#von insane ramble moment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shalebridge-cradle · 3 years

Text

When You Smile and it Tears Your Face (It’s Time for the Inhuman Race)

Warnings: Blood. Implied Violence.

“Anna?”

Anna von Kleve, former minor noble of the Holy Roman Empire, pries open her eyes. It’s well into the night – the heavy curtains are drawn, as usual, the grandfather clock is ticking away, and the electric light flickers ominously above her.

She herself is sprawled on the sofa, with her date’s head in her lap. Ah, yes. A night on the town, a few drinks (well, more than a few on her part)… she hopes he’d had a good time.

“In the drawing room,” she calls, lazily.

“Have you seen my book?”

Anna has seen lots of her housemate’s beloved books. So very many volumes she’s collected over the years – in her day, the emperor himself would be hard-pressed to afford such a selection. Still, she’s proud it was a German who invented the printing press and started the whole thing off.

“Which one?”

“Pride and Prejudice, volume three. It’s got a red-brown cover.”

von Kleve frowns, looks around herself, lifts up her date to check under him.

She grimaces.

If the book didn’t have a red cover to begin with, it certainly did now. She never intends for the whole biting-people-and-drinking-their-blood business to be messy, but it always ends up that way. Strange how that happens.

She quickly drops the man’s unconscious body back on top of the book, just as her housemate materialises in the doorway.

Catherine Parr sighs. “Seriously? What have I told you about putting down plastic when you bring your food home?”

“I know, but we get kind of… into it, you know? You know me, I live in the moment – well, not live, but… you get what I’m saying.”

“That’s the problem, hence, the need for plastic.”

A pause.

Anna knows what she’s about to say, and preempts her. “No, not your type. Not terrible, but he couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t his football team.”

“Oh. A pity.” Another pause. “Have you seen my book, though?”

“No books here. Did you leave it at Seymour’s?”

Parr hums. “Possibly. I’ll visit later. It’s your job to get rid of the poor soul, though.”

“Yes, yes, personal responsibility and all that.”

Before Anna leaves, she tucks the first edition under the sofa cushions, and hopes her housemate doesn’t look that hard for her precious book.

~~~

The shovel plunges deep into the black, wet soil, and out again. In, out, in, out, methodical and practiced. The hole needs to be deep enough, and wide enough. She’s underestimated the size before, and that simply causes problems. There are bits that need to stay underground.

Once she is satisfied, and with great care, Jane Seymour places the rose bush into its new home.

Gardening might be considered an odd hobby for someone like her to have. Even if she rarely gets to see the fruits of her labour (which is most certainly a metaphor for something), it keeps her busy and helps her feel productive. It’s terribly easy to fall into a rut if you don’t have something to do, and caring for plants gives her plenty of that.

Just so long as they survive everything.

There is a loud bang from inside the house. Jane turns briefly, listening for something further, before she goes back to patting down the soil.

Another bang, followed by a crash.

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and growls under her breath. That had better not be anything important.

Really, she should go in and stop them from doing any more damage, but they’d probably just ignore her like they usually do. Maybe you shouldn’t have your thrice-bedamned battle in the house, where there are things that you both like and are easily breakable all over the place. Is that such an unreasonable concept?

A third bang.

“For heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, and makes to get up, turning to her gardening tools. Initially, she shies away from some of them out of instinct, but… then again… this may the only way they’ll listen…

The fearsome duel is still going on when Jane reaches the hall.

One combatant has a name she knows well, mostly because she insists on using the whole thing whenever she is introduced. Catalina Trastámara de Aragón, former Spanish infanta. The other has gone by many different but similar names – Anna de Boullan, Anna Bolina, Nan Bullen, but she generally responds to ‘Anne’, so that’s what they go with.

Catalina has her hand around Anne’s neck, hoisting her up in the air, whilst Anne has a hold on Catalina’s arm, hissing up a storm. Another bang – Catalina slamming Anne against the wall – sends a cloud of dust trickling down on top of them.

Jane enters, in her gardening smock, boots too big for her, a straw hat (you must always wear a hat while gardening, though Jane isn’t sure why), and with a wooden gardening stake in each hand.

“Down! Both of you!”

Anne turns her head slightly, and her eyes widen when she sees what Jane’s holding. “Shit.”

This gets Catalina’s attention, too, but she manages to keep the quiet part quiet. She releases her grip, and Anne sinks to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Catalina recovers her regal demeanour, or at least part of it. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Have you? Look at what you’re doing! What on earth is noble and queenly about repeatedly smacking your housemate into a wall?!” Jane stops to compose herself. “What is it this time? Territorial dispute? Long-standing grudge you refuse to talk about? Monopoly?”

“Anne? How many glasses would you say are in the sink?”

...No.

Anne rubs her neck. “Well, maybe less if you weren’t such a toff and drank like the rest of us.”

That can’t be right. Was that it?

“Unlike you, I like to keep some of my dignity about me.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking talk to me about dignity -”

Jane is between them in a blink. “Anne, do the bloody dishes.” Anne groans, probably at the unintended pun, but is interrupted. “We have the chore wheel for a reason. We have standards.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know. Dishes now, fight later.”

Anne huffs, and stomps into the kitchen. Jane’s attention turns to Catalina, who is trying very hard to suppress the smug smile on her face.

“How many languages to you know, Catalina?” She already knows the answer to this question, but Catalina will happily tell her anyway.

“Five. Spanish, Latin, French, Greek, English.”

“Five languages, and you still don’t know how to use your words?”

Catalina simply stares at her.

“You would have been very upset if you knocked any of your paintings down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but we couldn’t take it outside. You would have been upset if we crushed your plants.”

“Well, that simply reinforces my point. Violence is very rarely the answer when it comes to who you live with.”

“You’re threatening me with a lethal weapon right now.”

Oh, right, she forgot about them. Jane looks down at the stakes, flinches again, and throws them unceremoniously to one side. “Fine. We all need to work on discussing things, and remember we all have our part to play. Anne’s doing the dishes now -” There’s a clatter from the kitchen – “I’ve been taking out the rubbish; can you tell me your royal responsibility, or do I have to check?”

Catalina’s eyes are everywhere but on Jane. She brushes a bit of powder off of her sleeve, and mumbles “Dusting.”

~~~

“Look what I found.”

Parr looks up. It is a whole entire person Anna has come to show off, which usually isn’t something Catherine needs to see – it does not pay to get attached. This girl has her long hair tied up, dyed an almost neon pink at the ends, and is clad in one of Anna’s oversized fur coats. She seems to be faltering under Parr’s gaze, trying to make herself look as small and insignificant as possible.

“I see no plastic in the drawing room,” Catherine says to von Kleve, as a warning.

“What? No! No, no, no. Not that. Big smile, Katie.”

The girl’s lips curl into a rictus grin, revealing a set of fangs not unlike Parr’s own.

“Oh!” Immediately, Catherine’s attitude shifts, and speaks with a soft, comforting voice (she hopes), “Okay, hello. I’m Catherine Parr, of the Westmorland Parrs, and this is Anna von Jülich-Kleve-Berg of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither of us are going to hurt you. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a nearby chair. The girl walks over to it, unsteady on her feet, and sits down.

“It’s been a bad week,” she mumbles.

“Tell us about it.”

“Well, it started with a night I couldn’t remember, which always freaks me out, and then I was really sick, and then I’m pretty sure I died – no, I did die… I died…” She goes quiet once more, aghast at the revelation.

“Found her ripping some dude’s throat out behind a nightclub,” Anna explains, then shrugs. “It happens.”

The girl shuts her eyes tightly, as if she is trying to block out the memory. Parr takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Katie, is it?”

“Or Kate. Or Kat, or Katherine – but, that’s you as well. I’m rambling.”

“That’s alright. The transition can be stressful. May I call you Kat?”

Kat nods.

“Good. Now, from what you’ve told us, it sounds like nobody explained to you how this works. What is it that you think is going on?”

“’M a vampire. Right?” Parr hums an affirmation, and Kat laughs, without humour. “And, because I’m a vampire, and I was going insane with how thirsty I was and because he wouldn’t stop talking and he kept touching me after I told him not to…” She looks to Anna. “That man. He was my boyfriend. I killed my boyfriend.”

It’s usually cold in the house, but it seems to get even colder after that statement.

While Catherine intimately knows the feeling of wanting to murder your former significant others (Thomas – Foul rake! Blackguard! She shall curse his name after death and beyond!), she is aware that this may not be the case for Kat. Most couples these days actually quite like each other – one need not rely on a husband to vote for them anymore, after all. She’s been looking out for someone like that, but she hasn’t found them yet. Maybe someday.

There have been so very many days…

Thankfully, Anna is there with a kind word, so she need not answer nor dwell on her failure to find love. It is just one word, however, and it is not spoken with great compassion.

“Condolences?”

Kat waves a hand, shakes her head. “The only good thing about dating Francis is – was – that he gave me a place to stay. Everything else… I don’t think anyone will be that upset he’s dead, put it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It was so easy. Too easy.”

Well, it’s good to know that nothing of value was lost, at least.

“Subtlety and control are the results of practice,” Catherine tells the girl, “and that will come, in time. Until then, since the one who turned you is not around to help, I humbly request that you allow us to assist you.”

“We have a spare room. Um. Not that you have to take it, or anything, but the option’s there -”

Kat cuts Anna off. Nobody’s had the gall to do that for centuries.

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?! You want something from me, don’t you? Otherwise, I’d still be out there, dealing with my boyfriend’s corpse! Be honest with me, please. What is it you want me to do?!”

She is looking into both of their eyes, searching for an ulterior motive like she knows it’s there – Parr gets that, unfortunately, and she’s disgusted that something has happened to the poor girl to prompt such suspicion and mistrust.

Catherine does not raise her voice, speaks calmly and carefully, just like she was taught. “We are not doing this in the hopes of a favour, or any material gain. We – or, at least, I – am behaving in this way because I want to see you turn out well. Perhaps there is a vain hope of a new friendship out of this, but that is the loftiest of my wishes, and you should not feel obligated to fulfil it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in at least a decade,” says Anna.

“But you’re vampires. Why are you helping a competitor?”

