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valiantphantommoon · 3 years

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NIGHTFALL

It was the 1833 in England. People had told stories of a creature that only came out at sundown. Of course, it was only to scare children to make sure that they didn’t go out at night. But, in this tale that creature is very much real. All you will be able to do is hide and pray it doesn't find you.

Today in England was a beautiful day sun shining, plants blooming, and birds singing. Along the stone road a woman walked. Her name was Elanor, and she was the daughter of Judge Rosenburg. Elanor thought to herself “what a lovely day this is”. A man standing in front of the flower shop just so happened to respond, “It is indeed isn’t it”. Elanor responds asking, “I'm sorry”, the man says, “it is a beautiful day as you said” and introduces himself. “I am William” Elanor responds, “nice to meet you Sir William”. As they exchanged words William asks Elanor to accompany him at moonshine park in the afternoon. Elanor blushes, and replies “oh, I would very much like to join you at the park.

As the afternoon approaches Elanor gets ready and heads to the flower shop to meet William. When she gets there William is holding a flower. When she reaches him, he gives her the flower and says, “are you ready to take our leave” Elanor replies, “yes good sir” and they get in their carriage and leave for moonshine park. While in the carriage, Elanor is nervous but musters the courage to ask William what his job is. When she asks, he replies, “I work at the courthouse with Judge Rosenburg”. Elanor says “oh Judge Rosenburg, that’s my father”. Before William is able to say anything the carriage stops, and the driver gets down and opens the door.

They get out and start to walk as they walk William ask, “what is it that you do”? Elanor responds saying “I own a Bakery three stores down from the flower shop.” He says “oh, so your good with your hands”, she replies “yes I would say so”. William says, “you know they say the way to a man’s heart is through their stomach”. Elanor laughs and says “that must explain why many of our men have such humongous bellies” they both laugh as they keep walking. As night sets in they decide to retire for the night and head back to the carriage where the driver waits for them. When in the carriage they decide to go to Williams's home to eat. Along the road back home William and Elanor talk, Elanor says to him, “that was delightful, I very much appreciate you”. William says to her “I am glad that you were able to join me tonight”, Elanor smiles, and both sit back as they make way for William’s home.

Along the road William looks out the window daydreaming and sees a blur pass by. It startles him, Elanor ask him, “are you alright” he replies, “I’m fine something just flew pass the window, probably a bird of some sort”. He continues to look out of the window and sees a figure running in the woods alongside them. William closes the curtain over the window and takes a deep breathe, releases it and peeks outside of the curtain and sighs with relief. Not wondering if what he saw was real or not the tells the driver to speed the carriage up. Not knowing that the dark figure has disappeared into to the night. As they arrive at Williams home Elanor smells food that smells as if it’s been cooked by a chef. They go to the table and are met with a grand meal prepared by William’s chef. After dinner Elanor is too tired to go home so William tells his maid to prepare her a room.

The maid prepares the room and notifies William it is ready. He carries Elanor up to the room and lays her in the bed before she leaves, she asks him, “can you bring me a glass of water” he nods and brings her a glass of water. But as she drinks, she freezes and drops the glass frozen by fear. William tries to wake her but hears a growl and turns around slowly, and before he could scream his head is relieved and eaten by the creature. As Elanor watches in fear it cast its eyes upon her and walks toward her. The creature grabs Elanor. The next morning a fellow worker with William goes to William’s house to check on him. He opens the door and sees nothing but blood and body parts. As he cowers in fear other people check and scream. When the Police arrive, they sent in one person, Detective Tia. As she searches for any signs of who may have done this she comes across William and sees a tooth in his head and quickly says to herself, “Whatever did this was not human”.

Detective Tia keeps searching the room and finds a very distinct necklace that Elanor Rosenburg wore. She informs the officers, and they hastily get word to Edward Rosenburg Elanor’s father. When he arrives, the detective ask him if the necklace is his daughter’s, he replies, “yes. It was her mother’s, she always had close to her you couldn’t take it away from her”. With the conformation the detective needed she ordered a search of the city for Elanor Rosenburg. As nightfall came, the city was blanketed with fog, a mysterious fog, and while one of the officers were patrolling, they saw something on top of the roof. He exclaims to another officer, “There’s something on top of the roof”! He and the other officer rush to the roof and see nothing once they get to the top. They calm themselves and continue patrolling. As the two exchange words, “I can’t believe they’re doing a city search for this girl”. “She is the daughter of the judge, so it makes sense”. “ It makes sense my a...”. “Mate what happened”, he turn around. Where are you? This better not be some joke of you bastard”. He hears a scream and runs toward only to find his friend laying in his blood. He runs and runs, he trips over a stone, looks up and screams “AWWWWW”!

In the morning they find the bodies of the officers bury them and have a meeting once they get back to their HQ. Detective Tia says, “obviously our friend only comes out at night” so they devise a plan to catch their killer. When night comes around all officers are stationed at their positions in order to catch this creature. As the fog sets in, an officer does his patrolling route and hears a growl. He stops and looks behind him he sees nothing, so he keeps walking. This time its louder, he begins to run, as he runs he hears something like metal hitting the ground. He looks back and sees a creature covered in shadow with metal claws and red eyes. He runs and doesn’t stop. He reaches his point, and they release the trap to catch whatever this creature is, but it suddenly vanished. Detective Tia and the officers get their guns out and are watching every inch of their surroundings. Detective Tia sees red eyes and fires, she hits one if her men. As the bleeds he is dragged into the fog. They see more red eyes in the fog and fire, hitting their own men and those men are dragged into the fog. Infuriated Detective Tia shouts, “fire in a directions”, they fire and keeps firing until she stops them. As they stop, officer Cage walks closer to the fog and is yanked into it along with several others. One by one they are taken out.

Struck by fear Detective Tia runs, and doesn’t look back as her men are torn to pieces. But notices, in her panic a weird paw like print of blood on the street but keeps running. The next morning citizens walk out into the street. A woman screams “AWWWW”! The road was painted with the crimson blood of the officers. Their bodies torn and scattered across the street. Which became known as the “FOG NIGHT MASSACRE”. The officers that survived searched for Detective Tia and found her at the station shook from the event. When she saw the officers that had survived last night massacre she snapped back and in a fit of rage ordered all the remaining officers in her district tom come to HQ. She exclaimed, “we will kill whatever the hell this thing is, bring back Elanor Rosenburg, and avenge those who have lost their lives to it.

So, every man was at work gathering weapons to hunt and kill this creature. Once all of the supplies were ready to go Detective Tia created an entire plan to corner it and kill it. But, officer Shawn asks, “how are we supposed to find it”. Detective Tia says “it has tracks of blood that I noticed when I... yea, so we just follow those and kill this thing”. As they traveled to the woods Tia noticed that even though the sun was out it was night time in the woods. They stopped and unloaded their gear. They marched into the woods only to be met by a thick fog. It was thicker than the one in the city. As they slowed they heard a cry for help Detective Tia and five other officers ran to check what it was only to find Elanor Rosenburg. She was bound to a tree with some sort of fluid.

When Elanor was freed, they ran back to meet the others only to find them gone. Officer Shawn shouted, “what the hell is going on! Their guns are here but there not, they were just here!” He threw down his gun and said, “I’m out you can do this yourself.” Detective Tia yells, “DON’T YOU LEAVE, WE HAVE TO PROTECT ELANOR!” As he runs, he is cut in half. Upon seeing this Tia puts Elanor in the middle of her and the remaining four officers. They see a tail come out the fog grabs Elanor and dodges telling her men to “shoot where I shoot.” She sees red eyes and shoots. The creature swiftly takes out two officers leaving three. They and this time they hit it, but it had no effect, enraged the creature kills two more officers. Leaving only Tia and Elanor.

Tia tells Elanor, “Here’s the plan even though most of those have never worked, here’s the plan I'll distract this accursed beast and you’ll get away in that carriage.” Elanor responds, “I'm not leaving without you.” Tia tells her, “One of us has to make out of here alive and that’s going to be you. So, when I start shooting you go.” They wait anxiously for it to make its move, but it refuses to. Tia tells Elanor, “run now”. Elanor runs and Tia shoots. Tia struggles to fight the creature as Elanor takes off, the creature tries to chase her. But Tia grabs a rope off one of the men's body and catches it with the rope and pulls it back. Tia continues to fight it; she grabs her sword and stabs it. The creature lifts its head and opens its mouth and then there was silence. Elanor able to escape makes it back to the city. Upon returning she is rushed to be taken care of. While recovering a man walks in and ask her questions about what happened in the woods. Elanor says, “It, it... I can’t remember.” The man says, “you can’t remember”, Elanor replies, “It’s as if I was never there, as if nothing ever happened.”

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fireteam-dauntless · 4 years

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A Tale of Two Guardians XIII

Part 1 of the Destined Series. Chapter 13 : Capture and Release masterlist

word count : 3.4K [I know, it’s a big one] tag list : @mail-me-a-snail @basically-nacl send me an ask or a pm to be added to the tag list!

I don’t know how long it was before I woke up, but when I did, my Ghost floated up in front of me.

“You’re awake!” She exclaimed. “Thank the Traveler.”

“Where am I?” I asked softly and rubbed the back of my head. I had a killer headache. I blinked a few times and realized I was in a white room, nothing in it, no windows, and the vaguest outline of a door that had no handle. I could feel my heart sinking as the realization sank in.

“You… You’re in total lockdown," Dawn confessed.

I didn’t say anything in response. I was afraid this would happen. The moment I stopped running, they would have found me. “Do you know what happened to Maverick?”

“He protested, but there was nothing he could do. The people that caught you were Zavala’s bounty hunters, nothing gets in the way of their missions. They had their orders.”

“Is he alright?”

“He should be. They told him he would have to take it up with Zavala before they caught hold of me and put me in here with you.”

Rage sparked through me at the thought of someone touching my Ghost. Someone who wasn’t Maverick, a stranger with malice in his intentions.

I close my eyes to refocus and sighed heavily. “So what happens now?”

“Now?” My Ghost paused before responding. “We wait. Try not to go insane.”

I crossed my legs and closed my eyes, taking a few deep breaths, inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. I could still feel Arc energy flowing through my veins. “I am the storm,” I said softly. “I am the calm in the eye of the hurricane. I will not falter.”

I let my body relax, and entered a meditative state. Nothing could distract me, or cause me to panic. I simply thought of my Fireteam, thought of Maverick, and thought of my mission.

I will remain as myself. I will not falter.

When the door finally opened, my eyes shot open, and I thrust my hands forward. The thunder strike erupted from my palms and struck the man that stood before me, I jumped up, kicked the back of his knees to lower him and put the man in a headlock before he could sink to the floor.

“Where’s Zavala?!” I demanded.

“In the Hall!!” the stranger responded, his shout garbled by the pressure of my arm on his throat. He sounded like one of the bounty hunters that had kidnapped me to bring me into isolation. I let the man go, he fell to the ground coughing, then I turned and walked out the door like nothing had happened. I had been stripped of my armor and put in a simple white shirt and pants, something usually seen on rogue Guardians when they were undergoing several reevaluations.

I caught glances from almost every Guardian that I passed by, unaware that my blue eyes were almost glowing with the Arc Light that hummed through me. I walked proudly through the Tower, straight to the Hall of Guardians, but the Vanguard weren’t there. They must have been in a private conversation elsewhere. I turned around, and saw Lord Shaxx wave me over.

“Greetings, Guardian,” he said.

“Lord Shaxx,” I replied with a nod of my head. “Do you know where the Vanguard are?”

He nodded, then slipped me a small diagram of how to get to the private conference room that was reserved for reevaluations, private meetings, and battle discussion. A SCIF.

“Thank you,” I said, and took off without much more to say. I followed his map down a hidden hallway, and I could hear the arguments happening on the other end. I recognized the voices of Ikora, Zavala, and Cayde-6, so I hovered outside the door, listening in on the conversation.

“Genesis Page is a flight risk!” Zavala said. “We cannot let her out of lockdown until she clears a few evaluations.”

“You cannot believe that,” Ikora stepped in. “She missed her reevaluation for the sake of trying to save another Guardian.”

“And she helped bring everyone home,” Cayde added.

“Even still, her revaluation was a necessary part of rehabilitation. The simple fact that she didn’t return to the Tower afterwards showed that she did not have intentions of receiving the reevaluation.”

“That’s because you labelled her a criminal!” It was Maverick that spoke now. His voice was strong and stern, full of anger. “She was grieving the loss of her fireteam, just like I did. I know what was going through her head. You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like, Commander.”

“You went through your eval, Maverick-8,” Zavala snapped. “She did not. There is nothing you can do.”

“It doesn’t matter if I got my eval at the time!” Maverick yelled back. “I disappeared to the Moon for a solid week! Just to slaughter Hive in the name of my fireteam! You couldn’t understand the pain of loss!”

“Enough!” Zavala shouted, and a silence fell over the room. I couldn’t stand the way that he spoke to Maverick.

“You don’t know what I saw in the EDZ,” Maverick said after a moment of silence, his voice level and calmed. “She is no flight risk. Ikora, you were right. She is one of the best of her age.”

“What happened out there, Maverick?” Ikora asked.

Before he could speak, I entered the keycode Shaxx wrote on the paper and opened the door. Everyone fell silent at the sight of me. “I embraced that storm that has been tormenting me for the last week,” I said simply as I walked up to Maverick and stood beside him. “In my time in the EDZ’s French district, I followed the path of how I met my team. I didn’t want to forget them, and it was the only way I could feel them near me. Not anymore. There… there was an incident that Gilly never added in his reports. Adam had dared me to climb the Eiffel Tower, and in my overconfidence, I did. Well, I only got part of the way before Gilly demanded I come down.”

“Where are you going with this?” Zavala said, though his frustration of my appearance was clear in his voice.

“Right, anyway,” I said. “I climbed it… how long ago was it?”

“Two days ago,” Maverick said quietly.

“Oh, wow, I was out for that long? Anyway, I climbed it. In the middle of a very bad storm. Lightning struck the old monument, and I fell off. But… I found peace in my panic, so to speak. I embraced the storm. I embraced both my life and their deaths.”

“You are a Stormcaller?” Ikora deduced with wonder in her voice.

I nodded and smiled. “And I have felt like myself again ever since. Acceptance of what happened. That I can’t change it, but their Light will always be with me.”

