#options sl I will just go further in bad option to hear my boy talking

[hikarinokusari]

I just saw my Durge speaking in a cutscene to Astarion. I can die happily.

#hnk plays bg3 #this is so cool #i saw my tav talking when choosing the worse (i loved that curscene tho) option moraly wise and i saw durge do the same with the very bad #options sl I will just go further in bad option to hear my boy talking

[puckinghell]

Let It Snow | William Nylander

Summary Request:

alternatively, our flights get cancel and we’re two strangers who rent the last available car together (it might be a little dangerous but we’re living on the edge)

and

we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b 

and

we don’t know each other that well but i found out that you’ve never been sledding skating and feel like it’s my personal mission to change that

Words: 10k (I’m SORRY) Note: So, a few things: I wrote most of this when I was either drunk or sick, so excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Second of all, you guys wanted one long thing instead of parts, so here’s 10k of word vomit. Third of all, this is cliche central, and I’m not even sorry. And lastly, I know Will’s family doesn’t live in Calgary anymore but I very well couldn’t have them drive to Sweden.

---

“I hate snow.”

It’s meant to be mumbled under your breath, for nobody to hear but you; you didn’t even really mean to say it out loud, but it kinda slipped.

You really hate snow.

The guy that’s sitting opposite you looks up. So far, he’s been engulfed in his phone, but now there’s an interested look on his face as he takes you in.

“Why?” he asks.

As if that’s a totally normal thing to ask a complete stranger in the middle or a crowded airport.

You shoot him a dirty look, take a sip of your coffee before answering him, your voice deadpan. “Have you looked around you?”

The guy looks, as if he actually hadn’t noticed before that the airport around him has been getting busier and busier, the people there more annoyed and miserable looking by the second.

“Oh,” he says.

Yeah, oh.

You huff and return your attention to the announcement board again, hoping the message is going to magically change.

It doesn’t. Flight delayed, it says.

“Are you going to Calgary too?” the guy asks.

Now it’s not really his fault: he hasn’t personally caused a huge snow storm to hit Toronto and he’s probably just trying to be nice, but you’re already in a bad mood.

So you snap: “No, I’m just sitting here for shits and giggles.”

“Never mind,” the guy mutters, and his eyes fix on his phone again.

Great, now you feel like shit about that.

However, the universe needs to give you a break. This has literally been the worst week of your life and it’s only Thursday: the only thing that has pulled you through so far is knowing you’re going to see your dad, and now it’s looking like that might be going up in flames.

“Excuse me, may I please have your attention,” a voice sounds over the speaker at your gate, and you perk up in your seat. “We regret to inform you that, due to the upcoming snow storm, all air traffic in this area has been cancelled until further notice. Your flight will not depart today. For more information, you may contact the information desk.”

“Fuck.”

The guy opposite you raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want people to start a conversation with you, you might want to stop talking to yourself.”

He stands up leisurely, as if the cancelled flight is no bother to him at all, and grabs his suitcase. He points to the board, where it now says Flight cancelled instead of Flight delayed – fucking fantastic – and motions at it, as if to say “what can you do”.

“How are you so chill about this?” It’s more that you’re wondering out loud than actually wanting an answer, but of course the guy grabs the opportunity.

“Well, it’s still four days to Christmas, and Calgary isn’t on another continent. It sucks that there won’t be any flights anytime soon, but you can’t change the weather.” He smiles. “I actually love snow, personally. And a little snow has never stopped me before. So I’m gonna rent a car and drive to Calgary.”

You stare at him. “Drive? To Calgary? That’s insane.”

“I mean, not as insane as spending Christmas away from my family,” the guy reasons, and….

He might have a point. You could stay here, and be miserable alone, or you could drive to Calgary and spend time with your dad like you planned. You could be enjoyed your dad’s pancakes, drinking hot chocolate by the fire place watching Elf, within a mere 40 hours, if you put the gas pedal down.

It’s, objectively, insane.

“I’m gonna rent a car too.”

“Great,” the guy says, jovially. “We can walk together then!”

And that was not really your plan, but to be fair, you don’t really know where you’re supposed to go to rent a car and this guy is walking as if he does this every day, so you dutifully follow him.

You take this time to look him over; he looks funny, in sweatpants with white sneakers – in the snow! - and a hoodie with a coat. He has a beanie on and there’s a few blond streaks of hair escaping from under it. He’s wearing thick black framed glasses. The suitcase he has with him has the Gucci logo on it, and you find yourself wondering if it’s real.

The guy is dressed like he’s either super rich but doesn’t care, or is slightly blind and got a 13 year old high school boy to pick out his clothing at a weird second hand shop.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, and you frown.

“Why do you care? I wasn’t aware we were going to become best friends in the time it takes to walk to the rental car booth.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, remaining completely unbothered as if you didn’t just snap at him. “I’m Will.” He glances over at you, seemingly amused. “It’s just a cancelled plane, you know. Not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just about the plane.” You almost tell him about the week you’ve had, but you decide it’s not worth the trouble. After all, you’re just going to rent a car and then you’re going your separate ways, and you’ll never see him again.

That’s the plan, at least. But it wouldn’t be this time in your life if your plan didn’t get ruined.

“I’m sorry, miss, that was the last car we have available,” the woman behind the computer says, right after she’s handed Will some keys. “Everyone is trying to get outta here by car, now that the planes aren’t going.”

You nearly, nearly, start to cry.

“What do you mean the last car? Surely you have a car somewhere,” you beg. “Any car. A bike. I don’t care. I have to get to Calgary for Christmas, you don’t understand…”

“I understand,” the lady interrupts, the friendly facade sliding off her face. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. Have a good day.”

Have a good day?

“Look, lady…”

You’re about to yell at her some more when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Of course, it’s Will, beaming down at you with the keys to your last option in his hand.

“Yelling at her won’t work, you know. It’s not gonna make you feel better or stop you from being in a mood.”

Something inside you snaps.

“In a mood? You wanna know why I’m in such a mood, Will? I’m in a mood because this Monday, I got told my residency at the hospital I work at might not be available to me next year, because they’re cutting personnel at the department. On Tuesday, I ran my legs out of my body for 15 hours before they told me that I shouldn’t come back after Christmas. On Wednesday, my boyfriend of almost a year broke up with me because he’s looking for different things in life, whatever the fuck that means. And the only, only thing I was looking forward to was seeing my dad again, and now this stupid snow has ruined that for me as well. So excuse my mood, but I will yell at whoever I want to!”

Will blinks at you, then raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

Slowly, you exhale through your nose. You do, actually, feel better, and Will seems to know that because he’s grinning.

“If you’re done yelling, I was gonna ask you…” he trails, “do you want a lift?”

 ---

 Arguably, this is a bad idea. You don’t even know this guy. He could be literally anyone.

“You could be a serial killer,” you tell him, putting on your seatbelt and sinking into the passenger’s seat. “You could drive me out of the city, murder me, dismember my corpse and leave me in the woods.”

“Hmm,” Will hums, as he starts the car. “I could, but that would massively delay my arrival time.”

You kick up your feet on the dash and play with the radio; the only songs you’re getting are Christmas songs, and that’s just not the right mood. Of course, as soon as you settle on some station that’s not playing Christmas music, Will frowns.

“Do you hate Christmas? Cause if you’re the Grinch, I’m gonna have to kick you out now.”

You look out the window; Toronto traffic is bad as always and you’re standing still barely out of the airport.

“I’m not the Grinch. I just don’t love Christmas.”

“How?” Will exclaims. “Christmas is the best holiday of the year!”

“I prefer Halloween,” you say, and Will rolls his eyes.

“And I’m the serial killer.”

“Christmas is overrated. I don’t care for trees in my house, creating a mess, Christmas movies are cheesy, Christmas songs are objectively bad and everyone is just stressed around Christmas time, trying to find gifts and decorate and wear stupid sweaters and go to parties with people they don’t like.”

You don’t tell him that you also don’t like Christmas because when your mom left, she said she would send you a Christmas gift.

As if that made it okay for a mother to leave her 12 year old daughter behind.

“Grinch,” Will mutters under his breath. You reach out and smack his arm, and he yelps in surprise. “Hey, don’t hit the driver, we could crash!”

“We’re literally standing still.”

“I could accidentally press the gas!”

“Then you’d be an idiot!”

You sigh and drop your head against the headrest, staring out of the window at all the headlights surrounding you.

It’s gonna be a long trip.

--

For the first few hours of the drive, it turns out the not be the worst. First, you and Will talk about your families a little: he’s got four siblings and his parents are still “very grossly in love” (his words) and you tell him that you’ve got just your dad and grandma left.

You don’t tell him what happened with your mom and he doesn’t ask, which is probably good judgement from his side.

Most of the time, however, you nap and Will drives or you drive and Will sleeps; you both decided that you want to get to Calgary as fast as you can, and not stopping is the way to do that.

It feels like it’s been days, but in reality you’ve only been driving for about 8 hours when Will stretches beside you and yawns.

“We should stop for gas,” he says, “and get me at least two liters of coffee to inject into my veins.”

“Probably a bad idea,” you deadpan. “That volume of liquid into your system would probably kill you instantly, and if it didn’t, the caffeine would give you a heart attack. Also, if you have to pee in an hour I’ll kill you.”

Will grins. “No good outcome possible for me, then, huh?” He points out the window. “Gas station.”

While you’re driving down the lane, he turns to look at you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says, and you frown.

“Yeah, I told you that.”

“I know, but like, you’re an actual nurse. I didn’t think about what that meant. But that’s really cool.”

You sigh. “Well, yeah, but if I don’t find another residency I’m gonna be half a nurse. And that won’t pay the bills.”

“You’ll find one,” Will says, easily enough, as if it’s a mere fact, and for the first time since you got the news, you feel some of the anxiety in your stomach settle.

It’s probably strange, that the fact that this guy, who you have only spent one day with, can tell you it’s gonna be fine and you believe it.

Maybe it’s because he seems truly genuine in his conviction. Maybe it’s because you’re just that desperate.

“Coffee?” Will asks, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get it, you fill the tank,” you say, because you really want to stretch your legs. You spend your time wandering the little shop, getting two large coffees and also a few snacks for the road – what else is there to do in a car but eat and nap – and when you finally reemerge, Will is talking to someone next to the car.