“Why not? Just because we’re bloodsucking monsters doesn’t mean we can’t be nice about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Okay. Okay. In that case… might I ‘humbly request’… a hug, please?”

~~~

“How do you feel about it?”

Catalina does not turn away from her painting; yet another Spanish vista. She has been told that the Inquisition is over, that she can return for a holiday, but there is no doubt in her mind that what is there now must be wildly different from what she remembers. The latter is what she puts to canvas, to show off what she knows, what mortal eyes can no longer see.

“You shall have to be more specific,” she says to Anne, her voice clipped.

“You know.” She refuses to give Anne the satisfaction of looking at her, but she can feel the fluttering eyelashes, the lazy grin, just from her cadence. “Us. What we have.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“That thing we do. The one where I press all your buttons, and you beat the shit out of me. Great way to work out that tension, yeah? But then there’s Jane – Plain Insane Jane – putting stakes in our faces and telling us to end it.”

“Would you have listened to her if she hadn’t?”

“Nah.” No hesitation whatsoever. No hint of shame. “But it’s fun. Don’t you think so?”

…Frankly, Catalina does not know. She knows it is not a healthy way of relieving stress. She knows Jane is justified in her motivations to stop it, if not her methods (though both of them make it difficult for her to use a softer touch).

But, if she is truly honest with herself, she likes to feel powerful sometimes. Yes, she is powerful when compared to a regular human – but that was true when she was alive, too. Now, she is no longer in the line of succession, she is no longer a princess. She is ‘just’ a vampire, and that fact irks her more than it should.

But she doesn’t tell Anne any of that. She puts her brush down, and turns to the source of her self-reflection. She’s hanging in the air, as if she were watching Catalina from an invisible sofa.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

Their kind can, in fact, get drunk. It’s more of a roundabout process than it is for mortals – one must find someone that’s absolutely cup-shotten, take them somewhere quiet, and… share their blood alcohol content. Catalina knows this because Anne is a master of the process.

“Of course I have!” Anne replies, with a funny sort of smile. “That’s why you go out, why Jane goes out. To have a drink!”

Oh, she definitely has been. She’s wearing the silly spectacles again, the ones where you can’t see her eyes properly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re out of your wits,” Catalina carefully enunciates.

“I always have my wits. Do you even listen to my jokes, princess?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And? You don’t talk when I’m sober, you won’t talk when I’m toxed – what is it that you need me to be for you to be honest?”

There is a knock at the door, and Jane’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Catalina? We have a guest.”

That’s interesting. They don’t often have guests – well, not ones that aren’t ‘invited for dinner’, and Jane likes to keep that private, if it’s her. It can’t be Parr or von Kleve; Jane would have said as much.

Perhaps it is someone important, she thinks, and immediately her mood sours.

“Who do you think it is?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know. All I ask is that you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“And what if I do?”

“Then I take no responsibility for your actions.”

“She’s very new, apparently,” Jane tells them, and she is doing only a slightly better job than Anne at holding in her excitement. “She doesn’t remember who turned her. Cathy thinks it’s Thomas, but you know how she is.”

Yes, Catalina does. Thomas may be responsible for a lot of things, but if he showed his face in this part of town, he’d probably find himself dismembered by his very angry ex-wife.

They reach the top of the staircase. Below them, on the ground level, Cathy is speaking quietly to – good Lord! That woman’s hair is pink! How is it that vibrant a shade?!

Anne gasps in delight. “A baby! You’ve found a little baby, Cathy!”

“I’m not a baby. I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly. Two-digit age. Baby.”

“I apologise for her conduct,” Catalina sighs. “Someone had a bit too much to drink, and she had too much of them. I am Catalina Trastámara de Aragón.”

“And I’m Anne. Sometimes.”

The girl blinks. Probably thrown off by that introduction. “Oh-kay. Uh, well, I’m Kat Howard. Katherine, actually, but you see how that will cause problems. I’m moving in with Cathy and Anna, and Anna thought it might be good to introduce myself.”

There is an image of vampires being solitary creatures, living in ruined castles and moping about in their every waking hour. It’s not untrue, but Catalina hated it when she had a go. Eternity? With no-one around her? What torture!

No. Ever since she found Jane sobbing in front of her own grave, since Anne had her chance encounter with a Spanish princess, she’s resolved never to be alone again. She shall, of course, extend that invitation to this new girl.

It’s practically her duty.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Kat.”

~~~

Vampires own nightclubs.

That makes sense, right? They only operate at night, they attract a crowd, many people there aren’t expecting to remember what happened there, only that they had a good time and feel terrible in the morning, if they make it that far.

Well, Anna doesn’t own a nightclub. She owns a chain of 24-hour off-licences. But, she can hypnotise the bouncer into letting them in, so that’s alright.

The music thrums in place of Kat’s heart as she watches the mass of bodies swaying and jumping with absolutely no sense of rhythm. Coloured lights flash, the DJ plies his trade, glasses clink and sweat permeates the air.

Anna is watching only her.

“See anyone?”

Kat scans the crowds, a grim expression on her face. “No-one looks particularly appetising.”

“Well, of course they don’t. We’re not looking for the cream of the crop here, we’re looking for someone who deserves it.”

Kat leans her head on her hand. Anna told her she could come to her for anything – so, Kat had, when she started to feel hungry again, and so Anna planned this little night out.

“There are two choices,” she’d said. “Either you pick someone out yourself, or you go mad with hunger and some other poor sod ends up like your boyfriend.”

“You’re sure of that?” Kat questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I speak from experience – I’ve always regretted what happened to the Duke of Lorraine…”

Anna had refused to say anything more about that.

Kat has… mixed feelings about what happened with Dereham. Okay, she’s horrified that she murdered him, but she doesn’t feel bad that she wiped that arrogant look from his eyes for a few seconds (before he, you know, died). He didn’t care that she was sick, didn’t answer her texts when she told him her reflection had vanished, or that she was bleeding from her eyes – and as soon as he got back from his work trip, he dragged her to a nightclub to ‘show her off’ and pretended nothing was wrong…!

…Okay, she’s getting a bit heated. The man’s funeral was three days ago. No point in holding a grudge, now.

“What about that one?”

Kat follows Anna’s gaze. A man is swaggering over to the bar with a confidence that nothing about him implies he’s earned. She gets the feeling this man used to be handsome, or liked, and no-one has told him otherwise just yet.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Kat automatically bites her lip, before remembering that’s probably a bad idea now. She doesn’t want to be alone, exactly, but at the same time…

“Is it alright if you hang out slightly further away?” She asks. “If I need your help, I’ll laugh really loudly.”

Anna smiles in acknowledgement, nods, and wanders off. Kat might be wrong, but she seems almost gleeful.

Thankfully (or not), the once-handsome man notices her staring, and saunters over. Kat’s skin crawls.

“Hey.”

Kat gives a small, brief smile in return.

“You here alone?”

She risks a quick glance over to Anna – she still has an eye on her. Kat isn’t alone. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out, you know?”

“I do.” He smirks, points to himself. “Henry. You know Tudor Real Estate?” She does, and the man grins at the recognition she must be showing. “I’m the co-owner.”

Kat doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this guy has only a passing resemblance to the man on the ‘for sale’ signs.

“Must be an important job,” she tries.

“Very. My brother relies on me for a lot.” Oh, okay, he’s the brother. Wait, the brother she’d read articles about? The one who got acquitted last year? “Sometimes I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Have some fun. Speaking of, can I buy you a drink or two?”

Wow. That look in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t changed as much as the judge thought he had.

“I don’t drink… alcohol.”

He scoffs. “Listen. You heard how important I am, right? Nothing will happen to you without my say-so. We can have fun if you just let me help you.”

This man is made of red flags, isn’t he? A blind woman could see the warning signs. He’s a creep with overly-inflated self-esteem, seems to have spent his whole life getting everything he’s ever wanted…

And that means he’s perfect.

“I guess you’re right,” she says, quietly. She doesn’t have to fear his kind any more. “I am here for a good time. If you’re offering…”

Henry grins. “Anything you want, babe! Name it, and it��s yours!”

“Anything?” Money and connections won’t protect you from me.

“Anything at all, princess.”

“Hmm…” Kat makes a show of looking him up and down. Yes, this is the one. “Maybe we can take this somewhere private?”

Henry is clearly thrilled at the prospect. He grabs her hand, roughly (though Kat is sure she could break his arm if the need arose), and leans in close.

“I know just the place.”

He leads her away, to a location where there are no witnesses, no-one to save him. From across the club, Anna gives her a thumbs up.

Kat returns the gesture.

She comes in the front door with her phone in her hand. Henry has a Wikipedia page. Not very long, pretty much goes on about his brief stint in custody and that he’s Arthur Tudor’s brother.

Or, was. They might have to change the tense, soon.

Cath is on the sofa, chatting quietly with… Kat wants to say… Jane…? Yeah, Jane sounds right. She’s friendly enough, but always seems like she’s on her second-last nerve.

“How did it go?” Cath asks.

Anna grins. She’s been like this all night, and Kat feels conflicted about all the praise she’s received.“Oh, fantastic! Kat was a natural; that idiot fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Turns out I have a vendetta against people who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kat adds.

Parr’s smile grows sharp, but her eyes still sparkle. “Well, there won’t be any shortage of those. Come, sit with us.”

So, Kat does. The things they speak of are so normal, Kat is initially confused. Jane’s gardening is a topic of discussion, as is Cath’s ever-expanding collection of stuff she finds interesting. When Jane asks about Kat’s “little slate-thing”, they both listen with rapt attention at her explanation of modern technology.