“That doesn’t explain how you even ended up here,” Zavala said. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh? That little detail. Right. I don’t know, mister tough Commander, I was kidnapped by a group of Guardians! How the fuck did you think I was going to respond when I woke up in solitary confinement without much recollection of how I got there because they knocked me out when I wasn’t even resisting! You need to teach your bounty hunters to give people a chance to surrender before they knock someone out.”

Cayde burst out into laughter and I heard Maverick stifling a chuckle. Even Ikora had a smile on her face, though she was trying not to show it. Zavala was not amused.

“Language, Genesis,” he said lowly.

“Language yourself,” I said back. “Look, you can give me your test, you can give me ten of them, or you can let me prove myself through action. Anyone can fake your tests on paper. Let me prove it to you. Give me a chance, please.”

I watched the Titan Vanguard glance at his associates, then glance at Maverick and I before he caved. “Very well. Do not disappoint me, Guardians. You are dismissed.”

I smiled and nodded my head, and Maverick and I left the room in tandem. Once we were alone in the hallway, I felt Maverick place a hand on my lower back.

“You really need to get out of those clothes,” he said. I looked up at him suspiciously and he quickly realized how his statement could be perceived. “No no no, not like that, I mean, you know, they basically paint you as a criminal and you aren’t a criminal and every Guardian in the Tower is staring at you and…” He sighed and covered his face with his hands. “Ugh, this is coming out so much worse than I wanted it to.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Oh Maverick, you really need to stop trying so hard all of the time. But you’re right. Some of my own clothes would be so much more comfortable.”

He visibly relaxed that he got away clean with his misleading statement, but he slowed down his walk. “What is it?” I asked softly.

“Well… since you were gone for so long, all of your belongings were put into storage.”

“Oh.”

We exited the hallway into the Hall of Guardians, until we were finally on the main level of the Tower and I walked over to the Postmaster. I collected my mail and engrams that had shown up in the past five days or so, and started to sift through it. Maverick leaned against the wall beside me. I could hear the whispers from Guardians every now and then, some about my clothing, some about what happened to me on the Eiffel Tower, and some were saying that I was one of the heroes that brought the missing Guardians home from Phobos.

“Word floats around fast,” I remarked after I finally got through all of my mail.

He scoffed and shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunately, people around here take gossip like it’s free exotic engrams. Without a fucking question.”

I shook my head and leaned against his side. “It’s a little… unnerving.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Do me a favor and DON’T ask me what they’ve said when you aren’t around. To me. I think I’ve gotten like eight citations in the past four days for assaulting other Guardians with the intent to harm. And Skinner has DOUBLE.”

I just stared at him in both shock and awe, and for a split second I thought I was going to start crying. And I did, and I tried to hide my face from Maverick. I only choked out a small “thank you” before walking away as quickly as possible. I slipped into the elevator when two Guardians just came out of it, pushed for the City level, and closed the door before Maverick could follow me inside. Halfway down, I pushed the emergency stop button and sat down on the floor and pulled my knees to my chest. The light in the elevator dimmed and pulsed, casting the room in between light and darkness every three seconds.

These two Guardians defended my honor when I was unable to, and they were willing to accept the consequences without caring about their own reputation. I couldn’t appreciate them more, but I had no idea how to show it. Their kindness was more than I deserved from them, they were more like strangers to me than anything else. At least Skinner still was. I haven’t really known him for long. And Maverick… Maverick is a guy that I have fallen head over heels in love in that I’m not even totally sure I can stay with. There are rules around Guardians being in relationships, I’m sure, but I’m not totally sure on the specifics. And besides, I’m not sure about him, but I haven’t told any of the Vanguard about our relationship.

I shook my head and ran my hands through my silver white hair, and sighed heavily. This was too much and at the same time, not enough. I couldn’t understand why they would vehemently defend me, and yet at the same time I couldn’t be more thankful to have them.

“Guardian?” My Ghost’s voice rang through my head. “You shouldn’t always question things. Sometimes it’s just meant to be. Those two care so much about you.”

“I think that’s the problem. The last two people that cared for me like that are dead.”

“I know, but I also know that you don’t want to stop moving forward.”

“Yes, but…”

“No but’s there, Genesis. Just let it happen. I know you don’t want to lose them, so why do you keep pushing them away.”

“Because I am afraid that I will fail them,” I admitted quietly. “I am afraid. Terrified.”

“And that’s all the more reason to keep them closer. You can’t fail them if you are with them.”

I thought for a moment and finally stood and deactivated the emergency stop, and the elevator started moving again. “Do you think that Maverick’s offer is still on the table, even after all that’s happened?”

“What offer? Oh, that. I’m sure that they still want you on their Fireteam.”

“Hmm… Maybe I should accept their offer then.” I smiled to myself and the door opened and another Guardian got on the elevator. I got off here, then climbed five flights of stairs back up to the level that my old apartment was on. My keycode still worked, but sure enough, when I pushed the door open, my apartment was stripped of all of my personal belongings, everything from my clothes, to my bedsheets, to my paints and coffee mugs were gone. Any curious items that I had found in my adventures? Gone. All of my walls were covered by sheets hung over them to hide the murals, presumably until they could get a team down here to paint over them if I had been gone any longer.

I walked inside to the living room and collapsed on the couch. Despite all that's happened, I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep. Unfortunately for me, there was a knock on my door. I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and stood.

“I swear Maverick, now is not the best time to talk,” I said and pulled the door open, but it wasn’t Maverick on the other side, it was Ikora. “Oh. Master Ikora, I’m sorry, I thought…”

She simply smiled at me. “I have an understanding of who you thought I was,” she said. “I wanted to come by and congratulate you.”

“Ma’am you really don’t have to.”

“Actually, we do,” she said. “There are so few of us left with the ability to control the storm. There are fewer who are even able to gain the ability. I also came to let you know that your transfer to the City has been approved, given that you keep your promise to us to prove that you are ready for the field.”

“I do intend to,” I replied. “Is my apartment ready to be moved in?”

“Yes. Everything from storage was moved there this morning.”

“Thank you, Ikora.”

“Child, you need not thank me. Fight well out there, Genesis,” she said as she walked away. I quickly gathered myself and hurried back down the hallway to the elevator, and pushed for the City level when the door finally opened up. I couldn’t be more excited to finally start living in the city. I couldn’t be more excited to tell Skinner and Maverick that I wanted to officially join their Fireteam.

When I finally got to the City level and the doors open, I opened a channel with Maverick.

“Hey, Maverick, sorry I just kind of left you at the postmaster. But can you meet me on Crestwood Road, number 46? I just got my official transfer to the City and I was hoping you might be willing to help me move stuff and get settled in?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Do you mind if I bring the arsenal?”

“The arsenal?”

“Ha! Skinner, I mean. I think the guy would love to see you, since the last time he saw you was on Phobos.”

“Oh, sure! The extra hands would be good. See you guys in twenty minutes?”

“Sure.”

I cut the channel link and started jogging down the road. “Hey Ghost, can you direct me to my new place?”

“Yeah…” She started. “Crestwood Road is two blocks down. Your duplex is actually at an intersection with Langston Street, which is three blocks down on Crestwood.”

I follow the directions, and come to a beautiful brick building in the more historical district of the Last City. The side was decorated with several vines of ivy. The window frames looked old and the paint on them was cracked and chipped, but the moment I walked inside, it was nothing short of modern. My boxes were lined along the walls in the kitchen, and in my panic, I quickly searched through them for the painting of Maverick that I had started. I found it and set it up on my easel, covered it, and placed another unfinished painting on top of it.

I started unpacking, and loaded all of my canvases along the wall by the easel. I was in the middle of unpacking dishes when all of the sudden the door flew open, and I turned quickly.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” Skinner said as he walked towards me, his arms outstretched, and then pulled me into a hug. “The AWOL and MIA Guardian returned home a hero!”

I couldn’t help but laugh and I hugged him back. “You flatter me, Skinner. I’m just happy to be back.”

“I’m happy you’re back, too, Genny.”

I heard a second pair of steps start walking in, hoping it was Maverick, but Skinner picked me up and swung me around in a circle. I laughed and hit his shoulders. “Put me down, jackass!” I giggled, and pushed him in a friendly manner when he finally set me down. I turned around and surely enough, Maverick was standing there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. “Maverick, I’m glad you made it,” I said softly, then went over and hugged him tightly. He hugged me back, Skinner burst into his signature maniacal laugh.

“Aww, Mav… If you keep looking at me like that you’re going to make somebody jealous.”

Skinner was teasing, obviously, but I couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Okay, you two, I’ve got a lot of boxes to unpack, so let’s get going.”

We started passing boxes out to each other. I made sure to leave the ones with all of my casual clothing and personal belongings to the side so neither of them would touch it. But after a while, once most everything essential was unpacked and put away, we found ourselves lounging in the living room, Maverick and I on the couch, Skinner perched on the armchair. We were laughing, telling stories about our pasts. When we started, it was about midday, and now the setting sun was casting the room in an orange glow. I gazed outside for a moment, before I cut Maverick off. He was in the middle of a playful argument with Skinner about Maker knows what, I had stopped listening after a while.

“I’m in,” I said.

“Huh?” Skinner stopped talking and just stared at me.

“If you guys will have me, I’m in. I’d like to ‘officially’ join your fireteam.”

“You know, I was hoping you would, because for fucks sake you are pretty good with that rifle of yours. And hell, you’re not like a lot of warlocks around. Most of them focus on rational decisions and don’t take risks. You do.” Skinner was grinning like a madman.

“Good. We’re happy to have you on the team, Genesis.” Maverick wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave me a hug. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“Well, thanks guys for helping me get settled in. But I really want to hit the sack. I’m exhausted.”

“Sure, sure, that’s fine,” Skinner said and stood up from his chair. “Besides, Cayde called earlier and wants to speak to all of us about some favor he wants. I dunno. He said he’d explain tomorrow.”

“Yep. We’ll meet you at the Tower tomorrow morning,” Maverick said, then stood up and followed Skinner to the door. I escorted them out to the door, but before I closed the door after saying good night, Maverick turned on the steps and looked at me. “And, Genesis?”

“What is it?”

“Welcome to the team.”

I smiled at him and nodded. “Thank you.” Then he left, a slight smile on his face, and I closed the door.

I turned off the lights, collapsed on my bed and let out a contented sigh.

“Well, Guardian,” my Ghost said while I stared at the blank walls and ceiling. “Welcome to your new home. And your new family.”

“Thanks, Ghost.”

#destined pt 1 #destined #destiny #destiny the game #the taken king #destiny guardians #fireteam dauntless #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #my writing #a tale of two guardians fic

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hwas-housewife · 4 years

Note

Oooo can i ask for 11 from the sentence prompts with Hongjoong?

Prompt: “My name is unimportant – you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.”

Word count: 2k

Genre: Royalty!Hongjoong x Rebel Leader!reader, mostly angsty plot and part two might promise some other types of writing

Warnings: not really anything, attempted assassination, mention of murder

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“What’s the blade?” -@leejihoonownsmyheart

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A/N: here is the first ask for the game I posted! It was a joy to write, and really inspired me to maybe write a part two if I ever get around to it ~ (also royalty! ateez has become a new obsession of mine, so thank you tons)

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“My name is unimportant – you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.”

A bold move, even for yourself.

You were standing in the middle of the coronation of your king-to-be, Prince Hongjoong, sword pointed towards the named soul. It felt like a scene out of the tales people passed down from generation to generation. The rebel, standing in front of the worshipped royal family. Hundreds of people around, watching the scene unfold.

The royal guard was quick to surround you, halting any further movements as you were circled by sharp swords. Everything became silent and still, not a single person dared to interrupt history in the making.

“And who may you be?” Prince Hongjoong appeared unbothered as he made his way down the pedestal he was standing on. He walked closer and closer to where you were until he was right behind the guards.

“They call me Luna, leader of The Crimson Revolution,” gasps could be heard at your declaration. Even the richest families have heard the rumors of the Crimson Revolution. An aggressive rebel group that has been working to overthrow the crooked Royal family. And at the head of it all, you.

Hongjoong merely laughed at your response, “You? The leader? If you’re their measly excuse for a leader then I’m surprised they’ve become as much of a threat as they are.”

Rage bubbled up inside you. He had the guts to laugh at you. At what you’ve accomplished.

“Like you’re one to talk, Prince Hongjoong,” you spat the title back at him, hatred evident in your words.

Am amused smirk now pressed on his face. You hated how he treated this as a joke. The audience that had originally been here for his coronation was no longer frightened, instead, they were beginning to laugh at your assassination attempt. He was making a fool of you, the leader of the largest rebellion.

“Tell me, Ms. Luna,” you seethed at the way he threw out your name as if he were talking down to a child, “how did you expect this to go? If you’re supposedly the brains behind the Crimson Rebellion, how on Earth did you come up with the worst way to assassinate me?”

The anger must have been evident in the way you held yourself, a scowl and red blush covered your face. He was embarrassing you, making a fool of your hard work in front of everybody. You can’t believe you let him do this to you. You had to take control back.

You began to act calm and collected once again, relaxing your arms and letting your sword hang beside you. You mirrored Hongjoong’s smirk and looked him dead in his eyes, “I figured that you enjoy the sound of your voice so much that you wouldn’t even hear me sneaking up on you. But then I felt as though that would be a little too easy, so I decided it would be better to announce my presence.”

His face dropped in annoyance at your jab. You were pretty proud of your response.

“Guards, throw her in the dungeon. I want to ask her a few questions after the coronation,” he commanded his guards without hesitation. Realizing this might be your only chance, you waited for them to move to lunge at Hongjoong. Your blade merely grazed his arm before the guard had you pinned to the ground, restrained.

Everyone was beginning to freak out now, concerned you hurt the future king. But the guards managed to disarm you as Hongjoong watched, victory etched into his features. You glared back at him, happy to have at least left your mark on him. Even if you do die within the next few days.

The guards holding on to you pulled you up and started dragging you off to where you only assumed the cells were. Maintaining eye contact with the Prince, you spat at him as they pulled you farther and farther from your goal.

The cells were dirty. And cold. And wet in some places where water was leaking. You could hear faint sounds of the celebration as the Prince was turned into the King. You had failed. You curled further into yourself in the corner of your cell.