“So awesome to meet you, dude, huge fan,” the man says. You watch as Will scribbles something on a napkin with a pen.

“Anytime. Sorry I don’t have paper.” Will smiles at the man politely as he hands him the napkin.

“No problem!” The man seems very excited about the napkin, and as he walks back to his car, he looks at Will again over his shoulder and waves. Will waves back, then turns to you and makes grabby hands for the coffee.

“Gimme!”

“What was that?” you frown, holding the coffee out of his reach. “Who was that?”

“A guy,” Will deadpans, “and a napkin. Coffee, please?”

You don’t hand it to him but he somehow manages to snatch it out of your hands; he’s faster than you’d think he’d be, and he’s back in the car before you can ask again.

Luckily, he’s stuck with you in this car for a while.

“That wasn’t just a guy,” you say, stubbornly. “He was really excited to see you. Does he know you?”

“I don’t know him,” Will answers, and that’s about the best deflecting you’ve ever heard.

“Not what I asked.”

Will sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Do you watch hockey?”

“Hockey?” you repeat dumbfoundedly. “Like, where people skate after a piece of rubber? No, why?”

“But you know hockey is a pretty big deal in the city, yeah?”

You don’t know why Will is pressing the issue; you’re more interested to find out who the man is, but Will seems very intent on this line of conversation, so you decide to let him get away with it for now.

“Yeah, my boyf… ex boyfriend is a big Maple Leafs fan.”

Will snorts, but before you can ask what he means by that, he points to your phone, that’s laying in your lap.

“Google Maple Leafs number 88.”

“Why, is he hot?” you tease, but you do as he says.

William Nylander, your screen tells you, and beside it is a picture of Will.

“Kinda,” Will says blankly.

You look at Will, and then at your screen. Then back at Will. “That’s you,” you bring out, and Will chuckles.

“Well, yes. Does that explain enough to you?”

And it does. You might not watch hockey – you don’t really watch sports anyway – but you know from your ex how big a deal it is to some people, and you can imagine what it must be like to be a Leafs player living in Toronto.

You also remember your ex screaming at the television screen.

“Rough season so far, huh?” you say. “That why you wanna go to Calgary so badly?”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Yeah, kinda. I mean, new coach, new opportunity, I’m excited, it’s just…” He pauses, seems to ponder his answer. It doesn’t sound like a rehearsed media answer, when he finally speaks. “I really need that new start, but I need a little break to empty my mind a bit, first. Put it into perspective, I guess. My dad is really good at helping with that, and so is my brother. Alex plays in the NHL too, and my dad used to. It’s… They know what it’s like, but they’re not on my team, so they offer more of an outside view.”

“You can tell me?” you offer. “I don’t know shit about hockey, so I’ve got an outside view.”

Will is laughing, then, and his eyes are twinkling and the car feels strangely small, suddenly.

“What do you do when you suck at your job for a while, and everyone loses their faith in you, and then you get better but nobody believes in you anymore?”

For the heaviness of the question, his tone is light, and he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the music, as if he asked about your holiday plans.

You think of your mom.

“When I was little, I used to patch up my dolls with plasters and tell my mom I wanted to be a nurse. She said I couldn’t because I fainted at the sight of blood.” You shrug. “You just have to show them, I guess.”

Will nods slowly, then breaks into a smile. “Did you really faint at the sight of blood?”

“Shut up,” you chide, and the mood is lifted. It’s getting dark outside and you know you’ll have to start napping soon if you wanna take over driving in two hours, but for now you’re perfectly happy listening to Will’s chatter and the soft rumble of the engine in the background, as the car speeds down the highway, getting a little closer to Calgary with every passing minute.

---

Your eyes flutter open to darkness around you, and the car sitting in the parking lot of a gas station.

You turn just enough to see Will: he’s behind the wheel, eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape as his head hangs back.

The car is surrounded by snow: white flurries of it floating down to the ground, hitting the car.

For a second, you wonder why you’re not cold. Then you catch sight of Will’s coat, draped over your legs and stomach. You can’t help but smile at it, and then you close your eyes again.

The situation feels safely serene and safe, and you might as well take advantage of that and get some more sleep.

--- 

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Christmas music coming from the speakers, Willy’s voice singing along.

“Not the time for Christmas carols,” you groan, and Will laughs.

“It’s always time for Christmas carols, Y/N,” he chides. You hear rustling, and you finally open your eyes.

“I stopped for a few hours,” Will says, “just to get some sleep. But we’re up and running again.”

Ah, that explains the scene you woke up yesterday. You glance at the clock: 7am. The sun is slowly starting to rise.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” you grumble. You haven’t had any coffee yet and that means you’re really not in the mood to have Will radiating energy around you.

“How are you not this happy?” Will asks. “Look outside!”

Outside is the road, but you understand what he means. Everything is covered by a thick layer of snow.

“It’s… white,” you say, because that’s about as far as you’re getting.

“It’s beautiful!” Will’s eyes are lit up with excitement.

“You’re insane,” you state, because that has been proven by this exchange.

“No I’m not! Snow is amazing. It’s beautiful, and it’s fun. Everything gets better in winter.”

You crank up the heat in the car and rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Everything does not get better in winter,” you frown. “First of all, it’s cold. Everything is slippery because of the frost, the snow turns to yellow mush within a few hours. You have to shovel the driveway.”

“Or you could build snowmen with it. You can go skating on the ponds. Have snowball fights.”

You snort. “Snowball fights? What are we, 12?”

Will’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re never too old for a good snowball fight.” His voice is fond as he continues. “I play in the snow with my younger siblings every winter when I’m home. That’s like, the best part of Christmas.”

And, well…

“I can kinda get that, in concept,” you say softly. “There was never really anyone to play with me, I guess.”

Will’s eyes are a little sad as he glances over at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You appreciate that: you’re not ready to share anything more and it’s like he senses that. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Hey, have you ever been skating?”

“Nope,” you say, and the grin Willy shoots you is a little wicked.

“We’re changing that today.”

--- 

What Will means, apparently, is that it’s a good idea when you’re halfway between Toronto and Calgary to stop in a small little town and find an ice rink.

“This is insane,” you protest. “We’re losing time!”

“We’ve got 48 hours til Christmas,” Will shrugs, “and only an 18 hour drive left. Come on, after this we’ll drive straight through. It’ll be fun.” His eyes are shining and you can literally feel the excitement buzzing off of him, and, well…

Skating did always seem like fun to you. When you were younger, you asked your dad to take you once, but renting skates costs money so it never happened. You remember the disappointment in your dad’s eyes as he had to tell you no, so you didn’t dare ask again.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate after,” Will coaxes. You don’t understand why he wants to go that badly: he spends most of his days on the ice, anyway, surely he’d be happy for a break.

“Fine,” you grumble, and you can’t help but laugh at the smug look on Willy’s face as he pulls the car to the side of the road.

The rink is small and filled with people. There’s a lot of small children that are skating behind little chairs, and you can picture yourself being there too.

“I’m gonna be so much worse than them,” you whine, at the same moment one of the kids falls onto the ice. A woman helps the little girl up and she goes right back at it.

You don’t think you’re gonna be that brave.

“Oh, shush, I’m not gonna let you fall,” says Will, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This whole situation is so freaking cliche, and you are not going to fall for it.

You rent skates for you and Will brings his own, because of course he brought skates in his suitcase. You’re struggling with the laces on the bench next to the rink, mostly to stall for some time; your heart is beating fast in your throat and your hands are a little clammy.

“Need some help with those?” Will is sitting sideways on the bench, and he’s grinning at you amused while you struggle. Feeling a little bold, you swing your leg into his lap.

You can tell he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes widen slightly, but then the grin only broadens and he starts carefully lacing up your skates. You watch as his fingers work the laces expertly �� it’s clear that he’s done this a million times before – and then, his hand curls around your ankle.

“Other one,” he orders, and you switch legs.

Finally, the skates are on and Will hops to his feet, extending his hand and helping you to your feet. You’re already wobbling and you’re not even on this ice yet.

“If I break my leg, I can’t drive,” you say, mostly because the thought pops into your head.

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re not gonna break your leg.”

“If I hit my head and have a concussion, I can’t drive either.”

“Y/N.” Will’s voice is firm enough that you look up at him. He’s frowning. “You’re not gonna break anything, or hit anything, or fall. If you really don’t want to do this, we can leave now, but if there’s any part of you that agrees that this could be kinda fun, I promise you I’ve got you.” His eyes are a little shiny as he adds: “Trust me?”

And it’s stupid, you know it is, because you barely know Will. You’re pretty sure you’d have found out if he truly was a serial killer or any other type of psycho, but you can’t be sure he’s not irresponsible – although he did pull over in the snow – or prove that he’s trustworthy in any way.

And yet…

“I trust you,” you say then, and the blinding smile that crosses Will’s face is worth the fear in your heart when you place your first foot on the ice.

You can feel it slipping right away, but Will literally hops on the ice next to you, two feet planted firmly on the slippery surface, and places his hands on your hips, steadying your waist. In a reflex, your hands curls around his biceps, and once again you are reminded that holy shit, he’s a professional athlete.

“Wow, easy,” Will hums. He slowly guides you further away from the door, and your other foot adds to your first, and then you’re gliding.

You can’t call it skating: Will is moving backwards and pulling you with him, but you’re not necessarily moving on your own.

The first round goes like that, and then you decide to be brave and start moving your feet.

To be fair, Will keeps his promise. He never leaves your side, his hand firmly on your lower back even when you do start skating yourself, ready to catch you whenever you stumble – which is a lot.

“I’m doing it,” you yelp excitedly, when he finally lets his hand hover a little away from you. “I’m skating!”

Will laughs. “Proud of you, babe.”

And it’s probably just something he says; he probably calls a lot of people babe, it probably means nothing, and yet…

“Help,” you manage to squeak, and then your arms are waving in the air and your feet are slipping from under you and you try to maintain your balance, but you can pinpoint the second it’s a lost cause.

For a split second you’re plummeting towards the ice, but then two arms are wrapped around your waist and you just kinda… hang there.

“Thanks,” you say dryly. You’re hanging in Will’s arms as he’s hysterically cackling out laughter above you. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and pull you up.

“Majestic,” he giggles, and he tightens his grip on your waist when you slap him in the chest.