Kat had forgotten what it’s like to have people listen. It’s a shame she had to die to experience it.

~~~

“Yes, I’ve received a notice recently about outstanding bills owed – no, no, don’t shut off the – listen to me. The account has been paid in full. Enter that into the system. Okay, great. Thanks for that – no, no, everyone makes mistakes. Alright, bye.”

Anne hangs up. Great, power bills are sorted.

Contrary to popular opinion, she actually does do her share of work around the house. Yeah, the dishes are her least favourite task. Vampires shouldn’t have to do the dishes. But, that doesn’t stop her from helping in other ways.

She’s just about to start dialling the telephone company, when there is a knock at the door. Few are brave enough to do that at this place. As she stalks over, she wonders if it might a debt collector – if it is, that means she can have a snack, too.

The heavy oaken door swings open with an agonising creak, and the eyes of the figure on the other side glow in the evening gloom.

Oh, it’s that pink-haired girl. Katie, maybe? Anne can’t actually remember her name, and at this point she’s too afraid to ask.

“Hi.” The girl waves slightly. “Can I come in?”

Do you really want to? Anne thinks, but she says, “Uh, sure.”

With a sigh of relief, Kiara steps over the threshold.

“Apparently I called you a baby last time you were here,” Anne says. “Sorry about that. That’s not fair to you, and you don’t scare the shit out of me like an actual vampire infant would. But, I’m guessing you’re not here for an apology.”

Kitty smiles awkwardly. “Uh, no. I’m here to try and fix your computer. Um, the little television-box-thing you never use?”

“Oh! That! Yeah, I never knew how to get that thing working.”

“Yeah, no promises,” Kelly says, “but Jane thought it might help you… connect.”

That really gets Anne’s attention. She’s not surprised it was Jane who told her, because of the way Kim described the computer, but that part about connecting.

Anne wants honesty, for once. If Kat (that sounds right) is offering, she will take it.

To Anne’s surprise (and shame), Kat is able to get la machine infernale up and running in just a few minutes. She explains the mouse, the monitor, and the programs built into the operating system. The computer is not to get wet, nor is it to be fed. Do not sacrifice anything to it in an attempt to make it work properly.

Why Kat felt the need to include that instruction is a mystery, but it was probably necessary.

“Now, I had this whole speech with my step-grandma – back when I talked with my family – and I’ll give the same to you. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet. A lot of it’s lies, or personal opinion. On that note, not everyone you talk to is who they say they are. Don’t do things like send money or give out personal details if someone asks, and don’t meet with someone without people around.”

“Okay, I’m absolutely going to do that last one – but for the rest of them? Sure!”

Kat genuinely smiles. Wow, when was the last time Anne did that, and didn’t eat the person afterwards? Must have been ages, because it feels like she’s come across an oasis after months in a desert.

“So,” she goes on, “what exactly is the internet? I know I pay the bill for it -” ‘pay’ is a strong word - “but I don’t actually know what it entails.”

“Okay, well, you know… books?”

“Yes.”

“You know the television?”

“Yeeesss.”

“You know those coffee shops where people yelled at each other about philosophy, in the eighteenth century?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” Even though she was never invited, the sexist pricks.

“The internet is all of those things together,” Kat explains, “but worse.”

Anne gasps. “I love it already.”

The room is dark. No lights, curtains shut. The only source of light is the faint white glow of the monitor.

The internet is, as Kat had warned, a shitshow. Anne thinks it’s just the best thing. University professors and the lowest common denominator share the same spaces, and send vile, scathing messages to one another over fictional characters. Maybe she should do some research, just so she can play along. It’d be just like her days at court, getting one person at another’s throat, playing them off each other… ah, she misses that, if nothing else. It’s just not the same, now.

Oh, but then there are the videos. Little mortal Anne would never have thought it possible. What an idea! What awful and wonderful things humans create when they’re not being killed!

Anne’s exploration is interrupted when the light from the hallway fills the room.

“Ah. So you haven’t left.”

Catalina? Come to check on her? Anne turns – yes, it is her, likely wondering why her evening hasn’t been ruined yet. Or, maybe not. Anne has a terrible habit of putting words in other people’s mouths.

“You haven’t been downstairs this evening,” Her housemate continues. “Jane was worried about you.”

Anne doubts that’s true. Not that Jane doesn’t worry, she worries about almost everything (who cares if her teeth show when she smiles?), but she would be thrilled to know Anne is being quiet.

“Just looking at things,” Anne mumbles.

“Hm. Ominous. What ‘things’?”

Well, the best way to explain would be to show, right?

Anne plays the video. Normal night sky, a deep navy. Then, violet, then orange, and the fiery sun rises over the horizon, accented by the crimson heavens.

There’s a thump from behind her. Catalina has flattened herself against the opposite wall, eyes wide, fangs bared.

“I will not die so easily, Boleyn!” she snarls. “I’ve survived assassination attempts before, and I’ll do it again!”

“I’m not trying to kill you, girl! It’s a video! Do you almost die every time you put the sun in one of your paintings? Because that would be a much bigger problem than me showing you this.”

She presses the button to make the video play once more, and makes a show of standing in front of the screen, conspicuously not combusting.

Catalina stares at her. Then, at the monitor. She approaches, slowly.

“Can you make it go again?”

Anne does. The sun is reflected in Catalina’s eyes for the first time in over five hundred years.

“…I miss it, sometimes.”

Oh God, it’s happening, Anne thinks. Out loud, she says, “Miss what?”

“The sunrise.” From the sound of her voice, calm and quiet, Anne gets the impression Catalina’s not really here. “My home. My family. It doesn’t matter how far away I am, in years or in miles. They’re gone, and the name Trastámara means nothing.”

Oh, that’s it. Of course it is.

Anne did not what it was like to be a princess in the early 1400s, partially because she wasn’t born yet. She knows from her own experiences with Whatever the Fuck the Sun King Was Playing At that the nobility was constantly having to be perfect at all times; not even a twitch of emotion could play upon your face, even as you drain all your resources to support the near-impossible standards of fashion, or it could easily be all for naught.

She’s just been thinking, maybe, something like that might be why Catalina has the sort of aversion to talking about her emotions that would normally be reserved for holy symbols.

“Catalina. You’re not a princess anymore.”

Catalina sneers, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Yes, you have taunted me about that many times before.”

“Not a taunt.” Sometimes. “A reminder you no longer have to try and be perfect. I’m not gonna tell any peers of the realm if you feel sad sometimes.”

“So you feel the need to drive me to madness in the hopes I accept your view?”

Okay, so maybe Anne’s been a little coarse. In fairness, she tried passive-aggressive behaviour and it didn’t work. There’s a reason she goes after Catalina, and it’s not just because it’s easy.

Anne points to herself. “Unstoppable force.” To Catalina. “Immovable object. You move, I stop.”

“…Right. Okay.” A pause. “I know, logically, that you are right – about that particular thing. But, it makes me feel like I’m ignoring part of myself.”

“Just have the good without the bad. If the King of Spain has anything to say about it, kill him and rule the country as their immortal god-queen.”

“I would never be so rash,” Catalina huffs. “I’ll try. Just… don’t mock me for it. If I’m keeping at least one good thing about my life, it will be threatening anyone who insults me with imprisonment.”

“Yessssss…”

Both Anne and Catalina jump at the voice from outside the room. Anne acts first – she opens the door a crack, and sees Jane’s eye on the other side.

“You’ve been at it for two hundred years,” Jane says. “Two. Hundred. Years. I don’t care if you don’t get along straight away, let me have this.”

And, fearing her ire, they do.

~~~

Anna’s on the roof again.

There are two main reasons for this. One, her room is in the attic and it’s the easiest way out of the house. Two, it’s a good place to sit, look up at the stars (at least the ones you can still see, anyway) and think about things.

Kat is on her right, arms around her knees, looking up at the moon. Anna does not think she’s paying much attention to it, however.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Kat doesn’t answer straight away. “Just how things are better.”

“…They are?”

“I’m living… uh, residing in a house with people I actually like. This is the first time that’s happened since I was about eight, I think.”

Wow. Anna hadn’t had a terribly good time when she was alive – no rights, no fun allowed, go marry some dude you’ve never even met, and no you can’t have fun then either – but Kat’s life might beat out Cathy’s hopeless search for love, in terms of tragedy.

“I cannot truly speak for you, but I have found this…” Anna waves her hands, trying to find the right way to put it, “whole thing to be very affirming. There is no-one to hold you down. No-one to stop you from doing what you like. Well, except priests, but they can be ignored, mostly.”

“You don’t brood about it too much?”

“Why would I? It’s the only reason I’ve been able to see the things I’ve seen. To be here, now, talking to you.” All because she told the wrong (or right) person about how bored she was. Of course she would accept the offer to have fun, even if the whole process wasn’t. “Do you?”

Kat stops to think again, so that’s a ‘yes’. “I’m still getting used to it. But, I don’t mind it. I’m not scared of the things I used to be afraid of. That’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me. But, if you falter, that’s okay, too. We have supported Cathy, who was the youngest before you, we can do the same here – so long as you support us in turn.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got that thing about finding the one.” How does Kat manage to fit so much bitterness in only two words? “Don’t get it. She’s got people who love her already. You, and those three around the corner. She doesn’t need them.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it, actually.” Anna’s argument against serious dating has been that three of the people Parr’s courted have tried to murder her, and her ex-husband technically succeeded. It hasn’t worked, but maybe a more positive viewpoint might win out against two centuries of stubbornness.

“Anna von Kleve.”

von Kleve looks down. Ah, speak of the devil. She’s on the balcony below them.

“Cathy! Kat has had some good thoughts about love!”

“Oh? How wonderful.”

She doesn’t seem like she thinks it is, though. She almost looks angry, with the hard eyes and pursed lips and the red-brown mottled book in her hand -

Oh no.

“I think, Anna,” Cathy intones, her voice sharper than any stake, “that we should talk about personal responsibility first.”

#the cradle will write #six the musical #not the historical figures #but that won't stop me making references to them

33 notes · View notes

pan0ramy · 3 years

Text

after really thinking it over for a while and trying to get over how nervous i am... i kinda want to join in on this whole community revival thing. i’m by no means as attached to sean’s content as i was back in 2016/2017, but it doesn’t change the fact that this community was a big part of my life. so, why not, right?

name: amy

pronouns: she/her

country: ireland

how did you start watching sean? i started watching his videos after coming across little inferno. i wanted to learn more about the game, went onto youtube to look for videos, and saw sean's - i thought his thumbnails were colourful & pretty, so i clicked into one of them. i then ended up watching the whole series from start to finish and found him hilarious, so i basically stuck with his content from there on out.

how did you find the community? from what i can remember, i think i joined tumblr naturally, since to 16 year old me, that's where all the Nerdy™ stuff was. i'm pretty sure i just ended up coming across the #jacksepticeye tag out of curiosity, and once i saw people making art, theories and stories, it snowballed from there.

your favourite thing about the community? as someone that's never had the largest friend group, seeing some kind of hint or suspicious clue pop up in a video and immediately coming on here to see everyone screaming over it was an absolute joy. for once, i felt like i wasn't the only person who noticed these little tidbits or found them interesting, which like i said, wasn't something i was used to. it really made it feel like a community, or just a big house that we all lived in where we started yelling every time something suspicious happened lol

has the channel/community or sean helped or changed you?

(a small heads up: there are slight mentions of bad mental health here, but i don’t go into any detail.)

absolutely, both in good and... admittedly less good ways. i'm not going to go into the bad here, because 1) that's not what this revival is about and 2) it's extremely personal stuff that i don't even tell my closest friends about (and also why i'm so nervous to post this). but if i hadn't come across sean's channel when i did, 16-year old me probably wouldn't have known how to cope every day. the daily uploads (while they lasted) gave me something to look forward to as i struggled with school, mental health and losing friends. and eventually, the ego theorising and community fires were such a staple in my life that really made me feel excited and involved. it was amazing for what it was.

favourite inside jokes/memes: ...is it selfish for me to include a meme that i posted here? back when i edited together that video of the gamecube intro with a clip from say goodbye, i posted it on here without expecting much of a reaction - but then, seeing everyone either laughing their ass off in the notes or yelling at me asking me how i could do such a thing summed up just how crazy and wonderful this community could be. it was something so small, and such a spur of the moment thing for me to create, but it caused such a reaction with people that i still don't quite feel like i deserved haha

(but in terms of actual jokes on the channel, the subnautica nostalgia week video recently proved to me that the deep dark down deep dark is probably my favourite joke sean's ever made. honourable mention to the single most traumatic characters i’ve seen on the internet: \zoom)

things outside of the channel that you love: you could ask me this question every single day and my answer would probably change every time lol. as iffy as it can be to say this in... certain parts of the internet, kpop is a massive hobby and interest of mine, especially when it comes to collecting albums and photocards. it's something i only started about a year ago, but i absolutely love it and it brings me so much happiness. outside of that, i adore video games in general, with xenoblade chronicles and hades being my absolute favourites. and while we're on the topic, may i just say that you really should play hades cause it's insanely fucking good okay thanks ilu bye

have you made friends here yet? yes, and i feel awful because if i was better at keeping in touch i'd probably have more friends here lol. there's a lot of people in this community who i am very lucky to even call myself an acquaintance of, or to even have talked with at some point, and even if we don't talk now, i still care about a great deal of people here.

are you open to messages or new friends? always! i may be a little slow to reply, but my DMs are always open should you need to chat, ramble or vent about whatever's on your mind.

anything to add? henrik von schneeplestein best boi. that is all.

