#white cell insulation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bethanythebogwitch · 5 months

Text

Wet Beast Wednesday: emperor penguin

This is the last Wet Beast Wednesday before Christmas and Christmas is associated with the north pole thanks to Santa. So to celebrate the season, I'm going about as far away from the north pole as it is possible to go and talking about the emperor penguin. This also happens to be the first dinosaur I've showcased on this series.

(image id: an emperor penguin lying belly-down on ice, seen from the side. Its back, wings, and head are black while its belly and neck are white. It has a patch of orange feathers near the ears. Another penguin is standing up in the background. end id)

Aptenodytes forsteri is the largest of all penguins and the sixth largest (by weight) bird in the world, only surpassed by the emu and two species each of the cassowary and ostrich. Those are all paleognaths, one of two living groups of birds, making the emperor penguin the largest of the other group: the neognaths. There are some discrepancies on their size due to the standards of bird measurement, but recent measurements list their standing height as reaching 120 cm (3.9 ft) with a weight of 22.7 to 45.4 kg (50 to 100 lbs). Their weight varies a lot during their lives, with both males and females losing a lot of weight during breeding season. Males generally weigh more than females. Genomic and anatomical analysis indicates that the emperor penguin, along with the closely-related king penguin and an extinct species, are part of a group of penguins that branched off of the family tree before the other living penguin species. As with other penguin species, they are heavily adapted for life in the water. All penguins are flightless, with their wings having adapted into flippers used for swimming. Penguins stand differently than other birds. Most birds have long legs and hold their bodies horizontally to the ground or at an angle, but penguins have short legs and hold their bodies vertically, like humans do. This, plus other adaptations, helps streamline the birds, letting them swim more efficiently. Like other seabirds, their feathers are very dense and coated with oil that repels water. This keeps the feathers from becoming waterlogged, reducing drag and helping keep the bird warm. During molting season, the feathers emerge from the skin mostly formed and push out the old feathers, preventing the penguin from developing bald or thin patched that would compromise insulation. While the feathers are responsible for most of the insulation, a layer of fat also helps. Like other birds, penguins are endothermic, commonly known as warm-blooded. Penguin tongues have backward-pointing barbs that help prevent food from escaping their mouths.

(image id: an emperor penguin jumping out of the water and onto ice. It is pictured in midair with its body roughly parallel to the ground and wings extended. Multiple other penguins are in the background. end id)

Emperor penguin's divide their year between the breeding season and the rest of their lives. During most of the year, they spend their time searching for food. Most of this food consists of fish, krill, and squid. Emperor penguins are social animals that often coordinate with each other to hunt in groups. While hunting, they will dive up to 535 meters (1,755 ft) and spend up to 21 minutes underwater before surfacing to breathe. During dives, the pressure can increase up to 40 times and the emperor penguin has some special adaptations to cope. Unlike most birds, emperor penguin bones are solid, reducing the chance of one breaking under pressure. During dives, the heartbeat slows dramatically and non-essential organs cease functioning to conserve oxygen in the blood. In addition, the hemoglobin in the red blood cells is modified to carry more oxygen in high pressure and low temperature. While on land, emperor penguins gather in colonies along the shoreline. Members of the colonies spend a lot of them time huddled against each other to keep warm. The penguins live all around Antarctica between 66 and 77 degrees southern latitude.

(image: an emperor penguin swimming underwater. Its head is pointed up, making its body very streamlines. Its wings are extended and are used for propulsion and steering. end id)

The thing emperor penguins are most famous for is their breeding behavior. Breeding season starts at the beginning of winter in Antarctica, between March and April, and is triggered by the decrease in day length. Penguin colonies travel inland en masse moving between 50 and 120 km (31 to 75 miles) to find a spot to raise their chicks. These spots are usually large, flat patches of sea or lake ice with a barrier such as a cliff or iceberg used to block the wind. Males perform sexual displays wherein they make loud courtship calls while wandering around the colony. When a female is interested, she will face they male and they will both hold their heads up for a few minutes. Once a pair os formed, they will walk around the colony together. When ready to mate, The pair will bow to each other. Emperor penguins are serially monogamous. They will only mate with one other penguin each season, but rarely pick the same mate more than once. The pair say together until the egg is laid in late May or early June. The female then transfers the egg (only one is laid every year) to the male, a tricky process. They have to use their feet to transfer the egg without dropping it. If the egg breaks or is exposed to the ice for more than a minute or so, it will die. It is not uncommon for an egg to be lost, especially in first-time parents. If this happens, both parents will leave the colony and return to the sea, not mating again until next year. The male balances the egg on his feet and covers it with a loose flap of skin. The bottom of this skin is a featherless patch called the brood patch that only forms during this season. By keeping the egg between his feet and the brood patch, the male incubates it. Once the egg is transferred, the female returns to the sea, leaving the male responsible for the next few months. In every other penguin species, the mother and father take turns incubating their egg. for the next 65-75 days, the male will incubate the egg in the middle of the Antarctic winter, where storms are frequent and temperatures can can reach into the -60s C (-70s F). He will not eat at all during this period, which, including travel and mating time, can last for 120 days. Males can lose up to half of their body mass during this fast. If the egg is dropped even once, it has a very high chance of dying. Walking without dropping the egg is tricky, but the males will form tight bunches to conserve body heat. These bunches are mobile, with members to the outside gradually moving inward and vice-versa. The egg usually hatches after around 60 days and it can take a few days to break out of its shell, which is thicker than in most bird species. The chicks are born featherless and will freeze to death if they leave the male's brood pouch. The male produces a substance called crop milk with a gland in his esophagus. Crop milk is unique to pigeons, flamingos, and male emperor penguins and is used to feed the chick. The crop milk does not provide full nourishment to the chick, but will keep it alive for about a week.

(image id: a male emperor penguin standing on ice with its egg balanced on its feet. The skin flap thet normally covers the egg is pulled back and the male is bending over to examine the egg. This egg is broken, possibly the result of being dropped, and is non-viable. end id)

(image id: a newly-hatched emperor penguin sitting on it's father's feet. It is very small and featherless, with grey skin and a black head. end id)

About this time, the female will return from her time at sea. She spent this time feeding and fattening herself up for the next leg of the parenting journey. She returns to the colony usually between 5 and 10 days after the hatching. If she arrives too late, the chick will starve. Once she arrives, she will locate her mate through the sound of his calls. The male then transfers the chick to the female's brood pouch and returns to the sea to feed and put weight on for another 3-4 weeks. The female will feed the chick by regurgitating half-digested food into its mouth. After this, the mother and father will take turns brooding the chick and feeding at sea. If either parent is delayed or dies, the chick will die as the remaining parent will eventually abandon it and return to sea. Orphaned chicks will try to seek food and shelter from other adults and mothers who have lost a chick may try to adopt an abandoned one, but as a single parent cannot raise a chick alone, it will eventually be abandoned as the adult goes to feed. Sometimes, a mother who lost her chick will attempt to steal a chick from another mother. This leads to fights over chicks that may leave chick trampled to death.

(image id: an adult emperor penguin feeding its chick. The chick is larger and covered in fluffy, grey, downy feathers. It no longer needs to stay on its parent's feet. The adult is looking down at the chick with its mouth open. The chick has its head inside the adult's mouth. end id)

Starting 45-50 days after hatching, the chicks now have a thick enough coat of down to survive outside of the brood pouch. Starting around this time, both parents will return to the sea and occasionally return to bring food, using the sound of their chick's vocalizations to track them down. When the parents are gone, the chick huddle together for warmth. Starting in early November, the chicks will start gaining their adult plumage and the adults will stop returning to feed them. Once they get hungry enough, the chicks will make the trip to the sea (which is shorter now as it is summer in the Antarctic and the sea ice has receded) and will be independent from now on. Only 15% of chicks survive their first year, but after that the survival rate is 95%, meaning most living emperor penguins are adults. Emperor penguins reach sexual maturity at 3 years, but most do not mate until they are 4-6 years old. The average lifespan of those who live long enough to reach adulthood is 20 years, but may live up to 50 years. The high survival rate of adults is in part due to a lack of predators. Adult emperor penguins are only hunted by leopard seals and orcas, though the former prefer juveniles. Juveniles are preyed upon by seals when they reach the water and by southern great petrels when on the ice. Adult emperor penguins lack any land predators, which has resulted in them having no prey response when on land. Scientists and antarctic explorers have reported that adults will approach them without fear.

(image id: a newly-independent chick entering the water for the first time. It has not yet fully developed its adult plumage and has a mix of the chick's fluffy down and an adult's smoother coat. It is jumping off a ledge of ice into the water. Two other chicks watch from the side of the image. end id)

Emperor penguins are classified as near threatened by the IUCN, meaning they are losing population and may slip down into threatened status if conservation measures are not taken. The largest threat to emperor penguins is global warming reducing their habitat. Because they need sea ice to lay eggs and brood, the loss of sea ice every year has reduced the ability of the penguins to reproduce. in 2022, loss of sea ice led to a catastrophic failure to reproduce among nearly all known colonies. It is now estimated that 90% of colonies are at risk of dying out due to the loss of sea ice. If these trends are not reverted by reduction of global warming, the penguins could face extinction.

