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mythrilhusk · 3 years

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Despite Everything - Chapter 2

NOT RPF (Ao3 link) Words - 2,243 Last Chapter

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CW: violence, imprisonment, inhumane treatment

"You see, Quackity, the idea is to not get caught." Technoblade whets his battle axe with firm, lazy strokes as he leans on a blackstone pillar.

Quackity laughs nervously and reaches for his sword. "I, uh, didn't see you there, Techno." His six pairs of wings flutter and ruffle, barely hidden behind his crude glamour.

"K."

"You're not going to stop me." Quackity gathers his courage-- a contradiction considering he's literally the Angel of Fear-- and steps forward, sword ready.

Technoblade, Angel of Wrath, strikes a terrifying figure as he steps into the glow of Jupiter shining through the windows. "You sure?" The gold-sheathed tusks glint as a grin crosses Techno's bristly muzzle. His two massive wings rustle behind his back, flaring menacingly.

Quackity gulps and points a furious finger at Techno. "You- you fucking took the last biscuit, but I won't let you get away with it, Technoblade, I will have my revenge!"

Technoblade splutters, then laughs. "That's the best you can come up with??"

"I'm under pressure, here!" Quackity blushes angrily. "Just let me beat you already!"

"High hopes for a man who just claimed revenge for a biscuit." Technoblade chuckles. "But alright, let's see if you've improved since the last time I handed your ass to you."

Quackity drops his glamour. Technoblade flinches back from the blazing light of Quackity's multi-winged amorphousness. "Ha!" Quackity slams his sword down at Technoblade's arm.

Techno's axe deflects the sword and his fist slams into Quackity, knocking the Angel against the wall. Quackity heaves instinctively to regain his breath, despite not needing air. Techno roars and leaps at him with his axe upraised.

Yelping, Quackity rolls out of the way. The axe slams into the floor, and Techno rips it out before stalking once more for Quackity. "The fuck, man, are you trying to kill me??"

"Treat every fight as a life-or-death situation." Technoblade intones.

Quackity reaches for his sword, which leaps into his hand. He deflects Techno's next swing, then ducks under the axe and slashes for Techno's ribs. "Eat shit, motherfucker!"

Techno doesn't even falter as the sword slices through his shirt, doesn't even flinch as blood wells from the gash. Roaring, he knocks Quackity's sword from his hands and lashes the axe across his form.

"Stop, stop, haha, stop, wait!" Quackity cowers, retreating behind his glamour, wincing as his form regenerates the deep wound.

Technoblade slips the axe into the sheathe by his side and raises his clawed hands to show he's unarmed. He shifts down to his smaller, less intimidating form. "You fool." He chuckles with light mockery. "Train for another hundred years, then we'll see."

"You damn bastard, you never let me win."

"Let you win?? Why would I do that??" Technoblade guffaws. "Let you win. Wilbur, you hearing this?"

Wilbur emerges from the ceiling. The Angel of Deceit's figure never settles on one form, glittering and glitching as he morphs continuously. "I heard." He says, grinning down at Quackity. "I bet I could beat you, Technoblade."

"Really? Wanna test that?" Technoblade reaches for his axe, baring his teeth with excitement for battle.

"Nah, not right now. I'm still asleep." Wilbur drops to the floor.

"Hey, boys." Philza's voice filters through the sparring room.

"Philza!" Technoblade cries joyfully, bounding to give the old man a big hug.

"I heard that, you little shit." Philza snaps. "I'm not fucking old."

Quackity stomps his foot, laughing nervously. "I didn't think anything, you didn't hear anything, fuck, I'm sorry!"

"You better be."

"What's up, Philza?" Wilbur grins eerily. His grins always manage to be eery somehow, even in the more attractive forms he occasionally wears.

"I just got a message. Someone's got a new job for the Pax Triumvirs."

"Pog~," Technoblade hums.

"What is it?" Quackity steps forward, taking the proffered scroll from Philza. He looks into the holographic screen. "The Lucid Spider? Who the fuck is he??"

"Dunno. But the job seems fun enough. Techno, you'll like this one."

"Oh? Oh?" Technoblade grunts, doing a little shuffly dance of excitement. "Are we blowing up another government?"

"Seems like." Philza takes his scroll back from Quackity. "This Chiaroscuro Emperor has been gettin' a little too cozy, anyway. It's about time we stirred up some bees in his bonnet."

"Who the fuck is the Lucid Spider, though??" Quackity cries. "Can we trust him to pay us?? How much are we getting paid, anyway?"

"Quackity, money is merely material, while destruction of enforced hierarchies is spiritual." Technoblade hums. Wilbur tries to fistbump him, but his hands turn into lobster claws and Techno refuses to notice, so Wilbur sags, feigning dejection.

Quackity sneers. "That's bullshit, Techno-" The chrysaor reaches for his axe. "Ahaha, I'm joking, I'm joking, please don't punt me!"

Technoblade keeps one hand rested on his axe just to spite Quackity. "Phil, he's got a point. Who is this Lucid Spider fellow?"

"I dunno, mate. But he's paid half a billion up front, an' promised the rest when the job's done, so I think we're all cool."

"Alright, alright. That sound good to you, Quackity?" Technoblade cocks his head, his ears pricking hopefully. "You're the money-guy."

"You shoulda told him a trillion up front, and two trillion when the job's done. One fucking billion is pauper-speak." Quackity scoffs. "We need supplies and shit for the coup, we can't just summon food and allies out of thin air."

"True, true. Philza?" Technoblade only ever yields to Quackity's expertise when money matters are concerned. In all other fields, he or Philza takes the lead. Quackity enjoys being the technical treasurer of the Pax Triumvirs, but he wishes he had slightly more control over the missions they went on.

"Eh, I'll let'im know." Philza shrugs, then winks at Quackity. "Beat Techno once and maybe we'll talk about letting you lead a mission, kid." His forest-green cape billows behind him as he spins to leave the sparring room.

Quackity laughs, preemptively nervous, and backs into a pillar. "Technoblade, don't get the wrong fucking idea, man."

"K." Techno's eyes gleam with amusement. "You want to try?"

"I could beat you with my eyes closed." Quackity scoffs. "I don't need to try, I already know I could, I- I just want to spare your dignity!"

Techno keeps giving him that damn sadistically amused look. "K."

"I'll fight you, Quackity." Wilbur pipes up, still grinning. "I don't have any dignity to spare."

"Nah, I'm actually really fucking tired right now, so maybe later, ahaha, or never, seeya losers!" Quackity hastily camouflages and flees from the sparring room.

He's still not used to this, even after three years. He's not used to sharing a literal underground mansion with literal terrorists, much less being dragged into commiting acts of minor terrorism himself. He's not accustomed to the casual violence, the utter apathy towards other lives, the reckless attitude towards death.

He plops down on a beanbag in his room and stares at his shaking hands. "If I had a choice," He wonders aloud. If he had been given a choice, would he have taken the cleaner, less bloody route?

But the gods don't allow their Angels to choose. Theirs is not to question why, theirs is but to do and die.

++++

Ponk paces restlessly, fire flickering in his eyes and hands. Hannah Rose watches him from her corner, cold tears dripping down the steel muzzle over her jaws. The two captives have only each other. The passage of time is lost in the silence.

Rose raises her head as the massive door outside their cell slides open with the blaring of an alarm. She glowers silently at the Scythes, who enter before the Chiaroscuro Emperor.

"Well!" Emperor Schlatt claps his hands together cheerfully. "Well, well, well." The forcefield is all that stands between the prisoners and their captor.

"Fuck you, man." Ponk snarls. "Let us go."

"Hm, lemme think about that. How about no." Schlatt shrugs, grinning. "You little fucks think you can cross me, eh? Around here, my word is law."

