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#my family: shadow is a terror and a menace who walks on us while we try to sleep and he bites and meows and bothers the dogs and takes up
toytulini · 3 years
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I find it funny that when shadow is in my room he'll just, sleep, so peaceful and chill, but apparently when hes in my parents room or my brother's room, he's all wound up and rambunctious and bitey but in an excited friendly way? Idk why but like when hes in my room hes just. Snzzzzzzzz
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Prestige
Chapter twelve - No
Sanders side fanfiction
Idea by: @hestianerd1
Wordcount: 3490
Pairings: Prinxiety (as always)
TW: cursing and a bunch of friendly competition, also there is this thing about being forced to wear clothes that they are not totally comfortable wearing... I feel like that’s all, but as always, do let me know if anything bothers you :3
The summery of the whole story: Prestige. Such a simple construct. All you have to do is act the way you want people to perceive you, keep up the image, wear a big proud smile and never ever dare make a mistake. That’s why Weltingston Heights University is such a well known school. Everybody knows that anyone who got in must have some prestige tied to their name. Educational records, family history, or even literal fame. So why not treat students the same way? Because what’s a little more pressure on their young and strong bones?
But prestige and image are precious things. You slip up even the tiniest bit, step out of the line you drew for yourself and it’s all gone. So now that the pressure is on, and everyone already knows their place in this small circle of society, only one question remains. How far are they willing to go to keep the false image up?
(Or: Very over-dramatically with a noticeable amount of sarcastic undertone: "Oh my god! They were roommates!")
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Chapter twelve - No
“No.”
“Come on maaan. You can keep the hoodie for all I care. Just put it on.” Cassie sighed exasperatedly. They were currently standing in her room, Virgil staring at the clothing hanging from her hands.
“What even makes you think that it’ll fit me?” Virgil razed an eyebrow and pointed at the material with a doubtful finger.
Cass looked at it, then back at him with a confident smile. “Well. You’re like my height. Skinnier than me, so… It’ll probably hang a little, though.”
V’s eyebrows knitted together in whatever emotion he was currently feeling. Not even he could tell what that was, but it wasn’t excitement. Turning to the mirror by his side he eyed the make-up Ro’s little sister already forced up on him. Not anything too much, just some mascara, shades an eyeliner. She even went with the emo look he was sporting thanks to his deep eye bags. (Let it be known, that they’ve gotten a little better since he’s been living with the Velez’s. A few good nights of sleep next to Ro and they suddenly seem to be disappearing. Who would have thought.)
To be honest, he kind of liked it - the make-up, he means. Cass was really great with a brush for someone who hadn’t warn make-up once since they met (which wasn’t that long, to be fair). Even the tiny details she did - the magical way the liner curled; not in a ‘normal’ way, but rather in a what seemed like a teeny-tiny butterfly wind. And of course, the glitter. The small amount of glitter she used did it for Virgil. He’s eyelids freaking sparkled!
He looked back at her with lowered lids. “I’m not doing it.”
“Seriously?” her shoulders sunk. Expression all ‘I’m so going to force you into this if you don’t wear it willingly and I so don’t feel like doing that…’.
Honestly, our boy should have been shitting his pants at this point. Because he knew she would go through with it. There is not a single person scarier than Cassandra Velez when she wants something. And believe me, she will get it. No matter the cost. But our boy was just as much stubborn as stupid. So he set his jaw and said: “No.”
The almost taller girl pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly. Then looked up at V, sad resignation in her eyes. “You’re choice dude.”
There’s no way to describe what went down in the next ten minutes… Virgil had no idea what was coming his way.
He ended up standing perfectly still, eyes wide with full on terror, in front of the mirror, as Cass perfected the hem of the dress and some random details on him. Whistling and smiling as if a fifteen-year-old girl force-dressing a twenty-three-year-old man into a dress was a normal part of her day.
He didn’t even dare to speak after all the horror that just went down…
Cass stood up, grinning widely. “Great! My work here is done.” she dusted of her hands as if there was actually something on them. Virgil was pretty sure there wasn’t. “What do you think?”
She stepped away and for the first time Virgil saw himself in a dress. A very fancy rufly dress, might he add. He swallowed. “Ahm… I think it’s… nice?”
“I do too.” The girl nodded proudly. But then her eyes fixated on something above his face. Another wave of fear run down V’s back. He froze as she slowly walked over to him and wordlessly played around with his purple locks.
She pulled her hand way and smiled. “Now your perfect.” she nodded to herself. “I’ll go announce the beginning, stay here until I call your name, got it?”
V bit his glossed lips and nodded obediently. Cass did too and walked over to the door. Pulled it open, stepped out and just before the wood would fully fall closed, she peaked her head back in. “Oh and one more thing.” she looked straight at V, look as seriously (and menacing) as before. “Don’t you dare fuck up my work.” And with that she threw a giggly smile, as innocent as a six-year-old and with an ‘Okay, bye.’ left.
Virgil stood there for a long while until his heart finally stopped trying to murder him by escaping through his chest.
Meanwhile both brothers were in they separate rooms doing all the stuff they needed to feel as beautiful as possible. Not that Remus cared how he looked, but this was a competition after all. And who would pass up a chance to crush Roman’s massive ego a little?
Roman was more focused on getting his liner right. He was ready half an hour ago, but then he noticed that his right eye had a thicker red line then his left. And all hell broke loose.
Makeup-wipes all over the ground, brushes and liners and lipsticks and shadows all around the place. Literally. They even ended up on the ceiling-lamp (don’t ask Roman how that happened).
So when Cassie called out for everyone to gather, he was just so-so done. He told her off and asked for five more seconds, but the little annoying monster barged in - no regards for privacy - and literally dragged him away from his make-shift make-up station. He just barely managed to pull out the line (thankfully perfectly) and drop the closed bottle of liquid-liner onto his bed.
His little sister dragged him out into the living room, instructions being, everybody ways with closed eyes. Because we love dramatics in this family, don’t we? Oh and, V still wasn’t allowed out of her room, obviously.
But now, that they were all here, Cass stepped aside, sitting down at the bar and grinned. “Let the games begin.”
Both opened their eyes, surveying the competition, before sitting down on the prepared stools.
The self-acclaimed judge walked into the middle of the room (questioning why the hell did she sit down in the first place) and gave a big grin. Holding onto a hair-brush she gave an expert TV grin. “I welcome you to the fifth annual Velez fashion show! Another wonderful year has passed and here we are gathering again on the beautiful occasion.”
Roman looked around a little nervously, trying to find his roommate. But he had no idea where he was… His shoulders sagged a little, but this was a competition. He could let anybody know he was off his game.
“Today are competitors are the always charming, always smiling fairytale-like prince, Roman Velez!” she called out, pointing to her brother, who stood up with a big TV-grin of his own and waved at no one. Remus clapped enthusiastically, following Cassie’s lead.
“And give a warm welcome to our next competitor! You know him, you love him! It’s the murder-driven always laughing crazy green monstrosity, Remus Velez!”
Roman clapped a slow dramatic clap. Remus turned a playful glare at him.
Cass just smiled at this even more. She knew what was coming next, but they didn’t. And that power was something she lowed immensely. “But that’s not all that we have for today, ladies and gentleman and everyone above! No.” she shook her head seriously. “Today, on our yearly show, we have a special guest. He’s always broody, always moody, loves his hoodie and purple - give a big applause for our special guest, Virgil Riet!!!”
 That’s when the door to Cassie’s door opened and a very self-conscious Virgil stepped into the living-room light. Ro’s hoodie pulled tight around his chest to cover him up as much as possible.
Roman’s eyes widened. he didn’t expect V to look that great in a dress. He didn’t even expect him to be wearing a dress let alone a full face of make-up! his tiny form fully swallowed in his hoodie, the bottom of cases dress peaking out. Stocking covering his slim legs. And the make-up. the make-up! (He wondered if v was scared for life from that experience…)
“Come in, come in! Sit down with us.” Cass ushered him to his prepared seat. “You’re our special guest today, boy, don’t shy away from attention. Our show will begin shortly.”
V pulled hard on the zipper-lines of his new-found-favorite-hoodie ad walked over to sit between the staring twins.
“You look like a hooker!” Remus observed with a happy grin.
“No he doesn’t!” the remaining siblings piped up, both a tad bit too defensive. One because this was her work Rem was insulting and the other because this was his friend/roommate/possibly-giant-crush he was insulting.  
And Virgil just shrunk into himself even more. He didn’t even dare to look up. Otherwise, he would see that both boys looked just as much fancy as he did. There was no need to be ashamed.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen and everyone above! First up is our lovely nut-job, Remus. Show us what you got.”
rem immediately got up, walking the space of the living room as if it was a runway.
“Our beloved green monster, never seems to not surprise! This special day he went with his signature color-combo, wearing a black spiked leather jacked over a purposefully torn dark-green V-neck. Chains are a must with this man, hanging from his neck just as from his bedazzled black-washed torn jeans. Combat-boots to top it off. And let’s no forget the plethora of leather bracelets and of course the make-up he is sporting.” Cass commented.
Remus did a pirouette, meant as a mockery of Roman, obviously and bowed deeply, signature grin not missing.
“Great round today, Remus. I loved all the details - the drumstick in you pocked especially. You get an eight from me. Virgil, our guest judge -“ she turned to him. “-what do you say?”
Virgil blinked a little, trying to figure out what role he was playing in this insanity. “Ehrm…” he cleared his throat. “Seven…?”
“Aaaalright! You, Rem, gained fifteen points! Great job! Let’s see out next competitor.”
Rem sat down proudly, smirking at his brother. “Top this bro-Ro.”
“Oh, just wait and see.” he smirked back a little too confident compared to how he felt inside. he was about to go parade his ass in front of Virgil. His Virgil. this was going to be the end of him…
“Roman Velez, come up here, dude! Let’s see what you’ve got!” Cass stepped aside.
He stood up, as graceful as ever and glided over to the big carped - the designated cat-walk.
“Oooh, nice. Today our fairy prince came up with the perfect outfit to represent him. Dress as flowy as ever, red like his fierce fiery eyeliner! And the white stilts! Love the boa Ro, but that was the winners two years ago - are you recycling ideas, bro?”
Ro gave a triumphant grin and stretched his leg out from the thigh-slit that run ap his long sparkly dress. “Not at all, Cass. No angels today. We’re playing dirty.”
“I see, I see. The devil today then, hah?” she grinned at the fishnets that pocked out. On the sidelines, Virgil went completely red.
Ro ran a hand through his perfectly stilled hair to reveal small horns and grinned at the judge. “Full-on, sis.”
“Nice touch. I like it.”
Ro did a fancy stop, posed, and blew a kiss at Virgil. Very much feeling himself in the element. The poor short guy almost fainted at the sight. You have no idea the confidence that radiated off of Roman. The happiness. And Virgil reveled in it all, trying to swallow as much of it as possible.
“Alright people. Time for judging! I love you Roman, but today was a little disappointing. Although I loved the never-before seen make-up on you and the fishnet twist, I just don’t see you winning today, I’m sorry. I give you six points.”
“Thank you judge Cassandra.” Roman nodded solemnly. It gnawed at him a little.
“But don’t sweat it, dear, because there’s one more judge waiting for his turn.” Cass winked at V. He was a little (a lot) out of it, jaw almost literally slack open. “So, what do you say? tell me, what did you like about this contestant?”
“I-“ he swallowed. “I liked the slit…”
Jesus! did he just say that?!
Remus burst out laughing next to him, cackling his ass off.
Red as a bell-pepper Virgil shrunk back into his seat. “Nine.”
“Uuh, look at this, ladies and gentlemen and everyone above! For the first time in years, we have a tie!” Cass stepped back into the middle, moderating the whole thing as before. She would be an excellent moderator, Virgil though.
“I congratulate both contestants! they both did a great job! But don’t go anywhere, people, because we have our guest here to show off my stilling job! Come up here, Virge. Let’s see what the contestants have to say!”
Roman was already gone the moment he walked into the room. But seeing V take a deep breath and standing up onto the ‘runway’ in his loose jacked draped over a black sport-dress with a white strip on the sides and his black sneakers he might have just died right on the spot.
“Today, our lovely college boy sports my favorite tube dress, hugging him in all the right places. I’m literally jealous how good it looks on him! Better on him then me! Unfair! But look at his gorgeous face and the black butterfly-winged liner. I even stilled your hoodie in, Ro.” she winked at him.
Ro just wordlessly nodded, ogling V with big dreamy eyes. “I…can see…”
“Also, notice the earrings. I want praise for that, because getting those on him was a fight!”
“Oh my fuck! Did she pull the whole thing on you?” Remus burst out laughing once again.
V was already opening his mouth to deny all of it, but the little snitch beat him to it: “Yes. Yes, I did.” His head fell low, cheeks pricking red. This was too embarrassing…
Cass cackled at the sigh, as the witch she was and turned back to their audience. “Alright boys, our shy contestant won’t stand much longer. Show him some love - how many points would you give him?”
Remus leaned in, hands on knees. Eyes thin as slits, running over every Cassie-made detail of his attire. He then looked at the expectant designer/moderator and leaned back all un-Remus-like (all serious and shit). Twirled his mustache between two fingers. “You look like a bitch.”
“That’s what I was going for, thank you.” Cass smiled. “Points?”
“Nine.”
Little sister literally jumped up with a happy fist in the air. This was her best outfit by far. And she was too happy to dwell on the fact that it looked way better on his tiny ass then it ever would on her.
Don’t get her wrong, she was almost as skinny as Virgil, but as curvy as humanly possible. And although the dress looked good on her, this kind of combo just wouldn’t. And that made her sad. But then again, she wouldn’t pull of her brothers’ outfits either. You needed that personality for those. And boobs. She didn’t have those either. (Not that the boys had any…)
Roman sat in his chair too scared to even open his mouth. Blatantly standing at the slowly crumbling V. He could see the tiny rapid movements of his fingers even through the fabric layer of Ro’s hoodie. And the evading looks he gave everything else but the ‘judges’.
He wondered what he was thinking. Because Roman sure as hell wasn’t thinking straight. No PG13 thought in his head.
But he couldn’t say that out loud now, could he? So, he decided to do the best thing he could - act. He leaned back just as his brother did, legs and arms crossed, a surveying look on his face. “You did well today, sis. But I feel like those shoes could have goon a different way…”
Not really. he liked them a lot. He wished V would wear dresses more often. It really looked good on him.
“None of mine fit him! this man has impossibly small feet!” the designer protested exasperatedly. Virgil turned a deep red at that. She was right… She made him try on he heals but they ended up being a bit too big…
“Hon, we both know it’s not his feet that’s the problem. Your elephant shoes wouldn’t even fit me.” Remus chimed in as always. His comment very appreciated.
“Go to hell, Remus! My feet aren’t that big!” Cassie glared at her brother.
Roman just smirked. “Alright. Otherwise, I like your combination. I give you a nine as well.”
“Oh my god, ladies and gentleman and everyone above! I guess we have a winner then! For the first time in three years, our humble moderator wins the annual Velez fashion show, placing her design at a towering eighteen points!” She grinned at no-one in-particular. then she turned back to her brothers and smirked. “You can suck it losers! Ha!”
By the time she was doing her little victory dance, Virgil had scrambled back into his seat, folding back into himself.
“And this is why we never let her win.” Roman grumbled to himself, watching his little sister dance around like a maniac.
“She get’s it from you.” V shrugged.
“What?” Ro turned on him with wide, fake-surprised, fake-offended eyes.
But the darkling just shrugged. “You heard me.”
It wasn’t long after that the four had shared a trophy ice-cream bowl (Cass didn’t want to share, but she was still the youngest and didn’t have much choice). Now they were all in their respective rooms, trying to get rid of the make-up and all the unnecessary layers of clothing.
Virgil was pacing around Ro’s room, too hopped up on nervous energy and embarrassment to sit down. Already out of the dress, but still in Ro’s oversized hoodie and comfy joggings (also Ro’s, by the way - they scrunched up at the bottom in the most adorable way). He was barefoot so every step was audible on the hardwood floor.
Roman was at his little make-shift station washing off the make-up. Virgil had already done so - even though it was done kind of shitty-ly.
“You looked really grate today.” Ro commented, smearing the beautiful liner he worked so hard on.
His roommate froze in his tracks. Cheeks pink. “You think so?”
“Very much. You should wear dresses more often. And make-up suits you, though I think your face is pretty enough without it.”
He just threw that out there, while looking like a panda from the smudges. As if this wasn’t one of the nicest things a human being has ever said to V. The guy couldn’t even wait to be finished with what he was doing!
Virgil stood there, shell shocked, face redder than a tomato for the hundredth time today. “Thanks… I guess…?”
“Oh, you’re very welcome!” Ro turned around in his stool, grinning brightly. And that’s when he noticed the very obvious smudges that were still on V’s pretty little face. He bit back a snickered. “Come over hear.”
Virgil immediately went even redder and that made Ro laugh. “Oh, don’t be stupid. Just come here.”
The shorter did as he was told, carefully walking over to his friend. Ro patted the bed next to him and v sat down obediently. “You obviously never wore make-up before.” he snickered.
V didn’t even dare as much as take a breath. Because Ro’s hand was inching towards his face. A cotton swab in his hand. And suddenly he was holding his chin so delicately, washing off the remains of his black mascara and liner.
Electricity sprung from the pales their skin connected. And Virgil couldn’t help but stare at those beautiful green eyes that were so focused on his hands.
His gaze slipped from them to the dark, lipstick bit lips, caught between Ro’s teeth. He was chewing on them subconsciously, the way he always was when he was focused.
It scared Virgil how much he waned to taste those lips. To ease the pain they were in with his own. And it also scared him how much of his attention he wanted the moment he walked out on the make-shift stage. How his focus was solely on his words and face and eyes and expression and what he thought about him.
Oh, how it drove him crazy, the thought that Roman could like him in a dress. And that he thought his face was more beautiful without make-up.
How easy it would be just to lean in and steal that sweet kiss. How easy it would be to just place his hand on his, stopping the careful motion and take what he’s been wanted for weeks now.
How easy would be to just-
Virgil’s lips collided with Roman’s and everything around him ceased to exist.
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Oooooooooooh! Thins are going downnnnnn!!!! (About time after twelve chaps XD)
I won’t even apologize because this disappearing will be somewhat normal from now on. (School’s kicking my ass...) Let’s just be happy I finished this chap :D But as compensation, I’m making art for this one. Three pieces of (hopefully) colored art, so stay tuned ;D
But I do hope you enjoyed this mostly meaningless chap XD <3 
Read ya <3 ;*
Tag list:
@a-formless-entity
@cirishere
@ray-does-stuff
@lovelivingmydreams
@mothman-juicy-ass
@akatsuki-no-katira
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that-cunning-mind · 4 years
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The Untitled Chuckie Sputterspark Origin Fanfic Pt.1
(Guess who wrote a fanfic for the first time in years lmao...
Read below if you want to see my take on how @based-ducks​ and me thought up of Quackervolt fankid Chuckie Sputterspark’s origin...somewhat)
As the crisp, evening air descended upon the moonlit shadows of St. Canard, a particular purplish protector of the poor found himself investigating a case of deductive interest. A case of shadowy intrigue and mystery. A case that would decide the future of St. Canard in its epic battle between good and evil.
A case of price gouging tickets at a pizza arcade.  
“Twenty dollars for an adult ticket and twelve for kids over ten years old? Why these crooked capitalist crooks, thinking they can force parents to come in here and charge them extra! I should just quit SHUSH and open up one of these places myself! I’ll be richer than Glomgold!” Part-time superhero and full-time parent Drake Mallard grumbled under his breath as he handed over his card to the tired teenager manning the cashier. His daughter, Gosalyn, was busy putting on the paper bracelets on herself and her other father, Launchpad McQuack. 
“It can’t be that profitable,” Gosalyn said, “I mean, they’re taking out all of their animatronics! Can you imagine Pepper Panda’s Pizza Pagoda without Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang? I tell ya, there’s gonna be rioting in the streets after tonight! RIOTS!!!” Launchpad, not expecting the outburst, startled and ripped his flimsy paper bracelet. 
“Eheheh,” he laughed nervously, “you guys got any tape or...”
“Ten dollars to replace any missing or broken bracelets,” said the cashier. 
Launchpad turned to his husband with big puppy-dog eyes, a method that tended to work about 99% of the time. Drake grumbled some more as he took a solitary bill out of his wallet. 
“If it wasn’t for our case,” Drake whispered harshly as they walked inside the pizza eatery, “I’d leave you outside in the car.” 
“Aww,” Launchpad pouted, “but you know how much I love coming here! Plus, I know how much the animatronics scare you, DW.”
Drake scoffed. “Scared? The daring duck detective isn’t scared of any cheaply-made robot! Drakey Mallard, on the other hand, never recovered from that time he thought Cheddar Charles was going to bite him at Elmo Sputterspark’s tenth birthday party.” As he spoke, a run down animatronic of a child-sized rat in blue overalls and a yellow shirt sprang to life, scaring Drake into Launchpad’s arms. Gosalyn just rolled her eyes and sighed. 
A crackly speaker from the animatronic known as Cheddar Charles started. “Hey kids! Pepper Panda and Pie Gang’s Nighttime Spectacular is about to start in ten minutes! Grab a seat now!”
“I’ll go grab us a table,” yelled Gosalyn as she ran to a booth. 
Launchpad let Drake climb off of him, then sniffed and wiped away a tear. “I can’t believe it, after forty years the Pie Gang is going away for good!”
“Launchpad, the case? Remember the case?” asked Drake. 
“Buh-“
“We’re here to stakeout the joint and lie in wait for that nefarious thief, Dr. Anna Matronic! Dishonorably discharged from the Imagineers, that raving robotics rascal will be using the Pie Gang’s farewell show to unveil her deadly creations. Little does she know that I, Darkwing Duck, will be waiting for her! Now, any questions?”
“Uhh, can we order the extra-large with cheese?” 
Drake simply sighed as he moved to sit down on the sticky seat. 
“Gee DW, what makes you think she’ll show up with all these people around?” asked Launchpad. 
“Because, as a former Imagineer, she’ll no doubt want to watch such a historic show one last time. Although, I can’t imagine what kind of psyche an adult must have to want to watch Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang willingly.” 
———
“Come on Megsy! I’m not gonna miss Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang’s final performance because of you!” 
Little did Darkwing Duck know that behind the scenes, his two mortal enemies Quackerjack and Megavolt would be attempting to watch the show as well. However, they were taking a break from their usual crimes and attempting to have their monthly date night, per Quackerjack’s insistence on coming to see the last hurrah of the animatronics he grew up watching. Megavolt, meanwhile, was trying to carry leftover pizza boxes up the scaffolding over the stage as he and Quackerjack prepared to take their seats. 
“You know, I think I kinda remember coming here as a kid,” said Megavolt. Quackerjack was surprised to hear this, as it was rare for Megavolt to remember anything before his fateful transformation into Megavolt. He pressed on with a simple, “Oh?”, demonstrating a rare moment of selfless interest. 
“Yeah,” Megavolt continued, “I think I had a birthday party here once. Mom forced me to invite everyone in my class, so I spent most of the day playing with the animatronics. I even got Cheddar Charles to almost bite this one duck, Jake. Or was it Lake...” Megavolt trailed off as his train of thought was derailed yet again.
“You must have been quite the kid growing up, a public nuisance in the making,” laughed Quackerjack. He looked off to the side in an almost wistful manner. “Though if I was a parent, I wouldn’t force you to hang out with any snot-nosed brats that stuck their faces into an arcade game!” Megavolt twitched, deciding not to tell Quackerjack that he definitely remembered sticking his face into arcade games as a kid, one of the happiest moments in an otherwise bullied childhood. 
But more importantly, Megavolt picked up on Quackerjack’s wistful tone and cursed himself internally for bringing up his childhood. “Come on Quacky,” he whined, “we’ve been through this already. We can’t just-“ 
“Well, so what?” interrupted Quackerjack, “It’s just not fair! Lots of kids have parents that go to jail!” 
“Yeah, but their parents aren’t criminal masterminds guilty of trespassing, theft, vandalism, and littering!” 
Quackerjack pouted, “You throw a banana peel on the ground one time...”
“I’m serious Quacky,” Megavolt frowned, “we can’t just bring a kid into the super-villain business! Do you want to be like Dorkwing and have a pipsqueak get in our way?” 
“Need I remind you,” hissed Quackerjack, “that his pipsqueak is fully capable of handling herself?”
“Ugh,” shuddered Megavolt, “don’t. Remind. Me. I still have the bruise marks from the last hostage attempt...”
“See?! The two of us could totally take care of a kid! All a kid really needs is food, a loving home, a pocket grenade...,” Quackerjack droned on, almost forgetting the point of his argument. Megavolt had to snap him back to reality if he was ever going to finish this conversation. 
“Hey don’t get me wrong, it’d be nice to have some kids that aren’t just the poor, enslaved bulbs of St. Canard,” said Megavolt. “But, don’t tell me you aren’t the tiniest bit worried of screwing the kid up?” At this, Quackerjack pursed his lips and went uncharacteristically still, not daring to look at Megavolt in the eye.  
“Besides,” Megavolt continued, “what if we go to jail without it? How would a normal kid protect itself? What if F.O.W.L or Negaduck found out about them and-“
“Oh alright fine! You’ve made your point, gloomy pants!” Megavolt shut his mouth quickly, turning to get a slice of week-old pizza and hopefully move on from this talk. Quackerjack pulled out his beloved Mr. Banana Brain, in an effort to calm himself before his temper took over. “Some date night this is! I’ve seen better chemistry in a high school science lab!” 
“Butt out, banana boy!” Megavolt grumbled. “Great, could this date get any worse?” 
The explosion that rocked the building answered that question. 
———
The duck family ducked under their table as dust filled the room, sending screaming families in a panic. A giant hole had opened up in front of the stage, and from it rose a goose in a purple trench-coat honking maliciously. This was-
“Dr. Matronic!” Drake shielded Gosalyn behind himself as Dr. Matronic climbed onto the stage. 
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she cried out, “children of all ages! To all who come to this happy place, Pepper Panda’s Pizza Pagoda is now MY Pizza Pagoda! Which means the animatronics are now mine to keep! Mwahonkhonkhonk!”
Gosalyn stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Ugh, you call that an evil laugh? A baby would sound more menacing than that!” 
“Never mind that now,” said Drake, “we’ve got to get these people out of here! Launchpad, Gosalyn, evacuate the building while I keep her busy.” With a plan of action in place, the daring duck of mystery went off to find a broom closet to change in. Unfortunately, it was a very tight squeeze, as Drake tried to change and avoid the brooms at the same time. 
“This night couldn’t possibly get worse...,” muttered Drake. 
——
“Megavolt! That stupid doctor just ruined our date night!” Quackerjack’s temper had come out in full force, and now he was ready to let it all out. 
“The nerve of some people! I mean, who breaks into a pizza parlor and steals the animatronics??” Megavolt yelled. Sparks started to fly as he locked onto the target of his ire, who was beginning to disassemble the helpless robots. “D’ohhh! Well at least it can’t get any worse.”
The blue smoke cloud that burst out answered that. 
“Gah! Will you stop saying that!” shouted Quackerjack. 
“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”
“I am the cheese pizza that burns on the taste buds of crime! I am Darkwing Duck!” Like clockwork, the purple caped crusader appeared out of the smoke. 
“Oh no. It’s Darkwing Duck. Whatever shall I do,” said Dr. Matronic, not intimidated in the slightest. Failing to frighten his foe, Darkwing pulled out his gas gun as his mood worsened. 
“Listen here doc! I may not like these rusty robots, but there’s no way I’ll let you take them away! Now suck gas, evildoer! Schpadoink!” As he shot off a canister of knockout gas, a Dalmatian puppy came out from behind Dr. Matronic and caught the canister, throwing it away from the doctor. 
“What the-!” 
“So,” Dr. Matronic grinned maliciously, “you don’t like rusty robots, eh? Well, I’m sure you’ll find that they have their uses!” Dr. Matronic pulled a walkie-talkie from her coat, and yelled, “Code 101: ATTACK!!” 
From the crevice, a noise of barking and howling approached, growing louder and louder until from out of the hole, one hundred robotic Dalmatians came bursting out. 
Darkwing gulped, hoping to hide his nervousness. “Alright, you digital dog deviants, prepare to face the might of Dark-AAAACK!!” The dogs never let him finish, immediately pouncing on Darkwing and biting everything that belonged to the flapping terror. 
“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND DALMATIANS!!!” 
“Well, since you’re tied up at the moment, I might as well explain my origin story,” said Dr. Matronic as she got to work detaching the Pie Gang from the stage. “You see, those Imagineer fools said it was impossible to make one hundred and one animatronics! They said it was too expensive! That I was a lunatic! Well who’s laughing now, huh?! Mwahonkhon-AHH!” 
Before the doctor could finish her evil laugh, a bolt of electricity from behind the stage curtain zapped her and sent her flying off the stage. In her hands she grasped the Cheddar Charles figurine, the remote controlling the chaotic canines flying off somewhere else. 
Megavolt stepped out onto the stage, a wide manic grin on his face as his hands lit up. “Well, looks like we’re the ones laughing now, and much better at it too! Aheeheeheeheee!” With a flick of a wrist, Megavolt shot another electric bolt at the pack of piranha-like puppies, putting a stop to their attack on the poor, punctured defender in purple as they scattered off.  
“Th-thanks for that...Megavolt,” Darkwing said shakily, as he attempted to stand up and not jostle his wounds at the same time. “Wait a minute, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! I swear, if that lunatic toy-maker Quackerjack is here too I’ll-“
What Darkwing would do, Megavolt would never know, for at that moment Quackerjack decided to introduce himself with one of his patented exploding toys. Laughing maniacally, he took out his signature mallet as he attempted to stomp out any robot trying to attack him. Dr. Matronic began turning her attention towards the most annoying threat in the room, directing robot after robot at Quackerjack. 
“What, did all the freaks decide to come out tonight?!” yelled Dr. Matronic, as she whipped out a small flamethrower aimed at Quackerjack. The jester merely giggled and blew raspberries as he dodged all of her flame attacks. Darkwing and Megavolt, however, were not as lucky, and had to hide behind an overturned table to avoid the flames. 
“Oh great,” sighed Darkwing, “the cherry on top of my already lousy sundae. Could this possibly get any worse?” Megavolt let out a yipe and braced himself. 
“Uhh, you alright there Mega-,” asked Darkwing, before Megavolt clasped a hand around his bill. 
“Don’t say that again! The universe has been more vindictive than usual today whenever somebody says that!”
“Alright alright, I’ll stop! Now, either help get me rid of this riddle-some ridicule of our rights, or GET OUT!” Megavolt’s train of thought got back on track, his temper overtaking him as he remembered his terrible night. 
“Uhh, Sparky-“ said Darkwing, before a stray bolt from Megavolt zapped him away as the electric rodent turned back to Dr. Matronic. 
“YOU RUINED DATE NIGHT!!!” roared Megavolt. Darkwing was dumbfounded, for once Megavolt hadn’t responded to his hated nickname of Sparky. Dr. Matronic began to worry, as she was inexperienced against the full force of the Quackervolt duo. Darkwing stepped back, hoping to get the upper hand as the villains fought each other when who should appear but Gosalyn.
“Don’t worry Darkwing, I’ll help ya!” cried Gosalyn. 
“Gosalyn, NO!” Darkwing dived towards his daughter, shielding her from the wayward flames with his cape as he caught the full brunt of the attack. Dr. Matronic took the time to gloat evilly at her fallen foe. 