(Image id: two emperor penguins with their chick. The adults are standing behind the chick, which has its downy juvenile plumage. The chick stands about half the height of the parents. end id)

#wet beast wednesday #emperor penguin #penguin #marine biology #biology #zoology #ecology #animal facts #marine life #good parenting #cute #image description

116 notes · View notes

dreadark · 1 year

Text

Originium Arts Assimilation

it’s this thing

(joke)

you can assume it’s a measure of how well someone can use Originium Arts, and as far as I can tell it’s an innate biological characteristic that can’t be improved by training. however it can change, usually by how Oripathy improves most Infected’s ability to use Arts (though not always, as with Earthspirit and Astesia)

most operators have a Normal/Standard rating. usually casters and other Arts users will have an Excellent/Outstanding rating. and then Amiya has a mysterious ■■ rating, and Rosmontis has...something else

(Arknights’s physical exam ratings are Flawed < Normal < Standard < Excellent < Outstanding)

so the “Flawed” rating is notable here. in fact you can broadly separate all* the operators with that into having a connection to Feranmut or Seaborn

Feranmut

Feranmut obviously have some kind of powers, but are noted to specifically not be Originium Arts. as Closure says, “[Dusk] has 'no connection' to Originium whatsoever”

Nian, Dusk, Ling: they’re fragments of Sui, self-explanatory

Kjera: an incarnation of Kjeragandr, self-explanatory

Surtr: ...this one’s more complicated

Invitation to Wine has this bit:

suspiciously specifically mentioning ancient Sarkaz swords

Surtr’s sword is noted to be the source of her power, since she doesn’t use any Originium Arts, and the sword somehow also prevents her Oripathy from worsening Surtr has a condition where she has a bunch of memories that aren’t her own, so much so that she can’t even recall what her own memories are anymore. which sounds pretty similar to what started happening with Lee after he picked up the goblet with part of the second Sui brother in it

conclusion: there’s a Feranmut dwelling in the sword, and since Surtr picked it up she’s been affected by it

though unlike Lee and the Sui brother, this one doesn’t seem to be intentionally taking her over? they’re friends :)

at least that’s what I’ll roll with until they give Surtr an event in 2025. aha...

Seaborn

for this one I’ll be using Seaborn and Sea Terror interchangeably, everyone just calls them all Seaborn anyway and there’s a few references to CN-only stuff, considering Highmore

Skadi, Specter, Gladiia: the Abyssal Hunters are revealed to be created by Aegir(nation) by somehow combining Aegir(people) with Seaborn

Gladiia’s a lead on this project, but Skadi didn’t seem to know about being part Seaborn until the events of Under Tides

Specter is unique among these since she’s also infected. she was injected with enough Originium to kill a town, but her Seaborn blood lets her resist Oripathy so she didn’t immediately explode this also means despite being infected, she can’t use Arts at all as Gladiia’s profile puts it, they’re “insulated” from Originium (I’d guess she wouldn’t get infected normally either)

Mizuki, Highmore: also Aegir+Seaborn hybrids, but created by the Church of the Deep

the process is probably different somehow; both the Hunters and these two have enhanced strength and are insulated from Originium, but the Hunters have their characteristic red eyes+white hair, while Mizuki/Highmore are more integrated into the Seaborn “hivemind” (at least that’s the cult’s goal)

these two were coincidentally both created by the same bishop Cicero, but he considers Mizuki a perfect creation while Highmore is a failure. probably because Mizuki accepted his Seaborn side and his way of thinking pretty much aligns with them, but Highmore rejected it and ended up turning into [the IS3 boss]

so being “imperfect” she has visible Seaborn cells on her arm, while Mizuki looks entirely like an ordinary Aegir

(probably shouldn’t get too into this before she’s in global but I just really like Highmore...)

oh and Mizuki’s abilities to cause hallucinations aren’t Originium Arts, but somehow a biological thing

Andreana: now here’s the slightly less straightforward case

she’s part of the Abyssal Hunter faction, but she doesn’t know the other Hunters. she’s similarly unable to use Originium Arts, but while she’s stronger than the average person she’s nowhere near Skadi’s superhuman strength

a drop of ink vs an inkwell you can just take that pretty literally I think; Andreana just has a lot less Seaborn in her, so the associated traits she has aren’t as strong

as for how she got this way, there’s a few allusions to her being experimented on when she was a kid. in her module she remembers “someone wrapped in the smell of the sea, a robed Iberian” being involved, which is almost definitely a member of the Church of the Deep

conclusion: she’s one of the cult’s earlier experiments with combining Aegir and Seaborn

Gladiia’s operator record reveals the cult does experiments on Aegir who come to their churches for medical assistance, so I’d guess her mother took her to them when she was young and this ended up happening so...why is she classified as an Abyssal Hunter, when Mizuki and Highmore who are also Aegir-Seaborn hybrids created by the cult aren’t?

because of gameplay. now she can buff the other Hunters and receive their buffs ...that’s it, there’s nothing to suggest she's actually related to Aegir’s “Abyssal Hunter” project. she doesn’t even have the white hair/red eyes

until HG finally remembers she exists and gives her a story to contradict this, maybe. but I’d be happy with her existing at all...

*exceptions

Matterhorn

I mentioned it before but I really have no clue. he’s just like that

Deepcolor

as finally confirmed by her operator record, she is part-Seaborn just like the others (though she wasn’t even experimented on by Aegir or the cult...a Herald just gave her a “gift” directly, so that’s something. the two Heralds we know of are First to Talk and Endspeaker for reference.)

and since she is, she should have a “Flawed” rating here

so there’s 2 possible explanations for this discrepancy:

one, she’s a launch character they didn’t bother expanding on properly for 3.5 years. so they might not have had all this in mind at all when initially creating her

or two, she bsed her way through the operator exam and somehow tricked the tested into thinking she was using Originium Arts instead of.. whatever powers she has(??) they do make a point of how her casting method is weird and no one else can understand it, so

I’m inclined to go with the first one just because of how much they mention her skill with originium but Deepcolor is still so mysterious so who knows...

**wanted to mention the Blood Originium-Crystal Density of everyone but couldn’t find a good place to mention it, so it’s here now. wish I could put a readmore in a readmore

if you look through most uninfected operator profiles, the average is about 0.12-0.14 u/L

Dusk/Ling/Kjera all have 0.00 (Nian probably does too but she’s avoided physicals)

Surtr, despite being infected only has 0.10 u/L I assume she got infected before getting the sword, and it’s either keeping the progression of her Oripathy at bay or maybe even treating it

Gladiia has 0.011... Originium doesn’t exist in the sea though, so it could be because she only came up to land recently

Skadi has 0.013, which actually decreases to 0.012 in her alt. ignoring the special circumstances of her alt, I think her Seaborn cells might be “cleaning” the originium in her blood?

Specter has 0.31 which increases to 0.34 in her alt. pretty standard numbers for an infected, but the progress of her Oripathy is notedly slower

Mizuki has 0.07 and Highmore has 0.08. these are lower than average, but not as low as Skadi/Gladiia, probably because these two aren’t from Aegir we don’t have a physical of before their transformation, but my guess is the same as Skadi’s; their Seaborn cells are decreasing this value

Andreana has 0.12, which is...totally normal I guess the tiny Seaborn part of her only fucked up her ability to use Arts but didn’t give her any resistance to this. RIP

#arknights #surtr #andreana #those are just the two i'm talking about most...#i realized i kinda refer to this a lot #but it might not be immediately obvious #I don't really have a point to make here #it's just a few things I noticed #can I call this a 'theory' idek #(is this really over 1k words im gonna cry #you’re welcome to argue with me btw #im sure i missed things #post

201 notes · View notes

autogyne-redacted · 6 months

Note

tbh, your recent post about transandrophobia synthesizes my thoughts about it very well, and im surprised you're getting backlash. the only additions i would make is that the gender/sex binary in the west was originally very explicitly a white supremacist creation, even down to the categories of male/female, and lionizing any aspect of that tends to get really racist really fast no matter how feminist or well intentioned. i guess you'd call me a trandandrobro bc i hang out in the tag and sometimes use the word for specific things (like when the lab threw out my cervical cancer test cells bc the cup was labelled M) but, i genuinely don't disagree with a single one of your points. i've been getting uncomfortable with the increasingly reactionary nature of the conversation on transandrophobia and i appreciate your take a lot.

Rambling about transandrophobia

Tbh It's been really surprising to see transandrophobia types interacting with that post all around.

And mostly it boils down to me having had windows into transandrophobia discourse that makes it seem bad*. And other ppl treating these aspects as exceptions to a discourse they see as basically good.

And I recognize that in part this is just how polarized internet discourses work. Like, if my windows into transandrophobia are largely when something egregious gets said and passed around in my circles, that's gonna give a way different impression then if ppl are part of the discourse and curating a slice they agree with.