The three Scythes step forward in unison. Schlatt leans against the wall. "You ready to talk nicely, Rose, or do we need to keep you silenced?"

Rose scowls at him. Her hands are chained to the wall, so she can't even respond with a crude gesture. Ponk kicks the forcefield, then yelps as it disappears. He backs away from the Scythes stalking towards him.

Scythe Ranboo approaches Rose. His green eye narrows, hard and cold, the pupil constricted to a mere slit. The red cybernetic implant of his other eye whirls and spins in its socket, trying to see everything at once. The black and white metal exo-jaws keep his mouth clamped shut. Rose almost feels bad for the Scythes. They're not allowed to speak either, muzzled like dangerous dogs, like herself.

Ranboo removes Rose's muzzle and she works her sore jaws. "Thank you." She murmurs. If she can get even one of the Scythes to sympathize with her, she and Ponk may have a fighting chance of escape. Ranboo replies with the slightest of nods, then retreats back to Schlatt.

In the meantime, Scythes Tubbo and Tommy have cornered Ponk as Schlatt interrogates him. "I don't know what you mean!" Ponk cries, cowering. "I don't know where the heart is!"

Schlatt turns to Rose. "Hey, bitch, you want to help your buddy out?"

"I'll tell you fuck-all." Rose snarls.

"Heh, okay. Guess I have no use for either of you, then. Tubbo?" Schlatt turns to his Scythes. Tubbo removes two painfully familiar phylacteries from his suit pocket, handing them both to Schlatt.

"No!" Ponk cries. "You can't- please don't, man, I really honestly don't know what you want!"

"I want the Cosmos Heart!" Schlatt bellows. "And I'm going to get it!"

"You motherfuckers don't know what you're playing with!" Ponk snarls right back. At a gesture from Schlatt, Tommy slams Ponk into the wall.

"Hannah Rose?" Schlatt turns to Rose. Ranboo stalks towards her. "Sing for us, birdie, or your little fuckbuddy here dies first." Schlatt dangles Ponk's phylactery on his finger.

Several colorful curses leap to Rose's tongue, but she restrains herself, trying to meet the predicament with a clear head. "I'll tell you." She growls. "If you give those back and free us."

"What, do I look like a cruel person to you?" Schlatt laughs. "Tell me and I'll do you one better! I'll hire both of you!"

Rose shoots Ponk a warning glance. He can't continue to defy Schlatt, or they'll both die. She answers, "Fine. The Cosmos Heart can be found in the Unity of the Dragons."

Schlatt laughs. "What's that supposed to even fucking mean?"

"The Spirits. Find them, unify them, and their powers combined will form what you desire."

"Alright. I'm a man of my word. Ranboo, escort Hannah Rose to the Butterfly suite."

"Let Ponk go, too." Rose demands.

"Sweetie, I don't have any reason to let either of you go. I could kill you both and not lose anything, right now. But I'm being nice, here."

"Please." Tears well in Rose's eyes as her lip trembles and her breath catches on feigned sobs. "I can't lose him, too."

"Aww, c'mon, sweetheart. Alright, alright, fine, don't cry, he can share the suite with you. But I'm keeping these." Schlatt hands one phylactery to Ranboo, and the other to Tommy.

"Thank you," Rose keeps up the act, sobbing almost for real out of relief.

Ranboo leads Ponk and Rose through the vast space-castle in silence. Ponk is unusually quiet, glaring down at his grimy boots as he stomps on the clean tiles. Rose stares out of the portal windows they pass, watching the stars.

"Now I have three souls I can't lose." Ranboo mutters. Rose glances up at him, noting that the exo-jaw has loosened its hold to allow him speech. His eyes drop to her forehead, avoiding her eyes as he always has, and he smiles weakly. "Nevermind."

"Can I have mine, please?" Rose dares to ask.

"I- I can't, Schlatt would be so furious if I did, I'm sorry." Ranboo shakes his head hastily. "I'm supposed to obey him."

Rose gives him a pitying smile. "Please keep my soul safe, then."

"I'll do my best." Ranboo replies. He stops by a hatch and taps the ID pad with a finger. "Here you go. Butterfly Suite."

The hatch flowers open to a spartan set of rooms. Rose enters the cold space and sighs, longing for her tapestries and carpets. "Can I decorate it?"

"Uh, you can ask Schlatt, or whoever he puts in charge of you guys." Ranboo deflects nervously.

Rose nods to him. "Thank you, Ranboo."

"Oh. I- oh. Please don't thank me." Ranboo backs out of the room. "Someone will come with food later."

"Thank you." She repeats with an innocent smile. Ranboo retreats. The hatch closes and locks behind him. Her smile falls into bitter hatred. "Damn them!" She snarls and kicks the wall. "Damn them all to the pits of Tartarus!!"

Ponk drops onto the only seating present, a wooden bench. "Why'd you tell them?" He sounds lost, broken.

"I couldn't let you die, Ponk! I can't fucking live with that, not even for a few moments!!" Rose paces the main room, then inspects the offshoots. Two bedrooms, a bathroom with a luxuriously deep tub, and a kitchen. Not bad, and certainly a step up from the cell. But they're still trapped here.

Hannah Rose hates being trapped.

Next Chapter

#imprisonment cw #violence cw #technoblade #quackity #wilbur soot #philza #hannahxxrose #ponk #ranboo #tubbo #tommyinnit #jschlatt #dream smp au #magical girl au #magical warrior au #dream smp #not rpf #rainbow arson

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goron-king-darunia · 3 years

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Annon-Guy: How did you feel about Marta's initial hatred of Colette? Like when she got upset with Colette for what happened to her mom and pushed her, did you hate Marta for that? I'll admit, it wasn't right for Marta to do so. I got upset seeing that despite liking Marta. But wasn't it because she (& Emil) didn't know the true events of the last game? P.S. This is compleatly unrelated to Marta, but like with her issue with Colette, were you also mad at Emil for his initial hatred of Lloyd?