#jacksepticart #jse community revival #man idk why i'm so scared to post this but. yeah

3 notes · View notes

penguin-writes-books · 6 years

Text

Tyrus-Long Distance

Credit to @tjs-smitten for the prompt this is so cute ahh, I hope I did it justice!

(Also in this universe they’re all 17-18 and Cyrus and Buffy live in Cali and TJ is in New York)

“This is it,” Buffy whispered to Cyrus, looking around the airport once they cleared security. “We’re really going to do this. We are flying across the country to meet your boyfriend.”

Cyrus nodded, beginning to pull Buffy towards their gate.

“Whoa there, Cy. You’re not going to miss our flight. It doesn’t leave for another two hours thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry, I was just excited! Is this crazy? Am I crazy?”

“You’re insane, Cy. But you’re all the better for it. Let’s go find something to eat,” Buffy smiled gently, gesturing towards the various restaurants around them.

“Can you believe this is actually about to happen?” Cyrus whispered to Buffy, clicking his metal seat belt in place with a gentle snap. “Hang on, I’m texting TJ.”

To DJ Fruity, 7:56 am: We’re about to take off! I love you and I can’t wait to see you💕

DJ Fruity, 7:58 am: I can’t wait, Underdog! I love you more, always💞

“Uh yeah I can, it set in when we checked our bags before security,” she grinned. Cyrus gently swatted his best friend’s arm.

“You know what I mean. I feel like this has been what I’ve wait for forever. When I met TJ, I started saving any money I could get my hands on, and you said you wanted to come with so I didn’t have to fly to New York alone, so you were saving too. And now that it’s finally happening, it feels like the moment this plane leaves the ground will be one of the most important moments of my life.”

“You know, I’d assume that actually seeing TJ would be a little more important, but to each his own, I guess.”

The plane was slowly picking up speed, along with Cyrus’s heartbeat, as it made its way down the runway. Cyrus grasped Buffy’s hand tighter and tighter as the plane got faster, until she was forced to wrench her hand from his and shake it out with a quiet ‘ow.’

“Sorry, I’m nerv-oof,” Cyrus was cut off mid apology by the plane suddenly taking flight. He was pushed back against his seat as his center of gravity was disrupted by the shifting of the plane. He could feel his stomach rise and drop before they leveled out again. Cyrus quickly opened the plastic screen over the window, watching in awe as they rose through the clouds and over them. He gazed at the striking blue of the sky, offset by the blinding glare produced by the sun bouncing off of the white cotton-like clouds.

“You act like you’ve never been in a plane before, Cy.”

“I know, I know. But that view? Never gets old.”

“I guess that’s fair.”

They wasted their 5 hour and 29 minute flight away by playing cards on their plastic tables and watching movies, and before they knew it (though it did feel like quite a while) they were touching down on New York tarmac.

Cyrus’s knee bounced in anticipation as they awaited clearance to exit the plane.

Eventually, after the Cyrus equivalent of an eternity, they were let off the plane and into the airport terminal. Cyrus practically sprinted through the airport towards baggage claim, nearly bowling over various small children and senior citizens, the young adults having the good sense to step out of the way. Buffy was forced to grab Cyrus’s arm and stop him from moving any further.

“Cyrus! You are leaving chaos in your wake here, pause for air dude.”

Cyrus doubled over, panting.

“I forgot that I am not Gaston,” Buffy gave him an inquiring look. “You know, ‘athletically inclined,’”

“Only you would quote LeFou using a quote that’s not even in the original Beauty and the Beast.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Now let’s go! TJ is waiting!”

“Alright alright,” Buffy allowed her to be pulled along by the arm, rolling her eyes at the smitten boy in front of her.

When they reached baggage claim, Cyrus anxiously tapped his toe until their bags dropped onto the belt, at which point he nearly jumped to get to them faster.

“I’d just like to remind you here, Mr. Lovesick, that there are actual human people surrounding us, all of whom are recoiling from your paths in order to refrain from being mauled over.”

“I know, I’m sorry. This is just so exciting!”

“Come on, Vanellope Von Schweetz.”

“Uh… I beg your pardon?”

“You know,” Buffy mocked Vanellope. “This is so exciting!!!”

“And you say I make weird references.”

“I’d love to have a battle of obscure references right now, but your boyfriend is still waiting, isn’t he?”

“OHMYGOD I ALMOST FORGOT. WHY DID YOU LET ME RAMBLE ABOUT REFERENCES LET’S GO.”

Cyrus ran through the airport, Buffy following close behind. She apologized to countless men in suits and women holding crying babies as they wove through the airport.

When they finally got to the main area of the airport, surrounded by people checking in to flights and calling cab companies, Cyrus hesitated, turning to Buffy.

“I’ve just realized that this room is huge and I have no idea where TJ is.”

“Then call him!” “Takes too much time, and also there are basically zero landmarks to describe one’s location here.”

“Well, we’re all the way to the right of this room, and it’s not like there’s that many people here so let’s make our way to the left. Plus it’ll be the epitome of a classic rom-com scene.”

“Yes! Let’s go!”

Cyrus promptly started flat out sprinting through the airport yet again. Buffy followed at a quick walking pace, pulling both of their bags along with her.

Cyrus made his way through half of the room before he spotted TJ, and stopped dead in his tracks.

“That’s him,” he whispered.

“I know. Go get him!”

“Ahh okay!” Cyrus took off, and TJ saw him when he was halfway there, connecting in the middle in a kiss that knocked the two of them over. Eventually they got back up, only to kiss once more.

“Underdog you’re here,” TJ whispered.

“I’m here.”

#andi mack #tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #my fic

146 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 6 years

Text

Portrait of Emptiness, Part 1

So easy to die in this day and age, yet so difficult to take that final leap.

Magdalene stared over the edge of the roof. Four stories of height should do it. The cobblestones looked so tiny from up here. The people in the gray streets of Crimsonport went about their business, oblivious of the girl of fourteen winters and garbed in a dress that suggested a well-off upbringing. Then again, she paid little attention to them either. They would be shocked, and there would be a mess to clean. Her suicide would be one of many among those whose hearts had been claimed by melancholy, and life would move on without her.

And the things in the dark would continue on. With nobody left to stand in their way.

Her thoughts ran in circles. Everything seemed so hopeless. Johnn Von Brandt had been missing for a year now. For months, Nora Morrissey had been caged in a prison cell where she rotted away from all daylight and human contact. And shortly after Nora’s incarceration, good witch Agnes Letterford had been run out of town, her home and library burnt to the ground by an angry mob. Everybody else in this wretched city plodded along, oblivious of the creatures of the night, of the things that fed and feasted on their supple flesh and souls; ignorant of the wicked warlocks and sorcerers who preyed on the weak and the willing, sacrificing their blood in sinister rituals and conjuring ghosts and demons; helpless against the monsters in human form who enforced the law with an iron fist of tyranny or eroded society from the fringes.

The Red Coast drowned in its own blood as evil forces encroached on it from every side. Winters had grown longer every year, the mists more thick and stifling by the end of every season, and the nights darker with each cycle of the moon.

And while the land’s unsung heroes vanished into the night, one by one, here stood Magdalene, on the edge of the roof. Night after night of desperation—wanting for a sign from the heavens, praying for a miracle to empower her in a way that she may pick up where the others had left off.

This girl knew of fates worse than death. Transformations into bestial were-creatures, becoming a thrall or ghoul under the control of the ancient dead, insanity borne by tomes of sorcery dedicated to elder gods, or almost being bled dry or flayed while kept alive in the rituals of some lunatic. If one of the evils lurking out there claimed her, she would become what she feared and hated. But if she took control, took the leap—took her life—

But what if she found a way to fight them?

No amount of powder could conceal the black rings under her eyes, contrasted by her almost anemically pale face. Magdalene now almost looked like the animated porcelain doll that had tried to kill her a year prior. Not just sounds of scratching at her windowsills robbed her of sleep, but the way that doubt and fear and hopelessness clouded her every thought made her head spin even when she tried to lay down for the night.

She found no rest. Even after bouts of sleep that came after excessive amounts of exhaustion, she felt tired and sought the solitude of her own bed. Although still desperately holding onto that final glimmer of hope, the prospect of a final rest—one that she would author herself—grew more attractive every day that died, every bell that rang, every breath she took.

Church bells resounded in the distance as they announced evening arriving soon. Magdalene’s thoughts turned one shade darker as she sighed. She moved her right shoe till it hovered over the edge.

“No! Wait,” spoke a man behind her, sounding frantic.

Standing on one leg, turning her head, and seeing the city from this dizzying height all happened within the same split second. A second that was long enough to throw her off balance and send her careening over the edge of the roof.

She only glimpsed a head of tangled hair and raggedy clothing. A grimy hand covered in dark red spots reached out and grabbed her by the skirt of her dress. It tore loudly as her other foot slipped and she tumbled over the edge, but his other hand latched onto her forearm and gripped it like a vice until it hurt. The friction of the fabric between their skin burned with a new painful sensation.

He groaned and held onto Magdalene with all his might. He grabbed onto her arm with both hands. The fear of death enveloped her. She pawed at his arms and held onto him for her dear life.

She had not been ready to go this way, after all.

The man huffed and turned red in the face as he mustered all the strength in his gaunt frame. In one sudden rush of movement, he had braced against the window’s frame and dragged her back up onto the inclined rooftop. They fell back inside the confines of the hallway she had exited on the roof from. He groaned under her weight. She rolled off of him.

Once they had both regained their bearings, the conversation that followed took hours. Night fell, and they sat in the servant quarters until the overseer shouted at them and sent them running out of the house that neither of them belonged in.

Magdalene’s strange savior, Marcel, was a painter. The artist scraped by on meager earnings but managed to eke out a living with his trade. Being an eccentric orphan, he had no friends or family to fall back on when times got tough. However, he could afford some food, tools, and scraps to mend his clothing, and even something that passed as medicine if you believed in it enough. His entire appearance and choice of words suggested a difficult life on the edge. When he had seen her from the streets, he knew exactly what she was doing. Where she was—he had been there before.

In that same spot. In that exact same state of mind.