What would your people think of you now? You had one shot. One chance to do right. And you blew it. You finally had your chance to speak in front of the Prince, to make him realize all the wrong he’s done in life. Yet you couldn’t even manage that.

A pathetic excuse for a leader, indeed.

You were sure the news of your capture had spread to the rest of the rebellion. You had trained them for a day in which this might happen, yet the day had come and you felt as though you didn’t prepare them at all. Successors were lined up, future plans already schemed. You were always thinking up new ways to win the kingdom back to the people. But now, you were here.

It had to have been hours alone in the cell before you heard anyone make their way down towards you. You refused to respect them enough to spare a glance, choosing rather to stare at the stone ground.

“That was quite the scene you put on earlier,” the sound of your enemy flowed through your ears and you became angry once again.

You were not going to talk to him. Not after he took your assassination as a joke and humiliated you in front of the majority of the kingdom. Not after he managed to capture you and disarm you without laying a finger on you. He doesn’t deserve your words.

“What? Can you not even look at me anymore? Are you that hurt that I’m still walking? Now that’s no way to treat your king.”

Still not facing him, you mumbled a few words that you will always swear by, “You will never be my king. Now leave, I don’t want to see you.”

“Bold words coming from someone behind bars,” to emphasize his point, he tapped on one of the bars, a metallic ringing sound following his actions.

“I could’ve killed you if you weren’t hiding behind the ten guards. I guess you’re just too afraid to face me.”

“Now, now, Luna. Do I need to teach you a lesson on how to treat royalty? It appears you don’t know when to shut your mouth,” apparently you knew how to get to him, because his words sounded as angry as when he ordered you to be sent here.

You finally looked up at the tyrant. His cool blonde hair was fashioned in a way that fit the crown atop his head. His brown eyes were looking down at you sharply, and his lips were pointed slightly downwards in a frown. You were pretty confident that one of the plethora of accessories adorning his body cost more than the house you resided in, and his clothes were more extravagant than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t call me that. Only people worthy of my respect can call me that. And you are far from that,” you’re beginning to feel like the only thing you can do when you look at him is scowl. But you suppose that’s just the deep-seated hatred for him.

He didn’t hesitate to respond to you, glaring back.

“And what do people worthy of your respect have to do? Kill innocent guards protecting their kingdom? Steal necessary imported goods? Attempt an assassination?”

“My people aren’t the monsters that you portray them to be. They’re good people,” your voice betrayed you, cracking at the thought of your underlings being perceived as evil.

“And neither am I. Yet here we are,” he sighed, seeming exhausted for once by your hatred for him, “Why do you even hate me so much? I have done nothing to wrong this kingdom. It’s been prospering since I was allowed to make decisions for its future.”

The glare on your face remained as you stood up, making your way towards the king.

“Have you ever thought about how it’s been affecting the rest of your kingdom? Sure, parts of Atiny have prospered. More kingdoms want to trade, and more people than ever want to live here. But we’ve suffered. In doing all of this, you’ve taken away your people’s voices. Our voices. My voice. The amount of people I’ve found out on the street because their business has been taken from them, all because you let some foreigners come here and offer the same trade, it’s disgusting. I’ve had to take in endless amounts of abandoned children, all because their parents can’t afford to support them anymore. The poor district is the most crowded it’s ever been. And all you filthy rich bourgeois sit up here in your fancy houses, paying no mind to our suffering. Because at least you all get what you want.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Hongjoong almost appeared sympathetic.

“You still injured and killed a large amount of my guard. Do you realize how many deaths you’re accountable for? You could be hanged in an hour for all of them if I wanted you to be,” he looked back into your eyes, trying to remind you of the killer you’re made out to be.

“They were hurting my people. Petty crimes like theft happen often there and they think the solution is making examples of the perpetrators. I can’t let them kill children for stealing loaves of bread out of starvation. That is what it means to be a murderer.”

This is something you would never budge on. Protective of you, sure. But it’s not like Hongjoong was going to do anything about it.

“It’s my job to fix what you refuse to acknowledge as the supposed leader of the country. When you stopped listening to us, it felt like you abandoned us. Someone had to step up. It just so happened that that person was me,” calling him out was a pretty aggressive move, but it wasn’t like the situation could get much worse. You were sure that death was imminent at this point.

“You possess quite a bold tongue, Crimson,” you sneered at the nickname, “yet, I feel as though some of your words might hold some truth. Every kingdom has a poor area that doesn’t prosper as much as the other locations. Besides, classes are necessary for a kingdom to remain stable. But I’m sure there’s some room for improvement if it’s as bad as you make it out to be.”

You scoffed in his face. Make it out to be? You were being kind on your words of the poor district you called home.

“I was just going to publicly execute you, but I think that might cause your people to be upset and make rash decisions. I would like to avoid a civil war in my time here,” he was thinking out loud at this point, slender fingers grabbing his chin as he spoke.

“I have a proposition for you, Crimson.”

You looked at him curiously, wondering what he might be planning.

“Take me to your district. Show me the so-called issues you fight against. And help me to fix them.”

Your mouth hung open. Never in your life did you think you would be met with a choice like this one. To fix the problems in the kingdom? To help your people out? Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of children being able to grow up without wondering where their next meal would come from.

But then you thought back to the fact that you would be working with your sworn enemy. The one you attempted to murder less than a day ago. What would your people think? But if you’re there with him as a way to fix everything, they wouldn’t care, right?

It was an opportunity you had waited your entire life for. One that made you swallow down your pride and mumble out a quick, “fine, deal.”

Hongjoong’s smirk grew at your acceptance of your offer. What did you get yourself into?

#sadienita #svt mangos writing #svt mangos asks #hongjoong #ateez

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theonyxpath · 4 years

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Are you looking for inspiration to tell stories or narrate a game using the Monarchies of Mau corebook? Want a cat-tastic story to read? Tales of Excellent Cats can help. Edited by Melanie Meadors, this anthology is a collection of fourteen short stories written by established authors such as Elaine Cunningham and Lucy Snyder, as well as up-and-coming storytellers like LaShawn M. Wanak and ZZ Claybourne.

Today, we’re pleased to share with a preview from “By Footpad and Clenched Claw”, written by Beth Cato.

“What did you do, Raul?” Amelie Cymric von Mau asked the empty room. She wanted to grab her brother by the collar and shake him, hug him, never let go, but he was already gone. Dead. Murdered. In this very room, hours ago.

Half his belongings were gone, too. She doubted either the constables or the murderers would have stolen Mama’s old theatrical mask collection off the wall. Papa’s collection of songbooks was gone, too. Had Raul hocked them himself — and if so, why? Was he being blackmailed? Or, perhaps more likely, was a friend of his in trouble?

Oh, Raul. So sweet, so gullible. He’d give his right paw to help someone in need. When she’d last seen him two weeks before, she’d been infuriated by how he fussed over her.

“I’m not about to fall over dead,” she’d finally snapped at him. Her black tabby tail lashed back and forth.

“No,” he had murmured. “We know your death will come slowly.”

“I’m fine,” she’d insisted as she left.

The memory caused a new flare of sorrow. Her final words to him had been a lie.

She should have been the one who died first. Her daily duties as a novitiate minister at the Temple of the Nine prepared her soul for her next life. Raul should have happily bumbled along for decades more, sleeping half the day and going to late shows and thieving just enough to scrape by.

Instead, he was dead. The local constables didn’t care about justice. Raul had been a footpad, after all, and not a particularly good one. She’d seen the judgment in the eyes of the officers who came to deliver the bad news.

Therefore, it was up to her to find Raul’s killer. That meant she had to move fast. As Papa used to say, she needed to “look for the musician while the last note wavered in the air.”

A knock echoed through the door. “Amelie!” a familiar creaky voice called. “Are you still here, love?”

Amelie hurried to open the door for Haley. When Amelie and Raul were young kits, they used to joke that Haley was so old, she’d been running the boarding house since the age of the Old Ones. Today, the gray cat looked more haggard than ever before.

“I’m so sorry about Raul,” Haley said as she pulled back from a hug. “How do you fare?”

Amelie knew she wasn’t merely inquiring about how she handled her sibling’s death. “I’m alive.”

“You poor thing. Every time I hear cats go on about Daphne Persian von Cymric and that sick kitten of hers, I think of you. Do you ever tend to her little one?”

Amelie supposed she should feel annoyed by how Haley swiftly changed the subject to the singer she and half the city idolized, but she welcomed the tangent today. “No. I heard the hospital can’t do much at this stage.”

The older cat’s whiskers drooped. “That kind of suffering shouldn’t exist.”

Amelie couldn’t argue with that. Issues like cancer and organ failure had largely been eradicated in the age of the Old Ones when cats took their rightful, dominant place in the world. And yet, Daphne’s kit was dying. So was Amelie. Her head minister said a few of the old, supposedly cured diseases had always lingered among cats, but the cases were usually kept quiet — with reason. Cats could be judgmental and cruel. A vocal segment of the public insisted that chronic conditions didn’t exist, which meant, in their minds, Daphne was surely faking her kitten’s illness to take a sabbatical.

Right now, another death was foremost on Amelie’s mind. “Haley, what was going on with Raul? Why are half his belongings gone?”

“He carried them out in a crate, whistling as he went. He didn’t seem sad or worried. He must have been under some sort of contract, too. His laundry stank of the sewer this week.”

“He smelled like the sewer?” she echoed. “But he usually works — worked — the theater district.” By worked, she meant he picked pockets there.

“I wish I knew,” Haley said.

“I’ll find out.” Amelie edged out into the hallway.

“You’re going already? When do you think you’ll be back? I don’t want to push you, but there’s a waiting list for rooms and—”

“Soon,” Amelie said with a curt smile. She knew just who to ask about Raul’s business dealings, but she had to get to him prior to nightfall when he busied himself burgling houses — or before he indulged in one too many mugs of fermented milk.

To finish reading “By Footpad and Clenched Claw” by Beth Cato, check out Tales of Excellent Cats today! Now available in multiple formats: Amazon (Kindle), B&N (Nook) DriveThruFiction (eBook/PoD)

#Onyx Path Publishing

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irenespring · 4 months

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House MD Characters and Their Mentors

Oh look it's more of this very niche character analysis. This time I'm looking at which of @lorata's District Two Victors would be good mentors for House characters. House fans reading this: you would really like Lorata's writing. Only limited Hunger Games knowledge required (basically you need to know the premise); lots of messed up people making the best of things, found family shenanigans, emotional angst, and queerness.

Anyway, time for mentors!

James Wilson: Devon. The essence of a Devon tribute. Really wants to make the world better. Fairly messed up and depressed, but does genuinely care about the district, and even the kid he volunteers for. The one bit of really key information we are provided about Devon's tributes is that Devon's dreamers burn bright, but flame out as the reality of the Games shatters their world view. This reminds me a lot of how House says that "Wilson thinks that if he cares enough he'll never have to die" contrasted with Wilson's feelings of betrayal and devastation that he, a oncologist who gave his life to treating cancer, is dying of cancer. He served the Capitol, believed everything the Center told him, and the truth of the Games ---the pain and the guilt and the injustice of it all--- is a sudden betrayal that completely unbalances him. The only way he wins is through temporary Arena madness, the kind of desperation that caused him to double his dose of chemo in a last ditch effort to survive and make the world make sense again during canon. Devon's main challenge post-Arena is helping him rebuild his shattered sense of self: Wilson thought he was a good person, but you can only win the Hunger Games by being vicious. Devon, as someone who had a similar break, is the best choice to help him form a cohesive identity. Devon can see him for who he actually is, all of it, and still say he cares. Devon can cite his own struggles with accepting care without "enough work" in return to get Victor!Wilson to step back from compulsively ignoring his needs to "earn" affection. Devon can pull him out of spirals about how his mental state is worse than his brother's now and show him how there is a way forward. The Victory Tour almost kills him, all those people hate him even though he only ever did what was asked of him and what he thought was right. Along with Devon, there is probably only one other person who could help him embrace that he does not need to be perfect or liked by everyone, which brings us to...

Gregory House: Adessa. I went through multiple avenues with this one. First I thought Callista, because viciousness and unapologetic attitude. Then I thought Lyme, because abusive childhood, resentment of the rules, and attachment issues. So we had option A and option B...and we somehow landed around option L. I dismissed Callista because of the reasons I thought Lyme. I moved away from Lyme because she works best with tributes who want to open up but can't until after they win. Claudius wants a family, Misha wants affection, etc. House wouldn't want to open up--- he would want respect, validation, and someone to make everything make sense. The reasons Adessa wasn't a good fit for Nero would make her a great fit for Victor!House. Nero wanted to be told Adessa loves him, but House wouldn't trust any obvious display of affection---instead perceiving his mentor's care for him through nonverbal actions she takes: exactly what Adessa expected to be true of Nero. Adessa can make recovery and all the chaotic, swirling feelings fit within a reasonable framework. She can answer his questions and treat him like someone with a rational mind. She knows that if he opens up, he probably doesn't want to be touched. She understands why he doesn't want the cuddly relationship that Victor!Wilson would have with Devon. She wouldn't pressure him to talk about feelings before he was ready and would give him space when he was ready. She understands his intellectual curiosity. She's probably the only one who could get him to invest in therapy. He wouldn't go based on "I've been there" talks or "I care about you" talks, he would go because "after a significant trauma the logical course of action is to seek medical care, so that one can be assigned medications to regulate neurotransmitters, and to remove unwanted chaos so one can better focus on more important matters." Oh, and also if John House every showed up to take credit for shaping his son into a Victor, Adessa has a briefcase full of knives and decades of fantasizing about taking revenge on behalf of her Victors. They would find his body in pieces...probably. If Adessa was feeling nice and wanted Blythe to have closure.

Devon is terrified when Adessa requests a meeting with him. Misha asks him what he did like fifty times and he doesn't know. He almost calls his mentor, but doesn't because he's a mentor too now, dammit and Adessa totally shouldn't scare him anymore. When he shows up she opens with: "Our Victors appear to have significant romantic attraction to each other. Shall we hasten their union via jointly planned manipulation, culminating in an arranged one-on-one meal over candlelight, perhaps involving the exchange of flowers?"