Honestly, Marta being mad at Colette is one of the more realistic parts of the story. Marta doesn't know Colette as anything more than a sort of celebrity before DotNW starts. Like, IDK, if Miley Cyrus or someone went on some sort of global tour and allegedly pressed a button that shot a missile directly at my house which killed my mom on impact, I'd probably be pretty mad too. All things considered, Marta shoving Colette and storming off is a LOT tamer than Emil actively trying to fight Lloyd, but then again Emil thinks Lloyd himself killed his parents. Marta is aware that Colette's responsibility for her mother is a little less direct. She knows Colette didn't, like, kill her mom on purpose where as Emil thinks Lloyd very much did stab his parents deliberately. I think, more than anything, Marta is upset that Colette admits it because she loses some justification for her anger. If Colette had instead said "No, you don't understand, it wasn't me." or "I didn't mean to do that." Marta probably would have been less angry, but also probably would have been, like, unbearably righteously cocky about taking her feelings out on Colette instead. Because Colette admits blame, even when we know it was an accident, Marta loses some of the justification she had for being mad at Colette because the story Marta always told herself about Colette was that she was a coward who ran away from her responsibility as Chosen, and her cowardice is part of why the Giant Kharlan Tree was able to go rampant. Colette taking the blame is not cowardice. She didn't try to deflect blame. She just said "Yeah, I'm the reason the Tree Destroyed Palmacosta. I'm sorry." That breaks some of the narrative Marta has told herself. Colette isn't the irresponsible brat Marta had imagined and had gotten mad at over the years. And that makes it harder for Marta to hate her but it also makes her angry because her narrative of righteous anger over hating the coward that got her mother killed doesn't get closure right away. All in all, I think that part of Marta's ark was very good, and the fact that she can forge a friendship with Colette and actually get to know her is a great thing that I wish had gotten more attention in the game. Emil has sort of the opposite journey. He sees his "parents" on the ground and they put the blame on Lloyd. Whether Emil fabricates the memories, absorbs some of the REAL Emil's memories, or just pieces things together in Luin, he KNOWS Lloyd is a hero to many people, especially the people of Luin. And that veneration of this guy, without question, is entirely incongruent with what he "knows" about the massacre at Palmacosta. His parents, the people he trusts most, or the people he tells himself he should trust most about that night, TOLD HIM Lloyd did it. But everyone in Luin expects him to worship the ground Lloyd walks on. So the fact that he's expected to worship a person he believes to be a murderer fuels a hatred he already holds for a person he believes killed his parents. So when he finally DOES meet Lloyd and Lloyd dismissively just goes "Not again with Palmacosta," Emil just sort of... snaps. Because this reads as heartless, dismissive, and smug since Emil doesn't know the real Lloyd. To Emil this is basically Lloyd confirming that not only was he at Palmacosta, but he DOESN'T CARE. Obviously, Emil is misunderstanding, but that's what he hears. So not only does this "confirm" to him that Lloyd is just as bad as he thought, but he ALSO feels like Lloyd is evil enough that he essentially tricked everyone in Luin into worshipping him, which is a source of alienation and abuse for Emil because, well, no one in Luin likes Emil because he just hates Lloyd for what they think is at best a misunderstanding and at worst "Lloyd probably killed his parents because they did something wrong." So Marta gets mad with Colette because she's nothing like the monster she'd made up in her mind, and that removes a form of closure she expected once she finally got to confront Colette. Emil gets mad at Lloyd because he seems to confirm himself

to be exactly the kind of monster Emil feared he was. Both of these are very real and very valid reasons to be angry. Not valid reasons to lash out, but valid reasons to FEEL UPSET. So, yeah, Emil should probably not be seeking revenge, even if it was justified and he could prove Lloyd is a murderer because, like, vigilante justice usually ends badly and Richter is a prime example of that. And even if it didn't hurt Colette, Marta shouldn't have shoved her. But their reactions are very human, and that, in my opinion, is good writing. It obviously doesn't make them the best role models because you can't just go around shoving and/or trying to kill everyone you think has done you some wrong, real or imagined, but their reactions are very visceral and very human. How the characters experience and express their emotions is one of the most well-written aspects of the game and I actually like it a lot. Given what Emil and Marta knew or thought they knew about events in the past game is honestly really great and one of the reasons I liked the game so much and why I think a lot of people hated DOTNW. What some people see as retconning or trying to twist the past is just a very real facet of human memory and switching perspectives. If you had never played the first Symphonia, you would also believe that Lloyd and Colette were bad people because Marta and Emil think that they are. You're led to believe the same things Emil and Marta are because you get the same information they do about the past. So I think for some people, the fact that the sequel dared to challenge the events of its predecessor didn't sit well because "They're writing Lloyd and Colette wrong! They're not bad people!" For me that was the best part. "Okay, either the entire last game was a lie and we were playing as villains the whole time like Baten Kaitos or something or THAT guy at the beginning wasn't Lloyd. I wonder who's impersonating Lloyd or what we missed in the last story that explains this." For me I was EXCITED that "Maybe the last game lied to me! Maybe there's a deeper darker secret. Or maybe this time WE'RE the bad guys?!" There were so many ways that Symphonia could still be canon without DotNW also being wrong." But I think a lot of people took the first few chapters of the game as an insult because "Lloyd would never do that, this is character assassination and completely destroying the canon of the first game" and stopped playing before finding out WHY it was like that. What I saw clearly as this story being told from another perspective other players saw as the new game lying to them or the new game trying to tell them the old game was lying to them. Challenging the previous narrative even slightly was seen as a betrayal of the truth. And I think that's a real shame because the first few chapters of the game are a great lesson in how a change in perspective, putting yourself in someone else's shoes, can change what the truth actually is. Even the most righteous hero can be the villain in someone else's story. And even though Emil and Marta reconcile with Lloyd and Colette in the end, I honestly wouldn't have minded if, like, they WERE the bad guys. I wouldn't have minded if Emil and Marta were the bad guys. Somehow I think some of the people that didn't like DotNW have just a very fragile objectivist sense of what it means to be good, and having that challenged was so offputting they started to hate the game because how dare the game question for one single second if good can be evil and evil can be good?! Personally I found this all very fascinating and it made me love DotNW more, the same way I loved Baten Kaitos. Now I kind of want to do a video essay on this...

#DotNW #Letters from Annon Guy #long post #psychology #media analysis #opinions

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exhaustedwerewolf · 6 years

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ok so one thing I absolutely have been meaning to talk about for ages is kashaw’s offscreen character development between his intro in trial of the take and his second appearance

this is gonna get long and is ultimately not an argument so much as a manifestation of me being really excited about kashaw, so, under the cut- tw for rape and consent talk, bc, uh, kashaw

When we meet Kashaw, he is curt, uninterested in forming personal relationships, and, to put it bluntly, a bit of a dick.

“I am Kashaw Vesh, an acolyte. Here I am, waiting for you for so long now. Do I have to travel with them the entire time?”

In particular, he makes his initial dislike for Keyleth known loud and clear;

“Is she always like this?”

“Seriously, the whole time she is like this?”

TIBERIUS: “It grows on you though.”

KASHAW: “I’m sure it does. So does the plague.”

This continues throughout the contract, so, I think the goodbye kiss in the following episode came as a shock to a lot of viewers;

“And you. You might be the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life.” With that, he grabs her around the waist, pulls her in, and plants one right on her.

So Kashaw leaves with a wink and this left-field, non-consensual kiss fresh in everyone’s minds, and it is over twenty episodes before we see him again. When he reappears, it is with a newfound friend in Zahra. Mary and Will roleplay the pair of them as friends flawlessly from the start, even though it’s their first time doing so;

KASHAW: “Was I wrong, by the way? Did you see how hot Keyleth is?”

ZAHRA: “She’s fucking hot.”

Not only does this exchange communicate their relationship, but this one, in particular, is multifunctional- it reveals that Zahra and Kash have discussed The Kiss™️, and knowing this becomes very relevant when Kash gets a moment alone with Keyleth. Firstly, his open fondness for Zahra is a direct juxtaposition of his old habit of insulting Keyleth to hide the fact that he is interested in her.

“I have one real friend, and that’s Z ... I’d do anything for her.”

And very early on into the exchange, he comes out with this;

“There is one thing I wanted to say to you, though, about our kiss. I’m very happy that it happened. But I shouldn’t have stolen it. And for that, I apologize.“

Kash is again, being much more open about his emotions, explaining that he is “happy that it happened,” then he was when we first met him. There’s an important distinction between being secretive and being closed off- Kash was willing to tell near strangers about what happened to him, but as above, that was paired with not wanting to talk “about” it, i.e. to go into details about how that actually was for him. Describing it clinically gives him emotional distance from the event;

“I am her husband.”

“We were married at [my] birth.”

“She killed everyone in the village.”

“On my 15th naming-day she came to consummate the marriage.”

It is absolutely fucked-up to describe this relationship as a “marriage,”- the words “we were married,” imply consent while the rest of the information Kash gives makes it crystal clear that consent is not the reality of this situation. But this fact doesn’t really cross his mind, or if it does, he doesn’t identify it as relevant. The important details are those that are relevant to the situation- he cannot ask Vesh for a favour, because;

KASHAW: “Tried to kill her at 15. Haven’t seen her since.”