And the consistent overall harassment of any attempt to talk about transmisogyny and constant bad faith engagements (eg attacks on agab and cagab language, cafab attempts to ID as trans women and as direct targets of transmisogyny) mean few of us are still in a position to assume good faith with internet strangers we run into who identify with a discourse that very much seems to have a massive transmisogyny problem.

My slightly more extended position on transandrophobia, since I've been thinking about it the past few days is:

1) I'm broadly supportive of ppl talking about their experiences and trying to find common ground even around shared ~privilege~, so long as it's done with a commitment to broader, collective liberation. (Eg cis men getting together from a feminist perspective to talk about patriarchy = good, cis men doing so with no specific opposition to normative masculinity = fashy).

2) the general attitude I've seen from transandrophobia world is to say: this has nothing to do with anyone other than trans mascs ppl other than trans mascs aren't welcome as part of this discourse: it's by us for us. Intentionally creating an insulated discourse especially around a point of (partial) privilege has a terrible track record. But regardless of relative positionality insulated discourses are just going to be more limited. They can create theory that's empowering for the creator group but it's probably not gonna get much mileage beyond and it's easy for it to be actively harmful.

3) I've thought for ages that trans masc experience seems ~under theorized~ and that transphobia is rly under theorized too. And it'd be really cool to see this addressed in a way that isn't rife with transmisogyny. It does seem like transandrophobia discourse is addressing a real hole, it's just doing in a way that rly sketches me out.

4) really I think gender discourse overall is just not in a great place rn. It was 1990 when Judith Butler questioned whether it makes sense for women to be the sole/primary subject of feminism, and we had major interventions that I'd say reached a peak in the early to mid 2010's (criticisms of white feminism, of cis feminism, intersectionality becoming a dominant framework).

There's a strong tendency to say that we're basically in a post gender world, or that race is just a more fundamental framework (which I strongly disagree with)** and I do think we really need a rebuilt gender theory that has teeth to it. Trying to build theory around transmisogyny I've found it necessary to do a lot of general theory building around gender. How normative masculinity and femininity work, how gender is policed. I don't think we're gonna be able to make a clean break from identity politics until we can have a strong theory framework that lets us talk about this shit from outside identity politics.

5) this is v rambly but I'm inclined to engage with transandrophobia discourse a little more than lots of my circles in part because I really want there to be more good theory building going on around gender, from different positions and across positions. One day, maybe.

*full of transmisogyny/denials of transmisogyny, trans masc exceptionalism and a failure to recognize and be in solidarity around shared issues with trans fems and cis men.

**getting back to the part of your ask about the history of gender and white supremacy, there's a huge entanglement between gender and race, gender and civilization. Normative gender differentiation has been a classic way the civilized set themselves apart from those they deem savage.

Broad claims like the one you make in your ask anon get messy tho. Like, a largely binary model of gender is older than history but you can also talk about the modern binary having really only come about over the past couple centuries (and obviously it's heavily contested and changing rn). Similarly you could say the modern concept of whiteness came about through the trans Atlantic slave trade (and then has been constantly shifting and getting redefined ever since) but there's obviously much older histories it's building off of.

I'm realizing now that maybe you meant the binary divide between sex vs gender as opposed to the male vs female binary but I can't tell which. Either way, my position here is mostly that it's really really messy to make big historical claims. It's such a high level view you can tell a lot of different stories with the available historical evidence. Ideas about gender and race have a heavily entangled history tho and it's certainly gonna go poorly if you treat either as natural.

#transandrophobia #discourse #gender #transmisogyny

38 notes · View notes

cherrynwinesk · 5 months

Note

Ok hear me out-

happy Halloween first off all

SECOND,I WANT A VAMPIRE!CELLBIT FANFIC CAUSE ITS HALLOWEEN...

🍒: Too late for Halloween but I still want to write something scary (⁠ﾉﾟ⁠0ﾟ⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠~

As u sleep ~ Cellbit

Story g: horror (no love), not safe

Language: English/Inglés

⚠️: supernatural creatures, blood, murders, horror. This is too violent, minors or sensitive people do not read, NOT SAFE, ONLY +18, (no sex, only violence)

CC's: Cellbit, Pac mention

Reader g: Neutral reader

📝: All the content is fictitious and an attempt is made to adapt the PUBLIC personality of the cc's, that is, the personality that is shown in front of cameras, I do not know the true personality and any resemblance to reality is mere coincidence.

🍒: Hello, writing requests are always open, if you want something in particular, ask without fear. I clarify that English is not my main language, I apologize for any error and accept corrections to improve the quality of the content pt.2

Master List

Autumn had begun and you had just arrived in the city, starting a new stage of your life after not having found a job in your hometown after graduating from university, walking through completely unfamiliar streets at noon. While waiting for the traffic light to give way to pedestrians, a black-haired boy stood next to you, looking at his cell phone, completely distracted from his surroundings. "Hey how are you!?"

You were able to recognize him, he was a classmate of yours from university that you hadn't seen in a long time, his name was Pac, you didn't have much contact with him but you remember him perfectly participating in some classes.

"Hello, very good and what are you doing here?"

And you ended up walking around while talking about how life had treated u, apparently Pac ended up working for the government courts, he lived in an apartment shared with a friend and that he was on his day off. Meanwhile, you talked to him about how you had not been able to work in your specialty, and that you had left the nest looking for other alternatives to improve your quality of life, but that for the moment you were looking for a place to stay or maybe get a roommate so that the rent of an apartment does not fall completely on your shoulders. Pac told you that he had a friend who was looking for a roommate precisely because of the rent, if you were interested he could introduce you to him and you felt a momentary relief. You accepted and he took you to the nearest hospital, with Pac's identification u were able to enter the operating room areas, you walked to the end of the hallway where there was a sign with "Morgue", you entered and the place was very cold, your arms had goosebumps the moment you enter. You passed by several desks to the end of the place where there were some huge metal refrigerators, and there was a boy, dressed in a completely white insulating suit, white latex gloves that were now red, and with this a scalpel. "Cellbit I want to introduce you to a friend" The boy turned around revealing the body on the metal table, completely open from his chest, from that distance you could not see the body well, you only saw how the skin was stretched with hooks outwards, leaving the center free to be able to work. "Hello, I'm sorry, allow me a moment," the blue eyed boy wiped off the blood a little and took off his latex gloves, "Nice to meet you, I'm Cellbit" he held out his hand to you as he introduced himself with a nice smile. "Nice to meet you, y/n." "I'm sorry you know me so dirty and working, if Pac had told me you were coming I would have kept the body. Does it make you uncomfortable?" "No, I am fine Thank you" "And what do you think of the apartments in the northern part of the city?" You looked at Pac "I haven't told him anything" he told you in response to your look. "Who said about apartments?" "Well, Pac was one of the only people I mentioned to that he was looking for a roommate and a few days later he's here introducing me to a person I didn't even know he knew." "Logical" "The place I found is cheap, it has a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, we would only share the bathroom, it is very spacious, maybe if you want to go see it before making a decision, tell me and I'll take you" And so it happened, you both agreed on a date and time to go see the available apartment, the place was good, very nice and comfortable in fact, it was spacious but not huge. You hadn't secured a job yet but from what you knew Cellbit works all day at the morgue, so maybe you would only see each other at night or in the mornings. You began the move, the apartment was already furnished so it was only necessary to have each person's personal things. In less than a week you got a job where the pay was good and you felt comfortable with the place. Your relationship with Cellbit was very good, a friendship of trust and security was immediately formed when you found in the same home, sometimes if one of the two cooked and there was a little food left over you would share it or agree to buy a burger on Saturday night. Of course, you never ate in the dining room together, most of the time Cellbit took his food to his bedroom and ate there. And you understood it, his work was very tiring and most likely he wanted his space. Because you were good friends, Cellbit gave you a special hospital pass so you could enter the morgue without any problem. So one Friday morning you agreed to go to the supermarket together to buy what they needed for the apartment. You would go that same day at night so after leaving work you went to the hospital, you went deep inside to look for your friend.

pt.2

23 notes · View notes

thethistlegirlwrites · 4 months

Text

Blood Stained

Joey unzips the blue canvas duffle bag that’s sitting on her coffin-bed, ignoring high-pitched singing from the hallway bathroom and the sounds of someone in the next room over slamming drawers. She’s one of five vampire mentees living in this halfway house, eligible now that she’ll be participating in an apprenticeship. She’s one of the lucky ones. Her counselor said before Chimera got grants for halfway housing options, vamps in the mentor program were stuck finding their own accommodations. And places that will take vampire tenants at all often charge exorbitant rates for the privilege.

Inside the bag, on top, is the folder that holds her copies of the mentor program agreement, the list of expectations and terms, and her visitation plan. She pulls out the plan and pins it to the corkboard over the head of her bed. The first three weeks are solid red, but there’s a yellow bar halfway through week four. Conditional potential to see family members in a controlled environment.