“Well well well, guess the Pizza Pagoda is serving roast duck tonight! MWAHAHAHAH! How’s that for an evil laugh, by the way?” In her distraction, she failed to notice Megavolt and Quackerjack charging up the remaining animatronics, bringing them back to life. 
“Hey lady, ever heard of the Bite of ‘87!?” they both yelled. 
“The Bite of ‘87? That’s just a-“ Dr. Matronic looked back and saw the looming, terrifying animatronics trudging towards her. She gulped.
“...Just a myth,” she finished quietly. 
As the robots began their attack, Launchpad came in and helped Darkwing to his feet. “Gee DW, how’re we gonna stop those three?” 
“Oww, can’t we jus’...let ‘em kill each other?” Darkwing meekly asked. 
Gosalyn, guilty over her father’s second degree burns, tried to remember about any useful information pertaining to the animatronics. 
“Well, I read online that old robots used to explode from time to time...” she suggested. Inspiration struck Darkwing, reaching into his pockets for a special gas canister. 
“Launchpad, hand me my gas gun!”  With his weapon in hand, Darkwing loaded up the canister and aimed between the animatronics. “Get behind that column,” he motioned. 
Megavolt, taking a break from the action that was almost too exciting to put in words, took a side glance to see Darkwing’s fan club hiding behind a concrete column. As he wondered what was going on, the duck pulled out his gas gun and yelled, “hey Dr. Matronic, see if your pooches can stop this knockout gas!” 
Darkwing shot out the canister towards the animatronics and quickly took cover. As planned, Dr. Matronic took aim with her flamethrower, unable to tell the difference between knockout gas and explosive gas. 
FWOOSH! 
KABAM!! 
“SHPOOSH-“
“Dad! Do ya have t’ make sound effects right now?” 
“Oh, right, sorry,” Darkwing sheepishly said. “Well, better make sure no one died or anything.” As the smoke dissipated, he could see Dr. Matronic knocked out on the ground, singed and certainly not triumphant. Quackerjack, who had tried to run from the explosion, was somehow still standing, albeit close to passing out at any second. Behind them, all of the animatronics were nothing more than scrap, their somewhat cute faces now melted and resembling characters in a subpar horror video game franchise. 
Megavolt was nowhere to be seen. 
“Uh-oh, Megavolt?” The prospect of being arrested for manslaughter began to unnerve Darkwing.  “Hey Quackster, you seen your boyfriend anywhere?” 
The only thing Quackerjack heard through his concussion was ‘Megavolt’, and tried to snap out of his daze as best as he could. 
“Megsy! Sparky-poo, where are you!? Ooooh, I’m gonna get you for this Darkwing Duck!” But before Quackerjack could get him, the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance. 
“Mmm, but maybe not today,” said Quackerjack, and then took out Mr. Banana Brain. “Time to hit the road, Toad,” he said in a falsetto voice. 
“MEGAVOLT! See you at the hideout!” And Quackerjack ran backstage, toppling over Launchpad who had attempted to catch him. 
“Ah geez, sorry DW, he got away. Should we go after him?”
“Nah,” said Darkwing, “I’ve got enough on my plate with Miss Robot over here. Also I gotta make sure Megavolt didn’t explode or something,...”
“Ughhh,” groaned Dr. Matronic, “that’s DOCTOR- wait. The animatronics! What have you done to them you fiend?!” Before she could freak out entirely, the police came in, slapping handcuffs on her and leading her away. 
“Why I say I say, ah-thank you Mr. Duck sir.” 
The team looked back and saw a rotund rooster in a tacky pizza print suit come up to them, taking Darkwing’s hand and shaking it profusely. “I am the owner of this here establishment, Rolan N. Dough the Third, thought you may call me Mr. Dough. I must congratulate you sir on a job well done!” 
“Ah-yep, yep, yep, all in a day’s work for Darkwing Duck, Mr. Dough!”
“So you’re not mad that he blew up your animatronics?” piped up Gosalyn. Darkwing hurriedly placed his hand over her bill, “Gosalyn! Ix-nay on the obot-ray! Ahaha, kids...” 
“On the contrary, Mr. Duck, I’m overjoyed! Thanks to you, I’m gonna save a fortune on properly preserving those robotic freaks! And receive a rather sizable insurance check! A nice little profit for today’s events!” 
Darkwing soured, remembering his distaste for the Pizza Pagoda once more. “You’re welcome, sir.”  
“I simply must reward you! How does a coupon for a free pizza sound?” 
Launchpad’s stomach rumbled at the sound of that. “Gee DW, can we cash it in now?” 
Darkwing sighed, “Fine, fine, we’re not coming back here anytime soon.”
As Launchpad and Mr. Dough made their way to the pizza station, Darkwing crouched down to check on Gosalyn for any injuries. 
“You ok?” he asked. “I mean, aside from seeing your favorite pizzeria in ruins that is?” 
“Yeah,” she sighed, “I’m just sad the Pie Gang met their end like that.”
“Well it’s an Italian eatery owned by a Southerner themed around China, it was bound to end horribly. You gotta admit though, it was a pretty cool explosion.”
“Okay yeah, it was pretty cool. I mean the way that flamethrower just went GWOOSH and the canister was like SCHPAAAAM! Not too bad from Darkwing and his helpful sidekicks, huh?”
“Oh, that reminds me, you’re still in trouble for running in like that.”
“WHAT? Daaa-uh, I mean, Darkwiiiing!” The two walked away, preparing to stop Launchpad from spending more than $50 on pizza. 
“Hmm, I feel like I’m forgetting something though,” said Darkwing.
“Ah well, I’m sure it was nothing important,” reassured Gosalyn. 
———
In the subterranean hole where Dr. Matronic had come from, Megavolt had begun to regain consciousness, slowly sitting up as he willed the surroundings to stop spinning. 
“Owwww, that’s it, next date night will be at the mini golf...” 
From below, he could hear the faint voice of Quackerjack at hysterics, then fading away. Then he heard the shrill voice of Dr. Matronic screaming over the ruined animatronics. Megavolt perked up, remembering the explosion with clarity now. 
“NO NO NO! The animatronics! Darkwing Duck and that stupid doctor lady ruined my childhood! This is worse than that reboot of my favorite movie with an all-female cast! Why I oughta-OW!!”
In his rage, Megavolt failed to notice an object in his path, and stubbed his already fragile toe against it. He was prepared to blast it to smithereens, when he noticed something familiar about the object. 
Something metallic. 
“Wait...it can’t be,” he muttered. He crouched down, digging through the rubble until the object was set free. It was Cheddar Charles, banged up a little but perfectly intact. 
“Oh you poor thing,” Megavolt cooed, “you must’ve fallen down here after that mean old Darkwing blew us up!” He cradled the orphaned robotic mouse in his arms, feeling his paternal instinct flare up as he gently dusting the dirt off of it. A ghost of a childhood memory panged within him, recalling a time in his life when he felt safe and loved, unaware of the harsh realities of life that would face him later on.
Was it too insane to believe that he could pass that love on to something else?
He loved Quackerjack. He loved his life of lightbulb liberation. But if Megavolt was honest with himself, maybe there was something nice to the whole family concept. Maybe the idea of taking care of something and watching it grow with someone he loved seemed exciting to him. Maybe Darkwing had the right idea about having a kid sidekick-
Nope. It’d be a cold, day in Hell before Megavolt would admit to being jealous of Darkwing Duck. 
He took out one of his trusty light bulbs to illuminate the scene, when an idea came to him. 
“Wait a minute,” he said, “Quacky and I want a kid. This little guy doesn’t have a family anymore. That means...that means! Wait, where was I going with this?”
The Cheddar Charles let out a shock, charging up Megavolt once more. 
“Oh right! Welcome to the family, new son! This is gonna turn out way better than that time I split Darkwing into two.” He took his son into his arms, already bonding with the temporarily lifeless robot. 
“But ya know, Cheddar Charles is kinda long for a name. How about I call you...Chuckie!” 
------
Meanwhile, on the other side of town…
“OH MY GOD,” cried out Drake Mallard, “I BLEW UP MEGAVOLT!”
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saiilorstars · 4 years
Text
The Beginning of Everything
Ch. 25:  Stolen Planets  
// Story Masterlist //
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: 10th Doctor x Female OC
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Chapter summary: Renata, the Doctor and Gabby travel to the Shadow Proclamation to find out where Earth has been taken to and discover that it's not the only planet missing. Meanwhile, Donna meets the one and only Rose Tyler.
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Donna felt a wicked headache when she finally came to. The hard ground was underneath her, explaining the headache, and though she wasn't fully aware yet, she could feel someone shaking her.
"Donna! Wake up! Donna!" Her mother, Sylvia, was getting more frantic as the seconds passed by.
"What? What happened?" Donna groaned and sat up, soon realizing she was on her kitchen floor. Her eyes found the window and saw the sunlight was gone - it was night. It had been daytime last time she remembered. But lots of weird things had happened to her in the past day. One thing she was sure of, though, was that she would never visit UNIT again. Some weird alien fortune teller had thrown her into a parallel world just for fun! As soon as Martha and UNIT had pulled her out of that world, Donna had demanded to go home to be as far away as possible from the building.
The parallel world, as scary as Donna was sure that it was, seemed to fade away as the hours passed by. She could barely remember it now but she knew that things had been terrible, far more terrible than what she'd already seen in her travels. Even now it gave her chills trying to remember it, but actually...
Her eyes widened suddenly. One huge detail had just come back to mind.
"I gotta call the Doctor!" She jumped from the floor, ignoring her mother's shouts for her to stay. She was just about to call when she passed the open doorway and saw something that caught her eyes.
She backtracked and slowly emerged from the house, first seeing her grandfather shouting at nothing in particular with a bat in hand, but then she saw the sky. Her mouth went dry.
There was no sun, no stars, only big planets accommodated around each other.
"It's them aliens, I'll bet my pension!" Her grandfather, Wild, raged. "You get back inside, Donna. They always want the women!"
Donna shook her head and ran back into the house. She needed to get ahold of the Doctor and Renata now!
~0~
Inside the TARDIS, each of its inhabitants were in the same state of shock and terrible confusion. The Doctor had stopped running around the console now and was immersed in the monitor in hopes of making contact with somebody on Earth. At this point, he'd settle for anyone in order to figure out what happened.
Gabby was still by the doors, staring into space - the spot where planet Earth used to be - and still couldn't believe it was gone. She did think of something that pulled her into reality after a moment. "But... if the Earth's been moved... they've lost the sun! What about my family? Cindy! Donna! They're dead!? Aren't they? They're all dead..."
Renata hurried over, her night robe flowing with her quick strides, to pull the girl away from the open doors. She shut them behind them and turned Gabby back for the console. "We don't really know what's happened…"
"But that's my whole world - it's just gone," Gabby felt like her world was spinning - well, her world was gone but she was sure it was the feeling.
"There's no readings, nothing. Not a trace," the Doctor was getting frustrated by the monitor. "Not even a whisper. Oh, that is fearsome technology. And good technology."
"Doctor, let's focus less on the quality of the technology and more on the reason someone would even build that type of technology in the first place," Renata brought Gabby to the Captain's chair in hopes that sitting her down would prevent the girl from collapsing straight to the floor.
"What are we going to do?" Gabby still held a little hope that not everything was lost. Her eyes flickered from the Doctor to Renata and vice versa. They had to know how to do something that could help them. Yes, they were still arguing but when things were this bad, they would surely put everything aside to solve the problem.
"We've...got to get help."
Renata did a double take at the Doctor, unsure if she had heard him right.
"From where?" Gabby feebly wondered. He was the Doctor - who could he ask to help him out?
"You don't actually mean…?" Renata walked over to him, her face still shocked he was openly admitting that this time - just this time - they would need to go to…
"Well Renata, seems like we're finally going to the Shadow Proclamation."
"I don't like being right this time," Renata had just enough time to say before the Doctor started the TARDIS.
~0~
Donna helplessly dialed for the TARDIS number the Doctor had given her, but it just wouldn't work! She'd tried at least a dozen times but the call wouldn't go through.
"Have you gotten ahold of him, dear?" Wilf came into the kitchen.
"No! There's no signal. This number is supposed to call anywhere in the universe! Something must be blocking it!"
"Dad! Donna!" Sylvia cried from the living room. The two ran to see if she was alright (in what fit) and saw the television on.
'Unidentified spacecraft heading for Earth' was flashing across the screen.
'We're now getting confirmed reports of spaceships. The Pentagon has issued an emergency report…'
"They're saying spaceships," Sylvia shook her head, eyes closed to tears.
"C'mon Doctor," Donna dialed her phone with new hope that maybe this time things would work out.
"Who are you calling?" Sylvia demanded when she caught Donna putting the phone over her ear.
Donna only waved her off as she turned away, walking out of the living room. She returned to the kitchen and peered out the window again. This time she saw the huge spacecraft flying over them, looking pretty menacing.
'Exterminate!'
Donna froze. Had that…?
'Exterminate!'
Donna's eyes widened in horror. She had never seen them but the Doctor and Renata had done a good job of explaining to her how monstrous a Dalek could be. They were part of the reason why their entire world was gone...and it seemed like it was Earth's turn now.
~0~
"So...so we're actually going to the police?" Gabby was holding onto the Captain's chair as the TARDIS continued jerking every which way. The Shadow Proclamation seemed to be on a bumpy road. "You mean all this time there has actually been a space police!?"
"Yes!" Renata exclaimed. She was gripping the underneath of the console so she wouldn't slip.
"So how come we never met them!?"
"Doctor, you want to take that one?"
The Doctor's face went momentarily flat at Renata. "No. I just never thought I would need them!"
When the TARDIS finally came to a stop, the Doctor was careful as he led the two women out. He warned them they might not be so welcomed considering the messes he'd made in the past. As soon as they came out of the TARDIS - or rather slid out, one by one - they were greeted by a group of armed Judoon. Each gun soon took aim on them and one by one, the trio raised their hands to show they were on neutral terms.
"Sco po tro no flow jo ko fo to to," one of the Judoon began to say. Gabby watched in terror, wondering if they were truly dead now.
"No bo ho so ko ro toe so," the Doctor responded in the same manner. It definitely grabbed Gabby's attention. "Bo-ko-do-zo-go-bo-fo-po-jo!" Whatever he said had made the Judoon lower their guns. "Ma ho." Once the Judoon began filing out, the Doctor turned to Renata and Gabby. "They know why we're here. They're getting the Shadow Architect."
"I'm in the Shadow Proclamation...in my nightie…" Renata had just realized that detail and looked terribly embarrassed. "This is not the place to be in my nightie."
"There's no time, c'mon," he made a motion for her and Gabby to follow. Gabby kept quite close to Renata as they passed several Judoons.
The Shadow Architect turned out to be a tall, Albino woman. She seemed a bit condescending and very much in disbelief of their very presence.
"Time Lords are the stuff of legend. They belong in the myths and whispers of the Higher Species," she said, eyes flickering between the pair in front of her. "You cannot possibly exist."
"And yet here we are," Renata waved one hand while the other arm kept around her waist. She'd become very self conscious now that she realized how terribly under-dressed she was.
"We've got a missing planet," the Doctor rushed to get things moving along, but the Shadow Architect sighed in annoyance.
"Then, you're not as wise as the stories would say. The picture is far bigger than you imagine. The whole universe is in outrage, Doctor - twenty-four worlds have been taken from the sky."
Gabby nearly keeled over. "How many!?" So not only was her world gone, but there were 23 others!?
"And you never thought to make this information public!?" Renata seemed almost outraged. If they had made the information known then perhaps each planet would've had a chance at surviving whatever pulled them from their orbit. "It could have given people a chance! At the very least the knowledge that they needed to be on red alert!"
The Shadow Architect did not like her actions being questioned, but Renata had a glare that nobody could win against. "I...did not think they would believe us."
"If 24 planets are missing I'm sure somebody would've believed you if you had just said something!" Renata couldn't help that her tone had turned into a loud shout. There were too many peoples' lives at stake and nobody had done a damn thing about it so far.
"Show me which planets are missing," the Doctor instructed and since the Shadow Architect had already crossed one Time Lord, she obeyed without a fight.
The group were brought to a high tech computer that held a list of all the planets they had recorded as vanished.
"The locations range far and wide. They all disappeared, leaving no trace," the Shadow Architect explained while the Doctor studied the list. The more he read, the less he understood.
"Callufrax Minor, Jahoo, Shallacatop, Woman Wept, Clom - Clom's gone?! Who'd want Clom?"
"That's rude," Renata remarked beside him. "Whole planet's gone, Doctor!"
"Right," he mumbled and went on.
"All different sizes. Some populated, some not, but all unconnected," the Shadow Architect added.
"Wait, what about Pyrovilia?" Renata found herself asking. "Remember-" she looked at the Doctor briefly, "-way back when we were in Pompeii, Lucius said Pyrovillia had gone missing. Bet nobody batted an eye at it."
"Is that an ancient planet?" Gabby wondered, but in asking she garnered a condescending response from the Shadow Architect.
"Who is the female?"
Gabby scrunched her nose. "Excuse you! I might not be 'the stuff of legends' but I'm every bit as important as Time Lords, so give me some respect. Also, my world just vanished so I demand some sympathy."
Both Renata and the Doctor smiled proudly at Gabby. They'd never seen her act so authoritative and much less that confident.
"Pyrovillia is cold case. Not relevant," one of the Judoon in the room replied.
"How do you mean, 'cold case'?" Gabby asked him.
"The planet Pyrovilia cannot be part of this, it disappeared over two-thousand years ago," the Shadow Architect said.
"Like I said, nobody batted an eye at it," Renata motioned the Doctor to scoot out of the computer's way. "I wonder how many other planets just 'disappeared' without anyone wondering why?"
"What are you doing?" the Doctor saw her switch tabs on the computer.
"Going through the planets that disappeared long ago - aha look!" she pointed suddenly. "Remember the Adipose and Miss Foster? She said their breeding planet had disappeared a long time ago!"
"Oh, brilliant! You're brilliant!" the Doctor started exclaiming once he understood the true gravity of the situation. "The planets have been taken out of time as well as space! Scoot!" He scooted her away just like she had done earlier. He re-organized the list of planets into a hologram set in the center of the room for the others to see. "There's something missing. Where else, where else, where else, lost, lost, lost, lost...? OH! The Lost Moon of Poosh!"
"The Lost Moon of what?" Gabby raised a finger and watched as a very small planet - a moon - appeared last in the string of hologram planets.
"This moon, lost ago, - Donna and I heard about it on Midnight," the Doctor said dismissively. He was arranging the planets in a specific way in the air.
"What? When you went to that luxury planet?"
"Yes, now shush!"
Gabby scrunched her face and glanced at Renata, wearing an expression akin to 'we should've gone'. Renata rolled her eyes but let it be. It wasn't her fault that neither of them got to visit the spa planet. That was the day she and Gabby had visited 52st century China in order to see a new art gallery that was having their grand opening. It had been loads of fun for Gabby to meet with current popular artists and see their creations.
But on the other hand, she and Renata had missed the whole ordeal on 'Midnight', the planet where the Doctor and Donna had nearly died. They'd found some strange alien that was so intelligent it almost managed to get the Doctor thrown out of their train by some scared, manipulated humans. Renata had been outraged to hear what happened to the Doctor and demanded that they all go to whoever was in charge of the spa to get it shut down.
"Well…" the Doctor's new arrangement of the planets was interrupted when the stolen planets literally re-arranged themselves into an optimum pattern. "Look at that. Twenty-seven planets in perfect balance. Come on, that is gorgeous!"
"I'm getting tired of saying this, but...Doctor? Stolen planets!? Focus!?" Renata waved a hand at the holographic planets between them.
"Why'd the planets arrange themselves like that?" Gabby went around the hologram, eyeing each of the planets.
"Like pieces of an engine…" the Doctor mumbled in a half-thought. "It's like a power house. But what for?"
"Who could design such a thing?" The Shadow Architect breathed in awe and yet fear. Someone who could design a power tool like that was strong and fear-worthy.
"Wait…" Renata froze but she felt the wave of dreariness begin to wash over her. "It can't be...it can't be…"
"No, no…" the Doctor said rather fast but as he turned back for the computer, Renata swore she saw a look of panic flash across his face for a second.
"Ren?" Gabby feebly moved towards the Time Lady. "What's going to happen? Are-are we going to get them back?"
Renata had no idea what to say and it showed. Her eyes flickered to the Doctor and the Shadow Architect, both huddled by the computer again. None of them had the answers Gabby wanted to know and it killed Renata. "Why don't we go back to the TARDIS so I can get changed?"
Gabby knew the attempt of distraction and what it meant...and it scared her to pieces. Because if neither the Doctor nor Renata didn't know what was happening, then things were truly bad. "I-I want to sit down." Her legs felt like puddy the more she thought of her family and what they must be going through.
"Okay, we can do that," Renata quickly ushered the girl towards a staircase and sat her down on the first step. "You sit here and I'll be back in a bit." She closed her robe tighter and hurried off.
Gabby exhaled heavily. She felt so useless just sitting there with nothing to offer to the table. Her world was gone! She had to do something but...what?
In her distant thinking, she didn't notice an Albino servant coming by with a glass of water. "You need sustenance. Take the water, it purifies."
"...thanks," Gabby whispered and took the glass.
"There's a fluttering around you."
Gabby looked up at the man questionably. "Excuse me?"
"The same fluttering that's around your friend - the Time Lady? Only she is golden, and you are lavender."
Gabby's eyes instinctively flickered to the Doctor as if by extension it was the same thing looking at Renata.
"You are each something new."
"I really doubt it," Gabby took a long drink of water.
"Such a nice group of travelers...I am sorry for your loss."
Gabby lowered her glass to her lap and studied the servant for a second. For a brief moment she thought he might be playing with her feelings but...he looked earnest enough. "Yeah, thanks, I guess. No real words to tell someone when their world is gone."
"No, I mean the loss that is yet to come. I'm very sorry for you all," the servant lowered himself just enough to whisper. "But the butterflies could perhaps save you."
"Excuse me?" Gabby blinked. The servant was grim as he went on his way.
A short moment later, Renata returned wearing much more appropriate clothing. A nice, white buttoned-up blouse tucked under camel-colored pants. She went with the camel-colored flats thinking there would be some running ahead.
"Have we learned anything new?" She went over to the Doctor by the computer, but judging by his lost face there was nothing.
"Gabby?" He called to the girl by the stairs who was still trying to process what the servant's words meant. "Just think for a minute, please? There must've been some sort of warning. Was there anything happening back in your day, like... electrical storms, freak weather, patterns in the sky?"
"Other than the freaky stuff when I met you two?"
"She got you there," Renata whispered to the Doctor, something he was fast to wave her off for.
"Well, Donna did mention that she heard the bees were disappearing…"
"The bees disappearing," the Doctor sarcastically said, shaking his head. "The bees disappearing."
"You don't need to be rude - you asked me!" Gabby frowned.
"Oh...the bees disappearing!" The Doctor realized Gabby (and Donna) were very right in the matter and he was just about to brush it off. He returned to the computer with a new hope that, in turn, pulled Gabby and Renata.
"How is that significant?" The Shadow Architect studied each of the trio to understand what was so important about the insects she had only read about.
"Well, on Earth we have these insects - annoying but very useful - and according to our friend, Donna, a lot of them have been disappearing," Gabby explained.
"Or... they were going back home!" the Doctor exclaimed.
Gabby raised an eyebrow. "Back home? What do you mean…?"
"The planet Melissa Majoria."
"Bees are aliens!?"
Renata put a calming hand over Gabby's shoulder. "Your Earth is just full of surprises, isn't it?"
"You're telling me we have alien bees!?"
"Don't be so daft," the Doctor told her. "Not all of them. But, if the migrant bees felt something, some sort of danger, and escaped... Tandocca!"
"The Tandocca Scale," the Shadow Architect was beginning to understand by the looks of it.
And that's when the Doctor took off in a rambling speed that absolutely no creature should be able to master. "The Tandocca Scale is a series of wavelengths used as carrier signals by migrant bees. Infinitely small, no wonder we didn't see it. It's like looking for a speck of cinnamon in the Sahara!"
Gabby's face was a mixture of bemusement and horror, so she glanced at Renata for a better version of that and some plain answers on how the Doctor could possibly do that.
"Centuries have passed and I still have no idea," Renata exhaleed tiredly. The Doctor seemed to know exactly what she was talking about because he rolled his eyes at her.
"Just look!" He grabbed both Renata and Gabby and brought them to the computer screen. "There it is! The Tandocca trail!" There was a trail of blue light almost glittering on the screen. "The transmat that moved that planets was using the same wavelength! We can follow the path!"
"And get to Earth!" Gabby excitedly jumped. "Well let's go!" Now she grabbed the Doctor and Renata and yanked them for the TARDIS. Earth was at the tip of their fingers!
The Doctor somehow got in the lead and went straight for the console's monitor to pull up what they were looking for. "We're a bit late. The signal's scattered, but it's a start!"
"Uh, Doctor?"
He stopped to see Renata was at the doorway, pointing outside. He hurried back to see the Judoon all gathered behind the Shadow Architect. "I've got a blip! It's just a blip, but it's definitely a blip!" He told them.
"Then according to the strictures of the Shadow Proclamation, I will have to seize your transport and your technology," the Shadow Architect's words made him pause.
"Oh, really? What for?"
"The planets were stolen with hostile intent. We are declaring war, Doctor! Right across the universe! And you will lead us into battle!"
The Doctor wanted to be surprised...but he just couldn't be. It was such a predictable thing the Shadow Proclamation would pull. It was why it was far more fun when he glanced at Renata with a smirk. For one moment, they weren't arguing at all. They were just themselves again. "You want to take that one?"
The Time Lady was not remotely amused with his smugness. Of course he'd be smug. She was always on his case about never going to the Shadow Proclamation when things were bad, and much less let them handle things. Now that they were here, doing what she always said they should do, it turned out to be very bad.
"I…" she sighed, "Dammit." She had to admit defeat. "Let us go get you a key," she told the Shadow Architect with a polite smile then yanked the grinning Doctor behind her. He gladly let the doors close and immediately began to laugh as he trailed after her. "It's not funny!" She stalked over to the console. "I just lied to the Shadow Proclamation!" For her, that was blasphemy!
"Yeah you did!"
Renata stopped once she was at the console and glared at the Doctor. "I just lied...to one of the biggest, most official, departments."
"I told you-"
"-shut up!"
Gabby secretly smiled on the side. If they were bickering, making fun of each other, then it meant they couldn't be angry with each other, right?
~ 0 ~
Donna didn't know what was worse: having the Daleks roaming their world and kidnapping humans or having to explain just how terribly dangerous they were to her mother and grandfather. Her mother was scared beyond belief but that didn't stop her from disbelieving every word Donna was saying.
"I'm telling you, Mum! They're aliens from-" Donna pointed a finger above her head, "-space! The Doctor and Renata told me all about them!"
Sylvia would shake her head and mumble that they were going crazy and that if she was going to die, she would have some tea in hand. Donna groaned and let her head fall to the kitchen table in a loud thud. Her forehead would definitely hurt later.
"You couldn't get ahold of them, sweetheart?" Wilf sat right beside her.
Donna raised her head only to shake it. "They must have blocked the phone signals or something. I don't know what else to do. Martha's not picking up either and she's the only other one I had around here…"
Something peculiar happened that froze everyone in their spots. A knock on the door. And then two. And then three.
"The...whatever they're called? Is that them?" Sylvia huddled by the sink, but Donna shook her head again.
"Daleks don't knock, mother."
"No, you stay here," Wilf told her once she started heading out of the kitchen. "There's a lot of crazies right now."
"Yes, but no crazy banging nor shouts," Donna pointed out. She had hope that maybe it was Martha coming to help or at the very least to keep each other company. But when she opened the door she found a blonde on the other side with a massive gun in hand.
She was no stranger.
"I met you," Donna blinked in realization. "In-in that...that parallel world thing the fortune teller put me in! But Martha said it was all gone-"
"Hi Donna, I'd love to talk but can we do that inside where there's no Daleks lurking?" Rose Tyler had a big smile on her face despite the chaos around them. Donna wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but she nodded and stepped aside. Rose was happy to come in and leave behind the darkness, at least for a moment.
"Hold on!" Donna went after her. "Parallel worlds - the Doctor told me about that! You're not supposed to be here!"
Rose removed the hangar from her gun and set it on the couch. "Well, I was trapped...and then...things happened…" It had taken a lot for her to finally get to the right world and she wasn't going to let anything get in her way.
"You were in my world!" Donna reiterated in a frantic shout, almost begging Rose to agree so that Donna knew she wasn't crazy.
"I was," the blonde nodded her head. "I've been travelling from world to world, trying to find this Earth."
"But I don't...the Doctor said parallel worlds are sealed off. That's why…" Donna trailed off awkwardly. Reminding Rose of the terrible parting with the Doctor 2 years ago was probably something Rose didn't want to remember.
"Donna, who the hell is that?" Sylvia had come out of the kitchen with Wilf. The first thing Sylvia noticed was the massive gun on her couch.
"She's a friend of the Doctor's," Donna said with a light smile. Well, there was no Martha but they had Rose now. One for one.
"Rose Tyler," the blonde waved a nervous hand at them. Last thing she was thinking of was going through a proper greeting. Time was their only weapon, after all. "Donna, can you call the Doctor?"
"I've been trying but he's not picking up!"
That sentence alone seemed to rip through Rose. "What…?"
Donna sighed wearily. "I've been trying like mad but the signal doesn't go through. Wherever they are in space...it's not getting the signal."
"In space?" Sylvia repeated condescendingly.
"Oh mother, hush!" Donna unexpectedly snap. "It's all real, you know? Just take a look at the sky, for God's sake!"
The yelling between the two didn't seem to break through Rose. She dejectedly leaned against the couch as she processed that her only plan was on a halt. "You're my last hope. If we can't find the Doctor…"
There went the universe...universes.
~ 0 ~
The TARDIS had gone through a series of violent jerks until it suddenly stopped and threw everyone to the ground.
"Are we here!?" Gabby peeled her face off the floor and quickly laid eyes on the door.
"It's...stopped…?" the Doctor sounded confused and if he was confused then things were bad again.
"N-n-n-n-no don't say it like that, please!"
Renata got up first then helped Gabby. She was thinking like the Doctor that they couldn't have stopped. He was already at the monitor to see exactly where they had stopped.
"The Medusa Cascade," he said quietly. "I came here when I was just a kid. Ninety years old. It was the center of a rift in time and space."
"So...are the twenty-seven planets here?" Gabby left Renata's hold to see the monitor for herself. The space was beautiful with colors of blue and yellow and red all swirled together...but she didn't see her home planet. "Where...where are they?" She looked to see the Doctor was once again wearing that expression she hardly saw, because he never showed it. Hopelessness.
"The Tandocca Trail stops dead," he stepped away from the monitor, perhaps to hide his hopelessness. "...end of the line."
Gabby watched him like he was crazy. She'd never heard him say something like that, much less appear like he believed that. Her head turned to Renata in a snap to see what she would say.
She wasn't like the Doctor, but Renata had learned long ago how to hide her true feelings. Yet another gift from her family. Even if she was upset, if she was helpless, or hopeless, she should always wear a smile for everyone.
"We'll find it," Renata said. Her eyes blinked rapidly - she was thinking about Martha on Earth - and Gabby could hear the heavy inhales she was taking. "I don't know how but...we'll find it."