TIBERIUS: “Ooh. So it’s not like you can ask for a favor, I suppose.”

KASHAW: “I suppose I could, but there’s a good chance she’ll kill you, me, and everyone around at the same time.”

Even though Kashaw mentions that he tried to kill Vesh, this is not followed up with any kind of emotional reasoning; I hate her, I wanted revenge, etc. His unsentimental explanation doesn’t communicate any of the emotions he associates with her at all. But thanks to a failed saving throw, we know that although he tries to act like these events have not affected him, they absolutely have;

MATT: [Kashaw], however. There’s something about the way it screamed that for a moment, you swear it had a face similar to Vesh from your wedding night. It clutches your heart, and you are considered frightened for the next minute.

So, while Kashaw doesn’t seem to think of what happened to him as “rape,” all the information we’re provided leaves zero doubt that that is exactly what happened to Kashaw. But then time passes, and he apologises for The Kiss™️.

“...I shouldn’t have stolen it. And for that, I apologize.”

Something has obviously prompted him to look at that experience in a new light, and given that he declares that Zahra is his only friend, and it’s clear from their earlier dialogue they’ve talked about The Kiss™️, she is the one I would put my money on. While our knowledge of Zahra’s past is a little less specific;

“[My father] was a dark wizard… He kept me in a cage.”

She is clearly equipped to discuss events that could have been traumatic. Even before her friendship with Kashaw, she is far more in touch with her feelings than he is, cheerfully calling her father “an asshole,” and “awful,” and although it’s partly a facet of personality, she is a lot more enthusiastic about being open with strangers and about the possibility of finding a point of connection with them, even if it’s via the road less travelled.

VEX: “Zahra … Getting a bit personal here around the fire.”

ZAHRA: “Sorry. I thought we were bonding.”

It’s pretty feasible that, over all of the time Zahra has spent with Kashaw offscreen, she’s coaxed him into talking about his feelings in the name of “bonding,” (even if his initial reactions were probably in line with Vex’s here) and encouraged him to examine his past experiences, including the circumstances of The Kiss™️. But it’s not just Kash’s opinion of The Kiss™️ itself that has changed. From examining his language, there’s clearly been a dramatic shift in how he views consent, almost certainly prompted by Zahra.

Not all of Vox Machina were able to meet Kashaw when he was introduced, so when his past becomes relevant again;

VEX: “You’re married to a god?!”

we get to hear his updated explanation, and it speaks volumes;

KASHAW: “For the record, she married me, and there’s a difference.”

This is absolutely miles away from how he told the story before- while he doesn’t outright say that he never married her (and we have to take into account that Vesh is still a very real and present threat in Kash’s life) he is recognising himself as the victim in this situation by acknowledging that something was done to him, and that he did not consent to the marriage. And way more importantly, he recognises that this actually matters; “There’s a difference.” When Keyleth, in her clumsy and well-intentioned way, kind of misses the point of what he’s saying;

KEYLETH: “I don’t know if that holds up in court, Vesh.”

He responds;

KASHAW: “She’s not really going to care about court so much as ripping the bones from your back. You really don’t want to meet her. It’s a bad thing.”

He undermines the marriage by dismissing it as he does here, and even the simple words “it’s a bad thing,” are more emotionally-oriented than anything he said about her the first time around. When Vox Machina pry further, this happens;

VEX: “I want to hear more about this.”

KASHAW: “You really don’t. You won’t sleep.”

Obviously he doesn’t know these people that well and is redirecting the conversation away from a very personal trauma, which is completely understandable. But whereas previously, he deflected questions by emphasizing the danger, “she’ll kill you, me, and everyone around at the same time,” and as such, threatening the party, even if indirectly, this new deflection is very different. Telling Vex that his story is going to keep her up at night is by its nature acknowledging that the event was horrifying, and this time, he’s expressing concern on her behalf, gently nudging her in a different direction rather than lashing out to drive people away.

And then there’s Kashaw’s Big Moment in Episode 44; The Resurrection. This is a moment of complete and utter chaos, and a huge amount of pressure for Kash, and honestly, I am one-hundred percent sure that if in a parallel universe, Critical Role is a show about the adventurers of Zahra Hydris and Kashaw Vesh, this moment is the culmination of a personal arc for Kashaw.

MATT: ...you pull up the symbol, and this type of magic, life and death magic, draws a little closer than you feel comfortable with Vesh, and you realize at this moment that you’re going to have to make the choice to possibly call her attention forth.

VAX: “What are you hesitating for? Do it. Whatever the fuck you’re going to do, do it.”

KASHAW: “She could destroy everything.”

VAX: “Do it.”

KEYLETH: “What do you mean, she could destroy? What do you mean?”

SCANLAN: “Who’s she?”

KASHAW: “I mean the dragons are going to be the least of your fears if she comes back. That’s what I mean.”

KEYLETH: “Kashaw, you’re running out of time.”

KASHAW: “I’m going to bring her back.”

Considering that the mere memory of Vesh is enough to paralyse Kashaw with fear, it does not take him very long to make this decision. He has Vox Machina begging him, but again, these people are little better than strangers. The fact that casting this spell “call[s Vesh’s] attention forth,” implies that he has not used this spell before, and I think it would be extremely unlikely, given his role at the Take, and the nature of life in Tal Dorei, that is the first time Kashaw has had the opportunity to attempt Revivify. So this is the first time Kashaw has chosen to do so, and therefore, it's undeniably personally significant to him.

MATT: So as [Kashaw] grasp[s] the symbol, … all of the scars across [his] forearm begin to light with a deep red crimson energy...

The scars - being the scars from the Rite of the Hundred, inflicted upon Kashaw by Vesh - lighting up at this point underlines just how fucking serious this decision is for Kashaw personally. We’ve already heard about the circumstances behind the Rite, so even though the audience is one step removed from Kash’s narrative by virtue of not knowing him that well, and being focused on the dire situation of our main protagonists, Matt’s description of the scars still manages to draw attention to the weight of this moment for Kash. And then, his new friend Zahra moves in to help;

MATT: The dull white glow begins to intermingle with the dark, shattered energy of Vesh’s grant, and as they impact, it creates this strange grey swirl.

MATT: The grey balances, and where the two meet now, there is just grey energy seeping into her body.

This is again, the result of fortunate rolls, but Matt’s stellar narration drives home how Zahra’s light is a foil to Kashaw’s darkness. The impact that she has had on him is clear, and that their efforts combined were successful further perpetuate the idea that her impact on him is an overwhelmingly positive one.

When it’s all over, we get this scene between Keyleth and Kashaw;

KEYLETH: ”What does this mean?”

KASHAW: “To be honest, I have no idea.”

KEYLETH: “How do you feel?”

KASHAW: ”I feel okay. I hope the barrier that was sealed has remained sealed, or this is the start of very bad things.”

KEYLETH: “Why did you do that?”

KASHAW: “'Cause I knew you wanted me to.”

This beautiful little exchange wonderfully sums up how Kashaw has changed since VM’s first encounter with him. We have the fact that he willingly put himself in danger of Vesh in the first place, which was not exactly on the top of his “To Do” list the first time we met him. We have him answering Keyleth’s question, “how do you feel?” not with derision but with earnesty and at least partial honesty. And finally, while the kiss at the end of Episode 21 was a selfish act- done for Kash’s own enjoyment and then followed by his his quick exit, characterised by a complete disregard for Keyleth’s feelings, this act was entirely motivated by empathy- in particular, preventing Keyleth’s pain, even at great personal risk.

And in a further contrast, the two talk further when they get out of the tomb- there is so much open and engaged communication and again, worlds away from the petty insults of Trial of the Take;

KEYLETH: “You know, Kashaw, for a cleric, I was concerned maybe you didn’t believe in much at all. And I was very unsure of how you got all of your radiant powers, considering I didn’t know what you believed in. But you must believe in something. So what is it?