She’ll take it. Video calls with Mauri and Via are more contact than she thought she’d ever be able to have again, but now that she knows there’s the possibility of more, waiting three weeks’ probation feels like an eternity.

She tacks up the stained, creased photo of her family beside it. Over the years and miles, the corners have gotten blunted, the color has flaked away on the fold lines, and the faces have changed. But she’s held onto it this long, and it’s a reminder of what she’s going through all this for. She’s absurdly grateful someone chose to tuck it into her coffin with her.

Everything Josefina Quintero has done for the past six years has been to protect her siblings.

Even, if necessary, from her.

There’s another folder in the duffle bag, this one with a company’s logo on the front. The same logo that’s on the azure sweatshirt and t-shirts folded up inside below it. Even on the pen clipped to the front.

Joey sits down on the bed and starts filling out the employment papers for Nico’s Custodial Service. She can even answer the work authorization honestly for once. Chimera’s legal team got her provisionally cleared to work while Carmen Stoker of all people is using Joey’s case to make an argument for citizenship status for vampires based on location of home earth.

As far as starts to an un-life go, this isn’t the worst.

She isn’t counting the two weeks she spent locked in a crypt trying to keep herself from feeding on humans after her first fledgling hunt, or the next ten days in Chimera’s infirmary with their medics treating her blood-starvation and throwing her a lifeline in the form of the synthetic replacement.

She takes two easy-open packs from the mini-fridge in the corner of her room and tucks them into the insulated lunch bag that was folded under the shirts. Eventually, she’ll only need one, but her body is still riding the peaks and valleys of the newly fledged.

By the time a blue-and-white van with the cleaning company’s logo pulls up in front of her building, she’s checked off nearly every item on the paper at the front of her personnel manual.

Long hair out of the way; braided in a single tight French style down her back.

Wearing the company t-shirt and sweatshirt (if desired, and apparently most vampires appreciate the extra warmth), as well as the grey cargo pants that were folded up below them, and the sturdy ankle-high work boots she found in a box under that.

Copies of her work authorization documents to be filed with her I-9, made at Chimera’s office this morning.

Signed front page of the personnel manual.

Signed technology policy and her new (very basic, very locked down) cell phone in one pocket. There’s only three numbers in it right now. The cleaning company’s office line, her mentor’s personal cell number, and the Chimera number that will take her directly to the department that deals with anyone in the mentor program.

She’s met Nico Pontevecchio a couple times before this. Once in one of the interview rooms at Chimera when they were determining if the two of them were a good fit for each other, then again in Huntmaster Lawson’s office when they signed the mentorship agreement.

The vampire in the driver’s seat is wearing the same sweatshirt she’s seen every other time, a faded version of the one she was just given, with bleach stains (that seems like the wrong word, but she can’t come up with anything else for it) on the stomach pocket and grimy, frayed wrist cuffs.

He’s chomping away on another of what seem to be ever-present sticks of gum as he reaches across the front seat and opens the passenger door for her. Joey climbs in, looking for a place to set her paperwork. There’s invoices stacked on top of the dashboard, and the console is a clutter of rubber gloves, empty sanitizer bottles, and gas receipts.

She’s not sure how much faith she has in the professionalism of this cleaning company.

“Sorry for the mess,” Pontevecchio says, grabbing the invoices off the dashboard and setting them down somewhere between the backs of the seats and the grating that keeps the cleaning supplies from coming up into the cab with them at any red light. “I’ve been keepin’ all my stuff on the passenger seat. Haven’t had anyone in here in a bit, and last night was crazy. Wish it was cleaner for ya.”

“I don’t mind.” Joey sits down and straps in, and they pull away from the curb.

“Nervous?” Pontevecchio asks as they make their way through evening traffic.

“Kind of. I’ve never done this before.” It sounds like cleaning for a janitor service has a lot of different responsibilities.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll catch on quick. Once you learn your building layouts, you’ll get a feel for it. You can start making a sort of pattern.” He hands her a flat plastic clipboard, also blue, with a stack of papers on it. One is a list of addresses. One is a list of tasks. “Some of our clients have in-house janitors that they’re just supplementing, and we do a little less at them. Those are the places we’re going to start with.”

He reaches across the dash and opens the glove box. “There’s a pack of gum in there if you want some.”

“No thanks.” Her stomach is tied up in enough knots.

“Ok, so here’s the deal. My first mentee said it was just me being an enthusiastic Italian, but I will talk your ear off today if only to keep your mind on something other than getting overwhelmed by a new job. You can be getting overwhelmed by my inability to shut up instead.”

Joey actually laughs at that one.

“So ask me anything you want. Otherwise I’m just going to start rambling about weirdest work stories.”

“Why did you start a cleaning company?” She’d sort of figured a former hunter would have opened a private investigation service or done something similarly…cool.

“My great-great-grandmother cleaned rich people’s mansions in New York City after my family came over from Italy. If it was good enough for her, it’s damn well good enough for me. Runs in my blood. And it’s a good job for young vampires. Little to no interaction with humans on shift, and all night hours.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“We advertise we’re 100 percent vampire owned and staffed. Bleeding hearts who wanna put their money where their mouth is are honestly competing for contracts right now. There’s more people on our side in LA than it feels like sometimes.”

It takes Joey a few seconds to remember that ‘bleeding hearts’ isn’t an insult to vampire supporters anymore. They’ve sort of commandeered the term, deciding it’s pretty accurate, and made it a rallying cry instead.

He digs around in the tangle in the console, pulls out a cigarette-lighter phone charger and tosses it up on the dash, and eventually comes up with a pen and a small rectangle of label paper. “Your ID’s got all your info on it, but if you don’t want anyone you bump into knowing your last name and all, you can just make your own nametag. We had some trouble with one of our employees getting harassed, so now I offer everyone this option. As long as we still have the work IDs to show building security, no one minds.”

Joey wouldn’t have thought of that issue, but she’s glad her mentor did. She unclips the badge with her whole name, photo ID, and a little strip like a credit card on it, slips it into her pocket, and starts writing her nametag out.

“We’ll get you a real nameplate ordered, just let me know what name you’d like on it.”

She looks at his own, a plain white plate with smallish blue letters spelling out Domenico P.

“Is it better to use our full first names?”

Pontevecchio laughs. “I just do this so no one knows I own the company. They don’t usually bother readin’ all the way to the end.”

“Why, less people harass you about how you’re doing the job?”

“Actually more like the opposite.” He shrugs. “I work the first few nights at any new location. They can be perfectly respectful when they’re talking to the company owner, but what matters to me is how they’re gonna treat my people.” He taps the nametag. “But you can call me Nico.”

“In that case, I’m Joey.”

He pulls into the parking garage of a tall office building. Joey feels like panicking for a second, until she realizes the garage is shared with the low building next door that advertises itself as the HR software company whose name is on their list. Okay. One floor. One building. She can do that.

They climb out of the van and start unloading the equipment they need.

“Three pairs of gloves, in your pockets, at all times.” Nico hands her a box of bright green ones. “You didn’t indicate any known allergies to the supplies we use, but tell me right away if something starts bothering you.”

She nods and tucks the gloves into one of the big leg pockets. She’s starting to understand the specific clothing choices whoever put together her work bag made.

He talks her through the rationale behind every other piece of gear they collect, and then they’re headed in through the back door.

“This one’s easy. We deep clean once a week, but that’s not today.”

Joey picks up her clipboard to double-check what her checklist for this building will be, and then realizes this isn’t her clipboard at all.

There’s a photo of a kid with braces, floppy hair, and a lopsided model volcano taped to the back of the clipboard under the list of addresses, checklists, and cleaning supply order forms.

She’d known Nico had a kid. She was told upfront that the best mentor-mentee matches share something deeply personal in common. Wanting to get their lives together to be part of their families’ again, well, it doesn’t get a whole lot more personal than that.

“That’s Ricky,” Nico says. There’s an undercurrent of hurt in his voice.

“He’s sweet.”

Nico just nods. She has the feeling there’s something there that hurts. Something that, for all his enthusiastic rambling, he can’t bring himself to talk about.

She doesn’t talk about her family. She never has. It was safer for them all. No one knew she had younger siblings unless it was absolutely necessary. Not when they were trying to cross the border, and definitely not when she was trying to pay for Via’s seizure meds with her bookie gig.

Nico folds the papers back over the picture, tucks the clipboard into a side pocket of the trash cart, and reaches for the trash can near the door while Joey unwinds the vacuum’s cord and searches for a wall plug.

For a while, the whine of the motor is their only background noise, and then Joey shuts it off and fights with the catch holding the dirt cup in place so she can empty the astonishing amount of grit and hair it’s collected into the trash cart.

“I bit him,” Nico says, out of what seems like nowhere.

But Joey knows exactly who he means.

“My family knew what I was gonna be, and buried me anyway. I guess they wanted another chance. They were there waitin’ to help me dig myself out. And…I attacked them.” He looks down at the gloves on his hands. “I almost strangled my wife, and when Ricky tried to pull me off her I bit his arm. I’m just lucky I didn’t infect him. But…he’s been terrified o’ me ever since. For good reason.”