In any other situation, Gabby would've loved to point out how Renata and the Doctor had taken each other's roles. Renata, who was used to reality, was now daring to believe in the impossible like the Doctor and he was taking her perspective of reality to the last point. The irony.
~0~
Without Donna's working phone, Rose resorted to a computer. She didn't expect much from it but at the very least it could help with something.
"The thing is…" Donna was sitting right next to Rose in the kitchen, "In that parallel world...how did you know me?"
An amused smile spread across Rose's face while she went through the computer. "I told you that already: you're the most important woman in the universe."
"Oh come off it," Donna waved her off. "There were plenty of people connected to the Doctor after you. There was Martha-"
"Heard about her, lovely but she wasn't the one I needed."
"Alright, what about Gabby? She's young but she's definitely added something, right?"
"Gabby Gonzalez is not my domain persay."
"What do you mean?"
Rose visibly swallowed hard. "You have to remember, Donna, that I visited a lot of parallel worlds before coming to yours. I've seen versions of Gabby that...don't end so nicely."
Donna was quick to be horrified. "She dies?"
"No…" Rose tilted her head, wondering if this was even an appropriate conversation to have. With a sigh, she pulled her gaze from the screen to look at Donna. "There were a couple parallel worlds where something - I think a space art gallery of some sort - would contaminate Gabby and then she would end up as this…huge-" she made the gesture of something large with her hands, "-cosmic butterfly. And she wasn't a very nice cosmic butterfly."
"But that can't be. Our Gabby went to a space gallery too and-and nothing happened to her."
"Different world, different results. Maybe it just wasn't her."
Donna was sure the Doctor examined Gabby after Zhe's gallery, finding that Gabby was also exposed to the same toxins now hurting Renata. Maybe Gabby just wasn't hit with the same amount? Or because she's human? But then if it wasn't Gabby…
"Maybe it was someone else…" Donna whispered when it donned on her who'd been taking the worst hit from that space gallery. "Oh God, if it's Renata…"
Rose once again stopped on the computer and side-glanced Donna with a sharp look. "Renata? A Time Lady? Don't tell me you have one of her too." Donna met Rose's eyes, suddenly nervous when she remembered the whole ordeal between Renata and the Doctor. Rose presumed that was Donna's way of saying 'yes' and groaned. "Not her!"
"What? You know Renata?"
"Unfortunately. She's a Time Lady in the other worlds I crossed to but she was no help at all. She didn't care about the stars dying, nor that the Doctor didn't exist in her worlds or that he was dead."
"Well that can't be Renée," Donna used the Doctor's nickname for her as if she was trying to say that couldn't be his Renata. "You know, our Renata, she's very good at hiding her true feelings. I'm willing to bet that she was lying to you. She kind of does that." Rose didn't seem so sure. She went back to work instead, but Donna still had one more thing to say. "Our Renata here, she was contaminated badly and she's been having health issues…the Doctor's told me that he thinks she might be regenerating soon, or at least her body will try to." Donna remembered how terribly grim the Doctor was when he shared that detail with him. He was truly terrified of what could happen to Renata and there was nothing that he could do about it. Renata had been contaminated with something that nobody else had. And before the Doctor even knew who she was, he had already fallen for her. With all those feelings the situation had to be even more terrifying. Who'd want to lose someone they loved?
"Then I'm betting she's going to become the not-so-nice cosmic butterfly," Rose murmured, not particularly concerned for that bit.
Donna was worried, though, very worried. Could this have been the prediction Gabby told her about? Is that how Renata was supposed to die? And was that here? At this moment? They really needed to find the Doctor.
'You will obey Dalek instructions without question. You will obey your Dalek ma-'
Rose froze when the computer went pitch white. She blinked several times at it, wondering if they were about to catch a break.
'Can anyone hear me? The subwave network is open, you should be able to hear my voice…'
"Yes! Yes! I can hear you!" Rose was quick to say. Even Donna had leaned closer to see who was trying to talk to them. "
"Is there anyone there?"
Rose gasped. "I know that voice...!"
"This message is of the utmost importance. We haven't much time. Can anyone hear me?"
The screen cleared up a few seconds later and had Harriet Jones on the other end, flashing her ID at anyone who watched. "Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister!"
"Harriet! It's me, it's me!" Rose soon realized that Harriet couldn't hear her at all. She looked at Donna who shook her head.
"It's my grandad's computer!"
"Have you got a webcam?".
"No," Wilf answered from the couch. "She-" he nodded at Sylvia beside him, "-won't let me. She said they're naughty."
Rose sighed and looked at the screen again. "Well, I can't speak to her then, can I?"
So close and so far.
~0~
Renata had opened the TARDIS doors to the empty Medusa Cascade. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but at least she was doing something. She extended her hand, focusing on that sneaky energy that had caught her off guard far too many times. Now it was her turn to control it and maybe, just maybe, it would do something good for them. There were quiet wisps of energy that would emanate from her fingertips, but nothing too significant.
"Don't hurt yourself," the Doctor came up behind her. "We still don't know what that energy can do to you."
"If it'll get us somewhere, then I don't care." She closed her eyes to try again, but this time the Doctor lowered her. With a sigh of annoyance, she opened her eyes and turned around. "Stop that. I need to try again."
"But what's the point?"
Renata simply couldn't believe that those words were actually coming out of his mouth. He even looked the part of someone with zero faith. "The point is that I'm trying to do something! Just like...just like you would."
"Well who taught you that?"
Renata's expression went full-on incredulous. "You!" She frantically gestured to him. "In your annoying, talented way. It's the thing I've never been good at but you... you've always done that. I wish I could've been like that from the start."
The Doctor gave a light shake of his head. He moved around her to close the TARDIS doors. "Maybe you've been right this whole time. It's best to see reality." If he had seen reality before, way back on Gallifrey, then maybe he would've avoided all the pain he'd carried since then.
"Don't say that, please," Renata whispered. She felt terrible thinking that her words had finally cut through the Doctor. That's never what she wanted to do. "Because the day you start thinking like me...then it's really over."
That's how badly she thinks of herself, the Doctor concluded. He wasn't that surprised, though. Zuriah usually wasn't very confident, even when she had the ability to make anyone smile. She was always so good at making everyone - anyone - feel welcomed, feel at home and Renata was just as good. As soon as she was finally settled in her new traveling life with him, she made him feel at home in his own TARDIS. She was a warm, kind woman…
He forgot how he used to feel around her.
"Doctor, it's Zuriah. She's here. She's alive and she's here. The universe is giving you a second chance to be happy."
"She has a point," Donna's input made the Doctor turn his head at her. "You've told me how much it hurt to leave her behind, especially when...when your war was over. But she's alive."
She was alive and yet he was still so scared of what would happen. He still felt the anger towards Renata even when he knew - when he accepted - that he was still in love with her, but maybe this is what Martha meant. There wasn't time to waste but it was difficult to move on right now. Maybe it was just 'right now'. He'd have to come back to that when all this mess was over...
"I know you must not value my words right now - or ever again - but I have to tell you how much you've...changed me." Renata stepped closer to him but was a bit afraid that he wouldn't want to be in such close proximity to her. "I never really got the jist of planet Earth and much less the humans...but you've changed that this past year. I finally get why you're always there to help them. They're amazing - albeit a little narcissistic sometimes - but they're people worth getting to know. And I thank you for that. Now I just want to help however I can and make that girl over there-" she nodded over to Gabby who was blankly staring at the ground, "-happy again. So, yes, my energy might not do a damn thing but I will keep trying even if it kills me."
It was impossible for the Doctor not to feel at least a little bit special. Time was, he always tries to show Zuriah the best of the world through his words. She would always question his obsession with the humans, commenting on how he should redirect that attention to their home instead. But here she was, thinking almost like him.
There came a beeping noise from the console, startling the trio inside. It was hard to tell what it was for a few seconds, until…
"PHONE!" Gabby actually fell out of the Captain's chair in her shock. The Doctor dashed for the console with Renata hot on his trail.
"That's Martha's phone! It's Martha's!" Renata was too excited when she saw the Doctor picking up the ringing phone.
"Martha, is that you?!" the Doctor called but there was nothing on the other end. He pulled the phone from his ear to see the screen. "It's a signal…"
"Can we follow it?" Gabby jumped back to her feet, albeit a little wobbly from her fall. "Like back to Earth?"
The Doctor had a stethoscope on the phone and the phone in front of the monitor, with no intention of letting the trace go. "Oh just watch me!" Renata beamed at him. He couldn't just give up - it wasn't him. "Got it! Locking on!" he cheered. He didn't warn the other two that the TARDIS was about to once again shake them - he just pulled the lever and started her up.
Renata shrieked at the sparks that flew from the console and nearly hit her face. Her arms flew over her face and in doing so, the TARDIS had an easier time throwing her back.
"Renata!" Gabby yelped from her spot.
"I'm fine, just keep going!"
But a moment later, the console went up in flames and forced Gabby to let go. She shrieked as well when she went down.
"Sorry! We're travelling through time! One second in the future!" the Doctor explained in a loud shout. "The phone call's pulling us through!"
"Just get us there!" Renata, again, yelled from the floor.
"THREE! TWO! ONE!" The Doctor yelled at the top of his lungs whilst the TARDIS shook like it never had before.
The TARDIS hurtled towards something new, exactly to where Earth and the other lost planets truly were. The fire, soon, started going out on its own.
Renata eventually climbed her way back up using the dry parts of the console for support. Her back ached and that warmth was coming back to her skin. "Please tell me we're here?"
The Doctor's grin was answer enough. He helped Gabby stand up while Renata hurriedly moved to the computer.
"The twenty-seven planets!" she beamed. "And there's the Earth, Gabby, very much present!"
"Let me see!" Gabby left the Doctor's hold to see for herself that the planets were all there. "But why couldn't we see it before?"
"The entire Medusa Cascade has been put a second out of sync with the rest of the universe. Perfect hiding place, tiny little pocket of time. But we found them!" The Doctor had come to the monitor in time to see the screen blurring. "Oh, oh... what's that?"
"Someone's trying to reach us," Renata really hoped it was Martha and Donna. She needed to know they were okay.
"Some sort of... subwave network!" The Doctor anxiously waited for the screen to completely clear up. He did his best from his end to help the network come through, but it was mostly up to their luck.
Jack Harkness was the first to appear in a square of four, followed by Sarah Jane Smith, Martha Jones and then their own square.
"Martha!" Renata beamed at the sight of her best friend. Martha grinned in relief to see their network had finally reached them.
Jack Harkness laughed in the same relief but it was followed by an angry, "Where the hell have you been!?" It made the trio blink in collective surprise.
"Well, rude," Renata muttered but she couldn't stop smiling. They were alive right now and that's all she cared for. "Wait - who's that?" She pointed a finger at Sarah Jane.
"Oh, Sarah Jane!" The Doctor was the next to beam. "An old friend! Who's the boy?" He spotted the brunette teenager standing next to Sarah Jane.
"Is Donna around there?" Gabby squirmed her way in-between the Doctor and Renata, momentarily looking like their curious child trying to see what was going on.
"Donna!" Renata gasped. Her eyes laid on Martha but it was only her.
"She's at home, I'm assuming safe? All communication is down."
The trio's hearts stopped at the questionable fate of Donna.
"You picked up another one?" Jack raised an eyebrow at Gabby.
"She's mine," Renata answered with a proud smile, truly looking the part of a mother.
"I'm Gabby Gonzalez," Gabby gave a meek wave of her hand at the screen. "And I'm not a child, no matter how Renata makes it seem."
"Doctor, it's the Daleks!" Jack exclaimed.
"They're taking people to their spaceship!" Sarah Jane added and was followed by Martha's input.
"But it's not just Dalek Caan!"
~ 0 ~
In Donna's living room, there was an equal relief to see the Doctor and Renata on their computer screen, although Rose paid more attention to the former than the latter.
"They're alive," Donna was grinning from ear to ear. "And that means we can still win this!"
"Win what? The world's ending," Sylvia said from behind.
"Mum, not now!" Donna sighed as she watched everyone jabber along on the computer. They were unable to join.
"So you do have the cosmic butterfly and the Time Lady?" Rose didn't seem too sure about them when she glanced at Donna.
"They're incredibly kind women, I swear," Donna assured her.
"She-" Rose tapped her finger over Renata, "-didn't care for humanity in your world. She was in hiding...and she knew the Doctor, but...she didn't care that he was dead."
"To be fair, that's also a version of Renata that never met the Doctor again so...she never got attached to any human like Martha...me...and Gabby," Donna said sadly. She wondered what that other version of Renata felt like being alone. She remembered how scary the Doctor had been the first time she met him. He had no control of himself, no care for his own life because he felt so utterly alone. She presumed the other Renata had to been similar.
"And she-" Rose moved her finger to Gabby, "-can be very dangerous. She was a fixed point in time in a lot of the other worlds. She was dangerous, Donna, I swear."
"I believe you," Donna promised. Rose looked very sincere in her worries and Donna couldn't just wash them away when Rose had seen things with her own eyes. "But please trust me when I tell you that these versions are not who you think they are. They're here to help."
Rose bit her lower lip and turned her gaze back to the computer. All this time she hadn't felt her stomach churn the way it was right now - despite the Dalek situation and the universes crashing - but now looking at Renata and Gabby made things feel a lot worse. It scared her even more.
~ 0 ~
The Doctor was fondly watching all of his previous companions jabber over one another, trying to explain the situation. He had no idea what they were saying but he didn't care. He was so happy to see all of them. "Look at you all, you clever people!"
"These are all previous companions?" Gabby asked him with a growing smile on her face. People just like her who would understand all of her stories!?
"Yeah," the Doctor nodded. "That's Captain Jack-" and just before the man in question was about to open his mouth, the Doctor pointed a warning finger at him, "Don't you dare!" Gabby blinked but smiled at the brunette man on the screen. He was kind of cute. "That's Sarah Jane - we go way back."
"Centuries," Sarah Jane agreed. "Now I must ask who is that?" She was talking about Renata who'd been pretty quiet but nonetheless looking just as happy as everyone else.
"Renata," the woman answered. "Nice to meet you...even though I wish it was under better circumstances."
"This is like an outer-space Facebook!" Gabby laughed once she realized the comparison. "Can we make this a daily thing? You know, when the world isn't ending."
"Oh Gabby," Renata laughed and side hugged her.
"Everyone except Rose," the Doctor distantly commented after a moment.
~ 0 ~
"I'm here, Doctor. I'm here," Rose whispered with an urgency that Donna could practically see radiating from her.
~ 0 ~
The screen in the TARDIS turned into white noise all of a sudden.
"No, no get them back!" Gabby frantically said, even banging the side of the monitor to get ahead of the Doctor.
"There's another signal coming through, there's someone else out there!" The Doctor did indeed follow Gabby's plan and banged the other side of the monitor.
"Would you two stop banging the monitor!?" Renata yanked their two hands off the poor screen. "Maybe it's Donna."
But the voice that followed was definitely not Donna. It was a raspy, almost ugly, voice that froze the two Time Lords in their places. "Your voice is different, and yet, its arrogance is unchanged."
Gabby wasn't sure who it was but judging by the looks on the pair's faces, she knew it could not be good.
"No, but he's dead…" Sarah Jane was the only companion who seemed to share the Time Lord's horror.
"Welcome to my new empire, Doctor," Davros - creator of the Daleks - emerged from the darkness to reveal a rather unappealing appearance.
"Ugh…" Gabby found herself retracting a few steps, repulsed at the terrible creature on the screen.
"I've never actually seen him…" Renata sucked in a breath of terror. Flashes of the war came back to her mind suddenly.
"It is only fitting that you should bear witness to the resurrection and the triumph of Davros, Lord and Creator of the Dalek Race," Davros said, but the Doctor only stared in silence. "Have you nothing to say?"
Gabby took the Doctor's silence as a very good reason to be afraid. "We're-we're in the TARDIS. We're...we're supposed to be safe, right?"
"But you were destroyed," the Doctor finally found some words to say. "In the very first year of the Time War, at the Gates of Elysiem. I saw your command ship flying into the jaws of the Nightmare Child. I tried to save you…"
Renata's double-take on him nearly hurt her neck from how fast she'd done it. "You did what?" Never in her lives would she ever try to save someone like Davros...but of course the Doctor would.
"It took one stronger than you," Davros told him. "Dalek Caan himself."
The Dalek himself flashed in the background, singing his words with an insane undertone. "I flew into the wild and fire. I danced and died a thousand times!"
"Emergency temporal shift took him back into the Time War itself," Davros further explained, or explained better since the other Dalek was deliriously laughing.
"But the entire War is time locked!" Renata, outraged, yelled. How could a creature like that be able to penetrate the most sealed event in history?
"And yet, he succeeded. Oh, it cost him his mind, but imagine - a single, simple Dalek succeeded where Emperors and Time Lords have failed. A testament, don't you think, to my remarkable creations?"
"And you made a new race of Daleks," the Doctor could only assume.
"I gave myself to them. Quite literally. Each one grown from a cell of my own body." Davros revealed his rotten form underneath his suit. His ribs and heart were almost entirely visible. "New Daleks. True Daleks. I have my children, Doctor. What do you have, now?"
The Doctor was still pretty shaken from the fact that Davros was there so Renata felt like it was appropriate to answer for him. "I am Renata and you ruined our world! So the only thing we're going to do is say goodbye you horrible, ugly monster!" She reached for the lever across and yanked it down with all her might, sending both the Doctor and Gabby to the floor.
The TARDIS began its descent towards Earth, never the smooth ride.
Author's Note:
Ah, so it's all coming now. Donna still went through the paralell world but now she's back on Earth helping Rose out where she can. And Rose started foreshadowing what could/might happen to Renata...or Gabby...or Renata...
And guys...they finally went to the Shadow Proclamation! But poor Renata, in her nightie, and it all blew up in her face. They were NOT helpful at all and the Doctor finally got to show it. This moment will come up later on too xD.
Can you guys believe that there's only like 6 chapters left in this story (if I don't decide to split up a few chapters). I'm so excited for the next story that I thought I'd leave behind another snippet of it. Actually, this is quite literally the beginning of the next story if anyone's curious!
P. S: As always, I have a tumblr account dedicated to my fanfic works! It's a place where anyone can comment about a story or even just talk to me! I often drop aesthetic work belonging to my stories too! Feel free to check it out, my URL is "noble-crescent" and the tag I created for any posts having to do with my work is # noblecrescentedit.
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ewokthrowdown · 4 years
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🎃 YOI Spooky Week 🎃 Tuesday 29th of October 🎃
Day 5, Theme A: Wicked Magic ⚡ Curses and spells
Notes: This was inspired by @charminglyantiquated’s cursed comic, which I anon asked them about and luckily it was okay to use as inspiration so I’m very grateful! All their art (and technically writing ‘cos comics and world building) is really great, very spooky and fantastical.
Content warning: past very minor original character death.
~~~~~~~~~
“So you think your family’s cursed and the ghost, demon, monster thing comes to steal your breath when you turn of age tomorrow?”
Phichit’s voice was disbelieving. Yuuri sighed, knowing that if he turned around to look at it, his best friend’s face would be torn between confusion, concern and suspicion that this was a prank. He decided to forgo the experience and continued laying more nails carefully under his bed.
“Listen, I know it sounds crazy, you’ll just have to trust me on this one,” he said.
Yuuri sat back on his heels as Phichit went silent, clearly unsure how to respond.
“Yuuri...” he said eventually, his voice filled with a hesitance that told Yuuri exactly what he was about to say. “You don’t think maybe you should speak to someone about this? I mean someone besides me? Like a professional?”
Yuuri sighed again and let his head fall back to gaze blankly at the ceiling.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Well how can I?!” Phichit returned, the understanding patience vanishing from his voice as he strode around Yuuri to throw himself onto the bed. Vicchan, Yuuri’s puppy toy poodle who’d been sat on the bed, climbed into Phichit’s lap for pets.
“You just told me that all the youngest children in your family have been cursed to wear iron at all times once they turn twenty-three, or they’ll be choked to death by the demon that a witch summoned as revenge for one of your ancestors leaving her at the altar!”
“That’s about the gist of it, yeah,” Yuuri agreed, getting to his feet. The motion made the thin iron chain he wore around his neck swing a little.
Yuuri had been given it by his parents when he’d turned twenty-two, one year before he needed to start wearing it. They explained the whole thing to him, why his Aunt Makiko on his mother’s side always wore a similar chain, the curse, the demon. At first Yuuri thought it had been a very bad joke, but then his Aunt’s chain had snapped while she was staying with them, Yuuri also home to visit at the time.
They’d been walking on the beach as a family. Makiko had been adjusting the collar of her jumper, and she tripped as she tugged at it. The slip had caused her to pull on the chain around her neck and her eyes had gone wide, the colour draining from her face as the wind picked up around them. Yuuri had known in that moment that it was all true.
He’d watched his mother turn up ahead, a similar expression of terror dawning on her face to her sister’s as she started sprinting back towards her. But it was too late. Yuuri would never forget the image of Makiko gasping for air as her face turned blue.
Yuuri had been horrified. He’d worn the iron chain ever since. Placed nails under any bed he slept in. Filled his pockets with packets of salt.
Tomorrow would be the first day of being haunted by the demon. Yuuri wasn’t looking forward to some kind of horrible apparition following him around, but at least he had protection.
Vicchan jumped down off Phichit’s lap and nudged Yuuri’s leg with his nose, tail wagging. Yuuri bent and scooped him up in his arms.
“Even if you don’t believe me you’ll see for yourself tomorrow,” he said. After all, it’d be hard for the demon to haunt their flat without Phichit noticing, even if he wouldn’t be able to see the demon himself.
“Well that’s terrifying.”
Yuuri shrugged.
~~~~~~~~~
That night, Yuuri awoke in the early hours of the morning to the sound of Vicchan growling. He knew immediately the two of them weren’t alone. For one thing, he’d been born in the early hours of the morning, so was officially twenty-three years old. For another, he had a creeping feeling of being watched. Yuuri sat up.
A storm was raging outside, wind whipping the trees. Moonlight spilled through the curtains he’d left open, illuminating the room in monochrome colours. Vicchan was standing near Yuuri’s knees, growling at something at the foot of his bed. There was something standing there.
Heart beating fast, Yuuri squinted, trying to make out the figure. It seemed to gather the shadows around itself, sucking the light from its surroundings. Yuuri flicked on the lamp on his side table.
The figure was indeed a shadow, even in the light of the lamp. But now Yuuri could make out the lines of a silhouette. It was tall and thin, shaped like a human man with broad shoulders. His hair was short, but when he turned his head to look around the room Yuuri thought he looked like he had a fringe. He had a long, straight nose, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, though when he turned his head to look back at Yuuri they were impossible to make out in the black void of his face.
“Hello,” Yuuri said, surprised that he was able to keep his voice steady.
He gathered Vicchan up, soothing the puppy with pets as he settled in Yuuri’s lap. Vicchan whined a little before going quiet, but Yuuri could feel him quivering.
The shadow didn’t reply. Yuuri swallowed.
“I know why you’re here,” he said next, feeling his courage return to him. “I saw what happened to my Aunt. But I’m going to be more careful, so you can lurk spookily all you want, you can’t touch me while I’m wearing iron.”
Yuuri glared at the shadow.
The shadow tilted his head, and Yuuri had the oddest feeling that it was smiling at him. Yuuri raised his eyebrows at it.
“Well, if that’s all,” he said, laying back down.
He glanced once more at the shadow, before turning off the light and rolling over. Vicchan snuggled up to him, still on high alert and watching the foot of the bed.
The shadow didn’t make any noise, but Yuuri was sure it was still there. It was sort of hard to get back to sleep with it there, even though he didn’t feel exactly scared of it.
Then, all of a sudden, the window banged open. Vicchan barked and Yuuri shot up in bed, eyes wide as the wind howled through his window, whipping the curtains up into a frenzy. He heard Phichit call, “Yuuri?” from his bedroom, but was too busy scrambling out of bed to close the window before the rain could get in.
The shadow was nowhere to be seen, but Yuuri was sure it was still there. Windows didn’t just throw themselves open on their own.
Yuuri managed to get the window back down and locked. The sound of the storm died and the curtains went still. Yuuri hurried to go scoop Vicchan up, who was standing on the end of his bed and whining. The door of his bedroom opened, light from the hallway spilling in and showing Phichit staring at him.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” he asked, looking around the room as though expecting to see something other than Yuuri and his dog.
“Just your standard cursed haunting,” Yuuri sighed, going to sit on the bed. “No big.”
Phichit was still staring at him. Yuuri wondered if he was going to stand there all night.
Vicchan calmed down after a little while.
“So it’s true then?”
Yuuri looked up at the sound of Phichit’s voice to see him still standing in the doorway and looking sufficiently freaked.
“Yeah. But you have nothing to worry about, it’s after me. It just may be a little disruptive because it likes to throw tantrums when it can’t get to its intended victim.”
Phichit just continued to stare at him. Yuuri sighed.
“Listen, I’ll understand if you want me to move out,” he said.
“What?!” Phichit looked more horrified but the idea of Yuuri moving out than him being cursed with a murderous demon. “Of course you’re not moving out! No. In the morning we’re going to the library and we’re looking up a way to break the curse.”
“We’ve tried,” Yuuri said, but he couldn’t help but smile at how much his friend cared. “My ancestors did everything. Some of them lived until an old age, others met rather sticky endings a little earlier. But we can’t break it. Well, we can if we stop having kids. It’s not like I particularly want kids, but I know Mari does eventually.”
“Well there’s got to be something,” Phichit said decisively, striding into the room. “Budge up, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
Yuuri did as he was told, secretly relieved, and together they climbed under the duvet. It was a lot easier to fall asleep after that.
~~~~~~~~~
Yuuri was right in thinking that the library didn’t have anything. They searched both the university one and the one in town, but books about curses weren’t exactly common, and the ones they did find talked about the history of witchcraft as though it wasn’t real. They knew otherwise.
There was a rather exciting moment when the books threw themselves off the shelves around them, but Yuuri just stuck his tongue out at the air around them and carried on.
They searched the internet too, which was a lot more accepting of the supernatural, but it only talked about prevention and true love’s kiss.
“Just start kissing people,” Phichit suggested. “Bound to get it right eventually.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, Peach. Also I think there’s something in the curse about being unlucky in love because my ancestors never found anyone.”
Phichit gave him a peck on the lips anyway, much to Yuuri’s amusement, then seemed disappointed that he wasn’t the fairytale prince.
“Well I suppose that confirms that we’re very much platonic soulmates,” he allowed.
That evening while they were trying to watch television the screen kept going static filled and the sound was screechy.
“Hey, dickhead,” Yuuri shouted, looking around for the shadow, which he found lurking over by the door to the kitchen. “We’re trying to watch TV here.”
“Yuuri, oh my god, don’t anger it,” Phichit said, horrified.
“It’s fine, he’s a big idiot,” Yuuri huffed, sticking his tongue out at the shadow, which flickered in what was perhaps supposed to be a menacing way.
Phichit was staring at him as he settled back against the cushions.
“How can you be so casual about that thing? Didn’t it murder your aunt?”
Yuuri sighed and grabbed another handful of crisps from the bowl. Honestly he wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t feel more scared. Maybe it was that he’d spent months being afraid of the moment he’d come of age and see the demon, that he knew his family and generations before him had been terrified. But now he just felt annoyed.
“I suppose I’m just done being afraid,” he said.
~~~~~~~~~
That night there was scratching at the door and moaning from the attic. Yuuri yelled at it to shut up and went back to sleep. Phichit spent another night in his bed.
~~~~~~~~~
The next morning there were words written in the condensation of the mirror after his shower.
I WILL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD
“Yeah well I hate you too,” he said.
~~~~~~~~~
The shadow appeared suddenly behind Yuuri when he was making dinner, making him drop the cup of sour cream when he turned around. The cream went everywhere. Yuuri gave the shadow the finger. The shadow gave it back.
~~~~~~~~~
Yuuri came out of his room one morning to find the word DIE written on the hallway wall in dark red dripping letters.
“Whose blood is that?!”
~~~~~~~~~
The next day his cup of tea trembled on the table all on its own. Yuuri made another one and placed it on the table next to his own.
“This is your mug of tea to rattle ominously,” he said, pointing at it. “And this is mine.” He pointed at the other.
There was a pause, and then the second mug started to rattle.
“Good doing business with you,” Yuuri said, smiling as he settled back with his tea.
~~~~~~~~~
“If I put Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural on for you, will you stop making my laptop go weird?” Yuuri asked the shadow. “There’s lots of stuff about ghosts and demons, maybe they’re friends of yours.”
The shadow seemed to consider this, and then nodded in agreement.
“Fantastic,” Yuuri said, relieved.
~~~~~~~~~
“Is it boring not being able to interact with the world properly?” Yuuri asked the shadow as it lurked while he was studying.
The shadow shrugged.
“I’ll leave the radio on for you.”
The shadow trembled in a happy sort of way.
~~~~~~~~~
“And this move is called the sun salutation,” Yuuri was telling the shadow as he moved into the next yoga position, his mat laid out in the living room. The shadow watched with apparent interest from a few feet away. “And this is the mountain pose.”
~~~~~~~~~
“He can roll over,” Yuuri said, making Vicchan roll over for a treat.
“Dance.”
Vicchan hopped around on his hind legs.
“And play dead.”
Vicchan flopped to the floor on his back. The shadow trembled.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Yuuri warned it, glaring.
~~~~~~~~~
“Yeah I suppose I haven’t spoken to my parents in a little bit,” Yuuri was saying after his shower as he sprayed on deodorant. “I’m sure they worry about me.”
There was a squeaking noise and Yuuri looked up to see words appearing in the fog over the mirror.
CALL THEM
Yuuri smiled.
“I will.”
~~~~~~~~~
“And this muscle is called your trapezium,” Yuuri said, feeling along the muscle of his neck. “It’s a big one, goes all the way down to here.”
The shadow watched as Yuuri pointed out all the different muscle groups in his arm, then pointed to his shoulder.
“That one’s the deltoid,” Yuuri said, smiling. “Thanks for helping me study.”
The shadow gave a happy tremble.
~~~~~~~~~
“Do you want a mug to shake?” Yuuri asked the shadow, who seemed to be watching his mug of tea intensely.
The shadow shook his head. Then seemed to hesitate. Then he leaned forward and blew on Yuuri’s tea. The steam coming off the tea swirled into the shape of a heart.
Yuuri felt his cheeks turn pink, an uncontrollable smile stretching across his face.
“I like you too.”
~~~~~~~~~
They went for walks through the park together, which were nice even though they couldn’t hold hands what with Yuuri’s chain. And they went for dinner even though the shadow couldn’t eat. He did draw a heart in the condensation of Yuuri’s wine glass though. Yuuri smiled, utterly charmed.
“It feels weird to keep calling you shadow,” Yuuri said that night once they’d got home. “Do you have a name?”
The shadow seemed to think about it, then shook his head.
“Would you like one?”
The shadow seemed to think about it. Then Yuuri’s laptop screen flickered to life. Written on the screen was one word.
Victor
“It’s nice to meet you, Victor,” Yuuri said, and the shadow trembled.
~~~~~~~~~
“So I was thinking we could go to the beach sometime,” Yuuri was saying to Victor as he buttoned his shirt up. “It’ll be cold this time of year, but pretty.”
Yuuri bent down as Vicchan ran forward excitedly. When Vicchan jumped up to lick his face his little paw caught on the chain around Yuuri’s neck. And as he came back down Yuuri felt the chain snap. He gasped.