KASHAW: “I believe in life. That’s all I was raised to believe in, was life. When you’re married to death, it’s pretty much all you have. And I didn’t believe in any actual person until I met Zahra. She saved my life. She didn’t have to, but she did. And she started to teach me what it meant to have family. I didn’t really know what that was like until I first saw you guys together. I figured there was no way that was going to happen, and then there she was, and suddenly I had a sister. Once again I realized that, at the end, life conquers all.”

We don’t get the circumstances of Zahra saving Kashaw’s life at this point- which leaves us to speculate if he means this literally, figuratively… But Kashaw has suffered terribly, and this spiel starts to depict a good hearted man whose beliefs have been drowned out by the weight of horrific experiences. He himself credits her as the person who “started to teach [him] what it mean[s] to have family,” and this explains his new ability to openly express affection.

KEYLETH: “Well, you did our family a great service today, and you didn’t have to do that.”

KASHAW: “Yeah. Vax would’ve killed me. And like I said, I believe in life– mine, above all others. He’s a good guy, you know. And a hell of a warrior. A little creepy, the way he’s always staring at you, but I can’t really blame him.”

Again, Kashaw is demonstrated to be becoming more selfless. He is obviously still interested in Keyleth at this point, but he has the decency to tell her his honest opinion about Vax, and is happy on her behalf.

KEYLETH: “You know, you’re a good guy too, even though you try really hard to pretend not to be.

KASHAW: “Don’t let that get out, I got a reputation.”

While Kashaw jokes here, he does not tell Keyleth that he’s not; so we know that he thinks of himself as a well-intentioned person.

KEYLETH: “By the way, y'know, you didn’t need to apologize for stealing that kiss before, it was fine.”

KASHAW: “Well, that’s good to know. It was only my second one!”

This is, in my opinion, one of the most important lines of Kashaw’s dialogue in the entire episode. Notice how he does not rescind his apology. “That’s good to know,” demonstrates alleviated worry, but just because The Kiss™️ didn’t bother Keyleth in the way he thought it might didn’t excuse the circumstances of it, and by leaving the apology standing, he clearly knows this. Neither was he aware when he apologised initially that it was Keyleth’s first kiss- that was never a factor. Whether it was Kiki’s first kiss or her hundredth, he apologised, because what he did wasn’t acceptable. But with his addition, “It was only my second one!” it becomes painfully clear, if it wasn’t already, why he did it;

KEYLETH: “Question. Who was your first kiss?”

KASHAW: “That would be my wife.”

As is evidenced by his vocabulary when referring to his “marriage,” when we meet Kashaw he is profoundly uneducated when it comes to consent. While Kashaw has, and has always had, good intentions- has always been a “good guy,”- Kashaw navigated that first kiss so disastrously because he had literally no other guiding principle other than Vesh when it came to expressing affection, let alone romantic affection. It took a patient mentor, in the form of Zahra, to show him the right path.

There’s so much more I could say but no force on earth will stop me from rewatching all the episodes if I continue, so I just wanted to say that this shift is the offscreen character development to end all offscreen character development. Kashaw, with his own set of beliefs, issues, and hang-ups, feels absolutely like a fully realised individual, and never like someone popping in and out of existence to support the main protagonists, like so many side characters on mainstream television (with a team of writers behind them and free of the mechanics of a tabletop game,) do. As someone who disliked Kashaw when he was first introduced, I was absolutely delighted by how my opinion of him had changed by the end of Sunken Tomb, and that none of these changes seemed implausible or unbelievable- all personal growth with adequately acknowledged catalysts that sends a really positive message about recovery and unlearning toxic behaviours. Whether you like him or dislike him on a personal level, Kashaw is a credible, convincing character, and Will Friedle does an absolutely mind blowingly stellar job of portraying him as such.

#critical role #kashaw vesh #zahra hydris #trial of the take #the sunken tomb #kashleth #rape tw #does this get my point across? no #did I have a point in the first place? also no #but I just had to fuckin. talk about kashaw I love him.

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austennerdita2533 · 6 years

Text

Summary: Bad blood and violence seem to pop up for the Mikaelsons everywhere, but this time it shows up in the form of unhinged!amnesiac Elijah. Caroline tries to hold him off while Hayley disbands of Greta, and Klaus ushers Hope to safety. Madness ensues in the fight to keep the Nazi vampires from procuring who, and what, they desire.

Can Caroline keep a morally-corrupted Original at bay? Will Klaus be able to protect everyone he cares about? What will they gain; what may they lose? (TO 5x06 AU + Amnesiac!Villain Elijah vs. Klaroline + Angst)

**WARNING: Hayley still dies. Threats. Mild Violence**

A/N: Tagging @arrenemris and @childoftimeandmagic, because you lovelies were interested in a part 2. Here is the whole 5.2k word (edited) enchilada if you want to read it. (No pressure!)

Honestly, idk what I’ve created here...

Enjoy!

(A03) (FFnet)

xx Ashlee Bree

Everybody Bursts Into Mad Flames Sometimes

Before her stands a stranger—a stranger she once knew.

Dark hair, shaved chin. Aviator sunglasses tucked into a scooped white collar. Rugged blue jeans. Terse lips curled in impatient distaste. Two whittled fence posts peeking out from underneath too-long sleeves. A leather jacket - simple, black, no designer or brand name anything. It hangs loose from his shoulders to offset two cold, umber eyes which used to pierce the world with such sagacity, with such innate sophistication and reasonability, but now appraise everything around him with something worse than hate, or scorn, or disapproval too marked to miss: apathy.

It’s the last thing Caroline expects to see right now; he, the last person. (Especially in freaking jeans, are you kidding?) And she barely chokes down her surprise fast enough to block his path to the house which perches on a small hill behind them.

“Can I help you?” she says in half-chirp. Tilting her head to the side, she side-steps in front of him, warning him back with a sharp smile. “You look a little lost and I’m a concerned citizen willing to turn you back around.”

“Move,” the man growls.

“Now, now,” she raises her hands half in defense, half in taunting, “I know your memory’s been swiped, Elijah, (along with your entire history of familial and platonic feeling), but I thought you of all people would still bother with civilities in any diseased incarnation of yourself? There aren’t any dangling on your lips now, though, huh? Shame. A true shame.”

“I said move!”

“Wow, really? No Miss Forbes? No ‘it’s nice to see you again,’ Caroline?” She wags her finger and tuts, still shuffling her feet; still refusing to let him pass. Determined to give them more time to escape to safety. “I know my face jars something in you, faint and faded though the recollection may be given the circumstances.”

“You talk too much.”

“Hey! That’s rude,” she says tartly and pouts. “I’ve always considered you to be the only Mikaelson with any manners, but man, oh man! What a disappointment you are today, I’ve got to say.”

“Stop. Tell me where he is, where he’s taken them,” Elijah says while his knuckles whiten and his jaw ticks. His fingers curl into fists around one of the stakes, itching to strike. Stab. Silence. And he’d do it, too - oh, he wants to do it - to know how her fire and sugared spice will bubble against his teeth after a fatal bite - but he resists because she holds the missing pieces. She’s the only one here who knows how to procure what he and Antoinette still need.

“Pfft, yeah, like I’d tell you anything in your state.” Caroline laughs like the idea is preposterous. Insane. Like it’s the funniest joke in the history of the world. “I mean, I deserve at least a please for that kind of information, don’t you think? For old time’s sake and everything.”

“I’ve had enough of these idle games, Little Miss Sunshine. Where is he?” Elijah snarls again. This time with patience fraying into vein-pulsed rage and fangs descending. “WHERE!?”