Lisa Cuddy: Nero. This one is hard. Cuddy is a lot more difficult to analyze than House and Wilson even though I actually prefer her over House (Wilson is my favorite, he just has so many problems, weird habits, and hidden depression). She has a lot of contradictions. She's manipulative, but empathetic. She genuinely advocates for the rules, but allows for crazy ass things to take place. She seems to argue for the rules because she has to, but is inherently drawn to the more chaotic, vigilante tendencies of House. She puts on a show of obeying regulations set by those above her, but seeks power so that she can facilitate what she thinks is right (she repeatedly says she's the only one who would employ House). This is reflective of a Nero tribute. She doesn't know why she is drawn to violence and competition of the Centre, but she is. She completes her kill tests with the highest scores in her year, but she mainly only feels guilty for not feeling guilty. She doesn't have a rationalization for why she is like this the way someone with House's history has. She should want to join the Peacekeepers or be a medic. But the more time passes in the Centre, the more she wants to win the Hunger Games. She goes into the Games a year early, the youngest District Two volunteer in history, and even though she knows the killing is wrong she still wants to win because why shouldn't it be her? She's better at this than the others. However, the inner conflict causes problems post-Games, as the criticisms from other districts actually hurt her, because she agrees. She knows there's something wrong, she fears she might secretly be evil. Nero, with a lifetime of dealing with conflicted, crazy tributes, knows how to reassure her that even if that something is actually wrong, she still has people who love her.

Bonus! Ducklings:

Foreman: Brutus. He's just here to do his job. He knows he's better than his Centre rivals, so his job is the Games. Trying to make it right or wrong will only drive you crazy.

Chase: Lyme. Daddy issues, alcoholism in the family history, wants the authority to like him. Lots of weird hidden triggers.

Cameron: Emory. Wants to be a decent person, just kept going in the Centre because she figured no one would pick her and she owed it to her district to keep trying. She had a baby Victor crush on House and Adessa had to take Emory aside and be like "the baby is making my Victor uncomfortable, tell her to calm down."

Thirteen: Misha. Rules are for suckers, enjoy your life while you have it, desperately try to find meaning in the world while pretending you don't give a shit.

Kutner: Lyme. Wants to find a place to belong, shoves his emotional issues down because he thinks nobody cares. Thinks outside the box, but still responds well around authority he respects.

Taub: I have no fucking idea. Seriously, the more I try to think about this the more I have no thoughts, head empty. Maybe Odin? Odin has a "do what you're supposed to do no matter what, no matter the cost" ideology that would cause a mentor mismatch like Adessa and Nero but at least that mismatch is something.

Anyway if one (1) person requests a Victors!House/Wilson I will write scenes so you have been warned.

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #lisa cuddy #the ducklings #the hunger games #district two #lorataverse #we must be killers: tales from District Two #mentor meme #character analysis #like really niche character analysis #a longwinded piece of character analysis that will make no sense to anyone? me? you must be mistaken #but anyway I have Thoughts and I'm making it everyone else's problem

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analiza-beta · 1 year

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Callista the Butcher, Victor of the Forty-First Hunger Games. From We Must Be Killers by @lorata

(Because I am trying to write her pre-victory and it is like pulling teeth, she refuses to cooperate. So art to make me feel sane lol)

TW for blood.

#we must be killers: tales from district two #lorata #callista #district two #the hunger games #my art

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ladydracarysao3 · 7 years

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Nemesis of Neglect: A Dragon Age & Jack the Ripper Tale

Chapter Two

Disclaimer This is a canon divergent Dragon Age and True Crime mash-up of Kirkwall, and London’s notorious Jack the Ripper. It is a tale not for the faint of heart, but rather for the reader who wishes to ride a thrilling mystery of sex, deception, and murder.

[Read Chapter Two on AO3] or [Start with the Prologue]

Chapter Two

Hours filled with the sounds of Leandra and Carver mourning turn slowly throughout the day. Silently, Ian sits in her home and listens to her mother berate her and blame her for Bethany’s demise. Ian hasn’t the strength to object, in fact, she agrees. So, she listens and takes every hurtful word her mother cries, absorbing each one into her burden. Building blocks to strengthen her revenge. Steam to power her hate, both at herself and at Kirkwall.

Eventually, late in the evening, her mother loses the energy to continue and retires to her bedroom. All who reside in the house follow suit, and Ian lies awake in her bed, listening to the soft sobs coming from her mother’s room.

She stares at the top of her bed’s crimson canopy. She watches lights and shadows move along her stone walls, ghostly shapes haunting her from large bedroom windows. She listens to the low cracks of the wood in her small hearth after the sounds of her mother give way to exhaustion and sleep.

Death to conjurers.

The evil words repeat in her mind.

There are those who exhibit a talent in the conjuring of magic. The practice, whether natural to the person or not, is strictly forbidden by both governmental law and the law of the Maker. Those who are devout are especially zealous against anyone who may attempt at using their conjuring abilities, and the common people as a whole tend to view it as an evil and vile practice.

The self-righteous men Carver has involved himself with are some of those who think they fight against wickedness by hunting and imprisoning conjurers. Victims are rarely heard from or seen again, and those who do come back from the Templar’s hold are never the same people they once were.

The order is an unofficial, though widely accepted, special branch of the Chantry. The Chantry does not formally lay claim to the Templars, however it is one of those unspoken truths that everyone knows and most accept, even support.

Ian is not one of those supporters. She views them as a group of thugs acting as illegal enforcement for a religion. A view that was instilled in her since childhood by her father. For the reason her mother and father fled Kirkwall to begin with - where the gang of Templars is most cherished and rampant - was due to the fact that Malcolm Hawke was one of those souls who naturally took to magic. His resistance to religious persecution caused him to flee, his loving young bride in tow.

It made sense that Bethany would have inherited their father’s abilities, but she never spoke of it. Ian knew that she, too, held some talent for conjuring. However, while her father fled in order to practice his beliefs, he discouraged it from his children. To amplify or use one’s abilities was to risk one’s life. Dangerous, addictive, and highly guarded substances were sometimes involved, and Malcolm did his best to shield his children from the knowledge.

Malcolm used his own abilities far from home, often leaving to perform feats for both shady and legitimate organizations alike. He wanted a different life for his children, and he explained early on to Ian that while he saw potential within her, he wished for her to pursue a more normal way of life.

Funny how the wishes of parents work out for their offspring.

Ian followed her father’s wishes for the most part, in that course anyway. She never cared much to dabble in magic and worked on her other skills instead. She never assumed her siblings conjured, either. They never spoke of it. It was never a topic the family discussed at the dinner table. Instead, Ian held fast to ideals that opposed the Chantry and left it at that.

To think that Bethany could have been involved in magic, conjuring, bending the laws of physics with others like her… in the shadows of Lowtown…

Ian is aware of pockets, or perhaps covens, of people who practice in secret.

But Bethany?

If true, Ian knows less of her sister than she had ever imagined.

As dawn crests the smoky horizon over Hightown’s billowing black chimneys, Ian feels her mind returning. She has questions, and she’s found her voice to demand them answered.

It does not take her long to dress and storm to the city center. The Viscount’s Keep had barely unlocked its doors by the time Ian slams them open. A smattering of guardsmen and townspeople stand in the grand hall, most of whom stare wide-eyed at Ian as she marches past, startled by her loud and commanding entrance. Albeit, she has bloodlust in her eyes, there are still those in the city who find it hard not to stare when they see a woman in trousers walk by.

Quickly scaling the red carpeted marble steps at the end of the opulent hall, Ian veers toward Aveline’s office. Upon arrival, she does not knock, she does not announce herself, she whips the door open with such force that it slams into the wall making the office windows rattle.

“Why is my sister dead?” Ian demands, fists slamming onto Aveline’s large oak desk. “I want answers, Aveline.”

“Hawke,” Aveline says, slowly raising her eyes from the papers in front of her. Unlike the windowpanes, Aveline is not at all startled by the way Ian entered. It was not the first time Ian’s paraded through the keep in such a manner, in fact, it is her tendency.

The Guard Captain sighs and rubs her forehead with tense fingers. “I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Death to conjurers? What is that about, Bethany never mentioned--”

“I’m sorry to say, your sister was part of a group, a cult maybe. It seems she had magical talent that she kept secret.”

Ian slumps into a chair opposite Aveline’s desk. “Do you have any leads?”

“Unfortunately, hers was not the first murder of this nature,” Aveline admits with a drop to her shoulders.

“What are you saying, there have been others?”

“One. A man. Cut in a similar fashion with the same writing over his body.”

“Why hadn’t I heard of this, Aveline?” Ian shouts.

“Hawke, you of all people know that murder is no strange fate for those who haunt Lowtown. I had hoped it was an isolated incident. I kept the details hush in an attempt to not start a stir, or inspire others to be as gruesome.”

“And this man, he was also a conjurer? Are there other similarities?”

“Both had the message, both had their throats cut, and…” Aveline pauses and avoids eye contact.

“Tell me.”

“You no doubt noticed Bethany’s stomach. I received word from the medical examiner that… Oh, Hawke, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, fingers once again finding purchase on the forehead that clearly plagues her with pain. “They took her womb.”

“Her womb? They took…” Ian’s voice trails off. That familiar sick feeling possesses her stomach. She feels the color leave her face, but she presses on with her questions, though her voice asks them in a weakened state. “What does that have to do with the man, or magic?”

“He had been castrated. I think it is another message of the killer’s. Even more gruesome than the writing.”

Ian ponders for a moment before her realization softly leaves her lips. “Reproduction. Eliminate conjurers entirely...”

“I’m afraid there will be more. So far, what we know is that he must be intelligent. Well-educated or with access, for him to have an understanding of anatomy, and also I think he works alone. He is either strong enough to quickly overtake his victims, or perhaps he lures them willingly. I cannot be sure which.” She pauses and watches Ian for a moment. “I want to keep this hush, Hawke. I do not want copycats or hysteria to strike our streets. I need to work this right. I have my best men going through the evidence, and I’ve been reviewing it constantly, trying to connect the dots. This all needs to be done above board, Ian. I can’t have chaos take over the investigation.”

“Aveline, people need to know. These groups of conjurers need to know they are in even more danger than normal. They have families. If I had known this, maybe I could have kept Bethany safe.”

“You didn’t even know she had magic.”

Like the pebble needed to tip the scales from sickness over to the favor of rage, Ian’s fury takes hold. In one swift movement, she slams her feet to the ground and launches her body so that her palms land on Aveline’s desk. She leans across it and sneers down at the Captain. “Well I do now, don’t I? Or at least whoever this monster is thought she was. Silence is a grave mistake. Who did she know, Aveline? Tell me.”

“I would kindly remind you that you are in the office of the Guard Captain, Hawke. You do not get to question me in such a manner, no matter our personal history, or your personal tragedy,” Aveline says. An underlying river of anger, a tremor of a warning lies within her tone.

Ian’s eyes scan the woman across her, curling her lip in a snarl. “Useless. The city guard have always been and always will be useless.” From her fists, she pushes herself upright and points to Aveline’s office window. “The little people of this city get no justice. And it’s due to the lack of care from this house that people like me even earn a living. Your men do nothing for them.” She shakes her head and turns to stalk out the door.

Aveline yells after her. “Do not take law into your own hands on this, Hawke! I’m warning you! I will not turn a blind eye to you this time! It is my duty!” The words fall on deaf ears. Ian has no trust in the government. If there was any control on this city, this wouldn’t have happened.

Her feet carry her through Kirkwall to the slums. The stark contrast between the care of the streets in Hightown, especially the Viscount district, and the laxity in Lowtown is even more apparent when traveled at once. No longer are trees and bushes decorating the clean cobblestone. No longer are there guardsmen patrolling in almost laughable numbers - whose main purpose seems to be helping the elderly society folk from their stately carriages, and knocking their billy clubs on rot iron fencing when rascal children get too loud.

None of that is present.

No, instead of wide avenues lined with beautiful estates, the streets turn smaller and smaller until bystanders and carriages alike have difficulty moving. Instead of greenery and fencing, there is filth and crates - poor folk standing with stolen baubles hollering at passersby to purchase their treasures for the lovely ladies at home. Instead of cobblestone that is swept by silent, invisible men, the streets begin to resemble more of rivers of mud, shit, and piss than anything else. And instead of kind guardsmen keeping order and helping the weak, one more likely will find them heckling or beating the numerous starving unfortunates in rags.

Ian follows the ruin to The Hanged Man. The inn happens to be the epicenter from dealings with those who do not wish to strictly follow the law. Law that has many times failed them all. If Ian wants to learn more about the underground groups of conjurers, and whom may wish them murdered, The Hanged Man is the best place to start.

It is also a place where she can have a drink to cut her nerves, and a meal that is more palatable. She’s never had much taste for higher cooking, peasant food is perfectly fine to her.

She orders the day’s mash with a stiff drink to accompany it, and she sits down at the end of a long wooden bench and a long wooden table.

She does not have to wait before her first visitor strides by.

“Ian,” a thick Rivaini accent purrs as slender tan fingers grip at Ian’s shoulders from behind. Lips trail so close to the shell of her ear that Ian feels them tickle her tiny hairs. “I am so sorry to hear about Bethany.”

“You know? Aveline said she was keeping it hush.”

“Oh please, you know that nothing stays hush in Lowtown, and certainly not from me,” Isabela says as she produces herself from behind, strutting slowly around the table to other side.

“How much do you know?” Ian asks as the woman sits.

Isabela smirks, her amber eyes peering coyly through fallen strands of thick, wavy black hair. “As much as there is to know, I suppose.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Sweet Bethany walked with the a new crowd. No matter how hard you worked to keep her from here, she was determined, apparently.”

“Why didn’t I know about this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Ian feels her anger rise in her chest. The city knew her, especially the folk of Lowtown knew that everything she did was to protect her family. People knew, yet didn’t bother to warn her of her sister’s secret, and it is becoming infuriating.

Isabela crosses her arms and tilts her head. “Listen, you spend so much time in that mansion of yours now, honestly, how am I supposed to have any idea what you know and don’t know anymore?”

Ian growls and glares across the table. “I am here at least two nights a week, Isabela.”

“Yeah, sure. Getting pissed and knocking out benders. But you’re not truly here. Not like you used to be.”

Ian speaks low, enunciating each syllable as if it is dripped in blood. “You should have told me.”

“And risk your fist coming at my head next? No, thank you.” Isabela scoffs. They sit silently for a moment, a war of the wills, but Ian’s glare bores a hole into Isabela’s sarcastic armor. Finally, the woman sighs in capitulation. “I’m sorry, Ian. If I had known this would happen to her, I wouldn’t have listened to her. I would have told you.”