Joey knows fledgling hunger. She knows what it did to her, what she was afraid it might lead her to. He’s lived her worst nightmare come true.

“I’d just gotten my feet back under me and started figuring out how to control myself when I found out he’d gotten himself accepted to an oceanography program in San Diego. I had to get out of New York anyway. My old agency was hunting me down, and they were closing in. So I moved out here. It was about as far away as I could get from my old life.”

“Have you two reconnected?” Joey asks.

“We’re still…workin’ on things. This is the best compromise, gives him some distance but if he wants to get together on weekends, I’m close enough for it. And Lawson and I had crossed paths a few times before this. I knew she was starting a mentor program here, and I figured I might as well be useful to someone else. No one should be doin’ this alone.”

“Yeah, it kind of sucks.”

He laughs. “Lawson helped me get this business started on the condition I’d be another mentor for people when she needed it. It’s worked out pretty well so far.”

“How many mentorships have you done?”

“Two so far, you’re my third. It’s picking up now, I guess, after everything with your friend Barrett.”

Joey nods. She’s still shocked he went to the trouble to track her down. They’d been friendly enough when he was an underground fighter and she was taking bets on the action, and she’d never believed what the news had said about him killing those people, but she’d never expected him to remember her, much less realized she’d been infected.

Apparently, according to his partner, he’d put her name at the top of a list of likely candidates for a pilot program the agency is running with people who are infected, but haven’t turned.

He found her too late for that one, but at least there was still an option.

If it’s working for him, she’s pretty sure it’ll work for her too.

“Okay, that’s it for this place.” Nico hauls the trash cart out back, and the two of them reload their van and pull out.

The next location is a resource center that caters to people recently released from prison, connecting them to housing, food, and employment options. It isn’t so different from the office Joey was sitting in just this morning, getting the keys to the halfway house, her few possessions she’d had on her when she was brought to the clinic, and the blue duffle that contained everything else she currently owns in the world.

She walks into the bathroom to start cleaning, and stops cold.

The floor is covered in red smears.

There’s a coppery scent in her nose, a ringing in her ears, and a tingling in her jaw.

Blood. Fresh blood.

Someone touches her shoulder, and she spins with a snarl. This is hers. She found it. Her food.

“..ey? Joey?” The threat to her meal resolves itself into Nico’s worried face, accompanied by the strong smell of wintergreen, overpowering the metallic tang of blood.

“I told them to stop using kill traps,” he says apologetically. “They’ve been having issues with rats since they set up the food pantry in here, so they’ve been setting traps, but these kind make a mess.”

A rat. A rat is what bled all over the floor.

And she’s so out of control that the blood from some dead vermin would have been enough for her to tear into Nico over.

She chokes, pushes her way out the door, and rushes into the corner behind a rack of business suits with a faded sign that says “Interview Closet” on it.

She’s not sure how much later it is that Nico wheels aside the rack and crouches down beside her.

“It’s all taken care of,” he says gently. “I threw the rat out, cleaned up the floor twice, sprayed the whole room with wintergreen, and threw out every kill trap I could find in this place. They can bill me for it if they want, and I’ll bring by some live traps tomorrow.”

Joey doesn’t answer him. She can’t.

“It’s okay. You’ve barely been a vampire two months,” Nico says quietly. “Nobody expects you not to react to blood.”

“What if I never get better?”

“You will. It just feels impossible right now.”

“But I thought I was controlling it, and then this happened. What if I only think I am when they let me see my family?”

“No one is going to let you hurt your family. I promise. We know what we’re doing.”

“I was only ever trying to protect them,” She whispers. “My mother was a reporter, back home in Venezuela. She went after a powerful man with dangerous friends. When he had her killed, I was afraid to stay in the country. My aunt had married an American businessman years before and gone to live with him in Los Angeles, and my sister needed good medical care. I thought Tía Patricia could help.” What none of them had known at the time was that the marriage had lasted three years, and ended in a messy divorce that left Tía Patricia barely scraping by on an office assistant’s salary. They’d only found out after they made it to the city.

Our family isn’t really much for sharing our failures.

“We didn’t have enough money for most of the coyotes making border runs. I was told about one man who would do it for cheap, but he wanted more than money. I thought I knew what he was asking for.”

She still remembers that night like it was yesterday. The blood-red semi. The flickering halogen lamp with moths fluttering around it. The sting at her wrist and the chill in her blood.

The last thing she remembers from her human life is a pair of bright headlights, coming straight for her.

“He was a vampire. Did border crossings for blood.” They were lucky he wasn’t one of the sort who kept his human cargo as a food source. She was in the Chimera infirmary when a raid team brought in some victims of one of them. “He must have lost control and infected me when he fed on me.” She shakes her head. “Mauri and Via didn’t know what he was. I should have told them but I didn’t want them to know what I’d done. I didn’t want them to think it was their fault. It was stupid. I was stupid. I thought there would be time, when they were older, to tell them everything. So they’d know what to do when the time came. But I was wrong.”

Red lights reflecting off the hood, painting the car the same blood red as that semi.

And in the split second before impact, the oddest feeling that she’d seen moths clustering around the lights, narrowing them down to searing pinpricks of brilliant death.

“They didn’t know I was going to turn, and they buried me.” She chokes back a sob. “I made some bad decisions. Some really bad decisions. But I was nineteen and I was scared and I didn’t want to lose the only family I had left.” She looks down at the floor, seeing those smears of red all over again. “But it didn’t matter what I did. I lost them anyway.”

“You haven’t lost them yet.” Nico puts a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. We’re done here. Let’s go out to the van and eat. Even I’m not immune to smelling blood. I feel like I’m starving.”

She’s not sure if he’s just trying to make her feel better, or telling the truth, but it sort of helps.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe, someday, she’ll be okay.

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies @writeouswriter

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday14 #blood stained tiles #lady whump #sort of #mostly angst here #tw: animal death #josefina quintero #domenico pontevecchio

13 notes · View notes

goddesstrolls · 6 months

Text

Troll Biology TL;DR

Since the original post is a bit of a slog, here's a TL;DR or breakdown of it:

EYES: - Irises start off grey during wrigglerhood due to melanin pigment obscuring blood color. The melanin clears as the troll reaches adulthood, revealing the blood color. Albino trolls may not have this dark pigment and young albino trolls have normal flushed eyes.

- Sclera (Whites of the eyes) contain chromatophore-like cells (Like cuttlefish skin) holding red pigment. When relaxed, they give the sclera a yellow tint, but when the troll is angered (or the eye is damaged) the sacs contract to produce a red color.

NOSE: - Trolls have keener senses of smell than humans, as a holdover from early evolution when pheromones were used to communicate.

MOUTH: - Trolls have fantastic bite strength compared to humans - Teeth are difficult to knock out, but when they do a new tooth forms in the jaw and pushes its way up. This can result in crowding and misaligned teeth; This is also why it's important to assure the entire tooth is removed when one is broken or dislodged.

EARS & HEARING: - Trolls have a keener sense of hearing, able to hear a broader frequency range than humans. Landdweller ears function more like humans' overall. - Seadweller ears are considerably different. The inner ear bones contain organs for sensing sound, gravity, and movement, giving them better spacial awareness than their landdwelling counterparts. There is also no ear-hole and no liquid like human/landdweller ears; Sound travels directly through the bones and organs. Moving the fins shifts the bones and helps the seadweller hear. - Seadwellers may also have lateral lines, extensions of the inner ear which appear like rows of tiny pits or spots which help sense movement.

SKIN: - Skin is considerably thicker and more elastic than in trolls, potentially deflecting attacks or allowing the outer skin layers to reseal and heal quickly to prevent external blood loss. - Skin is smoother and softer to the touch, though can callous like human skin. - Scar tissue is fairly flexible and less prone to developing in deeper tissues, so it doesn't impede trolls as much.

SKELETOMUSCULAR: - Highbloods have very high muscle density, much stronger bones, and strong connective tissues, moreso than lowbloods. This grants them greater physical strength and fortitude, as weapons don't pierce as deeply and their bones don't break as easily. - Extra strong bones in highbloods also helps prevent avulsion fractures from muscle pulling against bone if their strength is overused; However, there's also a subconscious barrier which prevents most highbloods from using their full strength so they don't hurt themselves. (Nebale has overcome this barrier, making him 'stronger' than the average violet at the cost of his fuckin bones) - The dense musculature also helps insulate against the cold. In lowbloods, their high body temp is their line of defense against cold external temperatures.