Caroline’s shoulders straighten here, and her eyes burn so hot they almost hiss at him when she digs her heels into the grass to offer him a pert quirk of her mouth in opposition; her voice swapping out joviality for severity in the smoothest of transitions.

“As I said already, Señor Impolite,” she says with a click of her tongue, “I won’t reveal a single damn thing to you about your brother’s next location. Not here, not when you’re like this. Nor will I won’t inconvenience the other people you still love somewhere in that thick, muddled skull of yours by making this mission easy for you. Whatever it is. So put that on a discarded daylight ring and smoke it!” she adds with a huff and a cock of the hip.

“Fine.” A stake loosens from his sleeve. He brandishes it in his hand; twirls it like a baton on his palm. The movement is slow and practiced because whether or not he’s aware of his Original history, he’s wielded weapons like this one for centuries. “If that’s how you wish to play it.”

“Likewise.”

Elijah pauses to scratch a thumb across his jaw. Then he sniffs before he raises harsh lashes to her face,

“Take it from a man who’s wasted centuries: you will not triumph,” he says. “That man - my so-called brother - will bleed you of any goodness you possess; he’ll stifle any happiness you find, so do yourself a favor and free yourself from his tyranny now. He is not worth an ounce of your time or protection. And he never will be.”

“You’re wrong. You don’t truly believe that,” she shakes her head and sighs. “You’re so wrong I just—I don’t know how you’ll recover from all the regret and guilt that’s bound to follow once you regain your old attachments again.”

He remains impassive. Unmoved.

“Let me by, Caroline. He must pay for his crimes.”

“I said -” her teeth clench; her features darken, “- no!” A blur against the sky, she vamps across the yard to block each and every one of his advances. She shoves against his chest, swipes at his athletic kicks with her boot heels, and snaps out with her fangs like a guard dog to keep him back. Away.

“His worth is mine, and mine alone, to decide. You got that, E?” she says in an obnoxious way that mocks his new nickname pointedly, unapologetically; her veins rippling across her cheekbones for extra measure. “It’d be best for you not to forget it. You know - like, ever.”

“Well, then—” He takes a step back, his forehead pinched in mounting irritation. “I guess we have nothing further to discuss, do we?”

“Nope.”

After a shrug and a look of pity, “I’m afraid this pretty little blonde of yours has left me no choice here, Hybrid,” he announces in a loud, reverberating voice.

Elijah speaks to the air, to the clouds forming shapes over their heads, but his eyes sweep across the property. His ears prick as if they wait for his brother’s howled outcry to sound on the wind in the seething, murderous way he’d once been so accustomed to hearing, and also to preventing. There is no movement anywhere except where the sun crests over the hill, however. All the purples and oranges dancing with shadows to tint the land like a bruise. There’s no sound besides the screeching tires of a Camaro on the highway ten miles distant. There’s nothing else around besides a dirt road, a decrepit house, and a stubborn, sassy girl poised between them.

Thirty more seconds pass before Elijah’s gaze settles back over on Caroline. It’s another thirty-five seconds after that before he’s rife enough with detached predation, hunger, and resolve to act.

He levels his chin once he decides. And as he charges forward with a stake positioned for the spot where two rings dangle against her chest, above her heart, the next words to leave his throat burst forth in grave monotone,

“Time to die,” he says.

Bad blood and violence follow Klaus everywhere.

It’s a foul shadow chomping at the base of his achilles heel hoping to munch its way through to destroy all he cherishes because he’s a man forged from sin, dark magic, and bones of adaptability. A combination which shouldn’t be allowed to exist in this world unless it’s broken - purged - from the outside in with all the dominion he possesses slit from his tendons by his foes in fury. Greed. Fear. Hate. Or envy. It’s a javelined spear which spills his loved ones’ blood onto cobblestone paths or fried country grasses in red river rain because he somehow arrives too late to keep the bolt from striking, the lightning.

His worst fears flood the land as a result. Thunder rumbles overhead to plunge everyone’s lives into peril at once, pellets of hail dropping like canons. Erupting the earth to widen the crossable distance between them. The sky is a jaw full of teeth which drools something about abominations, or about purity that must crunch all twisty tornados dead in their tracks.

A storm of hell descends while he’s distracted and struggling against his enemies’ vengeance, limbs extended in four different directions; his arms flying while eyes hybridize with focus, anger, so that someone who matters is always left exposed. Vulnerable. Like a flapping thread which spools from the corner of a whirlpool.

It’s simple math for him, truth be told. It’s even simpler science. There are too many holes, and Klaus cannot defend them all on his own. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries because somebody always slips over a ledge and falls flat into physics’ grasp. Gravity claiming what he’s dropped, who he’s lost. And it’s all his fault.

His fault, his fault, his fault.

The rising tide of everyone’s screams and taken or deflected blows creates a wave of horror Klaus cannot climb over with blood-drenched hands, with slippery soles, and it makes it impossible for him to catch every person he cares for before they sink, before they drown to the bottom of a gorge he’ll never be able to breach with one arm extended. He needs more time, more time, more time. He needs more bloody time! Please.

But what happens if there isn’t any? What comes after the world fissures open with the intent to swallow up the good in everything? What then, what does one do next?

Klaus clamors, he claws his way over to them.

He packs his unconscious daughter into a car seat next to Roman and Marcel then watches the SUV disappear down the lane, its wheels screeching as it ushers two people he loves toward home and security. He turns back to the house afterwards to collect the two women he’s left idling on the estate five miles away, who each scan for more threats in his absence as they wait, only for the back door to splinter wider the closer he roams. It chips next. Before, finally, it busts open with a loud crack to shoot wood and body parts loose.

Debris launches forward with such force that his arms shield his head in reflex while he rolls to the left to avoid a collision with an airborne Hayley. A fate Klaus escapes, but barely.

He pushes up onto his elbows. When he does, the heat from her near-miss manages to singe some hairs on the back of his neck, chafing them down to stubs of red. A hammer thuds loud in his ears as he blinks in the nightmare which unfolds before him: the mother of his child sailing through the backyard tangled in rods of fire. And Greta. And a self-sacrifice too awful to believe.

It’s bloody horrifying to behold, truly.

The sunlight pours over Hayley’s skin like gasoline, and she’s suddenly a molting phoenix: red fades to orange, and orange dwindles to gray which then darkens to black. All of her life’s color draining in seconds until she’s gone. Dust. Dead.

And there Klaus is left to witness it all.

There, on a frayed patch of yard, beneath the stark midday sun, Klaus lies agape in the filth of his own making yet again. A Father of Cinders. An Usher of Ruin. The smell of Hayley's charred flesh quickly becoming another orange stink he must learn how to breathe in and out of his nostrils like flame, like ash—the crispest of all things he’s failed to save for his family’s sake.

Sure, why not add another disaster to the ever-multiplying list, he thinks? Why not shoulder all the responsibility for a tragedy from which Hope will never recover? Elijah, either, if he returns to himself someday. How can he not assume the blame for this?

His fault, his fault, his fault.

The temptation to remain crumpled on his knees right now is as potent as the bourbon Klaus needs to slick his throat, to numb the ache in his head, but a faint voice gusts into the clearing at that moment which is equal parts sonorous and soft when it chokes out defiance, strength, and fortitude into the air; and the sound causes him to scrabble to his feet with the speed of a cheetah to pursue the last hope here he knows he can’t bear to lose. Let alone whom.

Fifty paces hence takes mere seconds, but they feel like decades.

Her still-ticking pulse becomes the drumbeat each of his strides produces as he dashes to the front of the house in a blur of alarm. It’s what keeps him breathing. She’s what keeps him moving when his panic thumps so strong he grinds the enamel on his molars off clean.