That is a shock to Ian, and she feels a cold rush across her skin. “She talked to you about this?”

“Not in so many words, no. I found out a little of what she was up to and confronted her. She begged me not to tell you. She assured me that she had everything under control.”

“What do you know?”

“Not as much as it sounds, I’m sure, but I saw her talking to Merrill here a lot. That seemed a bit odd to me, especially since if she spotted you walk in, she vanished.”

Merrill is a known conjurer in Lowtown, and a unique one at that as she moved from a small clan of elves outside the city. It is fabled that her people have long mastered the art of exotic magics that Ian never cared to investigate.

Ian’s food and drink arrive. Everything feeling a little too much, and she grabs the mug of amber liquid and gulps it down so quickly that small rivers of whiskey stream down from the corners of her mouth.

“What did Bethany say to you?” Ian asks, wiping the corners of her mouth on her coat’s sleeve.

“Nothing much except to not tell you.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a drunk fool who strides up to their table. “Well aren’t you as pretty as pie... Except you,” the man says with a burp to punctuate it, pointing at Ian with a lazy finger. “What is it with you dressin’ like a man. One’d assume you like to fuck ladies like a man, too? Are you going to fuck--”

Ian chucks her empty mug at the drunk’s face, and before he can react, she is out of her seat and slamming his body to the ground. He lands with a loud thud, and she is on top of him in an instant. Her left fist gathers the garb at his neck, and her face hovers maliciously over his. The smell of his breath disgusts her, only intensifying her snarl.

“Assumptions are the lies of wicked demons in your ear,” Ian says in a low growl. “Now unless you want me to remove both of yours,” Ian’s right hand grabs hold of his ear and pulls until the man whines and writhes beneath her, “then I suggest you leave. My business is none of your own.”

“Hey, hey, Hawke. This is a little early for bar fights, even for you, don’t you think?” a raspy voice says beside them. Boots walk tentatively beside her head. Ian looks up to find the short-statured Varric Tethras standing over them. “Why don’t you let the man go and come sit with me in a my office, huh? Sound good? A little less violent, perhaps?”

Ian grunts and pushes herself off the drunk. She spits at the feet of the man before following Varric to his office in the rear of the tavern. She glances back, and with satisfaction, watches Isabela toss the sod out the tavern door and into the street.

Varric gestures for Ian to sit at his table in his personal room in the inn, and then shuts his door behind them. “How are you holding up, kid? To anyone else I’d say not very well, but that behavior isn’t exactly uncommon.”

Ian grunts again and slumps into one of his dwarven inspired chairs, geometric and sturdy by design with furs draped over the seat and arms. Varric sits at the head of the table and patiently waits while Ian stares into a roaring fire across from her.

“You loved her, how the fuck are you handling it?” Ian eventually grumbles.

Varric sighs. “I want to filet the bastard that did it.”

“Only if I gut him first.” There is a silence again until Ian adds, “Aveline thinks there will be more. We have to stop him.”

“Anything I can do to help, you just let me know,” Varric says, and he means it. The dwarf is probably the one man in this city with the most connections. He runs a rag called Bianca Knows that is tossed around the city. Legends swarm the streets about the dwarf, though Ian knows better. The most comical of the rumors being that he has actual ears on the walls of alleyways.

“You need to get the word out to anyone who may need it,” Ian says. “Aveline doesn’t want it in the papers, but you follow Lowtown’s rules.”

Varric nods. “Consider it done. I already drafted the story and sent it to my printer this morning.”

“Good. Let’s hope we get this guy before there is another Bethany.” Ian glances at Varric, noticing the way his gaze hangs in the air. The far-off stare of a man who is nowhere nearby. Instead, his mind drowns in a dimension of sadness and regret. It is well known how deeply he admired Bethany, though he never once acted on his feelings.

A soft knock at the door calls their attention, and Varric summons the person to enter. A young boy walks in, shaken, dirty, and obviously malnourished. He speaks with a tremor and his tattered gloved hand holds out an envelope like it could be his unfortunate ticket to the Maker. “I have a letter for M-M-Miss Hawke. A man gave me six coppers to deliver it right away.”

“What man, boy? Speak up,” Ian says as she takes the envelope from his hand.

“Don’t know, Miss. He was in the shadows. Face covered up with a scarf.”

“Where was this man now?” Varric asks.

The boy shrugs his shoulders and points to the far wall. “Called me from the alley by the inn, he did.” The boy looks between them both a few times and before turning and bolting from the room.

“Hey! Get back here!” Ian yells, but he’s gone. She hesitates and stares at the letter in her hand. Her curiosity for its contents ultimately outweighs her will to chase the child, and she opens the envelope to find red writing.

I know your Captain pet thinks she’ll have me. It gives me quite a thrill.

I am down on witches. Will rip them up till their foul wickedness reeks these streets no longer. Your sister was grand work, but I gave the lady no time to squeal. Saved a bit of her tainted blood to write this letter, though the stuff went thick. Red ink will have to do.

I’ve found I enjoy this venture more than I’d thought. First out of passion, second of lust, the next will follow and follow until the job is done. It is my calling.

Death to conjurers.

Ripper

Ian places the paper on Varric’s table. Whomever this Ripper is, he seems to know Ian, and knew he was killing her sister. If Ian had conviction before, it has now been increased ten-fold. She eyes Varric, his nervous wait apparent in the chewing of his lower lip and the wringing of his hands. Glancing back at the letter she says, “I need to speak to Merrill.”

#nemesis of neglect #Jack the Ripper AU #dragon age au #my fic #marian hawke

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digressfromreality · 7 years

Text

The Day The Tables Turned

Synopsis: This was PERSONAL. That much was obvious. What does one clown do when a mobster doesn’t learn his place in Gotham’s new criminal hierarchy? Of course, kidnap their life blood, the one that literally means more than the filthy air they breathe. First he isolates her, second manipulates her, third the mutual companionship was completely unexpected. Revenge at its finest.

Original Inspiration: Heath Ledger’s Joker Part 4 of 6

Warning: SMUT, DEATH, my terrible grammar lol

THE CHALLENGE

"Is the men ready?" His lieutenant shook his head.

"We're ready to send a message to the clown."

"Listen closely, I want to destroy that clown. If you see him, you litter the area with bullets. Anybody with a clown mask gets shot." He was about to end his rant but Maroni had one last thought, "Rip the masks off the women and bring them to me."

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"GCN news hotline, Tiffany speaking, we are currently broadcasting. Please state your questions and/or comment and I will direct you to the right department." Tiffany waited patiently for the caller to answer.

"Well, Ms. Tiff-fawn-knee, ha ha ha." Joker swooned, "I crack myself up sometimes."

"Sir if you could please," Joker roared at her in rage.

"DID I SAY YOU CAN SPEAK, MHM?" Tiffany gasped in response, the voice terrified her.

"No." She replied in a small voice.

"Good, good." He chided her like a naughty child, "so Tiffany how's about you patch little ol' me through to Matty boy and Claire bear?"

"Sir I can't just send you through to the news castors, we are currently broadcasting." The voice was silent for a few moments before replying.

"How's bout this Tiffany? How's about I come down after work and gut you like a fish and string your intestines around like Christmas lights? Would that be better? I could layer with some green and purple shiny stuff, uh, tinsel? Yes, yes, I can see it now, the people will tell tales of their children of Tiffany the lowly operator who couldn't do one simple task,"

"Don't scare the poor girl," a woman in the background interrupted the terrifying rant. Tiffany could hear the male caller mutter something, and then she heard a loud smack and a yelp of surprise. "Please don't cut my face, anywhere but the face." The female voice cried out. Tiffany heard the yelp again.

"You wait your turn." The voice demanded. Another yelp could be heard again.

"Please sir, I'll send you through please just stop hurting her. All I need is a name to pass along to the floor managers."

"A yes doll," Tiffany let out a breath of air, she had caught this psycho's attention once more. "It's uh, the Joker."

----------------------------------------

"GCN News tonight reports several executions cited and several arrests made but not of the murderers. A clear message has been made to the Joker, escaped Arkham patient that terrorized Gotham just four years ago, the message is from what we, and the GCPD suspect, as from the Maroni crime family. Every male clown was lined up and shot in the back of the head with their masks on, while any female clowns had been stripped of their masks and tied together. Every female was shot except a few that were turned over to the police. We can't help but wonder why all were killed but the blonde participants?"

The anchor turned to his partner, "why do you think that is Claire?"

"Well, Matt I believe this has to do with a missing accountant. Three weeks ago, Ms. Codwell of Gotham Finance LLC was plucked out of her business and the building was burnt to the ground. Ms. Codwell had been seen and well documented on the charity circuit and working at several homeless shelters. Many of the surrounding businesses had only pleasant things to say about her and her work. It came as a surprise to them that GCPD had uncovered her dealings with the mob."

"Not surprising since her trading portfolios were the highest grossing in the financial district."

"Yes, Matt. Not a surprised that she was recruited by the Maroni family." She paused to clear her throat, "I'm wondering Matt why the Joker is so interested in Ms. Codwell? Her body hasn't turned up anywhere and the last mob accountant, Mr. Lau was found in a warehouse burnt to a crisp."

"This seems more personal than just a missing business associate."

"Well losing more money is personal for the mob. They lost millions last time."

"We at GCN News are receiving a phone..."

"Hheeellllloooo Gotham, did you miss me?" The Joker giggled. People at home watching could see the breath leave the news anchors' chests. "Aww….Matty and Claire I thought you guys would appreciate me calling you personally." Joker giggled. "Mikey never got a warming shout out like I will for you." Both anchors let out another strangled breath. After being kidnapped by the Joker, Mike Engel had to leave broadcasting. He couldn't handle the pressure anymore, he changed.

"What is it you want?" Claire asked bravely, but panicked, "Mr. Joker, sir?"

"Oh, I like you! Manners. Well to put it simple, we're all going to play a game. I've been locked up too long. Cage birds, want to be, uh, well uncaged. To fly free and peck some eyes out." Joker paused to laugh he could almost hear the trepidation through the phone. "But instead of having all the fun, I will give the citizens of Gotham a chance to participate. Three days for someone to kill Salvatore Maroni. Each day he still breathes Gotham will meet a side of chaos-sah that they will wish they hadn't. Now, toodle-loo Gotham. Matty. Claire."

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"Damn it!" Gordon threw his file down angrily. Loose papers flew from the manila folder. He warned Maroni that it would turn into a blood bath.

"Commissioner, the Mayor's office is on line one." He waved off his secretary, of course, the Mayor would rush to Gordon ready to press him on strategic plans and counter measures.

"I want Foley in here now!" Gordon shouted before picking up his phone. Foley entered his office as quickly as he could. It wasn't hard to figure out what Gordon was stressing about, they had all watched what had just aired. Gordon rubbed his head in anguish, the Mayor must have been grilling him for information about the situation. Gordon slammed the phone down with a sigh.

"Gordon?" Without looking up he answered his next in command.

"Set up task forces, include the riot and gang unit. This needs to be contained and done quickly. Understand?" Foley nodded leaving Gordon to mope. He knew deep down that this was already above their heads, hopefully Batman could save them. He would be mocked if anyone had caught on that he was working with Harvey's 'killer'. God have mercy on their souls if Batman ignored this trouble.

-------------------------------------

Alfred watched as Bruce began filling his utility belt, his mask still not yet on.

"Master Bruce what are we to do, these are two very powerful men."

"I can't just sit by and let this happen. The people of Gotham will be caught in the middle." He was more determined than ever to get out onto the streets. He needed to help contain this.

"Yes, but the last time the Joker had tested the citizens of Gotham he lost his gamble." Alfred added fearfully.

"Yes, because Harvey died!" Bruce slammed his fist against the mahogany desk. His arms trembling with rage...and guilt.

"This doesn't seem to be the case this time. It seems Mr. Maroni had done something to personally upset the Joker. And judging him taking his daughter this is calculated revenge."

"But what about the casualties Alfred? We cannot stand idly by and let more people die on our watch. There is too much blood on our hands already."

"I'm sorry about Ms. Dawes, but we cannot change what happen. You cannot storm in without a plan." Bruce clicked his cowl in place. He couldn’t wait anymore.

"I don't have time to sit around. THREE DAYS, Alfred. I need to end this before it gets out of hand." Alfred bit back a response as Bruce put on his mask. There was no talking him out of this disastrous plan.

-----------------------------------------

"Now Rosey, why did you have to make me do that?" Joker watched her cradle the side of her face. He almost nicked her eye, he had been too impatient, and therefore he couldn't keep nice things. He played too rough with his toys. He waved his hand at her, "let's play doctor and I'll make you feel aalllll better."

"Fine." Joker rubbed his hands together and began to examine his 'patient'.

"Now, lay down and lift up your dress."

"How is that going to help my face?" Joker shoved her down on the lumpy couch. His hand putting pressure on her chest.

"Shh...shh... Doctor knows what's best. Uh, open your legs a bit."

"What are you going to do?" Joker pulled a rag from his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth. She was asking too many questions.

"As much as I like hearing your luscious screams, you're distracting the doctor." He grinned as her muscles clenched under his calculated finger movements. "How's bout we take a closer look-see, mhm?" Before she could do anything, Joker had hooked her knees over his shoulder and slid his tongue quickly up her slit.

He felt her buck from the sudden pleasure. "More tense that I thought, should we continue the procedure?" He grinned extra wide when she hesitantly shook her head up and down. Her happy tears mixing with the blood from her wound. He inserted his fingers into her, pumping at a quick pace, his tongue matching his quick strokes over her clit. After about a minute or two she couldn't take it she wanted the gag out of her mouth. She ripped it out.

"Joker!" He smirked, raising an eyebrow at her. His tongue and fingers had traded places, she nearly jumped at the change. He kept his other hand firmly pressed against her hip. "Joker…jokerrr," she gasped getting close, "Joker please, ugh."

"Kind of busy doll, take a message." He went to bob his head back down but she grabbed his collar.

"Please. Unbutton. Pants." She panted out.

"And?" He laughed while maniacally staring down at her. He nipped at the hand restraining him.

"I'll show you." He grinned while shoving her legs from him, he plopped down on the couch and undid his belt. He continued to watch her as she loosened the front of his pants, grabbing what had been uncomfortably pressed against the seams of his pants. Yes, yes, her hands were soft, but he couldn't get lost in the subtle touches. He needed to see what, what his little Rose counted as a surprise.