“Rude,” you grumble, but you can’t help the smile that’s tugging at the edges of your lips.

It’s weird, but suddenly you notice how close he is, and when his eyes travel to your lips the smile falls from his face and you can tell he noticed too.

You stare at him, and it’s like the air is charged with something; your heart is beating in your throat and you swear he’s moving closer.

Oh, you think, we’re gonna kiss.

Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t send panic to your throat the way it did when your ex kissed you the first time, the way it always has when someone kissed you. Instead, it’s like everything inside of you goes calm and quiet.

You want him to kiss you. And it’s a little scary how not scary that is.

You’re interrupted by a small voice.

“Mister Nylander?”

Will startles, yank back fast enough that you nearly tumble straight back down to the ice, but one firm hand on your waist keeps you standing. He turns around then, to face the little girl that spoke: she can’t be more than five years old and is wearing a helmet with a cage, holding a hockey stick in her hands and staring at Will with wide, starstruck eyes.

He bends down into a squat – on skates, literally, how – and smiles at the girl.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. You can call me Willy, though. What’s your name?”

“Amanda,” the girl beams. “Can I get your autograph, mister Willy?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Willy says. “How about I bring my friend here to the safety of the ground and I shoot some pucks with you, huh?”

Amanda looks like someone just offered her the entire world and everything in it. “Please,” she says, and Will quickly guides you towards the side of the rink.

“I won’t be long,” he promises, and he almost looks apologetic, which…

Which is ridiculous. Because you can tell that him just being here made that little girl’s day, and you think of the things you wanted as a little girl and the heroes you never got to meet, and…

“Take all the time in the world, please,” you say. “I’ll go get myself that hot chocolate.”

For two hours you sit at the side watching Will with the kids. Somehow after Amanda more and more kids appeared and now he’s created somewhat of an impromptu hockey team because they’re all playing and the adults cleared the rink.

It’s entertaining, to watch Will with the kids. He’s a good teacher, and you can see them hitting the net more and more as time passes on, and he clearly makes it fun: they’re all laughing and screaming and at one point, a few of them tackle Will to the ice, where he rolls around and pretends to be unable to get up, yet hops to his feet the second the kids get distracted.

It’s insane, how comfortably he moves around. Like, you knew this, because he’s a professional hockey player, of course he can skate, but you didn’t really think anything of it until you see it in action. He’s obviously not even trying to do anything fancy, and he’s probably not trying to be fast either, but he is, and he stops without problem and turns in any direction and even jumps over a puck, at some point.

You can’t lie. It’s kinda hot. But then, you’ve always had a thing for people who were clearly good at something.

For example, your ex was a really good painter. He was also really good at being a lying, cheating bastard.

Before you can go too far down that rabbit hole, there’s commotion on the rink, someone crying and then Will’s voice, too loud: “What happened?”

When you look up he’s kneeling in front of a little boy, who’s crying and staring at his hand.

You jump up, worrying, but Will has already lifted to kid in his arms and is skating towards you now, with big strides.

“He took a skate to the hand, we’re gonna need some bandages,” he says, and a parent yells something about getting a first aid kit while Will puts the kid on his lap on the bench. “Can you look at him?” he asks you, worry evident in his voice even though he’s clearly trying to remain calm. He’s a little pale, but you don’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo at the kid, kneeling in front of him, placing your hand on Will’s knee to steady yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” the kid cries. “My hand hurts!”

“I know it does, Tim. But the good news is that we can fix it,” you promise him, examining the hand. It doesn’t look too bad: there’s a cut, but not deep enough to perforate anything more than flesh, so you’re not too worried.

The first aid kit arrives and so does Timmy’s dad, who doesn’t seem too bothered. “He falls all the time,” he says, “that’s what hockey is, isn’t it?” He preens at Will, who dutifully ignores him in order to talk to Timmy in a low voice.

You wrap up Timmy’s hand and tell him to take it easy for a few days, and then before you know it you’re in the car and Will is holding the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“Do you want me to drive?” you ask tentatively. There’s no answer, but Will isn’t turning on the car. “He’s gonna be okay, you know.” Silence. Another try. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just can’t believe,” Will starts, but he seems to choke on the last word and lets the sentence die, drops his head and inhales sharply. It takes a while, but finally he speaks, a little more composed. “I hate when parents tell their kids that hockey is about pain and sacrifice. It can be, sometimes, but it shouldn’t be, not for a little kid. It should be about fun, and learning skill, and being with teammates, and loving it. It shouldn’t be about falling and injuries.”

He sounds so frustrated that it tugs at your heart strings, and for a split second you allow yourself to wonder what Will was told by his dad, when he was a kid himself.

“He wasn’t even trying to soothe him,” Willy bites. “He was too busy fawning over the presence of a professional hockey player, and I don’t… I don’t wanna be the person these idiots believe I am.”

“And you’re not,” you blurt out. “Will, these kids had so much fun with you.”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just… Me and my brother, we always had fun skating. My dad told us it was important to always have fun. But I’ve seen it happen to friends. They were so passionate about hockey, but their parents pushed them, wanted them to be better too quick and told them to suck it up when the skates hurt their feet and it just fizzled out, you know? Until one day it wasn’t any fun and they quit.”

“It’s a shame,” you echo. “But your dad…?”

“He was hard on us, sure.” Will shrugs, smiles for real this time. “Pushed us to be better. But he always made it fun.” He turns to you. “Your dad… He stood behind your dreams?”

You remember you told him your mom didn’t think you could be a nurse, and you laugh. “The blood thing, you mean? Yeah, he didn’t agree with my mom. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and if I decided I wanted to be something else, I could be that, too. He’s always been there for me.” You shrug. “I’m lucky to have him. My mom… She left when I was 12. And I…”

You stop, for a second, wondering if you’re really gonna tell this to a complete stranger. But the thing is, Will doesn’t feel like a complete stranger anymore. Talking to him feels more comfortable than talking to most of your friends, and you can tell he really cares about what you’re saying, and you just, you want to tell him, so you do.

“I don’t like Christmas because my mom left right before Christmas, and she said: ‘I might not see you for a while, honey, but I’ll send you a Christmas gift.’ She didn’t, and I never saw her again.”

When you glance at Will, he’s frowning, a deep crease edged into his forehead. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, but, it was a long time ago. I’m mostly over it, I just never learned to love Christmas the way most kids do, I guess. My dad tried to make it fun for me, but it was always the reminder, you know, that I didn’t have a mom and other kids did.” You laugh, a little bitterly. “And then this year my ex-boyfriend dumped me on the 16th. My mom left me on the 17th. So I guess December is just not a good month for me.”

“Your ex is an asshole.” Will says it with such force, gritting his teeth, that you can’t help but reach over and put your hand on his knee.

“It’s okay,” you muse, and the tension leaves Will’s shoulders as he carefully wraps your hand in his.

His hand is warm and a little rough and there’s something hammering in your chest, and you wonder how it’s possible that you met him two days ago and he’s already making you feel more than your ex-boyfriend ever had.

You guess you never really liked that guy as much as you told yourself you did. 

“It’s not,” he says, but he doesn’t so upset anymore. “And if he was here, I’d punch him in the face. But I’m glad to see you didn’t let him hurt you too much.” Will grins. “And now you’ve been skating, so, like, fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you echo, and Will starts the car.

18 hours to go. And then you’re in Calgary, and you’re gonna see your dad, and you’ll probably never see Will again.

For some reason that thought leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.

--- 

“Psst.” You groan as someone softly tugs your arm. You try to turn around, but there’s something digging in your back and you can’t quite get there. The tugging gets more persistent. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What?” you grumble, finally forcing yourself to open your eyes, and it’s only when you see Will’s face in front of you that you realize you’re not in your bed. You’re in a car, it’s pitch dark outside, and you’re standing in front of a lit up building.

“Snow storm is getting really, really bad,” Will says. “We have to stop for the night. It’s not safe to keep driving.”

You’re about to tell him to stop being such a baby, and you’ll drive, no problem, when you risk a glance out the window and see… nothing.

Literally, almost nothing. Just a big building, and some lights that could be from streetlights or UFOs, for all you know, because there’s a big blanket of white covering your sight. Snowflakes are streaming down in a curtain, and you can hear the wind howl around the car.

Okay, yeah, maybe it is unsafe to drive.

“Where are we?”

“Hotel,” Will says. “I checked, only hotel within 10 minutes of the highway. Pray that they have a room for us.”

He leaves you in the seat to wake up a bit more, and goes to get your luggage; he swings your bag over his shoulder and hauls his suitcase out of the trunk, and finally opens your door.

“Come on.”

You grab his hand and let him pull you out of the car, although you walk in front of him to enter the hotel. The woman behind the desk looks up as you open the door.

“Please close that behind you,” she says, friendly enough, “I swear if that cold comes in I might freeze, here.”

“Hi,” you say to her, “I know, it’s bad, right? We were hoping you have two rooms available for us, so we can escape the storm?”

The woman types something on her computer, then frowns. “I’m sorry, it’s very busy at the moment. Lots of people stopping in from the highway. I have one room left, if you’d like? Double bed.”

Oh, fuck. You’re not sure if you’ve quite wrapped your head around in, when Will chimes in next to you.

“Cool, we’ll take it.”

“We…” you start protesting, but Will raises an eyebrow and looks at you with so much attitude that it shuts you up.

“Would you rather freeze to death in a car?” he asks pointedly. “I’ll take the couch or the floor, or whatever, chill. I promise I won’t murder you in your sleep.”

Getting murdered is not what you’re worried about, to be honest. You’re worried that sharing a hotel room with Will is just gonna make these feelings in the pit of your stomach worse.

But there’s not really another option.

“Fine. We’ll take it.”

“You know,” Will chirps, when you’ve got the keycard and he’s taking the luggage up the stairs, “there’s a lot of girls that would kill to be forced to share a room with me.”

“That’s because they’ve only looked at your face, and don’t know your personality,” you drawl, and you know you’ve made a mistake when Will’s face lights up.

“You think I’ve got a pretty face?”

“Not what I said,” you answer quickly; too quickly, because Will is looking way too smug as he takes the keycard out of your hand and opens the hotel room door.

The room itself is nothing special. It’s small, but the bed looks comfortable and it’s warm, so you’ll take it.