PULMONARY: - The troll heart sits closer to the spine, with the major arteries traveling up and down the spine so they're directly protected by it. The bones of the spine protecting the heart are particularly thick and sturdy. - The troll pulmonary system is overall fairly sturdy, with blood vessels being thicker and larger. This can result in catastrophic blood loss when major vessels are injured, but they seal up readily which can mitigate blood loss. - Major vessels lie deeper within the body, so they don't show through the skin and are better protected by the dense muscles. This gives troll skin a more uniform grey color, though the small capillaries can still widen and draw blood close to the skin, resulting in flushing. - In seadwellers, the pink pigmentation in their blood collects salt and prevents it from reaching the cells, allowing seadwellers to adapt to both fresh and salt water. The high salt content provides some protection against illness and toxins. - The low body temperature of highbloods makes them more resistant to illnesses, while the higher body temp of lowbloods makes them more prone to illness. Since lowbloods are already so warm, when their body gets even warmer from a fever, it can start killing off delicate tissues like in the brain. - Lower caste hues have proteins in their blood which stabilize psionic output, meaning lowbloods have more stable and easily controlled psionics. - Troll blood pigment proteins are produced in excess so it can be found in various functions of the body- Tears, genetic material, scar tissue, ect..

LARYNX & RESPIRATORY: - The troll larynx can produce a wide variety of sounds; Hisses, clicks, purrs, growls, and roars. It isn't fully developed in very young wrigglers and develops as per the sounds the wriggler tries to mimic- Typically speech and the sounds their lusii makes. So the exact sounds a troll can make vary depending on their early life. - Landdweller lungs function more or less like human lungs, but in seadwellers the lungs are multi-purpose. They serve as swim bladders and help push water across the gills when underwater. - In seadwellers, the gills are the primary oxygen intake (As in this is where all the oxygen-collecting cells are). Lungs just move things around. - Seadwellers also have mini heart/lung-like organs by the gills to push water or air in and out without aid of the lungs. Again, lungs just help keep things moving and aren't a necessary function. - Gills have gill rakers; Bony structures which capture debris and keep them from getting too deep into gill tissue.

DIGESTIVE & OTHER MAJOR ORGANS: - Abdominal organs are protected by a very tough, flexible lining. It helps prevent damage from slashing and piercing injuries. - Troll stomach acid is massively potent to the point of having antimicrobial properties, allowing trolls to just kinda eat whatever with no real issues. - A small section of the intestines just past the stomach is dedicated purely to neutralizing their stupidly strong stomach acid so it doesn't cause damage. This organ also helps neutralize toxins and prevent foodborne illnesses. - The liver filters toxins and binds them to blood pigment proteins and removes them via urine. Troll livers are highly efficient and powerful organs, making trolls more resilient to poisons/toxins/other bad stuff that makes it to the liver.

#bastspeaks #bastheadcanons #is this a tl;dr? not really but i hope it presents the information a little better #long post

24 notes · View notes

moonbeam-dragon · 1 year

Text

Mourning Dove

Moonrise! So remember how Quackerjack sort of offs himself in the comics? Well I had an idea. AU where the rest of the Fearsome Four learn of it and how they react. This won't be entirely accurate but I haven't read all the comics. So here's my interpretation. Tw: Angst, swearing, mention of su!cide, giving Darkwing Duck a hard time, Megavolt crying, Bushroot crying, blood bending, Liquidator is angry af.

Megavolt sat alone in his cell. To prevent him from making any escape, they'd made a special cell for him. He was the only one to stay in St. Canard now. After the fight involving Taurus Bulba, they'd all been locked away. Quackerjack had been his cellmate for a while before he broke out. He'd promised to come back and release Megavolt, but he didn't have high hopes after months. Bushroot and Liquidator had been moved to remote prisons to keep them from being able to use their powers to escape. Megavolt was kept in the supervillain prison, with a new cell specially made. It was lined with rubber. No electricity. Just an insulated window. Even if he escaped through it, there was nothing but water underneath. But he'd kept his powers. He was laying on his back, letting small sparks fly between his thumb and index fingers. He'd be out soon. Quackerjack wouldn't really leave him here.

It was boring here without the others. All the times they'd been arrested together and thrown here. They'd had separate cells but spent the rest of their time together, in the gardens, and ate together. He hoped Quackerjack would abduct them again soon. He couldn't believe he missed them so much. He'd never used the word "friends" to describe the others. Only Bushroot and Quackerjack said it aloud. But it was true. And Megavolt missed his friends.

There was a dulled tapping sound on the wall of his cell. The bars were wrapped in rubber. There was no metal around the cell, to prevent him from electrifying or magnetizing anything. But he could talk to guards. There was no point eating in the cafeteria without his friends, so he had meals delivered here too. He looked up to see none other than Darkwing Duck standing there. Megavolt sat up, smirking. "Old pal, old enemy. Are you bailing me out or something?" he asked.

Darkwing solemnly shook his head. "Uh, no. I just came to talk to you." He rested a shoulder on the bars, crossing his arms. Megavolt noticed something white, like a piece of paper in his hand. "It's about your old cellmate."

Megavolt's ears perked up at the mention of his friend. He stood and went closer to the bars. "Did he finally get arrested? Is- Is he here?"

Darkwing sighed, shaking his head. "He's not. He's... Something happened during his most recent caper. He launched an attack on the Quackwerks company."

"Of course he did," Megavolt said, shaking his head.

"He turned the corporation into dolls," he explained.

"Yeah, he has an issue with authorities."

Darkwing sighed, biting his lip as he thought of how to explain the next part. "He did. Well he tried to do the same to everyone online the Whiffle Boy game."

Megavolt raised an eyebrow. "That's extreme."

"I stopped it. But... I didn't quite stop him," Darkwing told the rat. He sighed, taking off his hat and running his hand over his head. "I tried to talk him out of anything irrational. But it wasn't enough. He was upset and it didn't go over well."

Megavolt rolled his eyes. "Quackerjack's impossible to talk out of things. Why do you think I robbed a museum dressed as a pumpkin? He can be persuasive when he whines."

The hero groaned, shutting his eyes. "Just listen to me! Quackerjack was found on his ex's doorstep."

"He has an ex?" Megavolt asked.

"He did," the duck answered quickly. "He'd turned himself into a toy on her doorstep. But the ray he used to do it fell and was smashed. We can't really turn him back." Darkwing held the piece of paper he was holding to the bars, letting Megavolt take it. "This was next to him after he'd changed into a doll."

The rat forgot all about Quackerjack having a former lover when he took the paper. Megavolt looked at the note, seeing Quackerjack's handwriting. It wasn't written as a scribble like usual. It was slow, like he had seriously thought about his words. The words were written at the bottom of a fold.

THIS IS THE

BEST I'LL

EVER BE.

-JACKY

Megavolt stared at the note, uncomprehending for a moment. He was hit by shock and denial so fast, he didn't understand the meaning for a minute. Darkwing reached through the bars and slipped back the note. "I'm sorry, Megs."

That confirmed it. Megavolt felt his chest tighten and his eyes got hot. "What?""

I'm sorry. He's gone," Darkwing told him softly. He pulled back from the bars, pocketing the note. "The device he used was broken. The police can't save him."

Megavolt looked up at Darkwing, clenching his teeth. "And where were you when this happened?"

Darkwing looked him in the eye. "I was helping return the victims to normal."

"How?"

"There was a different ray that Quackerjack used on them-"

"Then turn him back with it, too."

"We tried. It worked differently and he-"

"Why didn't you stop him?!" Megavolt screamed, grabbing onto the bars and slamming himself into them. Darkwing had to step a few meters back to keep from being hit by the sparks of rage enveloping the villain. "Why didn't you help him?!"

Darkwing put up his hands. "I tried confronting and talking to him. It didn't work. He got upset with me and-"

"Bullshit!" Megavolt screamed. "Did you even try? Did you even-"

"I did everything I could, okay?!" Darkwing retorted. "That guy needed professional help and I wasn't it. There's only so much I could have done."

Megavolt groaned and teared up. "We all needed professional help. And did we get it? No. We got thrown in prison. At least we used to have each other but because of you, I don't anymore!"

Darkwing pointed a finger at Megavolt. "Don't blame me for splitting you up. Mayor Owlson chose to do that."

"I'm blaming you! I'm blaming you for Quackerjack dying!"

"That wasn't my fault," Darkwing informed him coldly. "I feel guilty enough for how my efforts failed. If I could go fix it-"

"You have his time top. Fix it," Megavolt demanded.Darkwing put his hands up. "I turned it in to S.H.U.S.H. and they dismantled it. They figured it was too dangerous to keep around. Quackerjack nearly unraveled St. Canard history with it."

"You've used it. I was there-"

"I shouldn't have," Darkwing told his enemy. "My best friend nearly lost his life using it."

Megavolt shook his hands on the bars. "And what about MY best friend? He IS dead!"

Darkwing watched and he hyperventilated, backing up. "I can't apologize enough-"

"Then get the fuck away from me!" the rodent shouted, sending a bolt through his fingers that Darkwing barely rolled out of the way of. "Get out! Unless you want me to fry you to a skeleton, just! Get! Out!!"

Darkwing obeyed, running out of the hallway and leaving the premises.

Several minutes passed of Megavolt just being silent and taking it in. His breathing slowed to a stop as the realization hit him again.

Quackerjack was gone.

