chatted on the couch till they both saw them through the window. Robyn waved them in. It was a small race between May and Penny, both women quickly walking to the door. May’s longer legs entered the body modification shop first, the door hitting a soft wind chime. Penny paused a little. It was rare to see hinged doors instead of hydraulic ones.

“You three got here fast,” Joanna said with a light sneer. “Has that patience finally worn out, May?”

“Shut up,” May mumbled, “We’re just worried.”

“You can worry for a few more minutes… or an hour,” A voice behind the sectioned room and curtain said. The sound of a tattoo gun paused and a head marked with ink and some metal poked through the curtain for a second. Penny caught the wicked grin and altered fangs as she disappeared again. “Oh wow! They are pretty. Azure and Arctic would be jealous.”

May frowned glancing at Robyn and Joanna, “Who…” They both signed they didn’t know. But judging from the décor and atmosphere of the body shop, they were people from Menagerie. The style was almost Minstral but the Faunus had a distinctively functional design to them. Surviving outside the Kingdoms was difficult, so they adopted any advantage they could find while keeping their Faunus pride. This included Atlesian fashion and technology. Much like Aro it was a mix of two cultures.

“Can you not!” Aro said complained softly. She got scolded for squirming and it took a few seconds for the tattoo gun to hum again. “And I’m not getting the full piece… I don’t even feel right getting this one.”

“Brothers above and below know you deserve it,” they heard an unfamiliar voice say. “Can you activate your Aura for a second again? Thank you. Rumor has it Sienna regrets not intervening. If you were there Menagerie would probably have a CCTV tower by now.”

“Hopefully with the transfer my… the Glaives can get one up soon.”

“If the Glaives don’t out right leave Menagerie,” Turk snorted. “Alright! I think…” They’re voice paused. The tattoo gun took frequent pauses as the last marks and touch ups were made.

“Oh my, it looks great Aro! Don’t look, there’s still a little blood.” Fiona suddenly said from behind the curtain.

“Aura please. Thank you.” There was a short quite pause. Penny finally heard the sound of water, a little miniature stream and pond on the desk. Next to it was a portfolio laid open. Penny flipped through it. Surprisingly it was all Faunus with various of modifications. Unsurprisingly some of them were a cybernetic. Penny was particularly interested in the Faunus women with gills on her neck, a thick metal plat protruding from her spine and a hard-light tail extending from it, like a sting-ray.

“And done!”

“May! Get out the surprise isn’t finished yet!” Fiona yelled. Penny turned to see the curtains fluttering. Fiona shoving May away and seating her by Winter. “You waited five years! Just a few more seconds so she could get dressed.”

“Yeah you perv,” Robyn taunted with a laugh.

The shop owner left the private room first. They smiled eyes a lit with a kind of predatory amusement. She walked straight to May and offered her hand. “I’m Turk! Pleasure to finally meet Aurora’s mate.”

May choked and faulted hand wavering in the air. They threw their head back, rumbling laughter coming from deep in their Faunus gut. Turk’s hand clasp around May’s wrist in a forearm shake.

“Turk, please don’t harass her.” Aro pleased.

“Very well Ms… Glade,” Turk said walking behind their counter. They stripped the gloves off their hands and went about cleaning various of shelves and drawers.

“I-I’m not- Fiona!?” The curtain fluttered again. Fiona emerged first, forcefully pulling a half dressed Aurora… Glade. Penny’s processors slowly hyper focused on the new in slipping between nearly exposed breast. Then up to her collarbone where it flared out a little, and deliciously higher to her neck. It was a mix of circuit board wiring and tribal Menagerie designs.

“You… you weren’t lying about the haircut,” May noted. Penny saw the Huntress awestruck at Aro’s face. Penny gasped and quickly walked over. She made sure not to collide into her like how she wanted too and made sure to keep her hands off Aro’s chest, least May scolds her again. Instead she ran her hands over the buzzed sides of Aro’s head.

“It feels so soft!” Penny gasped. Aro giggled as her fingers passed over her scared Faunus ears. They flicked free when Penny played with the new piercings in them. Then her hands traced the cybernetics going deep into her skull.

“But… you’re image?” Winter mumbled. “You’re business-”

“Aro gave up the ADC!” Fiona blurted, nearly jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

Penny quickly pulled her hands back and held Aro’s arm, steading her as she whipped around to make a grab at Fiona. When the sheep Faunus escaped, Aro made an odd complaining growl. “You promised me that I’d get to tell her!”

"I made that promise two months ago!" Fiona yelled back.

Nervously she looked back at May and Winter. The elite graduates was rendered speechless, eyes wide and for May, mouth a little open. Aro whined again under their gaze. She shuffled, trying to step behind Penny but the metal women easily held her partner to her side. Joanna and Robyn signed encouraging comments.

“There’s no official statement yet, I’m letting the public figure it out for once. There’s still paper work but everything was finalized during my trip to Vale-”

“Ugh, and I was so mad too,” May mumbled.

“You have every right to be… I blackmailed the General, for starters, I wouldn’t trust me either-” May swept in pulling the two trainees into a hug. The fear that was creeping into Aro’s voice softly faded, leaving only an uncertain nervousness. “So… You- you guys like the make over?”

May stepped back, standing next to Winter. The Specialist had that devouring look in her eyes again, hands flexing at her sides before clasping behind her back. Her eyes were intensely focused on the new ink, particularly to where it disappeared under her half buttoned shirt.

“I can show you my appreciation later,” Winter said. The even control and calmness of her voice sent a shiver down Aro spine and blush racing across May’s face.

“It’s,” May cleared her throat to get of the low heated tone. She swallowed a few times before calming down enough to touch Aro’s neck, just shy of the ink but slowly getting closer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Turk chirped. The four jumped a little and the other three happy Huntresses giggled or sneered.

“Now kiss!” Fiona yelled. May laughed and rolled her eyes. She did pull Aro into a kiss on her temple. "Ugh! Come on we’ve been cheering you two on for years!"

“We’re not one of your dumb romantic comedies and dramas!” May frowned at her. Winter chuckled lightly, her voice still a bit too husky. She opened the door, nonverbally convincing the her partners to walk out. The rest of the Happy Huntresses stayed in the shop, trying to wring more personal information about Aro from Turk.

Penny found her hand tightly intertwine with Winter’s, her eyes occasionally glancing at Aro and May, their arms happily linked together broken only when they needed two hands to sign. Her processors were slowly cooling off in Mantle’s cold air. Penny quickly archived and favorited the past hour so she could review them. Despite how advance her memory and simulations are, it wasn’t even close to reality. The feeling Winter’s cool presence at her side or hearing May and Aro’s laughter. Simulations couldn’t mimic the lips that gently brushed against Penny’s knuckles again or the way Winter’s eyes soften when they were a few inches apart.

Decoding skipped.

#Penny Polendina #fic #cutting strings #pre-fall of beacon #may marigold #winter schnee #pfenning #qued

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

chambers - xix

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3.7k

description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline and fear not quite worn off. Bucky’s fingers in your hair, his forehead against yours. You took a breath after stealing each other’s. A minute to calm down, remember where you were. Your body trembling. You sit against him, arms wrapped around him you bury your face in his neck.

He’s here.

He’s real.

He’s not the Winter Solider.

He’s Bucky.

It’s okay.

You hear metal warping, and both abruptly pull back, Bucky gripping you tight and dragging you across the floor scooting back and away from the side of the open train. But you’re soothed when red tendrils seep in around the edges. Wanda slips in from the top of the train, shutting the metal bit behind her. Bucky rises to jam a metal pipe in between the handles on the side to keep the side of the train closed.

“You guys really took your time.” He scoffs. Wanda breathes heavily, shaking snow out of her hair and turns to you, rushing forward to her knees and hugging you, still on the floor.

“Are you okay?” She pulls back, brushing your hair out of your face. You nod, emotions still high.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She smiles, looking over at Eric, dead on the floor. Her smile falls.

“I checked his mind.” Wanda stands, “He was the mole?” You nod, Bucky walks over to help you from the floor.

“He was trying to get me on a jet,” You swallow, “He told me himself he was working for Zemo.” Wanda stares at him for a moment more before shaking her head, confusion clear on her face.

“We’ve got to go help Sam.” Sam was on the train. Okay. Which means he made it. He’s okay.

But being okay was subjective. Yeah Sam was able to fight, take down the control room with the help from Sharon and a couple other agents, but he was badly bruised. Wheezing. They both were.

A sigh of relief shared as Sam turned to you, he stepped to Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

“Are you guys okay?” Sharon had a cut running down her forehead, blood on her face. You could only imagine the bruising on your own.

“Yeah,” Bucky pulled back from Sam, “You guys look like shit though.”

“You’re one to talk.” Truthfully you were all a little worse for wear. You look to Zemo’s unconscious body.

“Did you get the girls out?” The trafficking victims, you look at Sam who had one swollen eye and blood coming out of his right ear. He nods, that gap-toothed smile less enthusiastic than normal, but relieved, nonetheless. You step over to him and pull him into your chest, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

“We’ve called for an evac,” Sharon started. The train beginning to slow. “They’ll airlift us out of here and take the train to the next stop before taking the contents for evidence.” The relief. The relief of it being over. It was overpowering.

Bucky’s hand found yours, pulling you over to his side. You felt so dizzy. Your hand coming to grab your head.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You look over at him and see double, unable to focus. Unable to…

“She’s going to faint.” Wanda said in a panic. It was the last thing you heard before you sunk under.

The love a parent has for their child is unparalleled.

The place was a a vast wasteland of rock lit up by an eclipsed sun. Vormir. The two tall stone towers high in the air, the rocky climb. He stood at the edge of the water. The daunting task ahead of him sitting wrong in his gut. The hammer weighed heavy in his palm, when he asked Clint what to expect he wasn’t soothed.

“It’s like a graveyard.” He said, “It just reeks of death and despair.”

He wasn’t wrong. How many sacrifices were made on this rock for power? How many threw the one person they loved more than anyone else to their death for the advancement of their own life.

It was depraved.

“Death is there.” Clint said. And as Steve made his way to the top of the mountain, the fog thick around his ankles, he stopped in his tracks.

“Schmidt?” His stomach churned with the sight. The grim reaper, in the flesh, or perhaps lack thereof. Red Skull. Johann Schmidt.

“Captain America… Steve Rogers… son of Sarah Rogers.” An airy haunted voice, “I couldn’t possibly believe that you are here seeking infinite power that I, myself, once sought. Nor would you have the ability to lose the thing you love the most, so I’m asking you now… why are you here?”

“How is this possible?” Steve asked, stepping back. “How are you here?”

“I sought the stones for myself… I was banished to this place to lead those who seek it to the prize I will never, myself, be able to gain.” His eyes drifting to the case in Steve’s hand. “Stones it seems you already have.”

Steve’s jaw clenched; anger bubbled in his stomach. “I’ve come to return the soul stone.” Red Skull nods,

“And so quickly after it had been taken.” His back turned to Steve, the drift up the mountain. Steve followed warily.

“So what are you supposed to be?” Steve asked, “Death?” The figure stopped, hovering over a flat platform with a steep drop. This is where she fell, Nat. This is where she died. Steve’s throat felt tight. Eyes watery.

“Very astute… drop the stone into the cavern below.” Red Skull spoke to him, “And I will grant you one favor for returning it.” Steve’s eyes flit from the far drop to the figure of the man he’d thought he killed a long time ago.

The villain that took everything away from him. “A favor?” He asked.

“You were always so noble.” The figure spoke evenly, and devoid of emotion, “For this act of service, re-balancing the scales of power, you get a favor from death.”

The case open, the glowing amber stone glaring back at him. “One favor?”

“Just the one.”

“And it could be anything?” Steve asked. The stone grasped, ready to fall back into its rightful place.

“Anything.”

It was strange. This whole thing was strange. It looked like a sunset. A vast emptiness in front of you. Where are you? It’s quiet here. So quiet. A tree to your right, you turn to face a house.

A house you only remember from your memories of it. From Steve’s memories of it. The home he shared with your Mother. Your heart begins to race as the front door opens, and there he is. As if time had been frozen the minute, he left Bucky. The second he left you. His hair perfectly combed, a button down, slacks… a smile.

“Dad?” Your voice echoes in this space.

“My sweet girl.” Shaky and watery. His eyes pooled with tears he takes three long strides to you before pulling you into his chest. Solid. Real. You gasp in shock. Your arms wrapping around him, trembling. “You did such a good job.” A mumble into your hair. He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, looking at you. “Your Mother and I are so proud of you.” A tear rolling down his cheek. “You look so strong, so healthy…”

“Dad, I… what is this?” He looks taken aback for a moment, fingers brushing your hair out of your face, before his jaw clenches and he nods.

“I made a deal,” He swallows. “When taking back the stones…” His eyes move out on the horizon. “Selfish of me… Strange told me I would be giving you away and I just… I couldn’t let go of you entirely.”

“Where are we?” You ask. “How are you here?”

“This is how I’ve been talking to you… or at least trying to.” He takes your hand, bringing you to the porch. “I made a deal with death… my exchange for returning the soul stone… I could…” He shakes his head. “You know, I didn’t even know if Strange had been telling me the truth. I didn’t believe him until I had to physically give you away, like it was the only option left.” His hands clasped in yours as you both sat on the bench. “When I returned the stone,” Looking at you in your eyes, “I took a leap of faith, trusting Strange, I stayed with your Mom. I had you, but when I returned the stones…”

“You asked to be able to talk to me?” You sat back from him, eyes shifting rapidly over the horizon, trying to process. “Did you know Bucky was going to fall? This whole time?” His eyes glaze over almost, like thinking back on a bad memory, a demon of his past. And you know it. That guilt. The soreness that still is with him, even in death. A regret.

“I knew you would be able to save him.” He admits, “When I couldn’t.”

“So you told me where to go?” You’re putting it together. “You told me what to do… You pushed us together.” It all made sense. Bucky triggered the memories not from his presence on their own, but because that’s how Steve designed it. Steve triggered the memories around Bucky to grow his attention.

“Bucky always loved a damsel in distress.” Steve mused with sorrow. You shake your head, looking down on your joined hands.

“You knew how he would react to me?” The way he’d been so torn. The rough, calloused, way he treated you before. Yet your lips were still tingling from his kiss.

“I knew he would love you.” Steve gave you a little half smile. “You’re so much better than I could have ever imagined you to be, Y/N. I want you to know that.” Your throat was tight, “If I had to make the choice to go back again I would do it in a heartbeat… watching you grow up, giving you my heart, all of it. I would do it all again.” You let out a shaky breath.

“But you didn’t get to stay with him.” It’s more watery than you wanted it to be.

“I didn’t… I didn’t deserve him.” Steve shrugs, “I lived a good life with Peggy. We had a happy life and for a short time we had you. I don’t know if I would have ever taken the leap to…”

“To actually be with him.” He nods. “I… I really love him.” It felt strange coming out of your mouth, it felt strange to say to your father, but it felt right to admit it. He smiles softly at you, hand coming to cup your cheek. His hand real and warm. His thumb brushing a tear off your cheek.

“You’re allowed to love him… I don’t want you to feel guilty for that.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You sniffle. “This whole time I’ve had so many questions for you and this whole mystery and I just…” Your head meets the siding of the house, looking out on that horizon, stretching wide and endless, you look to him. He’s patient. You knew that. He’s waiting for you to gather your thoughts and talk to him in whatever limited time you had left. “What did you want for me? I was nothing before this.”

He sighs, crossing his legs and giving you a strange look. “You weren’t nothing before this.” He shakes his head, “I want you to be happy… everything I’d ever done in my life was for you, you had been and always will be my child.” He smirks, “If you wanna go back to the brewery after this and bartend again then go for it, if you—”

“Want to join the team.” You cut in. “What if I want to join the team?” His eyes soften.

“It’s a difficult job.” He says, “A very self-sacrificing job.”

“I’m fairly good at it.” He laughs.

“You are… and if that’s something you want to do, nothing is stopping you, but it’s difficult and there’s going to be times where you make mistakes that can’t be undone.” And everyone is looking at you. You assume he’s thinking about Tony. The accords. Wanda. “But I don’t doubt that you have what it takes.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever actually found purpose.” You sigh, “I didn’t think I would ever live this long…”

“Don’t lose yourself in it.” A warning, from experience, “Don’t lose yourself in being the person everyone expects you to be.” His fingers brushing your cheek lovingly. “You’re a little too much like me if I’m going to be honest… I didn’t think I would have lived as long as I did either… and I lost myself in that job. I killed myself more than once for it…” His hand cups your cheek once more, “Learn from the mistakes I’ve made and don’t be afraid to take a step back, do you understand?” You nod, leaning into his hand, sinking into his side and letting him pull you into a hug.

“Thank you.” You mumble into his chest. “For everything.”

“I love you so much,” He kisses your hair, “I would have given you more if I could have.”

And then he was gone.

For good this time.

And you’re warm.

So very warm. Tucked into Bucky’s chest on a private plane. The window cover lifted. It was dark outside, you could see the little flashing lights on the wing of the plane. How long had you been out? He was snoring softly, left arm thrown over his eyes in the dim lights of the plane. Your bladder was screaming, and you hadn’t yet processed what you’d just gone through.

All of it.

The kiss.

Zemo.

Eric.

Steve.

You needed to pee.

You shift slightly, Bucky’s arm tightening around you, his gentle snore stopping. His eyes meet yours, sleepy. “Are you okay?” His raspy voice whispers. You nod, his fingers cupping your chin and a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m just gonna go pee.” He nods, releasing you. The little pod seating he helped you out of, pressing a button to open the little side door and you walked to the back of the plane. The flight attendant sitting in a chair on her phone. You gave her a soft smile before entering the bathroom.

You sat in there for a moment, not even just to use the bathroom but just a moment to process. You zoned out a little, being pulled out by a soft knock a few minutes later. “Just a sec.” You wash your hands quickly and step from the bathroom.

Bucky was standing outside the door, concern on his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” You reply. The flight attendant now gone from behind him, “I’m a little hungry though.” It had been almost two days now since you’ve eaten, you realize. He nods,

“Go lay back down, I’ll grab you some food.” You slipped back into the pod, curling up with your back against the wall of the plane, pulling the blanket over you and getting comfortable before Bucky returned with a couple packets of pretzels and shortbread cookies, in his other hand two mini bottles of water. “Small sips.” He cautioned, and you listened even though your mouth was dry. He adjusted the seat so you weren’t laying down and tugged you into his side. “You scared the shit out of me back there.”

“I know…” You popped a pretzel into your mouth, “I was scared for a minute there.”

“Wanda told us that you were having another memory…” His fingers brushed up and down your side. The quiet hum of the engines in the background, “And that you were okay.”

“It wasn’t another memory.” Your cheek pressed against his shoulder; you look up at him. “I talked to Steve.” He takes a moment to process, mouth opening and closing again.

“What do you mean?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t being completely honest before… I didn’t want to seem crazy, but he used to appear to me.” A small sip of water, “Like a ghost, he was like…”

“Like haunting you?” He asked. You shrug,

“Kind of… like showing me where to go.” You take another small sip. “He made a deal when he returned the stones… he wanted to talk to me.”

“What did he say?” You crunch on another pretzel, burying yourself into his side.

“That he was proud of me… among other things.” Bucky nods, letting out a deep breath. His arms pulling you in close a tight hug against his body. “Are you okay?”

He’d gone through a lot today. It wasn’t just you. You couldn’t get his screams out of your head. They rang between your ears and made you uneasy. He took a sip from your water bottle before speaking, “I’ll be okay.” You look at him expectantly a moment longer and he continues, “When I was in the chair all I could think about was how to get you out of there.” He sighed, “I couldn’t let myself go… I couldn’t… not when I needed to get you out of there, I passed out… woke up on the train. I thought—”

“He wasn’t going to kill me,” You reason. “At least not yet…”

“He hurt you though,” The bruising on your face, “Eric did too.” You groan, squeezing your eyes shut.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

“We didn’t know he was the mole,” Bucky reasoned, “Not at first.”

“I should have listened when you said you had a bad feeling.” The guilt of that, the feeling of stupidity from being tricked.

“No…” He shakes his head, “I think my bad feeling originally was jealousy maybe… protectiveness? I don’t know… You were so helpless back then. I felt like I needed to protect you.” It was quiet for a moment, you felt tired again. His eyes drooping.

“Thank you.” You mumble into his chest. The water bottle lay empty between you, his fingers fumbling with the button to recline you back down your spine cracks as you stretch yourself out.

“For what?” His sleepy voice, low and soft.

“For everything.”

…

“Doctor Strange!” You smile, entering the lab. The brilliant surgeon turned ‘wizard’ as Peter called him was talking with Bruce. “Can I steal you for a minute?” You’d been waiting to talk to him since you’d gotten back to the compound, but he’d been busy up until this point. It appears you guys weren’t the only ones dealing with a big bad villain recently. A scratch above his eyebrow stitched and covered in a butterfly bandage showed that.

“Of course,” He turns to Bruce, “It was nice talking to you old friend.” A gentle handshake and he was moving on, stepping out onto the grass with you, following the well-worn track.

“I think you owe me an explanation.” You say, “Being as though you seem to know how things happen, before they actually happen.”

He laughs, “What would you like me to explain?” It was implied as more of a, where would you like me to start?

“Well you can start with… Did you know that Bucky would fall from the train again?” He looked at you seriously and answered almost as quickly as you asked the question.

“I did.”

“And you knew I would save him?”

“I did.”

“But Steve couldn’t?”

“No.” You look at him incredulously.

“Okay so explain… I was getting memories from a timeline where—”

“Where Steve didn’t go back.” Strange finished, “Steve wasn’t there when Bucky was being tortured, he was in Tanzania, fighting with Sam. Bucky had nothing to focus on to keep him from going back under, so he did.” His hands clasped behind his back. “In every timeline where Steve stayed, where he didn’t go back to have you… Bucky dies on the train. Steve was married to the job first, so it seemed, and it was always his downfall.”

Don’t lose yourself in it.

That’s what he told you.

Don’t lose yourself in it. Not like he did.

“You knew about the soul stone?” Strange nods.

“The problem with being the person who is keeping time, is that I can look into futures, I can see what’s going to happen a million different ways, but in the end if I say anything about them then they won’t happen.” It’s not a risk he can take.

With Thanos.

With Tony.

With Steve.

Now with you.

“And Eric?” You shake your head. “He tricked me… the entire time, just…”

“Not entirely,” Strange started, “His wife did die during the blip, he was blipped away, but when everyone blipped back he sought revenge.”

“So he sought out Zemo… but Wanda didn’t find anything when she searched his mind.”

“It would be safe to say maybe they used some of the same techniques as they did with James on Eric, possibly blocking his memory and making him a little less susceptible to mental interrogation.” You look at him incredulously,

“You have an answer for everything.” He laughs,

“Not everything…”

“So where do we even go from here?” You ask. “What am I supposed to do?” He pats you on the shoulder and you stop yards away from where Bucky and Sam were training. Running an obstacle course in the grass. The warmth of the sun on your skin. Bucky meets your eye and winks before being tripped by Sam on the last leg. An endearing glare. A laugh between competitive friends.