She straddled him, her thick thighs engulfed the sides of his legs, her opening rubbing his head. Teasing more like it. Staring into her devious eyes, he watched her carefully kiss the end of his scars. The gentle gesture almost made Joker throw her off, but she had wrapped her arms around his shoulders and slammed him into her! Surprised he was!

"Bounce!" He growled at her, and she quickly obliged. Rose could feel his body whither and wince beneath her. Thinking there was too much friction from her harsh drops down, she tried to adjust her pace, but Joker was having none of that. He wanted to see her spill out of the top of her dress. Her pink nipples kept rubbing near the edges of the fabric. Her long blonde hair a frenzy cascading in different directions with every movement.

Her face screamed of ecstasy which brought him closer towards the end, he bit down on her scarred chest as her pace began to slow once more. He could feel her fatigue from her constant rebounding restrictions, but he wasn't there just yet. He pulled her upper half forward tight against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her hips and began to thrust her back and forth on his lap. His grip on her wide backside dug deeper and deeper into her skin as he was close to coming. Rose tried to cry out on his final thrust, but Joker smother her mouth with his own.

Rose could hardly keep her eyes open, sleep was gnawing at her mind. She laid her head on his shoulder as she steadies herself, her body was still reeling from the rough contact. When he calmed his breathing and his heart stopped racing, he noticed that Rose had fallen asleep while he was still in her. Instead of shoving her off, he examined her chest. He could feel and see it rise and fall against his own.

Her warmth was welcomed in the coolness of the room. He grinned, he would have to match her surprise with one of his own! Tomorrow, tomorrow he would reveal his surprise to her, to all of Gotham.

#joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker imagines #joker smut #heath ledger joker

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creepykingdom · 5 years

Text

The Boston Underground Film Festival Announces Inaugural Launch of BUFF-o-WEEN

For the first time in its 22 year history, the Boston Underground Film Festival is launching a mid-year mini-fest to bring a selection of seasonally appropriate thrills and chills to New England cinephiles! Marking the midway point between 2019’s BUFF and the upcoming festival in March 2020, the weirdos behind BUFF are teaming up with the historic Somerville Theatre in Davis Square to bring you the first-ever edition of “BUFF-o-WEEN” this October!

Showcasing six feature films plus an incredible block of short films currently slaying genre audiences around the world, BUFF-o-WEEN seeks to expand on the festival’s annual offerings of bizarre and insane programming into the holiest of New England holiday seasons.

“For a long time we’ve thought about creating space for contemporary horror and genre film in the Boston area in October; the city has incredible repertory programming and marathons this month and we wanted to bring a little something different to film fans in the area to celebrate the Halloween season,” said BUFF’s Artistic Director, Kevin Monahan. “As a programmer, it’s a dream come true to bring even more fantastic films to Boston for some big-screen love from our incredible community of film fans and filmmakers,” said BUFF’s Director of Programming Nicole McControversy.

Opening this inaugural series of spooky and sublime delights is hilarious and charming paranormal comedy Extra Ordinary, by Irish writer/director dynamos Enda Loughman and Mike Ahern. Courtesy of our neighbors to the North, we’re thrilled to present “Born of Woman,” an epic block of international short films helmed by women directors, curated by Fantasia International Film Festival’s head programmer Mitch Davis. Also hot off its recent Fantasia premiere, we have director Matthew Pope’s tense, southern gothic thriller Blood on Her Name while the horrifying story of Germany’s most notorious serial killer is brought to life in Fatih Akin’s The Golden Glove.

Indescribably insane 1994 cult hit Tammy & the T-Rex makes a stop in Boston on its festival tour of brain-smashing destruction, restored to its full gory (and 4K) glory courtesy of Vinegar Syndrome and the American Genre Film Archive. Not to be outdone fellow genre restoration heavy-weights Severin Film will present their required-viewing Al Adamson documentary Blood & Flesh, directed by BUFF alum (and former Bostonian) David Gregory, with ex-Cantabrigian Adam Egypt Mortimer’s chilling Daniel Isn’t Real rounding off a head-spinning weekend.

This special series will run Thursday, October 17th through Sunday, October 20th. Sponsors include The Somerville Theatre and DigBoston. Special thanks to Cranked Up Films, Strand Releasing, Yellow Veil Pictures, Severin Films, Samuel Goldwyn Films, Fantasia International Film Festival, Spectrevision, Vinegar Syndrome, and the American Genre Film Archive.

FULL BUFF-o-WEEN LINEUP:

EXTRA ORDINARY

“A riotously hilarious offbeat comedy that is totally bizarre but utterly engrossing” Ashley Menzel, WE LIVE ENTERTAINMENT

BUFF-o-WEEN kicks things off with this spoopy [sic] tale of a ghostbusting psychic driving instructor—played to pitch-perfect perfection by Maeve Higgins—who tries to save a family from a spirit-conjuring has-been seeking to renew a record deal—and a Faustian bargain. Irish writer/director duo Enda Loughman and Mike Ahern breath new life into the horror-comedy genre with this absolute gem. Think Ghostbusters as if set on Craggy Island; in other words, 100% Pure BUFF. Co-presented by the Irish Film Festival Boston.

BORN OF WOMAN 2019

Montreal’s Fantasia International Film Festival serves up an annual showcase of intimate, auteur genre visions, this year’s edition featuring eight exceptional short films from an array of international talents that promises to leave you gobsmacked and amazed. BUFF-o-WEEN is honored to screen this incredible collection for Boston-area audiences. Co-presented by the Boston Women's Film Festival and Women in Film and Video of New England (WIFVNE). A portion of the box office from this screening will be donated to Women on Waves and Film Fatales.

THE GOLDEN GLOVE

“Beneath all the horror, there is hope. You just have to look past all the dead bodies to the darker heart within.” Redmond Bacon, CULTURED VULTURES

Critically acclaimed director Fatih Akin (Head-On, The Edge of Heaven, In The Fade) brings to life the harrowing tale of German serial killer Fritz Honka, heinous haunter of 1970s Hamburg’s red light district.

Booed and rebuffed at its Berlinale premiere earlier this year, The Golden Glove is unflinching in its examination of human brutality and desperation, both of this notorious murderer and of a society that helped birth him. An ugly film about uglier acts, viewer discretion is certainly advised, though the undeterred will be rewarded by a richly characterized, oft empathetic depiction of a sidelined generation that survived the horrors of war only to be forgotten in the grimiest of dives, hustling for pfennigs to drink away their trauma.

TAMMY AND THE T-REX

“Heads are bitten off, people are disemboweled, skulls are crushed, bodies are flattened, all with the kind of gory excess that recalls the splatstick comedies of Peter Jackson.” Patrick Bromley, Bloody Disgusting

Directed by Stewart Raffill (of Mac and Me and Mannequin Two: One the Move fame) and released in 1994, Tammy and the T-Rex stars Denise Richards and Paul Walker (!) in the story of an evil scientist who transplants the brain of a murdered teenager into the body of a Tyrannosaurus. Love, uh, finds a way, in this newly unearthed “gore cut” of the cult classic time forgot. Fully restored to its R-rated, 4K glory by the fiends at Vinegar Syndrome, Tammy destroyed audiences at Chicago’s Cinepocalypse over the summer; after stops at Fantastic Fest and Beyond Fest, BUFF is pleased to bring this epic splatterpiece to Somerville. No one will be spared. Courtesy of the cine-heroes of the American Genre Film Archive, this one must be seen to be believed.

BLOOD ON HER NAME

“...unexpected, morally complex, and alive with tension.” Katie Rife, AV Club

Ozark’s Bethany Anne Lind stars in this crime thriller about a woman who digs herself a deeper hole when she lets her conscience get the better of her when she tries to cover up an accidental killing. Much in the same vein of BUFF fan favorite, Blue Ruin, Yellow Veil Pictures picked up this tense, gothic horror flick immediately after it’s world premiere at Fantasia this July, and marks a stunning debut feature for writer/director Matthew Pope.

BLOOD & FLESH: THE REEL LIFE AND GRISLY DEATH OF AL ADAMSON

The director of Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley’s Island of Dr. Moreau, David Gregory, brings us another true story of a visionary filmmaker. However instead of focusing on one failed project, Gregory gives us a fascinating overview of the entire life and career of underappreciated auteur Al Adamson. Responsible for such 60s/70s era B-flicks such as Psycho A-Go-Go, Dracula vs. Frankenstein, and Black Samurai, Adamson’s methods and experiences provide a wealth of entertainment and his unfortunate end makes for moving drama in this comprehensive documentary.

DANIEL ISN’T REAL

“A psychological thriller married with cosmic body horror in inventive, original, and exciting ways” - Jonathan Barkan, DREAD CENTRAL

Writer/director Adam Egypt Mortimer’s latest and greatest plays like a dark, twisted version of Drop Dead Fred. After locking up his imaginary childhood friend for years, Luke releases Daniel to wreak havoc on his life, art, studies and relationships. Newcomers Miles Robbins (2018’s Halloween, My Friend Dahmer) and Patrick Schwarzenegger (yes, Arnold’s son) light up the screen as Luke and Daniel respectively, joined by Sasha Lane (American Honey) and veteran actress Mary Stuart Masterson.

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Individual tickets will be available for sale soon at the Somerville Theatre’s box office or online.

BUFF-o-WEEN is the latest venture in BUFF’s year-round programming, which includes Somerville-Theatre-based monthly “Dispatches from the Underground” series, and its annual festival at the Brattle Theatre in Cambridge. Visit bostonunderground.org for more details.

#blogpost #BUFF-o-WEEN #boston #film festival

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kaoruyogi · 7 years

Text

Trial by Fire (Ch. 20)

Now with art by the inimitable @xla-hainex!!!

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3.

Masterpost

Law & Order and Thedas collide in this tale of long lost love, murder, and dancing.

Halise Lavellan, a hard-charging gang prosecutor with the Ferelden District Attorney’s Office, transferred to the Denerim Branch with every intention of continuing her winning streak as a member of the new gang taskforce. Until she discovered she’d be sharing an office with her new colleague, and old flame, Cullen Rutherford.

Their torrid struggle for professionalism in the face of ancient heartbreak is exacerbated when a major gang homicide lands on their desks. Cullen and Halise must do everything in their power to lock up a notorious shotcaller, and stay alive while doing it. The old flame also threatens to reignite and consume both of them…and they just might let it.

(Halise’s name is pronounced “Hah-Lee-Say”)

Aaand we're back!!! I wanted to take a minute to thank you all for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I've never taken so long to post and I was getting all twitchy about it. But bar prep had to take priority, so here we are. That being said, this is a looooong chapter, even by my standards. So thank you again!

I also refer to a couple of songs in this chapter, which you can listen to here and here.

Chapter 20:

Cullen trailed not far behind Halise as Vivienne walked them toward Prime Minister Valmont. Sera and Leliana flanked him, their manners so astoundingly different he wondered at how it was they came to have the same job. In passing, he realized it was simply because they were both quite good at it. Leliana, whose posture and stride were as graceful and dangerous as a thundercloud, had a longstanding network of informants and contractors, all shrouded in mystery. Sera, whose shoulders slumped just enough to remind everyone she didn’t care about their fancy party, related to the people, using her own life experience to communicate with those ranging from mothers to gangsters, from mechanics to hackers.

Halise, on the other hand, moved like a breeze in the springtime. Even under her voluminous dress, he could see her hips sway with every tap of her shoes on the polished floor. Her hair swished across her exposed back opposite the swing of her hips, her body a metronome keeping time for his heartbeat. How anyone could want to kill her was absolutely beyond his comprehension.

The plan was for Cullen to stay near Halise—something he had no qualms with—and pick up information from the space around her. He could also step in if anyone decided they wanted to hurt her, a position for which he was unspeakably grateful. Leliana and Sera were meant to hover nearby, but in a much more ambient way, listening for anything useful from the people just out of earshot of whoever Halise was talking to. Everyone else fanned out around the room, taking attention off the Inquisition staff and bringing back whatever intel they managed to gather from the crowd.

Leliana and Sera broke away from Cullen just as Halise reached a trio of Orlesians, separated from the rest of the crowd by their air and fashion. The only man, tall and stocky and in his sixties, wore a classic tuxedo, cut in the Orlesian style. One of the women had close-cropped blonde hair styled in a wave atop her head and wore a slim black dress with beige sleeves and accents. The other woman—the Prime Minister if he had to guess—wore a meticulously tailored midnight blue cowl-neck gown, her blonde-gray hair twisted away from her face in a complicated knot. Her aloof expression reminded him of Vivienne’s, though Ms. Valmont’s eyes—such a light shade of blue they were almost white—were at once sharp and dull. She could only be bothered to pay attention to fragments of the goings on around her. A good way to get oneself killed, in Cullen’s opinion.

Vivienne’s smooth voice drew the Orlesians’ attention to her and Halise. “Prime Minister Valmont, may I present Halise Lavellan from the Denerim Branch of the Ferelden District Attorney’s office.” Cullen watched the back of Halise’s head as she gently nodded. Ms. Valmont returned the gesture in kind, raising her hand limply for Halise to grasp. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was clenching her jaw. She hated dead fish handshakes.

“Ah,” the Prime Minister sighed in recognition. “My people tell me they call your office ‘the Inquisition,’ yes?”

“They do, Madame Prime Minister.” Halise’s voice was even, giving only the barest amount of reverence she thought acceptable. This was not her Prime Minister, after all.

“Mm. They also tell me Mayor Theirin has become very…appreciative of your work in service to this city.” Cullen did not like her tone. “We are lucky to be in the presence of someone so diligent.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Celene gestured with an open hand to the irritated looking man beside her. “This is my cousin and Deputy Prime Minister, Gaspard de Chalons.” Then to the woman on her other side. “And this is his sister, my assistant, Florienne de Chalons.”

“It is very nice to meet you all,” Halise replied with another little nod.

The Deputy Prime Minister took up her hand in his, leaning down to brush his lips across her knuckles. How very Orlesian of him. “It is an honor, Ms. Lavellan.”

“The honor is mine, Deputy Prime Minister.”