Megavolt gripped the bars as tight as he could, the rubber absorbing all his energy as he blasted it with lightning. He doubled over, still holding onto them. "NOOO!!" He gasped, bringing his arms back and falling to his knees. He started sobbing, tears flooding his goggles. He tore off the goggles and threw them down so the tears could flow down his face. A burning, tingling sensation hit his face as miniature short-circuits hit the tears. The rat hugged himself, gasping for air and gripping his own arms. "NOO!!"Quackerjack was dead and gone. No more capers with him. No more creative ways to disguise themselves. No more designing machines together.

"Quackerjack..." Megavolt muttered to himself, shaking with a sob. Tears continued to stream down his face.

He remembered when the two had first met. Negaduck had them meet in his warehouse. He'd had his doubts when he first saw the jester. They shook hands as they agreed to cooperate on a task. When he'd static shocked Quackerjack, the other had just laughed it off. That night, as they'd placed the electro-slave device and fought Darkwing Duck, they just clicked. They'd been the two most dangerous criminals ever. They made an electrifying team. They did so much together. Both while working and just hanging out. They'd quickly gone from associates to partners. They were close friends. Best friends. Megavolt didn't care about people. He cared about electronics. He cared about his projects. But Quackerjack? He would've given his life for him. He wished he'd gotten a chance to do just that.

"Why? Quacky... Why?"

Quackerjack was almost too pure for this world. He may have lost his marbles ages ago. But he was happy and sweet. He was friendly and bubbly. The public only saw the vengeful, destructive side of him. And he was all those things. But it was a good thing for Megavolt. They were equally as nuts as the other. That's why they hit it off.

And Quackerjack was gone. Megavolt was left alone in the prison cell. Even if he ever got out, he didn't have his Quacky to return to. He had no idea how to get to Bushroot or Liquidator. His bulbs had likely been confiscated by the police. There were none down here. He was all alone in this world.

He was alone. Megavolt felt his breath return to him in a painful sob. "WHY!?" He hugged himself tightly again, leaning over and sobbing. His sides ached. His face had mild burns from his short-circuiting tears. It wasn't enough. He had so much pain now and no good way to get rid of it. So he just screamed and banged his fists on the rubberized floor. Every volt coming from him was absorbed harmlessly. Harmlessly. He hated being useless and harmless in here.

"AHH!!"

He'd kill the next guard that came to bring him a meal. Just to do something destructive.

Megavolt already missed his playmate.

___

Bushroot supposed this place wasn't awful.He told himself that every time the sun rose. At least he wasn't being starved. He was kept in a cell with a glass door on the outside. Everything else was stone and steel. Solid stone walls and floors. A solid steel door. And a solid glass wall. All of it was thick to ensure he wouldn't escape. He didn't enjoy it. But the guards that brought him water were friendly. He got a large water bottle every morning. It occurred to him that the guards didn't understand how he functioned. He shyly brought up his use for roots to one of the guards. At some point, she had just given him a metal dish to pour it into and left him to his own devices.

He'd forgotten what solitude was like. Even before his mutation, plants were his friends. He wasn't allowed near them anymore. The police station had decided he was too dangerous with flora. His greenhouse was being taken care of by a small organization in the city. His favorite guard, who he'd never gotten the name of, brought him news as often as he could. He just wanted to know that all his friends were well taken care off.

Bushroot was well taken care of, too. He'd been provided with books and other ways to entertain himself. He was never quite bored, except when his mind insisted he should be bored. But that wasn't as often as it could have been. His favorite guard always made sure to keep him from getting too stressed. Many guard let him sit and exist. She tried to keep him living.

He even got news on the criminal activity in St. Canard. Liquidator and Megavolt were still in prison. Megavolt and Quackerjack were the only ones still in the city. But Quackerjack had broken out again, working on some grand experiment. Bushroot was eager to hear how it turned out. He hoped it went well for him. Sure, Bushroot had strayed from villainy recently. He was planning to serve his life sentence and return to his greenhouse to turn over a new leaf.

Until then, he was left out in the desert. It was a solitary prison without many other inmates. He wasn't sure who else was here. He wasn't allowed to know that. He was sure it was just some F.O.W.L. agents. He didn't care. None of his friends were locked away here. It had been decided too risky to allow them to stay in the same prison. That was fair. They had a tendency to collaborate and break out. The first few times, they'd waited for Negaduck to break them out or rescue each other. But they didn't know where each other were, except for Quackerjack and Megavolt.

Bushroot's pondering was interrupted by the creaking of a door. He looked up at the steel door, seeing it opened. "Bushroot?" his favorite guard asked. She stood there, holding it. "You have a guest. May he come in?"

"A guest? This must be my lucky day. Though I don't see any four-leaf clovers growing in here," Bushroot joked with a smile. The guard gave him a solemn, saddened look. That must have been a really bad joke. No plants grew here. The groundskeepers made sure of that. He shook his head. "Forget I said that. Let him in."

The guard gave him another look before stepping out of the room. The door shut behind his visitor. "Hey, Reggie." A short duck in all purple stood there, smiling gently at him.

"Darkwing!" the plant-duck exclaimed, grinning. "Take a seat!" he offered his single bed to his guest, backing over to the window wall. He sat on the floor in the corner to bask in the sunlight. There was lots of it beating down on the sandy land. "What brings you here?"

Darkwing took the seat he was offered and sighed quietly. "What have you heard about St. Canard since you were taken here?" he asked to start.

Bushroot hummed in thought. "A lot of news about my greenhouse. Ammonia Pine's most recent attempt to wipe down the town. Mostly small crimes. And I heard Quackerjack was at it again." He chuckled. "Something having to do with Whiffle Boy again. Is he going to burn down a new store or something?"

Darkwing rubbed the back of his neck. "That's part of why I came to you. He already committed the crime and he did not get away with it," he said. He looked firmly at something outside the window. "You see, he tried turning people at the Quackwerks into stuffed dolls. And then he attempted to attack all the people playing Whiffle Boy online. I managed to prevent the worst of it. But that wasn't the end of it."

Bushroot raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? What did he do?"

Darkwing ducked his head to rub his eyes under the cover of his hat. "I- Well you see he paid a final visit to an ex of his."

"What? Quackerjack was dating someone?" Bushroot interrupted. "Who?"

Darkwing looked up, hands gripping the edge of the bed. "A woman he knew while everyone was working at the Quackwerks company. But that's not-"

"That's great for him. Do you know why it ended?" Bushroot asked, curious what had happened with his dear friend.

Darkwing groaned. "Personal issues. Look, I'm trying to tell you something and it's not easy. Just listen and stop asking questions."

Bushroot shut his beak, taken aback by the tense tone of the hero's voice. He stared at him for a moment. Darkwing took his hand off and wrung it in his hands to fidget. "That turning people into a doll thing I mentioned. Quackerjack had another version of the machine with him. He went to his ex girlfriend's house and turned himself into a doll on her doorstep. The device he used was smashed. And we can't figure out how to turn him back. He... he wrote something and left it by himself." Darkwing pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and stood to hand it to Bushroot.

The mutant stared at him in utter disbelief. Turned himself into a doll? He couldn't be turned back? Was he hearing all that right? Darkwing's eyes flickered to the paper, and Bushroot realized he'd just been staring at him the whole time. The villain looked down at the note, and the truth, which had been bubbling up, burst.

THIS IS THE

BEST I'LL

EVER BE.

-JACKY

Bushroot stared at the note for several minutes. The writing was legible. That was unexpected. He must have thought it out. "Sweet Gaia..." Bushroot muttered. This was a suicide note. From Quackerjack. Quackerjack-

"He killed himself?" the mutant asked, his words coming out in a sad whisper. It was broken, weak, and helpless.

Darkwing stumbled on his words. "No- Well- I... Not exactly. He just..." Darkwing never bothered to finish that sentence. He trailed off. Quackerjack wasn't quite dead. But he wasn't alive anymore either.

"Why?" Bushroot dropped the note by his feet, his leafy fingers trembling. His chest felt tight and his brain was swirling. "Why would he... What happened?"

Darkwing bent to pick up the note. He stayed knelt by the plant as he pocketed it. "I'm sure when you four united against Quackwerks, you noticed he was off."

Bushroot thought back, tucking his knees to his chest and hugging them. "I knew he was more easily provoked. He was more assertive. I thought it was weird. But he was always functioning with a few screws loose."

Darkwing sighed. "He experienced some things while working and kinda snapped. Between distrust, loneliness, and depression, he had a lot weighing on him."

"What about that girlfriend? What did she do to him?"

"She loved him," Darkwing assured the mutant. "She reached out to me to try and get me to help, okay? She was looking out for him. They broke up because he was struggling to cope. But she never stopped believing in him."

Bushroot felt tears start running down his face. "He- We- We didn't even realize. If we'd known he was, that he would... Megavolt, Liquidator, and I- Oh how did they take it?"

Darkwing sat against the wall and set his hat next to him. "Megavolt didn't take it well. He blamed me for not saving him."

"Why didn't you?" Bushroot spat bitterly. "Huh? How come?"