“What are you supposed to do now that no one is giving you direction? That no one is making a path out in front of you?” A trail to follow. You look over at him and he gives you a knowing smirk that made you scoff.

“You make a path of your own.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sam wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #bucky barnes x you #captain america #steve rogers

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flowers-creativity · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 6: Insomnia

Fandom: The Musketeers

Characters: Aramis, Porthos

Warnings: None

Summary: Aramis can’t sleep

Notes: First Febuwhump ficlet! I’m not doing all of them but will post if and when the muse strikes.

This one is for @aini-nufire who suggested Aramis and insomnia.

AO3 link

Later, he could no longer say when it had started. Probably around the time after the King had announced that the Queen was with child. Beaming and proud and with no doubt at all that his childless marriage had finally been blessed. The only one in the room who knew what had actually happened was Athos, and one look had made it clear that sympathy was not high on his list of reactions to the news.

So he hadn't gone to him to look for it. And he could not go to Porthos, which hurt in its own special way, nor to d'Artagnan, which hurt in a different way again.

As was his wont to do, he went to others for, if not sympathy, at least companionship. But between the memory of one stolen night with a lonely woman who told him he was worth her touch, her affection, the shadow it was casting on his friendships, his family of those three soldiers, his brothers, and the thought of what was to come – and he was terrified, and terrifyingly excited … Companionship did not help.

So he stopped going to Madame du Peigne, to sweet Marie, to playful Yvette. Instead, he went home, to his apartment near the Garrison, and fell into bed in the vain hope that maybe at home, his mind would rest.

And then he got up and lit a candle, sitting until the small hours of the morning poring over his Bible until his eyes ached and his mind was awhirl with quotes and parables that might have helped at another time but this time, did nothing to soothe the sting of his mistakes and how little he actually regretted them.

When the sun rose, he got up, tied his weapons belt around his waist and marched into the Garrison as if he wasn't dragging the weight of too many sleepless nights with him.

He could keep this up. And at some point, he would be so tired that he would be able to sleep, his mind be damned. He was sure of it.

_________________

“Aramis!”

Aramis yanked his head up, opening his eyes – he did not remember closing them … “Huh?”

Porthos loomed in front of him, bent over the table and a hand on Aramis' shoulder. “You alright? Almost landed face-first in the soup there.” Dark eyes bored into his, worriedly searching for something.

Aramis leaned back and tried not to feel too disappointed when Porthos' hand slipped from his shoulder. “Oh … Ah,” he hedged, then yawned, which was only half play-acting. “I guess I must've fallen asleep for a moment. I'm just a bit tired.”

“Hum,” Porthos said as he settled on the bench opposite without his eyes leaving Aramis' face, “you've been looking a bit tired a lot, lately. Not sleeping well?”

How about not at all, Aramis thought bitterly. But aloud, he said: “Oh, you know. Madame de Chalon's husband is away, and who am I to waste such a perfect opportunity?” He grinned his usual charmer's grin and hoped that he was good enough an actor that Porthos would not notice it didn't reach his eyes.

Porthos rolled his eyes good-naturedly, even if the worry was not completely gone. “Well, I'd say when you start falling asleep at the mid-day meal, it's time to cut back a bit. You never listen to me, though, so I won't waste my breath.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just take care, alright? I won't be there to keep you from drowning in your soup all the time.”

“I always listen to you!” Aramis protested, ignoring the ache the whole conversation was stirring in his heart. It wasn't Porthos' fault, just the contrary. It was Aramis who had done something so huge, so dangerous that he could no longer sit and banter with his friends like they used to, that he could not ask his oldest friend for help when the thoughts of it haunted him. That he could not confess to him the darkest part of it: that he did not regret it. Not the night itself, nor what had come of it. Not the thought of a child – his child.

Porthos snorted. “Alright, you listen sometimes,” he acquiesced magnanimously. “But always is as much as an exaggeration as never.”

Aramis conceded the point with a tilt of his head, then dragged himself off the bench and said: “I'll better go and take a nap before afternoon training, then, so I won't fall asleep with a musket in my hand. I'll see you then?”

“Sure,” Porthos said, grinning widely and waving at him. “And don't oversleep, or I'll come and drag you out of bed for a bath in the horse trough. That'd wake you up quickly, eh?”

Aramis returned the grin to the best of his abilities. “No, thanks, I prefer gentler ways of being wakened.”

“Not gonna put on a dress and wake you up with a kiss!” Porthos called after him as he walked away, and the grin Aramis gave him over his shoulder felt more natural. “You'd look really nice, though!” he called back.

His grin faltered quickly, though, and he spent the next hour lying on his bed, wide awake, and tried to find a way how he could have told Porthos the truth without putting a noose around his neck like he had done to Athos.

_____________________

Standing guard was Hell. Aramis was convinced of it. Training was bad – and his performance got worse by the day – and patrols were bad – and he thanked God every time they made it through without his fatigue getting one of them killed – but standing guard was Hell. Nothing to do that required as much attention as he could spare, no conversation that kept his thoughts from straying, no movement that kept his limbs from locking up … He was sure he was trembling, and his eyes stung with involuntary tears that he blinked away quickly.

“Aramis,” he heard Porthos hiss at him, and he shook his head without looking at him.

“Aramis,” his friend repeated, “you're not well. I can see it. Everyone can see it.”

Aramis shook his head again, staring straight ahead. If he dared look at Porthos right now, he would lose it.

Porthos huffed impatiently. “Y'know, I don't wanna know what's going on. You don't need to tell me. But you can't go on like that. Look at me, Aramis.” He suddenly loomed before him, and Aramis shrank back, startled. Strong hands caught him by the elbows, keeping him upright. “When did you sleep last?”

Aramis willed his sluggish brain to come up with a quip, something that sounded enough like him that it would dispel the worry in Porthos' dark eyes. But in the end, all he managed was a pathetic “I don't know” as he blinked again, feeling moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes. That much was the truth – he had long lost track of when he slept, snatches and seconds here and there, maybe even half an hour at a time, but none of it feeling like he had truly slept and doing nothing to lighten the burden of fatigue weighing down on him.

Porthos looked at him a while longer, and Aramis felt himself swaying on his feet, clinging desperately to the last shreds of his self-control so he didn't break down right here, in Porthos' arms. Porthos huffed again and turned away. “Stay here,” he ordered. “I'm gonna talk to Athos.”

Aramis nodded helplessly, leaning back against the wall as Porthos released his grip. He drifted in his stupor until Porthos appeared again at his side and took his elbow in a strong grip. “So,” he announced, “we're going home. And you're going to sleep.”

“But,” Aramis sputtered, “our shift--”

“--is over now,” Porthos talked over him. “Don't worry about it.” He steered Aramis through the Palace's halls, paying little attention to anything else and overriding all of Aramis' weak protests. Finally, Aramis gave in – not that he expected that he would actually sleep, no matter how much Porthos wanted to help. What could he do, really? He could not take his thoughts away.

The ride to the Garrison was a blur in his mind, as was the walk up to his rooms – no, wait, these were Porthos' rooms. Aramis looked around, at a loss why Porthos had brought him here.

Porthos walked him to his bed, sat him down and sat back on his haunches before him, meeting his gaze with a dark scowl. In any other, this would have looked fearsome but even in his fragile state, Aramis could not help but know this look. This was Porthos at his most protective.

“Alright,” his friend started, “here's how I see it. There's somethin' goin' on that don't let you sleep. Don't tell me it's Madame One-or-another or Mademoiselle So-and-so. I know what you look like when you're tired because you've been enjoying yourself. So it's somethin' else, and you're not talkin' to me about it. Or the others.”

Aramis could do nothing more than nod dumbly. All of his usual light banter had dried up, and he knew it had gone too far, anyway. Porthos would never accept diversion now.

“So this is how it's gonna go,” Porthos continued. “We're goin' to bed now. And I won't ask, and you don't have to talk. But you will sleep.”

“I can't,” Aramis choked out.

“You will,” Porthos repeated confidently. “Because you know I'm here, and I've got your back.”

Aramis shook his head and leaned forward, burying his hands in his hair. “No, Porthos, Porthos, please,” he begged without knowing what he was asking for, “I can't, I--”

Porthos' hands closed around his wrists, and he tugged until Aramis had no choice but lift his head and meet his gaze. “Trust me,” Porthos implored.

There was only one reply to that: “Always.”

Porthos nodded, satisfied. “Come on.” He helped Aramis shed his doublet and boots, then guided him until he lay prone on Porthos' bed. Aramis let it happen, past refusal and past hope. He listened to Porthos moving around the room, closing the curtains so the room was dipped into a half-light, then shedding his own outer layers and crawling into the bed behind him. Porthos' arms closed around Aramis and pulled him back to his chest, his bulk shadowing him. The warmth emanating from that broad chest seemed to sink right into his bones, and he only now became aware of how cold he had been. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into it, into the strength and protection promised by the arms folded around him. Even if he could not sleep, he could rest here, knowing that his friend was here and did not want to pry, wanted nothing but for him to be warm and comfortable and get better.

Porthos' voice was a balm as he whispered: “Sleep, Aramis. I have your back.” It stripped him bare but at the same time, enveloped him like a warm blanket. Trust me, Porthos had asked, and he did, with a child's simple knowledge that no evil could touch him here. Not even the nightmare of his own creation that his life had been recently.

“Sleep,” Porthos repeated, and with a deep sigh, Aramis let go.

He slept.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #fanfic #the musketeers #flower writes #aramis #porthos #insomnia

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jaybear1701 · 4 years

Text

Scars

Summary: Raelle shares a bit of her past with Scylla. Set sometime before the 1x02 opening scene, or can lead right up to it. Take your pick!

It’s been nearly a year-and-a-half since a show inspired me to write fic. Motherland Fort Salem and Raylla awakened the muse in me again. Might be a little rusty, though. Go easy on me.

A light caress skimmed down the side of Raelle’s face, stirring her from slumber. Any minute now, Abigail would bark out her usual annoying, “Let’s move, soldiers!” while Tally would sing-song a good morning in her usual chipper fashion. But Raelle didn’t want to wake just yet.

Her body felt heavy and she snuggled into her pillow, taking in the scent of sweet earth and burnt incense and something... darker. Something Raelle couldn’t quite recognize, but felt familiar all the same.

The touch returned, grazing her left cheek. It tickled, and Raelle swatted weakly at the offending hand. “Quit, Tal,” she mumbled into starchy cotton.

A soft chuckle followed, and warm lips pressed against the faint scar above her jaw. “I didn’t realize your unit was that close,” came an amused voice that most definitely did not belong to a haughty High Atlantic or an overly cheerful NorCal ball of sunshine.

Raelle’s eyes snapped open, vision slowly coming to focus on a deep shade of blue gazing back at her. “Scyl?” The nickname slipped out before she could stop it. If Scylla hated it, she hid it behind an impish smile.

“Did I not make last night memorable enough, Private Collar?” Scylla leaned in with a smirk, placing another kiss to the corner of Raelle’s mouth. “Need a reminder about where you are?”

“No, I…,” Raelle shook her head to clear any last remnants of drowsiness. “Sorry.” A flush trickled up her neck as memories of the previous night flashed across her mind. Echoes of slick heat and friction, sighs and gasps, settled in the pit of her stomach. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

She normally didn’t. In fact, she made a deliberate point to not linger too long after her late visits with the Necro cadet. Partly to avoid Abigail’s disapproving lectures about the penalties of missing inspection. Partly to ignore the fullness beneath her ribs that seemed to expand, bit by bit, whenever she spent time with Scylla.

No connections, Raelle forced herself to remember. No attachments. It was easier that way.

Scylla, though… Scylla with her gorgeous eyes, bright smile, and uncanny ability to Just get Raelle. Well, she just put a big ol’ wrench in all of Raelle’s well-laid plans.

“It’s okay.” Scylla rested her head back on the single pillow they shared, smooth hair dark against white. The thin sheet wrapped loosely around them rustled as they faced each other, side-by-side, on the narrow bed. “You looked like you needed it.”

Raelle couldn’t even argue. The first weeks of basic training had been, and continued to be, grueling. Despite her exhaustion, she didn’t sleep well in her bunk in the best of times. And slept even less on other, particularly active, nights.

Raelle’s line of sight traveled to the window. Darkness still cloaked Scylla’s bare quarters, though it was fading as the day crept toward dawn. “What time is it?”

“Early.” Scylla smoothed back a few strands of blonde behind Raelle’s left ear. “‘We’ve got some time before the first bell.”

The tips of Scylla’s fingers returned once again to the scar, outlining the indentation from cheek to chin. Raelle shivered .

Unlike some of the other cadets, Scylla had never once asked Raelle about it. In some ways, it was a relief. Raelle wasn’t too keen about sharing her past with others outside of her unit. No connections. No attachments. But other times, like now, when she was so close to Scylla yet still so far, her heart twinged in a way that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“You can ask me about it, you know,” Raelle said. She fought the urge to hold her breath. “You’ve never been curious?”

Scylla’s hand stilled, and Raelle used the opportunity to grasp it and kiss her palm.

“I didn’t want to pry,” Scylla murmured.

The truth was, deep down, Raelle wanted Scylla to pry. Despite her mantras about distance, she wanted Scylla to want to know more about her. In spite of her mantras about distance, deep down Raelle wanted to know everything about Scylla, who seemed even more masterful than Raelle about dodging questions about herself and her past.

“It was the day we found out about my mom,” Raelle began before she lost her nerve. “How she died in a firefight in Liberia, against the Spree.”

Scylla tensed beside her, a shadow darkening the blue of her eyes. “Raelle, you don’t have to…”

“I want to.” Raelle squeezed Scylla’s hand reassuringly before letting go. Scylla rested it on her shoulder, thumb grazing lightly over her thin shirt. “I can’t even remember the officer’s name or what she looked like. All I remember was the sound of her voice and…” A familiar ache bloomed inside Raelle. She swallowed it down, focusing on Scylla and the concern etched across her beautiful face. “The next thing I knew, I was on my bed with my head wrapped in a bandage.”

“You lost control.” There was no judgment in Scylla’s voice.

“My dad said the wind was so fierce, it shattered the glass door to our living room.” Raelle chuckled, a sad sound in the hush of the room. “I had to fix a lot of people to replace it.”

“And this?” Scylla reverently traced the blemish.

Raelle bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “I didn’t want it fixed all the way.”

“Why?” Scylla asked, even though Raelle suspected she already knew.

“Because.” Raelle slowly pushed Scylla onto her back, the bedsprings creaking beneath them. “I wanted a reminder of that day.” She settled atop Scylla, their bodies slotting together perfectly. “A reminder of what the Army did to her.”

Scylla cupped her face and kissed her so tenderly that tears prickled behind Raelle’s eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” Scylla whispered against her lips.

Raelle’s heart swelled and thudded almost painfully. “In spite of the scar?”

Shaking her head, Scylla nuzzled her cheek. “Because of it.”

At a loss for words, Raelle exhaled long and slow. She buried her face in the crook of Scylla’s neck, breathing in the sweetness of skin tinged with sweat and that dark something Raelle still couldn’t place. Death, her mind supplied, unbidden. She wondered if all Necros, surrounded by the dead constantly, shared a similar scent.

“What about you?” Raelle asked to distract herself from that line of thought.

“Me?”

“Do you have scars?” Raelle pushed against her better judgment. She couldn’t help it. She felt raw. Exposed. She craved reciprocation. Wanted to explore depths hidden underneath still waters.

Scylla’s arms, which had wrapped around her shoulders, tightened imperceptibly. “Don’t we all?” She deflected, guarded as always.

A pang of disappointment shot through Raelle, and she lifted herself slightly. Scylla’s gaze was hooded, cautious in a way that Raelle understood all too well.

The first bell chimed in the distance, its clangs drifting lazily into the room. Raelle imagined Tally was already bounding off the top bunk, much too perky for the hour, while Abigail scowled at Raelle’s empty bunk. “I should go,” Raelle said, moving to disentangle herself from Scylla’s arms.

“Don’t,” Scylla breathed out, tightening her grip. She pulled the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. “We still have time.”

Give me time, her blue eyes seemed to implore, glowing as the sun’s first rays bathed the room in early morning light.

“Okay,” Raelle nodded.

“Okay?” Scylla sounded almost surprised, brow smoothing.

Raelle found she couldn’t say no even if she wanted to. Even if it hurt. “Yeah, okay,” she said.

She settled back into Scylla’s warmth, the throb in her chest dulling with each press of Scylla’s lips and each stroke of her fingers, but not fully receding.

#motherland fort salem #raylla #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #mfs fic

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roman-writing · 4 years

Text

you search the mountain (2/4)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 20,005

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Notes: I swear this was supposed to be a horror story and not a comedy

The sun was beginning to set in earnest. It slanted through the vasty boughs of Gol Inath. Everything was cast in a fading lavender hue, which slowly slipped to something darker. The runes carved into the archway seemed to come alive in the gathering shadows. Overhead, a few ravens wheeled in circles, while others still perched in watchful silence. The eyes of nocturnal animals lurked through the underbrush along the outskirts of the clearing, and though she and the High Thornspeaker were the only two people present, Sylvanas could not help but feel that they were not alone.

“You’re Jaina Proudmoore?” Sylvanas could not keep the disbelief from her tone.

Rather than be muffled by the skull, the sound of Jaina's voice seemed to reverberate from within a cave of hollow bone. “I don’t recall telling you my family name. That and the fact you thought I was Ulfar means I’m obviously the one you’re looking for. Why?”

Sylvanas let her gaze rove across Jaina. She had been expecting a slip of a girl. Maybe twenty years old. But while Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s face, her hair was mostly white, streaked with gold, and pulled into a braid over one shoulder. “You’re older than I thought you’d be.”

“An intruder and a flatterer. Will wonders never cease?” There was a surprising flair of dry humour in Jaina’s words. “Now, I am even more puzzled. Did I kill you?”

At that, Sylvanas let loose a snort of laughter. “No.”

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise this would be awkward. Or -- well -- more awkward, anyway,” said Jaina. When she shifted her weight, Sylvanas glanced down. It was then she realised that Jaina’s bare feet, like her hands, seemed to be carved from the same wood as her staff. “Were you hoping I could reverse your…” she waved a clawed and wood-gnarled hand towards Sylvanas. “...unique condition?”

It was so reminiscent of Katherine -- the movements, the phrasing, the timbre of her voice, the overall mannerisms -- that Sylvanas no longer harboured any doubts that this was, in fact, Jaina Proudmoore. Or at least someone very closely related to the Lord Admiral. Good enough.

Shaking her head, Sylvanas said again, “No.”

“That's a relief. Because it would be nearly impossible.”

Sylvanas stared at her. “Nearly?” she repeated, incredulous.

“There are some rare exceptions to the rule. I can’t recommend it, to be honest.” Jaina made a dismissive little gesture, as if she couldn’t be troubled with complex explanations of death magic. “If I didn’t kill you, and you don’t want me to fix your Undeath, then why are you looking for me?”

It was tempting to drag the conversation back towards those ‘rare exceptions’ spoken of, but Sylvanas resisted the curiosity gnawing at the base of her neck. She realised she was biting the inside of her cheek with a thoughtful narrowing of her eyes, and put a stop to it. Lifting her chin, she nodded towards Jaina. “Everyone thinks you died.”

“Who’s saying they’re wrong?”

Sylvanas scowled. Not for the first time, she wanted Jaina to remove that damnable skull so she could see her face. “You look very alive to me.”

The curved end of the staff tilted towards Sylvanas in an all encompassing gesture. “I could say the same of you. Appearances can be deceiving, as we both know.” The skull lifted slightly, drawing closer as though Jaina were sniffing the air. “When did you die? Four years ago? Five?”

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas said, “Over a decade ago.”

“Well, that can’t be right. The grave smells more recent on you.”

“I think I would remember my own death,” Sylvanas said dryly. Then she added with a sneer, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Shrugging, Jaina lowered her grip upon the staff so that her stance appeared more relaxed. “I have as much a right to ask you a few personal questions, as you do to barge into my home with drawn weapons.”

Sylvanas pointed to the tree and their surroundings. “Your forest is a nightmare. I was simply prepared for the worst. And besides,” she shrugged at the bow over her shoulder. “I did not shoot you.”

“Your restraint is admirable.”

Sylvanas nodded. “Mmm. Yes. I thought so, too.”

“And after I’ve been so rude to a guest, as well,” Jaina drawled. “However shall I repay you?”

“A formal introduction might be a good start.”

“It seems you don’t need one. You already know my name. I’m the only one here still in the dark.”

Lifting her open hand, Sylvanas placed it over her own heart. It was an elvish military salute, and something she had never been able to rid herself of no matter how many years had passed. “Sylvanas Windrunner.”

Jaina did not return the gesture in any regard. "So, Sylvanas Windrunner. You’ve found me. Now, what do you want?”

“Your mother sent me.”

The lie came easily to Sylvanas’ lips. Jaina’s head jerked as though she had been struck. Her grip upon the staff tightened once more, and Sylvanas swore she saw a glint of eyes through the skull’s sockets, like the glimmer of cold and distant starlight.

“An intruder. A flatterer. And now a liar, too.” The darkness of Gol Inath’s hollow seemed to gather at Jaina’s back, like a protective shroud or a display of something else. Impatience, perhaps. Or a growing ire. “I am seriously beginning to reconsider my decision to not kill you. For good, this time.”

In response, Sylvanas lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Then I count myself fortunate to have such a merciful hostess.”

Slowly, Jaina moved forward, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The shadows clung to her as she moved. She was tall without the antlers, but with them she seemed that much more imposing. Her face remained hidden behind the mask, but the skull followed Sylvanas with an unblinking stare. And then Jaina had stepped past her. She looked out at the waterfalls plunging over the roots of Gol Inath. "Even if you weren't lying -- which you clearly are -- why would my mother send an undead elf runt to find me?"

Sylvanas bristled, but refused to rise to the bait. Still, she moved forward to stand at Jaina’s side. "The Lord Admiral’s political rivals circle over her. Civil war is coming to Kul Tiras."

"That doesn't sound like my problem."

"I should think civil war affects all Kul Tiran citizens. That includes the Drust."

Jaina continued to face the water, refusing to acknowledge that Sylvanas had moved at all, as though utterly unconcerned with her guest's presence. "A key prerequisite of being a Kul Tiran citizen is having the ability to own land. The Drust haven't been allowed to own land for nearly three hundred years."

"You would let Drustvar fall into the hands of a rival House on a technicality?"

"I have no intention of letting Drustvar fall into anyone's hands but my own."

This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Jaina was supposed to be young, naive, optimistic, easy to manipulate. She was not supposed to be...whatever this woman was. Calm. Confident. Bored.

That last one in particular stung. Sylvanas was used to people finding her many things, but boring was not one of them.