There was silence. Yuuri looked up. Victor was staring at him. Yuuri took a step back. Victor took a step forward. Yuuri could feel how wide his eyes were. His breaths came short. His heart thundered in his chest.
Yuuri backed up until his back hit his bedroom wall. Victor drew closer.
“Victor…” Yuuri managed to choke out, his eyes filling with tears as Victor closed the space between them, looming over him.
Yuuri closed his eyes, not wanting to see Victor turn against him. And then there were lips on his. Soft, pressing, gentle. Yuuri gasped, dizzy with it as he sunk against Victor, his form suddenly feeling very solid, able to touch him.
Then Victor was pulling back, and Yuuri was opening his eyes. Victor’s dark face hovered inches from his own. He touched his fingers to Yuuri’s cheek, and Yuuri was entirely breathless.
There was a beat, and then Yuuri’s hands fell through Victor’s body as though it had turned to smoke. And with a sigh, Victor faded into nothing but air.
Yuuri stood stunned, staring at the spot Victor had vanished from.
“V-Victor?”
There was no reply.
“Victor?!”
Nothing.
Yuuri broke down sobbing.
Of course, he thought, a hysterical laugh choked from his throat. There’s more than one way to steal a breath. And true love’s kiss breaks all curses.
Yuuri wasn’t sure how long he stayed huddled on the floor, clutching his chest. He felt wrung out by the end of it. Raw and frayed. Vicchan was nuzzling at his hip, trying to comfort him. Yuuri pet him, letting the motion soothe him.
Then he looked up, his jaw set.
“I will get you back,” he swore.
~~~~~~~~~
Yuuri returned to the internet for answers, and searched until he was sure he had the right incantation. He ordered the things he needed online too. Crystals, chalk, a scrying bowl, special herbs and a bird’s skull.
He was restless as he waited for the things to arrive. Phichit knew he was heartbroken, but recognised his determination and just let him know that he was there for him if Yuuri needed. Yuuri was grateful, but was determined it wouldn’t be necessary.
Yuuri had to wait for the full moon to perform the spell. He sat in his and Phichit living room, the rug rolled back from the hardwood floor and a summoning circle etched out in chalk onto the floorboards in front of him. Crystals were carefully placed at points around the circle and a bowl was cupped in his hands. A bird skull, some herbs, and a lock of his own hair sat in the bowl. Before him sat the printed piece of paper with the necessary words on it.
Yuuri began to chant.
The words were strange sounding, a little like Latin, but something jagged about them. They struck the ear oddly and sent shivers down the spine.
Yuuri repeated the chant time and time again, feeling something building as he did. He closed his eyes, putting all his will and concentration into the incantation.
The hairs on his arms started to rise as goosebumps sprung up over his skin. There seemed to be a whisper of wind around the room even though none of the windows were open. There was snapping, sizzling sound, a crack like thunder. And then silence.
Yuuri opened his eyes.
Inside the circle stood a man. Tall, thin, with broad shoulders and a sweep of silver hair that fell across one eye in a fringe. The visible eye was a shocking blue. His skin, which was bare of clothes, was pale as marble, and he was so painfully beautiful that it was immediately obvious he wasn’t entirely human. Mortal, maybe, but certainly not human.
He blinked at Yuuri, apparently lost for words. Yuuri smiled.
“Hello, Victor.”
Ao3.
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Text
Havoc - Chapter 3
Pairing: SasuSaku
Plot: Sasuke knew people were still afraid of the club and especially of its Sergeant at Arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had been untouchable then and still was now. Indeed, there was nothing and no one in this world that Sasuke Uchiha feared. Except Sakura fucking Haruno. Biker AU.
Note: I absolutely did not plan on going into so much detail for the action of this chapter, but here we are. Also, if you want some background music to get you in the mood for this particular scene (especially the Zippo lighter moment), here’s my recommendation: Heavy Young Heathens - Being Evil Has A Price. Hope you like it, let me know what you think.
                                                        ----------
“So what are you gonna do about your kid’s grades?”
“I don’t know, man. Got any good tutors you could recommend?”
Kai could hear muffled voices right next to his head, though he couldn’t see anything. He just regained consciousness, and it took him a few seconds to remember where he was and what had happened. The last thing he recalled was being cornered in a bar by one of the Havoc’s enforcers and his men, who promptly proceeded to beat the everloving shit out of him.
He wanted to move his tongue to lick his dry lips when he suddenly realised they gagged him. Kai tried to move his head to see if he could shake off whatever they put over his head, but it was futile. It seemed to be some sort of dark cloth, maybe burlap, and they tied it tightly around his neck.
“Don’t ask me about tutors, you know my kid scared off the last three.” He was now conscious enough to make out every word the two men said. If he heard right, they were both standing to his left and right.
“Well, I don’t know what else to do. He doesn’t wanna study on his own, and when Nami or I try to help him he gets all defensive and accuses us of thinking he’s incapable.”
The man to Kai’s right scoffed. “He’s thirteen, of course he’s going to give his parents hell. Don’t worry about it too much, he’ll grow up soon enough.”
There was a deep sigh to his left before the other one raised his voice again. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, that he’ll grow up too soon. Suddenly, our main worry won’t be school anymore, but doing drugs, jumping off cliffs, and bringing girls home without asking.”
The man to Kai’s right let out a teasing chuckle before asking, “Wasn’t that exactly what you were doing during puberty? Come on, man, you sound like some sort of suburban dad who wears polo shirts and drives a minivan instead of a Harley. Your entire family is part of an MC and your kid was always bound to grow up around certain stuff other kids couldn’t even imagine in their wildest dreams. Instead of shielding him from it, show him the ugly truth, scare him off a bit, toughen him up. Don’t worry man, he’ll turn out just fine.”
There was an undiscernible murmur to Kai’s left which was interrupted by the roaring sound of multiple motorcycles approaching.
“Looks like the show’s about to begin,” the man to his right chuckled in a menacing tone.
He could feel hands grabbing the cloth tied around his head and ripping it off with such force his head jerked back. While his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the hall, another hand grabbed the gag and released it form his mouth. Kai immediately took the chance to make his anger known. “What the fuck is wrong with you two fuckheads? You kidnap me and tie me up in this reeking warehouse and have a fucking heart-to-heart?!”
The only thing he was met with was silence and the two men grinning down at him with smug satisfaction before turning their heads to the right. Kai followed their gazes and when his eyes landed on a third figure casually leaning against an oil barrel and sharpening a knife in silence, he gulped.
“Oh shit.”
The grey-haired man slowly raised his head and fixed Kai with his signature bored stare. Only there was also a hint of a threat in them, enough to make the young man question every last one of his life choices so far.
“Oh shit, indeed,” the man drawled.
It was then Kai heard the distant chatter from outside mixed with heavy boots stomping around and drawing closer. Clattering noise echoed through the room a few seconds later, and Kai could hear a door hit a wall from the other end of the hall. The voices became louder and louder until Kai realised the entire Havoc MC was swarming into the warehouse and forming a circle around the chair he was tied to.
The sea of people parted around the Havoc’s president still leaning against the barrel to Kai’s left. Kakashi kept his calm and scrutinising look on him, but Kai knew the old man was seething inside. The Prez shoved his knife into his right boot and proceeded to slowly approach the middle of the circle in languid strides, his gaze never once leaving Kai.
Even though Kakashi was known for his unperturbed and relaxed disposition, never allowing himself to lose his cool and basically being the opposite of aggressive intimidation, he had the uncanny ability to bring the meanest motherfucker to his knees with just a stare. No furrowing of brows, no baring of teeth. Nothing.
Just a good old-fashioned menacing glare.
Kai could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. His mouth felt dry, and his pulse quickened. He had always been scared shitless of the Havoc’s President, because he grew up during the club’s bloodthirsty past. Despite giving up a majority of what made them so feared back then, the President and his club hadn’t lost a single bit of their intimidating aura.
After Kakashi studied him for what felt like an eternity, he finally raised his voice.
“So, you thought you could use my baby girl’s book shop to sell drugs, huh?”
The grey-haired man cocked his head to the left and crossed his arms in front of his chest. There was still no visible sign of anger to be found anywhere on his face. And yet his calm and collected demeanour hid a raging storm ready to be unleashed upon any fool who dared to cross his precious little girl.
Everybody knew the Havoc’s President’s only weakness was his daughter, even Kai was aware of that. What he didn’t know, however, was that she owned a book shop – the book shop. He would have mentally slapped himself to death for not noticing that teeny-tiny impractical detail, if it weren’t for the fact that the Prez – or anybody else for that matter – barely talked about Sakura fucking Haruno or what the fuck kind of shop she owned.
Kai gulped as he felt the vindictive eyes of the entire club staring daggers into him. He wished Kakashi would just get on with it, beat the shit out of him, and be done with it. The intense stares, the palpable tension, and the heavy silence filled with threatening promises were killing him.
He was torn from his thoughts when he heard the President’s voice again. His frightful eyes shot up to meet Kakashi’s deadpan expression.
“You know the Havoc has sworn off drugs decades ago. You know the Havoc has sworn off unnecessary violence and bloodshed. But even though we no longer pillage, burn, and murder,” Kakashi walked around Kai’s chair and was now standing behind him, placing both his hands on his shoulders, painfully digging his fingers into his flesh, “we’re still damn good at breaking bones. If someone crosses the club, you can bet your ass we’re going to rip ‘em a new one. If someone crosses my daughter,” the President leaned forward and grabbed Kai’s chin in his left hand, squeezing so hard his jaw was seconds away from being dislocated, “the club will hunt you down. We will break each and everyone of your bones in alphabetical order. And we’ll shove our boots so far up your ass, you’ll taste nothing but leather and dirt for a year.”
At this point, Kai was trembling in his chair, frantically trying to keep his head still so that Kakashi wouldn’t dislocate his jaw.
“But,” with a booming voice the President suddenly let go off his face and straightened himself again, “I promised my daughter that I would no longer get my hands dirty with that kinda shit. So unfortunately, I won’t be the lucky one who gets to gut you like a pig. I reserved that honour for someone else.”
Kai felt the older man’s fingers digging into his shoulders again. His panic-struck eyes jumped back and forth between the countless Havoc bikers, his breath was coming out in quick, short gasps. A mixture of sweat, tears, and snot ran down his face while his brain was frantically trying to think of whoever else Kakashi could have assigned to kick his ass.
Jiraiya? Too old for this crap.
Asuma? Got a kid, he’d grown too soft.
Naruto? Too much of a goofball, not torturer material.
He was torn from his thoughts when he watched the crowd of Havoc bikers part, exposing a long corridor right in front of him leading to a darkened room behind the murderous mob. Kai realised then that many of the bikers had smug, satisfied smirks gracing their faces while turning their gazes to the pitch-black room in the back.
A slap on the shoulder reminded him of the president’s presence behind him.
“Enjoy the show, I know I will. Once he’s done with you, you’ll think a brain tumour is a birthday present.”
The crowd went silent.
Seconds ticked by where nothing happened.
Kai had his eyes focused on the same blacked-out room everybody else was expectantly staring at. There was nothing there. No outline of another person. No sound. Nothing.
Just darkness. Silence.
Click.
A Zippo lighter was ignited in the shadow, enveloping parts of the room in its warm, subtle light and revealing the outline of a broad chest, undoubtedly male, dressed entirely in black. Kai couldn’t make out a face, since the man held the lighter rather low. After another second, he started moving his hand, revealing parts of his biker vest with various Havoc patches sewn onto it, a jaw with a prominent three-o’clock-shadow, a mouth set in a grim line, and jet-black eyes staring at him with a silent promise of vengeful terror.
“Oh shit,” Kai whispered.
The fucking Sergeant.
He watched the Havoc’s Vice-President and Sergeant-at-Arms narrow his eyes before he lowered himself to a crouching position, right hand still clutching the Zippo lighter illuminating his face. The Sergeant’s eyes landed on something on the ground right in front of his feet, and he moved his lighter towards it. Though the tiny flame was no longer close to his face, Kai could clearly see his lips tugging into a devilish smirk.
It was then Kai realised that what captured the Sergeant’s gaze on the ground to his feet was wet and glistening. Kai’s eyes followed the liquid and trailed from the crouching Sergeant all the way to the ground in front of his own chair, and his eyes widened.
The fluid formed a straight line from him to the Zippo lighter held threateningly close to the tiny puddle at the Sarge’s feet.
Sasuke’s eyes shot up to meet his again. His grin widened ever so slightly as he let the lighter fall into the fluid, setting it ablaze.
“Oh shit shit shit shit, fucking holy shit, no, fuck this man, shit, fu – “
Sasuke watched with glee as the prospect struggled to free himself from the ropes tying him down. He wiggled around, desperately trying to get the chair further away from the line of gasoline. By the time the fire almost reached him, he was squealing like a pig in a slaughter house. Which, Sasuke had to remind himself, he was, in a way.
Kai could no longer watch the fire approach him, so he closed his eyes and let out a long, agonised scream, adding some high-pitched wailing for good measure.
It was even more pathetic than Sasuke imagined.
After a few seconds, where nothing but the prospect’s sobbing filled the otherwise silent warehouse, Kai seemed to get a hold of himself and opened his eyes again, only to find the fire ended a few centimetres in front of his chair and had no way of enveloping him in its flames.
The snivelling prospect shot Sasuke an incredulous look before another long, strangled wail was released from behind his clenched teeth.
Rolling his eyes, the raven-haired biker stepped around the fire and stomped towards the chair in the middle of the room. He didn’t waste a second with punching the sobbing prospect right in his face, effectively shutting him up. Sasuke gave the kid a second to catch his breath and spit out the blood gathering in his mouth before he reached back with his right hand, grabbed Kai’s hair, and yanked back his head.
Sasuke was now towering over the young man, his fingers painfully digging into his skull. He gave him one long hard look of barely restrained rage before growling, “You should’ve thought twice about messing with her.”
Placing his other hand on the back of Kai’s head, Sasuke pulled it down as far as the ropes allowed it and kicked his left knee into his face with such a force the chair was knocked back and Kai almost toppled over. In that instant, Sasuke placed his left foot on the front stretcher of the chair and yanked it back again.
The Sergeant let out a long, content sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “If you had done what you did a few years ago,” he drawled while sauntering over to a tool trolley close to the chair, “I could have pretty much done whatever I wanted with you.”
Sasuke held up a pair of pliers as if to examine their usefulness in his hypothetical torture scenario. With the pliers in hand, he walked back to Kai, forced his mouth open and clamped down the jaws on his front tooth. “Could’ve pulled out your teeth. One by one. Real nice and slow, make sure you feel every bit of it.” Sasuke could feel his lips tugging into a devilish smirk at the sight of the prospect’s eyes widening in terror.
He let go of his chin and walked back to the tool trolley. After picking up a hammer, he flipped it in his hand before pointing it at the quivering heap of misery in front of him. “I could also use this to hammer some nice big splinters into your nail bed.” Another sob broke free from the prospect.
With his grin widening, Sasuke dropped the hammer and picked up a big wrench with adjustable jaws instead, weighing it in his hand before raising it for the prospect to see. “Ah, the things I did with this beauty.” Sasuke widened the head of the wrench, then pointedly turned his gaze to Kai’s crotch before letting the jaws snap shut. The sound of the wrench’s head closing made the prospect flinch and press his knees together in a half-hearted attempt to protect his crown jewels.
The Sergeant’s gaze darkened suddenly, the grin slipping off his lips as he put away the wrench and approached the prospect with slow, deliberate steps. Dressed entirely in black and with a murderous look in his eyes, Sasuke looked every bit as a starved panther encircling his prey. Growling. Waiting. Calculating the perfect moment to go in for the kill.
The raven-haired biker came to a halt right in front of the chair and looked down at Kai.
“You should count yourself lucky you did what you did now and not years ago. Otherwise I would have gutted you like a fish and hung your insides out to dry and nobody would have stopped me. Though none of that changes the fact that you crossed one of our own. You fuck with us, we fuck you back. You fuck with her,” Sasuke growled while leaning down and grabbing Kai’s chin between his fingers, murderous rage emitting from his pitch-black eyes, “and I swear to God I will disfigure you so much not even your Maker will be able to recognise you.”
With that, Sasuke reached back with his right arm and punched the prospect in his face with such a force he knocked out a few teeth.
And he didn’t stop there. The next minutes were filled with the sounds of Sasuke violently landing blow after blow to Kai’s already battered face and the poor bastard’s pained and strangled groans. The Sergeant was sure if he kept this up for much longer, he probably would have beaten him unconscious – if it weren’t for that voice suddenly calling out to him from behind.
“Sasuke.”
His fist halted mid-strike, hovering centimetres above the bloodied and busted lip of his victim. Sasuke could suddenly hear his own breathing coming out in quick and shallow gasps, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his veins at the prospect of taking revenge on that piece of shit for putting her in danger.
Letting out a deep, controlled breath, Sasuke lowered his hand and fixed his cold eyes on Kai. He leaned down and whispered threateningly, “You’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for her,” before straightening himself and turning to face the woman behind him.
His gaze immediately softened at the sight of Sakura staring at him with a mixture of concern and determination before allowing her eyes to rest on the battered bastard in the chair.
“It was my book shop he used. Pretty sure I get to do the honours, don’t you think?” she asked while strutting towards both men.
Sakura came to a halt right in front of the chair and fixed Kai with her signature I’m-about-to-fuck-you-up glare. “Anything you have to say in your defence?”
The poor fucker was so badly beaten up, he couldn’t even keep his head straight. So Sasuke grabbed a few strands of his hair and yanked his head up to meet her gaze while growling, “You look a lady in the eye when she speaks to you.”
“’msorry,” came the weak, gurgled response from behind bloodied teeth.
“You’re sorry. That all you’ve got to say?” Sakura crossed her arms in front of her chest.
The only reply was a broken sob.
“You have no idea of the scale of the damage you could have caused with your half-baked attempt at dealing drugs. Not only did you jeopardise me and the future of my entire career, but you could have been the one responsible for the deaths of countless drug abusers. If anybody OD-ed on the shit you were trying to sell, do you think you could still live with – “
“I’m sorry, okay. Jesus fuck, woman, I’m sorry, is that what you wanna hear? Just- just get this over with, man,” Kai yelled out sobbing, which immediately resulted in another punch in the face from Sasuke.
“Don’t interrupt a lady when she talks to you.”
Sasuke’s eyes landed on Sakura when he heard her sigh next to him. “Alright, I think this is enough. Let’s finish this.”
She turned away from the chair and walked over to Kakashi, still leaning on his oil barrel, a blow torch in one and a branding iron in the other hand. She grabbed the cold end of the iron rod, turned around, and strutted back. Sasuke watched her come to a halt right in front of the chair, her gaze jumping back and forth between the branding iron in her right hand and the beaten-up bastard tied to the chair.
Sasuke took another step to close the distance between them. Raising his fingers to her chin, he lifted her head and forced her gaze to meet his. In that moment, he didn’t care that he was being gentle in front of his hard-ass biker friends, he didn’t care that her father was watching, who he was sure would bust his balls later on for getting all touchy-feely with his precious daughter. Sasuke didn’t care about anything but the fact that for the first time in years, Sakura’s jade-green eyes weren’t looking at him with contempt and regret.
For the first time in years, his Sakura was staring at him with the same look she had when they were young and stupid and in love, full of honesty and vulnerability.
Sasuke’s thumb stroked her chin as he softly whispered, “You don’t have to do this, sweetheart.”
Her doubtful gaze landed on the branding iron again. “You’re too pure for this kind of shit. Let me do the dirty work Just say the word and it’ll be done. I’ll do it. For you.”
When Sakura raised her eyes again to meet his, Sasuke was met with a look of pure determination.
She turned her head, releasing her chin from his hold, stepped forward and planted the hot branding iron right on to Kai’s naked chest.
After relishing his screams for a few seconds, she lifted the iron rod and marvelled at the sight of the mark she left behind: the words Havoc and Rogue were now clearly branded into his bloodied skin, marking him as an outcast in the world of outlaw MCs. The Havocs were still one of the most feared motorcycle clubs in the country, and there were not a lot of bikers who dared to cross them or question their judgement. Whomever they branded as a rogue would be treated as such by other bikers as well. This mark would make sure Kai would never again find a place in another club.
Sasuke watched Sakura’s shoulders slump as she let out a long breath. Though a part of him was concerned for her well-being and would like nothing more than to shield her from such dark and ugly things as the one she just experienced, there was another part of him, admittedly an even bigger one, who was immensely proud of her, the part which would love to put her on a pedestal, shine a spotlight on her, grab her hand and raise it in the air like she was a fucking boxing champion.
Sasuke’s eyes landed on the now unconscious Kai slumped in his chair, head hanging down, drool and blood dripping from his busted lips. The Sergeant’s gaze focused on the mark on his chest.
His girl did that. Sakura stepped in, did what was necessary, stood up for herself, and proved her strength in front of the entire club. If anybody had any doubts about the fact that Sakura fucking Haruno was a hair-raising, spine-chilling, blood-curdling badass, Sasuke was sure she just annihilated them.
With a proud grin tugging at his lips, the raven-haired biker turned around to face the crowd of Havocs. “If any member of our club decides to cross a line like that ever again, you can bet your asses that I will hunt them down and fuck them up. I don’t care if you’re a prospect who’s only been with us for a month or a dedicated patch holder who wipes the Dope’s ass whenever he gets shitfaced,” his best friend made his complaint about that remark loudly known from somewhere in the crowd, “there will be no mercy. The club looks after its own. And if you think for one second that doesn’t apply to her,” Sasuke grabbed Kai’s hair and yanked up his battered face for all to see before growling, “then take a good look at this fucker and think again.”
                                                           ----------
It was one in the morning when Sasuke entered the kitchen of the Havoc’s clubhouse to grab a bite to eat. He had spent the last two hours in the gym blowing off steam after returning home from dealing with Kai. In the end, it turned out he had more rage bottled up inside him than he initially thought, and since Sakura had stopped him from properly working through his anger, he still had some punching to do.
Slapping together what looked like a piss-poor and half-assed attempt at a sandwich, Sasuke left the kitchen and was heading towards his room when he saw Sakura staring holes into her laptop in the bar across the hall. He slid into her booth and placed the plate with his sandwich in front of him, which seemed to tear her from her thoughts and made her look up in surprise.
“It’s one in the morning, what the hell are you still doing up?”
She blinked a few times before answering, “Uh… couldn’t sleep. So I’m going through my inventory and browsing through lists of newly published books, trying to decide which ones to buy.”
“Any good ones?” Sasuke asked before taking a bite out of his sandwich.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her take off her reading glasses and rub her eyes while sighing. “Honestly, they’re all crap,” she murmured with a laugh.
Her shoulders slumped and she sunk deeper into her seat, leaning her head on the backrest of the booth and closing her eyes. She looked exhausted, Sasuke noted, and yet she still couldn’t sleep. He wished he could take all of that away or take her away from all of this crap.
“I know what you did today wasn’t easy. Wanna talk about it?”
Her head rolled to the left and she opened her tired eyes again to look at him with an undiscernible expression for a moment before opening her mouth to speak, “I’m not weak Sasuke. What I did to that prospect doesn’t bother me.”
“Then what is it?”
Sakura sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Honestly? I’m kind of bothered by the fact that it doesn’t bother me. Does that make sense?”
She turned to him again and looked at him questioningly. Sasuke just nodded and allowed her to continue. “I mean I get it, in a way, you know. I grew up in an MC, I was surrounded by weird shit for the majority of my life. I get that my moral compass is fucked up. Things that would scare other people shitless never really bothered me that much. But I got out, you know? I left all of that behind. For a long time now, I’ve been living a normal life – whatever that is. I thought I grew into it. But then this shit happens and I need to come back to the club and I just dip one toe in these waters and I’m immediately sucked back in again. Like all of that emotional growth I thought I had gone through over the last years went up in smoke. If anything, tonight just proves that no matter how much I try to shut out this part of my life, I’ll always be a club member. I’ll always be the crazy biker bitch whose daddy taught her to wield a Butterfly knife at twelve and who tortures little kids with a branding iron and feels no remorse about it.”
“And that’s bad?”
Sasuke watched her eyes widen in shock and look at him as if he sprouted a second head.
“Yes, that’s bad, Sasuke. I’m supposed to feel horrible about what I did tonight.”
“No, I mean the rest. What’s so bad about you always being a member of the club? You said it yourself, you were raised in an MC and you can’t undo that. Much like people who were raised in an orphanage can’t undo the fact that they grew up without parents. Your upbringing sticks with you for the rest of your life, why would you wanna hide from it?”
Sakura kept her pensive gaze fixed on the ceiling above her and answered with silence.
“I watched you during the party, you know. Playing pool, goofing around with Ino, catching up with old friends. You didn’t seem out of place at all. You seemed comfortable, like you never left.” Sasuke carefully raised his right hand to tug a strand of hair behind her ear before murmuring, “Like this is where you actually belong.”
When Sakura didn’t make a move to stop him, he ran his fingers through her hair and started playing with the ends as he continued, “As much as you try to hide it, I know that deep down, your heart is still tied to the club. To its members.”
To me.
“You’ve been running from it for so long, pretending to be someone else. Why don’t you just embrace what really makes you happy? Fuck what other people think about you branding little wannabe drug dealers, we do that all the time here, it’s called a Tuesday morning.”
Sasuke could feel his heart skip a beat at the sight of her lips tugging into a tiny smirk. His fingers closed around a strand of her hair, tugging it gently down to force her head to face him.
“You know you belong here, Sakura.”
They both shared a long intense look. Sakura’s eyes shone with the same sort of openness and vulnerability as they did when she looked at him in the warehouse earlier, and Sasuke had serious trouble not letting his gaze drop down to her inviting lips.
“Don’t do this, Sasuke,” she murmured.
“Why not?” His eyes swept back and forth between her jade-green orbs and his fingers who were still lost in the sea of her pink hair.
“Because I’m still mad at you.” Sasuke fixed his gaze on her face where he found the exact opposite of an angry expression. And still, he knew there was resentment left inside of her, a deeply-festered regret not allowing her to move on.
“Don’t let me stand in the way of your happiness. I mean it, Sakura.”
“What if that happiness doesn’t involve the club? Or you? Will you be in my way then?”
Sakura stared at him expectantly. Seconds ticked by where they just looked at each other, because Sasuke seriously didn’t know how to answer that question.
He heard her sigh and watched her close her eyes, before she raised her hand to grab his own and pull it out of her hair. Grabbing her laptop and reading glasses, Sakura stood up and was just about to leave, when she turned around, leaned over the table and pinned Sasuke with a threatening glare.
“If you tell anyone I had a heart-to-heart with you, I will gouge out your eyeballs while you sleep, understood?”
She didn’t even give him a chance to answer, instead turning on her heel and strutting out of the bar.
Sasuke couldn’t help but smirk proudly as he yelled after her, “Told you you belong here!”
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furbysciences · 4 years
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AN INHABITANT OF CARCOSA by Ambrose Bierce
(DISCLAIMER: Ambrose Bierce wrote this story and I claim no ownership to it or anything mentioned in it.)
For there be divers sorts of death- some wherein the body remaineth; and in some it vanisheth quite away with the spirit. This commonly occurreth only in solitude (such is God’s will) and, none seeing the end, we say the man is lost, or gone on a long journey--which indeed he hath; but sometimes it hath happened in sight of many, as abundant testimony showeth. In one kind of death the spirit also dieth, and this hath been known to do while yet the body was in vigour for many years. Sometimes, as is veritably attested, it dieth with the body, but after a season is raised up again in that place where the body did decay.
Pondering these words of Hali (whom God rest) and questioning their full meaning, as one who, having an intimation, yet doubts if there be not something behind, other than that which he has discerned, I noted not whither I had strayed until a sudden chill wind striking my face revived in me a sense of my surroundings. I observed with astonishment that everything seemed unfamiliar. On one side of me stretched a bleak and desolate expanse of plain, covered with a tall overgrowth of sere grass, which rustled and whistled in the autumn wind with Heaven knows what mysterious and disquieting suggestion. Protruded at long intervals above it, stood strangely shaped and sombre-coloured rocks, which seemed to have an understanding with one another and to exchange looks of uncomfortable significance, as if they had reared their heads to watch the issue of some foreseen event. A few blasted trees here and there appeared as leaders in this malevolent conspiracy of silent expectation. The day, I thought, must be far advanced, though the sun was invisible; and although sensible that the air was raw and chill my consciousness of the fact was rather mental than physical--I had no feeling of discomfort. Over all the dismal landscape a canopy of low, lead-coloured clouds hung like a visible curse. In all this there was a menace and a portent--a hint of evil, an intimation of doom. Bird, beast, or insect there was none. The wind sighed in the bare branches of the dead trees and the grey grass bent to whisper it’s dread secret to the earth; but no other sound nor motion broke the awful repose of that dismal place. I observed in the herbage a number of weatherworn stones, evidently shaped with tools. They were broken, covered with moss and half sunken in the earth. Some lay prostrate, some leaned at various angles, none was vertical. They were obviously headstones of graves, though the graves themselves no longer existed as either mounds or depressions’ the years had leveled all. Scattered here and there, more massive blocks showed where some pompous tomb or ambitious monument had once flung its feeble defiance at oblivion. So old seemed these relics, these vestiges of vanity and memorials of affection and piety, so battered and worn and stained--- so neglected, deserted, forgotten the place that I could not help thinking myself the discoverer of the burial-ground of a prehistoric race of men whose very name was long extinct.
Filled with these reflections, I was for some time heedless of the sequence of my own experiences, but soon I thought,  “How came I hither?” A moment’s reflection seemed to make this all clear and explain at the same time, though in a disquieting way, the singular character with which my fancy had invested all that I saw and heard. I was ill. I remembered now that I had been prostrated by a sudden fever, and that my family had told me that in my periods of delirium I had constantly cried out for liberty and air, and had been held in bed to prevent my escape out-of-doors. Now I had eluded the vigilance of my attendants and had wandered hither to---to where? I could not conjecture. Clearly I was at a considerable distance from the city where I dwelt-- the ancient and famous city of Carcosa.
No signs of human life were anywhere visible nor audible; no rising smoke, no watch-dog’s bark, no lowing of cattle, no shouts of children at play--nothing but that dismal burial-place, with it’s air of mystery and dead, due to my own disordered brain. Was I not becoming again delirious, there beyond human aid? Was it not indeed all an illusion of my madness? I called aloud the names of my wives and sons, reached out my hands in search of theirs, even as I walked among the crumbling stones and in the withered grass.
A noise behind me caused me to turn about. A wild animal--a lynx-- was approaching. The thought came to me: if I break down here in the desert-- if the fever return and I fail, this beat will be at my throat. I sprang toward it, shouting. It trotted tranquilly by within a hand’s breadth of me and disappeared behind a rock.
A moment later a man’s head appeared to rise out of the a ground a short distance away. Her was ascending the farther slope of a low hill whose crest was hardly to be distinguished from the general level. His whole figure soon came into view against the background of grey cloud. He was half naked, half clad in skins. His hair was unkempt, his bear long and ragged. In one hand he carried a bow and arrow; the other held a blazing torch with a long trail of black smoke. He walked slowly and with caution, as if he feared falling into some open grave concealed by the tall grass. This strange apparition surprised but did not alarm, and taking such a course as to intercept him I met him almost face to face, accosting him with the familiar salutation, “God keep you/”
He gave no heed, nor did he arrest his pace.