Both in the house they did not belong in, as well as in his humble abode on the edge of the docks and warehouse district, they spent hours that flew by. Time filled with laughter and mutual understanding.

Although Magdalene figured Marcel to be as oblivious as the rest of Crimsonport’s population about the creatures of the night and dark magick, his woes had led him to the same brink she had been teetering on for the past few months.

She sipped weak tea from a cup that could use better cleaning, but something about it comforted her. The combination of the heat warming her hands wrapped around it, the simplicity of Marcel’s spartan home that reminded her of Nora’s hut in the forest, and how she could relate to the young man and his plight of feeling alone and hopeless in the world, with few lights on the horizon to guide him.

Between sips, Magdalene asked him, “May I ask if I may spend the night here? The nights are terrifying in the streets. Unless you want to risk your life escorting me home.”

Ignoring her question and rambling even though she had spoken clear, he asked, “May I paint your portrait?”

Magdalene blinked and blushed.

“Yes. I mean, If you want to. Why would you want to paint my portrait?”

His gaze turned intense as he said, “There is a profound emptiness in your countenance.”

“Emptiness? That’s not exactly—flattering,” she replied and let the thought trail off after she had found the right word.

“I see myself in it. I see everyone in it. I see a natural beauty in your stoic face that rivals the still lifes of the greatest masters, and the end of all life when the pale rider takes all of creation in his icy grasp,” he said, passion ramping up in his voice with each beat.

A shiver ran down her spine. His choice of words betrayed knowledge not gained normally in a life like his.

He escorted her home before it got too late and earned her a scolding from her mother about keeping the company of such a “rat-boy” after Magdalene made brief introductions and he had left and disappeared into the foggy streets. She ignored her mother’s condescending words and worried about him, though the glimmer of hope in her heart told her that this would not be the last she saw of him.

The next days turned into a blur. She spent several of them in his shack, sitting on a simple stool with her hands folded and resting on her lap. He instructed her to stare out the window, and rays of sunlight shone in from there. As hours went by, her back would begin to ache and watching the motes of dust dance in the faint light before her left her to her thoughts.

She enjoyed Marcel’s company and their talks. He would tell her tales of a life that had no connection to the unnatural things out there. Of thefts, rumors, and crude jokes that she enjoyed a lot more than she cared to admit. She could tell how there was more to his life’s story than he would speak about, questions he would deflect with questions of his own, or by changing the subject. Marcel fascinated her.

But the silence between those conversations, when he sat down and he painted her portrait with a fierce, primal intensity she had only seen in one other person, her mind wandered to other places. Other worlds. Other realities, where she fantasized about how she might find Johnn, or a way to break Nora out of Crimsonport’s awful prison. She spent plenty of time contemplating if she should have Marcel accompany her and look out for her while she explored the ruins of Agnes’ home to see if any of the good witch’s spell-books had survived the fire.

As the week came to a close, she had contemplated every scenario in which she might obtain mystical power to overcome the weaknesses of the frail body she was born into and take the fight to the evils that ruled the Red Coast in secret.

All the while, Marcel never allowed her to see the portrait.

“Only when it is finished,” he promised. “You may only see the final piece. It has to rival your perfection.”

His flattery came not frequently but it always caught her off-guard. He was always earnest and passionate about it. When the week ended, his work outdid his words. When he showed her the painting, her heart stopped for a moment. Blood rushed into her head and the awe that filled her heart rendered her speechless. His portrait of her was beautiful. Every stroke, down to where she could see how single hairs of a brush rounded out the image; the entire composition was breathtaking and lifelike. She had never seen herself this way, in how he had somehow managed to capture the sadness that quieted her demeanor, yet with that spark of life and hope in the tiny reflection in her eyes. She looked empty in the portrait, like a canvas upon which anyone could project their own thoughts and melancholy, yet as serene and beautiful as the sun shining brightly on a bleak horizon.

Marcel sighed and misread her stunned silence, which he proved when he asked, “You hate it, do you not?”

Before she could respond, he made ready to grab the painting like someone prepared to throw trash out the window. She spent the next minutes assuring him that, on the contrary, the portrait amazed her. It was among some of the best artwork she had ever seen, and her mother had taken her to a few gallery displays before.

Her words convinced him to keep it—and not throw it out. Magdalene then spent the next days assuring him that he should share it with the world. Perhaps even sell it. She perceived the quality as so outstanding that he might fetch a fair amount of coin and recognition for it. Marcel’s stubborn refusals of just the thought of selling it impressed her even more, but their walks and talks that filled the next days lightened both their moods and turned him around.

The days grew longer and summer approached. Magdalene felt the sunshine more intensely than ever before. She could practically smell the life that rode along with it, and all the darkness and creatures that she knew of, directly or not, grew more distant with each and every day and night since she had met Marcel. Until they felt more like a distant, unpleasant dream.

He showed the portrait around. The painting impressed all the common folk, stunning and awing them alike. He gave it a name.

The Portrait of Emptiness.

Then he showed it to a wealthy aristocrat, and he offered Marcel a modest pouch of good coin to put it on display in an upcoming gallery. The gallery owner, Benjamin Narbrige, assured Marcel that this might be the opportunity of a lifetime. That, even should he refuse to sell his piece, he might find employment by some of the rich folk that beheld it.

Magdalene got Marcel to lend his painting to Mister Narbrige.

The gallery exposition was a resounding success. The Portrait of Emptiness garnered immense praise.

It also received harsh criticism, especially from Sir Leonard Styles. Marcel did not take well to the word of that when Mister Narbrige shared the response. He turned despondent, staring off into empty corners and was lost in his own thoughts. Magdalene spent a full day consoling Marcel and said that Styles must be a fool or jealous. Indeed, word had it that Styles was a failed artist turned critic. But none of these words mattered to Marcel.

“Portrait of Emptiness? Rather it be called Portrait of Blandness. The artist spent far too long obsessing over the presentation of a tired, uninspired motif we have seen four scores over. Hackneyed, pale imitations of Raynsford’s techniques and no substance, no soul to it,” were just some of the select words of Sir Styles’ scathing critique.

Marcel became reclusive and locked himself in his shack, not responding to Magdalene’s knocking for a full day. When he opened up the door to her the next day, she then saw herself in the mirror of his eyes—that same hollow, dying hope, that same desolation and despair, that same death wish she had carried in her soul right before they had met.

It scared her to see him like this.

He let her in and made her the same weak tea he often did, re-using the same leaves for days on end. Although she tried her best to cheer him up, even cracking a crude joke she had overheard from sailors laughing about on the way over, Marcel’s responses came out clipped and ended abruptly. Her attempts at making conversation with him were interrupted when Constable Vaughn Todd and two soldiers came knocking on Marcel’s door. According to the officer, Sir Styles had been found dead in his own home. In a locked room. Murdered under mysterious, inexplicable circumstances.

Any hope that Magdalene had built in these past weeks, any glimmer of hope that she might lead a semblance of a normal life, that the darkness might stay away—it died in that moment.

She had no control after all. She could feel it. While Constable Todd posed sternly-worded, probing questions to Marcel and one of the soldiers eyed Magdalene suspiciously during the interrogation, she knew that it had caught up to her. Her fingertips tingled and a strange numbness spread in her body, like she was beside herself.

The darkness walked with her. Always right beside her. Staring back into her soul whenever she looked into that dark abyss.

When Marcel said that he knew nothing of Sir Styles’ death and had had nothing to do with it, he furrowed his brow and locked eyes with the Constable. Just like whenever he changed the subject in his conversations with her or tried to belittle the difficulties in his past. She knew that expression by now.

She knew—Marcel was lying.

—Submitted by Wratts

2 notes · View notes

anonymous-hopeful · 6 years

Text

The Soul Society (Chapter Three: A Life So Bitter, A Death So Sweet)

First Chapter:https://anonymous-hopeful.tumblr.com/post/168367064353/the-soul-society-chapter-one-snow-melts-with

Second Chapter:https://anonymous-hopeful.tumblr.com/post/168874873773/the-soul-society-chapter-two-and-we-shall-ride

"Oh my...I remember that day well...though I had no idea that it landed you in the position that you're in now.", Hilda cried.

"I admit, it does make sense when you think about it. Once human, and now, practically monsters! No offense, boys.", Sally pointed out.

"None taken...I just wish that...I knew who...killed us...", the Blind Spectre sighed, directing his eye socket downward.

"Well, it's nice to know that I'm not the only undead one here.", the Baroness announced, placing both hands on her head and lifting it from her neck without fail, a collection of gasps filling the room.

"Baroness von Bon Bon! When was this?", Rumor exclaimed.

"A day after the Express crashed. Though...I remember it well...".

The Baroness held her head in her hands, stroking her hair slowly.

"If this didn't happen, I'd probably still have a free soul. The worst part was that it was for something that I did to try and help my kingdom, not hurt it. Though, I feel that she was looking forward to the moment when she could drop the axe on me...and Lord Layerbarré, the blabbermouth..oh, I'm rambling-".

"No, no, Baroness. This is why we meet.", Elder Kettle reassured her. "Now, go on.".

Most would assume that a kingdom of candy would be a literal heaven on Earth. Afterall, it was coated with sugar, chocolate, tainted with toffee and sour balls and gummy bears, entangled in mints and ice cream, and fizzy sodas and crunchy bars. Just saying the treats would give an eager little kid a sugar rush. This kingdom's name was Caine, commonly known as the Candy Kingdom of Caine to neighboring areas. When someone visited, they were insured a marvelous time from the moment they stepped into the sweet haven, and they most certainly did have the fun they were promised, and every time they left, be it their first trip or their five-hundredth, they always said the same thing.

"What a place, it's practically heaven!"

And the subjects would smile and nod all the same. After the visitors left, however, the kingdom would revert back to its true horror, for the royal monarchs were seething with evil and malice, more so the Queens. The reigning queen at the moment was Hershey Snickerdoodle, a lass from a long line of crazy cookie queens. Out of all the eras of Caine, the era of the Snickerdoodle was positively the worst. It was this era when the public execution law was put into place, and if the sovreign ruler had found you guilty of a law from the book of the High Cook Book of Order, be it by any technicality, then you would be executed in front of the entire kingdom based on your social standing. Peasants usually had it worst, with death by torture, while the socialites were given a quick death by beheading.

The Snickerdoodle era was also the one to host the most deaths of the royal peers, the barons and baronesses, the dukes and the duchesses. Nearly every one of them, those horrid Snickerdoodles killed off, as well as their families. There was Duke and Duchess Delicious, a merry couple executed for opposing the queen's vote for expansion of the kingdom, which required backbreaking work on the behalf of all subjects, then there was Duchess Gobstopper who was put to an end after trying to reorganize the royal army with deserving citizens. Not to mention Baron Stickyfingers, Baroness Lollipop, Duke Kitkat and his family, Baron Swirl and his children, Baroness Yohgurt, the list went on.