The world collapses and narrows until her loudening voice is all Klaus hears, until her golden head snaps in his direction again because she’s the only thing he wants to see. She’s the balm to all his monstrosity, to his debilities, and he needs her. He needs her alive more than anything.

Still, a roar from the wolf deep in his chest is not enough to convey all the emotion he feels. There’s no lid to quiet the pain. There’s no coffin to smother it…all of that rage.

Caroline will not be torn from him, too. No, no, no. Never. Not today she won’t, not in a hundred million more lifetimes if he can prevent it. And he bloody will—

Even if it’s the last thing in this life he’s meant to do.

Dust and blood coat her slacks after some minutes of vampire vs. vampire tousling. Prone on her back with gravel stuck in her hair, Caroline fends off her attacker with another boot kick to the groin followed by a swift clonk to the jaw.

“You know, I should be pissed about how many of you asshole Mikaelsons have tried to kill me over the years, but do you know what? I’m no damsel,” she says, tumbling into a squat. “I’m not too dainty to fight back. So go on—” Her words are clipped, her breath heavy with exertion. “Go on and hit me with your best shot, you Wrangler-wearing amnesiac!”

“Interesting choice of last words.”

A stake gripped firmly in each of his fists, Elijah swings down with the right one. It rips off a small patch of her skin with her black sleeve. Since she evaded the more direct hit by wheeling to the right, however, the wound heals quickly.

Caroline laughs. It’s a taunting, corrosive sound.

“You wish those were my last words, buddy.”

“Chatter all you want, girl. But know this,” he says in a tone as equally dispassionate as it is menacing,“I’ll still kill you to help my family dispose of the Mikaelsons’ mixed blood. We will rid the world of their plague one way or another.”

“God, will you listen to yourself right now!?”

Using her shoulders as leverage, Caroline pushes up to slug him across the face for a second time. Elijah spits blood from the corner of his mouth after the blow knocks him backwards. Still standing, however, his jaw taut, he looms forward again in seconds.

“Those people are not your family,” she says. “You’re freaking brainwashed!”

“No. What I am is free.”

“Great. So you’re deluded, too, apparently. That’s freaking fantastic,” Caroline grumbles. Scooting upwards onto her elbows, she strikes out at his ankle with her heel but misses it by inches.

“Luckily for me, your family’s long range psychosis (your real family, I mean) is well-worn and likely to flare every now and again, so I’m used to this kind of thing. I’m stronger because of it. Smarter, too,” she adds as her fingers coil beneath her. Looking up, her lips twitch before she hurls a handful of gravel into Elijah’s face without warning.

Even though he blocks most of it with his forearms, some of the rubble stings his eyes long enough for her to lurch for one of his weapons, which she promptly deposits into his gut. The action drops him to his knees in momentary agony, cursing.

“That may be so,” he grunts, his tongue licking over his mouth roughly, “but I’m afraid even with all that expertise, and despite all of your self-proclaimed Mikaelson experience—”

Elijah’s quicker to recover than Caroline anticipates. He grabs her by the hair before she can flash away, throwing her against the porch railing with a loud smash.

“You’ll never be able to beat me.” It’s whispered almost like a caress. “You can’t win this fight,” he says.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to die trying, won’t I?” Caroline fires back.

“Die?” Elijah snickers. Blood - his blood - drips from the spike he’s dislodged from his ribs. He angles it at her chest again. “Oh, die you will.”

With him towering above her once more, his fangs out, sharpened with fatal purpose, he sneers as Caroline crab walks backward to the first step, which she then uses as a ledge to erect herself back onto her feet with fluid grace.

“Pardon the intrusion,” a voice cuts in at that moment with a low growl, not sorry at all, “but I wouldn’t underestimate that one if I were you. She’s made of the sweetest flames."

“And I’ll roast you for one false move, pal,” Caroline pipes in with a huff.

Squinting, Elijah regards her like she’s a cockroach.

“Death would suit you rather nicely, I think. Yes,” he hisses, “imagine the silence I’ll achieve with it soon.”

She raises her chin to fix him with a look of incredulity at this. It’s a look that, for all its azure ferocity and resistance, would impale his eyeballs to the nearest fence post if it could; but also would like to bludgeon open his head with the plume of a feather to reinstate all his emotional memories first.

“Enough!” the intruder exclaims. He grabs the Original by the shoulder at the same time Caroline rips a spoke free of the railing. “Threatening her life would be ill-advised for anyone under normal circumstances, but this…why - this is—are you bloody insane?"

“Come, come, why not watch while I suck the last visage of light from her veins? A few slurps is all it’d take to silence her forever,” Elijah says in the voice of a stranger, in the voice of an adversary. His lips curl in sinister delight. “What a lovely thought that is.”

“I said enough!” the trespasser growls again. Louder this time. Zooming closer, he’s a ball of temper and anxiety as he clutches the other man by the leather lapels.

“There are limits to the wrath I am able to contain even for you…” he draws out the last bit for emphasis, the vein in his forehead throbbing as Caroline tucks the weapon into her jacket, “brother.”

“Does this girl mean so much to you, Hybrid?” Elijah says.

In answer, Klaus hurls him like a dart at the barn doors across the yard, “Do. Not. Test. Me,” he howls.

Dropping over top of him in a flurry of color, and darkness, and fury that’s hardened his eyes into an inferno of hybrid gold, he kicks through the wreckage until he reaches Elijah’s prone form beneath a heap of crumpled lumber. He lifts him up by the throat. Then he slams his head hard against a lone standing beam, thrusting a finger into his face.

“There has been enough blood spilt here today, Elijah. Too much.”

“Tell me,” he answers with a strangled cough and a blink, “am I supposed to care?”

“Klaus, stop, you can’t talk to him. He’s wily and unhinged like this. A morally skewed prick. Just look at his dragging hems, for crying out loud!” Caroline says as she approaches from behind. “That’s proof enough he’s been mentally and magically corrupted by them.”

“Our family has been fractured beyond repair,” Klaus continues without hearing her. He looks a little crazed as he shakes his brother in place like it’ll somehow refasten those loose screws in his brain. “Hayley’s gone - the mother of my child, the woman you loved…is dead. Dead! You let her fall straight into our enemy’s lap!”

“But so help me, I will wring your wretched neck—“ His voice grows thick; heavy, and it hurts to swallow, “I will chain you inside a box (which is something I swore I’d never do to someone in this family again) before I allow you to take Caroline away, too.”

It’s in that moment, just as the sun eclipses behind a cloud to dim the atmosphere like an omen, the wind punting flower petals through the air like knives which sting when they kiss a piece of exposed skin, that Elijah’s features contort into something worse than inscrutable. They refashion, instead, into something aggressive and deranged.

“Her shrieks will sound so much more delicious to me when you fail to save her now, Hybrid,” he says. “I admit I can hardly wait for the symphony.”

“Screw you!” Caroline shouts back.

That’s when he lurches forward to grab Klaus by the elbow. With unimaginable force, he yanks. Fracturing it with a violent twist.

The action frees his two legs, which had been dangling in the air where he was tacked only seconds ago, so that he’s able to kick out at his foe’s knees. Unbalancing him enough to bite his shoulder and push backwards against his chest. Elijah nearly shirks the arm which is swinging back at him in retaliation, but not quite.

Hybrid claws catch his face even though he ducks. Like hooks, they dig and pry into his skin because he’s still within range and Klaus is livid, monstrous beyond legend; leaving cursive track marks from Elijah’s eyebrow all the way down through the white of his collarbone.