“Good Stranger,” I continued, “I am ill and lost. Direct me, I beseech you, to Carcosa.”
The man broke into a barbarous chant in an unknown tongue, passing on and away.
An owl on the branch of a decayed tree hooted dismally and was answered by another in the distance. Looking upward, I saw through a sudden rift in the clouds. Aldebaran and the Hyades! In all this there was a hint of night--the lynx, the man with the torch, the owl. Yet I saw--I saw even the stars in absence of the darkness. I saw, but was apparently not seen nor heard. Under what awful spell did I exist?
I seated myself at the root of a great tree, seriously to consider what it were best to do. That I was mad I could no longer doubt, yet recognized a ground of doubt in the conviction. Of fever I had no trace. I had, withal, a sense of exhilaration and vigour altogether unknown to me--a feeling of mental and physical exaltation. My senses seemed all alert; I could feel the air as a ponderous substance; I could hear the silence.
A great root of the giant tree against whose trunk I leaned as I sat held enclosed in its grasp a slab of stone, a part of which protruded into a recess formed by another root. The stone was thus partly protected from the weather, though greatly decomposed. Its edges were worn around, its corners eaten away, its surface deeply furrowed and scaled. Glittering particles of mica were visible in the earth about it--vestiges of its decomposition. This stone had apparently marked the grave out of which the tree had sprung ages ago. The tree’s exacting roots had robbed the grave and made the stone a prisoner.
A sudden wind pushed some dry leaves and twigs from the uppermost face of the stone; I saw the low-relief letters of an inscription and bent to read it. God in heaven! My name in full!--the date of my birth!--the date of my death!
A level shaft of light illuminated the whole side of the tree as I sprang to my feet in terror. The sun was rising in the rosy east. I stood between the tree and his broad red disk---no shadow darkened the trunk!
A chorus of howling wolves saluted the dawn. I saw them sitting on their haunches, singly and in groups, on the summits of irregular mounds and tumuli filling a half of my desert prospect and extending to the horizon. And then I knew that these were ruins of the ancient and famous city of Carcosa.
Such are the facts imparted to the medium Bayrolles by the spirit Hoseib Alar Robardin.
Fin.
It was originally published in the San Francisco Newsletter of December 25, 1886. The city of Carcosa is used in the story ‘The King In Yellow’ by Robert W. Chambers, a book comprised of short stories which was published in 1895 by F. Tennyson Neely. Fun extra fact, ‘The King In Yellow’ is widely accepted to be part of the Lovecraftian Cthulhu Mythos.
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sebeth · 5 years
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Fantastic Four # 9 - 12
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Warning, Spoilers Ahead…
 A Brief Summary: Doctor Doom suffers another embarrassing defeat
Debuts:
·         The Ovoids
·         Impossible Man from the planet Poppup in the Tenth Galaxy
·         Willie Lumpkin
Favorite Cover: #12 – The Fantastic Four Meet the Hulk!
Invisible Girl Hostage Count: 5 out of 9 issues
Points of Interest:
·         The issue opens with Reed using his “electronic x-ray camera” with “radioactive film” in an attempt to learn more about Sue’s invisibility power.  Sue urges Reed to hurry as it’s “hot and stuffy” while “Torch keeps his flame on”.  Said Torch is acting as Reed’s lab assistant. Johnny is taking notes while engulfed in flames – except for his hands.  Between the causal use of “radioactive film” and Johnny walking around in flames, it’s a wonder the group lives long enough to battle Doom later on.
·         The FF’s signal flare appears in the sky. The trio attempts to exit the lab but the door is locked. Johnny decides to burn through the door but is stopped by Reed: “Trying to stop you from blowing us up, kid! Did you forget how sensitive that nuclear device is to heat?!” Johnny was completely engulfed in flames only four panels earlier and Reed didn’t seem to care but now it’s a no-go.
·         Is it safe to keep a nuclear device in the middle of New York City? Especially with Johnny and Ben living in the building. The duo engages in destructive rough-housing on a near-daily basis!
·         Reed attempts to stretch his arm to reach the Fantasti-Car so the trio can leave via the window but the strain proves too much. No worries, as Johnny has learned something new: “I can concentrate my flame so much that it burns without heat!” What?!
·         The trio escapes the lab. Reed decides “Let’s forget the Fantastic-Car. We can make better time without it!” Again, what? Johnny, maybe, but not the other two. And this is the era where Johnny randomly loses power due to “exhaustion”. Wouldn’t it make more sense for Johnny not to use his powers until the group has reached the scene of crisis? Especially when you have an awesome car-plane just waiting to be used?
·         The three head to the source of the flare. Sue causes a car crash with her “now you see me, now you don’t” routine. I never understood how Spider-Man was a “public menace” and the X-Men were “hated and feared” by the general public in comparison to the Fantastic Four in the early days of the Marvel Universe. Spider-Man mostly stopped criminals and the X-Men were isolated in Westchester County minding their own business…meanwhile the Four, in the heart of NYC, can barely go an issue without causing a mass panic or massive property damage…many times caused by Ben having a tantrum!
·         The source of the “emergency” is Ben wanting to show off the new statues Alicia has made of the team’s enemies. Sue protests the inclusion of Namor. Reed questions Sue over her feelings for Namor: “I thought we had an understanding.” Sue admits she’s not sure of her own feelings.
·         Johnny’s glad he’s “not old enough to have all those kinds of mushy problems”.  Karl Kessel’s “Human Torch” series contains pre-transformation flashbacks of Johnny flirting with girls. And he’s flirting with Valeria, Princess Pearla, and soon to be dating Dorrie Evans in the “Strange Tales” series. Perhaps Johnny’s referring to “serious” relationships?
·         Doctor Doom has returned to earth! And decides to storm Marvel Comics and terrorize Stan Lee & Jack Kirby with the sight of his unmasked face?!
·         Doom proclaims: “I do no blame you for shrinking from the sight of me! I still cannot bear to gaze upon my face myself! But I must remove my mask at times else I feel it will strangle me!”
·         Reed has the nerve to question Ben: “What makes you so bad tempered all the time?” Seriously, Reed?!
·         We have a fun moment of Johnny & Ben uniting to prank Reed by stretching his clothes.
·         Doom ambushes Reed. Victor explains he was rescued by the Ovoids, an alien race whose “science and culture were a million years ahead of ours”.  Doom learned many abilities from the Ovoids including the ability to switch bodies with another person. Victor promptly switches bodies with Reed.
·         The rest of the team arrives and subdues Doom (Reed). Ben and Johnny are very excited to have captured Doom (Reed) and devise ludicrous ways to imprison him. Not to worry, Reed (Doom) had devised a cell to contain him.
·         Kirby draws some extremely creepy “Evil Reed” facial expressions.
·         Back at the Baxter Building, the rest of the team is overrun by a herd of miniaturized animals: horses, bears, kangaroos, moose, elephants, cows, camels, zebras, birds, etc. The trio scramble to contain the animals and return them to Reed’s lab: “You know how angry he gets if anyone interferes with his work!”  
·         Reed (Doom) returns and the trio questions him – 1) Are these the animals stolen from the zoo and 2) Why are you shrinking animals?
·         Victor spins a story that this “reducing ray” will expand the team’s powers and allow Ben to transform at will. I know Reed is the scientist of the story but that explanation makes no sense. The team chooses not to press the matter of the animal theft and forced experimentation.
·         Doom (Reed) escapes from his cell and seeks the aid of Alicia Masters. Unfortunately for Reed, an invisible Sue was visiting Alicia and knocks him out.
·         Alicia is confused: “How can that be Doctor Doom? There’s an aura of goodness about him…of nobility!” Really, Alicia? You can sense that from an unconscious man in a suit of armor? I wish someone would establish Alicia had minor empathic abilities – otherwise, her “sensing” is ridiculous.
·         Johnny & Ben arrive to defeat “Doom”. Ben is furious that Alicia was threatened: “You tried to scare Alicia, did ya? Nothing can save ya from me now, ya miserable ghoul…I ain’t kidding now! He threatened Alicia! Do ya hear me? He dared to threaten Alicia!”
·         There’s a cute scene where the team takes Doom to the parked Fantasti-car only to discover a group of neighborhood kids palying in it.
·         Johnny and Ben suspect something is off with Reed & Doom so Johnny uses his powers to create a mirage to test their suspicions. I love Silver Age powers – always used in ways that make no sense with actual science.
·         Doom is found out, re-switches bodies with Reed, and shrunk to nothingness by his own reducing ray. The next time Doom achieves god-like powers he should erase everyone’s memories of his ridiculous Silver Age-shenanigans.
·         Issue #11 opens with a cute scene of the team encountering a group of children playing “Fantastic Four”. The team shows off their powers for the children. Johnny wisely reminds the kids “Throwing fireballs is easy for me, fella, but don’t you ever play with fire. It’s too dangerous for little kids.”
·         We meet Willie Lumpkin, the team’s mailman. He volunteers for the team: “I haven’t exactly got any super powers, but I can wiggle my ears real good.”
·         The team goes through their fan mail: Johnny receives love letters; Ben gets pranks from the Yancy Street Gang.
·         Reed has yet another cure for Ben who is understandably wary: “I’m sick of being a guinea pig for you! None of these things ever work right!” Ben takes the cure and transforms back into his human form. Ben, Reed, and Sue are ecstatic. A more cautious Johnny muses to himself: “Poor Ben! If he changes back to the Thing again, I don’t wanna be around to see it!”. Johnny decides to head to the garage to “fool around with my new TR-4!”
·         Reed and Ben recap their meeting in college. Ben was “State U’s football hot-shot”. Despite being polar opposites, “I was a millionaire’ son and he was from the wrong side of the tracks”, the duo quickly became best friends. Their friendship persisted throughout World War II. Ben was “a Marine fighter ace over Okinawa and Guadalcanal” and Reed was “behind the lines, working with the underground for the O.S.S.” The timeline of these events would put Reed and Ben in their late thirties at the time of their transformation into the Fantastic Four.
·         Due to the sliding timescale, the World War II bit has been retconned from Reed and Ben’s past. I think Ben’s time in the military is still part of his background – the era has simply changed. I’m not sure about Reed.
·         Sue had begun dating Reed before he left for the war: “It’s always been you, since we were kids together living next door to each other”. This would be retconned later – Sue and Reed wouldn’t meet until Reed was entering college.
·         Sue brushes off Reed’s devotion as the “shadow of the Sub-Mariner” lies between them. The whole Namor storyline could have been resolved much sooner if it was acceptable for comic book women, or women in general, were allowed to have lustful thoughts about men. Sue hasn’t spent enough time with Namor that didn’t involve threats to her, her family, or the human race in general. Poor Sue isn’t allowed to admit she appreciates Namor’s fabulous body in a tight, small speedo so the audience is left with her swooning over his “gentle”, “conflicted” nature. I love Namor but there has been nothing gentle or conflicted in his FF appearances. Execpt for the time he swam with the dolphins but Sue wasn’t there to witness it.
·         We get yet another recap of the infamous rocket flight. I understand the “every issue could be someone’s first” principle but were at issue #11 and it’s been recapped in half of the books.
·         Sue’s upset because a few pieces of mail state she “doesn’t contribute enough to the team”.
·         Reed defends Sue by saying Abraham Lincoln’s mother didn’t fight but she still contributed?! Kick him, Sue! Kick him!
·         Ben becomes overly excited and turns back into the Thing.
·         The boys surprise Sue with a birthday cake.
·         Impossible Man arrives on Earth, causing confusion and chaos in his wake. The Four battle Impossible Man in the Flamingo restaurant. He eventually becomes bored and leaves the planet. If you’ve seen the Impossible Man of the 2000s Fantastic Four cartoon, you’ve basically read this issue.
·         Johnny uses his powers to create “hypnotic rings” during the fight with the Impossible Man. You’ve got to love Silver Age powers!
·         Issue 12 begins a classic rivalry of the Marvel Universe: the Thing vs the Hulk.
·         Alicia and Ben are leaving a performance of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Ben comments “I get my kicks from low-down New Orleans Jazz”.
·         The army pours into town and mistakes Thing for the Hulk, prompting a mistaken identity fight.
·         Ben is quite irate over being mistaken for the Hulk.
·         General Ross arrives at the Baxter Building. He wants the Four to locate the Hulk.
·         Ross shows a picture of the Hulk. Sue fades from sight: “The sight of that monster unnerved me so that I lost control of my visibility power!” Really? I don’t buy it. First, it’s only a picture and secondly, she lives with Ben and has battled Skrulls and monsters from Monster Island. It’s not like large creatures are a foreign concept to Sue.
·         Even Ben thinks its bull!
·         The boys show off, proudly proclaiming how he – and he personally – will capture the Hulk. Unfortunately for Johnny, flying around the small room a few times exhausts him flame. I appreciate the time it takes Johnny to master his abilities – it’s more realistic as opposed to the “instant mastery” route but two laps around the living room shouldn’t wipe him out as this point. He’s been the “Human Torch” for months as this point.
·         Reed praises Johnny’s skills as a mechanic: “That flame of his is one of our most potent weapons as well as his mechanical skill.  In fact, I’ll give you a little demonstration! Johnny has just finished modifying our Fantastic-Car!”
·         Johnny encourages Reed: “You tell him, Big Daddy!” In an alternate universe, Johnny married Reed Richards – was that his pet name for him?
·         The Four and the General head to the Southwest to search for the Hulk. The Four meet Bruce Banner and Rick Jones.
·         Reed has “long been an admirer” of Banner’s atomic research. Banner returns the praise: “I’m highly flattered that the most brilliant scientific brain of our time should say that to me”.
·         Johnny both shows-off for and pranks Rick. Neither are impressed with the other. Johnny: “Look at him green with envy! Trying hard not to admit he’s overwhelmed by me!” Rick: “He wouldn’t be so swell-headed if he knew I was the Hulk’s partner!”
·         Johnny tends to dial up the obnoxiousness and showboating when he’s with another teen hero: Spider-Man, Rick Jones, and later, Iceman. Possibly a combination of eagerness to impress/work with someone of his age group and a desire to be the best of said age group.
·         The army base’s saboteur “the Wrecker”, but not the Wrecker, kidnaps Rick Jones causing Bruce Banner to unleash the Hulk.
·         The Four and the Hulk meet up in a “deserted Western ghost town” and fight. Ben finds and frees Rick. Hulk flees the scene.
·         The Four prepare to leave the base. Reed hints to Bruce: “I’ve got a feeling there’s a lot we have to talk about – like you, and Rick, and the Hulk, for instance!”
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elsewhereuniversity · 6 years
Text
Let me tell you about a dog I once knew.
To preface the story, I have always spoken to the unseen Good Gentleman who walked the lake shore with me. Anyone can wander down the deep abandoned boat launch, paddle their feet, wander the shoreline and scavenge, circle past the haunted cabin all the way to the twin boulders and the sandbar that lets you stand in the middle of the bay and revel in your presumed glory.
I do not remember what I say to the Gent. I’m never sure if he’s spoken to me, but the lake is as good a place to speak as any, and the footing is just poor enough, the scenery lovely enough, that there is never a reason to ever look up. Suffice to say, I must have asked for a dog.
In due time, the dog came.
I woke, one morning, to screams.
There was a dog on the front steps. A semblance of a dog, a shadow in the form of a dog, a skeletal, near-mummified, wreck and ruin of a dog.
And I, in all my childish wisdom, fed him the remains of a bologna sandwich, and ushered him through the wrought iron gate.
A normal dog, of course, is undeterred by iron. Neither was this one. A normal dog, a dog the size of a black lab, cannot slide effortlessly between the five inch gaps between the bars of iron. This one could.
My parents, wisely, at first refused to entertain the thought of keeping him. My sister and I raised hell.
We fed him on Cheerios and chopped bulk buy hotdogs, ruined my father’s pocket comb brushing out the endless clumps of fur and dead skin and pine sap of his coat.
My parents let us take him home.
He was a good dog, albeit one whose tongue lolled black.
He was a good dog, even though all we found of a burglar who’d tried to break through a back window was the bloodied, shredded pant leg of a pair of jeans.
He was a good dog, although we would come home to him roaming loose in the house and the crate we left him in perfectly intact with the latch still closed.
He brought us gifts, if the front quarters and head of a long-dead deer are gifts, if dead rats are gifts, if the lasting terror and avoidance of us from the neighborhood petty villains are gifts.
In theory, our dog passed away in 2007, after three long years of family and friends passing away with sudden and horrifying frequency.
We have his can of ashes, in its blue velvet Rainbow Bridge bag.
So why do we still step over his form at night, or see a pair of eyes in the window? Why can we hear the clicking of his nails, the jingle of his collar charms, the deep and mournful sigh of him?
Why, more importantly, did he howl at night, each night directly before a death occurred in the family? Why did he pace the hallways looking guilty, while we waited for the telephone call? What did he stare at so patiently, in the emptiness of the wall? Why did he lay beside me at night, low and menacing growls his constant crooning?
This black and grey-tan shadow dog, who never has, has never, left our sides, what is he?
There are legends in other places of church grims and Black Shucks. There are stories of guardian spirits appearing as otherworldly hounds.
He could have simply been a coincidental stray, there are hundreds of dogs dumped up there every year, it’s true.
Somehow, I do not think so.
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aithne · 5 years
Text
(Illume) The Edge of Silence
The kitsune lay in one of the few private places she'd found on the ship--atop a couple of crates stacked high and lashed to the deck. She turned her face up towards the flawless blue sky, enjoying the pressure of the sun on her skin. Today had been a good one, so far. She'd made the acquaintance of Ito, who was turning out to be amusing company, and they hadn't been attacked by anyone or anything, which was really all Reiko asked out of any day, any more. She heard Zhane muttering next to her, and turned her head to see the gaijin spirit imitating her, lying flat on her back on the crates, looking up into the sky.
Reiko laughed, and said in the badly accented English she was learning how to speak, "Slee-ping?"
The spirit rolled towards her, landing almost nose to nose with the kitsune, and put her hands under her head in an imitation of a sleeping child, giggling. In this mood, it was easy to understand why she'd loved the gaijin, even though after death she was fragmented and strange.
Setto sat on his heels near her head, keeping watch. He looked down at her and said, "That fox has something up his sleeve. He stank of it, Rei. Be careful with him."
She shrugged as best she could while lying flat on her back. "I will. I couldn't leave him behind, though. Without training, he's a menace to society. With training, he'll still be a menace, but then it'll be his choice to be so."
"Too soft-hearted these days, Rei." His voice was teasing. "What happened to my black-hearted vixen, the terror of the court? Is she reduced to teaching little boys how to use their equipment?"
She didn't rise to the bait. "I have to say, he didn't look so very little, husband," she said lazily. "Not little at all, really. I suppose I'll find out for myself tonight, though."
He laughed at her. Reiko raised her head and asked, "Tsuyoshi, what are you doing?"
The spirit was crouched at her side, running translucent fingers through the skin over her heart. "Looking. Thinking. The usual."
"Odd boy. Adorable, but odd." She turned her attention back to Setto. "So I'm thinking that I ought to find us a wu jen like the kind that brought Lin back to life. I'd really like the Demonbane to stop killing us, and bringing you back seems to be the only way. Well, either that or wait till all of us die."
He smiled down at her. "Are you sure? There are no guarantees. We don't know how things will go, afterwards."
"I'm willing to risk it. Even the pain of losing you once more, even knowing that you're mortal and will age and die...I think it's a small price to pay for the chance of kitsune still living in the world. Besides, we can cross that bridge when we come to it, right?"
"We always have. I have to admit, it would be good to be among the living again. Tell my father where he can put his crusade against your people. Finish the job I started five centuries ago." He brushed a hand down the side of her face. "My grandson, should he live, will be emperor, and the fortune of our line will finally be secure."
"Why not you? I rather fancy the title of Empress."
"Too many centuries, I'm afraid. Akechi would be better than I for the position."
Tsuyoshi's voice was quiet and worried. "Reiko?"
She lifted her head again, looking at the spirit of her wu jen. "What?"
"That thing you're talking about, with bringing Setto back into life? There's a problem with that."
"Tell me."
"Look, here, with magical Sight on. See, the sigil that's on his heart has its match over yours. If he comes back to life, that sigil will break. And..." He fell silent, obviously not wanting to say whatever it was he'd seen.
Reiko sighed, irritably. Tsuyoshi ran his hand through his hair, and continued. "That sigil's been on you so long that it's become integral to keeping your body and soul together. If you break it...Reiko, you'll die. I can't see any way around it. Bringing Setto back into life will mean your death. And the rest of us will also go into the final darkness. The only one left will be your husband."
She sat up, shocked to the bone. Despite the sunlight, she was cold, so cold. She wanted to accuse Tsuyoshi of lying, but it wasn't in his nature. What he told her must be the truth. The look on Setto' face mirrored her own--shocked and grieving. They had thought, for a little space, that they might be able to be together once again. But if she would flicker out the moment he came back to life...
Se pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face in her hair. Her shoulders shook, and the samurai spirit realized that his wife was crying. He knelt next to her, putting an insubstantial arm around her. "Rei, I'm sorry. I truly am. Sssh, love."
She lifted her tear-stained face. "And to think, that for a little while there, I was so stupid as to hope. Hope that one day I'd be able to be with you again. Hope that I would become again what I was, what I'm meant to be. Instead, I have a choice. Die under Thrykeen swords once the Demonbane gets tired of honoring our agreement. Or die bringing you back to life, to try to get him to stop killing my kind."
"The latter has honor."
She snarled, "I am kitsune. The human concept of honor holds no water with me! But..."
"But you've grown too much like us to reject the thought of an honorable death." Setto knew he was walking a very fine line with his vixen. He knew she truly wanted her kind to continue, but he also knew that, as an immortal, the thought of death was terrifying to her. To tell a creature that had thought it would go on forever that it might choose to stop was a hard thing, a hard thing indeed.
"Damned samurai. I knew hanging around you people was a mistake. But it's death no matter which way I turn. Die in hiding, hunted down by the Demonbane's creatures, or die where it might actually do some good." The tears began to fall from her eyes again, and she rested her chin on her knees and let them fall, not bothering to wipe them away. "I hate this. I hate the Demonbane for forcing this decision on me. I hate Lin for creating the sigils. And i hate the idea that you will finally be walking the world again and I will be dust."
He said nothing, just held her as best he could. Not for the first time, he wished for his body back, so he could comfort her properly, hold her while she cried. Then he shivered as he remembered--no matter what, he was never going to hold her again. He'd been used to things as they were, adjusted to being a spirit, invisible except to the vixen. Though she often frustrated him, life without her was utterly unimaginable. But he smothered his fears; she didn't need his worries in addition to her own. He murmured, "You don't have to decide now. Demonbane's agreement still holds. You have time yet."
"Time to contemplate my own death sentence. Time to decide which of two ways to die is better. Time to think about the fact that being an immortal doesn't always mean you live forever. Dear kami." She rubbed her eyes, looking for a moment like the child she had been over seven centuries ago. "I--I'm afraid. Were you, when you knew?"
He smiled wryly. "More than you know, Rei. It took all of my courage to ask you to be my sword, and to go through with it. But my death served another purpose, something larger than myself. As yours might. It was...a comfort. But just because we look forward to an honorable death, it doesn't mean that we welcome it when it arrives."
"Kitsune aren't supposed to end! We were once feared, revered. Now we're just hunted. In the long run...will it make any difference? If it isn't the Demonbane, will it be someone else? I could run, if I wanted. Leave Japan. Live in exile, somewhere he couldn't find me."
"You could." He covered her pale hand with his translucent one. "It would be a very lonely existence, knowing that you were the only one of your kind left in the world. But it would be the only way to avoid this, and you would live. It's your choice."
"Damned samurai. You've infected me with your sense of duty, Setto. I can't leave, and you know it. I'm too tightly bound to our family. I am well and truly stuck." Her expression was bleak as she looked out over the ocean.
"Are you going to tell the others?"
"No, I won't tell them, not yet at least. They don't need to know, the Lady doesn't need any more things weighing on her mind." Setto disagreed; he thought those she had recently come to care for would appreciate knowing of the kitsune's dilemma. He didn't argue with her, though. Not in the mood she was in; he'd try to change her mind later.
Eyes still fixed on the horizon, Reiko spoke once more in a voice that held a deep grief. "Will you promise me one thing?"
"Anything, Rei."
"Scatter my ashes on the estate in Kyoto. Let the earth remember me and none else."
There was nothing he could say to that, other than, "I will."
And for a long time, they were silent, the kitsune and her spirits, slow tears trickling down her face.
Below her, out of sight, Hiroshi detached himself from the shadow of the crates the kitsune was sitting on. With a glance upwards, he slipped away, silently.
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randomwordprompts · 5 years
Text
Intimate Friends | Part Six
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: Death, angst, darkness, mentions of rape (no descriptions but the word is there), torture, blood, abuse, and some slight fluff because I had to
Taglist: @bartierbakarimobisson @texasbama @princesskillmonger @babygirlofwakanda @wakandas-vibranium @wakandan-flowerz @storibambino @soldierandawar @blackgirloneshots @great-neckpectations @yaachtynoboat711 @maya-leche @flowerdelreaper @kumkaniudaku
Translations: Ma voie appartient au diable. Ill est notre redempter - My soul belongs to the devil, He is our redemption, ma petit - little one
(After the women left)
“Well well, I was wondering when you’d find me, Dr. Lector.”
Mason Verger stepped out of the cabin and over to a struggling Hannibal, his face a disfigured mess and his voice akin to gravel being placed in a blender. He looked like a decrepit old man that died and came back to life, the iris of his visible eye a darkened red. Hannibal tried to work through the blinding pain shooting through his leg but found it nearly impossible, especially once Mason spoke again.
“That looks like it hurts, Hannibal. Would you like some help?”
Mason stalked over to him with a menacing chuckle before bringing his foot down onto the bear trap and stepping on it, causing the man to let out a yell through gritted teeth.
“Wh-what exactly do you want, Mason? And why aren’t you dead?”
The disfigured man simply shrugged a bit before leaning in close to Hannibal, the smell of him being putrid at best.
“What I want should be obvious Dr., but let me explain. My new life here depends on giving some...gifts to the person that brought me back. You’re one of those gifts.”
Hannibal listened for a moment before taking the closeness of Mason and using it to land a clean swing on his jaw, causing him to fall back. While Mason was down, Hannibal tried to crawl away only to be grabbed from behind. Before he could turn and land another blow, Mason grabbed his left arm and literally pulled his shoulder out of socket, getting an agonized cry from Hannibal. Mason then opened the bear trap with relative ease, watching the blood flow from Hannibal’s leg for a moment before placing his hand over the leaking wound. His palm began to glow and heat up to the point of extreme pain, the heat more than enough to cauterize the wound so that it would stop bleeding.
“Can’t have you dying on us here, Doc. That just wouldn’t be fair.” Mason said with a horrific smile.
The burning pain of Hannibal’s leg was enough for him to pass out, making Mason’s voice the last thing he heard. Mason, on the other hand, dragged Hannibal’s body towards the lake where the camp kept their boats, all manual except for a motorboat for emergencies. Once the unconscious doctor was placed in the emergency boat, Mason grabbed two oars and began to row the two of them down the Ottawa River, heading east until they reached the St. Lawrence River. Once there, he started the motor and began to head southwest, eyes darting about his surroundings. Roughly 4 hours later the two were still going along the St. Lawrence, near the Canadian/US border portion of the river. About this time, Mason had to change out the fuel tank for the spare kept on the boat, delivering a rough punch to a stirring Hannibal in between to keep him out.
Before long Mason had arrived at Oak Island in Hammond, New York, where he docked the boat and carried Hannibal deep into the woods until he was at a secluded cabin. Tying him to a hook that was attached to the ceiling in the middle of the open living space, the deformed man limped off to grab a bucket and fill it with water only to throw it on Hannibal, stunning him awake. With gasping breaths, he looked around before gritting his teeth as the pain in his leg returned with full force.
“Wh-...where am I? This doesn’t look like your cabin so I know we’ve moved.”
“Well well, congrats on that lovely deduction, Sleeping Beauty! No, we’re not at my camp because I wouldn’t want to kill any of my precious campers.”
“Campers? You mean your victims?” Hannibal remarked sarcastically.
Mason snarled before delivering a rough blow to Hannibal’s ribs, his strength enough to crack at least two.
“Those children don’t have anything without me, we both know that. The least they can do is thank me for my...benevolence.”
Hannibal coughed up a bit of blood as his breathing became more labored, though his eyes held only hatred for the wretched man that was holding him hostage.
“What happened to you, Mason? Margot thought she killed you…”
“She did, actually. But you don’t get to where I am by being easy to kill, Doc.”
Margot looked at the sodium cyanide tablet for a moment before placing it into the glass of red wine, letting it dissolve before stirring it until it was combined. Her hands shook as she took a deep breath, steeling her resolve and painting an emotionless expression on her face so that she could take the glasses out into the dining room. She walked out to where her brother waited expectantly, taking a bite of his food as she placed the wine to his right. Mason gave Margot a smile that was more of a sneer before taking a bite of his food. A satisfied hum sounded from him at the taste of her cooking, his gaze on her amused as she silently ate her own food. Mason grabbed his glass and took a swig of the wine to wash down the food he ate, immediately noticing a slight almond aftertaste before pain shot through his entire body. His eyes went to Margot as he began to suffocate, her eyes finally meeting his nervously. Before he could ask her what was in his drink he began to lose consciousness, the glass slipping from his hand and falling onto the table with a light thud.
Just before passing out Mason fell to the floor from his chair, gasping for air and clutching at his throat before muttering a soft phrase too low for Margot to hear.
“Ma voie appartient au diable. Ill est notre redempter…”
Within four minutes, Mason Verger was dead on the floor of the dining room with Margot looking at him in both shock and slight satisfaction. She’d finally accomplished what she wanted and felt pure relief. Stepping over Mason’s body she suddenly felt tired and made her way to her bed, finally at peace enough to sleep without the worry of her brother sneaking into her room and hurting her.
Two hours later, Mason began to stir. His body changed and shifted, his skin almost melting off until he was unrecognizable to anyone who knew him just before an agonized cry tore from his throat. The sound was enough to wake Margot from her sleep and drive her to find the source of what stirred her. Mason waited for his sister to come back down to the first floor of the massive house, lurking in the shadows and watching Margot closely. Before she could even react he pounced on her inhumanly quick, making her scream in terror.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?!”
He gave her a crooked grin before a low chuckle came from his throat.
“You don’t know me now, dear sister?”
“M-Mason? What happened to- I thought you were- How-”
Mason grabbed Margot by her throat with a menacing snarl. “I think the real question is, what made you try to kill me? All the time we’ve spent together and you had to go and mess it up like this.”
Margot struggled a bit under his grip, tears beginning to flow from her eyes as she realized she’d failed. Looking down to the floor as she sniffled, she spoke with labored breaths.
“I...went to see this therapist. He told me that killing you would be good for me, help me heal and such.”
“Is that right? And what certified therapist would tell you that?”
“I...I can’t say.”
Mason tightened his grip on Margot’s throat only to pull her in close to his disfigured face.
“Let me sweeten this for you, dear. You show me who he is and I won’t kill you right here. Tell him you did what he said, that it was a success! Then I’ll let you go and you can pretend I really am dead.”
Margot looked at him with wide, fear-filled eyes but agreed to his terms.
Hannibal let his head drop as he swung side to side slightly, blood dripping from his mouth before he spit at the floor.
“So you had her lie to me and you let her go.”