Sylvanas crossed her arms and glowered out at the waterfalls sending up the thick preternatural mist that slunk through the Crimson Forest. "Last I checked, the region was ruled by Lucille Waycrest. Not you."

"What was that about technicalities again?" Now, Jaina just sounded amused. "Lucille and I have an understanding. She may live in Waycrest Manor with her Tides-given titles, but we all know who really controls Drustvar."

"You think Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane care about your little arrangement? All they see is a target." Sylvanas pointed to the skull, drawing a circle in the air with her finger as though painting a bull’s eye. Jaina did not move in the slightest despite this intrusion. "Your position is weak. Lucille will be toppled, and your 'understanding' will be in shreds within a few years."

"Let them come."

This air of calm self-assurance was starting to grow tiresome. Mostly because Sylvanas half-believed what Jaina said to be true. Almost. That was by far the most irritating thing.

She launched her next words like a barb. "Your mother is dying."

Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn’t for Jaina to nod solemnly. "Yes. I imagine she is,” she mused, looking out over the water. “Everybody dies. I didn't think I would need to lecture a corpse about that."

Sylvanas had to stop herself from grinding her teeth. She could feel the muscles in her jaw bunch together regardless. "She needs you. Kul Tiras needs you."

Jaina snorted and shook her head in a rustle of bone and leaves. "My mother sent me away when I was twelve years old. My father refused to speak my name after I’d left until the day he died. And Kul Tiras would never accept me given my background. I am too much like the thing they fear, now. They do not want me."

"I never said Kul Tiras wanted you. I said they needed you. They need an Heir to House Proudmoore."

"Then they should have thought of that before they let my father send my brother to the gallows in Unity Square. Tandred was the last Heir to House Proudmoore. Not me."

"Do you really want the Navy to be commanded by the likes of Lady Ashvane? Or Lord Stormsong?" Sylvanas snapped.

"Hang the Navy."

It was the first time a hint of a growl entered Jaina’s words. The sound was low and rumbling and far too animalistic to have been made by the human voice. Sylvanas’ ears pricked up slightly. She straightened her shoulders, her eyes coal-bright and curious. Finally. An opening. Something she could use.

“Ah, yes. I’d heard about your brother.” Sylvanas tapped at her chin. “Something about helping the Horde, wasn’t it? Such a shame that your father did not look kindly upon acts of philanthropy to those in need.”

At last, Jaina turned her head to look at her, and it felt like a victory just to have her attention. “Are you in need of my ‘philanthropy’?” she sounded incredulous.

It was Sylvanas’ turn to pretend to be aloof. “No. But as the Warchief of the Horde, I am always seeking alliances that will make us stronger.”

Jaina twitched in surprise, and the skull tilted to one side as though she were studying Sylvanas with far more interest. "You're no orc."

"I see Kul Tiras really has been living under a rock for the last decade,” said Sylvanas with a huff of wry laughter. “The Horde is far more than a gaggle of mindless orcs these days."

Now, Jaina had turned fully towards her. More progress. "And yet you died over a decade ago, you said? Which implies you are a product of the Scourge.”

The empty space within the crook of her sickle staff burned with a bluish light, and the air suddenly reeked with the smell of arcane magics. Sylvanas tensed. Her hand made an abortive jerk towards her bow, but then the brief crackle of energy died away.

Jaina hummed a thoughtful note. “I don't sense anything demonic about you."

Still tense -- wary and ready to act upon a moment’s notice -- Sylvanas lowered her arm. "I make a point of not sharing my head with anyone. Especially where demons or liches are concerned."

"Finally, something we can agree on." Gesturing between the two of them, Jaina asked, "And what exactly would you get out of this proposed alliance?"

Sylvanas flashed a grin. "A friend."

At that, Jaina grunted. Silence descended as she chewed over the idea. "You're charming…"

Sylvanas' grin widened slightly.

"...but not that charming." Jaina straightened to her full height, which was fiendishly tall. Far too tall for Sylvanas’ tastes. Humans had no right being able to loom like that. "What do you really get out of this? And don't give me that bullshit about friendship."

The grin slipped from Sylvanas’ face, replaced instead by an expression that was more exasperated than anything else. "You really are your mother's daughter, aren’t you?” When Jaina’s only reply was to quietly glare at her, Sylvanas relented. "I want Kul Tiras to open its borders to the Horde."

“And is that all?” Jaina pressed.

“Would I lie to you?”

“You already have. Several times, I might add.” Jaina tapped her thumb against her staff. The motion rattled a cluster of crows’ skulls at her waist. “How do I know you're not working with Ashvane and Stormsong already?"

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas said, "Because if I were, I wouldn't have approached your sacred tree alone. I would have come with an army to burn it to the ground."

“You really do have a way of endearing people, don’t you?” Jaina said, not the least bit impressed. “No wonder my mother threw you out on your ass. That is what happened when you approached her with this proposition, I assume?”

Sylvanas glowered, but said nothing. It was answer enough.

“Of course, it is.” Jaina’s laugh was a low chuckle of amusement. “Why would I help you?”

“The goodness of your heart,” said Sylvanas, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

Jaina scoffed. “You’re not a shipwrecked orc in need of hull repairs. You’re a war profiteer.”

“I had hoped you would be swayed by some manner of loyalty to your dying mother,” said Sylvanas, but the low blow did very little it seemed.

“Don’t pretend to care about my mother, Warchief Windrunner.”

“Pretend?” Sylvanas repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, she invited me to the Keep for a cup of tea. If she were in better health, we could have reached an understanding.”

“If she were in better health, she would have shot you,” Jaina said dully.

“Whatever helps the negotiation process,” Sylvanas drawled with a wave of her hand. Then she leaned a little closer, trying to peer past the impenetrable shadows of the skull’s eye sockets, searching for any hint of Jaina’s face. “Haven’t you thought about what you could do as the Lord Admiral?”

Most people would have leaned away or taken a step back upon being in such close proximity with a walking corpse. Jaina on the other hand remained perfectly still. “I am happy where I am now.”

“Are you?” Sylvanas stepped forward. They were close enough to touch, but Sylvanas stopped just before that point. The skull tilted slightly, as though Jaina were having to lower her chin to continue looking at her. “If you became the Lord Admiral, you could change the laws of Kul Tiras. No more raids. No more witch burnings. No more unfair press into the Navy’s service. You could give back lands to the Drust that were confiscated when your very own ancestors arrived here in the first place. Think of it as -” she shrugged, “- reparations. Making amends. Setting things right once and for all.”

There. A pause. A hesitation. The smallest gap in Jaina’s proverbial armour. If Sylvanas did not have such acute hearing, she would have missed the slight hitched breath beneath that mask.

“Hmm,” said Jaina. This close, Sylvanas could hear Jaina’s exhalation brush against the plate of bone in front of her face. It was barely audible over the rush of water and the slough of a breeze through the surrounding foliage. “I still don’t trust you.”

Placing her open hand back over her chest, Sylvanas tried for an air of sincerity without appearing mocking. “Then allow me to prove my good intentions, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina made a noise as though she had just bitten into something sour or rotten. “Don’t call me that. I’m not that old.”

“High Thornspeaker is a bit of a mouthful.”

“They have the same number of syllables,” Jaina pointed out, but she sighed nonetheless. “Jaina, then. If you must.”

“Very well, Jaina,” Sylvanas let the name linger on her tongue. “Give me a small temporary outpost in Drustvar, and I promise to be nothing but the most humble and respectful of guests. At any time, you may call upon me as needed, or send me away. Whichever you prefer.”

For a long while, Jaina said nothing. As their conversation had progressed, the air around them had grown dark. The moon was a sliver of liquid gold upon the horizon, peeking over the wild canopy. The ground here was littered with small bioluminescent flowers, which gathered closest around the great tree, glowing softly in time with the runes over the arch and those carved into the mask’s antlers, as though they were all connected by a single woven thread. When Jaina took a step back and turned away, the ground lit up at her feet. The small bioluminescent petals clustered within her footsteps so that she seemed to leave a trail of pale fire that faded in her wake.

She did not go very far, only striding a few paces off to sit upon one of the stones half-buried in the ground at the base of the tree. The moment she touched the stone, the marks etched into its surface lit up like a lantern. Jaina paid them no heed. She sat. She rested her staff on the ground beside her. She crossed her legs and idly bounced her foot up and down as though deep in thought.

One of the ravens swooped down from its branch to land on Jaina’s shoulder, and she waved it away. “Not now, Adalyn,” she admonished under her breath.

The raven cawed a loud complaint, but it flapped away again. Except this time it landed on a lower branch nearer Jaina, and fixed a beady black eye upon Sylvanas.

Finally, Jaina turned her attention back on Sylvanas. “No hunting,” she said, holding up her hand to tick items off on her wooden fingers. “No fishing. No mining. No forestry. You will have a minimal presence. All civilian. No military. And you will stock no arms or ammunition either on shore or within twenty leagues of it.”

“Agreed,” Sylvanas said without any hesitation.

“I will speak with Lucille. You’ll have your outpost within the fortnight. Though,” Jaina added, “you might consider keeping your head down. If my mother gets wind that you’ve established a presence here behind her back, there will be hell to pay.”

“I will be meek as a field mouse,” Sylvanas swore.

Though Sylvanas could not see it, she had no doubt Jaina just rolled her eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe you.” Her foot continued to bob as she spoke. "Arthur will escort you back to Arom's Stand. It will be quicker with him showing you the way."

Sylvanas looked around the empty clearing. "Who?"

As if in answer, one of the smaller ravens wheeled down from the branches of Gol Inath. It landed on the ground a few paces away from Sylvanas. And then it shuffled its feathers, and began to grow. There followed a series of unpleasant snaps and groans, as though a tree were being felled, and then a deer was standing in the raven's place. Except it was like no deer Sylvanas had ever seen before. It appeared to be made partly of plant, and partly of bone and flesh. Its legs were clawed twisted trunks, and the collar of fur around its neck was a ruff of leaves. Sylvanas could see glimpses of pale ribs through its sunken skin, and glowing glyphs were tattooed into its flank.

"Hi!" the deer said. "It's me. I'm Arthur. Nice to meet you."

The voice was most definitely coming from the deer, though its mouth did not move in any way. Its eyes were filmed over with the pale blue of death, but the deer flicked its tufted tail in a very lively manner.

Slowly, Sylvanas looked up at the trees, at the numerous ravens eyeing her from their perches. Even at the gazes of nocturnal creatures that blinked owlishly at her through the underbrush. She tried counting them all, but soon lost track. Suddenly, Jaina's earlier threats about putting Sylvanas in the ground for good did not seem so empty.

"I wasn't aware we had an audience." Sylvanas nodded to the trees. "You might have told me."

"To be honest, you came right in the middle of a lesson. One which I'm keen to get back to. You have very bad timing." Jaina shooed her away. "I will check in on you in a few months. And if you don't keep up your end of the bargain: I'll know."

"What if I want to speak with you sooner?"

"You still have my token. It will guide you safely through the forest just as it did before."

With a sour grunt, Sylvanas' hand drifted to the pouch where she kept the scrimshaw fang. She thought on wicker men and bad dreams. Perhaps instead, next time she would just go to the forest's edge and talk to the ravens until they fetched Jaina for her.

Plastering on a false smile, Sylvanas bowed low at the waist. "The hospitality of the Drust is as infamous as they say. Thank you, High Thornspeaker. This meeting has been enlightening."

"Next time, let me know you’re coming, and I'll be sure to put on a pot of tea," Jaina said dryly.

The raven from before, the one called Adalyn, had hopped down to a branch closer to Jaina, glaring over the High Thornspeaker's shoulder like a dour little body guard. Sylvanas was sure she had seen the same expression on Nathanos' face.

Syvlanas turned towards Arthur. The deer was pawing at the ground with one clawed and cloven hoof.

"Hop on up," Arthur's voice said.

Sylvanas' brows furrowed. His back looked very spiny and not at all comfortable. "I don't suppose I can get a saddle?"

"I mean -?" Arthur started to say, glancing over at Jaina.

"Don't demean yourself Arthur," Jaina said.

Arthur stamped his back hoof, and said to Sylvanas. "Sorry. No can do."

Muttering under her breath, Sylvanas hoisted herself easily onto his back. She shifted atop him, but couldn't find a good seat no matter what she did.

"Ready?" he asked.

Before she could answer he started off on a bouncing trot away from Gol Inath. Behind them, Sylvanas could have sworn she heard laughter chasing after her, but perhaps that was simply the cry of the ravens.

As Arthur picked up the pace, he said, "You might want to hold on."

"To what?" Sylvanas growled.

He tossed his head, and she grabbed onto a tine of his antlers. Soon, his steps turned into leaps and bounds. He was sure-footed and swift, easily traversing the forest. Even so, Sylvanas was forced to hunker down low on his back to save herself from getting whipped by the passing branches.

She missed her skeletal horses. They may not have been as fast, but at least they had saddles and didn't talk. And Arthur talked. Arthur talked a lot.

"This is so exciting," he said as they raced along. "We haven't had outsiders at Gol Inath in -- well -- forever! And now all this talk about the Admiralty and invasion? Do you think we're going to have a big fight?"

A branch sailed right for Sylvanas' face. She ducked. "That depends," she said through grit teeth.

"I've never been in a battle before.” He sounded excited at the idea, proving just how young he really was. “Killing constructs and undead at Gol Koval doesn't count."

His accent lacked the burr that other Drustvar inhabitants had. Sylvanas tightened her grip upon his antlers. "You don't sound like you're from Drustvar. How long have you been training as a druid?"

"Oh, I'm from a fishing village in southern Tiragarde Sound," he replied. "I joined the Drust a few years ago. My parents found me in the garden one winter. We didn't have enough food, so I'd made the squash patch grow right through the snow. For people like me, options are limited. You can go to the Monastery or join the Navy. Except Tidesages don't really do nature magic like that, you know? And life at sea isn't really for me. So, here I am."

Sylvanas mused over that for a moment. The silence did not last long however. Soon, Arthur was yammering away again. Some incessant drivel about how much he liked being with the Drust. How the change in his life had been dramatic but ultimately fruitful.

Sylvanas made non-committal noises as he talked. Then, she interrupted, "How long has Jaina been High Thornspeaker?"

"Four years, I think? Three? By the time I came around, she was already Ulfar's star pupil."

"And he chose her as his successor?"

"Oh, no. Not really. It just sort of happened during the fight with Gorak Tul. They went to Thros and -" Abruptly, Arthur cut himself off. His bounding gait slowed to a canter. "I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"You can tell me,” she crooned sweetly. “We're allies now, aren't we?"

"I don’t know,” Arthur said, his tone uncertain. “Jaina would be mad at me."

"Does she get mad at you often?"

"Oh, no. She's very patient with me. Way more patient than my parents, or that recruiting Lieutenant from Boralus. I hated that guy.” Arthur slowed to a stop. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. "What kind of favour?"

When Arthur tossed his head, she was forced to let go of his antlers. "There's this -" He twisted his head around, his ears flicking back. "- really itchy spot on my neck."

Glowering, she hissed, "I am not your scratching post."

"Oh, come on. Please?"

"I don't know why Jaina bothers with talk of demeaning yourself. Look at you."

He had twisted around, head lowered, so that he could scratch at his neck with one of his back hooves, like a dog trying to scratch behind its ear. Sylvanas had to cling to his back to keep from falling off and onto the ground. Briefly, she wondered how mad Jaina would be if she killed him, and then decided that it wasn't worth the trouble.

"I will walk the rest of the way," she grumbled, but before she could slide from his back, he sighed.

"Okay. Got it." He straightened, and then shook his head with a huff of irritation. "Thanks for nothing. Geesh."

Sylvanas' gaze burned scarlet as she glared at him. However, Arthur was either immune to the sense of immediate danger, or he really was that oblivious, for he continued on his way, chatting happily. This time, Sylvanas did not offer any noises to indicate that she was listening. She seethed in silence.

The forest around them looked exactly the same as it had when she had first entered it. Thankfully, they did not pass the burnt ash tree and the wicker man, though Sylvanas watched for it, as though fully expecting to be dropped back into the nightmare loop that had been her life for the last three days. Arthur probably would have answered any other questions she posed, but she did not want to encourage him. Not that he needed it.

Finally, after the longest few hours of her undeath, they reached the edge of the Crimson Forest. Dawn was a sliver cresting over the hills, painting the sky a pale pink. The moon still hung like a pendant at the throat of the world over the sea to the south west. Sylvanas lifted her head to peer up the cliffs directly ahead of them to the east. From here, she could just see a glimmer of lantern light from Arom's Stand high on the saddle of the mountain pass.

Arthur slowed his pace, but continued trotting onto the road, clearly intending to carry her all the way back up to Arom's Stand as per his instructions. But Sylvanas leapt nimbly from his back. Her boots squelched in the mud of the road.

Prancing around her, Arthur said, "Something wrong? If you needed to stretch your legs, you could've just said something."

Sylvanas bit back the urge to say something scathing. Instead, she began to stride along the road. "I will make my way from here. Thank you, Mr...?"

"Tradewind," he replied.

"Thank you, Mr. Tradewind."

"Don’t worry about it. You can call me Arthur.” He stopped in front of her, blocking her path. “And are you sure? I don't mind, and that hill is steep."

Teeth clenched, Sylvanas walked around him. She waved him away. "I am fine."

“Suit yourself.”

She did not hear him bound away. There was a rustle behind her, the strident cawing of a raven, and he was gone in a flap of wings.

It did not take long to climb the slope to Arom's Stand. The snows had melted slightly in her absence, though the further up the mountains she went, the deeper it became. The sun rose in time with her own movements up the hill. Soon she was bathed in the golden glow of daylight. The sun was a mixed blessing. The season was warming, but with it came the sludge of snowmelt mingling with the mud of the road.

A falcon wheeled overhead. She paid it no heed, until it started circling her position. Then, she frowned up at it. When it circled lower until it was just a few meters above her head, Sylvanas sighed.

"You didn't have to send anyone else after me," she said to the sky. "I've left your damned forest."

"Are you talking to a bird?"

Sylvanas blinked. She turned to find Nathanos striding towards her from off the road. Of course. There were few people who could sneak up on her. Nathanos and her dark rangers were among them.

As he approached, Nathanos put away his bow. "I am glad to see you unharmed. I shall have to tell Anya her coup is a no go."

"Very funny," Sylvanas growled.

No sooner had he spoken Anya's name, than she and Velonara appeared on the nearby crest of the hill. They were followed by Notley from the Order of Embers. A furrow creased Sylvanas' brows when she saw that they flanked Notley as though he were a prisoner.

"Trouble?" she asked Nathanos.

Nathanos seemed unrepentant. "We were worried for your safety, my Queen. Notley is a falconer, and we merely -" he trailed off for a moment, then shrugged, "- requested his immediate services."

Tilting her head back, Sylvanas looked incredulously between him and the falcon. The falcon itself was swooping back towards its master, who lifted his arm clad in a thick leather glove up to the elbow. Anya and Velonara were lengthening their strides now, leaving Notley behind so they could reach their Dark Lady's side.

"I was only gone three days, Nathanos," Sylvanas admonished, as Anya and Velonara drew close enough to hear. "You panicked like a bunch of old hens."

"Three?" Velonara repeated.

"You were gone nine days," said Anya.

Staring at them, Sylvanas shifted her gaze to Nathanos. He nodded. "When you did not arrive at the tavern in Arom's Stand on the seventh day, we tried to go into the forest after you."

"And how did that go for you?" Sylvanas asked.

"Not well," said Anya with a tone as dark as her expression.

Trudging towards their little group, falcon on his arm, Notley said, "I told them not to. But they refused to listen. Said they were going to gut me like a fish if I got in their way."

Neither of the rangers nor Nathanos gave any indication that this was true. Then again, they did not deny it either.

Sylvanas tsked in faux admonishment. “That’s no way to treat our newest allies.”

Of the four, the one who looked most surprised at this declaration was Notley. “You -?” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the forest below would eavesdrop. “You found the High Thornspeaker?”

A silent meaningful glance was shared between Sylvanas and Nathanos. She smiled, baring a hint of fangs. “I did.’

True to her word, Jaina had arranged an outpost for the Horde within two weeks. During that time, Sylvanas and her rangers stayed in Corlain rather than suffer the indignity of the tavern at Arom's Stand for a moment longer.

Not that Corlain was much better. It was the kind of town where the sad grey market every weekend was considered the height of culture by the locals. Sylvanas had seen less grim affairs in the sewers of the Undercity. The people of Drustvar were as accommodating as those in Boralus, which was to say: reticent to outsiders. Still, they did not chase the undead away with torches and pitchforks, which was an improvement on some of the places Sylvanas had visited in her lifetime.

After thirteen days however, Sylvanas was stirred from her chair at the local inn by a rapping on the rain-lashed glass. When she went to open up the window, a filmy-eyed raven hopped inside the windowsill.

"Finally," Arthur said, fluffing up all of his feathers so that he resembled a black hand duster. He shook his tail out. "Do you know it's pouring out there? I should have transformed into a duck instead, but Jaina keeps telling me it's not 'dignified.'"

"When will she learn that you're a lost cause?" Sylvanas drawled.

"Right?"

Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas said, "Well?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah." Arthur made a sound as though he were clearing his throat, and he perched a little straighter. "Lady Waycrest has agreed to give you the Eastern Cliffs. It's an abandoned settlement near the lighthouse of Falconhurst."

Sylvanas sighed. "Wonderful. More impassable cliffs."

While this entire conversation was going on, Anya and Velonara had stopped their game of whist at the table. They had somehow managed to procure a deck of cards only a few hours after their arrival in Corlain, and picked up the game with a cunning and alacrity that had many of the locals cry foul. Which, in the locals' defense, Sylvanas reckoned was probably true. Velonara's hand was frozen mid-play, a card held between her fingers. They were both staring at the sudden conversation between their despot and a bird.

For his part, Arthur's head cocked, and he hopped a little closer towards their table. "Hey! This lady's cheating! She's got some spare cards up her sleeve!"

Anya's deathly pale cheeks went faintly blotchy. She glared daggers at the raven. "Permission to shoot the bird, Mistress?"

"Permission denied," said Sylvanas.

Throwing down her own hand, Velonara snatched Anya's wrist and wrenched the cards that had been stashed up Anya's bracers.

Sylvanas ignored the ensuing squabble in rapid-tongued Elvish behind her, like the hissing of angry snakes. She turned to Arthur. "Is there anything else?"

"Do you have a towel? Can you give me a quick rub down?"

"That was a rhetorical question, Arthur."

"Yeah, well, mine wasn't. I had to fly for hours to get here, and I'm soaked."

Rather than dignify this with a response, Sylvanas shooed him back towards the windowsill and shut the window. He squawked at her indignantly from the other side of the glass, before he was ultimately driven off by the rain.