Still, the other man’s wide-arced punches leave Elijah with an advantage in the end. One carries too far to the left and exposes his side. Before Klaus can stop him, therefore, and before he can recover in time to parry the attack, he upends him with a knee that breaks his nose and reduces his vision to black dots and sprouting stars. It gives him ample time and opportunity to pin him to the ground with the loose barn beam at his feet. Piercing it through his kidney.

That’s how Elijah leaves him, too: sprawled, writhing, raging, helpless.

It’s why he turns his attentions back to Caroline with keener insight. There’s a patient but exacting grin on his lips as he lays chase again because it’s her vs. him for a moment, and there’s a fierceness blooming across her face that says ‘you’ll pay for that dearly, jerk face.’ It feeds his muscles with adrenaline; it plies his mind with rigor. He craves the rush like heroin.

For it’s here, after everything, that he truly understands Caroline won’t leave Klaus under any circumstances. For, no matter how damning the danger grows, and no matter how stacked-against the odds are in her favor, he sees she’ll leap straight into hell itself if it’ll offer her the slightest chance to reach him again.

How could he have missed this? How could he not have noticed the jewel she’s concealed behind her incessant prattle?

His worth is mine to decide, she’d said to him earlier. Mine.

Her words reverberate with too strong a connotation to demarcate their connection into anything less significant than lovers. Lovers. It makes Elijah feel like an imperceptive fool.

That’s why it doesn’t matter how her death happens now, he’s decided.

He’s realized it’s not important whether he skewers her pink flesh into shoelace peels with his teeth, or detaches her bouncing blonde head from her shoulders with the branch of a tree. It matters not if he cuts through her innards, roasts her in the sun, sucks out her sweet flames through her carotid artery, or wraps her wagging tongue around a heart that no longer beats. All that’s necessary is for her life to end here. Today. All that’s required is for Klaus to be parked in a front row seat, powerless and wretched because he’s piked through the torso, watching—

Watching as Elijah wrenches this girl away from him irrevocably.

The thought makes the elder Original smile.

What is better retribution, after all? What could be better justice for the man who’s already tried to snuff out the love which exists between he and Antoinette? The selfish, sabotaging man. How much easier will it be to extract what they need from him afterwards? Once she’s dead.

Ah, the glory of it! The honor! Punishment for both the Hybrid’s meddling and his impurity will be much more satisfactory to achieve now that he knows the best way to inflict it—personally.

“Listen for the crescendo, will you? I believe it’s my favorite cadence of killing,” he says, glancing at Klaus over his shoulder to add drolly, “brother.”

“No more of this! No more of this, damn you!” he replies as his fingernails bruise the land where he’s still impaled.

“Klaus! Listen to me, please!”

Like a whip, Caroline’s voice cracks at the same moment gray rain begins to spit on top of them from stratus mouths. The wind gusts so hard it vibrates with staffs of yellow and blue and shatters all the remaining windows in the house. The space around them transforms into a whistling hellmouth of tension and grief, of anger and estrangement, and of terror too palpable to bear, in seconds.

And what’s worse, is that the worst of it all feels tragically possible now because Elijah’s all coup de force with shards of wood flying everywhere as his skewed morality and loyalty to the wrong family helps to move his feet like a rabid beast’s. Meanwhile, Caroline’s zooming forward through a fang-bared maze and cycloning storm with eyes that scream out, then pour into the beam stuck in Klaus’ back almost in elegy.

The inflamed blue of her eyes drenches his soul in any number of ways, because what if he can’t shatter this obstacle soon? What if he doesn’t…what if she…how can he not save her? How?

Leaping over Klaus’ arms at that moment, she flashes away with Elijah on her haunches. Then, without breaking stride, she reaches into her jacket pocket before she glances back at the prone Original long enough to demand for him to understand. Pleading for him to place faith and trust in what her words mean, “The jeans, Klaus! The freaking jeans!” she yells as she jets in front of him one last time.

“So wasteful,” Elijah says as he nearly hooks an arm around her neck in victory, “since those truly will be your last words this—”

Trip

Stab

Snap

He’s unconscious and face-first on the ground in seconds. A railing spoke from the porch jabbed between his two shoulder blades.

“I think not as much as you’ll regret being brought down by your own poor fashion choices. Compel yourself a tailor next time. I mean, really,” Caroline says over his body with a triumphant hum, cuffing up his baggy pant legs. She pops up from a crouch to take Klaus’ offered hand with a weak smile afterwards.

“That was inspired thinking on your part,” he says.

“Nah, not really. Legally Blonde obsession simply served me well today is all.”

“Elle Woods has nothing on you, love. Believe me.”

“Yeah, well, no way was your brother getting away with saying I talk too much. No man would. Besides,” she continues with a snort, “you did warn him not to underestimate me.”

“That I did.”

After they tie Elijah to a tree out of sight with the vervain chains in her trunk, intent on keeping him subdued until their non-Hollow’d reinforcements arrived to take him away, they amble back toward the house.

“Thanks for the tripping assist, by the way,” Caroline says.

Shrugging, Klaus slinks an arm around her waist like it belongs there, “It was the least I could do.”

“Come on, teamwork suits us. Don’t deny it,” she says with a bump of her hip.

“I’m not.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks suspiciously, her heightened senses on red alert again because of his abstract demeanor. “Is there another—”

“No,” he cuts in, his thumb hooking more firmly into her belt loop, “it’s nothing.”

Caroline rolls her eyes at his flat, disgruntled tone, at the way he sighs before disappearing into the enigmatic labyrinth of his mind where she can’t follow, so she stops them on a seared patch of sidewalk. Then crosses her arms.

“Look, I know me being the one to stab him wasn’t ideal,” she says, feeling his growing intensity, “but with the beam already starting to splinter in your back like that, I knew if I ran him close enough you’d be able to topple him so I could—”

Klaus shuts her up with a kiss.

The timing of it is bad. (Couldn’t be worse, really.) It’s totally inappropriate considering how fraught the past twenty minutes have been with the threat of magic and wolf-binding, with a rescue of innocents that’s succeeded but still reeks of flesh and bloodshed, of muck, and of family wreckage that will never be able to be repaired because it’s been ripped off the hinges. It’s burnt to shreds with a house and a barn that’s no longer standing upright.

There’s so much to discuss, too. There are so many decisions to be made about what to do next…

Hayley? Hope? Elijah? New Orleans?

Do they collect the girl’s ashes before they leave; and if so, in what? How will Hope react once she awakes? What all did Roman know about this? Can they find a witch/Marcel team to fix Elijah’s mind, or is it hopeless to try now that so much of him has been magically reconditioned? Should she call Bonnie, or would that cross some kind of line? And, like, could the sky stop weeping blood already because - Mikaelson curse or not - who the hell needs all this staining and stickiness on their designer clothes?

…And on and on and on the questions flow!

The biggest problem now, though, is that Klaus’ kiss is so hot and crushing with feeling that it’s halted the million-and-a-half thoughts buzzing through Caroline’s head which still need solving. She’s too distracted, too lost to the sweet but scraping taste of his tongue in her mouth.

He makes love to her lips in a way no one but an artist knows how. There’s an array of color, meticulousness, delicacy, and swooping claim to be laid down on her wherever she allows him to paint with his kisses. And before she knows it, before she can locate her sense of rationality long enough to steady her pulse again and stop this, her fingers are burying themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck to draw him closer, and closer; the giant butterfly flip in her stomach telling her only one thing:

Screw it. Let the questions wait for awhile.

So she does.

They do.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #half agony half hope #hopefully elijah doesn't feel too OOC #but my aim was to show he's morally skewed rn #and to allude to how/why #re: i tried #i got in some omniscient POV too #woot!#ashlee bree's writing endeavors

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