There was, however, a family of Barons and Baronesses that withstood the test of time, and that was the von Bon Bons. With every new Snickerdoodle, there wasn't one von Bon Bon put to the guillotine. Some said it was a blessing from the cookie royals before them. Others say that it would be a matter of time. When the Barons, Baronesses, Dukes, and Duchesses were lined up to be inducted into the Queen's realm, a young and new von Bon Bon, Taffipullé stood tall and proud. As Queen Hershey went down the line, she looked Taffipullé something fierce.

"Well, well, another von Bon Bon to be a part of a Snickerdoodles' rule. Tell me something, Taffipullé, are you mad, insane, or feeling lucky?".

"Nothing of the sort. As a member of the von Bon Bon family, it is my duty to serve. Not doing so would be a disgrace upon my family.", Taffipullé answered, calmly.

"Another thing would also be a disgrace upon those with your name.", Hershey snickered, pulling the Cook Book from her crown. "Unlike the Snickerdoodles before me, I will have a von Bon Bon beheaded, and it shall be a wonderous event that everyone in the kingdom will gather to watch as I myself weild not the blade of the guillotine, but a custom made ax with a blade ground so sharp that it could split a single hair. Yes, I shall have the honor of making you the first beheaded von Bon Bon, and from then your family will be mocking and scorning your name. Just you wait, Taffipullé.".

With a twisted laughter, she continued on down the row, leaving Taffipullé the slightest bit frightened. There was no doubt about it; Hershey Snickerdoodle was out to kill her, and possibly her entire family. That was, if she could find anything she was guilty of. Which she shouldn't. Rather, she would not, if her plan had went smoothly.

Once the ceremony was complete, now Baroness Taffipullé von Bon Bon had made her way to her castle home, named lovingly Whippet Creampup. Yes, her castle did indeed double as a pet, and a loving, protective pet all the same. Within the castle were older workers of the royalty, ones who had bonded with her family of von Bon Bons. Lord Gob Packer, who had served a queen before she did, had been friends with her father, Baron Candibär von Bon Bon, and had known Taffipullé since her childhood. Kernel von Pop, a bit older than Lord Gob Packer, had worked with her grandmother, Baroness Licorice von Bon Bon, and though cranky and crass, was still a rather sociable candy, albeit competitive. Muffsky Chernikov, an attack coordinator, had known her grandfather, Baron Charelston von Bon Bon like a brother, and was always available for help.

Then there was Sargent Gumbo Gumbull, Sir Waffington the Third, and Patsy Menthol, who had actually known Taffipullé since grade school. There was no better group of candies to be put together, which was why she had trusted them with the plan she had.

"Everyone, gather 'round. I know it seems like Hershey will be the toughest Snickerdoodle of them yet, but, I have a plan to soothe her. The issue it that if she finds out at all, well, I'll be executed. The first von Bon Bon to be. Is everyone ready to get the plans?", Taffipullé asked the subjects.

"Well of course! Anything to cool off that cookie! She'll be as mellow as an Oreo!", Gob Packer proclaimed.

"Good. Now then, there is a magical Isle just a bit from the docks, called Inkwell Isle. I've been in cahoots with a queen bee on the Isle, named Rumor Honeybottoms. She's been sweet enough to make a special honey that will change the queen's mentality, so long as she eats it on a regular. All we have to do is go to the Isle and gather the supply. We'd need a boat, as Whippet doesn't like the water.".

"That's no issue; I can get a boat straight away!", Gumbo stated with a grin.

"Good, good. Then, when we return, we'll need a way to ship in the honey without being noticed."

" I'm postitive I can put somethin' together, in fact, I'll contact the Candy Corn Company and see what they have.", Kernel von Pop assured.

"Very nice. Now what about actually sneaking it into the castle?", Taffipullé inquired.

"Maybe the Jelly Bullies? They know how to get around.", Patsy suggested.

"Well, yes, but with them you never know. Perhaps I should take a chance on them?", Taffipullé sighed.

"I'd do it. They haven't stirred up any trouble since the whole incident with the oil derrick.", Muffsky enlightened.

"That was indeed a good while ago...fine. I shall trust them,"the Baroness decided, "now hurry on and gather what we need for the trip. We'll need to scoot if we want to get the shipment in time.".

Now standing paitiently, waiting at the docks, Baroness von Bon Bon stared into the sky, watching as the sun set that taxing day. It seemed as if the entire kingdom was heading to rest, giving the Baroness and her cohorts the perfect opprotunity to leave. Finally, as the sun had disappeared from the sky, her subjects had came out, the Sargent on his promised boat, and the others carrying the Kernel's promised containers.

"Will this be enough, Baroness?", von Pop asked, ushering his company forward.

"It should be. Never have I carried so many containers! ", Muffsky complained.

"Oh, yes! Now hurry onto the boat. You never know who could be an insider.", Taffipullé warned, signalling the sargent to lower the ramp.

Quickly and silently, with the exception of some clanging containers, the Baroness and her familiars loadedonto the boat and set sail for the magical Isle. It seemed impossible, but after exactly one night's sleep, the boat had landed in the docks of the Isle.

"Should we all go?", Gob Packer asked in a whisper.

"No, too suspicious. I'll go, and you boys stay here and prepare the containers.", Taffipullé said, making her way off.

Once on dry land, the Baroness looked about. It seemed like they ended up in a forest, a lush and thriving forest, but a forest all the same. Huffing, Taffipullé made her way forward, attempting to navigate her way out. She'd never admit it herself, but she was never good with directions. Now, she was going in circles...at least, she was sure of it.

"Hey. You're new here, aren't you?".

Surprised, the Baroness looked around, trying to find the source of the squeaky, high-pitched voice.

"Down here, miss."

Looking downward, Taffipullé had finally identified the voice; a small blue ...goop?

"Well hello, small creature! Would you mind helping me out a bit?", Taffipullé asked politely.

"Well, I suppose I could spring that...that is, if you'll give me something in return.", the goop replied with a wink.

"That depends on what you want.", the Baroness returned, catching on to what he was hinting.

"I mean, I am a pretty handsome slime here, and you just happen to be the finest thing to come to this forest since that sassy flower over there, so- hey!".

"You disgusting little creep! Get back here so I may crush you like a bug!", Taffipullé cried out, stamping her heeled shoe repeatedly upon the ground.

"Try as you may, us slimes don't die, we only briefly decompose, then reappear perfectly fine!", the slime boasted, running in circles around the Baroness.

"Goopy! My goodness, you can't control yourself.", a large flower groaned in the background.

"Cagney, speak for yourself! If I best recall, your motto is 'Extreme Pollination, Total Domination', is it not?", Goopy retorted.

"That doesn't mean I want you of all things to pollinate me! Ugh, just imagine that abomination of a flower sprouting.", Cagney cringed.

"Wait, I never offered to do that! I didn't even know you could...flowers have those things?", Goopy inquired in slight amazement.

"Yes, flowers have both, and before you ask, I am not revealing how it works.", Cagney scowled.

"Ahem! Excuse me boys, but I would like directions to Rumor Honeybottom's hive without being harrassed by slimes and informed of flower vaginas!", Taffipullé yelled sternly.

"Cool it, hot stuff, you haven't even introduced yourself.", Goopy replied.

"I am Baroness von Bon Bon, I come from the Candy Kingdom of Caine, and I need directions to Rumor Honeybottoms!"

"Specifically Rumor? That's a new one.", Cagney said with a leaf on his chin.

"What do you mean? Isn't she a queen bee?", the Baroness questioned.

"Nope. Just a worker trying to get by. Whenever she has a moment, she flies by and vents about her oppressive queen. I wish she'd buzz by my place.", Goopy sighed.

"What! She lied about her queen status? Whatever, I still need to talk to her. Could any of you provide directions out of this forest at least?", Taffipullé asked, exasperated.

"Sure. Go left at the nearest oak, and continue straight from there.", Cagney informed.

"Thank you, Cagney...um...Calendula?"

"I'm a Carnation! Why must everyone think that I'm a-"

"My apologies, but I must take my leave!", the Baroness interrupted, making her way out of the forest.

Trying her best to disregard the encounter from earlier, the Baroness had, thankfully, exited the forest, and had now found herself in a rather easy to navigate carnival. Whilst walking through, someone had tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey, what did the clown say to the newcomer?".

"I...don't know. I admit, I never heard that one before. What did the clown say to the newcomer?".

"He said 'Hi, how are ya? The name's Barry, but call me Beppi, because I'm a clown-in-the-works!'".

Taffipullé looked a bit lost, before realizimg that the punchline was an introduction.

"Oh, haha! Very clever, Beppi, sir! Most certainly more hospitable than the slime and the carnation on the other side.", Taffipullé replied.

"Don't mind Goopy Le Petité and Cagney Carnation. Ones a worm, while the other's worm food!", Beppi joked.

"Ahaha! Ah, where are my manners? I am Baroness von Bon Bon, and I am looking for a worker bee named Rumor Honeybottoms. You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?", Taffipullé inquired.

"Rumor Honeybottoms? Hmm...I've heard a buzz about that girl. Can't say I know her personally though. There is this guy though, huge bookworm, a genie-in-the-works by the name of Jimmy. I think the two have met.", Beppi informed.

"Would you take me to him?", the Baroness asked with a smile.

"Why take you to him when he's right there!", Beppi returned, pointing to the pyramid near the rides.

"Oh, that's convenient. Should I say you sent me?", the Baroness wondered.

"I think he'll know. See, he and I have a thing, ya know?", Beppi chuckled.

"Oh. Ah, I'll take note.", Taffipullé nodded, heading toward the pyramid.

When she opened the door, she had expected crazy magic shenanigans, and all the other things you'd associate with genies. Never would the Baroness expect papers and textbooks to be strewn about the genie's house.

"Aladdin, Shmeladdin. I swear, why does it always have to be an essay on Aladdin? Aren't there any more stories with genies in them?", the genie complained, afterward realizing that he had a guest.

"Hello, hello, welcome to Djimmi's pyramid! Pardon the mess, I have an exam for genie school, and it makes up fifty percent of my final grade...say, I don't remember having you on my magic lesson list.".

"I haven't been here before Jimmy-"

"Djimmi."

"Does it make a difference? We're pronouncing it the same, are we not?", Taffipullé questioned.

"It all depends, madame."

"Madam?"

"See? Just like that!", Djimmi chortled.

"Anyway, pronunciations aside, I was told by Beppi that you know Rumor Honeybottoms. Is this true?", the Baroness interrogated.

"Beppi? Ah, you know, he and I have a thing.", Djimmi smirked.

"Yes, I am well aware, now could you please answer my question?", the Baroness asked, quickly becoming frustrated.

"I know Rumor, yes. She lives and works in the hive complex in the city, which is on the right side of the carnival.", Djimmi answered.

"My thanks, Jimmi."

"No problem, Taffypull."

"It's Taffipullé...and how do you know my name?"