“Shotgun on the bathroom,” you say as soon as you get in, and Will rolls his eyes but dutifully flops on the bed and starts typing on his phone while you find your toothbrush and disappear to the bathroom.

When you walk out, Will is laying sprawled over the bed, although he’s luckily still on top of the duvets. His hoodie has ridden up a bit and his sweatpants are – dangerously – low on his hips, so there’s a strip of skin showing.

Your mouth goes funnily dry, all of a sudden.

The thing is. You might not have wanted to be stuck in a hotel room with a guy you met at the airport only 2 days prior, but if it had to happen, Will is not a bad guy to be stuck with. He’s, objectively, very hot – you’re not blind – and he’s funny, and easy to talk to, and he’s been nothing but nice, even when you were a teeny tiny bit rude to him at the airport.

Did you mention he’s very hot?

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, jumping up from the bed.

While he’s doing that, you lay in bed and scroll through Instagram on your phone. Maybe you stalk Will on Instagram, only for a little bit, and you find a picture of him with his siblings that’s so cute it has you smiling at your phone.

“What are you smiling at?” Will’s voice surprises you so much that you drop your phone on your face with a yelp, and the sound of his laughter rings in your ears as you bury your red hot face into the pillow.

You hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door again. Luckily, you don’t think he saw, but you lock your phone just in case.

Then, you look up, and if you thought you couldn’t be any redder in the face, boy were you wrong.

Because Will is wearing boxers, and nothing else. Now, you think to yourself, as you glance at him before shamefully returning your gaze to your hands, if you had a body like that, maybe you’d be more keen on showing it off too, but…

“You’re gonna be cold,” you tell him, and you can hear, more than see, his eye roll as he says:

“Okay, mom.” Then, he opens the closet and takes another duvet out. “I’ll be fine, I have this.” He grins a little cheekily, as if he fully knows what he’s doing to you. “Normally I sleep naked, but…”

“But not today,” you squeak, and he’s laughing again.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he’s getting to you, you throw the second pillow at his head and then roll to your side.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” he answers softly. You listen as he potters around the room; probably tries to get his ‘bed’ for tonight as comfortable as possible. Finally, the lights click off.

You can’t sleep. You know it the second the lights are off, and Will’s breathing evens out. Your mind is going a million miles per hour and there’s so many things that happened, that you’re going to have to overthink before you can sleep. What’s not helping, either, is the fact that Will keeps tossing and turning.

You’re starting to feel a bit bad. You’re in a bed that’s big enough for two – maybe even three, it’s that big – and Will is laying on a cold, hard floor, with just one duvet and a pillow.

Outside, the wind is howling, and you know if you looked out the window the entire world would be covered in white. The room is warm enough, but you picture how there must be a draft, so close to the floor, and suddenly you can’t take it anymore.

It’s selfish, to make him sleep on the floor all because you’re worried about wanting things you can’t have.

“This is stupid,” you say, sitting up. “You should just sleep in the bed.”

For a second, it’s quiet. When Will speaks, he sounds unsure. “Are you sure? I mean, the floor isn’t great, but I don’t mind, I promise, if you’d rather not…”

“Look, we don’t have to, like, cuddle, or anything.” You can feel yourself blush but in the darkness of the room, there’s no way Will can see, so you keep talking. “You stay on your side, I’ll stay on my side, and it’s basically the same distance as having you on the floor. Just, the floor is cold, and uncomfortable, and there’s no need to…”

“Okay,” Will cuts you off, and he jumps up, duvet in hand. He’s grinning as he slides into the bed, curling the duvet around himself. “You don’t have to convince me, I was just being a gentleman.”

You snort. “Don’t do it again, it freaks me out.”

“You drive tomorrow, then,” Will hums, and it already feels better, to hear his voice right next to you instead of from somewhere at your feet. He sounds better, too; lighter, and more comfortable. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” you answer, finally closing your eyes.

“If I had to cross the country in a Kia during a snow storm with anyone from that airport, I’m glad it’s you.”

You think of what you were thinking before, and smile.

“Me too, Willy, me too.”

It’s quiet again, and Will’s breathing starts evening out. For some reason, you still can’t calm down: you try to match your breathing to his, but it’s too shallow and you can feel your heart beating in your chest.

“You’re fidgeting,” Will says then, his voice loud in the quiet room. Only then do you notice that you have been twisting the duvet between your fingers time and time again. Will goes to lay on his stomach and turns his head to you. “You okay? I can sleep on the f…”

“It’s not you,” you interrupt him. It is, of course, but not in the way he thinks.

“Okay,” Will says slowly. “Then what?” Before you can answer he reaches out and slowly wraps his hand around yours, causing your fingers to dis-attach from the duvet.

And, the thing is…

You could tell him to mind his business. You could tell him a lie, or something that’s kinda true but not the real reason.

Tomorrow, you’ll be in Calgary. On your dad’s couch, drinking hot chocolate. And Will is gonna be in his own house. And then after Christmas, you’re both flying back to Toronto, but you’re not stupid. Will is a famous, and really attractive, athlete. You just got out of another failed relationship. You’re not good at relationships, turn out; you don’t even know if you really believe in love, anymore, don’t know if you even think it’s worth it to try.

But right now, you’re here, and he’s here, and you swear you’re not imagining the way he looks at you, sometimes.

You’ve had to deal with cancelled planes, problems at work, a dumb ex boyfriend, and this stupid everlasting snow, ruining your life one day at a time. So, you might as well give yourself this one thing that you want.

“Or, it is you,” you say, and you can feel Will stiffen beside you. “But it’s not that I don’t want you in this bed with me. In fact, it’s kinda the opposite.”

You can feel your cheeks flush: you’re not good at this, don’t really know what to say.

But then Willy grins and suddenly he rolls around, his body now hovering over you as he pushes himself up on his forearms.

“So does that mean I finally get to kiss you?” he hums, and you answer by pressing your lips against his.

---

Hours later, you’re both naked, a mess of tangled limbs in sheets, and Will’s chest is rising and falling with every peaceful breath. You close your eyes and bury your face in his neck.

Outside, it snows, and it snows, and it snows.

---

You wish you could enjoy the next 10 hours.

First, you spend 2 hours getting showered and ready – it would’ve been a lot shorter if Will hadn’t slipped in the shower with you, so it’s his fault if you’re late – and then you have breakfast at the hotel while Will tells you more about his family.

His face lights up when he tell you which Christmas gifts he’s got for his siblings and it’s adorable.

Then, you drive. The final 6 hour drive, and it flies by so fast you would’ve believed it if someone said it was just 2. You drive the first few hours and then Will takes over for the last part, and you chat the whole way there.

At some point, Will starts singing along to Christmas songs, and you don’t even change the channel.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” Will croons; you can’t help but laugh and then you’re both laughing and singing along at the top of your lungs.

You wish it never had to end.

“So,” says Will, “this is your street, huh?”

You decided he would drop you off and take care of returning the rental car, and you’re almost regretting that decision cause you would’ve liked those 20 extra minutes with him. However, you know that that is, objectively, insane, so you ignore the knives that are being ran through your heart when Will parks the car on the curb.

“Home, at last,” he says, softly. He’s not smiling anymore. “So, when we get back to Toronto, we should…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt softly. “We both know this is where it ends for us.”

At this, Will frowns. “It doesn’t have to.”

“Yes, it does.” You swallow heavily, try to get rid of the lump in your throat. It doesn’t feel right but it is, and you need to let it end here before you end up with hopes that will crash and burn and expectations that will never be met.

“What if I don’t want it to?” he asks quietly.

As much as Will might believe he wants to see you again – and you don’t doubt that he’s being truthful about that - it’s just not realistic.

People don’t meet the love of their life in an airport after a cancelled flight, don’t live together forever after long a cross-country drive, don’t live happily ever after after a snowed in hotel.

People do leave their husbands and kids the week before Christmas, they do cheat on you, they do break your heart.

Snow might make things seem more magical, but after all, it’s just frozen water.

“But I want that.”

Will’s face falls, his eyes sad and honest, but he nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for the drive, then.”

His voice is distant, now, cold and impersonal: you know you deserve it but it hurts, anyway, and you scurry out of the car, take your suitcase out of the trunk.

You’re standing next to the car, ready to walk down the driveway, when the window opens.

Will’s head pops out, and he sends you what you think is meant to be a smile. It’s not a real one, and he still mostly just looks sad, but he’s trying, you think.

“I know December is a hard month for you, but I truly do hope it’s gonna get better. Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

The window closes and the car drives off, and something inside of you breaks.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” you whisper with tears in your eyes. You could’ve stood there for hours, but the front door opens.

“Y/N?” your dad’s voice calls. “I’m so glad you made it, you won’t believe the snow we’ve had…”

--- 

There’s a blanket on your lap as well as Snuggles – your dad’s cat – and you’re drinking tea while Elf plays on the television.

Your dad has been talking excitedly all through dinner, but now it’s quiet as he watches the movie. He seems happy, light, and it soothes something inside of you.

Sometimes you worry about him.

It’s not until the end credits roll that your dad turns to you. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively, and that’s all that you need to hear in order to break into tears. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, then takes your hand in his. “What happened?”

You have no idea where to start.

“Dad,” you whisper, “do you think you can die from a broken heart?”

Your dad smiles sadly, shakes his head. “If you could, I would’ve been gone by now, probably,” he jokes, but it doesn’t land. “Is this about that boyfriend of yours?”

And, well, the funny thing is, you haven’t told your dad about the break up, but it doesn’t even matter. Your heart is broken and it has nothing to do with your ex.

So you tell him about Will. You tell him about how you almost weren’t here, tell him about cancelled planes and one lone rental car, about how he went from Will to William Nylander right back to Will, about coffee breaks and sleeping on the side of the road and skating and the little kid who hurt his hand, about snow storms and a hotel room with one bed – not about anything else from that night, though – and finally you tell him about goodbye.

When it’s all said and done, your dad frowns. “You keep saying it had to end. But honey, it sounds like you really like this guy.”

You do, oh God, you do.

“Why would it have to end?”

You don’t say anything, but as always, he knows exactly what you mean.

“Just because it ended for your mom and I doesn’t mean it always has to end, you know. Sometimes it’s worth to try.” He pats your hand. “I think you should call him.”

And that’s when it hits you. It doesn’t really matter if you’d wanna call him. 