Mason chuckled before taking a seat in a chair across from him. “Well...no. I never said I wouldn’t kill her at all. Just that I wouldn’t kill her in that moment. I had to find the man that turned my precious sister against me, after all.”
At those words, Hannibal looked up to meet his face with the best look of incredulity he could muster.
“Turned your sister? You raped her! You did one of the most despicable things anyone can do to another person to the one you were supposed to care for! And those children have been subjected to the same treatment. They are all victims.”
Mason stood and got in Hannibal’s face once again, grabbing his sore jaw tightly.
“Well then, Dr. Lector...I guess you’ll be my next victim then.”
(Back at the Lector Home)
More people have addictions than we’d like to acknowledge, but Amira embraces hers. Music is her drug of choice and dancing is her way of escape. Since she was a child, whenever she couldn’t put how she felt into words she would close herself off and dance. Hannibal noticed early on that this was her coping mechanism and decided to turn the basement of their house into a dance studio. It was soundproof and spacious, the perfect setting for his youngest to let out everything she bottled up without being bothered or disturbing anyone else in the house.
Currently, though, Amira wasn’t dancing. She simply laid in the middle of her studio, music blasting as she cried. Her chest heaved, eyes nearly as red as her hair, the only other sound coming from her being pained wails. She’d asked Xavier to stay with her family, but he couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming sorrow and worry that raked his mate. He sat and half listened to the rest of the planning before standing abruptly.
“I need to go check on Amira.”
With those words, he left the office and made his way down to the basement. He didn't bother knocking once he was there knowing the music was too loud, simply walking in. No words were said, he just closed the door and walked to the stereo to turn the music off before picking Amira up and sitting in a nearby chair with her limp frame in his lap. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the sweet scent of her hair reminding him of one of the many reasons he loved her.
“You know I can feel you, Mimi. Please don’t hide from me, ma petit.”
Amira sighed in slight relief, just having Xavier close to her bringing more comfort than she expected. She shifted until she was straddling his lap and hugged his torso tightly, burying her face in his neck before placing a soft kiss there as a silent thank you. He held her and they sat in a comfortable silence for about 5 minutes before she finally spoke.
“I just want him to be okay…”
“I know, but he’s strong. We’ll find him and wipe out who or whatever did this.”
The small demon huffed a bit but found herself believing him with a nod of agreement. As they sat a bit longer Amira suddenly sat up and slapped Xavier in the chest with wide eyes.
“Woman, what the hell?!”
“I’ve got an idea! We need to go tell the others!!”
Before Xavier could even ask what the idea was, Amira hopped out of his lap and ran upstairs to the office where the rest of the family was. She burst through the doors and found her brothers along with Will and their mothers sitting around a table going back and forth about how to get Hannibal. They stopped at the sight of Amira with Xavier trailing behind, his face as confused as the others.
“Mom...what if we used a tracking spell to find him?”
Diana's eyes widened before a grin spread across her face, grabbing her child's face and kissing her excitedly.
“That could work. It's a long shot but if we do it together it could be just strong enough to work!”
Will, a definite skeptic when it came to magic, looked between the two of them with no small amount of doubt, choosing to voice his views openly.
“I'm sorry ladies, but I don't see how any of your…beliefs are going to find him, let alone save him.”
Before Diana could stop her, Amira turned to walk towards her uncle without a word and leaned over the desk before blowing out air cold enough to freeze his hands in place on Hannibal's desk. Will tried to pry his hands from the ice but found himself stuck in place before coughing roughly, a sensation similar to heartburn taking over his chest. In the midst of this Amira began to speak, her face expressionless.
“I don't know what my father told you about us William, but these aren't ‘beliefs’. We're witches, my mother and I. A big yet basic part of that is elemental control.”
Will was leaning forward at this point, his chest filled with a burning pain that he couldn't soothe just before the taste of dirt filled his mouth. It was nearly unbearable but suddenly he couldn't breathe, his eyes quickly meeting Amira's cold gaze.
“Three minutes and you'll be dead. Let's see if you can believe that.”
Diana considered telling her child off, but she knew that would only result in Will being dead. Instead, she waved her hand, undoing the spells currently plaguing him. The man in question took loud gasps of air and held his throat as if it would fall off. Amira folded her arms but didn't speak as Xavier placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed soothing circles into her neck. Elisha spoke up first, trying to keep anything else from happening.
“Let's go with the spell. Amira and Diana are powerful in their own rights so together I don't doubt that they're capable.”
Amira smirked at Will but nodded to her step-mother before placing her hands on top of Xavier’s.
“Thank you. Now, if I recall correctly we’ll need eight candles, a photo of dad, a map of the area he was in last, and some privacy.”
Diana chuckled at her daughter but admired her knowledge.
“So you have been paying attention to my lessons. Color me surprised.”
“Mama I always pay attention, Even when you think I don’t.”
(Meanwhile, at the cabin)
Hannibal took labored breaths, trying to conserve his strength and soothe the ache of his cracked ribs. By his measures, he’d been strung up for about two days now and keeping a poker face was becoming harder by the hour. The pain coursing through his body was nearly unbearable if not for the knowledge that his family was doing their best to find him. He only hoped they would find him before it was too late...
A/N: Damn, I really didn’t think we’d get this far. My little one-shot turned into a series! But I can’t say I’m mad because my friends continue to gas up encourage me to keep it going. I think I’m going to conclude this story soon but don’t worry, we gone get through the storm first!
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webgeekist · 6 years
Text
Holiday Karma Pie
I paid for someone’s groceries today.
I didn’t do it for the karma. I didn’t even do it for the charity. I did it because the lady in front of me was having technical issues, and the less-than-$30 bill was worth sparing my sanity and getting out of that line. I played it off as a Christmas thing, asked the lady to pay it forward, and assured her that, yes, I was serious when I said it was no big deal. It wasn’t. I was happy to pay to get out of there.
I have a habit of picking the worst grocery lines. I thought, for a while, it was just this new place I’m in, but then I went home for Thanksgiving and went through 20 minutes of hell waiting for the family in front of me to finish arguing with the cashier about the $20 in savings they weren’t getting because their coupons weren’t scanning, or whatever other nonsense was preventing them from scanning an entire conveyor belt full of items, $200 and two carts into the bill. We moved to another line, finally, when one seemed available nearby. When we left with our own hefty bill in the cart, they were still there, slowly scanning the rest of their items.
I am also the person who will pick up the one item out of 100 without a bar code, and take three of them to the checkout lane.
It’s funny, this idea that you can buy karma with good deeds, as if your motivations don’t count. I’ve seen The Good Place. I know better than that. My motivation today was entirely self-serving, as is most charity in this country. We overwhelmingly donate our time or our money because it makes us feel better about ourselves, not because we genuinely care about giving. We’re scared into doing the “right thing” by a book that has been mistranslated and misinterpreted for centuries, and somehow have this warped idea that doing the right thing will buy us grace. Good Karma. A spot in heaven. Optimal reincarnation. At the end, there’s always something in it for us.
I’m no better than others in that regard. I do good deeds infrequently, and when I do, it’s almost always born of convenience. “Would you like to pay an extra 63 cents to round up your bill and donate to the Children’s hospital?” Sure. “Would you like to donate a dollar to aid in wildfire relief for Sonoma County?” Whatever. “Give a dollar to homeless pets?” Okay. “Save free information!” Click.
The result is positive for the recipient. That doesn’t make the motive for donation genuine.
And it doesn’t make the universe less likely to balance out your good luck with misfortune.
I think about that a lot. I’m always grateful for the positive experiences in my life, but I’m hyper aware of the fact that they often come at a premium. There’s a trade owed the universe, and you will pay it in painful ways. Maybe it’s a hard lesson you need to learn after you land your dream job. Maybe it’s illness, recovery, and loss after you find a few years of companionship. Maybe it’s your family turning their back on you a month before your wedding to the love of your life. And oh, by the way, she’s a girl and you are, too.
I’ve enjoyed two years with my fiancée. I marry her in 23 days. How many of my family will actually show up? At this point, I’m not sure.
I took a job in the Bay Area in July. It wasn’t so sudden that my fiancée didn’t have input. She absolutely did, and though we didn’t expect to be able to afford Northern California, we’re happy we could make this work. Or, at least, that we will make this work after June, which is when her teacher’s contract runs out in Texas. I’ve raked up so many frequent flyer miles, going back and forth every spare moment, and in the airspace between SFO and DAL, I’ve uncovered an anxiety I never expected to have: a fear of flying.
I have flown a Cessna. I have logged hours in a genuine full-scale 737-700 simulator. My dad was a professional pilot at one point in his life, my uncle still is, and all his kids can fly. My grandfather flew for the Thunderbirds. My brother is on his way to being a commercial pilot. I am not afraid of planes.
I started crying and choking before walking through security. I panicked when I booked tickets. If not for some of them being booked immediately after I got the job, I would not have gotten on a plane after September, but I’ve been on five trips since, fifteen total, and for most of them the what-ifs and potential loss has consumed me to the point of paralysis. Every bump and adjustment on takeoff freaks me the fuck out. The changing sounds of the engines at different altitudes and powers freaks me the fuck out. It’s taken every moment of every one of those harrowing trips to learn how to manage the anxiety, to rationalize the noises I hear from the engines, to normalize the dips and turns out of each Bay Area airport, but come Thanksgiving, when I climbed on a plane for the first long break I’d gotten at the new company, when I was so over the project I was working on that I was relieved to be standing at another fucking gate and boarding another fucking plane, all the stress management techniques I’d gathered in my anxiety did nothing to stop me from experiencing sheer terror flying out of SJC, meeting some bumpy air, banking to head south down the coast to catch a connecting flight out of LAX and bouncing around in the turn. I landed at SAT five hours later, cried in relief when the plane touched down (I always do, and I thank the plane for getting me there. That plane’s name was Tank. I gave it that name.), and stumbled into the terminal as fast as my eighth row seat would allow.
And then, I went to my family’s Thanksgiving.
I should precede this with the statement that the nine days my fiancée and I spent at my mom’s house started fairly early on with some culture shock. My fiancée is in grad school, and one of her class assignments was a “cultural plunge.” That’s a hilarious concept, because her entire life is a cultural plunge. She was born in Houston, but raised completely in India, went to college in Singapore, and came back to the states after. Living here has been one awkward learning experience after another, and with her brown skin, it’s also often been an experience of racism, of profiling, of assumptions made by ignorant people. She can’t go through an airport without getting her bag inspected and a pat-down (that happened once with my mother, and after we told her that no, my brown fiancée really does get profiled, and my mom damn near got herself arrested chewing the TSA agents out because how dare you treat her daughter like that. Yes, my mom is privileged. But, go Mom). Her background in science has often made living in Texas not unlike living on an alien world where logic and reason are outlawed. And oh, she’s a lesbian too. Discrimination trifecta.
Anyway, she submitted the idea of going to a Catholic Church on Sunday and staying for a mass as a cultural plunge, because unlike her white middle-class native Texan classmates, this was something she’d never done before.
I mean, what are the odds that they’d pick a gospel that would somehow relate to one of the many hot-button issues that any church in a red state could pick? The Pope is fairly liberal for a Catholic, and neither my mother nor I really remembered the sermons being terribly political.
Clearly, it’s been a while since we attended church.
My mother was horrified. Here was an opportunity for her to show her daughter-in-law a bit of her culture, and her upbringing, and therefore a bit of where my own morals and morality comes from. Here’s a chance for her to prove to me that the church of her childhood might have had these tenants but the sermons didn’t get into specifics, and people mostly just tried to Love Thy Neighbor.
I was pissed. I glared hard at the deacon as he climbed off the dais and walked back to his seat, and I’m certain he saw me. I’m certain he paused for a half-step because he saw my face, which I’ve been told can be really menacing when I’m angry. I don’t keep my emotions to myself very often. I don’t have a poker face like my fiancée.
She couldn’t muster that face. She was openly crying and trying not to show it. This church – this remarkably diverse church where she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, which had epistles in three languages, which was holding a bake sale as we walked in had on its staff a white conservative deacon who took an unrelated Gospel and warped it into a hateful political rant that didn’t hit one button. Oh no. That sermon was an IED array and it hit every single freaking target on the list.
We left during the Eucharist, and we didn’t buy a pie on the way out.
Five days after this experience that left us all in a drinking mood, and which after several bottles of wine was still a little painful, we went to the Thanksgiving party with my dad’s side of the family.
A lot of my aunts, uncles, and cousins seemed genuinely excited about the wedding. There was a bit of a shadow over one of my aunts because her father is really, really ill. Dad and my stepmother told a story about my grandmother, the escape artist, who is probably a lot more together than they think but who was put in an old folk’s home for people with memory problems about two months ago. I dread going to see her because the last time I saw her in a rehab facility, after she knocked her head and suffered the brain trauma that probably drove a lot of the symptoms she still has, it was a little difficult. It’s not going to be easy to see her in a home that isn’t actually her house. She apparently agrees, because she treats visitors to a tour of the place and asks a lot of pointed questions, like how many nurses are at the front station and whether or not you think someone can get to the parking lot from any given set of doors. She’s an inmate in a place she doesn’t feel comfortable staying, and she’s already made it to her car with an overnight bag once. But they have the keys locked up. I think she’s trying to figure out where they are.
She recognizes me. Remembers my name. Knows the wedding is soon. Asks about California. Hugs my future wife. And maybe goes through a few names before she gets some of my cousins’ and uncles’ names right, but she’s been doing that since I was four. We’re a big family. She always gets it right in under six tries.
My aunt looks hesitant to talk about her father, but she does. Both of us listen as she expresses her fears about being away, even for a day or two, because the doctors haven’t been very precise in telling the family to “spend time with him while you can.” It could be days, or maybe months, but probably not through winter because winter seems to be when so many people go, like the warmth-starved land sucks them dry. Which is weird, because we’re all from South Texas, and winter there is like 80 degrees.
We sympathize, and a pang of something I have only been able to define recently shoots through me. It feels like mortality, and reminds me of my fear of flying. It reminds me that I have this thing, this person, this state of being that I found and eventually will lose, that the loss won’t come when I’m ready for it (because that is never. I will never be ready for it). My heart hurts for her and my cousins, because the man is in his 80s like my two surviving grandparents, and that is a long and accomplished life, but it is still too soon for all of them. We have fought for my grandmother often enough and recent enough that I understand that position, too.
Hours later, before the annual turkey bowl, that aunt and my uncle, plus their oldest son come find my fiancée and I in the upstairs game room where most of the cousins retreat after lunch and before football. They ask us both to come out onto the balcony with them for a few minutes. Their younger son, recently married, follows shortly after with his new bride.
And my cousin starts….with a prayer.
“Heavenly Father, please guide our conversation today in your wisdom and light.”
I have my fiancée’s hand in my own. I hold it tighter. I know where this is about to go.
My cousin is a stalwart, honest guy. He’s the eldest son of two people who have always given where they could. They drop what they’re doing to help people, simply because they need help. They give within their means, which are better means than most. Their big and open hearts were passed to two of their three sons, both of whom were standing on that balcony with them. But they are sinners, my cousin says, all of them. And he is no better than anyone. He cannot cast judgment upon sinners as one of them, as someone who has been addicted to pornography, and has crossed lines with women. He loves us both, they all do, but surely we’ve read what the Bible says and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.
My uncle says to us, we love you. We will not change how we treat you…but we’ve prayed about this for a while, and we can’t go to the wedding.
“We can’t celebrate the sin,” my cousin says.
And I know they love us, the best way they know how. I told them that I understood their perspective, though I disagreed, and respected their decision. We hugged, my aunt called me big-hearted, someone mentioned chocolate (it might have been me), and they started filing off the balcony.
I stayed behind and broke down in my fiancee’s arms.
See, my family had been outwardly accepting until that moment, when something finally broke enough for the first people to say something about it. And my fiancée – my tall, brown, “foreign” fiancée who has tried so hard to get my family to like her – felt instantly like all that effort had been for absolutely nothing. And I? I felt guilty for putting her in that position, for forcing us into a position where my family may never truly be okay with any of this, where a lifetime of loving and supporting each other so demonstratively may yet be lost on so many people I love, because somehow our relationship all boils down to sex to some people. Theirs is about love, but ours is about sex, and lust, and sin, and how the context of the Bible may be all about polyamorous lustful activities but a committed, loving, monogamous relationship between two women is just the same as sexually abusing guests and having orgies in front of idols and a really vague Greek word which in context probably means “men who sleep with boy prostitutes” but magically includes all people who engage in the act of sodomy and well never mind that you’re not actually doing that you’re just the same as the literal “man bed” who will not inherit the kingdom of heaven.
Maybe karma can keep that paradise, because I don’t want to spend eternity in a place where loving companionship is the same as assault. I get enough of that in the news.
It took me a while to come out of the bathroom I found to hide in, because there was no amount of water that could bring the redness down, and eventually my fiancée brought my closest cousin to find me. She saw us walk out, she counted the time, and she knew something had gone wrong. We told her what had happened.
This is the brewing rift. There are some people in our family who sit in Catholic services every Sunday and are not only going to the wedding but are genuinely excited for it. And there are some who might yet show up, but will be at the bar a lot.
Those excited for it will probably not enjoy learning why so many of us are absent. What happens then is probably not high drama, but probably won’t be business as usual either. Said my closest cousin, “I don’t know what to do with them now. You have a bigger heart than me for walking out of that situation without coming downstairs and telling everyone about it immediately.”
Twice in one day, in different contexts, two people I care about made reference to my perfectly normal sized, potentially smaller than average heart. Karma revealed the consequences of my good fortune that night, and they continue to unfold by the minute. For the first time in my life, I may miss Christmas with that side of the family this year. I suspect it won’t be the last thing we miss.
I climbed on the plane to come back to California two days later, and cried over the root of the problem with all these flights: the separation has been torture, and after the emotional week we had, it was going to be hard for us to heal apart. I put on my noice-canceling earphones and turned on Radiolab just before takeoff. It was a podcast about a girl without an identity, whose family kept her sheltered and off the grid, who didn’t have any kind of paper trail because her parents didn’t believe in social security numbers, and so never let her have one. I flew over Kerrville, where she had lived most of her life, while listening to the story. Takeoff was smooth. So was most of the trip back to SJC. And except for a really rough patch of air over New Mexico on the way to Dallas on Friday, my flights this weekend were just as painless.
I landed at SFO on Sunday and thanked the plane, as usual.
My eyes were dry.
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redrobin-detective · 7 years
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Hide and Seek
Eek okay, first Avatar story, first story told with almost an entirely one person cast, first story that deals with some nasty child treatment that made me feel a bit ick writing it. But the thought came to me and it just exploded out over a few days. So here it is, please let me know what you think and how I can improve!
Warnings: Child torture/abuse, mild blood and gore, Zuko is very, very unhappy
"You will learn to firebend, Prince Zuko," Ozai said with a smile. "Your life depends on it."
Zuko knew today was going to be a good day.
It started with Father asking them if they would play a game with him. Father never spent time with them, never showed any desire to see them unless necessary. Azula saw him more than he did since Father was currently supervising her firebending training while they looked for another teacher. She’d run off the last one and the one before that. Zuko thinks she’s doing it on purpose, because she enjoys hurting people, because it makes their father proud, maybe both. Since Zuko wasn’t firebending yet, Father never wants to see him. It seems every time he does, Father spends all his time glaring at him, as if that would make him any less worthless. Seven was a little late for someone to start bending but it wasn’t impossible because he had to be a bender, Father and Grandfather said so.
“What sort of game, Dad?” Azula asked cheerily, wide awake and ready for the day as usual. Zuko was still a bit sleepy, it was pretty early in the morning, but Father has dragged him out of bed before the sun had even risen. There was no one else around the small courtyard, save for a few turtleducks quaking quietly in the pond.
“Hide and seek, my dear. It’s the only game to play in a palace this size. There are so many wonderful spots for one to burrow in.” Father replied genially, giving Zuko an appraising look. Despite the attention, Zuko felt uncomfortable. Father was anger and cunning and a raging fire barely controlled, this calm and patient man before him was unfamiliar and a bit intimidating. He found himself missing his mother, who was away at Ember Island for a few days with come other noble women or even Uncle Iroh who was set to arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon.
“Your mother tells me you’ve mastered your numbers Azula, why don’t you begin counting while your brother and I hide?” Father’s hand, warm and strong, rested gently between his shoulder blades and Zuko felt a rush of happiness go through him. Father wanted to be with him! He grinned up at his parent and saw that Father was smiling down at him, but it wasn’t warm like Mom’s smiles. It was sharp and cold, like how Azula smiled when she was planning on burning small animals or firebending teachers.
With a small huff, Azula covered her eyes and began counting. Father grabbed his wrist and strode back into the palace, his large steps forcing Zuko to practically run to keep up.
“Are we hiding together?” Zuko asked but Father kept marching forward, acting as if Zuko had never spoken. He bit his lip and tried again. “Azula is very good at this game but I know a few places she’d never think to look.”
“No, I have a very special spot in mind for you.” Father said simply, continuing to half drag Zuko along. He noticed that they were walking into the older section of the palace, the remnants that hadn’t been destroyed when Avatar Roku had attacked Fire Lord Sozin over a hundred years ago. Zuko swallowed nervously; he never liked being in this section, it always felt like he was being watched. “Did you know the ancient Fire Sages built a network of tunnels throughout the Palace and Capital City, Prince Zuko?”
“Yes, of course,” Zuko added, still hurrying to keep up and avoid getting dragged. “We learned about it from the tutors, I heard that most of the tunnels have been closed off to prevent anyone from getting through after an attempted assassination on Grand- um Fire Lord Azulon.”
“Correct,” Father answered, “there are still a few open tunnels in case the royal family needs to escape but while the tunnels have been sealed, that does not mean their doors don’t open.” As if making his point, Father stopped abruptly and pointed at a stretch of wall just like every other. “Most of these tunnels have been forgotten, lost to history, but I discovered this one when I was about your age.” Father said, moving aside a small candle holder on the wall and forced flame through a tiny opening. Zuko was amazed when a small section of the wall opened with a creak revealing a secret door. “These doors are opened by firebending, nothing else short of a battering ram can get through. Even sound can hardly travel through the thick stone.”
Zuko peeked inside the cold, dark tunnel. It was very small, he noted. He and Azula would be shoulder to shoulder if they both were in it. It clearly used to be larger at some point but he could see where more recent stone blocked what led to the rest of the tunnel. His brow furrowed.
“Father, I don’t think the both of us will fit in here.” Father’s genial smile turned menacing and Zuko froze in fear as his father’s larger hands clamped down on his shoulders.
“No my son, but you will. You see, the best games are the ones in which we learn lessons and your lesson today is to learn firebending.” Father began to push him forward into the dark tunnel but Zuko planted his feet and tried to resist. “Your mother has been far too delicate with you; it’s why you’re such a pathetic excuse of a son. Unfortunately for both of us, you are royalty and the Fire Nation cannot tolerate princes that can’t bend.” Despite his best efforts to struggle, Father was much stronger and Zuko was almost inside.
“Father, wait, I don’t want to go in there.” Zuko whimpered, grasping his hand on the wall but Father gave a final push and Zuko stumbled into the dark tunnel. The light streaming in cast his father’s entire face in shadow so Zuko couldn’t see the expression on his face.
“Listen carefully, this door will only open with a flame; if you are unable to conjure any fire then you will die in here a useless failure. If you scream and escape with the help of someone else, I promise you I will strike you and your rescuer down where you stand.” Zuko froze at the brusque statement and almost missed his father slowly closing the door on him. “You will learn to firebend Prince Zuko, your life depends on it.” Father said with a cruel smile, almost looking pleased at his son’s horrified face. “And for what it’s worth son, I hope you succeed. Your mother would be simply awful to deal with if you went missing.” And with that said, the door clicked shut leaving Zuko trapped in the most terrifying darkness of his life.
i.
Panic hit him like an ocean wave; he threw himself against the door and pounded.
“Father!” He pleaded, not caring how pitiful he sounded. He was scared and alone and he wanted his mother. “Father please! I can learn! I’ll practice all day and all night if I have to! Just let me out, I promise I will redeem myself! Father!” He shouted, wondering if Father could even hear him on the other side. Or if he was even there anymore. Zuko could feel himself trembling, he looked down at approximately where his hands should be and found he couldn’t see anything beyond the black. Terror lodged in the back of his throat, choking him and making it hard to breathe. In his desperation, he started clawing at the walls as if that might get him a glimpse of light. He could barely tell which way was up or down in here, it was so dark he couldn’t get any sense of depth or direction.
“Father please let me out!” His eyes were wide and he can feel tears pouring freely out of his eyes. He continues to claw and scratch and pound away at the tough stone door, not noticing or caring that his hands were become ripped and bloodied. His nails had been worn down instantly and he could feel his skin grinding on the ancient stone leaving bloody trails. He continued to scream. “Mother! Mom please! I’m scared where are you?” On Ember Island of course, Father had insisted she take a break. She’d initially wanted to take him with her but… Uncle Iroh’s letter said he would be in town and he’d begged Mother to stay so he could see Uncle. That trip has been planned for weeks, how long has Father been… The thought of this being planned that far in advance took his strength; he fell against the back wall and slipped down until he awkwardly hunched on the floor. It was uncomfortable and his knees were knocking together but he could sit at least.
It was then that he heard a noise down the hall and Zuko was about to scream some more when his Father’s parting words came back him. ‘If you scream and escape with the help of someone else, I promise I will strike you and your rescuer down where you stand’, Zuko gulped at the implications. It was scary enough that Father would do that to him but Zuko couldn’t drag someone else into his punishment. He heard footsteps drawing closer and, despite every instinct within him that told him to scream and beg for help, Zuko bit down on his bottom lip to keep quiet.
“Junko? Stop wandering off, we still have the whole Eastern corridor to clean.” An older lady, probably one of the servants, was dimly heard through the thick walls. Zuko wanted to scream instead he closed his eyes and covered his mouth with his bloodied hands, trying desperately to keep quiet. He wanted to be free more than anything but he wouldn’t risk other people’s lives to do so. After all, Father always kept his promises.
“Sorry Kame, I thought I heard something. It almost sounded like a child was screaming.” Another younger voice added, Zuko thought she maybe sounded a little bit like Mom. He let out another low level whine at the thought but forced himself to be quiet. 
“Don’t go chasing after voices foolish girl. I tell you these old walls have seen many despicable evils and this place has more ghosts than a battlefield. Let’s move along now, leave the restless dead to their own devices.” Zuko couldn’t tell if the women had anything else to say for they’d walked too far away from the secret entrance. He still kept his fingers tightly sealed over his mouth because if he lets go, he’s sure he’ll start screaming and then he’ll be in the same mess all over again.
He’s less scared by the idea that these halls are possibly haunted and more terrified of the fact that he soon might become one of those unhappy ghosts. He started shivering again and gently released his hands from his mouth to dig into the fabric of his clothing. What would happen, if he died here? Father said he would tell Mother he went missing, so did that mean they would just leave his body in here? No final rites or funeral pyre to lay his spirit to rest, just his bones gathering dust in the dark while Mom and the others had no idea what became of him? No, he can’t think like that, he’s going to get out of here. More tears drip down his face and splatter soundlessly onto the cold floor. He doesn’t get up for a long while.
ii.
After what feels like hours of terror beating through his heart, Zuko finally feels rational again. He thinks he might have dozed off for a bit after he stopped crying but now that some of the fear has left him, he’s finally able to acknowledge the pain. Father… just threw him in here, without care or concern and told him it was for his own good. Zuko knows his father is a hard man but to sentence him to death feels like such a betrayal. But he’s not dead yet; he still has a shot of getting out of here and maybe getting some of his father’s respect. Firebend or die, those are his options and he knows what he’s going to pick.
“No, I’m not going to die in here,” he whispers quietly under his breath and picks himself up from his huddle and wipes the tears from his face. Zuko folds himself awkwardly into the lotus position like his teachers taught him. His hands are still shaking slightly and his breath is coming in ragged bursts but firebending is his only way out of here, even if all his previous efforts amounted to nothing.
He was only in here because he was a failure of a Fire Nation prince. Grandfather said there hasn’t been a non-bender royal in recorded history. In a way, he should be grateful that Father has spared him this long. Father once told him that he was lucky to be born which he understood; things have never been easy for him. Azula has been bending for almost 2 years already. His baby sister had conjured her first flames at 4 years old while at 7, Zuko couldn’t even make smoke.
The Fire Sages said when he was born; his eyes didn’t have the ‘spark’ that most firebenders have. Father had told him he’d nearly killed Zuko right then and only Mom’s interference had saved him. He clenched his fists; no, things have never been easy for him, not like Azula who was born with luck and talent. But Mom told him that his struggles made him stronger, that the Fire Sages weren’t always right and there was still a chance he could summon fire. He had to hope there was some inside of him or else he’d really end up dying in here.
“Find the sun’s power within your soul,” he quoted quietly from memory. The sun was just rising when they began their little game. He vaguely wondered how much time has passed and if Azula was still looking for him... He shook his head; thinking of Azula certainly wouldn’t get him out of here. It was hard to visualize the sun in this dark, threatening room but he tried anyway, picturing the magnificent fiery orb in the sky and trying to match it with the fire inside of him.
“Come on,” he muttered impatiently after countless minutes, maybe more, of grasping for things that weren’t there. He kept trying, over and over again just like he did every day but, as always, he never felt that rush of heat and power that people tried to explain to him. “Why won’t you work!” He raged to himself, kicking out his foot in frustration only for it to hit painfully on stone wall. He hissed and dragged his leg closer to him. His ankle hurt, he gingerly tested it and found the foot painful and aching but not impossible to move. He grimly wondered if he’d ever be walking again for it to matter.
iii.
Zuko’s stomach growled painfully, he grasped at the unhappy organ and wondered again what time it was. He and Azula hadn’t even had breakfast when Father approached them about his game. There was an unfair bitterness in his chest at the thought of Azula eating her meal worry free while he was trapped in here, hungry and alone. But of course that wasn’t fair, it’s not her fault she was a better bender or that her older brother couldn’t seem to do anything but disappoint.
He sighed and rested his forehead on his knees, wiping away some of the sweat gathering on his forehead. Despite the fact that the stone was bitterly cold, the small tunnel was getting uncomfortably warm. He thinks it might be from his breathing heating up the small space. If only he could turn some of that heat into flames.
A crazy idea formed in his mind and he figured he might as well give it a go. It’s not like he didn’t have the rest of his life to try things out. He slowly stood up, awkwardly bumping into the walls in the endless darkness and stretched out his bad ankle. It still hurt and he could feel that it had swollen a little bit but at least he could stand on it. He knows it’s been at least a few hours so it’s probably healed a little bit but this probably isn’t going to help it much.
He blindly reaches out, feeling along the walls for the notch he’d found and ignored earlier in his panic. His fingers land on the small circular hole, almost too tall for him reach if he isn’t on his tiptoes. He visualizes how Father had effortlessly lit up the secret chamber and opened the door. Zuko would need to do that too if he wants to get out of here alive.
He settled into one of the many firebending stances he’d learned and tried to focus on the heat in the air, the heat his body was letting out. He punched out his fist forcefully, careful to avoid hitting the wall this time. Nothing. Again, he let out another series of punches; mimicking the moves he watched Azula practice all the time.