It took another two weeks to bring in hand-picked members of the Horde to fill the outpost. Sylvanas had already sent word back to Orgrimmar of her plans, and a list of suitable candidates had been drawn up at her request. The small ship -- something harmless enough to slip past the Kul Tiran Navy patrols by pretending to be a neutral fishing vessel -- landed at Falconhurst on an auspiciously sunny day. The sun was a wan yellowish circle behind a thin layer of clouds. It felt like the first time Sylvanas had seen sunlight in years, even though it had been only been a few weeks of incessant rain.

A handful of Forsaken and Tauren stepped off the ship and onto shore. The local fishermen on the docks did not give them more than a passing glance. As per Sylvanas' orders, the Tauren -- all of whom were druids -- arrived in various animal forms. Neither they nor the undead were considered an odd sight in Drustvar. Indeed, the most difficult part about keeping a low profile was trying to encourage her more zealous Forsaken followers that they needn't erect banners with her symbol upon them. This slight to her glory seemed to cause a few of them physical pain, and more than once she had to order Nathanos to go around at night to tear down a few tabards from the walls of their encampment.

Less than a week had passed before Velonara was clearing her throat to get Sylvanas' attention.

"What is it?" Sylvanas did not look up from where she was fletching a series of arrows. She had been forced to purchase the feathers from a hawker Falconhurst, who had been curious as to why she did not simply hunt for pheasant herself. He quickly nodded in understanding when she explained she would not hunt anywhere near the Crimson Forest, however. There was even a small discount offered for her supposed piety.

"There are two women watching us from the tops of the cliffs," Velonara explained.

Sylvanas tied off a section of gut around the fletching. "And you haven't scared them away yet? You're losing your touch."

"One of them claims to be the Lady Lucille Waycrest. She is demanding an audience."

Now, that did get Sylvanas' attention. She glanced up from her work. "Demanding? Is she, now?" Finishing off the arrow, she set it down and then rose to her feet. "We shouldn't keep one of our hosts waiting, then."

It was a quick walk up the switchback road leading over the saddle of the cliffs. Waves thundered against the shore below. Their outpost was placed on a small outcropping that was sheltered by a man-made shoal with a lighthouse erected at its very end. At night it almost appeared as though the lighthouse were floating above the tides. Now, the wind-battered lighthouse was peering out at the dusk-washed sea like a lantern.

Most of the locals from Falconhurst avoided the Eastern Cliffs apart from a few fishermen, who favoured the docks. And yet, two dark shapes were standing near the cliff's edge. They were peering down at the outpost below. Over the whipping of the wind, Syvlanas could barely hear their murmured conversation.

Sylvanas announced her presence by allowing her foot to kick loose a stone on the path. Both of the figures turned. One was carrying a lantern. She lifted it into the air, peering through the impending gloom of twilight at those who approached.

"Lady Waycrest, I presume." Sylvanas stopped a few paces away, and tucked her arms behind her back in a comfortably militant pose. "I understand you wished to speak with me."

"Yes," said the woman holding the lantern. Her hair was dark, and her clothing fine. She studied Sylvanas with pursed lips. "I wish you'd approached me before approaching the Drust."

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression I was welcome here."

Lucille's mouth thinned even more. "You are. For now. But it is bloody inconvenient, you know, having you lot strolling about under Jaina's wing, while I'm kept in the dark."

With a nonchalant shrug, Sylvanas said, "Your arrangement with the High Thornspeaker is your own. How you go about your business is none of my concern. So, unless you're telling us to leave, we have very little to discuss."

"That's not what I'm here for." Drawing herself up -- she was short for a Kul Tiran, which meant she was only slightly taller than Sylvanas and Velonara -- Lucille gestured to the woman beside her. "I've been told you already know Mace?"

Sylvanas' eyes cut through the darkening air. Mace was fidgeting with the daggers sheathed at her waist. Her palms moved restlessly over the pommels until the metal was burnished smooth and bright. Her red hair was unmistakable. When Lucille gestured towards her, Mace inclined her head, her movements jerky, as though she had to remind herself to be deferential.

"I do," Sylvanas said slowly.

"Good. I'm assigning her as an escort to your outpost," said Lucille. She turned to Mace. "No starting fights. And report back to me every fortnight."

Meanwhile, Sylvanas's shoulders went rigid. "I beg your pardon?" she growled. "You will do no such thing."

Lucille frowned in her direction. "It's only fair," she said. "Jaina is having you watched."

"She isn't," Sylvanas insisted flatly.

"Then what is that?" Lucille pointed over Sylvanas' shoulder.

Sylvanas turned to follow where Lucille was indicating, and spied a large raven shuffling along the branch of a nearby tree. The bird seemed to notice their attention upon it, for it went very still all of a sudden.

Eyes narrowing to crimson slits, Sylvanas raised her voice. "Is that you, Arthur?"

"What?" said Arthur. "No! No, I'm just a normal raven."

"Normal ravens don't talk, Arthur."

"Oh. Right. I mean -! Caw! Caw!"

Sylvanas had to unclench her teeth before she could speak to Lucille again. Her clawed gauntlets creaked, and she relaxed her hands. "A trade then. You leave Mace here, and take Velonara back to Waycrest Manor with you."

"What?" hissed Velonara at Sylvanas' elbow, too low for the humans to hear. Sylvanas slanted a dangerous glance in her direction, and Velonara fell silent.

"Fine," agreed Lucille after a moment of thought. "Fair's fair. Just know that if she puts a knife between my ribs, Jaina will drown everyone at your little outpost."

"I'm well aware," Sylvanas drawled.

For some reason, that made Lucille relax. She even smiled. "Well, good. That's settled, then. Welcome to Drustvar, Warchief." Then, she nodded towards the ranger standing attentively at Sylvanas' side. "Velonara, was it? I have two horses stabled at the inn in Falconhurst. We can ride back towards the manor in the morning."

Velonara said nothing. Indeed, she gave no indication that she had even heard Lucille speak to her. She was too busy glaring awls into the back of Sylvanas' head.

The tip of Sylvanas' ears twitched slightly in annoyance. "Are you going to answer Lady Waycrest?"

Velonara's expression remained implacable, but her voice was stiff when she inclined her head towards Lucille. "I will meet you there at daybreak."

Satisfied, Lucille strode off towards Falconhurst. Her step was unerring, if loud. The soles of her boots seemed to find every twig along the road. The moment she was out of earshot, Velonara rounded on Sylvanas.

"I don't like this," she said in a low tone. "We are in hostile territory. You need a proper guard detail, and you were already under-protected when you decided to leave your Deathguards in Orgrimmar."

Sylvanas smiled as a pretense to bare a bit of fang. "I am more than capable of protecting myself. Besides," she gave a wry wave towards Mace, "I have a new bodyguard now."

As the conversation had continued, Mace had squatted down on the ground. She had procured a small block of wood from somewhere, and was now busy whittling away at it with one of her daggers. It took her a long moment to realise that both Sylvanas and Velonara were now watching her in silence. Her knife slowed against the woodgrain. She blinked up at them blankly. "Huh?"

"Yes, she seems very alert," Velonara muttered darkly. "I'm so relieved."

"Don't forget me," said Arthur from his branch. "I'm still here."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sylvanas sighed.

The next morning, Velonara left with Lucille back to Waycrest manor with strict instructions on sending back reports on the latest political and military movements every week. Nathanos and Anya took the news of the trade about as well as Velonara did, which meant that Sylvanas was forced to endure extra Forsaken guards around her quarters at the Eastern Cliffs at every hour of the day.

Arthur also took the discovery of his presence to mean that he no longer needed to hide. He made a habit of roosting atop the first story eaves of the building that Sylvanas used as both personal quarters and a command centre. He would chatter away at her undead guardsmen, pestering them with questions and stories.

Even worse, her guards cracked and eventually began to talk back to him.

Sylvanas was pouring over a series of reports on the latest treaty update from Zandalar one evening, burning the midnight oil, when she first heard it.

"So, wait -- you eat bodies? Why?" Arthur's chirpy voice was unmistakable over the sound of the waves against the nearby cliffs.

There followed a rustle of chainmail rasping over a bony shouldered shrug. "It heals us. Makes us whole again."

"Woah. Really? Can you show me?"

A dry chuckle. "That's not the reaction we usually get, kid. But sure."

Tossing down the report onto the stack of paper on her desk, Sylvanas pushed back her chair, its legs scraping loudly against the wooden floorboards. She stormed over to the front door, and yanked it open. Immediately, her two guardsmen jerked to attention, their normally stooping backs ramrod straight.

Sylvanas glared at them and hissed. "You will refrain from developing a rapport with the bird. Understood?"

“Yes, Dark Lady,” one of them said.

“Of course, my Queen. Forgive us,” said the other.

Sylvanas then aimed her glower upwards, where Arthur was poking his black-feathered head over the side of the thatched eaves. "Isn't it time for you to deliver your report to Jaina?"

Arthur's milky white eyes blinked at her. "Probably. How many days has it been?"

"Do you want me to write your reports, too?" she growled.

"Would you? That would be really helpful."

"You are a terrible spy." She waved an irritable hand at him. "Go home. Before I let Anya shoot you."

"Someone's grouchy today,” he remarked, but took flight before Sylvanas could make good on her threats.

She glared after him, following his flight path until he was no more than a black speck disappearing over the hills. When she turned her attention back onto the guards, they gripped their polearms even more tightly.

“Where is the other one?” she asked.

One of the guards lifted his hand and pointed with a flensed finger. Slamming the door shut behind her, Sylvanas stalked in that direction. It did not take her long to find Mace. As far as spies went, she and Arthur could not have been worse at their jobs if they tried. Mace spent her days throwing stones into the sea, or talking to the local fishermen, or hurling knives at a target dummy made out of a flour sack filled with straw. She never spoke with the undead more than necessary. Any time Anya or Nathanos reported her talking with members of the Horde was when she would question the Tauren about the Cenarion Circle and the Moonglade.

Sylvanas found her sitting on a stump beneath the deep eaves of the command centre. Her back was turned to Sylvanas, and she gave no indication that she noticed her presence. Mace was hunched over something in her lap, and various trimmings heaped at her feet.

Standing behind her, Sylvanas watched as Mace’s hands bound three sticks together with twine into a roughly human frame. Next, she gathered dried leaves and twigs around the frame, tying them into place by circling the ball of twine in key sections. She worked methodically. Her restless disposition was well-suited to this kind of constant activity.

When she was nearly finished, Sylvanas nodded towards the little wicker man. “What do they do?”

Without looking up, Mace shrugged. She was completely unsurprised by the sound of Sylvanas’ voice directly behind her. “Dunno. She likes them, though.”

“Who?”

“The High Thornspeaker.”

The wicker man was beginning to take shape. Mace bulked it out with more leaves and twigs. It lacked any kind of head. Briefly, vividly, Sylvanas could remember the wicker man in the forest with its watchful skull. A skull which seemed, in retrospect, a near exact copy to the one Jaina wore.

"What do you do with them when you've finished?"

Mace grunted around a twig in her mouth, taking it and lashing it into place along one of the wicker man's legs. "Leave them at the edge of the forest, usually. They disappear in a few days. She takes 'em, see? Or, if you have to make camp, you stake one of these at your feet while you sleep. Protects you from ghosts and constructs and, y'know -" Mace waved a withered leaf at Sylvanas. "- banshees and the like."

"And you want to put one in my outpost as a housewarming gift," Sylvanas sneered. "Lovely. Thank you."

Unperturbed, Mace put the finishing touches on the wicker man. She bound the last bit of twine into place, and then weighed the wicker man between her hands for a final inspection. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I am sleeping here surrounded by you lot. I'll take what I can get."

Reaching down, Sylvanas snatched the wicker man from Mace's grasp. "This thing -" her voice was low and dangerous, "- will not save you from me. And I will not have it anywhere near my personal quarters."

Mace tongued the inside of her cheek. Then, she nodded towards the wicker effigy. "Don't like it much, do you?"

Sylvanas’ hand tightened around the wicker man until she heard the creaking of twigs and leaves. She straightened, forcing her fingers to unclench. Without the bear claws and a skull, this effigy was far less ferocious than its counterpart in the Crimson Forest. Still, it made her skin crawl to touch it.

She looked between the wicker man and Mace. Her eyes narrowed to crimson slits. “Do you have any Drust in your family line?”

“My uncle Tavery,” Mace replied. She was shuffling around the supplies at her feet. Eventually she picked up a piece of wood, and began carving it with a knife.

Sylvanas turned the wicker man over to study its construction. Mace had woven the twigs and leaves in such a way that they all interlinked over the effigy’s chest, as though framing its lack of a heart. A space to be filled by grim offerings. Sylvanas stroked her thumb over the area. “Tell me about Gol Inath.”

Shoulders tense, Mace hunched over her knife. She shot Sylvanas a wary glance over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t -- You shouldn’t say its name aloud so easily.”

“What is it?” Sylvanas repeated, impatiently enunciating every syllable.

“The sacred tree. The entrance to Thros.”

“And what is Thros?”

Mace scowled at her. “Why are you asking me all these damn questions? If it’s information about the Drust you want, you should ask them. Not me.”

Gesturing with the wicker man, Sylvanas said, “Indulge me.”

For a moment Mace said nothing. She fiddled with the handle of the dagger, then turned back to whittling the small block of wood in her hands. It was beginning to take on the shape of a shaggy bear. “The Blighted Lands. A nightmarish place where nothing grows.” She gave the dagger a particularly vicious flick, tearing off a chunk of wood. “Hell, Warchief. Thros is Hell.”

If there was one thing Sylvanas was very good at, it was being patient. She had waited to lure Arthas into a trap, pretending to be under the yoke of his will even when the Lich King’s powers had begun to wane. She had bided her time in joining the Horde, ensuring the alliances of both the Forsaken and sin’dorei. The living wanted everything urgently and immediately. On some days she could still feel that itch scratching just beneath her sternum, but today was not such a day.

She sat behind her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. Its surface was littered with papers and documents, bits of parchment with her notes scrawled across them in spidery lines. And though the watery sunlight of Kul Tiras washed through the windows of the building, the hearth was lit, more for light than for warmth. She had very little need of warmth these days.

A map of Kul Tiras was spread out before her, its curling edges weighed down with various items -- an inkwell, a dog-eared book, a jar of sand for drying wet ink. Standing at the opposite side of the table, Nathanos leaned over and pointed to the map. “According to Velonara, Lady Waycrest has levied troops at Fletcher’s Hollow to fend off the Ashvane forces seeking to take the mines and foundry in that area. She has also sent troops to garrison Fallhaven, as it is the largest settlement in Drustvar that is accessible by sea. Drustvar has very few ships of their own, and certainly none that can rival the Great Fleet.”

Sylvanas’ elbow was propped on the chair of her arm. She curled her fingers into a fist and leaned her cheek upon it. “How many souls has she levied?”

He straightened and answered. “Fifteen thousand.”

Studying the map, Sylvanas hummed. “Not bad for a nation that traditionally doesn’t field an army.”

Nathanos gave a condescending little sniff. “It is nothing compared to what the Horde could muster at a moment’s notice.”

“Perhaps,” Sylvanas murmured. “But who needs an army when the only way to your land is by sea?” Reaching out, her hand drifted over the map towards Tiragarde Sound. She tapped her finger against Boralus. “And what about our beloved Lord Admiral? What has she been doing these last few weeks?”

“I have received news that she was visited by an Alliance envoy.”

Sylvanas glanced sharply up at him. “Anyone we know?”

“Genn Greymane.”

At the very sound of the name, Sylvanas’ lip curled. “And?”

“And Katherine sent him away as well.” Nathanos’ beard twitched in a smug smile. “She wanted nothing to do with the Alliance either.”

Sylvanas laughed, the sound sharp and short. She settled back in her chair, a smile still playing across her lips. “So, she sent the dog running with his tail between his legs. I knew I liked her.”

Nathanos’ own smile faded. “Why haven’t we told her about finding her daughter alive? If it’s the Admiralty you want, we should be trying to curry their favour and uniting them.”

With a sniff, Sylvanas said, “You have no sense for the dramatic, Nathanos. You would be a very poor theatre performer.”

He offered a small bow in reply. “You flatter me.”

She let loose a gentle huff of laughter, turning her attention back to the map. “No, we wait. We let the Ashvanes tie their own noose. What will the people say? When the daughter of their beloved war hero, Daelin Proudmoore, returns from the grave to liberate the nation from a usurper House?” Sylvanas curled one loose corner of the map between thumb and forefinger. The parchment began to tear slightly, the rip aiming up between Drustvar and Tiragarde Sound. She studied it a moment, and then pulled her hand back. “Why, I think it might just be a cause for a celebration.”

“You mean: a coup,” Nathanos said.

“What’s a good party without a little bloodshed?” she said wryly. “Besides, I hear Kul Tirans are the brawling type. Think of it as a cultural experience. We are -” Sylvanas fluttered the fingers of one hand as though searching for the words. “-forging stronger ties with our future allies.”

“I am leaping for joy on the inside,” Nathanos replied in his flattest possible tone. “And if the Alliance should approach her daughter? What then?”

“They won’t.”

“You underestimate their cunning.”

“No, I predict their weakness.” Leaning back, she propped her feet atop a clear corner of the desk, crossing her legs at the heel. “The old wolf or SI:7 might approach Jaina, but their Little Lion wouldn’t allow them to go through with any plan they concocted between them. He could never stomach something so underhanded.”

“And this High Thornspeaker? What if she sought them out herself? Presuming she ever deigns to set foot outside of her forest.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I have my doubts.”

The way Nathanos said that gave Sylvanas pause. She shifted slightly in her seat to face him more fully. “About what, pray tell?”

For a moment, he hesitated. He seemed to mull over his words carefully before beginning. “Forgive me, my Queen, but no one else has seen her, or even heard her voice. I have sent scouts into the Forest -- every week for the last two months -- and always they return empty handed. Confused or scared witless. Some claim to have been hunted like a wild animal through the woods. Some rave about men made of bone and moss chasing them. Some say there is a tree strung with carcasses at the heart of the forest, and that its guardian is a bloodied stag crowned with stars.” He held his gloved hands palms up, showing that they were empty. “None of them have ever seen a woman as you described her.”

“Do you think I was as addled by the forest as your scouts?” she asked in a voice that was dangerously calm.

He inclined his head. It was not a nod, but a sign of subservience. “No. Of course not. That we have been given this outpost is proof enough that you encountered someone -- or something -- which swayed the Lady Waycrest.”

“But you don’t think it was her.”

Sweeping a hand over his heart, Nathanos said, “You do not have me by your side to be trusting of others, my Queen. And I think it is very convenient that we found her alive. Too convenient, in fact.” He kept his head bowed as he spoke, but his gaze held her own with unflinching conviction. “How do we know this isn’t some spectre or illusion? How do we know we aren’t being played for fools?”

The rear legs of the chair creaked slightly beneath Sylvanas as she shifted her weight. Her eyes strayed to the hearth, over which the wicker man had been hung. Its limbs were scorched. She had tried to burn it after speaking with Mace, flinging it into the fire as more fuel, but it had resisted her efforts. So far there had been no forced nightmares in its presence, but Sylvanas remained wary of it all the same.

She thought back on that meeting in the forest. Gol Inath. A congregation of ravens. Shadows and mist and a faceless woman whose tongue was as sharp as her mind. The memory should have seemed dream-like, but it wasn’t. Even dwelling upon the memory now, it were almost as though she were transported back to the entrance of that tree; the smell of it pervaded her senses like a familiar but long-forgotten scene. As though she had rummaged through her mother’s vanity as a child and happened upon a used vial of perfume.

“Your suspicions are not misplaced,” Sylvanas assured him. “But she is real. I am sure of it.”

At the gentling of her tone, he lifted his head. “Then if she is real, how do we know she will be up to the challenge? Druids are dreamers. They make poor leaders. Always with their heads in the clouds or the trees.” He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis.

“This one is different. She’s -” Sylvanas made a face. “- terribly practical, actually.”

He scrunched up his nose in a look of minor disgust. “I was not aware that was possible for a druid.”

She hummed wordlessly in agreement.

“Still,” Nathanos said. “I doubt the Navy will follow someone who never emerges from their life of seclusion and mysticism. Regardless of their name. If I don’t believe she is real, then the average Kul Tiran won’t either.”

Now, that was a problem. As far as Sylvanas could tell, Jaina seemed content to act behind the scenes, all while letting Lady Waycrest take the centre stage.

“Then we must lure her out,” Sylvanas said.

“With what bait?”

Again, her eyes strayed to the wicker man. Lowering her feet back to the ground, Sylvanas stood. She rounded the desk and crossed over to the fireplace. Her face was illuminated by orange flames as she reached out to pick up the wicker man. “Leave that to me.”

Sylvanas left the Eastern Cliffs without an escort, much to the annoyance of Nathanos and Anya. The sky was dark and boiled with clouds, and not even a hint of starlight could shine through. The promise of rain was heavy upon the air; Sylvanas could almost taste it. For all that it was a still night, a calm night, and -- most importantly -- a rainless night.

When she arrived at the edge of the Crimson Forest, a raven soared overhead and landed in the lower branches of a nearby tree.

"Do you want a ride?" Arthur asked.

Sylvanas' step did not falter. She pressed on, walking into the woods with the fang dangling from her outstretched hand as though it were a lantern clearing her path of shadows. "No," she said.

Arthur flew to another tree ahead of her. He shuffled his wings and watched her course. "Can I sit on your shoulder at least?"

"No," she said again, more emphatically this time.

He cawed, which she took to mean he was annoyed by this imposition. She did her best to ignore him, but it was difficult to do so, when he continued flapping from branch to branch, hopping along after her and not bothering to keep himself hidden.

"Did you follow me the last time as well?" Sylvanas asked.

"No," Arthur replied, his voice fading somewhat as he sailed over her. "Tavery wouldn't let me. Thought I'd give myself away immediately."

Well, they were right about that, at least. Sylvanas refused to engage in any further conversation with Arthur, despite his best efforts. He was far too curious for his own good, pestering her with questions about her station, her state of undeath, how she died, how the Forsaken lived -- for lack of a better term -- how they had overthrown the Lich King's iron will.

Sylvanas kept her eyes fixed upon the fang. She followed its path unerringly.

Eventually, Arthur said, "You're going the wrong way."

Sucking in a deep breath to calm herself, Sylvanas stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "I was under the impression that this thing -" she shook the fang where it dangled from her hand. "- would always lead me to Gol Inath."

"Oh, it will. But you're looking for Jaina, right? She's not at Gol Inath right now."

"And you couldn't have told me this sooner?" Sylvanas growled.

Arthur shook his tail feathers in an offended manner. "Hey, I offered to give you a ride. It's not my fault you didn't want my help earlier."

Stuffing the fang into her belt pouch, she glared up at him. "Show me."

Immediately, Arthur swooped down from his branch and landed on her shoulder. His claws scrambled for purchase against her pauldron, and he flared his wings to steady himself as he sought to get a good grip. Before he managed to do so, his feathers smacked Sylvanas on the side of the face a few times. She leaned her head to one side, fuming silently to herself.