You don’t even have his phone number.

--- 

“Y/N! Patient in room 11!” your colleague yells. “I’m going to the kid in room 4 if you need me!”

You sigh and throw down your clipboard. You have no idea why the hospital is so busy; it’s December 28th, which promises a disaster on New Years Eve, which is usually your busiest day of the year.

Fireworks, man.

You’ve been on your feet for 9 hours but you don’t even really mind. Just the thrill of working in a new hospital has been keeping you going; it might have something to do with the fact that this hospital will let you finish your residency, too. They called you the day after Christmas.

Some might call it somewhat of a Christmas miracle.

“I’m on it,” you call back, then start making your way to room 11. You nearly bump into the doctor you’re working with today, and she halts you by putting a hand on your arm.

“Are you a Leafs fan?” she asks.

It might be the weirdest thing someone has randomly asked you; the conversations you have had with this woman have ranged from “can you get me some blood from the vomiting boy” and “in what room do I find the catheters” and now she’s asking you about your sports teams?

Your heart clenches tightly as you think of Will.

“Not really,” you answers. That seems to be the right answer because the doctor smiles and waves towards the room, telling you to enter. You’re still confused by the whole exchange when you walk into the room and nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh,” Will says slowly, “that’s quite a coincidence.”

It’s like your tongue has grown two sizes; you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of what words to say, when suddenly you notice something.

“What the hell happened to you?”

There’s blood all over the hand he’s clutching to his chest, and his face is white as a ghost. Next to him is an equally pale guy wearing a Leafs sweater, who is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Uhm, I fell,” Will says sheepishly. “Turns out snow is quite slippery.”

It hasn’t snowed in Toronto in days.

“He didn’t fall in the snow,” the guy next to him grumbles. “I tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand and he fell into the Christmas tree and sliced his hand open with an ornament.”

“And Kappy has just promised to clean everything up, right, Kap?” Will asks with a sly smirk. Some of the color is returning to his face, which is more than you can say for his friend Kappy.

“Okay, well, let me have a look,” you mutter, and you gather some of your supplies before sitting next to the bed.

If you try very hard to avoid Will’s eyes and focus completely on the gash on his hand, that’s between you and the hospital room.

“So, first aid, huh?” Will asks. “Found a new job? Told you.” He sounds stupidly smug, so you raise your eyebrow and press the gauze to the wound. He inhales sharply. “That’s mean.”

“I’m trying to clean it,” you tell him sternly. “Sit still. God, Timmy was a better patient.”

“Hey,” Will protests, offended. “I’m a perfect patient.”

When you see how deep the wound is, you wonder how it’s possible that Will is still so chatty, and you also feel a little nauseous; it’s always different when it’s someone you care about.

“I’m gonna go get doctor Summers,” you say, and your voice is a little unsteady.

You’re probably imagining the edge of disappointment to Will’s voice when he says: “Yeah, okay.”

While doctor Summers examines Will’s hand, his eyes are fixed on you, and you keep yours fixed on your shoes. There’s so much you want to say to him, so much you want to do, but this is not the time or the place and also you have no idea how to start a conversation like that.

You tune back into the here and now when you hear the word “surgery.”

“It’s not a real surgery,” doctor Summers says, “I just think we need to set a bone and we also need to stitch up the muscles.”

Will is a little pale again as he nods.

You get send away to prepare the necessities for the procedure and when you come back, Will’s friend is gone.

“He’s gonna pick me up when I’m done,” says Will, who sees you looking. “Are you gonna… Are you gonna be here, while she does it?”

“Nope,” you answer, and this time you’re definitely not imagining the way his face falls. “Are you gonna get in trouble with the team for this?”

Will pulls a face. “I’ll probably get a stern talking to from Kyle.” When he sees your expression, he laughs. “My boss.” He sighs, looks out the window.

It’s started snowing, again, because apparently the universe loves taunting you.

“You know what the worst thing is? I ruined my tree.”

“That’s definitely not the worst part,” you roll your eyes. “It’s after Christmas, you should’ve probably taken it down anyway.”

“I couldn’t take it down yet,” says Will, his face completely serious, “there’s still one Christmas miracle I’m waiting for.”

He’s staring at you intently and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

There’s no way he means…

But what if there is?

You make a decision then, and when Will is getting his hand worked on in a different room you run to the cafeteria.

“Hey,” you yell at the lady behind the counter. “I’m gonna borrow this for a second!”

She looks at you like you’re a crazy person and you can’t blame her: you’re literally standing in your scrubs, screaming at her from the middle of the cafeteria after having just yanked a tiny Christmas tree from the table.

“Okay?” she yells back, and it sounds more like a question than a blessing, but you take it and run anyway.

Room 11 is still empty; although Will’s coat is still lying on the bed, so he must be coming back. You take the tiny tree and put it on the bed side table, plug it in.

There’s only about 10 lights in the tree, but when you flick off the big lights, it still looks pretty Christmassy.

And so, you wait.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement; there’s every possibility in the world that Will has changed his mind since you last saw each other, and the last thing he wants is you confessing how much you like him in a hospital room after just having destroyed his hand, but you have to try.

Every time you think about bailing, you hear your dad’s voice in your head.

Sometimes it’s worth it to try.

This is one of those times.

“No strenuous activities, take it easy…” Finally you hear doctor Summers voice and you stand up.

The door opens tauntingly slowly, and there is Will. At first, his eyes widen as they catch the Christmas tree, and then his head swivels around and he sees you; a slow smile spreads across his face.

“A Christmas tree?” he asks.

“Well,” you smile, “you did say you wanted a Christmas miracle…”

“But you don’t like Christmas,” Will points out.

And that’s true, but…

You take a step closer and Will raises an eyebrow, questioning but not looking like he wants to run away.

“I don’t,” you admit. “I didn’t. But then something happened… Or, well, someone happened. And now I’m thinking that I might have to give Christmas a chance.” You’re standing right in front of Will, now, and he had all the time in the world to back off but he didn’t. Instead, he’s looking at you with an amused expression on his face, the corners of his mouth curled into a tentative smile.

“I think there might be a few things I have to give a chance,” you finish.

“God,” Will breathes. “I really hope you mean us.”

Instead of answering, you kiss him.

It feels somewhat familiar and yet as if you’ve never been kissed before: there’s fireworks in your stomach and everything feels warm and fuzzy, like nothing matters except for the feeling of Will’s lips on your lips, his chest pressed against yours.

“Y/N!” someone yells from the hallway, and you reluctantly pull away.

“I have to get back to work…”

“Okay,” Will whispers, pecks you cheek quickly. “But we’ll talk…”

“I’m done with work in an hour,” you interrupt.

Will nods. “I’ll tell Kappy he doesn’t have to pick me up.” He grins. “Unless you’d rather not drive in the snow?”

“Shut up,” you tell him, but it’s with nothing but fondness.

You’re already running to the hallway, ready to see the next patient, when you hear Will yell after you: “You said you hate snow!”

And that’s kinda true, but…

Sometimes, even if it messes up your plane, or gets you stuck in a snowstorm, or makes you fall on your ass…

You just have to let it snow.

#william nylander #toronto maple leafs #winter prompts #william nylander imagine #william nylander one shot #nhl fic #nhl imagine

[manascoundrel]

Trophy- Chapter 7

by Yarking Fandom: Dragon Age (general) Summery: Two troubled children meet at the Minrathous Circle. One is a magister’s heir, groomed to be the blood mage general of Seheron, without fear or mercy. Hopefully, that will keep people from noticing how very much an elf he is. The other is last born, least loved and most of his emotions involve academics and cadavers. They love each other, even if they’re not terribly good at it. Warnings for this chapter: talk of ableism, eugenics, victim blaming, more voices, refence to surgically removed body parts for science (brief mention of eyeballs and misc organs, non-graphic), aaaand a... big implied Something Bad at the end of the chapter. Which is vague but so is the thing. AO3: here

The stutter was going to be a problem.

Gaius Albus Danarius sat hunched at his desk, lips thin and brow drawn. He had already contacted the circle (discreetly), inquiring about a (discreet) tutor for young Tertius' particular blemish, but there was no overnight solution. There was no answer to be found in blood magic, that he was sure of. His desk was covered in open tomes, the likes of which he would not ordinarily let see the light of day without locking and warding the room. More books littered the floor, uneven, messy, horrible things that tightened the tension along his spine even further. The further away from his desk- a point of origin- the more harmless and more hopeless the sources became. He had given up on finding anything salient when he found himself reading about spirit healers and the absurdity and unlikelihood of fixing the issue in a plain and simple, single spell finally registered.

A spirit healer. Magister Danarius scoffed at the notion, resting his chin pensively in palm. He might as well be looking for a somniari in the heart of the Imperium.

He hated this. A walking shame of his family name out there, sputtering like a slave that was addled from years of processing lyrium. It was a long, black shadow cast on his house's name, a name that he had so painstakingly cultivated to its pristine glory. Past. Spoiled. All due to a moment of impatience and indiscretion.

Looking around the room a final time, Magister Danarius shut his eyes and let out a harsh breath through his nose. He slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers closing around the round, smooth gem there, and sent two pulses of mana into it, summoning his seneschal.

The young woman appeared at the door of his study swiftly, hesitating at the threshold as she looked at the scattered books that littered the typically orderly room.

"Master," she began, gaze traveling along the ground, following the books until she reached his hem, then upward to him folded irritably in his chair. "You seem..."

"Despondent?" Magister Danarius offered with a thin, bitter smile. "Defeated?"

"I was going to say troubled," the seneschal assured. Ever politique. That's why he had hired her.

He clapped his book shut brusquely. "I have a problem, Alina. The worst type of problem, my dear. The kind that involves public shame, and cannot be resolved with magic."

Seneschal Alina looked appropriately dubious. Magister Danarius wasn't certain why- he had just said it couldn't be solved with magic, and blood magic was certainly implied to be included. Her blood was staying right where it was, and besides that, he had better options than her for a sacrifice. She did acceptable work, and would take time to replace, besides.

"I'm sorry to hear that, master," she replied cautiously, bowing as if it were compulsion. You'd think she were liberate with how antsy she was.

"Since I can't throw magic at the problem and have it go away, I'm going to do the next best thing and throw money at it."

"Master?"