Djimmi shrugged, sporting the same smirk.

"I'm a genie, I know things.".

Making her way to the metropolitan area, Taffipullé immediately spotted a meloncholy worker bee floating sadly out of the hive complex near the front of the city.

"Rumor?"

Nearly jumping out of her wings, Rumor looked toward the Baroness.

"Taffipullé? I wasn't expecting you so soon! Um...I'm not a queen, by the way...", she admitted, sheepishly.

"Yes, I had learned that from some of the locals. I am a real Baroness, however, and you have my enchanted honey, or was that a lie, too?", Taffipullé confronted.

"I didn't lie about the honey, I will say that much. Hopefully, you have something to hold it all in.", Rumor replied.

"Oh yes. There's a hole boatload of containers on the ship I rode here.", Taffipullé informed.

"Well, that's going to do a lot of good here!", Rumor stated sarcastically.

"At least I didn't lie about being a queen!".

"So, what's in the honey?", Sargent Gumbo asked, looking at the glass jars on the boat.

"It's no ingredient; just a bit of magic is all.", Taffipullé claimed.

"Ooh, berries. I hope this seems unsuspicious when we get back. We've been gone for a whole day now!", Lord Gob Packer mused, worried.

"If it takes as long to get back as it did to get here, I think we'll be okay!", Patsy encouraged.

"Yeah, so long as Queen Snickerdoodle the whatever doesn't whip out that Cook Book.", von Pop grumbled.

Once again, a swift night's sleep, and they were back at Caine. Unfortunately, Queen Snickerdoodle was there at the docks waiting for them.

"Hmm, leaving for a whole day without authorization. Suspicious, is it not?", the cookie chuckled darkly.

"On the contrary," the Baroness began, "we were actually out to bring you a gift! Here, in these containers, is freshly made honey that we had so graciously gathered for Her Highness.".

"I'll be the judge of that!", the Queen huffed, marching onto the boat and flipping open the lids on the containers, to reveal the jars of honey. Still skeptical, the Queen unscrewed a jar and dipped her whole hand into the jar, scoopong out as much honey as she could in her hand before shoving it into her mouth. Surprised, her eyes flew open, and she began to greedily devour the contents of the jar.

"Mm! My goodness, what flavor! The taste, it dances on my tounge like sugarplums in my dreams!", the Queen exclaimed.

"Now, what was that about being suspicious?", Muffsky asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Suspicious? It's a gift, what's so suspicious about it? Now, get all of this honey into the castle at once!", Queen Hershey commanded, giggling.

"Yes, your majesty! Come on, boys, you heard the woman! Get the honey into the castle!", Taffipullé ordered, breathing a sigh of relief.

Now months after the honey was stocked in the castle, the subjects of Caine had very well noticed the change in the queen's demeanor. No one was put to execution, the main sign, and there was mirth and merriment even when no one had come to visit. The thing was, no one particularly cared to let her know that she was acting differently. If anything, it was a lovely change, one that was unanimously welcomed by subjects. Well, almost unanimously.

"I'm telling ya, there's something up with Queen Hershey Snickerdoodle VIII. Snickerdoodles have a violent streak, there's no reason for her to be any different.".

"Lord Layerbarré, you're being ridiculous. Not every cookie has to be like their mother or father before them.", Baroness von Bon Bon remarked.

"Seven Snickerdoodles, and this one just up and changes. There's some foul play here, Baroness von Bon Bon. I ought to figure it out. Imagine the praise I would get, for something like that!", Lord Layerbarré grinned.

"And put Caine back into who knows how many more years of suffering? Lord Layerbarré, I've never heard of such a greedy proposition!", Baroness von Bon Bon scolded.

"I guess you're right...but that won't stop me from looking. I'm serious, Baroness von Bon Bon, I'd be crazy enough to say that foreign magics are at work, and you know that the number one rule in Caine is-"

"No foreign magics are allowed to be at work in Caine, especially in royal affairs, unless given special permissions by His or Her Highness themselves.", Baroness von Bon Bon recited, annoyed.

"Precisely. Maybe it's in that honey that she loves so much. The supply you bring in, Baroness. Of course, you wouldn't pull a life ending stunt like that would you?"

"I-"

"Of course not! You're a von Bon Bon!", Lord Layerbarré laughed boisterously, before asking, "Where do you even get that honey from, anyway?".

"From a friend on an Isle that I'm telling you nothing about.", Baroness von Bon Bon snapped back.

"Oh really? Then how can we really trust that the honey is clean?", Lord Layerbarré interrogated, pointing a finger in Taffipullé's face.

"You're speaking blasphemy-"

"Oh, I am? I bet you haven't even done an inspection on the honey! In fact, you yourself may have ordered to have the honey enchanted!".

"Lord Layerbarré, I never!".

"Forget it, von Bon Bon! I shall expose your dastardly plans!", Lord Layerbarré cried out, dashing down the royal castle halls.

For a moment, Baroness von Bon Bon stood there dumbfounded. Would that lemon really disturb the peace of the kingdom just for his own gain?

Yes.

Absolutely.

No doubt about it.

Without fail, the Baroness had made her way out of the royal castle and headed to Whippet Creampup.

"Gob Packer, von Pop, Chernikov, Gumbull, Waffington, Menthol!! We may be knee deep in trouble. We must leave the kingdom at once!", she whisper cried.

"What?! After all this time, she finds out about the honey?", Sir Waffington gasped.

"No, but that motormouth, Lord Lemonseed Layerbarré, is on to me. He's blabbing to the Queen as we speak.", Baroness von Bon Bon groaned.

"Just what we needed. Is Whippet going to swim us away?", Lord Gob Packer asked, worried.

"It seems so.", Taffipullé sighed.

Shaking her head, she made her way to the top of Whippet. With a crack of her knuckles, she pulled his turrets until he had awoken with a whimper.

"Whippet, I know how much you hate getting wet and all, but, I need you to swim as far away as...actually...could you swim to Inkwell Isle?".

Giving a growl of confirmation, Whippet began dashing through the streets of the kingdom, until he, regrettibly, leapt into the water and began swimming away.

"Queen Snickerdoodle the Eighth! Queen Snickerdoodle the Eighth! I'm telling you now," Lord Layerbarré took a deep breath as he burst into the throne room, where the Queen and her guards were merrily eating cake, before screeching, "DON'T EAT THAT ...cake?".

"Huh? It's a very nice cake, yes... but wasting food is so unsanitary! It is a pretty cake, though. Should we eat it? Um...here, guards, fetch Lord Layerbarré a slice.", the Queen stuttered.

"Oh, thank you, your Highness, I- wait, that's not why I'm here! Queen Hershey, I request a jar of your fine honey.", Lord Layerbarré inquired.

"Very well then. Here, a jar. Whatever are you to do with it? ", the Queen asked, wide eyed.

"Behold, a vial of magic detecter! With this, I-"

"Wherever did you get that from? Have you been taking lessons?", the Queen asked, cheerily.

"Well, yes, but...oh nevermind, just look!".

Popping the lid off of the honey and the vial, Lord Layerbarré had mixed one with the other, causing the honey to change from it's rich yellow to a bright pink.

"WHAT?! I'VE BEEN POISONED?!", the Queen roared.

"Yes, and by the exact supply that Baroness von Bon Bon brings in! I believe this calls for the nesissary beheading punishment, don't you?", Lord Layerbarré boasted.

"NO DOUBT ABOUT IT!! GUARDS, MY AXE!!", the Queen shouted.

Immediately, the guards had dashed out and brought the Queen a shiny, sharp axe, decorated to perfection, with the sweetest candy cane handle.

"Ooh, nice choice.", Lord Layerbarré commented with a grin.

"Yes, isn't it? Oh, but I'm severely out of practice with an axe. Lord Layerbarré could you stand there a moment?", the Queen implored.

"Well, anything for her High-"

Unexpectedly, Lord Layerbarré's head was chopped off in one swoop of the axe. Hosting an evil grimace, Queen Snickerdoodle swung the axe a few more times, revilling in the chunks of flesh she chopped from the former lord's body, striking a final blow down the exact middle of his body.

"Haha! I've still got it in me! Screw this poison, I'm a dammed Snickerdoodle! Guards, I want you to search high and low for the von Bon Bons. I want you to capture them and bring them to the killing square, and I want you to execute them on the spot. Not Taffipullé, though. I shall have that privy to me.", the Queen commanded.

"Now go, or you'll be like Lord Loose Lips.".

Now, a decade later, the Baroness and her cohorts were living well on Inkwell Isle. They had made a home in the carnival, where the Baroness had befriended Beppi and Djimmi, and had practically became their sister. While there, she had met the Elder Kettle who lived in the forest across from the Narcissistic Goopy and the more or less genocidal Cagney. From then on, she had gone to see plays, and rode the Inkwell Express, and even become a carnival worker herself, giving sweets to the little children that were polite enough to ask for one. It was a nice life, indeed, and there was never a boring moment with all of the magics about, in the sea and sky. She had even had a 'thing' with Rumor, as Beppi and Djimmi put it. When the Express had crashed, however, things began to go downhill...no pun intended.

There was the whole Devil's casino to deal with, and now the death of close friends. There wasn't anything that could make matters worse. At least, not that she could think of. The day after the upsetting crash, there was a knock on Whippet's door.

"Yes? Who is there?", the Baroness asked, heading to check the door.

"Are you Baroness von Bon Bon?"

"Yes, this is she. If you don't mind, I am greiving at the moment so...oh my berries.".

"We are the Royal Guard of Caine. We've been looking for you for a long time, by orders of Queen Snickerdoodle the Eighth. You're coming with us.".

Forcefully, the guards had apprehended the Baroness, dragging her away from the castle. A confused Beppi had come out to ask,"Taffipullé? What's going on?".

The only thing the Baroness could say was, "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner!", before being gagged.

Speechless, Beppi began pulling at the guards trying to get them to let go.

"Hey, buddy, if you don't want to get beheaded, then I assume you let go!", a guard threatened.

"Beheaded?", Beppi inquired, before being knocked out by the same guard.

"Hurry it up boys. This place is itching with foreign magics.", the guard sneered.

Baroness Taffipullé von Bon Bon had came back to the kingdom of Caine in chains and shackles. The place had changed most definately in the ten years she was gone. The air was thick with smoke from fire, the aura was dark and heavy. There was a wall built around the kingdom, now cracked. All around , the remaining citizens were running from the patrolling guards, who were pulling arrows to fire into innocents. It was nothing like Inkwell. It was horrible, almost apocolyptic. Taffipullé couldn't even look at the subjects, she knew they were blaming all the pain and horror on her. Her head remained hung until she was forced into the killing square.

"Baroness Taffipullé von Bon Bon, at last. I admit, for a moment, I almost gave up searching for you. Almost. Look around. Your family is here to watch your death.", the Queen hissed.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the Baroness looked up and around the square, feeling more pain as she saw the skeletons of her family scattered helplessly around.