"There! Phew! Okay." Arthur folded his wings against his back. "Jaina's with Athair and Athainne. Go west."

Sylvanas turned and started walking.

"No, your other west."

Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas continued on the other way. Arthur continued to chirp directions in her ear, happy and at home on her shoulder despite the incredibly ugly looks she would cast his way from time to time.

At last, they came upon a clearing in the woods. It was nowhere near as vast or impressive as Gol Inath, but it had its own quiet majesty. The trees here thinned. Will o' the wisps danced around their trunks, their bluish light casting no shadows in an eerie array. More life than Sylvanas had seen anywhere else in the Crimson Forest abounded here. Rabbits and lambs gambolled. Jet-black foxes with white-tipped tails scampered from Sylvanas' path at the sight of her. A pack of wolves lifted their lazy heads to watch her pass by, but went back to sleeping beneath the outcropping of a den dug into the gentle hillside. Stationary owls turned their golden eyes upon her, and red-breasted nightingales dipped and darted a few paces above the ground. Predators and prey alike gathered here, and none seemed very concerned with one another.

And at the centre of the clearing, Jaina was conversing with a stag and doe. Her voice was too soft to overhear, even with Sylvanas' keen ears straining to catch the slightest syllable. The stag was pale as moonlight. Its antlers gleamed. It stood larger than any deer Sylvanas had encountered before; she could lift her hands above her head and still not hope to touch its withers. The doe beside it had a coat of purest black, which seemed to drink up any surrounding light until it appeared to be a void in the shape of a deer.

Both creatures turned to regard Sylvanas steadily when she drew too near. She stopped. Jaina glanced over as well, her skull mask omnipresent even now. Without preamble, Arthur took flight, winging through the air and landing on Jaina's shoulder. He leaned in close, whispering something in her ear, while she nodded and murmured a reply. Then, she took him from her shoulder and perched him atop the stag's antlers. The stag's tufted tail twitched, but it gave no other indication that it noticed Arthur's presence.

Jaina walked over, leaving Arthur and the two Wild Gods behind her. Her every other step was punctuated by the end of her staff touching the earth, and sending up a spiral of greenery in her wake.

Sylvanas nodded in greeting and asked, "Do you always wear that?"

Drawing to a halt a pace away, Jaina tilted her head. The skull mask was as impassive as ever. "Think of it as a symbol of office."

"Do you plan to ride out against the Ashvanes wearing a horrible deer skull?"

"I had, actually. Yes."

"And I thought I was bad at politics," Sylvanas drawled.

Jaina's voice was impatient when she spoke. "What do you want, Warchief?"

"To talk."

For a long moment Jaina regarded her in silence. Then, she said, "Well? Talk."

There was the temptation to be just as short with Jaina as Jaina was with her, but Sylvanas held her tongue. "You're not like most druids I've encountered in the past."

"No, I imagine not."

When Jaina was not any more forthcoming, Sylvanas sighed and reached behind her. Jaina tensed, but Sylvanas only pulled the singed wicker man from where she had tethered it to her belt. Sylvanas waggled it back and forth, the way one might motion with a doll to scare children.

Jaina's shoulders relaxed, but she made a sound of wordless irritation. "Why have you brought me this?"

"I heard you like them." Sylvanas held out the wicker man. "Personally, I don't see the appeal. But to each their own."

In the short time they had known one another, this was the first time Sylvanas had seen Jaina hesitate. Slowly she reached out to take the wicker man, and Sylvanas noticed that her hands were no longer made out of wood. Instead, they were sheathed in pale, calloused, living skin. A glance downward proved that the same was of her bare feet. Their soles were scuffed with dirt, but otherwise unremarkable.

Jaina's fingers traced over the scorch marks across the wicker man, as though she were inspecting a bruise upon a child's knee. "He looks a little worse for wear."

"He lost a scuffle with the fireplace."

Jaina snorted. She shook her head. "Do you even know what these are?"

"No," Sylvanas answered truthfully. "A ward, I imagine."

A thoughtful hum escaped Jaina at that. She touched the place where the wicker man's heart was supposed to be, the blank patch where all the twigs and leaves intersected. "Sometimes, yes. They can be guardian effigies. Sleep inducers. Dream totems. Soul cages, though very rarely. Sometimes they are just the centerpiece of a festival rite. But regardless of their use, they are always an instrument of worship.” Jaina tucked the wicker man away, and it vanished beneath her heavy cloak. “Thank you. I shall treasure him.”

Sylvanas could feel her ears pin back at the idea that this was some offer of worship. “I did not make it,” she said quickly.

Jaina shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You were a participant nonetheless.”

“I was the one who tried to burn it,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“Oh?” Jaina laughed softly at the admission, and Sylvanas had to stop her hands from curling into fists. “Funny you should think that removes you from the equation.”

Holding out her hand, Sylvanas took a step forward. “I wanted it away from me, but if it’s going to reveal anything to you, then I want it back.”

“Too late. It’s already gone.” Jaina flourished her cloak to prove just that. “Do you think it would show me what I haven’t already seen?”

Sylvanas froze.

Now it was Jaina’s turn to move forward. She drew close, peering down at Sylvanas, who glowered steadfastly in return. The points of the skull’s antlers appeared dark and crusted with old blood, as though they had gored an animal to death. “Your dreams are very violent, Warchief," Jaina murmured. "How many times have you died? Twice?”

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas growled, her voice slipping to a dark two-toned rumble, “Stay out of my head.”

Something in the air shifted, and suddenly Jaina did not appear so looming. She shrugged, but did not step away. “Very well. I won’t pry any further.” Taking the staff in both hands, Jaina leaned her weight upon it, her pose relaxed. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Sylvanas scowled. She could feel the shadows slithering beneath her skin, the venom of anger an acrid taste at the back of her mouth. Swallowing it down was a practised action, something she had done a thousand times. And always it was difficult to not let it take root. Her face became as blank and mask-like as Jaina’s before she spoke. “I could not help but notice that the Ashvanes have already made moves to the southeast. Based on my scout reports, you are going to need additional support.”

“Your concern is touching, but I am more than capable of defending Drustvar without the help of the Horde,” said Jaina.

“You and Lady Waycrest have levied quite the impressive little force. I’ll grant you that. But armies need more than promises and dreams.” Sylvanas rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, the tips of her gauntlet rasping against one another, metal against leather.

With a snap of her fingers, Jaina caused a grasping vine to sprout from the ground at their feet. It twined around Sylvanas’ ankle, but did not hold her fast. “I can grow enough food to ensure the army is fed through even the most bitter winter.”

“I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about money.” Sylvanas kicked her foot free and ground the vine beneath her heel. “You think soldiers and sailors follow Lady Ashvane -- or your mother, for that matter -- because they want to be fed pork and biscuits three times a day for the remainder of their sad lives? Do you think they like freezing aboard a third rate on the northern run to Kalimdor?”

The skull cocked to one side, and Jaina sounded amused. “Are you hoping to bribe me?”

“Normally, yes. Though I know you aren’t the type to be swayed by the promise of coin.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Sylvanas lifted her chin. “No. In fact, I was hoping to buy something from you.”

Jaina tapped one finger against the staff, thinking quietly to herself before saying, “And what do you want to buy?”

“Another outpost. Think of this as paying rent.” Sylvanas dragged her toe along the dirt to smooth the vine out of the way, as though marking a line between them. “You give me land, you let me develop a minor presence elsewhere in Drustvar, and in return I help your war effort.”

“Hmm.” Straightening, Jaina nodded. “Very well. But your presence is to remain strictly civilian. If I get wind that there are soldiers or munitions in your outposts -”

“You won’t,” Syvlanas interrupted before she could finish.

Jaina made a disbelieving noise. “That remains to be seen.” She lifted her hand, and Arthur flew over to land upon her forearm. “Take our guest to Swiftwind Post, that abandoned fane northwest of Fletcher’s Hollow.”

Sylvanas thought back to the map on her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. “That’s very close to the foundry being invaded by the Ashvanes. Are you expecting me to send my people in blind?”

For some reason Jaina thought that was funny. “Perish the thought,” she said. Then she added, “It’s good defensible high ground. Difficult to assault. Your people will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

In a flap of wings, Arthur moved from Jaina’s arm to Sylvanas’ shoulder. This time at least he managed to get a good grip without making a complete nuisance of himself.

Jaina made an inquisitive noise before saying, “Arthur, why aren’t you giving her a lift?”

“She doesn’t like it,” Arthur explained.

Jaina turned her attention to Sylvanas, waiting for an explanation. Sylvanas had to keep her expression carefully neutral, though the force of her scarlet gaze could strip paint from the hull of a ship. “Can you at least do me the courtesy of sending someone else to spy on me? Anyone else.”

“No. I trust him,” Jaina said simply. “And believe it or not, he is an excellent judge of character.”

Hearing those words, Arthur puffed up his feathers proudly.

“Fine,” Sylvanas snapped. “I’ll do this my own way.”

She held out her hand parallel to the ground, the fingers of her clawed gauntlets splaying wide. The last time she had summoned a skeletal mount in Drustvar had been at the very fringes of shoreline nearest Tiragarde Sound. The death magic had come easily, eagerly. Now, when Sylvanas’ magic reached into the ground, silence was her only reward.

Scowling, she tried again to no avail.

Arthur shuffled a little closer to her ear and said in a too-loud whisper, “Is something supposed to be happening? I feel like something is supposed to be happening.”

“Shut. Up,” Sylvanas hissed at him through grit teeth. Shadows gathered at her outstretched palm, but the earth refused to budge. Eventually, after another futile effort, she dropped her hand with a wordless irate snarl.

“A good try, really,” said Jaina, who had watched the whole thing in silence. “But here in the heart of Drustvar, you’ll find that the dead answer only to me.”

Stymied and fuming, Sylvanas bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she turned heel and stalked away without another word, while Arthur gave her unwanted directions back towards the Eastern Cliffs. And as she strode off, she wondered if Nathanos hadn’t been right all along, if this place was even worth the trouble. The thought was met swiftly with the idea of the Alliance getting their hands on the Great Fleet of Kul Tiras, and Sylvanas lengthened her stride with purpose.

Even if she was bound to lose eventually, she would be twice-damned before she let the Alliance win.

At least Swiftwind Post didn’t have the incessant sea spray rusting everything it touched. Instead, it had -- true to its namesake -- near constant gales. The native heath of Drustvar painted the surrounding countryside in stark browns and purples as far as the eye could see. Winds swept the plains, rippling across the tussock and bare weathered stones of the steep hills that dotted the area. Atop each hill, a series of large and ancient stones had been arrayed into circles. Whatever carvings they had once borne had long since been stripped away by the harshness of time and the elements. The ruins stood starkly against the pale grey backdrop of the sky, like a series of broken teeth, or the fingers of giants clawing their way from an untimely grave.

The Horde flight masters could often be seen struggling to coax giant eagles into their wooden shelters. Sylvanas had been insistent that they use the native birds rather than give themselves away by importing foreign wyverns all the way from Kalimdor. More than once, several Tauren had to rush about after a goblin flight master dangling from the halter of an enormous eagle, which in turn was struggling to navigate the squalls that rolled over the top of the rocky crag.

Anya complained about the wind nearly every day. Her claims were not unfounded. She would grumble about how her bow and arrow were near useless in this area, which of course resulted in the topic of Sylvanas needing more guards to protect her from potential threats on her life. The proximity of Fletcher’s Hollow and its skirmishes between House Waycrest and Ashvane made both Anya and Nathanos insufferable. They insisted on shadowing their Dark Lady’s every footstep, until she could hardly walk without stepping on one of them.

After weeks of enduring this, Sylvanas was just about ready to kill them. Again.

“Please tell me Lady Waycrest has finally driven away those Ashvane raiders,” Sylvanas groaned, rubbing at her temples. “These people can’t be that incompetent, can they?”

She was seated at her desk in one of the hastily built, low-slung structures atop Swiftwind Point. A Tauren druid had stooped to enter the front door. With a bow, he handed her a parcel of letters and reports all bundled together with twine and oiled parchment. She murmured her thanks, and he departed without another word. Sighing, she began to unpick the string.

At a nearby table, Anya had roped Nathanos into playing whist. He was scowling down at his hand of cards, deliberating over his next move. While his shoulders were hunched protectively over his hand, Anya was splayed out in her seat. She sat slumped, with one foot atop the chair beneath her, the other stretched out as far as it would go. One of her arms was flung over the back of her chair, and she dangled her fan of cards in her hand without a care in the world.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned since being here,” Anya said, her arm lazily swaying back and forth. “It’s that Kul Tirans always find a way to surprise you.”

Sylvanas agreed with an annoyed grunt. Shuffling through the reports, she read labels and arranged them on the table before her in order of importance. She sought out a name in particular, and when she couldn’t find it her brow darkened. “Why don’t I have an update from the Zandalari treaty yet?”

Without looking up from his hand, Nathanos answered, “From what I understand they are squabbling over concessions.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down sharply. “Tell Lor’themar to stop wasting time, finish the drafting, and arrange for copies to be signed. I want those ships at our disposal before the end of the season.”

“I will see it done,” he said.

His dutiful response did nothing to improve her mood. Sylvanas aimed a glare in his direction and hissed, “Now, Nathanos.”

She could see how the dark note in her voice sent a shiver running down both his and Anya’s spines, and how readily they both responded. They sat bolt upright, their eyes burning bright and alert. Anya’s ears went rigid, and she dropped her hand. The cards scattered along the ground, revealing that there were far too many for a normal hand in whist.

Rising to his feet, Nathanos flung down his own cards atop the table. “Anything to get me away from this game,” he muttered. As he stomped towards the door, he made sure to tread atop Anya’s cards.

After he had gone, Anya began picking up all the cards and grumbled, “You couldn’t have waited until after I’d won?”

Sylvanas ignored her. Ever since her second trip to the Crimson Forest, her mood had remained vastly unimproved.

Her hand strayed to the next report. She checked for proof that the folded letter had not been tampered with, and -- satisfied -- opened it. Her eyes scanned quickly across Velonara’s encoded Thalassian missive. As she read, she pulled over a detailed map of Kul Tiras already weighed down on one section of her desk.

Various notes had been scribbled here and there, predominantly around the various regions of Drustvar. She moved a few more red tokens -- indicating Ashvane forces -- to Fletcher’s Hollow, and a few more black tokens -- indicating Waycrest tokens -- to Barrowknoll. She kept one of the black tokens pinched between thumb and forefinger, using it to tap against the inlet of Fallhaven.

Sylvanas had already thought of how she would invade Drustvar. If she were in Ashvane’s over-polished shoes, she would sail her ships right up to the real prize of Drustvar’s west coast, strangle Fallhaven for a good year or two of besieging, and then mop up the rest of the west after winter passed. The mountains bisecting the region cleanly in two clearly marked Arom’s Stand importance, as it sat astride the only route over the mountains that an invading army could take. There were no good landing zones for troop barges on the eastern coast. Too many cliffs. And the inlet near Falconhurst was lousy with shoals. No ship larger than a sloop would risk navigating those waters.

Not to mention, the inlet near Falconhurst directly abutted the Crimson Forest. And gods help any army who dared launch an attack on that nightmarish place.

“Fifteen thousand isn’t enough to fend off a two-pronged attack,” Sylvanas murmured to herself. She dropped the black token onto Fallhaven, and then moved a few more red tokens into Fletcher’s Hollow.

Shuffling the cards between her hands, Anya stood and made her way over to Sylvanas’ desk. She peered down at the map. “They should withdraw all their forces here -” she pointed to Fallhaven. “- and wait out the siege through the winter. The Kul Tirans are mad, but no one is mad enough to try to camp in eastern Drustvar through this weather.”

“I agree,” Sylvanas said without looking up. “But somehow I doubt they’re going to do that.”

“Maybe they have a morale problem?” Anya offered. She expertly shuffled the cards again, showing off by using far more flourishes than necessary. “Maybe if they give up Fletcher’s Hollow, their levied forces will lose heart. Give up. Go home.”

Pursing her lips together, Sylvanas sat back in her seat. She frowned at Barrowknoll. “Or maybe they know something about this place that we don’t. What did you see when you scouted the area?”

Anya shrugged. The deck of cards vanished between her hands, spirited off to gods only knew where. “A village. A town square. Farmers. Sailors. Soldiers. A cemetery. A Church to the Tides. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hmm.” Pulling the last parcel towards herself, Sylvanas ordered “Have another look, and report back in two days.”

With a bow, Anya left. Drawing the silver hunting knife from her boot, Sylvanas slipped the tip of it beneath the oiled brown paper to carefully slice the packaging. She opened it, and pulled out a book. Its leather jacket was green and aged. The corners were frayed. The pages were yellowed. Its spine had been broken dozens of times throughout the course of its life. She turned it over, searching for a title, but the gilded lettering had long since been rubbed away. The only distinguishing mark still upon the book was a crude and unrecognisable rune pressed into the centre of the front cover.

Tossing aside the packaging, Sylvanas opened the book. A note from Velonara slipped out, explaining that this was the only thing she had been able to find on the topic of ancient Drust history. Even the title page had been ripped free, and the author’s name in the forward effaced. A quick scan of the forward proved that the author had been one of the original Gilnean settlers, a gentleman by trade and a natural historian by hobby.

When Sylvanas turned to the first chapter, she paused. The author had included very detailed sketches of what he had encountered during his explorations. One such sketch took up nearly the entire first page. It was of a wicker man, identical to the one Sylvanas had encountered in the Crimson Forest, down to the skull, the bear claws, and the heart staked against its chest. The chapter header read: ‘On the Subject of Iconography and Effigies’

Hastily, Sylvanas flipped further along. She skipped through most of the work until she found what she had been looking for. A chapter entitled: ‘A Catalogue of Kings: Gorak Tul and the Myth of the Witch-King of Thros.’

Sylvanas slowed her reading, carefully scanning each line for information about Gorak Tul, the Horned One, the King Undying, an ancient Drust sovereign prophesied to be defeated by a hero who thwarted death three times. If the author was to be believed, Gorak Tul was naught but a legend. A mythological archetype. A horror story used to scare naughty children.

But if that were true, then why did Jaina not like Arthur talking about him?

Sylvanas turned the page, then swore softly in Thalassian.

The rest of the chapter had been ripped out.

This time when Sylvanas went back to the Crimson Forest, Jaina was on the outskirts of Gol Inath. The great tree loomed like the ruins of a stark and bleak cathedral. Though Sylvanas had made sure to arrive during the day, the shadows of this place seemed to cling to life beneath the boughs of the tree.

Arthur was perched on Sylvanas’ shoulder as she arrived, guiding her faithfully onwards. This time, Sylvanas spied one or two humanoid figures around the base of Gol Inath, but none of them were Jaina. They stopped to stare at her as she passed, their expressions guarded. She ignored them, following Arthur’s cheerful directions even while she refused to respond to his usual chatter.

She found Jaina in a flat clearing between two twisted roots of Gol Inath. Jaina was kneeling on the ground with her back turned, still wearing her skull mask despite not expecting company. Her staff was nowhere in sight. On the forest floor beside her, the enormous ink-black doe was sprawled on its side. For a moment, Sylvanas thought it was dead, but then its head lifted with a weary whine, its star-bright eyes squinting before it flopped back down.

“Shh.” Jaina placed her palm upon the Wild God’s flank, rubbing in a soothing manner. “It’ll be alright, Athainne. We’ll get you through this soon enough.”

“Hunters?” Sylvanas asked, drawing closer. Arthur pushed himself off her shoulder and flew off to a low branch, where he watched. “I didn’t think they’d be able to harm her.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Jaina said, “Nothing so grim.”

Sylvanas stopped when she was standing just beside her. From this distance, the round bulge of the doe’s stomach was clear. Frowning, Sylvanas asked, “She’s pregnant?”

Jaina hummed. “Breech birth. This is going to get messy.”

With a grimace at her own poor timing, Sylvanas said, “I should come back later.”

But Jaina only shrugged. “Do as you like. You can stay. So long as you can stomach a bit of bodily fluids. Otherwise, I recommend you go stand over there for a bit.” She pointed back towards the massive trunk of Gol Inath.

“I’m not the squeamish sort.”

“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind helping.”

Sylvanas’ ears shot up in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”

Jaina was already shuffling towards the doe’s rear legs. “And why not? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“I am not putting my hands up there.”

“I meant with the pulling later.” Meanwhile Jaina was unwinding her own handwraps, and folding up the sleeves of her robes nearly to her shoulders.

Nodding towards the mask, Sylvanas asked, “How can you even see through that?”

“Magic,” Jaina said simply, tossing her handwraps further away so they wouldn’t get soiled.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lie.”

Laughing softly, Jaina said, “Only half of one.” And without a mote of hesitation, she stuck her hand into the doe until her elbow all but disappeared. The doe made a noise of complaint, which Jaina hushed. As she began rummaging around, she craned her neck to look at Sylvanas. “Now, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company this time?”

While not the most bizarre situation Sylvanas had ever found herself in, it ranked pretty highly among them. Which meant her first instinct was to default to putting her hands behind her back in an officious pose. “As I’m sure you already know, Lady Ashvane’s forces have begun their siege of Fallhaven.”

“If it’s the safety of Swiftwind Post you’re worried about, you could always pack up and leave.” Jaina had to turn her head back around, her hand feeling around blindly inside the doe.

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you gave it to me? In the hopes it would act as a deterrent when the surrounding area was eventually overrun?”

“No.” Jaina grabbed something and pulled. Her arm emerged slippery and spotted with flecks of darker fluid. When only one little hoof came with her closed fist, she reached back in for the other. “Your presence there makes my forces seem larger than they are. It’s useful. Keeps the enemy second-guessing their reports. Plus it makes them wonder why I would put an outpost up on a brae in the middle of nowhere.”

Sylvanas’ posture relaxed somewhat. That wasn’t so far-fetched. If she hadn’t been so sure that her people could defend the position, she might have been angry. But Jaina had been right. Swiftwind Post was a craggy rock of highground on its own in the middle of heath fields that stretched all the way to the Sounds. It would take half an army to flush out even a small cohort entrenched there.

“You should be drawing everything to Fallhaven to protect it,” Sylvanas said. “You can afford to lose Fletcher’s Hollow, but you can’t afford to lose Fallhaven. Why you’re even bothering to wait for a retreat north across Barrowknoll is beyond me.”

“Maybe I’m a tactical genius,” Jaina said dryly.

“Says the woman with her arm shoved halfway up a deer.” Sylvanas drawled. “Unless there’s something special about that place you’re not telling me about?”

Shifting her weight forward, Jaina braced her free hand against the ground and rearranged her other arm deeper inside the doe. “You mean you haven’t sent your scouts through the area multiple times?”

Sylvanas grit her teeth. “I have.”

“And?”

“And,” she admitted, “they found nothing.”

“Then there must be nothing special about it.”