Cullen’s gaze was trained on Florienne, watching, waiting for the slightest sign of her treachery. But he saw nothing, not even as she outstretched her hand to give Halise another limp handshake. “What a pleasure to be in such venerable company,” the woman cooed.

“You flatter me, Ms. de Chalons. Though I do hope your company won’t be too short-lived, Madame Prime Minister.” Cullen bit back a smile at Halise’s clever warning. He would have to remember to praise her when the night was over.

At those words, Florienne’s façade cracked ever so slightly. Her eyebrow twitched up for a split second while the Prime Minister seemed to cast a wary glance at Halise. “I suppose that will be up to those around me, but I shall endeavor to stay as long as I can.” Had she caught the hint? Did she understand that someone was trying to kill her?

“On that note, I suppose I should take my leave and allow you to mingle with everyone else.” He could hear the soft smile in Halise’s voice as she nodded again and turned to leave.

But Florienne called her back. “Ms. Lavellan, would you do me the honor of accompanying me onto the dance floor? I would ask my brother, but he has a tendency to step on my toes. And I simply abhor the idea of ruining these lovely shoes.”

The fiery tendrils of Halise’s hair flipped over her shoulder when she turned back to face the woman. “I—I’d be delighted, Ms. de Chalons.”

No, no, no, no, Cullen’s mind screamed. He couldn’t let her go onto the dance floor alone with this conniving woman—this murderess in the making. He took a single step forward, prepared to stop her. Her eyes stopped him in his impulsive tracks. They told him to trust her, that she knew what she was doing, that the woman was a poisoner, that she wouldn’t risk hurting her in the middle of the dance floor.

So he stopped, and watched his love walk toward the rapidly crowding dance floor with an aspiring killer. Halise brushed her fingers across Vivienne’s arm as she passed, handing her golden purse to her and turning the unreadable woman’s gaze toward him. She flicked her eyes from him to Halise’s back, reminding him to follow her. Only vaguely remembering to sip his as yet untouched tumbler of scotch as he walked, he followed them—far enough behind that he wouldn’t be noticed, but just close enough to hear Florianne very intentionally dithering as to her opinion on the décor and the weather. Pointlessness with a purpose.

Cullen followed as far as he could, but when the two women crossed onto the dancefloor it was as if the demarcation on the floor had built up an imperceptible yet impenetrable wall. His slick-soled shoes slipped beneath him as he ground to a halt. There was no way in the Void he’d be stepping past that wall alone. Awkward conspicuousness was not the way to suss Florienne’s plan. He would have to trust Halise’s instincts, a thought that calmed and worried him in the same breath.

It didn’t help that the crowd in the hall had multiplied since his arrival. Finely dressed people packed the space, pushing the chill of adrenaline through his gut. There was danger in that room. He bore the benefit and the burden of that knowledge alongside so few others that it made everyone around him seem lethal. Instinct fought against judgment, memory against sight and sound, prickling at the back of his neck and making his fingers twitch. He could feel himself slipping into panic, even as the string quartet struck up a rather unique version of AC-DC’s “Thunderstruck.” Halise and Florienne began their dance as his breathing began to quicken. His heart raced as their feet brushed across the polished floor in deft steps, their lips and eyes moving markers of some illicit conversation.

The gentle touch of a diminutive hand on the small of his back startled him so badly he almost struck the face of the person it was attached to. Wide brown eyes stared back at him, surrounded by pin straight brunette hair and a warm smile. “Felicity!”

The few weeks that had passed since their parting seemed like a lifetime ago. Even her name seemed foreign as it rolled off his tongue. It was only when Cullen saw the twinge of melancholy in her smile that he realized how short a time it had truly been.

“Hi, Cullen,” she said, doing her damndest to put on a brave face. She looked lovely, despite the sadness tugging at the corners of her eyes. She wore a burgundy dress with meticulous, shimmery silver beading over the torso and a soft skirt. Tiny cutouts at her waist betrayed the open back of the gown—something he might have delighted at in a former life.

“I’ve been trying to decide whether I wanted to come say, ‘hi,’ since I saw you come in with your friends from the office,” she continued, possibly in light of his stunned silence. “I decided it would be better to do it that way than you seeing me and thinking I’m avoiding you. I’m—I’m not avoiding you.” Her body deflated with a sigh. “Aaaand I’m standing here to prove that. Talking. Making an ass of myself. Please start talking so I can shut up because I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

Cullen had never really experienced running into an ex-girlfriend before Halise barreled her way back into his life. That had been a much different experience than this. Perhaps because no one’s life was in imminent danger? Or maybe because he had known her for so much longer? No. No, he understood why it had been so different then. He wasn’t in love when Halise had come back. At least…he had not yet figured out that he had been all along.

But in that moment, standing there looking down at Felicity’s still-dejected face, he felt little beyond shock and an awkward sort of tension. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I hadn’t considered that you might be here. Not that you shouldn’t be, but I just wasn’t…expecting you?” He felt his hand doing what it did best, rubbing at the back of his neck in spite of his surroundings.

Felicity’s smile widened, a touch more genuine. “I know. I wouldn’t have expected me at a diplomatic gala either, but I represent a few of the corporate big wigs here in their tax matters. One of the CEOs, Mr. de Chevin, keeps trying to set me up with his son, Michel.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder and Cullen’s eyes followed hers, coming to rest on a reasonably handsome but obviously Orlesian blonde man. He was talking to a few older men, but raised his glass to her when his gaze wandered over. Cullen looked back at her, almost missing the little smirk she gave to this Michel. Good.

“He likes to joke that I’ll have to give his company free counsel if I marry his son.” She sounded amused enough about it herself. A little sigh left her nose as she settled herself and looked out onto the dancefloor. “How about you and Halise? Did you ask her?”

Cullen cleared his throat. This was…an uncomfortable topic to discuss with a former girlfriend. With that much he’d had experience. “I—Um—I did.”

Felicity eyed him expectantly. “And?”

“You were right.” He watched Halise dancing with Florienne, noting her firm stare and hard set jaw as the latter spoke. Something wasn’t right.

A sardonic laugh puffed out of Felicity. “Little victories,” she mused under her breath.

Before Cullen could excuse himself, the music wound into its conclusion with a flourish. Some of the couples on the dancefloor stayed close, waiting for the next song to start. Others, like Florienne and Halise, nodded to one another and parted ways. Halise’s eyes darted about for a moment as she searched for Cullen, a small kind of relief dropping her shoulders and elongating her neck when she spotted him. She watched him, unblinking and laser focused as she walked over.

He felt the air move around him when she reached him—ever the spring breeze, even when her green eyes reminded him she was a tempest. “Cullen,” she murmured breathlessly, “this is bad. She said sh—Felicity!”

“Hi, Halise.” Felicity gave a somewhat terse smile and flicker of her fingers.

“I—Uh—How are you?” Halise’s posture had gone stiff, her shoulders pushed back in a way that looked almost painful. Her dancer’s posture. Trained into her like combat was trained into him.

“I’m fine. I’m glad to see you’re doing alright after that nasty business a few weeks ago.”

“Ah. Yeah, turns out getting stabbed in the hand isn’t as bad as things can get.” Halise smiled and shrugged, still tense.

Felicity hummed her acknowledgment. “I can only imagine.” A pregnant pause filled the air until she spoke again. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. It sounds like you have something to talk about. It was—uh—good to see you both again. Have a nice evening.”

Without another word, she dropped her head, turned on her heel, and walked away. Cullen watched Halise’s eyes follow the brunette, confusion and possibly a little hurt furrowing her brow. She probably didn’t realize she was chewing on the inside of her lip. His curiosity about where Felicity had wandered off to was nothing compared to his desire to watch Halise’s plush lips. Vibrant red lipstick accentuated their softness and the little curve of the lower one as she worried the flesh on the inside of her mouth—the hot, wet, perfect inside of her mouth. His hands balled into fists at his sides to stop him from tasting her in front of everybody. When her eyes turned back to meet his, he swallowed thickly, praying that the muscles in his throat would push down his lust. Stave it off for a few more hours.

“That was weird,” she said. “Anyway, Florienne got my hint to Celene a little louder and clearer than I’d hoped. She told me I was too late. She said that ‘it’ was already out there. I’m assuming the ‘it’ is the poison. When I asked her why, she told me to look at my case files for the answer.”

“Corypheus,” Cullen spat. How was it that everything wrong in their lives came back to him? Influence on the streets, in Tevinter, in the FBI, and now the Orlesian government? Was he really so important?

Halise nodded. “Coryphy-fuck. Vivienne still has my purse and my phone. You need to text everyone and tell them to watch the servers. Look for the signs of red lyrium use. Anyone with bloodshot eyes or sores needs whatever is in their hand ‘accidentally’ knocked out of it. We’re about to be the clumsiest group of attorneys Ferelden’s ever seen.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that crept up his lips while he pulled his phone from his pocket and set up the mass text. Halise moved to his side to watch him key in the message. He gave the briefest version of the story he could, and only sent it once he had her nod of approval. A few little dings, quacks, and crickets sounded off softly amid the din of the crowd, almost comforting in their mundaneness.

Two amplified bumps reverberated through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention to the person at the microphone stand near the string quartet. Mayor Theirin scanned the room, a charismatic grin planted on his face as everyone turned toward him. Cullen only knew the man by reputation and what he’d heard from his colleagues. Eternally bathed in scandal as he was, he did seem like he knew what was best for Denerim. He had, after all, been hounding the DA about the gang problem plaguing the city, which led to the creation of Cullen, Halise, and Sera’s taskforce. The one that brought Halise back to him. Perhaps I should send him a fruit basket for that, Cullen considered, however briefly.

Several event workers wheeled a massive black grand piano in, and the Mayor, satisfied he had everyone’s attention, began to speak. “Hello and good evening citizens and friends of Denerim!” His arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture while he paused for applause. Cullen clapped with no particular enthusiasm.

“Thank you all for joining me here this evening. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves thus far. Incidentally, if you didn’t get the chance to try the hors d’oeuvres prepared by Denerim’s own Orlesian-Ferelden bistro, The Blooming Rose, don’t worry. They’re furiously preparing dinner in the kitchen as we speak. In fact, I’m fairly certain if we’re all quiet enough we can hear Chef Lusine terrorizing her sous chefs.” A gentle wave of laughter rolled through the room.

“But,” he continued, “I have no intention of allowing things to get quite that quiet. In honor of our esteemed guests Prime Minister Valmont and Prime Minister Mac Tyr, who I’m told should be arriving shortly, we’ve arranged for some special entertainment for the evening. Hence this rather conspicuous piano.” Another hum of soft laughter.

“Our musical guest tonight is the child of an Orlesian mother and a Ferelden father.” He really was laying that theme on rather thick. “She’s won three Crystal Grace awards for classical music, and she’s seen fit to grace us with her presence tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Maryden Halewell!”

“Ooh ooh ooooooh! I love her music!” Halise exclaimed before joining the rest of the crowd in applause. She clapped and grinned wildly, giving in to the excitement bubbling through her with two little hops.

Cullen smiled as he watched her. Exhilaration and ebullience replaced her anxiety in a flash, all of her trepidation over the evening and Corypheus melting away. She was a glorious thing to behold. All brilliance and joy.

He almost didn’t see Mayor Theirin stride over to them as the applause died down. The same personable smile still rested on his face. But his eyes no longer scanned the room. Instead, they were locked on Halise. He watched her glee with the same attentiveness Cullen had, his teeth more visible with every purposeful step toward her.

Cullen’s blood was up. Surely, he must have been imagining things. Why would the Mayor target a gang prosecutor as the object of his next scandal? Why wouldn’t he choose someone more high profile? But they were at his gala at his invitation. She had been whisked away for his photo op before she’d even been allowed to exit her limousine. Maker’s breath, he was after her! No more fruit basket.

“Halise,” he said, drawing her eyes to him as he held out his hand, “would you do me the honor of joining me for this dance?”

She looked bewildered for a moment, lips parted, eyes darting back and forth between the Mayor and Cullen. “Um.” She paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Okay.”

What?!

*****

Halise let Alistair take her hand for the second time that night and lead her onto the dancefloor. She wasn’t exactly in any position to refuse him. They were at a very public event, he was a very public figure, and he was very in touch with her boss. She had little doubt he knew all that, and she’d have admired his tactics had he not used them to get her into one more compromising position. Mythal’s mercy, what the tabloids were going to say for the next week.

Having reached the center of the floor, the Mayor pulled her in close. His right hand came to rest on her waist while Maryden played the first long notes of one of Halise’s favorite songs in her catalogue. The distance he left between their bodies wasn’t exactly respectable. “Thank you for agreeing to dance with me.”

Her eyebrow arched against her better judgment. “You��re welcome? You knew I couldn’t refuse, though. Not if I have a brain in my head and like my job.”

His grin turned a bit smug. “Oh come now, do I seem vindictive to you?” Halise cocked her head with a squint. “Come on. This job has so few perks. Just let me have this little win.”

A short chuckle rose in her throat as a violinist joined in the tune, setting the pace for their dance to begin. Alistair led confidently, his experience evidencing itself in his unflinching gaze. Watching one’s partner instead of the floor was a sign of a dancer who knew what he was doing. He’d probably had sufficient occasion to learn given the volume of formal affairs he hosted and attended every year.

“I’m sure there are plenty of perks. At least that’s what the gossip rags say.”

He smirked and spun her away from him. When he tugged her back she heard a tray clatter to the ground, dropping glass and cutlery to the floor. Maybe someone had found their poison delivery person.

“They call them ‘rags’ for a reason, Halise.”

“Oh? To hear them tell it you’ve bedded every celebrity in Denerim,” she said with a smirk of her own. She wanted to venture further—to know more. If he was going to put her in the same position as all those women, she figured she might as well ask him for the truth while she could. “So? Have you?”

“Have I what? Have I…ever licked a lamppost in winter?” He over enunciated each word, drawing laughter from both of them until she gave him a benignly baleful look.

“You know what I mean.” Their bodies turned seamlessly with the music. Halise took his momentary pause to revel in the tune. She’d dreamt of dancing to several of Maryden’s songs, and this one was near the top of the list.

Alistair’s expression shifted, sincerity and something like sadness creeping into the corners of his eyes. “No, I haven’t. Not one. Truth be told, until recently, it hasn’t even been something I’ve thought about. Not since Zoe.”