Magister Danarius deposited his book atop the pile already on his desk and steepled his fingers. "Tertius' stutter couldn't be fixed before the beginning of his schooling, and to delay enrollment risks making him look unprepared and thus weak. Which makes us look weak, poor-bred and ripe for assassination. I had instructed the boy to remain silent when it was an option, but the charade can't last forever. People will hear, and people will know, and then we wouldn't be in a terribly better position than we were in delaying his education. I've already contacted tutors who teach-" Danarius' scowl grew disgusted- "remedial and delayed apprentices privately."

"You are asking me to adjust our financial records to reflect the payment for his tutors? I can do that, certainly, and make sure to file it under something innocuous sounding so-"

"Yes, yes, that is part of it, possibly. But as I said, it cannot be resolved overnight. I want to display our family's assets to offset as much damage that boy will do when he inevitably opens his mouth. I've already sent in for a high quality foci for his first training staff commission. The purity of the foci will help demonstrate the ample magic in our bloodline, but we need more than that. We can't rest on genealogical superiority when the little disaster appears malformed. We need to distract from that with our house's other assets. If we can't figure out something to distract from his shortcomings, we have the option to send a Crow for Tertius, but that has it's own undesirable effects."

The seneschal said nothing at first, seeming stunned. "Of course," she managed, thickly. "We can't afford to give the house's enemies any ideas by sending an assassin for our own."

Magister Danarius scowled. "Don't be sentimental. I have an heir, and I have a spare. Tertius' only responsibility is trying to avoid tarnishing our family's name, which he has so far managed to compromise by existing and speaking. I'm not convinced that he'll become less of a problem the longer he's in the public eye."

The seneschal bowed, keeping her head turned downward in penitence. "He is fortunate that you've given him the opportunity at all, I'm certain."

"He is," Magister Danarius agreed, coldly. It had been the boy's fault, after all, for not doing the most basic task asked of him and simply obey. It was regrettable that Magister Danarius momentarily lost his composure. It is not something he is proud of (and, in fact, something he hadn't like to dwell on since the incident) but it hadn't needed to be so if Tertius had minded. Willful creature. So like his mother.

After a chilly silence and moment of time, the seneschal risked speaking again. "Did you have something in mind for me to arrange delivered, or were you seeking suggestions?"

"Suggestions. Right now, the Crow is my best option. I'm looking for something better. Something that will tilt impressions into something passably favorable, at least until Tertius' shortcomings can be worked out of him." Magister Danarius' fingertips brushed against his lips and tapped thoughtfully. "Sending a personal slave at his age would look suspicious, he's too young to have any use for one, save perhaps as a personal guard or chaperone. We don't want to give the impression that he needs either of those things- that too would give the appearance of weakness. But slaves with magic in the blood is the vast majority of House Danarius' assets. That's what we're known for."

The seneschal remained silent for a beat, thinking. "Master, if I might make a suggestion?"

"Go ahead, as I said that's why you're here."

"Young Master Tertius' isn't just a Danarius," the seneschal said cautiously, teasing the words out as if braced for offence to be taken. "Since his staff is already a show of your wealth, you could use your ties to his mother's house to distract the students. Wasn't your late wife- Andraste bless her- from a prestigious house herself?"

Magister Danarius' eyes lowered. When he eventually spoke, his words were quiet and unreadable. "Capella was not chosen for her wealth, status, or magical prowess. My duties to the Imperium as a progenitor and househead was fulfilled with my first wife, as you well know."

"Yes, of course, Master. But could you remind me, what was Mistress Danarius' house known for?"

"The most significant thing her family accomplished outside of producing her was their horses. Her... I believe great aunt or somesuch... developed the chargers we use in our cavalry and the Vinter Warmblood. The breed the Archon uses? Well, when he's not traveling via palanquin," Magister Danarius explained. He sounded vexed. "I'm not certain what could be done with that."

Seneschal Alina shifted and gave a very suspicious sounding cough. "If only, master, there were something that every five-year-old desired. Something that would cause enough envy that that was what was reported to the apprentices parents when reporting on young master Tertius."

Magister Danarius closed his eyes. He opened them.

"In my defense," he said, a serpentine smile growing slowly at his thin lips, "it has been quite some time since I've been a five-year-old. But I think I've gathered what you're suggestion."

--

Tertius was the luckiest, most loved, most excited, most grateful five-year-old in the entire Circle.

He had Stardust.

Stardust was a pony. Her real name was something too long for him to hope to remember, let alone manage to say (she was a very fancy pony, apparently, whose long name came from her 'impressive' lineage), but the pony was dappled grey like the softest sprinkle of dust over something that had long been present but never been touched, and had a star on her head as brilliant as fresh milk. Thus, Stardust. He had even got to name her (well, nickname her), and if anyone had anything bad to say about her Tertius was prepared to study for a hundred hours straight just so he'd know how to cast a fireball at anyone who would dare disparage her.

Since the day she arrived, Tertius had found time to make it out the the stables and riding arena every day. Even when the rain was pouring down and the stablemaster had banned him and the other young riders from taking their horses out in the rain (too great was the risk of slipping and injury), Tertius still slipped into the stables to visit her, bribing her approval with the soggy lump of sugar sticking to his palm that had once been a cube.

The stablemaster had caught him once early on and, not believing Tertius when he said he was just there to talk to his mare, made him muck out a stable as penance. In the end he had only managed a small corner before the stablemaster had thrown his hands into the air and given up on making a skinny five-year-old aristocrat heave dung.

"Shouldn't you be in classes? Or running around like kids are supposed to with their friends?" the stablemaster had asked, after watching Tertius visit enough times to know he truly was saying hello to Stardust for the company and nothing more.

Tertius wilted, his fingers scritching Stardust's withers and making her eyes close in sleepy approval. It was true he had classes that day, but the classes were troubling. While most of the students hadn't had their magic grow in yet, their lessons mostly consisted of practicing learning runes, learning the theory behind casting spells and visualizations. The former of which came easily enough to Tertius, but the latter proved to be a struggle.

He was good at picturing things with his mind, which the enchanter had explained was an important part of learning how to cast. Closing his eyes and envisioning with all the focus he had came naturally to Tertius, and was something he had practiced trying to draw things even before he came to the Circle. The difficult part was looking inside to figure out how he felt. The enchanter had assured them all that knowing yourself was absolutely critical in protecting yourself from possession, to know what voices were your own and which voices were coming from beyond.

That exercise was a bit more complicated when he had voices whispering to him that he was pretty sure at this point he wasn't supposed to have. Even when the enchanter spoke of those other voices, she had always framed it as "in the future" and "when you dream" and "asking you for things". None of which seemed to apply to Tertius' particular problem.

In a way, this was good. It meant the distant, unintelligible murmurs weren't demons trying to trick him. Tertius couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but he had a hunch they weren't asking for anything. Most of the time it felt as if they weren't even aware he was listening, and he never truly felt threatened or scared by the voices, even when they had first arrived. He hardly ever mistook them for sounds in the room that others could hear too, and his accuracy in picking that out only grew keener as he practiced.

But when his only assignments to work on outside of class is to "practice listening to his own internal voice", he felt uniquely isolated having the added need to shut out the whispers that would not go away no matter how he clasped his hands over his ears.

"I like it here," Tertius said, simply. "It'sss, quiet."

That was true as well. The stables were some distance away from the Circle proper, out on the edge of the grounds. The farther he went from the Circle's towers, the softer the voices grew, and when he rode he felt the same peace he did at night, when he squinted down at the anatomy drawings that seemed to sooth the invisible crowd that followed him.

He didn't need to worry about the whispers when he was out visiting the stables and he didn't worry about how his own words clipped and caught on his teeth when he spoke; his only audience the stablehands (mostly disinterested slaves who wouldn't concern themselves with him anyway) and Stardust. He could ride in peace, or sit listening to the patter of rain on the stable's roof as he sketched out the face of the big charger who watched him curiously accross the stable's aisle. He would blow his breath gently on the page, brushing away charcoal dust and errant straw, feeling alone but no longer lonely.

At night, Tertius felt lonely but not alone. He couldn't justify sleeping out in the stables, no matter how quiet he'd promise he'd be or how comfortable he swore the piles of hay were (although he lied- they prickled and poked at him whenever he sat on them, to say nothing of laying down). Even if he did, he imagined he'd wake feeling groggy and strange like when he napped in the atrium or out on his estate's patio. But sleeping back in the Circle meant the voices would forever pester him as he laid down to sleep, and he was constantly being chastised by the patrolling dorm prefect to "snuff that light and go to sleep, Maker's sake!"

At first, Tertius' solution was to sleep practically on top of the dense anatomy reference book he had checked out from the library, holding it like some of the other students held stuffed toys. The whispers were silent only when he had the thing opened, but having it so close felt comforting and right, and when he got bored he'd slip it open to one of the illustrations and squint at it in the dark.

Later, Tertius grew bolder, realizing that the prefects and dorm master had little time to focus on him when he wasn't being genuinely disruptive. He was quiet and obedient during the day, taking so frequent naps that he was asleep nearly as often as he was awake, but that certainly stemmed from his nocturnal adventures after lights out. It had only taken a few days to figure out the patrol's schedule, and after constructing a Tertius-shaped lump with his pillow that he thought was actually quite impressive, he crept between the partitioned beds and slipped silently into the Circle's dark corridors.

It was all very exciting, pretending to hide in the enclaves of the Tevinter architecture and dodging older students as he ghosted through the halls. Outside the dormitory wing few people gave him a second glance, even with how young he was. Granted, there weren't many people up and about at that time of night, but there were always a sprinkling of older students hard at work in the library, academically-induced neuroticism making them interesting subjects for people-watching.

Tertius spent a great deal of his time at night, trotting silent and free between the tall walls of bookshelves and exploring. There was a loft that overlooked most of the lower level, piles of pillows and blankets and low tables for resting food as the students worked, which he enjoyed using to get a bird's eye view of everyone up reading and studying.

There he first noticed how some of the bookcases overlapped reading enclaves, making little hidden dens he could hide in if he squirmed through one of the lower shelves. He tried it instantly, counting out the bookcases carefully and then finally pulling out all the texts in the bottom row. Sure enough, there was space behind the gap of books, enough for him to stretch out with one of the glowing stones they lent out in the library (as lanterns and other open flames were banned near the books) and some food and pencils. Like having his own little room. Delightful!