He was panting after a few minutes of punching, feeling the heat in the air increasing even more as his strength started to fade. He stopped, leaning forward on his knees for a few moments and feeling anger well up inside of him. “Come on Zuko,” he chastised bitterly, “your body is making all this heat, firebending comes from the flow of chi inside your body. You should be able to make that heat work for you.” He thought of his uncle who was probably still on his way to the palace from whatever Earth Kingdom town he’d last conquered. Uncle was the Dragon of the West, one of the most powerful firebenders around, maybe even better than Father. His nickname came from his signature fire-breathing move which Uncle repeatedly refused to demonstrate because he said it was too destructive. His eyebrow quirked, that would certainly open the door.
He readied his stance again, closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing. Fire comes from the breath and, after a few tries, he settled into a strong, calm rhythm. He focused on the heat in the air, the sweat clinging to his brows and his clothes, hanging limpidly in the air. He breathed in deeply, drawing that heat into his lungs, into his core trying to stoke his inner fire. He held his breath and concentrated as intensely as he could on the air within him.
If Uncle was here, he would quote proverbs and make a weird, confusing joke but mostly he would tell Zuko to channel his strength and use it to beat down the enemy. While it first appeared that the enemy was the door, really it was his own failure that he had to overcome. Just when he felt his lungs would burst with the effort of holding in such a big breath, he breathed out harshly, trying to imagine heat and fire and freedom. Instead, all he got was a lot of hot air and a good amount of spit decorating the stone door. He shouldn’t have been surprised that he failed such a delicate and high level firebending move but the disappointment only fueled his anger.
“Why can’t I get this?” He raged, not caring at the volume of his voice. “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I do anything right?” He shouted, striking his fists out furiously in mock punches as if that would force the flame between his fingers. But his form was sloppy and there wasn’t enough room for error. He overbalanced in one of his strikes and ended up slamming one shoulder into the wall which upset his bad ankle even more. The pain jolted him out of his temper tantrum. He groaned in frustration and was rewarded with another painful cramp from his stomach. Great, now he’s used up even more energy and was going to starve to death even quicker.
iv.
Zuko was sitting again, leaning up against the stone door with his legs pushed up against the opposite wall. His bottom was getting sore from sitting on this cold uncomfortable floor, he kept changing positions but it never seemed to do him much good. At least his ankle felt a little bit better, he couldn’t really say the same for the rest of them.
His fingers aching from the scratching he’d done earlier and the dried blood on his hands made him feel sticky and uncomfortable. There were dozens of other little bruises and scratches all over his body from his various bumps and difficulties maneuvering in the tight space. His whole body was generally sore from his ill-fated firebending and positioning no matter how much he tried to loosen himself up. His stomach had stopped growling hours ago, or it seemed like hours ago anyway, it was hard to tell when the whole world was black. The hunger was still there, constant and present but it had to have realized food wasn’t coming anytime soon and quieted down. His lips were sore and chapped without water, his tongue feeling dry and heavy as it moved around his mouth. Mostly he felt tired, both in body and spirit.
It was hard to tell time in here but he had a feeling the sun had set already. That means it’s been countless hours since he’s been missing. He wonders if anyone has even really noticed. Father, obviously, knew since he’s the one who put him here. Uncle Iroh would be arriving tomorrow or possibly later today. Azula had been counting in the courtyard last he saw but she was probably at dinner or getting a bath or maybe already in bed. Zuko never disappeared like this but he imagined if it was Father telling her it was alright she wouldn’t worry, if she had been worried at all. Mom was still at Ember Island and wouldn’t be back for another 3 days. Zuko wasn’t experienced in such things but he imagined that if he didn’t get out before then, he wouldn’t be alive by the time Mom returned.
That was such a scary thought, one he couldn’t even touch a few hours ago but now that he’d been trapped in here for so long; tired, hungry and afraid, it was much easier. He tried to think of what Mom would say if, when, she came home to find him gone. She might not even know he was dead, just that he wasn’t around anymore. Would she look for him? Would Father be able to look her in the eye and tell her he didn’t know where Zuko was even though he’d thrown him in here? How would Azula react to being an only child? Would anyone even care at the loss of a non-bending royal?
Shame rushed through him and seemed to burn him from the inside out. Father and Grandfather used to pester him all the time over his firebending, asking question and rigorously testing him. Since Azula developed her skills, the questions have dropped off somewhat and it seemed they’d stopped acknowledging him anymore. He squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers that there hasn’t been a Fire Nation royal that hasn’t been a bender. He wonders if that was because everyone else had simply been more talented than him or maybe, just maybe, some of the ghosts in these hallways were non-benders like him who’d been locked away to die in shame. His heart aches and he wants to cry some more but he’s too exhausted and instead curls up into an uncomfortable sleep.
v.
Zuko wakes up suddenly without quite knowing why. He’s struck immediately by how stiff and sore his body is and how, even with his eyes wide open, all he can see is never-ending darkness. Hide and seek, comes unbidden to his mind and the events of yesterday flood back. He’s trapped in a sealed off tunnel, stuck in a space barely big enough to hold him, until he is able to firebend open the door. Or he dies. He leans forward carefully, wincing as the bones in his back pop and jerk after so many hours of clustered up against the cold stone. 
He yawns and rubs at his eye with the palm of his hand as he staggers to his feet and continues to stretch as best he can in the cramped space. He’s pleased to note his ankle feels better; at least something is going his way. The tunnel is still as dark and miserable as it was yesterday so he wonders what pulled from sleep so abruptly.
He’s still wondering some amount of time later when he hears voices coming down the hall. Instinctively, he squats down, almost as if he’s hiding, forgetting the fact that he’s literally trapped behind a wall. He’d heard many people walking by yesterday, servants mostly, talking amongst themselves. The walls were thick with no exits that he’d been able to find so he could only hear small bits of conversation. But his ears carefully picked up the voice he knew almost as well as his own as he huddled closer to the door to get a better listen.
“I look forward to training with you Masaki,” a deceptively sweet little girl’s voice said cheerfully. “I trust you’ll be able to teach me more than my last firebending teacher.” Zuko could have rolled his eyes. If the voice wasn’t enough; Azula’s blatant disrespect for her new master was a dead giveaway.
“I hope to live up to your expectations, Princess. Your father tells me that you are quite the skilled firebender, early morning training sessions are the only way to develop one’s connection to our element.” The teacher, he sounded old and boring and would most likely be burned and banished within a fortnight, intoned.
His fists curled up against the stone with sudden longing. He and Azula had always had a troubled relationship, even before she started outshining him with her bending abilities. But he used to walk her around the palace and she’d call him Zuzu before she could fully pronounce his name. She would always be his little sister and he cared for her even if she was mean to him most times and not interested in being a nice person in general. Or maybe he was just lonely after a day locked up by himself and would take anyone’s company right now.
“Azula,” he breathed out not sure if he wanted her to hear him or not. He wasn’t sure if his sister would free him if she knew about his situation but the potential consequences still loomed over his head. Mom had told it was his job as her big brother to protect her; he would never put her in a situation that could potentially get her hurt. “Please be safe,” he added almost as an afterthought. He didn’t hear their footsteps anymore and imagined they were already gone.
“Princess?” the teacher asked suddenly from right in front of the door, Zuko’s head lifted from the stone. They were still here? He heard the sound of fingernails running along the stone near his hidden door.
“I thought I heard something, Masaki.” The girl remarked casually but Zuko could hear her feather light footsteps gently circling the area. “It sounded like someone was calling my name.” Zuko held his breath, his mind stuttering to a halt as a thousand different scenarios played out in his mind. Did she really hear him? Was she lying to mess with her teacher? Did she think it was a spirit? Another awful idea made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Did Father tell her about his plan? Did she know he was trapped behind this wall and was tormenting him? No, Father wouldn’t risk it by telling her and Azula wasn’t that cruel, was she?
“This palace is hundreds of years old, it’s more than likely there are spirits within these walls but that’s not something for a young lady such as yourself to worry about. Come along, the sun is just starting to appear over the Capital City and firebenders always greet Lord Agni.” Heavy footsteps began walking away but Zuko found himself listening for his sister’s softer footfalls.
“Hmph,” Azula huffed, “just so you know, I don’t believe in spirits.” She chirped before Zuko heard her sister striding off, sounding no different than normal. Zuko stayed frozen like that until he could no longer hear her footsteps, or anything, outside of his little tunnel. It wasn’t proof, not really, but there was enough doubt to leave him chilled to the bone. He knelt down and curled in on himself as if to ward off the ache in his heart. Azula wouldn’t want him dead, wouldn’t mock his position and then skip off like nothing was wrong. At least, Zuko wouldn’t have thought so before now but underestimating his family is what put him in this position in the first place. He settles back on the ground and tries to get more rest even if he knows sleep is going to be impossible.
vi.
Unbelievably, Zuko has almost become used to the constant darkness. It no longer terrifies him to see nothing every time he opens his eyes or turns his head. He still finds he gets vertigo every now and again when he loses track of direction but overall he’s learned to adjust. His eyes may be fine but the rest of him feels like he’s slowly suffocating, like a plant wilting and withering away when taken out of the sun. He thinks it’s going to be even more difficult to bend the longer he’s disconnected from the source of all firebending.
Little Dragon, a soft, gentle voice says coming out of nowhere, what is a child of the sun doing here in the dark?
Zuko’s breath catches in his throat and he pushes himself up against the door, feeling panic rise in him again. He’d been wondering if the spirits would be visiting him, alone and vulnerable with no chance of escape, but he’d been strongly hoping against it. He couldn’t even firebend his way out of this miserable situation, how could he possibly hope to best a spirit? But he has to try at least.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles out awkwardly, shaking so badly he can hardly keep his balance but he staggers into a fighting stance. He’s probably going to die where he stands for even pretending to oppose a spirit but he refuses to accept his fate sniveling like a child. He may not be a very good one, but he’s still a Fire Prince. “Show yourself spirit,” he says this time with a bit more force.
There’s a soft presence on the top of his head, almost like how Mom will gently run her hand through his hair. Against his better judgement, he finds himself relaxing slightly at the touch. He winces when an ethereal light dimly illuminates the small tunnel. It’s a pale light, barely visible, like the small bits of sunlight that trickled past closed curtains. A shape takes form in the hazy light and he sees a pretty looking lady clad in flowing robes. She has a beautiful face, soothing like a warm fire, with her ghostly hand still resting gently on his head.
Why are you here, the voice asks again and he notices the spirit’s lips don’t move in time with her words.
“My name is Prince Zuko, son of Prince Ozai and Lady Ursa, grandson to Fire Lord Azulon.” Zuko introduces from long practice, “My father says I need to learn to firebend, he put me in here and told me I could only leave if I could use fire to open the door.” He responds calmly, feeling his earlier fear fading in the spirit’s gentle presence. He couldn’t explain how, but he was certain that she would not harm him. “Who are you?”
I am a spirit of the eternal flame, her unmoving image says through her soft smile. I have walked these lands since the children of fire became united under one Lord. That was… a very long time ago, so long it was hurting his head just to think about it. Agni’s chosen ones draw strength from the sun and the sun cannot be found in such darkness.
“I know, I’m trying to make a flame but I’ve never done it before and I’m so scared and tired and I don’t know if I can even do this. Everyone says I’m supposed to be a bender but I can’t even make a spark.” He looks down shamefully at his hands, vaguely able to determine the damage he’d done to them yesterday. He could see the dark stains of old blood and torn skin in the spirit’s pale light.
Fate has destined you to suffer Little Dragon; she said is a soft, sympathetic voice. But in suffering you will be tempered and burn with the brightest of stars.
“Huh?” Zuko blinked, the spirit sounded like Uncle; he shook his head in confusion. “What does that mean? Am I a bender or not?” He asked but before his eyes the spirit began to disperse and darkness began to creep in once more.
I will keep the more malevolent spirits at bay, the spirit said, once again seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. Find your fire, Little Dragon. And with that, she was gone. He wasn’t sure what she meant or why she had even appeared but she had clearly tried to help in her own way and hadn’t hurt him even though he’d probably deserved it. Besides, all great spirits deserve humanity’s respect. He as bowed low and reverently as he could manage in the small space and whispered a prayer of thanks. He thinks she appreciated it.
vii.
Zuko was leaning up against the wall, panting softly in the darkness from his latest failure to firebend. His encounter with the spirit had reinvigorated his hope but even that wouldn’t be able to keep him alive much longer. His hunger continued to pull at him, painful and all-consuming and his muscles ached from the practice and cramped spaces. His thirst was beyond compare, his mouth as dry as sand making every breath a struggle. He knew that things were beginning to look bad but he had to keep trying. A part of him just wanted to be done with all, catch the attention of one of the many servants bustling around and accept whatever punishment Father had in store for him. But at this point he wasn’t even sure if he had the strength in him to scream.
His ears, newly sensitized since his sight had been removed, picked up the sound of approaching footsteps and automatically quieted himself and waited for them to leave.
“Two days! Your son has been missing for two days and you don’t even bother to look concerned! I can’t believe this! What a welcome to come home to!” Zuko’s eyes widened a fraction as he recognized his Uncle Iroh’s voice booming from somewhere nearby. He leaned forward and listened in rapt attention as his uncle continued to rage. “Why haven’t you contacted the Royal Guard or Ursa for Agni’s sake! Zuko could be hurt, dead for all you know, and you’re just lounging about as if nothing is wrong!”
“I’m sure Prince Zuko is around somewhere,” Father’s smooth voice says not too far from Zuko’s prison. He unconsciously bristles at the tone, lingering fear from his last encounter with his father now two days ago. Agni, it’s been two days already? “Azula tells me she and her brother were playing in the courtyard yesterday morning; he ran off to go hide somewhere and hasn’t been seen since. He’s likely still playing around.” There is an ominous double meaning in Father’s tone that leaves Zuko feeling smaller than he already felt. Clearly he was just ‘playing around’ with firebending or else he’d be out already. He suspects Father paused right here to remind Zuko of that.
“Ozai,” Uncle hisses in a frightening tone Zuko has never before heard from him. “It is difficult but far from impossible for an assassin or kidnapper to get into the palace. You don’t seem the least bit troubled that Zuko, your heir, hasn’t been seen in days. What kind of father are you? If Lu Ten-”
“Yes Iroh we all know about your precious crown prince will soon be off helping you with your endless conquests and making our nation proud,” Father spat out bitterly. “But you see brother, Zuko isn’t your son. He’s mine and what I feel for him or do to him is none of your concern. I’m sure the boy will show up sooner or later, if not, then clearly he wasn’t strong enough and doesn’t deserve this life.” Zuko felt like his heart was going to break, right then and there. Father couldn’t really think that, this was all just a test, a way to push Zuko towards the greatness he was destined for. This… situation, it was all for Zuko’s sake, because his Father did care about him and wanted him to succeed.
“Spirits Ozai,” Uncle whispered in a hushed tone. “Do you feel anything at all?” Father doesn’t answer and instead Zuko hears the swishing of robes indicating that someone has moved again.
“You’re the one who insisted we search for the boy; we’d better continue if we hope to make it back in time for our meeting with the Fire Lord. After that, if my son still hasn’t shown up, you’re welcome to keep searching on your own.”
“Yes, of course, I’m sure our Father would be very interested to hear that one of his grandchildren has gone missing while he was in your care,” Uncle says in a low voice. “When we find Zuko, and believe me I will find him, I’m going to have some questions for the young man about where he’s been. And let me tell you brother, if I find that boy dead, then we are going to have a long, unpleasant talk.” The halls became silent as Zuko listened to his Father and Uncle walk away, leaving him trapped in his prison. Even once they had been long gone, Zuko found it hard to breathe. How could he when his Father didn’t seem to care whether he lived or died? Too exhausted to even think of firebending right now, Zuko flopped painfully to the floor and treasonously wondered in the very back of his mind why Uncle couldn’t have been his father instead.
viii.
Zuko has no sense of time in here but he feels like it’s night already. He doesn’t think of a hot meal, he doesn’t think of a comfortable bed and he doesn’t think about the aches and pains in his body. He doesn’t think of the disappointment in Father’s voice or the anger in Uncle Iroh’s. He doesn’t think much of anything. Instead, he tries to sleep and is only vaguely interested if he wakes up again.
ix.
Again Zuko wakes up suddenly, as if something inside him suddenly was lit. He’s not bothered by the blackness anymore; it’s almost comforting in a way. Pretty soon he’s going to be heading for that eternal darkness and he won’t have to worry about his firebending or the fact that he’s never been good enough for his father. He’s curled up in a tiny ball on the floor, feeling empty and hollowed out as he never has before. Failure has been a constant companion in his life but he’s always fought against it; worked hard and struggled to be better. And it’s all led him here; lying in dark with barely enough strength to move, preparing for his inevitable death. He can feel his own life flickering precariously, there’s no way he’ll be able to make fire now, if it was ever even possible.
“Mom,” he croaks through cracked and unfeeling lips. He would give everything he had, every remaining breath in his body just to see his mother’s face one last time. “I’m sorry,” he says soundlessly as he imagines her face in his mind; warm and safe and always kind no matter how much he messed up. She’d come home in a few days and find him gone, vanished from one moment to the next. She will be… sad.
He frowns at the thought but it’s true, Mom would be really upset if he was dead. She would cry for days, stay in bed all day and refuse anything to eat or drink. Father would tell her he didn’t know what happened but he thinks Mom would know; she’s always been so protective of him because Father has made threats against his life before. They would fight; Father might hit her like he sometimes does and maybe even put her in the same situation that currently killing him. 
The thought of his mother feeling like this: cold, hungry and alone, stirred something in Zuko that he couldn’t really describe. His wonderful mother didn’t deserve this torture and she especially didn’t deserve to return to a home with a dead son and a lying husband. And truthfully, neither did he. He’s done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve this level of punishment. Uncle Iroh cared about him and so did Mom; even Azula probably liked him a little bit, if only to make fun of him. If he died now, they’d never see him again and they’d all be sad. He’d die in here, the failure his father always claimed he was.
The indignation of it all, the thought of his loved ones suffering because of his stupidity sparked something. It made him want to get up and knock down that wall that dared to try and keep him from his family, from his destiny. There’s a flood of warmth in him, like a blanket being draped securely around his shoulders giving him comfort and strength. He needs to get up right now, he needs to get that door open however possible because he’s not going to spend another minute in this-
His fists, curled up by his head let out a bright spark, temporarily driving away the darkness of the tunnel. The light fades quickly but the warmth stays with him as does the feeling of complete astonishment.
x.
Zuko is scrambling to his feet as quickly as he can. His muscles are weak and he hurts all over and every breath tears at the dryness in his throat but that’s all forgotten in his amazement. He can firebend! He can get out! He can see Mother again, Azula, Uncle Iroh, even Father. Surely he’ll accept him now that his son is a bender. For the first time in who knows how long, Zuko’s spirit buoys with pride. He is a Prince of the Fire Nation and he is a firebender. The warm weight settling in his chest is a comfort, a reminder of all that he is capable of now. He scrambles over to where the latch is, standing as tall as he can just to reach the keyhole.
“Come on fire, I know you’re there.” He mutters, trying to recapture that feeling that had ignited the flames earlier. He’d been sad and angry and feeling sorry for himself and just wanted to see his mother again, just one more time. “Please bend, I need you to work this time.” He brought his hands down to his face and furiously snapped a few times to produce something. He was pleased to see small sparks forming on his fingertips but nothing substantial enough to open the door. “I’m not going to die in here just because I can’t make a stupid little fire.” He growled, pouring out his frustration until there was a small fire, about the size of a small candle flame, in the palm of his hand. He takes a moment to just stare at the delicate glow; it was so pretty, nothing like the harsh blazes he sees from Father and Azula. He held it up to the keyhole even knowing the flame was too tiny to open the door.
“Please,” he muttered, once more trying to find the feeling that had produced the flame. “I won’t die in here; I don’t want to make everyone sad.” He thinks of his mother, of the grief she would feel and suddenly the power is there. With a grunt of effort, he feels the flame burst forth from his hand into the lock. He thinks for a second that it hasn’t worked, until his vision is overcome by intense brightness as the door slides open. He doesn’t walk out so much as fall out. Zuko hits the marble floor of the palace hallway with a dull thud but that doesn’t matter, nor does the persistent ache in his body or sound of his one-time prison closing behind him. All that matters is he is alive and he’s going to see his mom again.
He lets out a strangled little sob but there are no more tears to be had. He’s too dry, his body has no water left to spare. Zuko ought to be getting up right now, using what little strength he has left to make his way to the kitchen and get something to eat after all this time. He needs to find Uncle, let him know that he’s alive; maybe even thank him for caring when it seemed everyone else had given up. He had to show Father his fire, show him that he wasn’t a complete failure. And he will, but right now, he is lying there on the floor, letting out quiet little sniffles because all he can muster is a bone-deep feeling of gratitude for his own life.
xi.
They are breakfasting when Iroh first hears the shuffling. Ozai takes no notice to the sound but Iroh sees little Azula looks up from up from her plate in curiosity. He’d been disappointed, but not terribly surprised, to see that his niece hadn’t acted overly concerned about her older brother’s whereabouts. But then again, Azula had always taken after Ozai a little more than Iroh preferred. His brother is sitting across from him, completely at ease as if his firstborn’s disappearance was not something to concern himself with.
Iroh had never troubled himself with Ozai and his family before; he’d had bigger things to worry about like managing his army or keeping his son out of trouble. But this experience has been enlightening in the most terrible way; he had never imagined his impish little brother, anyone really, could be so heartless. He couldn’t imagine not caring about Lu Ten, especially when he could be hurt or worse. It makes him wonder just what happens in Ozai’s happy little family when people aren’t watching and how Zuko may be paying the ultimate price for his uncle’s ignorance. The shuffling comes closer until even Ozai is looking up in aggravation, especially when the specter finally appears.
“Zuko!” Iroh shouts in horror as the young boy comes into view looking every bit like a living corpse. Only the boy’s strangled breaths tell him that this was Zuko and not his vengeful ghost before them. Iroh runs forward and is immediately on his knees taking in the young child’s ghastly appearance. Zuko has always been fair skinned but his face now is completely bleached of all color, save for the streaks of dried blood decorating his cheeks. Iroh finds the source of the blood on the boys mutilated hands, his fingernails almost completely torn away from what looked like clawing. There’s a fine layer of dust covering him from head to toe making him look even more like a ghost in addition to his ripped and ruined clothes. His cheeks are sunken in starvation and his eyes dull from suffering.
“Uncle,” Zuko gasps out hoarsely, his voice barely audible from his cracked lips. Spirits, where has this boy been? Has he not had any food or water since he’s been gone? Iroh is shaking with the knowledge that Zuko is standing before him on the edge of death. He gingerly lifts the boy into his arms like he did when Zuko was younger.
“Azula!” He barks, “Go fetch the healers at once, as many as you can get. Tell them to bring back warm water, bandages, purifying medicine and some blankets too.” Azula is still sitting there, staring wide-eyed at Zuko though he can’t tell if it’s due to Zuko’s horrifying appearance or his presence altogether. “Now girl!” At this, she scrambles out of chair and races out the room, turning around to look at her brother one last time before darting off. Iroh sits back in his chair with Zuko held securely against his chest. He rubs the boy’s back and whispers some soothing words into the boy’s dusty, disheveled hair.
For the first time, Iroh looks up to see Ozai’s reaction to his son’s miraculous reappearance. Iroh wasn’t sure what he had expected but he certainly didn’t expect his younger brother to look so unimpressed. Ozai didn’t show the slightest worry for the boy shaking in Iroh’s arms; he merely raised an eyebrow when Zuko looked up at him, like he was asking a silent question. Zuko seemed to understand regardless and weakly held out a bruised and bloody hand from which a weak flame sprang to life. There was something disturbing about the scene. Ozai had complained for years about Zuko’s inability to firebend and now, of all times, Zuko learns? Ozai’s face changed suddenly, his mask of indifference melting into an almost kindly smile.
“That’s very good Zuko, I’m proud of you my son. It would seem you’ve been through quite an ordeal but I’m pleased to see you were strong enough to overcome it. You may rest now.” And the look of adoration in the boy’s eyes is a terrible thing to behold. Because Iroh knows now that he’s never going to learn the truth of what happened. Zuko would smile and lie and do absolutely anything for more of his father’s empty praise. Because even a fool could see that something unspeakable has just occurred but neither father or son will ever admit to it. Instead, Iroh does the only thing he possibly can do. He holds his nephew close and pretends, for a moment, that he is safe.
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mystical-flute · 5 years
Text
Come Sail Away Ch. 11
Ao3 || FFN || Ko-Fi
"Pharaoh… there was something you needed of me?" Azila asked as she swept into the room, brow knitted in worry as she clutched her medical equipment closer to her. "Are you ill? In pain?" Oh Ra, they wouldn't be able to recover from losing two kings in under two years Not while there were still mysterious deaths happening.
"How many deaths happened last night?" he asked, not turning away from the window.
 "We have received word of three. One was not caused by any known illness. Are you feeling well, my king?"
 He turned to her, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I feel fine. I'm just wondering how much longer this country can take these mysterious deaths. Are you certain there was no known cause for the one yesterday?"
 "Yes my king. Your advisors did not tell you of this death?" she asked with a small frown.
 "No, no. They have. I was just making sure that you knew as well."
 "So it was a test."
 His lips quirked into a smirk then. "Technically, yes. But not for you. I had to make sure my new advisors were actually competent enough to work under me."
 She gave him a small smile. "You are a smart man, my king."
 "I suppose I had to be, in order to take the throne," he replied, before heaving a heavy sigh and sinking back onto his throne. "One death then?"
 "Yes."
 "Even one is too many if we cannot figure out what is happening. I sent Mana to study that strange stone but… she has not found anything, other than the glow that doesn't seem to go away." The pharaoh rubbed his eyes. "This country is still in despair, despite my hard work in recovering after Zorc's attack…"
 "My king… these things are not your fault," Azila said, "the people of Egypt know this."
 The pharaoh let out a grunt of frustration, his fist banging against the arm of his throne. "They may know that I was not the one that ordered whatever is happening, but it is my job to stop it. To protect them. What sort of king am I if my people keep dying without any cause?"
 "What sort of king are you to speak with a tone that indicates that you are giving up?" Azila snapped, before bowing her head in shame. "My apologies, my king, but Egypt is in need of a strong leader. He would not have chosen you to succeed him if he did not think you were strong enough to guide Egypt out of the darkness."
 Seto's lips quirked just slightly. "How is it that you know what to say to make me feel better?"
 "It is my job to make you feel better, my king. I am a doctor after all."
 Azila let out a soft sigh as she appeared in Reika's bedroom, finding the young woman asleep in her clothing from the previous day, surrounded by paperwork and machines she still didn't know the names of.
 "Reika…" she said softly.
 The woman shot up, her eyes wide. "Oh – Azila. It's just you."
 "Are you alright?"
 "Yeah… sorry. I guess I fell asleep. If you could call it sleep…" Reika said with a groan, rubbing at her tired eyes.
 "What were you doing all night?"
 Reika rubbed her eyes again. "Watching the Battle City Finals. Yugi's currently on-board a blimp hovering above the city with their leader so… sleep isn't so easy to come by now."
 Azila's eyes widened. "What? Is he safe?"
 "Yugi is, yeah…" she said with a sigh. "I spoke with him last night. One of our friends lost her soul to the Shadow Realm though, so it's not great."
 "Oh dear… but if I know the Pharaoh, I know he will be able to stop Marik Ishtar and protect all of the Millennium Items," Azila said with confidence.
 Reika's face deadpanned as she pulled on a shirt. "Azila, you don't even remember his name. How do you know anything about him, then?"
 "He saved Egypt. Why would he not be able to save you all as well?"
 "Because whatever was terrorizing Egypt is different from what's terrorizing us now?"
 Azila rolled her eyes. "How many times must I tell you that things will work out for the best?"
 Reika simply sighed, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. "Until I see it for myself. Now, if you don't mind… I'm going to be stuck at work for the next forty-eight hours while my family thinks I'm going to a spa. Yay."
 "Why did you not go with your cousin to the Battle City finals?" Azila asked with a frown.
 "Because Ishizu convinced my boss that I was needed here instead for some reason. She has all that infinite wisdom because of that necklace of hers and all," Reika rolled her eyes as she spoke and swept from the room.
 Azila frowned, left alone in Reika's bedroom, a feeling of dread beginning to prickle through her ghostly form. Whatever was left behind here for Reika Mutou… Azila had a feeling it was going to come at a high cost.
 ----
 "Miss Mutou! It's been a while since you've been here. Did you want your regular bouquets?" the shopkeeper asked with a polite smile.
 She nodded, forcing herself to look up at the woman. "Please. Thank you Kimiko."
 Flowers in hand, Reika then made the long walk through Domino's cemetery, pausing to lay some of the flowers at her grandmother's grave, saying a prayer and burning some incense, before she continued her journey deeper into the cemetery and sighing as she sat in front of another grave.
"Your grave is filthy," she remarked dryly, carefully beginning to clean it, "is that why you keep haunting me, Noah?" Lighting the incense, she sighed heavily. "I don't understand why you've decided to invade my dreams twice in such a short period. What are you trying to tell me?"
 The grave, of course, didn't speak back to her.
 "That cartoon movie we watched all the time came on last night. Gave me a break from work, which was nice. Made me want to play the piano again," she continued with a sigh. "But it'd be hard to do that without you."
 She sat quietly, looking at the grave in front of her, lost in her own thoughts, until her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was time for her shift to start.
 Well, at least she had Akio with her, and at least she knew Yugi and the others were safe from Marik Ishtar and the Rare Hunters.
 "Here, I grabbed some of the files Kenji wanted us to look at," Akio said the next evening as they settled in on the uncomfortable cots. "It looks like old business records. I don't know where Kenji and Yume would have gotten them."
 "When in doubt, don't ask," Reika told her with a snort.
 "Good call."
 The two settled into a comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room the papers being shuffled around. It was peaceful, until an alarm started blaring through the organization. In seconds, Reika and Akio were sitting at the computers, trying to trace the source of the commotion.
 "Got it," Reika finally said, the monitor finally zooming in on a warehouse. "There was a sudden burst of energy from this warehouse. The computer indicates it’s the same energy that's used in the portals. Someone's coming into the city that shouldn't be."
 "Damn…" Akio whispered. "We need to head down there."
 Reika nodded, pulling on her jacket. "Yeah, I'll send out a call."
 Before long, they found themselves sneaking inside the darkened warehouse, flashlights lighting their way through. It was advanced, well-cared for, and the cameras in the halls showed that people were here frequently.
 "I can't believe this was under our noses all this time…" Akio whispered, voice slightly muffled through her black mask. "How did we avoid finding it?"
 Reika shrugged, looking around. "I don't know. Whoever owns this must be good at hiding everything.  But whoever they are… we need to make sure they can't finish whatever plan it is they have."
 "Wait… what's that sound?"
 Reika paused, listening closely as they slowly moved down the hallway. "That sounds like a heart monitor… like at a hospital. What the hell is going on here?"
Drawing their weapons, they approached the room in question, finding a large pod inside of it.
 Reika froze. Either the lighting in the room was strange or… the face she could see inside it looked… familiar.
 "Oh God… is that a kid?" Akio gasped in horror.  "Reika?"
 Dread began to spread through her, cold and menacing as she made her way further into the room. "No… no…"
 "Reika?"
 She broke into a sprint, skidding to a halt and feeling the color drain from her face as she got up close to the pod.
 "No!" she screamed, unaware her legs had given out until she felt her knees collide with the cold tile floor, shaking hands grasping the pod for support and pulling her mask away from her face so she could breathe properly.
 "Reika!" Akio shouted, pulling her by the shoulders and forcing Reika to look at her. "What the hell? Who is that?"