Sylvanas had been around many people in her life who frequently entertained the notion that they were the cleverest person in the room. Most of them thrived off the idea, surrounding themselves with simpering sycophants who would tell them everything they desired to hear. Jaina should have fallen in the same category, but somehow she did not. She gave the impression not that she simply thought she was the smartest person in the room, but that she simply was that clever. When others did it, Sylvanas scoffed. When Jaina did it, that truth was unimpeachable.

It was -- in short -- incredibly aggravating.

“So, you’re here to convince me my plan is terrible and I desperately need your help. Is that it?” Jaina asked. She had finally managed to get the other hoof out, and was now straightening the fawn in the womb.

“Only half of the plan.”

“Oh, good,” Jaina grunted, starting to pull on the fawn’s legs until the backs of its haunches were just visible. “Because I was beginning to think the stories I’ve learned about you since our first meeting were blown completely out of proportion.”

It shouldn’t have stroked Sylvanas’ ego as much as it did that she was storied enough to warrant whispers of her name even in a backwater like Kul Tiras. But it definitely did.

Jaina jerked her head, the skull nodding towards the ground nearby. “Grab that rope for me, won’t you?”

When Sylvanas glanced down, there was indeed a soft hempen rope coiled among the leaves. She leaned down, picked it up, and handed it over as requested. Cocking her head to one side, she watched as Jaina tied the rope around the fawn’s legs, just above its hooves. It was a sailor’s knot, sturdy yet not so tight that it would damage the newborn.

Keeping tension steady on the rope with one hand, Jaina stood. She used her free hand to dangle the end of the rope at Sylvanas. “Come on, then. Start being useful.”

Grudgingly and hardly believing what she was doing, Sylvanas moved to stand behind Jaina. She grabbed the last length of the rope and planted her feet firmly on the ground. When Jaina lowered her stance, Sylvanas followed suit so that they mirrored one another.

“Don’t yank,” Jaina warned without looking around. “We want a nice steady pressure. And try to pull as low and horizontal as you can.”

There were worse ways to endear oneself to a potential ally than helping a Wild God give birth near a mythical entrance to the underworld. Though, truth be told, Sylvanas was struggling to think of one at the moment.

The doe was larger than most horses, her night-dark flank heaving with every breath. Jaina’s hands were slick with blood and mucous; she had to pause to wrap the rope around her hands. Together, they pulled. It took a great deal more force than Sylvanas had initially thought would be necessary, but slowly the fawn began to emerge. At one point Jaina had to stop to ensure its tail was arranged properly before they were pulling again. And then, the fawn slipped to the ground in a rush.

It was completely still, its coat dark with fluids. Immediately Jaina dropped the rope and went down on her knees. Her movements were quick and practiced. She positioned the fawn just so, sticking her fingers into its mouth and nose until it coughed up more fluid and -- finally -- began to breathe.

“There we go,” Jaina murmured, her voice soft. She began briskly rubbing the fawn down with a handful of dry leaves from the ground. When Athainne started shuffling as if to stand, Jaina pointed at her. “Oh, no you don’t. You stay right there.”

The Wild God huffed wearily at her, but did as it was told.

Meanwhile, Sylvanas watched this entire interaction with a sense of bewilderment. “Since when do Wild Gods listen to the whims of mortals?”

“Since now,” said Jaina. She was letting the fawn attempt to stagger upright on its reedy legs, and she patted it on its flank in a congratulatory manner when it managed to succeed.

Sylvanas coiled the rope neatly around her arm, tying it off and dropping it to the ground. “Why not just solve the problem magically? Why go through all this?”

“I would have, if necessary. But I didn’t need to. They’ll both be fine.” After she had wiped her own hands and arms down as much as she could, Jaina rose to her feet. “As for your military concerns: thank you, but no thank you.” Unrolling the sleeves of her robes, she began gathering up her handwraps and the length of rope. She said dismissively, “You can go, now.”

Sylvanas did not budge. “Sooner or later, they’re going to find out about you. The Drust aren’t a target now, but the moment anyone gets wind that you’re alive...” She trailed off, leaving the repercussions unspoken.

“Maybe. But they don’t know yet.” Suddenly, Jaina froze. She turned towards Sylvanas. “Do they?” she asked, and for a brief moment the dark eye sockets of the skull blazed with a fierce blue light. "Did you tell them? About me?"

"No."

The skull remained fixed and staring at her, deadly silent.

Sylvanas met her glower for glower. "If they know about you, they did not learn it from me."

Jaina remained quietly glaring. Then, she continued gathering up her things. Behind her, the fawn had ambled shakily over to its mother, and was now getting licked clean.

Sylvanas thought of Katherine, of how her own sources in Boralus had gone quiet over the last few weeks. “Shouldn’t you be worried about what’s happened to your mother? If they are bold enough to attack Drustvar at all, then the power of the Admiralty is waning far more than just a few months ago.”

“My mother can take care of herself,” Jaina said, but her voice was too controlled, too even.

��And what will happen to your House when she finally dies?” Sylvanas pressed, her arms crossed. “Will you do nothing? Will you let your family name fall into obscurity?”

Her calm finally broken, Jaina whirled about. “Why do you care? This isn’t your fight! You’re only here because you want something you can’t have!” She slashed through the air with her open hand, and the very earth seemed to hold its breath, the shadows of Gol Inath gathering at her feet. “Well, I won’t be the one to give it to you! I will not be the pawn in your game with the Alliance!”

The moment the darkness began to coalesce at the base of the roots, Athainne’s ears had pinned back. Suddenly, Sylvanas found herself pinned by the gazes of both an angry Archdruid and a threatened Wild God with a newborn foal. She gazed coolly back at them, refusing to give an inch.

“Fine.” Without preamble, Sylvanas turned and began to stride away. “We shall do it your way. I will withdraw my people from Swiftwind Post and the Eastern Cliffs, as you so clearly desire.”

Jaina’s head jerked. The shadows faded. “What -?”

Giving a little wave of her hand, Sylvanas continued on without turning around. “No, you’ve utterly convinced me, High Thornspeaker. This is not my fight.”

Behind her, Sylvanas could hear Jaina spluttering, “Now, hang on just a -! Sylvanas. Sylvanas!”

But Sylvanas did not pause. She continued walking, and when Arthur tried to flutter down onto her shoulder, her hands flew to her bow. His wings flared and he veered off, landing instead in a nearby tree. Bow nocked and ready with a black-tipped arrow, Sylvanas left the Crimson Forest, and this time nobody followed.

Back at Swiftwind Post, Sylvanas gave the order that they were to make it appear like the Horde was packing up their camps. More importantly, she gave the order that Arthur was no longer allowed near their encampments, and that her rangers had free reign to shoot any ravens they saw venturing too close. None of them did. The ravens all seemed far too clever for that, and stayed far away from the Horde outposts, which seemed to irk Anya to no end. She would watch the skies, finger stroking over her bowstring in cold anticipation.

On the other hand, Mace was permitted to stay, which only seemed to confuse both her and the rangers. To puzzle them even further, Sylvanas took to letting Mace into the command building atop Swiftwind Post. The one who seemed most confused by this turn of events was Mace herself, who would sit on a low stool near the front exit. Wood shavings would pile up at her feet as she would nervously carve her little figures, her dark eyes darting around the room whenever Sylvanas occupied it. Whenever Sylvanas spoke to her, Mace would start, as though afraid Sylvanas had changed her mind and decided that the game was up.

It took longer than anticipated for the eventual result. But ultimately, Lucille Waycrest came knocking at Sylvanas’ door.

"Did you know," she said, as an undead guardsman shut the door behind her, locking out the howling gale, "that it is very difficult to get up here?"

"I am aware," Sylvanas drawled. "But now that you're here, you can fill me in on your latest plans, and save Velonara the cost of paper and ink."

The windows faintly rattled in their frames as the wind whistled over the heather and hills. Running her fingers through her dark hair until it had regained some semblance of order, Lucille admitted, "Actually I was hoping you could tell me."

Sylvanas blinked. Her pen paused over the page. "Why would I know?"

Lucille spread her hands. "You think Jaina tells me anything? I'm as much in the dark as anyone. And you're the only non-Drust person I know who ventures so freely into the Crimson Forest, and comes out in one piece."

Careful not to blot ink upon the page, Sylvanas balanced the pen in its inkwell. She leaned back in her seat and studied Lucille over her steepled fingers. Lady Waycrest was young, but she had dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing, while fine, was rumpled. It could have just been courtesy of the wind, but somehow Sylvanas doubted that. The last month or two since their first encounter had put a strain upon her; she looked haggard.

“You want my help,” Sylvanas said. “But I see no reason why I should give it to you.”

Lucille rocked back on her heels in shock. “Then -? Then why have you been keeping Mace around? Why have you been leaking information to me and not Jaina?”

“Why do you think?” Sylvanas asked.

“Is this some sort of trick question?”

Arching an eyebrow at her, Sylvanas remarked, “You’re not very bright, are you?”

“You -!” Lucille spluttered for words. Pointing out the window towards the encampment, she said incredulously, “You’re unbelievable! You’ve just spent the last few months getting footholds in my land! And now, you -!”

“It’s not really your land though, is it? Legally speaking, perhaps, but we both know how much weight that holds. About as much as this.” Sylvanas took one of the tiny black wooden tokens used to mark the map with troops, and tossed it at Lucille’s feet. “That’s what helping you gets me. So, why would I do it? What do you have to offer me that I would want? Think.”

Lucille’s mouth wrenched open, then shut very quickly again. She swallowed thickly. The brief flash of anger that washed across her features faded, and her expression crumpled. When she spoke her voice was tremulous, “I don’t know.” She had to clear a burr in her throat. “I don’t - I don’t know what I should do.”

Katherine had been right. Lucille Waycrest was a poor ally, indeed. Though not through any fault of her own. This was a girl whose parents had fallen prey to the Heartsbane Coven, witches who worshipped Gorak Tul and sought to retake Drustvar in his name. Her House had been dragged to the brink of destruction. She had barely managed to avoid the fall of her entire family, and even that was hardly from her efforts alone. And now that she was Lady Waycrest, Head of a Great House of Kul Tiras, she was without a mentor, surrounded by even more enemies, adrift in a sea of dangerous politics that she could not hope to navigate alone.

Once, Sylvanas might have taken pity on her -- she might have freely offered advice or guidance -- but not now. Now, Sylvanas did not even offer her a chair.

It was not the principle of the thing. It was the spectacle of it.

And besides, this might even be an educational experience.

Sitting forward, Sylvanas picked up her pen and returned to drafting her document. “I told you before.” She scratched another line across the page. “Your business is your business. How you go about it is no concern of mine.”

Lucille rubbed at her brow and sighed, “Jaina won’t want to ask for help. She thinks she can win anything by herself. She’s too proud.”

Without looking up, Sylvanas tsked, a light tapping of her tongue against the backs of her teeth. “How very true to her namesake.” She signed the end of the document with a flourish. The last stroke of her name was artfully blotted with ink. “I see you are not as burdened by hubris.”

A muscle twitched at Lucille’s cheek. Still, she said, “No. I am not. I know when I am outmatched and outgunned.”

“That’s a good start, at least.” Sylvanas rubbed at a spot of ink that stained her fingertips. “You want my advice?”

Lucille bit her bottom chapped lip, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

“The people of Drustvar are superstitious. They follow you not only for your name, but because you are a link to the High Thornspeaker, who defeated the coven of witches that had been terrorising the countryside for years under your family’s rule. Jaina is simultaneously your greatest weakness, and your greatest strength. Which is why I want you here today.” Sylvanas calmly folded her hands in her lap. “Convince Jaina to my terms, and I will consider giving you the support you need.”

A shadow of confusion crossed Lucille’s face. “What are your terms?”

“She already knows. And if she wants to talk, she knows where to find me.” Pointing towards the door, Sylvanas said, “Go. And take your little spy with you.”

For a moment Lucille did nothing. She made an abortive motion, as though she were going to take a step forward, only to turn heel and stride out, leaving Sylvanas alone in the command building. Sylvanas waited a minute or two, then stood and walked over to the door.

When she pulled it open, she said to one of the guards, “Tell Anya and Nathanos that under no circumstances are they to follow Lady Waycrest. And have Velonara remain in Corlain until further notice.”

The Forsaken guard bowed, and immediately trotted off to do her bidding. Sylvanas shut the door, returning to her desk. There was far more work to be done.

Eventually, Sylvanas was roped into playing cards. Nathanos flat refused to play, and in turn Anya would not accept no as an answer. Or at least, she did, but she sulked about it, all while denying that she was definitely not sulking about it.

Outside, rain pummeled the windows, and the sky was dark with early evening cloud. Lightning flashed intermittently, followed by the low long roll of thunder. Meanwhile, Sylvanas was losing her fourth game of whist in a row, even after she had ordered Anya to rid herself of any extra cards with which she might cheat. They sat in silence. Sylvanas had cleared one side of her usual work desk in front of the hearth to give them space to play.

Sylvanas' red eyes burned over her hand, her gaze hotter than the flames that licked the stone hearth black and sooty. "You have always been a filthy little cheat. Where are you hiding them this time?"

Anya played a trump card, winning the round, and said calmly, "I don't know what you're talking about, my Queen."

"Do you like having a tongue? Or would you rather I unburden you from it?"

Anya stuck out said tongue in reply, then said, "And you always were a sore loser."

Sylvanas opened her mouth to retort, but her ears twitched towards the door. Shouts and the sounds of a commotion outside. Both their heads whipped around. They rose to their feet, cards forgotten. Anya had an arrow nocked and drawn in an instant. The moment the door burst open, she fired two shots in rapid succession, her arm a blur of motion.

The arrows froze midair before they could reach their destination. They hung in the air as a massive shape shadowed the doorstep. The extra guards flanking the doorway were struggling against something. Their feet were just visible, flailing wildly as they were lifted from the ground and pinned against the outer walls, their weapons clattering to the earth.

Jaina had to duck her head to step inside. Her shoulders stooped, then straightened to their full height once more. Water dripped onto the floor at her bare feet, pooling behind her with every step. With a bored wave of her hand, the arrows fell to the floor.

The skull mask looked at Sylvanas, and then -- pointedly -- at Anya, who had a third arrow drawn and ready to loose.

"Anya," said Sylvanas, not taking her eyes off Jaina, "Leave us."

Anya began to hiss a complaint, but Sylvanas made a sharp gesture, cutting her off. Grudgingly, Anya lowered her weapon. She left, stepping around Jaina, who refused to give way. When she was outside, she shut the door hard enough to let her displeasure be known.

"You better not have killed any of my people," Sylvanas said once they were alone. "Otherwise, I will reconsider our little arrangement."

"They'll be fine."

Jaina moved closer to the fire. The shadow she cast swallowed the opposite wall and half the floor. The shape of it did not seem to quite match her actual figure, flickering darkly against the panelled wood. It was the first time Sylvanas had ever seen her indoors. Somehow, Jaina made the room feel too small just by standing in it. From this angle, Sylvanas could just make out the hint of her jaw behind the mask.

After a moment of tense silence, Jaina spoke, her tone curt. “I don’t appreciate being toyed with or manipulated.”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” said Sylvanas, repeating back to Jaina the very words she had spoken on their first meeting. “And I don’t appreciate you barging in here, unannounced, after having strangled my guards on your way in.”

“I figured I ought to repay you for the way you first visited me.” Jaina leaned her staff against the wall so that it rested on the edge of the mantlepiece. The action was nonchalant, as though she were hanging up her coat from the rain, not propping up an object that crackled with dark magics. “Going after Lucille was low. Even for you.”

“I thought I was rather gentle with her, actually.”

The skull swung in Sylvanas’ direction, its stare incredulous.

Sylvanas shrugged. “Gentler than Ashvane would have been, anyway. Or even your mother, for that matter.”

A grunt of concession. Jaina turned back to the fire. It cast off sparks that sputtered at her feet, never quite reaching the ragged and muddy hems of her robes. “I’m surprised. When I’d heard she was coming here, I thought I’d lost a friend for good.”

With a snort, Sylvanas said, “Do you treat all your friends like pawns?”

“I am protecting her.” Jaina’s voice rasped.

“I’m not interested in the lies the living tell themselves to sleep better at night.” Sylvanas leaned her hip upon the side of the table, and crossed her legs at the ankle. “And you didn’t come here to tell me off for being hard on your so-called ‘friend.’”

Sylvanas could hear the sharp intake of breath behind that mask. Jaina drew herself up, but her shoulders remained stiff. The firelight limned the edges of the skull in a sickly ochre glow. Eventually, she said, “Give me reserve troops and more coin, and I will consider your proposition.”

“I want more than empty promises.”

“Then what do you want?”

In answer, Sylvanas reached behind herself. She pulled a piece of parchment from a stack of documents on the desk. It was long, trailing nearly to her waist, and filled with neat lines so finely written upon the page, that it appeared more ink than anything else. At the bottom, Sylvanas’ waxen seal was already pressed and dried beneath her signature.

She held the page out to Jaina, who stepped forward and took it cautiously. Jaina took her time reading over every line of fine print. When she got to the end, she glanced at Sylvanas over the document. “How long have you had this prepared for? Days? Weeks?”

Sylvanas fluttered her fingers in a vague gesture. “A while.”

Jaina’s hand clenched into a fist around the page, crumpling it. She took a deep breath and smoothed it out once more. Then, to Sylvanas’ surprise, she laughed. Sylvanas’ long ears tilted up, and her posture straightened. Jaina was laughing to herself softly, ruefully, shaking her head. The motion rustled the leaves and tokens of her cloak like the wind through the boughs of trees.

“Predictable,” Jaina chuckled.

Immediately, Sylvanas’ ears slanted back. Her brow darkened. “Is that so?”

Jaina waved the paper at her dismissively. “Not you. I was talking about myself.” Her thumb traced over the blank space where her own signature was supposed to go, right beside Sylvanas’ name. “If I sign this, I will have your support?”

“You will.”

Turning back to the document, Jaina scoured it from top to bottom again. And then once more. She drew up next to Sylvanas to reach the table, where she set the document down on a bit of clear space. She grabbed up a pen, dipped it into a spare inkwell, and began to cross out certain sections.

Not moving from where she leaned against the desk, Sylvanas peered over Jaina’s shoulder. “Did your Drust education come with a healthy dose of law, as well?” she asked dryly. “Or is that due to another time in your upbringing?”

With a wordless grunt, Jaina slashed the pen across three of the clauses near the end. “If I am going to become the Lord Admiral and open the borders, then I will do so on my terms. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down in annoyance. Still, she only hummed darkly in agreement. “And removing my exclusive rights to military bases?”

The skull tilted in her direction as Jaina glanced balefully over at her. “You may keep your civilian outposts, but there is no way I will allow a foreign military presence on Kul Tiran soil after this internal disagreement between the Houses has been settled.”

Jaina re-read the agreement for a final time, pen poised over the place where her name was to be signed. When the pen was just about to touch the parchment however, Sylvanas cleared her throat. Jaina straightened and turned to her in questioning silence.

“It needs to be witnessed,” Sylvanas explained.

“Bring your witness, then,” said Jaina impatiently.

It took only a moment to get Nathanos inside. He had been lurking just outside the front door, alongside what seemed to be every member of the Horde in the camp. Most had their weapons drawn, ready for anything. Steel glinted wetly through the rain-darkened air. Sylvanas gave the assembled little crowd a cool look, then jerked her head for Nathanos to follow her.

She shut the door behind them. Nathanos hair was slicked back to his head, and his coat was soaked, but he paid no attention to the rain. The golden glow of his eyes glowered in silent disapproval first at Jaina -- for daring to endanger the Dark Lady -- and then at Sylvanas -- for daring to put herself in danger in the first place.

Sylvanas strode past him, making her way back towards the desk. "You can be angry with me later, Nathanos. Right now, we need a witness."

"Very well," he murmured, and though his tone was light and cultured his expression was foreboding.

Jaina waited for him to join them. Then she took up the pen once more.

Sylvanas cleared her throat again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Jaina jerked upright, the pen clenched between her fingers in a white-knuckled grip. "What now?"

Sylvanas pointed at her. "Your mask. We need to be able to faithfully verify your identity."

For a moment Jaina did nothing. Then, muttering foul curses under her breath, she threw the pen down onto the desk. It sent a splatter of ink across some of Sylvanas' other documents, but left their agreement unscathed. She reached up, fingers curling around the base of the skull at her neck, and lifted the mask away.

She was both younger and older than Sylvanas had expected. Her mouth was pinched in displeasure, her jaw bullishly set. A deep scar ran down the right side of her face, bisecting one of her eyes, so that it peered out, white and blind. Her other eye was the same icy blue as her mother’s. Indeed, they looked remarkably similar, but for Jaina’s tall, broad-shouldered build. Streaks of her original hair colour gleamed golden in the firelight, as though whatever weapon had slashed across her face had drained everything out of that side.

She tucked the skull under one arm and glared challengingly at both of them. “I am Jaina Proudmoore, youngest child of Daelin Proudmoore and Katherine Proudmoore née Grey. Being of sound mind and body, I am willfully signing this agreement to a temporary alliance with the Warchief of the Horde, Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady of the Forsaken, under the discretion of -” she waved towards Nathanos, “- whoever the fuck you are. Now, can we get on with it? Or are you going to continue to be a pain in the neck?”

Giving a mock bow, Sylvanas said, “By all means.”

Without another word, Jaina turned back to the document. She snatched up the pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and signed. Handing the pen to Nathanos, he signed between both their names. Then with a last baleful look in Sylvanas’ direction, Jaina crammed the skull back over her head, wrenching at its jaw to secure the mask more firmly in place.

She was halfway to the exit, when Sylvanas called after her. “Be sure to give my compliments to Lady Waycrest for actually managing to change your mind.”

Jaina paused with her hand on the door. “She didn’t.”

A furrow marred Sylvanas’ brow. “Then who did?”

“Arthur.”

The door swung inwards, admitting a sheet of rain onto the floorboards, and Jaina strode out without a second glance. She did not bother shutting the door behind her. Picking up the document, Sylvanas watched Jaina’s retreat. The members of the Horde congregating outside parted before her like waves before a ship’s prow. And a familiar raven swooped down and landed on her shoulder.

Then one of the Forsaken guardsmen reached in, and shut the door, shutting out the image and the rain.

Tapping her finger against the edge of the parchment, Sylvanas asked, “Is that enough proof for you?”

At her side, Nathanos grunted sourly. “I am adequately convinced. Though your stage performance was rather lackluster, in my opinion.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe you as a patron of the arts, either.”

“Somehow I feel the theatrics aren’t over yet.”

Rather than answer, Sylvanas merely lifted one shoulder in a lofty shrug.

“Why are you baiting her? Why waste time?” Nathanos asked. “If we had given our support immediately, then Drustvar would have been in our debt. Our military presence would be too difficult to dislodge without taking more formal avenues. The outcome would have been the same.”

“Because now I have what I truly wanted in Kul Tiras.” Sylvanas lifted the document in her hands. Jaina’s signature was still wet; the ink gleamed in the firelight. She smiled. “An open invitation.”