Zoe Amell. His FBI fiancé. The media lauded her as a hero after she stopped a small terrorist cell calling themselves “The Blight” from vaporizing half of the east wing of the Denerim Mall. The story circulated for weeks, telling how she and only a couple other Wardens gunned down a dozen men before getting to the one with the bomb strapped to himself. Warden Amell threw herself at the bomber, hurling them over the glass rails of the third story to the ground below and killing them both.

“I’m sorry,” Halise murmured. “I hadn’t meant to dredge up painful memories. I was just curious.”

The carefree façade slipped back up his face. A mask he wore to hide his pain away. “Well, Halise, so am I. Now I get to ask a question. Are you married?”

“What?”

“Are you married, Halise?” He was suddenly very serious.

She felt guilty for having asked him such an invasive question the moment she had to answer his. “No, not yet. But I am…already taken.”

“Still single, then?” Alistair’s brows lifted.

“No. Taken.” It was her turn to over enunciate.

The Mayor laughed—“hearty” and “robust” were the words that came to mind to describe the sound. Like soup or cheese. “I’m joking! Maker’s breath, Halise, you should have seen your face!” A hot flush rolled up her cheeks. “I know you’re taken. The dashing gentleman you’ve been sidled up to all evening turned white as a sheet when you agreed to dance with me.”

Halise sighed in spite of the smile working its way up her lips. “Cullen Rutherford. Decorated Templar veteran, magna cum laude at South Reach Law, and my partner on your gang taskforce.” She withdrew her hand from his shoulder to poke him in the chest, emboldened by their shared candor. Another tray clanged to the floor somewhere in the large hall.

“Oh, don’t tell me I’m the reason you two are together. By the Mabari, I just keep shooting myself in the foot!” He rolled his eyes in his exaggerated dismay, twirling her away and back again as the string quartet surged with Maryden’s piano in their final crescendo.

“Don’t blame yourself. I’m inclined to think it was fate that we ended up back together.”

Curiosity widened his eyes. “Back together? As in, you were together before?”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded. “We met in law school and dated for about a year and a half. Long distance.”

“Aaand?” he asked.

“Aaand it ended. Fizzled, really.” This line of inquiry was fast becoming a wet blanket on what had been an enjoyable dance.

“But you’re back together. So whatever it was won’t happen again?”

“Fenedhis, I certainly hope not.” Halise let her eyes do her pleading, begging him not to ask her any more questions. The reasons she and Cullen fell apart and the memories thereof brought her nothing but pain. Indeed, she did pray some nights it wouldn’t happen again, though control over that was lost to her.

The song wound down around them, as did the other couples that had joined them on the floor. Everyone slowed with the final notes of piano, their solitudinous din echoing through the large room in a way that sounded so different from their identical brethren at the beginning of the tune. The introduction and subsequent loss of the full-bodied quartet made the singular tones sound lonely.

Alistair held onto her while the other couples parted. The sadness that had tainted his expression moments before crept back into his eyes as he sighed, his soft smile not doing enough to outweigh it. “And so ends the best part of my evening.”

Halise let the corners of her mouth quirk up. “I’m flattered, but, you know, there are a lot of women here tonight. One or two of them might actually be un-shallow. Maybe even genuinely interested in Alistair instead of the Mayor. So don’t count them out just yet.”

Her words seemed to banish some of his latent sorrow as his grin spread wider. “Still an optimist even after being stabbed and blown up.” He released her waist, stepping back as he held her hand. “Denerim is lucky to have you. Almost as lucky as Mr. Rutherford.” He bowed over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her cheeks flushed hot at the sensation. “I wish you both well. And please try not to get yourself killed. I would hate for him to become a kindred spirit.”

With that, he turned away and left her there. Left her with her heart aching for him. Left her with a new kind of fear she hadn’t considered before. It would devastate Cullen if she died. Sure, it would devastate her case and the community, too, but he would be destroyed. She had to be more careful from then on. She couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Cullen like Zoe left Alistair, with misery and pain lingering in his every fiber for years. She couldn’t do that to Cullen.

Halise had gotten a bit turned around in her dance, and she had to search for Cullen for a moment before her eyes landed on him again. He stood stark still in the same spot she’d left him. His fists were balled up tight at his sides, his skin white and taught against the bones of his knuckles. His jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes boring into her as she walked back over to him. He looked furious.

Before she could open her mouth, his hand shot out from his side to clamp down on her wrist. His grip was hard. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to pull her along when he pivoted away and started off through the crowd.

“Cullen,” she hissed, desperate not to draw any more attention to them than he already had. He marched on, ignoring her repeated entreaties while he pulled her to some unknown destination.

She heard another tray clang to the floor, closer than the last two. A polite Antivan accent apologized profusely, a few other voices mingling and shuffling in to help somewhere out of Halise’s view. How many red lyrium addicts were working this event?

Cullen still dragged her behind him. The crowd began to thin around them until almost no one was left. They rounded a corner into a short, empty hallway, the only two doors both labeled with unisex bathroom signs. With his forearm, he slammed open the door to their left to reveal a semi-small bathroom with one toilet, one sink, and one paper towel dispenser. He spun around to lock the door behind them, tugging Halise so fast she nearly tripped over her skirt as she rounded his body.

The feeling of the cold ceramic of the black and white tiles on the wall nipping at her skin was the first thing she had time to process. Cullen held her there while his lips and teeth worked at her neck and ear, his hands squeezing her waist and breast through her stiff bodice. He sighed into her ear.

Her body’s primal response sawed breath in and out of her lungs and made her legs quiver. But her mind battered her consciousness to the forefront after a few short moments. “Cu—” He cut her off with a bite to her shoulder that drew out a whimpering mewl. She struggled once more against the instincts that screamed at her to let him take her against that icy ceramic wall, to let her billowing skirt ruck up around her waist, to let her glittery shoes dangle from her toes until ecstasy made them tumble to the floor.

The haze of his scent and his touch and his tongue on the column of her throat fogged her mind too heavily. A brief ray of clarity came when he moved to cover her mouth with his. Lipstick. She couldn’t let her lipstick get everywhere. Vivienne still had her purse with the stuff inside, and if they both left that bathroom with red stains all over their faces, they’d look like the cat that got the canary.

Her fingers stopped his lips from reaching hers, narrowly avoiding disaster. “Cullen,” she breathed, “stop. We can’t do this now. As much as both of us want to.”

The ravenous lust that filled his autumnal eyes drained out like water, replaced by a sudden self-awareness. Her fingertips lingered against his lips as he pulled away, falling only once some space had been put between their bodies.

“I—I’m so sorry. You’re right, this is neither the time nor the place for this. I only—I just felt…” Cullen’s voice trailed off, his eyes dropping to the black and white ceramic floor that merged seamlessly into the wall against which Halise’s back still rested.

“You were jealous,” she filled in. He looked back up to her with an angry sort of sheepishness that knit his brows together and left his gaze uncertain. “It’s alright. I’ve told you before, it’s alright.”

“It is not, ‘alright,’” he said, disdain tinging his tone. “It was inappropriate. It could have cost Celene her life.” He shook his head, rueful about his own feelings.

“Pfft, no it couldn’t have. You’ve heard as many trays hit the floor as I have, I’m sure. Our friends have that covered.” Halise let her hand rest against his jaw. “Besides, you have nothing to be jealous about. The Mayor knew you and I are together. He asked about you.”

Cullen’s answering expression became more angry than bashful. “He knew? And he still asked you to dance? What a fop—inviting scandal by asking a beautiful woman to dance with him despite knowing she is taken.”

A short laugh puffed out of Halise’s nose. “You sound like Sera.” He glared at her. “He’s not a fop. I’ve apparently become a little bit famous myself. He asked me to dance because it was prerequisite. I’d bet he’s dancing with someone else right now. Plus, we mostly talked about Warden Zoe Amell.”

“His fiancé? The one that died stopping The Blight?” Hope spread across his features.

“Yeah. He’s had a hard time moving on. He asked me…” She stopped, unsure whether she would worry Cullen further by repeating what Alistair said. With a sigh, she forged on. “He asked me not to get myself killed because he’d hate for you to be a kindred spirit.”

Cullen stood up straighter—stiffer. Thoughtfulness and concern settled on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom door. It was authoritative, but the hand that knocked was small from the sound of it. Halise and Cullen both looked toward the noise.

“Ey! Zip it up and fix your panties! We found the prat!” Sera’s shrill voice penetrated through the thick wood.

Halise ran to the door, tugging it fruitlessly before moving to unlock it and trying again. “You got him? Where is he?” Her head darted around in the empty hallway.

Sera tilted her head to look past Halise into the bathroom. “Pfft. You two button up fast.” Halise glowered down at the blonde elf. “Alright, alright. Bull’s got him in the kitchen. Arse dropped a glass. ‘Bout melted the floor. Your friend, the Mayor, saw it. Got his frigging goons with him in the kitchen, too.”

Without another thought, Halise grabbed a handful of her skirt and bolted out the door. She ran around the edge of the crowd, looking back twice to ensure Cullen and Sera were still with her. Propriety be damned. She was putting someone in jail.

She burst through the swinging kitchen door behind a waiter with an empty tray. Catching sight of Bull’s horns from the doorway, she passed through the room, barely missing some of the sous chefs and waiters still buzzing away with the food. Iron Bull, Alistair, and four of his security personnel stood around one little man with greasy hair, red eyes, and a sleeve that had been forced up his arm to reveal a swarm of red sores.

“You’ve read this guy his rights, Bull? I need to ask him some questions and I want this admissible.”

“I did, Boss.” She could always tell when he was winking at her, even with just one eye.

“You understood your rights?” she asked the junkie. He nodded. “Good. Listen, I’ll cut you a deal if you tell me what happened.”

He sneered. “Prez said to come here in a uniform and listen to the gal with the wavy hair.” From the way he spoke, she could tell he was a Red Templar. He gestured with the arm Bull wasn’t holding, making a swirling motion over his head.

“Florienne?”

“Yeah, her. She handed me a cup, said to wait. So I waited. Then she snapped her fingers at me—at me—and told me to bring out the special champagne she set aside. Said it plain as day. So I came back here, grabbed the cup, and took it out. Then some dwarf with a ponytail knocked the tray out of my hand and the shite sizzled on the floor. I didn’t know what was in there. I thought we was just s��posed to be extra nice to her or sumfin’. Didn’t know nuffin’.” He smirked, knowing they couldn’t use that to charge him with anything.

But they could use it against Florienne. Halise turned to Alistair. “Mayor Theirin, would you be comfortable having your people coordinate with Prime Minister Valmont’s security team to apprehend Florienne de Chalons until Denerim PD arrives to take her into custody?”

He beamed at her, the excitement of the moment too much for him to bear with a stone face. “Absolutely. Gentlemen.” He looked to his security guards. “You heard Ms. Lavellan. Contact Prime Minister Valmont’s security personnel and take her assistant into custody.” Three of the men hopped to, leaving one behind with their charge. “And we’ll be sure to have this man escorted off the premises.”

“Thank you.” Halise smiled, cognizant as she was of Cullen watching her.

“No, thank you. And I beg of you all, please try to enjoy the rest of your evening. This nasty business is well in hand, and I’d hate for you to lose the opportunity to dance with your partner, Mr. Rutherford.” Alistair looked over Halise’s shoulder at Cullen, and her eyes followed.

Cullen stood tall—a soldier’s posture—eyes locked with the Mayor’s in a war of gazes. Unblinking, he replied, “Thank you, Mayor Theirin, for all your assistance tonight.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” The cheek in Alistair’s tone brought a furious blush up Halise’s face.

“Okay, Cullen,” she said, sweeping past a chortling Sera to get to him, “I think the Mayor is right. We should try and enjoy ourselves for the rest of the night.”

Cullen laced his fingers with hers, still staring at Alistair, and followed her back out of the kitchen door. Sera and Bull stayed behind with the Red Templar, undoubtedly with more questions to ask him than were appropriate in the presence of the two prosecutors. Halise ran her thumb across Cullen’s knuckles in a vain attempt to soothe him.

“I wish he hadn’t said that,” he grumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry about that. It was too far and—”

“Not that.” His eyes had softened considerably by the time he looked at her. “What he said about dancing.”

“About dancing?” Her brows lifted.

He sighed, disappointment dropping his shoulders. “I’d been planning to ask you all evening, but now that he said that I’m afraid you’ll just think I only came up with it because of him.”

“You want to dance with me?” Her fingertips landed on her chest, incredulity overtaking her voice. “I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“I don’t. But I wanted the chance to finally make it up to you.” A gentle smile curved his lips. He lifted his hand to graze her neck, his touch a thing of delicate grace. It would have surprised her had she not known him so well. So often he’d treated her like a priceless treasure to be handled with only the utmost care.

Halise smiled back at him. “Well, I’d still be happy to let you.”

Her favorite song of Maryden’s happened to be starting as Cullen led her out onto the dancefloor. Synthetic, ethereal sounds played over the speakers before Maryden began to play. Cullen and Halise swayed slowly, at first, but he found his footing as the tempo rose with the addition of the string quartet. It wasn’t long before they were spinning around the dancefloor, their bodies moving in a cool, smooth unison. They flowed like water together, smiling and laughing and never taking their eyes off each other. His hand had started at her side, but slipped behind her back after only a few steps, pressing her to him. Her hand had started at his shoulder, though she’d wrapped her arm around his neck well before the song ended. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to speak.

Halise had loved to dance since she was a little girl, but it never felt like this. It always felt natural, but it never felt like breathing.

As the song ended, she realized she wanted to hold him, to keep him close to her, to touch him. She couldn’t do that at the gala. Pulling Cullen down and herself up, she let her cheek rest against his and whispered, “I’m going to find Vivienne and get my purse back. Wait for me by the door. I want you to finish what you started.”

His low growl was all the answer she needed.

*****

Notes: Phew!!! That was a long one! I hope you didn't mind, but I'd promised myself I would wrap up the gala in this chapter. I also hope it was consistent throughout, since I wrote it sporadically over a month.

The two songs I referenced were "Petricor" and "Night," both by Ludovico Einaudi, which you can still listen to here and here. I've loved Mr. Einaudi's music for YEARS because classical piano with a little something else blended in to create a wonderful composition is always fantastic. Even if you don't listen to him for this fic, I highly encourage you to check him out. His music is great to write to.

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #halise lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #modern au #fanfic #trial by fire #ludovico einaudi

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