 A brief moment of clarity found her as she pulled her hands away from the pod and up into her hair, gripping the strands tight in her fists. "H – his name is Noah Kaiba," she sobbed. "He's Gozaburo's biological son."
 "Wait – what? Then how come – "
 "They told me he was dead…" she whispered. "They told me he was dead!"
 "Who did, Reika?"
 She suddenly went rigid as realization struck her, looking at Akio with wide, horror-filled eyes. "The Big Five did…" she whispered.
 Akio stared back at her with an identical look. "Oh God. Then… that explains who has been in this warehouse. Come on. We need to get Yume and the others filled in."
 Reika nodded, slowly rising to her feet with Akio's help. "I just…"
 "It's okay. He was important to you, huh?"
 "He was my best friend when we were kids…" she replied softly as she felt the bruising already beginning to form on her knees. "The first friend I ever had. He was hit by a car when we were twelve. I thought – I thought there was no way to save him…"
 Akio kept a firm hold of her. "Well, don't worry. We'll figure all of this out."
 "How?"
 "Focus, Reika. We're spies. We know how to solve these sorts of things."
 Reika swallowed, shaking her head as she tried to clear it. "Right. Yes, of course we will I just… I can't believe this."
 "I know, but you need to focus."
 "Akio? Reika? What have you found?" Yume asked with wide eyes as the two stumbled into the room.
 Reika heaved in a breath. "Gozaburo Kaiba's biological son… in a pod… being kept alive after being presumed dead. We – we think the Big Five own this warehouse."
 Yume didn't seem fazed, nodding slowly. "Yes, that seems to line up with the documents we've found… and with the doctor that showed up here."
 "Doctor?"
 "Yes. I have some agents talking to her now. You're welcome to look in on the discussion if you want. She didn't seem all that interested in a conversation."
 Reika nodded, taking another deep breath and trying to steady herself and making her way to the room Yume pointed out. She paused outside the door at the voices within, and she felt herself lose a bit of color in her face when the doctor's voice registered with her.
 "Dammit…" she whispered.
 "I won't tell you anything. My job depends on it!"
 Swallowing tight, Reika opened the door, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared down her former doctor.
 "Perhaps you'll answer my questions, then?" she asked with a raised brow. "After all, it isn't everyday one finds their old best friend alive after they've been declared dead by everyone they trusted as a child."
 "Reika Mutou?"
 "Hello Doctor Shizuki."
 "What – how – why are you here?"
 Reika took a seat at the table and laced her fingers together. "I think you should answer my questions first, doctor…"
 Doctor Shizuki let out a sigh, rubbing her temples. "Okay. Since you've… somehow found this place. You deserve to know the truth." Taking a deep breath, the doctor steeled her gaze and looked at Reika with a sad smile. "They were going to tell you, eventually."
 "The Big Five were?"
 She nodded. "Yes."
 "Where are the Big Five?"
 "I don't know. They disappeared over a month ago after the Duelist Kingdom tournament ended."
 "But they're still giving you orders?"
 "Only to monitor Master Noah and make sure his body is still healthy. That's all, I swear, Reika. I never would have agree to this if I'd known you would find out early."
 "You should never have agreed to this at all!" Reika snapped back. "You should have told me the truth from the beginning. I trusted you!"
 "You were too young… you wouldn't have understood."
 Reika's eyes narrowed. "Not understood that my best friend was actually still alive after I thought he was dead?"
 "The reason why they've done what they have…"
 "What was the reason?!"
 The good doctor went quiet at the question, and Reika lunged to grab her before she was pulled back by another agent.
 "Reika, you aren't going to get answers from her this way… and besides, we have a bigger issue on our hands," the agent said, leading her outside so Shizuki didn't hear. "The Battle City blimp just went off the radar. There was a distress call sent out from Fugita."
 There was little time for her to process that bit of information, before she was following the group through a quick portal to the Kaiba Corp Airship, finding a stunned Roland waiting.
 "Fuguta, what the hell happened?" Yume asked.
 "It was Noah Kaiba. He took everyone involved in the Big Five takedown plot hostage, so I assume he's working with them," Fuguta said with a small frown.
 Reika rubbed her eyes. "Of course they are. Okay. So he's got Yugi, Seto, Mai, Tristan, Téa, Joey and Mokuba, I assume?"
 "Duke Devlin and Serenity Wheeler as well. They insisted on going. We tried to follow them but… there are machine guns out there that stopped us," Roland explained.
Reika chewed the inside of her cheek before taking a deep breath. "We need to figure out a way to get in there without being shot. I'm a dead eye shot but it looks like those guns are on all sides. There's no way any of us would be able to get through that without looking like Swiss cheese."
 "Reika. Might I suggest you take my brother along with you?"
 Reika jumped and looked over. "Ishizu?"
 Ishizu stepped into the room, flanked by two men. "Hello Reika. It's been a while, hasn't it? But yes, you should take Marik with you. His Millennium Rod will be able to stop any guards that might be in your path."
 "Oh yeah, let me take along the guy who tried to kill myself and people I care about," Reika said with a snort. "Great plan, Ishizu."
 "Marik is cured of the darkness that caused him to do that. The Pharaoh helped him. Allow this to be part of his redemption. Please."
 "Fine," Yume said before Reika could protest further, staring straight at the Egyptian trio, "but he tries anything Ishizu, and he's being taken down."
 Marik – the younger of the two men with Ishizu – pulled out the Millennium Rod and nodded. "I promise you. I will not bring harm to any of you. I owe a great debt to Yugi for helping to save me."
 Reika adjusted the hood of her cloak and slid her mask back into place. "Let's go then."
 Yume carefully stepped outside, throwing a few pieces of fruit into the motion sensor, waiting for the guns to fire. When nothing happened, the small group ran through the labyrinth, searching for anything that could be helpful.
 "This place is huge. We're going to need to look through it more carefully once we find the others," Yume said, before they skidded to a halt in the largest room.
 Reika's face fell as she took in her friends and loved ones stuck in pods, not unlike the one Noah was in.
 "Oh my God… there's so many pods. What the hell are they planning?"
 "Reika, look. There's Yugi," Marik suddenly said, pointing up at the large screen. "And… that almost looks like you."
 Reika followed his gaze, eyes widening. "That is me. But – from when I was nine. Why would he be with an nine-year-old me?"
 Then, her grandfather entered the frame, visibly shaken and distraught, and her eyes widened, just as Yugi also seemed to realize what was happening.
 "Oh no. I know what that is. This is the day we found out my uncle was killed. This is one of Yugi's worst memories," she explained.
 "From the looks of it, all of them seem to be having their worst memories. They must have trapped them there," Akio said softly.
 Reika ripped her eyes away from the screen, looking at the pods. "I'm going in," she said. "I have to get to Noah and tell him to stop."
 "Reika – "
 "You're not going to convince me otherwise, Yume. It has to be me," Reika said, walking over to one of the pods and opening it. Taking a deep breath, she took a seat inside and watched as it closed, before closing her eyes, feeling her mind separate from her body as the blinding light enveloped her.
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mrmichaelchadler · 5 years
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Bright Wall/Dark Room November 2018: An Essay on Ingmar Bergman's Hour of the Wolf by Ethan Warren
We are pleased to offer an excerpt from the latest edition of the online magazine, Bright Wall/Dark Room. This month, in honor of #Bergman100, and Criterion's upcoming release of a 30-disc box set of his work, they're devoting our entire November issue to the films of Ingmar Bergman, looking to bring new & diverse perspectives to the legendary Swedish auteur's work. In addition to Ethan Warren's "Hour of the Wolf" piece "The Tumult Breaks Loose" below, they also have new essays on "Scenes from a Marriage," "Cries & Whispers," "Persona," "Fanny & Alexander," "The Passion of Anna," "Face to Face," "Summer with Monika," "The Magic Flute," "It Rains on Our Love," and an intimate, in-depth interview with frequent Bergman collaborator Liv Ullmann.
You can read our previous excerpts from the magazine by clicking here. To subscribe to Bright Wall/Dark Room, or look at their most recent essays, click here
Eighty-five miles off the coast of Sweden lies the island of Fårö. With a population of around 500 and an area of under 45 square miles, this is, in the words of a 2016 New York Times profile of the region, “Where Swedes go to be (really) alone.”
The shoreline of Fårö is dotted with rauks, stone stumps that were once grand arches before they were attacked by the elements. The wind and the surf would drive against the arches until cracks formed, and once those cracks were there, it was only a matter of time until one half of the arch could no longer sustain itself and collapsed into the sea. The other half of the arch might manage to stay upright for a while, but without its supporting half, it too would crumble, leaving behind just a rauk.
Fårö has no bank, no post office, no police force. “It can feel dangerous to be alone in the country for long,” Christine Smallwood wrote in that New York Times profile. “Being alone is a sign that something is about to go wrong, perhaps catastrophically so.”
And in 1968, it was here that Ingmar Bergman chose to tell his most horrific tale.
*
Hour of the Wolf is the story of a marriage crumbling in a void. Johan and Alma (Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann, the ultimate Bergman power couple) have traveled to their remote island cottage to spend the season, but as we know from an opening title card, Johan will be gone long before the season is through.
Johan is a painter of some renown, but his professional success masks a turbulent inner life. As we’re told by Alma in a prologue delivered straight to the camera, Johan has a history of anxiety and paranoia. He can’t sleep at night—particularly not during “the hour of the wolf,” that predawn hour, as he explains, when nightmares become real—and he’s pestered by strange supernatural figures that he calls “flesh eaters,” drawing them compulsively until they’ve overflowed his sketchbook.
Johan is, in the old-fashioned literary sense of the word, mad. Bergman elides any proper diagnosis in favor of a more poetic depiction, the tormented artist as fairy-tale figure. And as you might expect of a storybook nightmare, it’s not long before Johan’s madness is made flesh. The demons step out of Johan’s sketchbook and present themselves as grotesque aristocrats who wine and dine Alma and Johan at their gothic castle. They menace Alma and flatter Johan, digging their claws into the cracks in this marriage until they’ve torn it apart. By the end of the film, Johan has abandoned Alma and given himself over to these physical manifestations of his madness and all its seductive promises of freedom and relief.
Hour of the Wolf is often cited as Bergman’s one true foray into the horror genre, and the surreal hysteria that awaits Johan in his climactic visit to the castle is absolutely unnerving—a woman removes her face and drops her eyeballs into cocktail glasses; a man walks onto the ceiling while another grows wings. To me, though, the horror stories it calls to mind are the ones where a monster is loose in the house—except here the house is a marriage, and the monster wreaking havoc is Johan’s instability, a festering rot borne of his secrets and regrets. And that kind of psychic monster can’t be kept at bay for long. Soon enough, “the tumult breaks loose.”That line comes from the climax of the published version of Hour of the Wolf included in Bergman’s 1972 book Four Stories; it’s spoken by Alma as she cowers in the forest watching Johan’s demons tear him limb from limb. This denouement is entirely reconceived from page to screen; in the most significant shift, Bergman’s text has the demons badger and taunt Johan as they rip at his flesh, hurling contradictory commands (“Keep standing, don’t be afraid! Lie down and it will be quicker”), taunts (“Can’t you take a joke?”), and nauseating boasts (“He can’t talk because I’ve made mincemeat of his tongue”). In the film, the dismemberment is punctuated only by avant-garde sound effects.
That was the right choice. The demonic chant is pleasantly disturbing, but those impressionistic bursts and shrieks are so much more accurate; when your madness is having its way with you, it’s impossible to convey in words the havoc being wreaked upon your mind.
*
My own tumult broke loose in the spring of 2011. Just before my 25th birthday, I slipped into a manic episode with psychosis. For a week, I cycled from howling rage to howling sorrow, operating on increasingly erratic impulses as my rational self was devoured by a hyperactive id, one powered by incessant emotional neediness and savage retaliative force.
The primary witness to my breakdown was my girlfriend, Cait. We had met in college four years earlier in the kind of old fashioned story you’re not even supposed to hope for in the 21st century—she was the beautiful clerk at the school store; I had a massive crush and visited every day for weeks, buying things I didn’t need just so I could exchange a smile and a pleasantry while I worked up the nerve to introduce myself.
By 2011, Cait was spending most nights at my apartment near Harvard Square, so as my hours of sleep and my interest in food decreased, she was the one watching with mounting anxiety, and as my grip on reality crumbled, she was the one bearing the brunt of my flourishing paranoia. While my friends received alarming phone calls and it was my family who drove me to the hospital when it became clear there was no other option, Cait was the one beside me every morning and evening. She was the one in the eye of the storm, tasked every night with convincing me to stop ranting long enough to eat even one bite, saddled with my belligerent calls and texts throughout her work day. And when it all started falling down around me, it was Cait I punished.
I spent years dragging my way back to something resembling emotional equilibrium, but even by 2015, when Cait and I relocated to Connecticut so she could attend nursing school, my trauma and grief was too raw to touch with anything but the briefest remembrance. And living hours from my friends with a girlfriend who worked multiple overnights a week at the hospital, I turned to movies to give my life shape. I gorged myself, consuming anything I could put in front of my eyes. And so one night, I found myself watching Hour of the Wolf for the first time.
I knew nothing about the film, I was simply seduced by a cover depicting a shadow-drenched face shrieking with what might be maniacal laughter, mortal terror or both. I was no stranger to Bergman’s visions of terror, but as they tended to lie in the theological (the “Silence of God” trilogy) or cerebral realm (Persona and The Passion of Anna, two more Fårö stories of crumbling psyches), I was tantalized by the promise of the master stripped of any enigmatic subtlety. I wanted Bergman with the gloves off.
I forgot to be careful what I wished for. Hour of the Wolf hit me with brutal force, leaving me gasping and reeling as I struggled to process a story that was simultaneously alien and shockingly familiar. In Johan’s struggle to maintain a grip on his sanity in the face of his demons’ temptations, I recognized how easily I’d succumbed to my own worst urges, and the horrors that lay in store once I’d given myself up.Most painful was the scene in which a demon invites himself into the cottage and politely places a handgun on the table between Johan and Alma. The demon claims that he wants Johan to be able to defend himself from the island’s small game, but the metaphoric implication is clear: the forces of madness have offered the tool to conclusively sever any connection to the tedious responsibilities of sanity.
Out of any damage that I did during my psychosis, the memory that still ached the most years later was of the night before I was hospitalized. Supercharged with the raging energy of a collapsing star, I took a gentle plea from Cait—“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m getting scared”—as an excuse to unload a torrent of wrath. When my madness pressed that weapon into my hand, I used it without a second thought. Though my memories of the night remained hazy, what lingered was the feeling that I had wanted to destroy the only woman I’d ever loved. And then, just like Johan, I had surrendered to my madness, and all the freedom it had promised had been revealed as a lie.
Bergman had held up in my face, with stark, monochromatic objectivity, everything that had happened to me, a tangle of trauma I could barely organize enough to begin processing. For years afterwards, I would remember Hour of the Wolf as my own personal cracked mirror. But it would be years before I could really begin examining the same question that Johan asks when his demons show him his shattered visage: “What do the shards reflect?”
*
Alma’s greatest desire is to merge her life completely with Johan’s. On one of the long nights that she stays awake to keep her husband company, she muses, “I hope we become so old that we share each other’s thoughts.” This is no typical intimate union she wishes for; she yearns to become indistinguishable from her husband, even physically.
It isn’t her choice to sit up all night. “You have to stay awake awhile,” Johan has barked moments earlier. “Talk to me, Alma.” But he hides his face as she speaks, either unwilling or unable to engage. On first viewing, I felt Johan’s pain. But when I returned to the film two years later, I was startled to see the callousness in the gesture, a husband piling onto his wife the full weight of the night’s emotional labor.
Cait and I had been married nearly two years when curiosity, possibly half-masochistic, brought me back to Hour of the Wolf. I put it on late one night while Cait and our new baby slept upstairs, and though I was wary, I told myself that I’d already absorbed the visceral impact. Now I could view the film from an academic perspective, appreciate the craft.
Once again, I underestimated Bergman’s power; a film that had once been a blunt weight had sharpened into a razor. Perhaps it was the six years of therapy that had elapsed between my breakdown and this second viewing, but where I had once been so focused on Johan’s pain, I was now shocked to recognize the abuses with which he pummeled Alma, and her pain in every scene.
Johan takes up so much air in the film—and often so much of the frame, as in the aforementioned scene where von Sydow hunches in the foreground, filling half the frame with his face, while Ullmann sits in the background cloaked in shadow—that it’s easy to see Alma as merely a supporting player in his story. But when I made the effort to see the film through Alma’s perspective, it was as though the entire plot was inverted, causing moments that hadn’t even lodged in my memory to now stand out as the most crucial. I was devastated by the scene in which Alma sits Johan down with her ledger, forcing him to listen to her studious accounting of their household purchases—if she can’t find a way to see the world through his tormented perspective, then she can at least invite him into hers. And I cringed with agony and regret at the scene’s end, when Alma weeps in the face of Johan’s indifference to her gesture.
Bergman shoots this and so many other scenes of the couple’s strained domesticity in long, still takes with no cathartic cuts to guide your emotional response, leaving you stranded in each agonizing episode of a love succumbing to entropy. But despite the staid visuals, the film shifted beneath me to reflect something I’d never fully reckoned with: yes, I had been through hell during my psychosis. But I had put Cait through hell with me, driving the vehicle towards disaster with her as the helpless passenger.At the close of the film, Alma agonizes over all her unanswerable questions. Could Johan’s destruction have been prevented if she hadn’t loved him so much? Or if she had loved him more? I had glossed over the scene before, too focused on all the trials Johan had just endured, but now I ached for Alma—why couldn’t she see herself for the blameless victim she so clearly was?
As the screen faded to black, I thought of my week on the psych ward. I’d spent every day terrified to step into the phone booth and call Cait, unable to trust my tenuous stability enough to believe I wouldn’t lose my grip and do even more damage. When I was discharged, though, I opened my inbox to find it full of letters from her; she’d written to me every night that I was gone, even as she knew I had no access to email. She told me how much it hurt to know I was scared, and promised she’d be beside me for every step of my road to recovery. She wrote about the puppy her friends had brought over to distract her, and the therapist she had visited to make sure she was properly equipped to support me when I got home.
Reading the letters was a comfort, but it was a heartbreak, too. I had used the weapon my demons pressed into my hand, and Cait hadn’t run. How could I ever be worthy of her support again?
*
This is not the essay that I expected to write about Hour of the Wolf. I hadn’t seen the film in a year when I started organizing my thoughts, believing (in what I now should have recognized as a cycle of hubris) I finally had the film straight. I had my perspective locked down.
I expected to focus quite a bit on one scene that loomed large in my mind. In the second of Alma and Johan’s late-night vigils—which is, unbeknownst to them, the last night they’ll spend together—Alma murmurs, “It’s strange when the sea is completely calm. Scary somehow.” Seven years after my diagnosis, I still viewed my marriage as this calm sea—something that should be beautiful, but would always be defined the memory of a squall, and the question of when another might come.
When I sat down for another viewing of Hour of the Wolf, I felt secure in my understanding that this was the story of a marriage between an unstable abuser and his helpless victim. At last I could approach the film academically. But it shifted under me again, and this time that shift may have changed my life.
I waited to feel pity for Alma’s victimization, but scene by scene, something became clear: I had sold her short. Now, a bevy of holes sprang in my understanding not just of this story, but of my own. I had always wondered why in the world Alma stayed with Johan, willingly absorbing his onslaught. But as I mulled the film, I came to recognize I had robbed Alma of her agency, that in positioning her as Johan’s victim, I still viewed her through the lens of his experiences rather than seeing it as a shared narrative. And, I was ashamed to realize, I had spent years doing the exact same to my own wife.
Now, one scene that had always struck me as opaque finally became clear. As Alma and Johan walk home along the cliffs, shaken by their dinner at the castle, Alma’s pent up fear and confusion erupts. She whirls on Johan and lets him know that no matter what disaster they’re cruising towards, she isn’t going anywhere. She grabs hold of him, but her tone is defiant rather than pleading, and when she’s overcome and whirls away, she shirks his touch.
In Four Stories, Alma’s outburst is rendered from Johan’s incredulous perspective. “He realizes in a flash,” Bergman writes, “that her grief applies only to herself.” Alma is asserting her own needs, not merely pledging her devotion to him. She’s terrified of whatever might be happening to him, but just as much, she’s terrified over what might happen to her in the process. Their lives are too conjoined for his pain not to be hers as well, not just sympathetically but literally.This all may seem self-evident from an objective standpoint, but other people’s needs are a strange concept to grapple with when you see yourself as the protagonist of your nervous breakdown and interpret everyone else’s behavior through the distorting lens of your own perspective. When I managed to understand this scene—with a bit of guidance from Bergman’s prose—a tumbler fell into place in my own mind: by continually flagellating myself for what I’d done to Cait, I was casting our story as a one-way transaction rather than an interaction between two autonomous people.
I now saw that Cait’s letters during my time on the psych ward were as much for her as they were for me. As she noted in the first one, since the beginning of our relationship, we’d spoken every day, no matter whether we were in the same space or separated by half a world; now we were separated by only a few miles, but I’d been plucked out of her life entirely. I had always valued the letters as proof of our love, but until this most recent viewing of Hour of the Wolf, I had never really understood what it was they proved. Even if she knew I couldn’t hear it, Cait couldn’t go to bed without speaking to me. When she pledged to be there beside me as I worked towards recovery, the pledge wasn’t that she would hold me up, but that after all these years of falling deeper and deeper in love, we now leaned on one another so much that when one of us collapsed, the other couldn’t help but falter, too.
This lightning bolt shattered the essay I meant to write. But it may have just freed my marriage from almost a decade of my self-sabotaging self-pity, too.
*
Only after this last viewing did I take the time to untangle one of the stranger scenes in this strangest of films: during their visit to the castle, the demons treat Alma and Johan to a puppet production of The Magic Flute. In the scene performed for Alma and Johan, the hero, Prince Tamino, pauses during his quest to rescue his beloved, the fair maiden Pamina, from captivity. Alone and on the verge of despair, he asks two questions: Will this night ever end? And is Pamina still alive?
In his 1987 autobiography, The Magic Lantern, Bergman writes at length about his enduring fascination with this passage in Mozart’s opera. “These 12 bars,” he writes, “involve two questions at life’s outer limits.” In asking whether the night will ever end, Bergman saw Mozart as wrestling with his own existential terror as he began succumbing to his fatal illness. And in asking whether Pamina survives, Bergman argues, Tamino is really asking after the very concept of love. Bergman believes the question to be, “Is love real?” and the answer to be, “Love exists. Love is real in the world of human beings.”
There was debate following the release of Hour of the Wolf as to whether it’s Alma who stands in for Pamina in Bergman’s calculus, or whether Johan’s lost love Veronica fulfills the role, always taking for granted that Johan represented the conquering hero. Personally, I was shocked to realize anyone would see Alma as the damsel and Johan the savior. Perhaps the notion would have tracked on my first viewing, but by now it could not be clearer to me that if anyone in Hour of the Wolf is battling staggering odds to rescue their beloved, it’s Alma, and that it’s Alma who has the right to wonder whether love is strong enough to slay the forces of darkness. Johan is preoccupied with many things—primarily a lifetime of simmering guilt, regret, and shame—but the power of love does not often seem to be one of them.
After Tamino’s questions are answered, the demons are momentarily struck dumb, shaken by the affirmation. But they can’t be conquered forever. No matter how strong love is, the pain must come eventually. And it’s just a matter of perspective whether that impermanence is enough to turn a romance into a tragedy.
*
“I have this theory,” I told Cait recently, “that every love story is really a horror story.” The thought had been percolating as I mulled all these new revelations spurred by Hour of the Wolf. Nearly every story of a lifelong love, I explained, ends with one lover burying the other and being forced to endure in a world they’ve forgotten how to navigate alone. “I think the happiest ending to any love story,” I concluded, “is the old couple in Titanic lying in bed together while the ship sinks. They had a long life together and they never have to live without each other.”
I was so absorbed in my theory that it took me a moment to notice her appalled expression. “Personally,” she replied with enviable serenity, “I would rather live a few years without you and go peacefully than drown.”
It was hard to argue with that. Cait’s and my perspectives are frequently diametrically opposed; I spend my days submerged in Swedish psychodramas from half a century ago while she spends hers at a hospital helping bring new life into the world. And when we see each other at the end of the day and I tell her the fantasies I’ve cooked up in the course of my work, more than once she’s gasped, “This is what’s in your head?”
And the more I think about it, the more it seems like that might be how we survived our tumult. Neither of us has ever wished for the other’s worldview. And while any marriage is necessarily an arch formed by two people leaning on each other for mutual support, neither of us has ever so fully surrendered to the idea of us as a single unit that we couldn’t endure without the other. Because we’ve maintained that measure of distinction between us, avoiding the temptation to surrender our individuation the way Alma dreams of, then if some new tumult were to break loose and the worst befell one of us, the other might be able to stay standing and avoid becoming a rauk, an incomplete husk living on only as memorials to the past.
Though one can’t be sure, it seems unlikely that Alma will escape that fate. By the end of Hour of the Wolf, she’s so thoroughly cleft that even her sentences are severed. Trying to make sense of the trials she��s experienced, she remarks, “Sometimes, you get completely…”
But she loses the thread. She turns away, and then just before that final fade to black, she turns back to the camera, aching for an end to her agony, one it seems may well never come.
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queen-of-laurels · 7 years
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Part IV
Yuri Kostov and Aleksandr Zhestovich stood by their horses. Yuri was a serious man with blue eyes that shimmered with intelligence. He was two years older than Vladimir, and came only to his shoulder in height, but he was fierce when it counted. His thin lips rested below a nose that gently curved. A reputation for a sharp tongue and a quick mind, Yuri ensured that the work they did was executed with precision and deadly efficiency. Aleksandr, on the other hand, was tall, like Ivan, and built well. His broad frame matched the ever-present look of threatening menace on his face. When he frowned he scowled. And his dark, brown eyes were the color of the soil he grew up tilling in the south. He and Sviatoslav were close in the unit, having grown up in Ukraine and moved north after a few years. Both had a way with the common people, gaining their trust when the time was right. Aleksandr gave the group a hardened look that gave an edge in their work. Terror began when they stepped into the people's line of sight. They all mounted and rode out in the direction Vladimir and Ivan had come from. The company they were after was a little over a half-day's ride. They reached them just after nightfall in the forest where their fires could be seen. Volodya recognized most of the faces. In fact, his village's young and able comprised most of the prisoners. Only a few faces stood out as unremarkable and unfamiliar. They were peasants that the Cheka had gathered up in previous villages. A group of three soldiers, rifles pointed at them, walked up, led by their commander. "Who are you?" "Do you not recognize me?" Vladimir asked coldly. "I will have to ask for papers." Vladimir reached into his pocket, past the cold metal of his pistol, and pulled out his papers. The man read them over and handed them back, his expression now grave. "Comrade Commander, how can we assist you?" "I've come to take someone from your group of prisoners." "Name, Comrade Commander?" Volodya's horse snorted as though to present his master's impatience. "My men will deal with it. All I want is your cooperation." Volodya pulled out another paper and handed it to the leader on the ground. "If you don't fulfill your quota." Zhestovich and Ivan combed through the village. A few faces turned up and looked to see who sat on the chestnut horse. Volodya turned Morevna so he appeared to be searching the woods. He felt a pit in his stomach grow. He was leaving behind people he knew, family friends who had shown nothing but kindness to him and his own family. And he was allowing them to pass to the labor camps. But it was impossible to save them all. What would he say to Papa? To mama? How would Anna look at him? "Commander." It was Yuri. Volodya turned and saw Zhestovich and Ivan helping someone along. Volodya almost didn't recognize the man they almost dragged. His father's face was bloody, and his nose was broken. The light from the fire threw awful shadows across his face. Just then Volodya noticed movement in the far back. Horses. Two of them. The commander leading the prisoners sneered. "This one was a kulak. Those horses back there? They were in his barn." "So you beat him for it?" Yuri asked, his voice a knife in the cold air. The man shifted nervously. "We can't kill kulaks. They are to be used as labor." Volodya's horse checked and huffed, and Vladimir settled her down, but also voiced his frustration. "How are they to work if you beat them half to death? What is your name?" The man straightened, "Lev Brotsky." "Lev, the longer the prisoners last the longer they will work. The faster we live in peace. Do well to remember that." Lev nodded briskly. "Why do you want this man in particular?" "Orders from Moscow do not concern you, comrade." Ivan settled on Vecheraya while Zhestovich saddled his commander's father and mounted himself. Volodya gave one last hard look at Lev and led his men away from the village people. "How is he?" Ivan asked when they reached the darkness of the forest, no longer near the prisoners. Zhestovich's low voice came from behind. "Barely alive. He's unconscious, but breathing." Yuri tossed something to Zhestovich. "Cover him, it's freezing out here." To Vladimir, he said, "We should ride all the way back. Your father needs a doctor." ----- Yuri held open the door to allow Vladimir and Ivan inside. Everyone relaxed as the warmth from inside cascaded over them. "Your work never ends," Slava chimed, reaching for the medical bag. The doctor sighed and pointed to the couch. "How is my mother?" Vladimir asked, resting his father on the couch. In the warm light he had a chance to look at the damage and realized it was probably worse than it looked. "She's ill from the cold and taking care of the child. But the fever has gone down. She's resting." Slave darted from his place at the table and handed Volodya a vial. "He says to give her a spoonful ever night before sleeping." "She is to stay in bed for at least a week." The doctor glanced up from the unconscious man to make sure it was ok. "Yes, that's fine." He turned to Zhestovich and Ivan and Yuri, "Thank you." They walked down the hall and back outside. They each lit a cigarette and allowed themselves a chance to feel their aching bodies. "You should rest as well, Volodya." Zhestovich blew a cloud of smoke up into the dawning sky. "You don't look any better, Nevsky." Ivan merely shrugged. "I will see you in Moscow in a week, then." Volodya threw away the cigarette. "Thank you." Yuri and Zhestovich nodded before departing. "Get rest, Ivan. You deserve it." "We all do. All this fucking running around." "Hey," he shook his head. "Never out loud. And never to me." Ivan took a final drag and threw the butt off into the dark. "I'm sorry. I'll see you in the morning. Give your mother and father my best." Volodya returned to the small apartment room. Slava was not there anymore. The doctor had washed most of the blood from Mikhail's face. His nose was bent at an angle and his eye was swollen shut. He looked awful. Volodya removed his cap and pulled off his gloves. The room was warm enough to be without a coat. The doctor watched as Volodya pulled up a chair and let himself fall in it. "This is my fault," Volodya murmured, staring at his father. "I came late." "He'll be fine. No broken bones, just swelling and bruising." "I didn't ask your name." The doctor wiped his brow and drew in a shaky breath. "Dmitri Kholodovich." "I will put in a good word for you. Thank you." Vladimir didn't meet the doctor's surprised stare, but the tension was eased. They both sat in comfortable silence while Dmitri worked. The door to the next room opened and Slava slipped out quietly, gently closing the door. He pulled up a chair and sat beside Volodya. "They're all sleeping. You should rest, too." "No, I'm fine." "You're family is safe. Please, get some rest." The doctor looked up, "You're father won't wake up for a while. I've put him under an anesthetic for the pain. In my professional opinion, Commander, you should get sleep if you've been working too long." "Very well. Slava. Doctor." Volodya got up and took his seat on a sofa across the room. His eyes slowly closed until he was lost to sleep.
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