#sylvaina #jaina proudmoore #sylvanas windrunner #world of warcraft #drust au #roman writes #fuck me why do I do this to myself

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takingcourage · 4 years

Text

Miscalculations: A Witness AU

Chapter Six

Catch up here: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 3,600

Series Summary: After years apart, fate brings Kellen and Cassian together a third time. Can they learn from the mistakes of the past, or are they destined to repeat them once more?

Note: This update is a day later than I hoped, and I apologize. Chapter Seven should be ready to go this Sunday!

Even as he’d left Kellen’s apartment, Cassian had tried to steel himself for days or even weeks of silence. He didn’t know how long it would take before she volunteered to let him back in, and he couldn’t be the one to make the first move.

He’d been so certain that things were going well. She’d seemed happy, and her usually controlled persona had slipped away to reveal an openness he’d rarely seen before. When they’d kissed, he’d taken it as proof that they’d found their footing, not just as parents who could come together to care for their child, but as people who could reunite and begin building onto they had once had.

Unfortunately, her words had shattered his theory completely. I don’t know if this is a good idea... I need more time... He could hear her voice on a loop, the faint protestations cutting against the hopes he’d had for their future.

Stepping out of his nightly shower, he caught a glimpse of the purple blotch at his shoulder and leaned toward the mirror for a closer look. Mottled and unsightly, he could see why it had been too much for Kellen to take in.

Pursing lips that were still swollen from her kisses, he tested the skin with his fingertips. It was largely because of that scar that he’d returned to Boston in the first place.

During the initial weeks of his recovery, long before surgeries and physical therapy had restored most of what he’d lost, he’d been forced to reconcile himself to the fact that his ability to perform his job might be in jeopardy. But even as that disappointment weighed him down, another worry haunted him all the more: his job wasn’t enough. His career with the Marshal Service was fulfilling, but he needed something else in his life beside work.

He’d expected Boston to give him some of the predictability he lacked, yet his life had never felt so uncertain.

Turning away from the mirror, he embraced the bitter truth: his desire to have Kellen in his life again had supplanted his better judgment. He was just as enamored as he’d been three years ago -- even more, if he was honest. And yet, he had nothing more to show for the attachment, and infinitely more to lose.

To him, the day had been a preview of everything he wanted his future to be -- if only he had the assurance that it had meant the same for Kellen as well. She’d told him she needed time, but the growing pit in his stomach suggested it couldn’t be that simple. Surely it was obvious to her by now whether their lives were better for having him in them.

He tried to work through the sudden tightness in this throat. What if they are better off without me?

After all, Kellen had proven that she could raise their son on her own. Owen was well adjusted and seemed content enough to continue living on in the same way. Much as it pained Cassian to admit, the boy was probably young enough to forget him entirely in a matter of weeks. If he disappeared now, their lives could return to normal.

But even as his thoughts ran rampant, every fiber of his being repelled the notion. He couldn’t leave them. The three of them had made so much progress before tonight’s misstep, and he sincerely believed that further growth was possible.

If only he knew how they could find their way again.

____

For the rest of the week, he threw himself into his job, taking extra shifts and duties to ensure that he had as few free hours as possible. The physical exhaustion helped him sleep at night, in spite of the way his mind raced over possibilities.

Even as he worked, Kellen and Owen were never far from his thoughts. He found himself wondering what steps he could take, if any, to make things right.

When Saturday came and he still hadn’t heard from her, Cassian typed out a brief message:

I hope the two of you are doing well.

In the half hour he spent waiting for a response, he dared to hope that she’d include an invitation to join them at the park the next day. The forecast wasn’t promising, but perhaps she’d stick to the routine anyway.

When her answer eventually appeared, it was painfully brief.

We are, thanks.

He couldn’t bring himself to send another message, for fear that he’d only make things worse. The balance they needed seemed too delicate for him to uphold. He had to prove that he wasn’t going to leave again, but he couldn't threaten her boundaries or need for control. If he did anything to manipulate Owen’s feelings or her own, she might push him out of their lives permanently.

Toward the end of the second week, his apprehension turned to worry. He knew that they were fine. He could discern as much from Kellen’s single-word responses to his texts, though they told him little else.

He hadn’t sent many: only enough to remind her that he was still there and was thinking of them. He didn’t want to annoy Kellen or lead her to the wrong conclusion, but he couldn’t stand the thought that she might think he’d moved on.

As his lunch break approached on Friday, he glanced over their most recent exchange for what must have been the hundredth time.

I’m sorry for upsetting you the other night. Please call me if you want to talk about anything.

okay

Smoothing the glass with his thumb, he gave a heavy sigh. He hated the thought of going another weekend without seeing them. One missed Sunday had been enough to throw him off-kilter for the rest of the week. He didn’t relish the thought of extending their streak any further.

Deep down, he knew they were never going to get anywhere unless Kellen talked with him. But it was possible that he might reach her by proxy, and he was just desperate enough to try. Before he could think better of it, Cassian tapped out a message to Harika and slipped into the break room for lunch.

Would you be willing to give me some advice?

Her response arrived in under a minute. Probably.

He put his leftovers in the microwave and took a seat at the small laminate table. While the food heated, he continued the impromptu conversation. Thanks. Kellen’s hardly responded to my messages this week. Is she okay?’

She’s at work today, if that’s what you mean. She’s been distracted though.

He was typing the followup when another message came:

Don’t tell her I said that.

Returning to the beginning of his text, he made a quick addition: I won’t. Here’s my question. Do you think I should back off for a while? I don’t want to make her life miserable. I can give her some space if that’s what’s best for them.

NO. Absolutely not.

Even if that’s what she wants? The microwave dinged, and Cassian retrieved the dish. Sitting alone at the empty table, it struck him how much easier this would be if Kellen could just tell him what she wanted. The constant guesswork was taking its toll on him.

His phone screen lit with Harika’s reply: It’s not. Not to be cringey, but she needs you.

Ignoring his food, he responded: If that’s true, I don’t think she’s aware of it.

It is. She was a mess when you left. I’ve never seen her like that with anyone before.

He laid down the phone, staring through the steam that rose from his rapidly cooling lunch. On the surface, it seemed like the news should play in his favor, but the Kellen of three years ago and the Kellen of today were significantly different people. Even if she’d missed him dearly all those years ago, it didn’t mean she missed him now.

It came as something of a surprise when the screen lit again, cutting him out of his musings.

If she doesn’t come to her senses soon, I’ll lock the two of you in a closet or something.

He scurried to pick up the phone. Please don’t do that. She really might kill me then.

Or she’d jump you. ; )

With a groan, he pushed the phone away. The last thing he needed right now was a reminder of what he was missing when it came to Kellen’s touch. Those kisses many nights before had been enough to wake the desire that he’d been struggling to keep at bay since seeing her again. That woman still had the ability to drive him absolutely wild.

…Thanks for the advice, he settled on, then flipped the phone over.

Returning to his lukewarm lasagna, Cassian cut a large bite with his fork. It hadn’t even been a fortnight since he’d seen them, but it felt like an eternity. Until this stretch, he hadn’t realized how much he looked forward to their park visits throughout the week. Missing one and not knowing when he’d see them again was starting to wear him down.

He ate quickly, eager to return to whatever distraction work could offer. When he moved to slip his phone into his pocket, he was surprised by the sudden vibration.

“What now, Harika?” he muttered under his breath before seeing the sender’s name: Kellen.

Eyes widening, he unlocked the screen and devoured her message:

Owen’s been asking about you. Any chance you’d be free to come over sometime? The forecast looks awful for going to the park this week.

Hardly daring to breathe, he typed his answer with haste. I’m off at 5:00 tonight. I could bring dinner over after that if you want.

I’ll take care of dinner, but that sounds great. He’ll be ecstatic.

Will you? He wanted to ask, but he was afraid of learning the answer. Instead he wrote, I’ll be there by 6:00.

Great! See you then.

_____

Arriving at her apartment several hours later, Cassian quickly rapped his knuckle against the door. He waited for a response, puzzled when he was met with several seconds of silence. “I’m on my way!” he heard finally, just making out Kellens voice as it carried through the thick wood.

Cassian released a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.

“Come on in,” Kellen beckoned, rushing off as soon as she’d unlatched the door. He followed her curious movements before Owen’s shrill greeting from the other room caught his attention.

“Mister Keane!”

“He can’t leave the carpet,” Kellen explained. “I dropped a glass and it got everywhere.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, hurrying inside to ascertain that all was well. Though shards of glass covered the tile floor, he saw no blood or other cause for worry.

“No, but can you take him to his room while I get this cleaned up? If he steps on anything...”

“Of course.” Cassian nodded in understanding and proceeded immediately toward the living room. Owen was tiptoeing the small wooden divider, impatient to see his visitor.

Crossing over to him, Cassian held his hand out for a high five, but the toddler hugged his legs instead. Cradling the small face, he brushed a thumb against the boy’s temple. “What is it, a stór? Have you been good for your Ma?”

“Uh-huh!” He assured, releasing his strong hold to show Cassian a broad grin.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Cassian didn’t even have a chance to unbutton his coat before he felt the toddler’s insistent hand at his knee. “Come!”

The man obliged, allowing the child to lead him through the apartment and to his bedroom.

“Trains,” he explained, pointing to the extensive track circumnavigating the floor.

Cassian found an empty space on the carpet and sat with a grin. “You have an awful lot of them, don’t you? Can you show me how they work?”

“Uh-huh!” he chirped for the second time in as many minutes.

His smile widened at the child’s innocent enthusiasm. He watched the imperfect attempts to couple the engines to the railcars, intrigued by his trial and error as he tested the ends of the magnets until they stuck.

Once the train was in one piece, Owen placed a yellow engine in Cassian’s lap and slid a pair of similarly colored cars in his direction.

“You really don’t like yellow, do ya?”

“Huh-uh.” His own blue and red creation was assembled and ready to leave the turntable. “Choo choo!”

He chuckled at the boy’s accompanying hand motions. Hooking his own pieces together, Cassian set them on the track to join in the play. He’d only moved them a couple of inches before Owen began chasing the yellow train with his own, cackling as he picked up speed.

Cassian’s own laughter soon joined, prompted more from his relief than from the hilarity of the situation. Reunited with his son at last, the frustration of the past several days faded to mere memory.

“Choo choo!” Owen cried again, his train butting up against the final car of Cassian’s.

“I’d better keep it going, hadn’t I?” he asked, rolling the toy around a precariously sharp turn.

Owen angled his face toward Cassian, nose wrinkled and eyes scrunched almost shut with his emphatic grin.

“I’ve missed ya,” he breathed, blinking against the tears that sprang to his eyes. I hope I never go so long without seeing you again, he reflected, wondering if there was anything he could do to dissuade Kellen from such absences in future.

His heart clenched at the reminder of how things stood between the two of them.

He wanted to be part of Owen’s life, no matter what that meant for him and Kellen. Even if he could only have the bits and pieces she was comfortable with, he wouldn’t sacrifice these moments for the world.

Their playdate came to an end sooner than he would have liked when Kellen called them to dinner.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced, leaning against Owen’s doorjamb. “I hope you still like Spaghetti Bolognese.” If he wasn’t mistaken, there was an almost nervous hesitance in the way she framed the last statement.

“I do,” he rushed to answer as they followed her into the dining room. “And I haven’t had it in ages, so it sounds perfect.”

Kellen let out a quiet breath and set the bag of takeout on the table. “It’s nothing.”

As he strapped Owen into his booster seat, Cassian found himself hoping that it wasn’t really nothing. Was remembering one of his favorite dishes a sign of her impeccable memory, or was it something more?

For the rest of the evening, he endeavored to keep a tighter rein on his thoughts.

Though his composure held through dinner, it wavered during Owen’s bedtime reading. Voice trembling, Cassian’s ability to concentrate on the words was overpowered by an increasingly familiar longing for time to stand still. Kellen offered a smile, and the gesture was almost enough to make his voice crack again.

This was everything he wanted, so close that it was almost within his grasp. He wanted a future of nights like this, even if they were sprinkled through the ones he spent alone.

After he finished, Kellen took the lead in tucking the boy in. Turning the light out behind them, she laid a hand on Cassian’s arm. Intrigued, he sought her face when they stepped into the light of the hallway.

“Sit with me?” she asked, motioning toward the couch.

He followed with some confusion, his brow creasing at the serious look on her face. Even after they sat, it was some time before she relieved his curiosity. “He’s been a mess the past several days,” she uttered, breaking the silence.

“So have I, if I’m honest.”

Kellen’s mouth tugged sympathetically. “I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

Though he hoped her regret signaled a change of heart, Cassian didn’t have the faintest idea how to respond. He didn’t want to condemn a decision she’d made with her best judgment, but he didn’t want to let the opportunity pass either. He was still trying to find the right words when she went on.

“He talks about you constantly. He’s asked to see you every single day.”

“I know that isn’t what you wanted,” he began, hesitating over what he’d intended to be an apology. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that he was sorry for the circumstance.

She looked conflicted, eyes downcast as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think it actually might be a good thing.”

His eyes narrowed at the bizarre sentiment. “Why?”

“Because I realized he’s not the only one who thinks about you all the time...” Her blue eyes met his, shimmering with the gleam of unshed tears. “And that helped to clarify some things for me. Do you think we could we talk? Not tonight -- it’s been a long week, and I need sleep more than anything else -- but soon?”

He took a cautious breath, afraid that reminding her of his presence would break the spell that seemed to have come over her. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” She paused before carrying on, a resolved expression stealing over her face. “Nothing at all. I'm just ready to say some things that I should have said a long time ago.”

Still somewhat tentative, he took her hand. The way she clung to his fingers did him a world of good. “I’d be glad to talk anytime. I have the weekend free.”

“Maybe we could meet somewhere else? It’s probably best not to have Owen underfoot. ”

“Whatever you think is best. I hate to make you find a babysitter--”

Her hoarse laugh cut off the rest of his sentence. “That won’t be any trouble at all. Harika’s been volunteering for weeks.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Last time I talked to her, she threatened to lock us in a closet until we get things sorted out,” Cassian shared, thumb still running along the smooth surface of her knuckles.

Kellen snickered at the notion, but when she met his gaze, her features had settled into something vulnerable and open. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d been willing to reveal her true self to him like this, and he could only hope that this wasn’t the last time he saw it.

“I swear she thinks we’re back in college sometimes. I’ll have to double check with her about the time, but maybe we could meet tomorrow? I don’t want to put this off.”

“Neither do I. You’re welcome at my place if you’d like. It’s not much, but we wouldn’t be disturbed. I’ve got a well-stocked pantry if you end up staying for a while.”

“I think I’d like that,” she agreed, her eyes still trained on him.

The fine hairs on his neck rose. “I think I would too.” It was still somewhat unnerving to see this side of her -- this honesty about her feelings and desires -- but he couldn’t deny it was a welcome change. “Come by anytime.”

“Thanks -- for everything.” Still holding firmly to his hand, she shifted nearer on the couch. He'd just lifted an arm to wrap around her shoulder when her phone buzzed from the dining table. “I’ll be right back,” she promised.

At her quiet curse some moments later, Cassian rose to his feet to see if he could do anything to help. She was still staring down at the screen, scrolling through what appeared to be a chain of emails.

“It’s something for work. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you need to go back to the office? I can stay here with Owen if you’d like.”

“No, I can take care of it from home. But I’m not going to be very good company for the next few hours.”

“I understand. Don’t run yourself too ragged. You need some sleep too,” he reminded, stretching out a finger to trace her cheek. She caught his hand with her own and squeezed it tightly.

“I’ll try. Otherwise, I might need to nap on your couch tomorrow.”

He tried not to envision a drowsy Kellen showing up on his doorstep, though their time in Nantucket had left him with a wide selection of memories to choose from. So many of their days had started and ended with her ragged yawning and sleep-addled attempts to flirt. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

Kellen arched a brow, but said no more.

Pulling back his hand, he allowed it to fall to his side. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kellen,” he promised, making for the door.

“Cassian?”

He paused, pivoting toward her in anticipation of whatever parting thought she wished to impart.

“Before you go, I’m sorry for giving you so many mixed signals -- especially the last time you were here. Can you forgive me?”

Such concessions were hardly like her. If her tone hadn’t been so somber, he might have made a quip about the unexpected nature of her apology. Instead, he simply said, “Of course,” and stepped forward to envelop her in a hug. “Thanks again for tonight; I missed the two of you more than I can say.”

"I hope you won’t have to miss us quite so much anymore,” she told him quietly as she stepped out of his embrace.

Heart thundering wildly beneath his ribcage, Cassian managed another smile. For the first time since meeting Kellen again, he knew the two of them were in full agreement. “I do too. Goodbye, Kellen.”

“Bye, Cassian.”

Still somewhat dazed, he left her and began his long journey across the city.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #witness: a bodyguard romance #cassian keane #cassian x mc

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sword-dad-fukuzawa · 4 years

Text

Hurricanes in Brazil

Hey, loves, it’s been a bit. Here’s a one shot as an apology and a present.

It’s strange, this hour of night. Yosano doesn’t quite know what to make of it. It’s the in-between time, when the clocks slow and every heartbeat drags on, that liminal space between evening and early morning.

Yosano knows liminal spaces all too well.

The border between life and death is a thin one. A veil made of the finest gauze, hung like a curtain between two entirely different worlds. Someone out there saw fit to give her the power to pull people back once they fell through.

No, not when they fell through. She can pull them back only once they have a foot past the door, pitching forward into the great darkness beyond. Yosano can only pull them back when they enter the liminal space she alone can control. Or, if she chooses it, let them go entirely. It’s not yet a choice she has had to make, but she knows it will come. One day, she will be faced with a patient that she will allow to go gently into that good night. She will be faced with a patient she cannot save.

She always figured it would be Dazai. After all, he is the one man on earth for whom her fingers slip off of him like water on a duck’s back. If Osamu Dazai ever makes it to her liminal space between worlds, she will have to watch him walk calmly through.

Tonight, however, it seems like Osamu Dazai gets a reprieve.

A man in a tuxedo with buzzed hair and blacked-out glasses stands at her door. “Yosano-sensei?” he asks when she opens it, still in her work uniform. It’s paperwork day, and she had been up late filling out acquisition forms for medical equipment she would rarely use. She isn’t even tired, thanks to that miracle coffee Kunikida is so good at brewing.

She looks the errand boy up and down, taking in the wire earpiece and the shoddily concealed gun at his hip. “It’s time, then?” she asks, tilting her head, and he nods, visibly sweating.

The golden butterfly in her hair feels like a weight on nights like these.

Yosano nods back at him. “Wait,” she tells him, and disappears inside the Detective Agency. She steps inside her office and closes the door with a sigh. She allows herself one more deep breath. Then she surveys the room, opening her carpet bag and tucking supplies into the many pockets. A clean pair of scalpels, several rolls of bandages. A heart rate monitor. A stethoscope. Her ability may pull people back from the brink of death, but she is still a doctor.

The last thing she puts into the bag is a nondescript manila folder. Most of her folders are thick, stuffed full of yellowing paper. This one contains only a few papers, all in her handwriting rather than a secretary’s or an assistant’s. She zips up the carpet bag and locks her office behind her. When she opens the door of the Agency, the errand boy is still there, nervously tapping his foot. “Ready?” he asks, and she smiles at him. It’s less of a smile and more a flash of bared teeth behind red lips, and she savors the expression on his face as he pales.

“Lead the way,” she purrs, and the man discreetly wipes his hands on his jacket before walking down the stairs in front of her. She follows, both hands clasped around her carpetbag, reminding herself to take slow, deep breaths. She knew this day would come, anyway. It just seems a bit too soon.

He leads Yosano to a car with tinted windows. He opens the door, gesturing for her to step inside. She smiles again, watching him flinch, and produces a stiletto knife with a flick of her fingers. “No funny business,” she says sweetly, and watches his throat bob as he swallows.

It could have been a scalpel, she muses, getting into the car gracefully. Perhaps that would have scared him more. His boss had been the one to teach her that particular trick, anyway.

The door is shut behind her and she doesn’t seatbelt herself. She would be a fool to deliberately restrain herself in a Port Mafia vehicle, driven by one of their lackeys. The stiletto knife disappears back into her sleeve with a twist of her lips and a flourish of her fingers, and the errand boy gets into the passenger seat. Another errand boy is behind the wheel, and he starts the car up without a word. It’s not a long drive, Yosano knows, but she crosses her legs and stares out the window anyway. The moon is full and fat in the sky, hanging low with the weight of all the dreams it must be having. A cloud scuds past.

A few minutes later, the car pulls up to the sidewalk of the tallest Port Mafia highrise. The man in the passenger seat unbelts himself, then opens the door. He steps out, and a second later, her own door is opening. Yosano uncrosses her legs, grasps her carpetbag, and emerges into the half-light of the evening.

She’s unimpressed with the sumptuous lobby of the Port Mafia’s headquarters. After all, she’d spent hours huddled behind rubble, trying not to get blown to bits by that lemon scientist’s explosions. She thought, rather bitterly, that it looked better when jagged concrete took over the entryway and flames bloomed in the open air.

She is led unceremoniously into an elevator. Close quarters makes Yosano wary, but the errand boy does as he was likely told and takes her up to the very highest floor. The elevator opens into a large, well-appointed office, with a wall of glass instead of concrete. The view looks out onto the entirety of Yokohama, the bay glittering under the stars. It’s gorgeous.

Yosano hates it.

She flicks her fingers at the errand boy, impudent because it is her right. “I can find him myself,” she says dismissively, and doesn’t wait to entertain his sputtering protests. She has never been in this office, never stood petitioner in front of that mahogany desk. She still feels like this place, stained with old blood and secrets, is as familiar to her as her own two hands. She leaves the errand boy behind and lets herself into a room adjoining the office.

“Mori-sensei,” she says, dropping her carpet bag onto a dresser.

“Yosano-kun,” greets the man in the armchair facing the window. His back is to her. What arrogance, she thinks, to turn his back to an enemy as formidable as she.

“You called?” she says sweetly, and leans against the door.

“To ask a favor,” he agrees. “Come closer, won’t you?”

She lets her mouth twist into a wry smile. “Where’s Elise?” she asks instead, and the man in the chair lets out a low, rusty chuckle. “Elise-chan,” he says fondly, with a touch of wistfulness that makes Yosano bristle. “I’d summon her, but it would take too much energy.”

“I don’t believe you,” she says, and he chuckles again. “Do as you will, Yosano-kun,” he says, just as tired and fond. “You always have.”

Yosano is tempted to pick up her carpet bag and leave, errand boys and their sloppily concealed guns be damned. But something stops her. Some old thread of attachment, some perverse sense of duty. Her hands curl into fists, then relax. The gold butterfly is a comforting weight. She is not helpless here, she reminds herself. She never will be.

She walks forward, then, does as she’s bid like the obedient dog she used to be. She takes enough steps that she stands abreast of his chair, and can see his face in the light from the small window. It’s significant, she thinks, that he meets her in this adjoining room, with its small window and dresser and comfortable armchair, rather than his office. Or perhaps he is just manipulating her again. It doesn’t matter.