That's not to say the Library was the only place Tertius visited during the night. He stayed indoors, true, but he enjoyed sneaking into classrooms while they were not in use, his lantern illuminating the austere trappings of those that were meant for the older students. It appeared that the classroom he attended were purposefully childish with their large-lettered postings and more fanciful hung pictures. For the most part, he couldn't say the classroom for older children were preferable. The exception was one room in the east wing that had a very pretty painting of a horse galloping. That one was okay.

Wherever he went, the whispers would follow. It became a more distant bother gradually, something different about him like his stutter or Stardust, but neither bad nor good. After a time Tertius realized he was probably able to ignore the voices well enough and sleep at night like the others, but slinking around proved to be so enjoyable he elected to spend his free time at night.

That changed one night when he was exploring the northern wing for the first time. He had been amusing himself on the staircases, skipping up and down the steps and counting out the numbers quietly to himself, when he realized he had gone lower and lower. Looking down the hallway, he saw that the tall windows that lined the corridor walls were gone and replaced by panes of stained glass, illuminated from behind by a kind of magic Tertius couldn't make out through the foggy translucent. He was below ground, on one of the Circle's basement floors.

This place called to him.

Not only literally, with the whispers growing louder and most distinct, more recognizable and just inches away from something he could understand, but there was a deep longing in his chest that felt familiar and right. He walked slowly down the hallway, his boots echoing throughout the empty rooms in the dead of night.

As he moved, he peeked into the rooms, silently observing the wide, low-set tables and stools and the abandoned books still open to where people had last read them. Eyes looked blindly down on him from above, drifting in their jars of formaldehyde next to the strange shapes of other, less placeable organs.

The naturalist's labs.

Tertius smiled faintly, taking in the welcoming, chemical smell. He wouldn't have classes here for years yet, but it already felt like home. He skulked across the hallway to the adjacent classroom to see how many of the body parts there he could label, and if the older students had any experiments out that he could observe.

It was only when the familiar ache of tiredness in his small body warned at the impending dawn did Tertius abandon the labs, hopping up the stairs just in time to see the reverse silhouette of the sunrise begin to form and stretch over the floors of the first story's halls. Just in time to run out and catch Stardust for a pet and a kiss before the other kids would be waking up.

--

He returned that night, compelled by the feeling of home and by the still-nebulous voices that spoke just beyond his hearing. The stables were a haven for him during the day, warm and quiet and filled with the earthy scent of sweat and dung, but in the blue cast of the night Tertius felt compelled to the antithesis, the cold and abandoned and chemical, where the whispers commanded him loudest.

He returned again and again, sometimes looking at the big, beautiful diagrams of disected creatures drawn in chalk on the board by lanternlight and later, when his magic began to smolder into life, by the tiny, flickering magelight that was the first spell he and the other children were taught. The first time he had brought his staff down with him to the lab, he had ended up stowing it in one of the rooms for the night, so distracting was the voices. But he remained curious as to their nature, and drawn to experimenting with the phenomena how he could. Ran tests as he ventured deeper and further into the labs, and recorded the changes in the whispers as he heard them in his sketch book, next to drawings of bones.

Naturalist's words, like he read in his books. He'd be a proper researcher, practice for when he grew up.

It was a warmer night when, amongst the whispers, Tertius heard a true voice. He instantly knew it was real, that it was there and present in a way the others had not been, and he leapt up from where he was sitting and reading in the dark to follow this new development, only pausing to grab his sketchbook.

He spirited towards the sounds, excited for even a hint at what they had been saying all this time now that one was close enough to record, and jumped at a shrill scream that ended abruptly.

Tertius wondered in fear for only half a moment, before he crept cautiously forward. He knew the whispers weren't bad, they weren't sounds like that, and when he turned down the next corridor and to the sound he was proven right. One of the doors was left ajar, a low light cutting a yellow line against the ground where it peeked through.

It hadn't been the whispers, Tertius realized, almost disappointed that there would be no resolution or even a new discovery in his own strangeness. But then, he had visited the labs at night many times, and they had always been deserted. Why would that suddenly change?

Tertius inched forward, cringing and flinching at the sounds of wailing and impact, of whispers from present people and what sounded like laughter or sobbing, he couldn't really tell. Gradually, slowly, he gathered up at the mouth of the room and aligned his eye with the sliver of open door.

There were older students there, crowding around and delighted with their entertainment: one of them held a large sack, the kind Tertius had seen slaves haul to the kitchen, filled with foodstuffs. they had one end gathered up as the bag squirmed.

There was something in it.

It was too big. There was someone in it.

The muffled screaming had an origin now, at odds with the laughter of the older apprentices. The one holding the sack loosened the gathered section enough for another to drop something- what Tertius could not see- into the bag and clamp it up behind it, gut-busting laughter following as the thrashing in the bag redoubled.

"Do another one, do another one!" one of the boys goaded in a loud hush.

Tertius didn't wait around and see if the other obliged. He did not understand this, but he knew with the same instinct that told him to hide the whispers that this was wrong, that he needed to tell someone, and he trusted that instinct. He fled.

#dragon age #trophy #yarking writes #warnings above

[gunmetalgaze]

#SL #NoGoodAnswers

Written by @GunmetalGaze and @OffKeyDeviant

Mentions @ToTheGrahve

*****

Xhex: [Tonight is my last hope of finding any lead on the missing male. I hate approaching the Brotherhood under the best of circumstances, and these are far from the circumstances I would choose. Who's missing? A male. Any name? Nope. Friends? Yes, but I can't  find him either. How do you know he's missing? Lash took him. Yeah. Great. I need something more. Anything. All I have is a timeline backed by some closed circuit security stills. None of my staff have heard anything, but they can't identify the best people to ask. Letting my senses thread out, I skim minds for anyone who any glimpse of either male. Spotting a pair of civilians I haven't spoken with yet, I ease my way through the crowd. Settling in beside them, I check the sightlines around me before giving a smile just large enough to expose my fangs. It may be widely known that this club is run by vampires, but there are a lot of humans on staff too. Pulling out the pictures of the male and his friend, I roll my shoulders, the sense of being watched most likely a symptom of my paranoia, and the alcohol still running through my system. Same old, same old. "Never seen either one, are they dangerous?" And my refrain, "of course not, I need to ask them a few questions." Leaning back against the bar, I watch the two scurry off with their drinks. Rolling my shoulders again, the single bottle of Spirytus behind the bar catches my eye. I'm probably killing myself, using that poison to sleep, but knowing Lash was so close has me on edge. And it may be one I throw myself off of.]

Adrian: [Heading back that pre-dawn morning without the trainee to that mansion, filled with males larger than any human bodybuilder hadn't been appealing in the least. Grahve was a grown boy by anyone's standards (boy I say, because 'm old enough to be his great grand-something x1000) and if he had chosen to drown his broken heart between a pair of legs at the end of the night who was I to demand any different of him. Only, I felt I should have. 

When Grahve didn't show up the next evening, hungover and ready to get his lead hot on the target range, I figured he wasn't ready to do the walk of shame because it became clear when two more spectacularly built males charged through the "I'll fucking kill anything that so much as looks in my direction". Qhuinn and the hothead kid, Crhistopher. Enough rumors, true ones at that, floated around that all three of them had been intimately involved. And the static that preceded either male was enough to power Caldwell for an entire winter with energy to spare.

Which explains why, without mincing words Grahve bolted that night. I'd learned a little about -not- getting between a bonded male and his mate. The King and Queen were the prime example. Blind or not, his highness could circumcise an atom with his fangs if it bounced amorously close to his female. Talk about pucker factor. 

Keeping my distance was only a tiny reason that found me back at the club. Balls in one piece, check. Asshole the usual diameter, check. Much as I like a good rim job on occasion, one from the King isn't on my bucket list. K, thanks. Folding my wings and letting them fade back to where they came from, I'd purposefully set down in the shadows a block away and remained invisible as I had every day and night when I arrived. I watched all the incoming and outgoing people, humans and vampires. I listened to their conversations. 

Between the two and my constant vigil, I still learned nothing new. Except that a particular woman, not too tall, lean muscled and with the demeanor of an electrocuted, pissed off wet cat, was the constant body in the place. Even the bouncers were rotated through, not the same faces every night but regular enough to look familiar. They treated the woman with the utmost respect and she did the same back. Working girl had been quickly ruled out, which left few choices that were further narrowed down when I caught sight of her frog-marching a drunk out the door. 

Head of security, perhaps? Only one way to find out, I thought as I slipped past the line and into the club. The darker hallway near the back rooms would give me the cover I needed to drop the invisible cloak without raising all kinds of "WTF's!" Conveniently slipping into the men's room when a half drunk man staggered out, his pants halfway to his ankles.. hmm, half moon out tonight.. and waited a moment before showing myself in the reflection of the mirror. 

Satisfied I'd been alone, I pushed back out the door and made my way to the bar, assuming the role of patron while keeping an eye out for a particular female.]

Xhex: [The lure of the bottle still isn't strong enough to pull me from my jobligation. No matter how much I don't want to deal with the drunk tripping on his trousers outside the private washrooms. Rolling my eyes, and my shoulders, I push off from the bar like a swimmer pushing off from the wall. I don't care about the humans scattering out of my way any more than the swimmer minds the water. I am fresh out of good manners tonight.  Too fucking bad my guys are on point, and have the drunk redressed and on his way to the door before I can drag him out. Spinning on my heel, I run right smack into the back of a large male, and every sense in me lights up, because my nerves are jangling. Threading a push at the mind attached to the offending expanse, I pull up short as what is in front of me registers. Not Lassiter, but just as bad.] Jesus fucking Christ! Is Caldwell holding a convention for you guys?

Adrian: [Waving off the barkeep after shotgunning a few rounds and idly turning to lean back around to face the writhing wave of over n' under sexed bodies, frustration was beginning to consume me on an epic level. Giving up on the trainee wasn't an option, and as much as I'd have liked to peruse a few more other 'heavenly bodies' to drown off my own deeper issues, finding the kid was taking point. I'd give in to temptation later, after we saved the world. Not all angels were… angels. 