"All of them are dead, from your great-grandmother, to your baby cousins. Thanks to you. Now, I shall execute you, by a simple beheading. Isn't it sad, how your death will be quick compared to the suffering your family has endured? ".

"Just do it already...", the Baroness whispered through tears.

"Oh, an eager beaver, hmm? Bring her to the middle.".

With a bit more force, the guards pushed her toward the middle of the square. Menacingly, the Queen held the axe in her hands, making her way forward to the Baroness. Giving her most horrible grin, the Queen prodded the Baroness with the end of the axe's handle.

"Any last words, Taffipullé?", she asked coldly.

"Yes. Burn in Hell.".

"In due time...".

As the Queen raised the axe, the Baroness closed her eyes tightly, fearing the worst. When the blade had hit, slicing through her neck, she thought she was dead. The only problem, was that she wasn't. A collection of gasps erupted around her, including one from the queen, who dropped her axe in surprise.

"She! Without her head! What kind of magics...you...it's as if you're a shell...soulless monster!".

Dizzy, the Baroness stood up, or rather, her body. Feeling a new sensation, the Baroness placed her head back upon her shoulders, then took hold of the axe.

"Once again, burn in Hell!", the Baroness hissed, slaying the Queen then and there.

"Hellbeast! Monster! Please, spare us!", the crowd cried.

"There is only one thing I want. Guards, take me back to Inkwell Isle at once.", Baroness von Bon Bon commanded.

"But-".

With a frightening yell, the Baroness swung the axe until the blade broke off, leaving the candy cane handle.

"I'll go back myself...", the Baroness seethed, a haunting yellow in her eyes.

The entire crowd watched as the Baroness headed back to the docks, simply taking off her head when she entered the water.

Worn with water, holding her head in one hand and the candy cane handle in another, the Baroness crawled onto Inkwell Isle, intent on heading back to Whippet to find out what exactly happened.

"I swear, we didn't mean you any harm! You see, we heard about your, eugh...beheading, and we didn't want you to die for something you did, with our abetting, a decade ago, so we looked high and low for someone, anyone, to help!", Sir Waffington explained, nudging Lord Gob Packer.

"Indubidubly, and we had found someone willing to help, on the third part of Isle, a dapper man in a purple suit. We told him of our plight, and he offered a solution!", Gob continued, before signalling Sargent Gumbull.

"Yep, he stated that if we signed your name on his contract in time, you'd be safe! And you are...somewhat.", Gumbull concluded.

"I lost my head, died for a second, then came back and went on a killing spree. They called me a Hellbeast and a Monster. What was that contract you signed?", the Baroness asked, staring her subjects down.

"Look, it's right here.", Gumbull said shakily, handing her the contract.

The Baroness read for a moment, before her eyes welled up.

"This is marked for my soul...to save me...you gave up...my soul...they were right...I am a Hellbeast...".

53 notes · View notes

ask-bohemian-ilse · 6 years

Note

answer all of them!

11. what’s an inside joke you have with your friends?* there’s far too many to pick just one, honestly.

12. what’s your favorite planet?* saturn!

13. what’s something that made you smile today?* first, stanley anderson let me copy his math homework. then, @ask-melchior-gabor gave me some of his favorite pirate literature that i haven’t read yet during study hall. and then i got burgers with @ask-max-von-trenk and @ask-the-reformatory! (having normal food was SO great.)

14. if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?* a huge mess. seriously! at least my section would. it’d probably be decorated pretty clashingly, because we all have different interests. it’d definitely be covered in flowers. and it would have lots of books! (for melchior)

15. go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!* mercury is shrinking!!!

16. what’s your favorite pasta dish?* fettuccine alfredo…yum!

17. what color do you really want to dye your hair?* i don’t have any desire to dye my hair at the moment, honestly.

18. tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between between you and your friends and is always brought up.* @ask-moritz-stiefel exposed that i stabbed him with scissors once because i thought he was possessed. nobody wants to let it go!

19. do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?* i do! when i feel really out of my head, i either ramble just to get everything off my mind, or draw some pretty strange stuff. it’s very useful.

20. what’s your favorite eye color?* green!

21. talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.* my trusty “in case of sudden escape” bag has seen me through everything. it’s always full of necessities, and it is immune to being torn apart! it’s very sturdy, small enough that i can wear it without feeling weighed down, easy to travel with, and still covered in paint. it’s been there for me through so much. love you, bag.

22. are you a morning person?* most of the time!

23. what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?* go down to the creek, lay out in the sun, listen to some music, and just relax.

24. is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?* i’m too ashamed to tell anybody ALL of my secrets — but in the matter of trust, i’d have no qualms placing my faith in max, melchior, and @ask-hanschen-rilow these guys are locked boxes.

25. what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?* one night, a group of us (the phallustics and some other models) were so drunk that we managed to get ourselves into a yacht that DEFINITELY didn’t belong to us. most of the passengers were pretty drunk too. i’ve also broken into a lighthouse…that was fun.

26. what are the shoes you’ve had forever and wear with every single outfit?* i have these killer sandles that are very ancient greece-like. they’re my favorites!

27. what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?* motitas banana gum!

28. sunrise or sunset?* sunrise

29. what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?* moritz does this adorable thing where his nose wrinkles when he thinks you’ve said something especially funny/outrageous. it’s so cute! i love it!

30. think of it: have you ever been truly scared?* yes.

31. what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.* i have a love-hate relationship with socks. as most of you know, i’m happiest barefoot. however, i love crazy/weird socks! especially knee-high ones! they’re so fun to play around with! i do not sleep in socks, though.

32. tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3 AM when you were with friends.* this one time, melchi and i were ridiculously high and we tried to order food. it went REALLY badly. he kept trying to not have to pay for food by psychoanalyzing the poor worker, and then i stood on a table, and we couldn’t stop laughing, and it was overall very chaotic and he’ll kill me for bringing it up again at some point. (love you, melchi!)

33. what’s your fave pastry?* OH! THERE’S SO MANY GREAT ONES TO CHOOSE FROM! i love sfogliatelle so much. i’ll go with that!

34. tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what did it look like? do you still keep it?* i wasn’t allowed to have one.

35. do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?* yes and yes!

36. which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?* misterwives.

37. do you like keeping your room messy or clean?* M E S S Y

38. tell us about your pet peeves!* people invading my personal space, being talked over, the sound of a fork scraping someone’s teeth, people who grab me without warning.

39. what color do you wear the most?* hmm…probably green!

40. think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s its story? does it mean anything to you?* the piercing in my collarbone? the one that keeps getting infected? i did it because i was really angry at the time — the night before i left. i was so, so tired of the way i had to live to keep modeling and to keep being pretty and all of that. it’s my freedom, baby!

41. what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? * it was a collection of h.p lovecraft’s works.

42. do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!* it’s small, but it’s always warm and it smells like vanilla. the people who work there are insanely friendly. it’s a bit dark, but in the cozy way. they always remember my name there.

43. who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?* moritz.

44. when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?* there was this one night where @ask-georg-zirschnitz and i were chilling on the roof. it was so quiet, and so warm, and i felt so safe. that was the end of last summer.

45. do you trust your instincts a lot?* incredibly so, yes.

46. tell us the worst pun you can think of.

47. what food do you think should be banned from the universe?* at the moment, fish.

48. do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?* yes! i just bought a duran-duran cd…no shame!

49. what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?* my father. no.

50. what’s an odd thing you collect?* georg says my collection of old letters written during the wars is weird.

51. think of a person. what song do you associate with them?* “baby’s on fire” by die antwoord.

52. what are your favorite memes of this year so far?* keanu reactions.

53. have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?* I HAVE THE RHPS MEMORIZED IN ITS ENTIRETY. MY DREAM IS TO DO ONE OF THE REENACTMENTS AS COLOMBIA. heathers is good, but hits a bit too close for me to watch comfortably. beetlejuice is a halloween classic! pulp fiction is also a classic i love.

54. who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?* i looked in a mirror. KIDDING! KIDDING! actually, stan the man did seem kinda sad today.

55. what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?* chugged nearly a whole bottle of benadryl. DON’T DO THAT.

56. what are some things you find endearing in people?* when they talk about things they love and their faces get all glowy. when they laugh.

57. go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?* shocked at how high freddie mercury’s voice can go. no, but i did start dancing.

58. who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?* i’m the wine mom, max is the vodka aunt. it just fits.

59. what’s your favorite myth?* the myth of arachne!

60. do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?* i adore poetry! the book “new american best friend” by olivia gatwood is full of all my favorites.

61. what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever been given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?* i don’t believe in stupid gifts!

62. do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?* orange juice!

63. are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or leave them be?* no! i leave them be, makes it easier for my siblings/friends to grab them when they want to.

64. what color is the sky where you are right now?* black.

65. is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d like to hang out with?* @ask-bobby-maler

66. what would your ideal flower crown look like?* full of baby’s breath and orchids! very big.

67. how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?* miserable. terrible. sad and alone.

68. what’s winter like where you live?* cold and bitter and awful.

69. what are your favorite board games?* clue!

70. have you ever used a ouija board?* yes

71. what’s your favorite kind of tea?* chai tea and bubble tea!

72. are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?* depends on my state of mind

73. what are some of your worst habits?* addiction and clinginess

74. describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.* very easygoing. lots of piercings. naggy about my personal health but throws caution to the wind with theirs. very handsome. a fantastic listener. an even better friend.

75. tell us about your pets!* hellbeasts.

76. is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?* homework.

77. pink or yellow lemonade?* pink!

78. are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?* the what?

79. what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?* one time, reinhold picked me up from school and he had this playlist full of music he thought i’d like and it was one of the sweetest things in the world.

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? • i have white walls! i didn’t, but georg’s mom lets me draw on them :) 81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. • luminous!  82: are/were you good in school? • i…don’t think my grades indicate my understanding of what we’re being taught. 83: what’s some of your favorite album art? • david bowie has cool covers! 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? • i have one! i don’t want another at this moment, but maybe later… 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? • teen titans is a fun read 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? • THE RISE AND FALL OF ZIGGY STARDUST!!! 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? • black swan. the rocky horror picture show. moulin rouge.  88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? • tons! i go too in-depth, though.  89: are you close to your parents?* no. 90: talk about one of your favorite cities. • novosibirsk. so cool.  91: where do you plan on traveling this year? • i don’t know yet! 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? • DROWN IT 93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? • i like putting flowers in my hair. i leave it down!  94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? • wiebke from lit class! 95: what are your plans for this weekend? • i don’t know yet. get really fucking high? maybe leave town. 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? • depends 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? • i don’t know. taurus. i don’t know. 98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? • last weekend! it was lovely! 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. • vagabond by misterwives, homeless by marina kaye, rootless by marina and the diamonds 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?* neither. i don’t want to risk that.

#ilse neumann #ask

1 note · View note