She takes his measure then, and what she sees wakes up the old, conflicted bitterness. Mori-sensei looks old. Old and tired and sick in a way she has never seen him, even when infected with a virus that would claim his life, the President’s, or both. Mori-sensei has always been a pillar of unflappable strength, and she sees him now shrunken and still in his armchair.

Mori-sensei has always had an uncanny stillness to him. When he observed her, she felt like an insect under a lamp. Just another thing to be taken apart and dissected, another thing for him to see through and understand. Now he is still out of exhaustion, and part of Yosano, the part that burns fierce and bright and full of incandescent rage, is pleased. It says that she should be laughing, because while Mori-sensei grows old and decrepit, she will not die. She cannot die, says this bright thing, and that is the only beautiful part of this world.

There is another part of her, and it is a cold and desolate wasteland. It feels nothing at the sight of the man slowly wasting away in his armchair. She is judge, jury, and executioner, it whispers, and asks her what she does next.

Yosano unzips her carpet bag and pulls out a stethoscope, then a pen and her manila folder with all the notes she has on Mori-sensei’s medical history. “You old fool,” she says, with that same fondness he says her own name with. “You old fool.”

She runs through a standard physical examination, not speaking save for the routine questions she always asks the Agency members when they come in for their tri-yearly checkups. What she finds makes her gnaw at her lip, knowing she will probably get lipstick on her teeth. From what she can tell, there is nothing physically wrong with him. But he’s thin, far too thin, and his skin sags from his bones in a way that looks wrong to her doctor’s eye.

“Well, doctor?” asks Mori-sensei, raising an eyebrow.

Yosano clicks her pen and twirls it between her fingers, thinking. “Accelerated aging,” she muses. “This isn’t a disease.”

“No,” Mori-sensei agrees, his mouth quirking up.

“An ability?” she asks, and he nods. “He was taken care of,” he tells her, “but there’s nothing to be done.”

“Not even Dazai?” she asks, twirling the pen again, and Mori-sensei’s eyes, as flat and dull as buttons, crinkle into a smile. “He informed me that he is going on a long vacation overseas,” he replies. “My operatives say he’s gone completely off the map, nowhere to be found.”

“Explains why his work partner has been drinking half the coffee he usually consumes,” Yosano says dryly. “I was worried about his blood pressure. Chronic hypertension, you know.”

“I can imagine.”

Yosano clicks her pen twice. “You aren’t there yet,” she tells him. “Your errand boys jumped the gun.”

He tilts his head, waiting for her to continue.

Yosano activates her ability, and butterflies burst from her arm in a riotous mass of fluttering red and black. For a moment, they fill the air and block out the moon. Then they alight on Mori-sensei’s shoulders, but do no more than flap their wings slowly in the cool air of the study. “You’re not on the threshold, Mori-sensei,” she says. “There is little I can do at this juncture.”

Mori-sensei watches the slow flap of the butterflies’ wings, his face turned away from her. “You have a reputation,” he says.

“For what?” she asks, and banishes the butterflies with a flick of her fingers. The insects vanish into wisps of once-was-es and could-have-beens.

“You’ve never been patient, Yosano-kun,” says Mori-sensei, and it somehow feels like chastisement even though she is a grown woman who has fled far from the stretching shadow of his reach. “I hear you bring your soldiers to the threshold yourself, rather than wait for them to meander their way there.”

“They’re not my soldiers,” she snaps, stiffening, and he waves his hand in apology. “Your coworkers,” he says, with audible disdain.

Yosano looks at him, really looks at him, past the tired slump of his shoulders and the fever brightness of his eyes. Mori-sensei, still proud and arrogant while asking for help, she thinks, and it bolsters her courage.

And, without meaning to, a breathless laugh escapes her. “They trust me,” she says simply. “They trust me to hold their lives in my hands and snuff them out like a candle, just enough that I can blow on the dying embers and bring them back.” She shakes her head. “You old fool,” she repeats.

“And yet I’m putting my own life in your hands,” says Mori-sensei, watching her. “I would trust you with it.”

“Liar,” she says, almost fondly, and picks up her carpet bag. “Good luck trying to find Dazai,” she calls over her shoulder as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

—

Somewhere in Brazil, a man with dark hair and dusty bandages sneezes. He checks his phone, then looks up at the sky. “Looks like rain,” he murmurs.

#yosano akiko #mori ougai #port mafia #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fanfic #bsd #post canon #dazai osamu #armed detective agency #mori is not a good dad #one shot #fanfic #aurie writes

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Experimental

Summary: As a scientist, it was up to Changkyun to ensure the variables in this experiment remained controlled. The last thing he expected was to become part of the experiment himself.

Pairing: Im Changkyun x reader

Genre: vampire au / co-workers to lovers au

Warnings: a snippet of vampire sexual urges but it’s all really tame tbh.

A/N: The final week of Frightful October is here! Welcome to The Classics! Who doesn’t love a good vampire story, huh? And because I forever enjoy writing Changkyun and science together, let’s continue that trend here!

Word count: 4059

[Frightful October Masterlist]

It all happened quite fast really.

One day, Changkyun was human and the very next day he was a vampire. Waking up in his new form had initially confused him. Much like Peter Parker in the Spiderman series, once the venom had run throughout his body, the physical attributes were the first sign to his change. Changkyun sat up in his bed, his vision increasingly sharper than it had been the day before. Rubbing at his eyes, he returned to staring at the curtains, letting out a yelp when the skin over his face started to feel overly hot with the stream of morning light hitting it.

Unlike Peter Parker, Changkyun’s changes didn’t excite him about being some amazing superhero with heightened abilities.

Instead, he let out a curse. An incredibly long, unintelligible string of profanity actually, dashing out of his room and into the bathroom with haste. He should have been more concerned, but he laughed incredulously as he swore again, no longer capable of seeing his reflection in the mirror at all.

And that was when Im Changkyun realised his experiments had adopted a very different variable that he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Are you alright?” you asked when Changkyun arrived in the lab two hours later, glancing up from the microscope you were observing slides of the specimen under and frowning. “Your skin looks deathly pale.”

With another bitter laugh, Changkyun nodded, slipping on his lab coat and coming over to your side. He knew enough about the blood you were working on together now that he expected the burning before he even took a single step forward. But it was unimaginable how overwhelming it all got. He could hear your heartbeat, steady and strong. Your blood was rushing through your veins, flowing down forks and pathways at a rate he had never anticipated. He could sense your next slightest movement before you made it and you suddenly had a scent permeating off your body he had never smelled before.

It was so delectable, he could almost taste it.

Still, to you, Changkyun appeared sluggish, perhaps a little unwell. His sudden transformation overnight was unbeknownst to you and you merely smiled warmly at him when he was close enough.

Far too close for a newly turned vampire, he thought.

“I’ve been monitoring the slides you made last night and there have been some evolving cells in slide seven,” you explained, picking it up and placing it under the microscope. Changkyun had seen it before you had placed it down, blinking rapidly at being able to pick it up without the assistance of equipment. Still, he humoured you, stepping in front of the instrument and looked down into it.

Of course, there had been some improvement. The hybrid cells had formed thanks to him and the mishap he had last night.

At first, he hadn’t wanted to admit he had made a mistake. As the head scientist on this project, he knew more than anyone else about the impacts of the specimen you were working with. Whilst there was no vampire present in this lab – or at least, there hadn’t been until now – the blood was potent enough that if a single drop touched human skin, it would end up being a fatal experience.

And then you’d wake up a vampire, just as he had.

It wasn’t even that simple. He had been on the brink of discovery, focusing on the cell structure in slide number seven that was showing possible indications on how to duplicate it enough to create a cure. Whilst vampires only made up 5% of the world’s population, the primitive creature comforts of drinking from the necks of victims was now in for a modernised revision. There was a market for medical research, to help vampires live more comfortably alongside humans. No more sucking them dry or using up blood banks that were exploiting the not-so mythical creatures for all they were worth. Instead, they would offer a synthetic drug with components that allowed the vampire to exist peacefully in a world run by humans. It wouldn’t cure them completely, but if taken regularly, it would keep the carnal urges at bay, allow them to walk in sunlight and even share normal interactions with humans.

He had been so close with a breakthrough, only to taint it with his own blood instead.

Looking at the slide, he could see the cells had morphed, enhanced by his blood that it had absorbed. Essentially, he had fed the deprived specimen when his finger had slipped whilst working last night, and whilst he had been focusing more on himself and trying to not get infected, he had abandoned the slide’s immediate changes.

Now up close, it looked beautiful.

“I don’t know how such a change could have happened,” you mentioned with confusion, lifting your hand to rest on his upper arm as you would often do in the lab. However, he knew it was about to happen and stepped away before you could touch him, your perplexed expression deepening at his jittery behaviour. Your eyebrows knitted together. “You okay?”

“Just watch that slide for me. Do not touch it with your hands.”

You rolled your eyes. “Who would be dumb enough to do that? That’s why we have specialised equipment, Kyun.”

“Of course. I’ll be up in my office if you need me,” he mumbled, leaving you on the lab floor and taking to the stairs in the corner, hurrying up them and into his sanctuary. Once the door was shut, he ran a hand over his face irritably, soon pulling away to inspect his finger. The cut was gone, as he expected it would be but still, it piqued his curiosity. As a scientist, it was an innate skill to always ask questions of the problems presented to him. He couldn’t understand how he had changed into a vampire when his actual finger hadn’t touched the slide. What had been contaminated by the blood before his wound happened? The outside of his gloves? Your chiding answer repeated in his head, and Changkyun replayed last night’s hours spent in the office. He marvelled at the speed in which his brain functioned, the clarity of his memory now exceptional. It was as if he was rewinding through CCTV, finding the moment of his accident and watching it unfold in his mind once more. He had been using the equipment expected of his team. Although his attention was definitely not on what was happening around him, and that was where the fault lied. He recognised there was more than one slide infected, leaping up from his chair and raced down the stairs right as you glanced up at him in horror.

“Changkyun, slide four is empty!”

He already knew where it had gone.

Explaining his mishap wasn’t something he wanted to do. Especially since he was now a vampire. He didn’t know what this variable meant to this team. Would you freak out and tell the officials? Were the past five years of his endless research about to go to waste now that he wasn’t effectively alive? Changkyun knew he couldn’t risk that, and yet he had no option but to let you know considering this project was as important to you as it was to him.

“You’re being really weird today,” you told him as he pulled you aside from your panic over the missing specimen, whining at his hand on yours. “Are you running a fever? You’re ice cold.”

“I’m dead.”

“Ha-ha, very funny, boss,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Changkyun didn’t respond and when you were done with your dry humour, you stared at him, unblinking.

“It was a mistake,” he mentioned weakly, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I wasn’t paying enough attention and-”

“Slide four?!” you exclaimed, looking him up at down as if you would find a visible sign on him. There was already enough physical evidence before you, but it didn’t give you the clarity you sought out in your current state.

“Slide seven is contaminated with my blood,” he told you and then heaved a deep breath. “Slide four contaminated me.”

“You’re really dead?”

“Want to grab a stethoscope and check for the lack of beats in my heart?” he offered dryly but you had already grabbed at his wrist, checking for his pulse. You dropped his hand with a dramatic gasp when you found no living signs within his body and Changkyun sighed.

“You’re… you’re a vampire?” you whispered and he nodded. “Really? You’re dead?!”

“So now we have this established-”

“Oh my God, Changkyun, you can’t be a vampire!” you wailed, tears springing to your eyes. You appeared to be in mourning of his loss of life and for a moment, he softened, reaching out to pat your back gently. You glanced up at him through the veil of your emotions, your expression changing. You then thumped him on the chest. “You absolute idiot!”

“Was that meant to be an attack? It felt like a fly landed on me,” he mused and you growled at him, thumping him again. Chuckling at your now weakened attack on his body, he allowed you to hit him three more times before he suddenly took your hands hostage, quirking a warning eyebrow at you. “Now, don’t excite me too much, Y/N. We don’t know what my new skills can do.”

“I can’t believe how stupid you are. Of all the people, who preached on and on about keeping the experiments stable and safe, it’s you who gets infected. Are you sure you didn’t just do it on purpose? Oh, look at me, the scientist vampire!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he grumbled, all humour evaporated as he stared at you darkly. “Accident or not, I’m still your boss. And this is my experiment I’m leading. We’ve just got a new variable in place now.”

“Instead of using slides, I can use you?” you offered sourly, folding your arms across your chest. “Here, you didn’t have a vampire specimen in the flesh before, now you can use me.”

“Are you done?”

“No, I’m still frustrated,” you admitted with a heavy breath, looking up at him soon after. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Well, I don’t know. My studies tell me that I should be okay until I’m hungry.”

“Which is when? Should I go get you some blood? I think we have some in the chiller. What type do you fancy? A, O-positive?”

It all sounded so unfathomable to him right then and he merely glared at your rambling.

“What? I need to keep myself safe too. Soon you’ll be telling me how delicious I smell and want me to offer up a wrist or something.”

Changkyun swore for the umpteenth time today. “You do smell better than any meal I’ve ever had.”

You gaped at his announcement, but he merely moved to the chair behind his desk, shaking his head. “But I’d be damned if I ever drank a sip of your blood.”

Three days after his transformation, you had calmed down enough to see the benefits of having a vampire in the lab. Of course, Changkyun was concerned about the changes to his body and requested a full examination before your thoughts ran off with you. He did agree with you, advances on the research would be faster with his newly gained immortality. A test subject would be needed eventually, and this way he would be able to control the experiments on the subject since it would be himself.

Still, initial findings were needed.

“Okay, strip,” you instructed gleefully, Changkyun darting his focus to your wicked expression. “What, I need access to your body to get in-depth analysis, boss.”

“There’s no need to sound so exceptionally excited about it. There’s nothing major to uncover,” Changkyun grumbled, unbuttoning his shirt all the same. Your avid watch soon changed, the further his body appeared on display, the deeper the blush on your skin became. He smirked. “Or maybe, there is something to be excited over.”

“Who knew an overworked scientist would find enough time to hit up the gym,” you breathed, supposedly out of hearing. Though you realised his improved hearing had picked up on your admiration and you coughed loudly, turning away from him to gather your equipment and hopefully some more composure.

“What’s first?” he asked as he sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the examination table, and you turned far too quickly, his hand reaching out to stabilise you. He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Are you fit to examine me?”

“Get over yourself, of course I am,” you muttered, taking a deep breath. Staring up into his eyes as opposed to his naked torso, you listed off all that you wanted to check. The basic stats had already been kept on record since his change, Changkyun monitoring his own health. Of course, apart from the whole lack of a heartbeat and aversion to sunlight, he felt physically perfect.

And your findings supported this. “The x-rays show no abnormalities and your reflexes are off the charts. Sight is far superior than before and you aced your hearing exam. Only one thing left.”

“Ultrasound?” he concluded and you nodded. He moved onto the examination table again, resting into the back support that you had raised up so he could watch your findings. You wheeled the machine over and started setting up; now relatively quiet for someone who normally had a lot to say.

“Is it all becoming too much for you today, doctor?” he teased and you glanced at him, your expression vulnerable. Changkyun frowned, wondering what you were thinking of.

“Is it true about the uncontrollable sexual desires?” you asked softly as you gently dabbed gel onto the points of his bare chest that you would use to help the wand glide over his skin. You dare didn’t look up, but the rosy flush to your skin was enough to excite Changkyun.

Still, he shrugged in answer. “I’ve been a vampire for three days, what would I know about it?”

The truth was he was acutely aware of the multitude of urges of his new existence. Not only did he track your vitals constantly, but he had vivid fantasies over how he wanted to hear your heart rate spike from him bending you over the table behind you. He wanted to take you as his own and carry you through elicit passion until your human body could no longer continue.

Then again, Changkyun didn’t quite need to be a vampire to have sexual fantasises over you. He’d been having them for as long as he had known you, just not to the extremes they were at now. And he had never been bold enough to act on any of them.

He wondered how long he would be able to hold out on them now.

“I guess it’s another myth. We’ll have to cross it out of our studies.”

“There’s no need to be that hasty, Y/N,” he breathed, arching under the feather-like touch of the wand on his chest. He was annoyed that it wasn’t your hand instead; his desires now heightened thanks to your opening of the topic. Glancing away from your sudden look in his direction, he tapped at the screen. “I want a full study of my heart. That is the one area we need more information on. The findings we have suggest it’s the heart that stimulates the disease so let’s start with that.”

“Of course,” you answered firmly, picking up the task and expertly examining the inner areas of his chest. As you worked, Changkyun tried to focus on any findings of his own. Instead of his chest, he watched you. Were you comfortable with his new form already? You showed no fear towards him, that was evident. But could he trust that you would protect his identity from the higher-ups? That part he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He was prepared to close the experiment down if it kept you safe, and open a private case-study away from here to focus on ways to improve his condition.

But having you onboard had always been a requirement for his studies and without you, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“You’re right; I believe the vampire qualities stem from your heart. I’ll need to study the new slides of your blood cell count, but for now, I am seeing several abnormalities to your heart.”

Changkyun didn’t answer, too lost in staring at you. What more would he have to give up to have you stay at his side? He couldn’t be cliché and say he’d give up his life for you. That was already taken away. But could he exist away from you? His brooding intensified, so focused on his thoughts that when your hand touched his bare chest, he flinched, reacting out of instinct.

You were underneath him on the table in lightning speed, both arms pinned under the weight of his hands. Despite your wide stare, you weren’t frightened at all. He was breathing heavily over you, panting from the outburst.

“Changkyun, did you lie?” you asked softly, your dry swallow echoing in his ears. “It’s not a myth is it?”

“Vampire or not, desires about you have always been there, Y/N.”

“Will you do anything about it?” you hoped, lust surfacing in your gaze. He could take you right there and then. Fulfil all he wanted to, answer every craving.

Instead, he climbed off of you, shaking his head in rejection.

“We need to know all about how I work first. I’m not risking your safety just because I want you.”

You had always been a hard worker, yet since the heated moment during his examination, you were further dedicated to your work. From the first moment you stepped into the lab, you were right to it, taking notes on the slides you were monitoring. You requested more examinations throughout the week, and barely stopped to eat lunch and dinner from being so consumed with your studies.

If Changkyun hadn’t been the subject, he would have been thrilled at your determination and work ethic.

However, he was growing concerned by the day. The discoveries made were all positive, but working so closely alongside you was giving him quite the headache. He was wrestling with his morals, the wickedness of his vampire side battling with the remnants of the human mind. He craved more of you as each hour went by.

It was soon the weekend and Changkyun had given you the day off, spending his own in the lab. The artificial lighting made him feel as if he was still able to function, knowing that he couldn’t join you in running into town to get the groceries since the sun was out. He realised even if you did love him back that your relationship couldn’t be normal now. No dates, not unless they were at night. He couldn’t just go out anywhere either, triggered by the slightest changes around him. Being relaxed and carefree with you was basically impossible.

When one touch from him could crush you.

The weather had turned by the time you arrived back, your clothes sodden as you stepped into the lab, heading for the kitchen to put away your purchases. Just looking at you heated him completely and he snapped the titanium instrument in his grasp in two as if it was a toothpick. You reappeared, gasping at his predicament, blood dripping from his hand.

“Changkyun, you’re bleeding!” you cried, dashing over and he backed off just as fast, pressing himself into the wall. He felt an imprint forming behind him but he didn’t care, watching you to ensure your movement stilled. Looking away to the blood on the table, you went to clean it when he hissed.

“Y/N, leave the lab, now. Go shower and change and I’ll clean this up.”

“But you’re hurt-”

“NOW!” he roared and it was enough for you to back off, turning on your heel and racing towards the exit. He could smell the change in your mood, frightened by him for the first time since he became a vampire. Now out of his sight, he slumped onto the floor, hanging his head.

Nothing could be normal between you as a couple.

The next day you didn’t appear in the lab, and Changkyun didn’t call you down either. He focused on watching over the four slides he had been experimenting with and not on the tears he would hear you shed from upstairs now and then. The weather was still storming outside, the sun nowhere in sight when he left the lab in the afternoon to retrieve a book from his room. Staring at the outside world, he felt compelled to walk out into it, smiling when the rain hit him. His skin didn’t burn or tingle, the sky cloudy enough that this world was safe for him to be out in. He didn’t know how long he walked for or how much he stopped and stared up at the heavens raining upon him, but when he heard your desperate cries behind him, he finally turned, noticing the tears in your eyes.

“Why are you out here?!” you asked, spluttering over your emotions. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine! The rain doesn’t hurt at all!”

“Really?” Sniffling back your tears, you stepped closer. “You’re fine?”

“I’m fine. It’s just the sun I can’t be out in!” He laughed, and you grinned, the shared moment easing some of the troubles between you both. You moved until your arms wrapped around his waist, firmly gripping at him so he wouldn’t push you off.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you told him, pressing into his body further. “I can’t lose you.”

“It’s dangerous around me though, you saw how I was the other day.”

“We’ll figure it out; we’re both pretty good at solving puzzles.” Looking up at him, you squinted against the rain still falling upon you both. Changkyun angled his head enough so that the water didn’t fall onto your face. You beamed. “See, you just solved that problem.”

“You’re stupid for loving me, you know.”

“If it helps you any, I’ve loved you a whole lot longer before you became immortal, Changkyun.”

“Just don’t be like the typical female characters in movies who fawn over their vampire boyfriends like they’re something amazing. I’m still the quirky guy you’ve known since university.”

“I have to get a vampire boyfriend first and that’s been proving rather difficult,” you retorted, scrunching your nose up in disgust. “I basically threw myself at you and you denied me. Guess I’m too human for you now, huh?”

“It’s nothing like that,” he confirmed, cupping your face in his hand gently. “Though I do worry about hurting you.”

“Worse comes to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence; your heart has to keep beating.”

“Why?”

“Because it sounds beautiful,” he told you, leaning down to kiss you. It felt long overdue, the sweetness of your first embrace soon overwhelmed by a hunger that he was certain stemmed more from you than him. He was surprised by your eagerness, allowing you to call how long the kiss lasted. And when you pulled away, you grinned.

“You protect my heart and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you can walk in the sun again.”

“That sounds like an unfair agreement. Do you know how much control I have to maintain when I’m around you?” he pointed out, taking your hand in his. Then he held up your linked hands and shook them. “I could break your hand right now.”

“You won’t,” you assured with a smile and Changkyun rolled his eyes. “You know, I could work on a way to make you stop existing if you piss me off too much. Scientist, remember?”

“And am I now your biggest subject?”

“I guess you could say that. I need to open up a new case study when we’re back at the lab.”

“What’s it about?”

“How to be a human in love with a vampire,” you told him, smiling demurely. “Reckon I’ll find out all the answers?”

“I’m not sure,” he mused, leaning down to kiss you again. “But you have a lifetime ahead of you to find out.”

_________________

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