The bump and grind matched tempo with some techno beat screaming through the speakers I didn't really hear. Raking a hand through my hair and dishing a less than heartfelt grin at a few ladies that managed to draw my attention for more than a cursory glance. Youd'a thought finding the female head of security would stand out a little more, I mumbled to myself, eyes scanning the crowd in methodically.

As if on cue, my skin prickled and I felt myself shoved forward. This was no bump into by a tipsy patron, and I didn't need to see to confirm; I -felt- it.  Wiping the unease off my face and slapping on a small grin, I turned, prepared for whatever was to go down.. ]

"Didn't expect you to have a sunny disposition and roll out the welcome wagon," I countered, the female's aura like nothing I'd encountered before. Par for the course, like I hadn't expected to be thrown into a den of vampire warriors after being forced to play a game of life and death at His whim. So it wasn't all that surprising that she neither felt human or vampire. And thank fuck she didn't have that telltale feel of demon. I shuddered internally at the intense relief there was only one demonic bitch to worry about.

"N' by the way, m' name's not Jesus, but many have mistaken me for him at certain times, but that's a story for another time" I quipped, still feeling out her aura. I'd ask Lassiter later, for now I needed whatever information I could get from her on Grahve's last known minutes here. My tone now serious.

"M' looking for info on a friend of mine. In private would be best." Wouldn't do any good to dish out all the details in the middle of the bar floor where it was possible one of those Lessers-whatever could be skulking about and overhear.]

Xhex: [Glaring at the angel, I consider telling him that Lassiter wore that joke out already, but it's probably a waste of my breath. Locking eyes with the male, I pull my watch up, and snap into it.] I'm off the floor. Nobody comes near my office for anything less than a dead body, clear? And call off inquiries about the two men. [My earpiece is filled with a staccato of acknowledgements. Addressing the dark haired male again, my hands twitch with the impulse to drag him to my office. Clearly, he has no clue the hell he abandoned his friend to, but I still want to wipe the grin from his face.] Follow me. [I growl, not even remotely civil, but the roiling in the pit of my stomach has only intensified. One step closer to finding the missing male is also one step closer to Lash. Whose picture is face down on the desk in my office, where I might finally get some answers. The most direct path to privacy happens to be through pretty much everyone, and I thread my way with all the subtlety of a cannonball, not once looking to see if the angel is following. If he doesn't, I'll have an excuse to go back and drag his feathery ass up the stairs. Not that I've ever seen Lassiter's feathers, but the stereotypical image has to come from somewhere. Leaving the door open, I settle into the chair behind my desk, schooling my features and letting my senses stretch out as much as they can with my cilices on. As soon as the male crosses the threshold, I start in, even as I gesture to close the door.] I'm Xhex. I run security here, and I have had every employee looking for anyone who can identify you or your friend for a week. Start. Talking.

Adrian:  HE must have had the humor of a rag doused in gasoline when he created the head of security, because she gave off the feeling the slightest bit of friction would light her fire in the worst way. 

Giving the lady (which I used the term figuratively because I was applying it based on assumption-yes, hypothetical gender fluidity and all that) a nod, I followed in the wake of parting bodies, as if the ebb and flow were used to the interruption. Nor did I hesitate at the 'open door and close it behind ya' ass' policy. Which I booted shut with a solid click behind me. This convo was attended by invitation only. 

The sparsely decorated box I'd just locked myself in had all the personality of a jockstrap and thankfully it didn't smell like one. A simple desk and chair, occupied by the lovely snap dragon I'd followed in, and a tall file cabinet were the only pieces of furniture herein. No windows, which explained why no cute little desk plant, and only one door. Also windowless. 

Cozy. Not. 

A moment more and I settled back against the door, both for feeling of something solid behind me and knowing it was my only exit.

"Not m' fault your boys at the door don't check IDs," I mused aloud before getting serious, noting the photo quality paper face down on the desk.

"N' my friend has been MIA for said week. Last I saw him, he was drowning himself at the bar, n' 20 minutes later he vanished." No need to describe any details on what I'd been doing in that 20 minutes, fairly sure there'd been no lack of cameras in the dark yet fully public hallway. 

Throwing out my angel senses and listening to them closely, I figured out what I'd already guessed, that this creature in front of me wasn't human. Her aura screamed she wasn't full vampire either and that I needed to tread carefully.

"No calls, no messages, no paper trail on him. I came back here t' see if you had any surveillance footage I could look at," I spoke with dead calm, because something told me whatever was on that photo held the answer I was looking for.

Xhex: Interesting for you to say no paper trail. Nobody knows who you are. Nobody knows who your friend is. So, I have no names, no next of kin, and no connections whatsoever to run with, when a male gets knifed and abducted outside the back door of this club. [Leaning back in my chair, I kick up my feet, and hook one boot heel under the lip of the desk. Rocking slightly, I catalogue what little I know of the whole clusterfuck I find myself in the middle of, watching the angels's face for any twitch or tell.] There is surveillance, so I know that a week ago, you left your boy for some action. That's when his life went to hell. The male that picked him up is painfully well known among vampires, but not his whereabouts. For your friend's sake, I hope he's dead. Lash loves to break his toys. [Kicking up my chin, I use my boot heel to push the photo across the desk, and the motion to cover as I swallow repeatedly. My own stint as Lash's captive plaything threatening to overwhelm me, it takes an effort to bring myself back to the here and now.] So tell me, angel, do I need to contact someone about Fade ceremony arrangements, or is your friend a fighter? 

Adrian: [As each word came pouring from the head of security's mouth, all I felt was nauseated. Knowing that I'd all but delivered Grahve to be this Lash's midnight snack was enough to spiral me into a week long visit to the demon bitch after his body was recovered. If it was recovered.

Reaching for the graciously offered print, I fought to keep my expression neutral, noticing the way the female seemed to be struggling to keep something  from fighting it's way to the surface. Something to do with whomever was on the other side of that photo, perhaps? Must have been a doozy given the way everyone reacted around the hardass outer shell she wore like those painted on leathers she was sporting.]

"You'll have t' forgive the lack of formalities, m' name's Adrian, and my friend is one of the Brotherhood's trainees. Grahve. So we're not exactly the kind t' have next of … wait, you said knifed?"

[Sliding the paper to the edge of the desk and flipping it over, all that sourness in my gut threatened to redecorate the tiny, suddenly claustrophobic space with leftovers to spare. Grahve, taken out back and slaughtered like an animal.. all because I'd stepped away to get a piece.

Shoving the bile back down, the blondish kid in the photo had the comical look of a maniacal, psychotic killer. He looked more like he should be the poster child for an episode of The Addams Family.

Staring hard at the image, each breath punched holes in my chest at the thought of what the trainee had gone through based on the female's report. How much more he could be suffering; the mental hurt with whatever drove him out of the house in the middle of a lockdown had to have been hard enough to endure. Being stabbed? On the nightly, but it was usually during a fight that was begging to happen and then with a laugh and wave the trainee would hobble himself to one of the docs for a quick stitch and be back out before a hot cup of coffee could go cold.

Being already compromised emotionally and liquefy his comprehension and balance and this.. fuck comes along?

God. Damn. It.]

"He's a fighter!" [The paper in my hand crumbled to the size of a golf ball, fingers curled and gathered it in a barely controlled shaking fury, the sound unheard as the muffled ringtone assigned to Vishous screeched in my pocket. Digging the device out and hitting answer, eyes not leaving the female camped back in her chair.]

"Little busy..." [Vishous' voice was sharp and to the point, his words another dig at trying to evacuate my last meal. Eyes narrowed as I turned to the door, ending the call.] "I'm on it." 

"The trainee is holed up in a hotel, could be a trap with this Lash holding him there," I mumbled, glancing at the female while waiting an eternity for the text for the hotel.]

Xhex: [Shit. One of the Brotherhood trainees? Could I be any more fucked? At least my end will be quick, if Wrath demands my life for losing one of his trainees. Then again, this may be my chance to take Lash out of the equation, even if I go too. Opening my mouth to respond, I snap it shut as the angel, Adrian, pulls out his phone. As the angel speaks, my course is set. Kicking back from my desk, I snag my jacket that contains a pitiful selection of weaponry, and lament the lack of time to remove my cilices. But the only path to Lash, without getting shut out of Brotherhood business, is getting ready to march put my door.] I'm coming with you. If it's not a trap, Lash has been compromised somehow. [Darting in front of the angel, I look straight up, keeping my voice level.] Your friend? He's not going to be the same. He may have only been held a week, but he may very well wish he'd died. [God knows most nights, I wish that I had.] So are you sharing that address, or making me follow?

Adrian: [Eternity had never drug its feet so slowly before. Brother Tattoo Face was going to get an earful when all this was said and done, makin' my ass wait. While in the split moment it took to end the call and bring up the message board, the female moved faster than a cat after a mouse to stand between me and the door. Call me sexist for this but if it had been a male jumping between me n' the door, it'd have been the wrong move 'cause I'd have plowed over his ass like I was aiming to create roadkill.

She made sense and that stalled me for a fraction to consider. Either way, I was bringing the trainee home.]

"Keep up, n' don't get caught." [That was all I had time to say as the alert I'd waited a mini-millenia for cracked the silence.]

"Got it, bad side of town… an' m' familiar that hotel." [I tipped the screen so Xhex could read the address. It was the same hotel Jim burst into and triggered one of Devina's 'silent alarms'. No longer waiting or into playing nice, I pocketed the phone and reached around Xhex to open the door. Marching out I spoke low to avoid anyone else getting any funny ideas of following us.]

"I go in first, trust me when I say no one will see me unless I want 'em to."

Xhex: [The crack about not getting caught knocks the wind out of me. Fuck that right out the window. If I get caught again, I will take my own life. It's not like I believe all that bullshit about the Fade anyway. Scanning the screen that gets tilted my way, I nod once, knowing the area well. Like I know most of this city. This angel might not know me, but if he's in the Brotherhood's sphere, he should have a clue or two about my kind.] Pretty sure he can pick up on me, even when I use my symphath tricks. If your ability keeps you off his radar, more power to you. All I want is a shot. I owe that fucker. [Pulling my wrist up, I brief my boys that I'm out for the night. A chorus of affirmatives comes back at me, and not one single question. I regret that I'm stuck with my cilices hampering my bad side, but this angel is not slowing down for hell or high water. So neither am I.]

#NoGoodAnswers #BondedBrothers