Darkwing put his hands up gently. "I tried. I tried talking to him. To his inner child or whatever. I don't know that it was so inner," he chuckled dryly. It didn't cheer up the villain. "It didn't go over well. He got mad. There was fighting. I wanted to-"

"Well, you didn't!" Bushroot retorted. "You didn't save him! I don't care if you 'tried!'" Tears ran down his face. He wiped them violently, rubbing at his face with unnecessary force. He sniffed loudly and turned his face to look out the window. "Maybe if you'd sent him to a mental hospital instead of arresting him, he'd be alive and well."

Darkwing groaned. "I don't need two of you blaming me for this."

"I'm not going to blame Tuskernini or something," Bushroot snipped. "When you tell Liquidator, you'll be lucky if you don't get a custom ass-kicking."

The short hero grabbed his hat and put it back on his head. "Trust me. I'm not looking forward to it. But I swore to tell each of you personally. It just seems wrong letting you find out through a literal grape vine."

"At least a grape vine has more empathy than you!" Bushroot shouted, standing up. He leaned against the wall. "Leave me alone! Just leave-"

"I have plenty of empathy, thank you very much," Darkwing said, standing with him. But he didn't nearly match the plant's height. "Look, Reggie. I'm sorry for your lo-"

Darkwing was slammed against the stone wall by a strong vine. The wind was knocked out of him. He fell on his hands and knees, trying to force his breath to work again. He was picked up by the throat, making this worse. He could feel the vines burning his skin and rubbing away feathers. "Don't call me Reggie! Never call me Reggie again!" Tears streamed down his face. "My friends get to call me that. That means Liquidator, Megavolt, and Quackerjack. NOT a pathetic excuse for a hero who couldn't save one person from himself!" He tightened his vine on Darkwing's neck. "You're no hero! One of my only friends is GONE because you couldn't save him! I had friends. Human friends. Good ones. And because of you, one of them is gone."

"Bushroot!" a female voice shouted. "Leaves off Darkwing and on the floor!"

Bushroot recognized his favorite guard and withdrew his appendages. He dropped to his knees obediently and held his hands behind his head. He didn't want to have to hurt his only companion out here. His companions were hurt as it was. Darkwing was pulled out of the cell, the guard asking questions about his condition. Bushroot heard as Darkwing started gasping again, muttering an assurance. The steel door slammed shut and Bushroot turned to look. The guard was locking him up. He couldn't even feel guilty for assaulting the hero. He deserved it.

As he heard the two leave the section, Bushroot broke down.

No more being pestered by that jester. No more getting his plants trampled by toys. No more zany laughter. No more animated antics. No more Fearsome Four. No more Quackerjack.

"Quackerjack..." Bushroot whispered the name like it was sacred. It was sacred to him. The mutant leaned against the window again and slid down it. He felt his heart twist. "NO!" He held his head in his hands, trying to block out the pain. Why couldn't it come on more slowly?? "I'M SORRY!" If only he would have noticed the signs. If only he would have helped him. If only he could have stopped him. If only he could have hugged him goodbye. The plant-duck dipped his head and whispered, "I'm so sorry!" Reggie just curled up in a shaft of sunlight and sobbed for his fallen playmate.

___

Liquidator knew he must be in a desert. There was no water around most of the time. Therefore, it would be harder for him to use his powers against his captors should he escape. But his cell was waterproof. No holes. No bars. The door was sealed glass that could only be opened from the outside. And it was extremely tolerable to temperature. He'd tried boiling and freezing himself to damage it, to no avail. He couldn't slip through the cracks. There was a sealed circle on the front that the guards used to give him food. But it didn't work from his side. Frustrating as it was, the villain appreciated the ingenuity of the patented product. Seeing as he couldn't escape, he was waiting.

Waiting for what? He wasn't sure. Bushroot, Megavolt, or Quackerjack to get him, he supposed. He missed them badly.

Bud Flud wasn't a kind person. He had few friends growing up, and none since he inherited his father's company. But working with the Fearsome Five was different. He'd expected a simple business partnership, with financial benefits and allies. Though they'd never enjoyed Negaduck's company, the others had found some comfort in each other. They were all a little lonely. They all needed support, and they all gave it. Liquidator hadn't been keen on hanging out after capers. It was Quackerjack's idea. He was always the one trying to make the team get along. Liquidator appreciated the effort.

He'd found it hard to empathize with the group. He had less in common with them. He was the one neurotypical friend. The others functioned so differently from him. And over time, he'd developed a strong protectiveness over them. They were kind to him in their own odd ways. And, being the only member that could not die, he felt that he had a duty to keep them safe.

He couldn't do that from here. The Liquidator was useless. And if he could find a way his container was imperfect, he would escape faster than you could say "Liquidator protection, 100% safety guarantee!"

His captors were not friendly. They never spoke to him. They gave him a bit of food every day. He'd eat in silence. Actually, he wasn't entirely certain what he did could be called "eating." He ate food, but it dissolved in his body rather fast. He wasn't even sure he needed to eat. But the food here wasn't awful. So he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to eat. He knew he differed from Bushroot in that way. He rarely ate. Sometimes, when they were all free, they'd hold up a pizza joint, or steal takeout. Bushroot would eat if the rest of the group was. Liquidator, however, kept eating so regularly, he couldn't tell if he really needed it to survive.

As the canine was lost in his swirling thoughts, he heard a door open at the end of the hall. A few guards entered, escorting someone short down the hall. They stopped in front of his containment cell. Standing there, in front of the sealed door, was none other than-"

Darkwing Duck," Liquidator said. He'd been laying in a plastic tub, his body halfway in puddle form. He rose up, flowing over to the door and raising what would be an eyebrow. "To what do I owe this great displeasure?"

Darkwing sighed, twiddling his thumbs. His voice came through muffled from the thickness of the glass. "News. There's something you should know. I wish I could've told you this in private, but after my last meeting with a supervillain, I couldn't take the risks." He gestured to the guards on either side of him.

Liquidator didn't like the sound of it. A meeting with another supervillain? And it made him paranoid about having bodyguards? Liquidator burst into rude, deep laughter. "How about that? Darkwing Duck is suddenly afraid of a supervillain. One explanation is that he's losing his cool and his touch!"

Darkwing groaned, rubbing a hand down his bill. "Hoo, boy. I'm not in the mood for banter, buddy. This isn't going to be easy for you to hear. I'd rather get it over with."

Liquidator crossed his arms. "You come to my prison cell and refuse to entertain a conversation with me? That sounds like-"

"Please don't be difficult," Darkwing insisted. "You're the sane one. You are perfectly capable of shutting your snout and cooperating." He looked the villain in his bottomless eyes.

The Liquidator had to stop and think. Did he want to seek entertainment in upsetting Darkwing? Or did he want to know what this was about. He noticed how tired Darkwing was. What time was it? How had he gotten here from St. Canard? Why was he worried about security? What did he have to say? Why did he refer to Liquidator as "the sane one?" Did this have to do with the Fearsome Five?

"Hold on. Let me guess," he said jokingly. "You need my assistance to help defeat Negaduck?"

"Liquidator, please-"

"I'm not taking any part in the affairs of heroism in St. Canard," the canine said stubbornly. "I care nothing for you or what you have to say. The Liquidator inquires why he should listen to you after you locked him away from my team." He crossed his arms, a soft sloshing sound as he did so. "I owe you nothing."

"No, you don't," Darkwing said, starting to raise the volume of his voice. "But for pretty much killing you, I owe you something. So let me-"

"Oh, now you apologize for that," Liquidator said with an eye roll. "You should have apologized when you knocked me into a vat of toxic water and melted my body!"

Darkwing's pride overcame him. "Hey, hey, hey! The water was only toxic because you poisoned it!"

"It was supposed to be gross, not poisonous. If you hadn't startled me-"

"If you hadn't been committing a crime in the first- I didn't come here to talk about this!" Darkwing said, gripping his fists and holding them at his sides.

"Your exact words, I believe, were-" He shifted his form to be short and clothed like Darkwing. "'Cases are so much easier when the bad guy offs himself like that!'"

The guards gave weird looks to Darkwing, who pulled his collar and chuckled nervously. "Now, don't go mincing my words-"

"I'm not mincing them. That was a direct quote by Darkwing Duck in 1991," Liquidator mocked. "You enjoyed the thought that I'd personally jumped into the vat to off myself."

Darkwing's eyes widened. "No, I did not-"

"I bet you took credit for the defeat. As if you yourself had forced me to the point of suicide. Like that would be so heroic. Well I have a hot take for you, Darkwing Duck. It's not."

Darkwing groaned, rubbing between his eyes. "That's not what I meant. Would you believe I felt guilty for that and didn't know what else to say?"

"Of course."

Darkwing's face lit up a bit as he looked up. "Really?"

"Ha! No," Liquidator told him with a smirk. "You have no sense of empathy. And therefore, you do not posses the true qualities we're looking for in a superhero. Not to mention your lack of superpowers. Unfortunately-"

"Quackerjack is dead!"

Both of them fell to silence. The guards looked between Darkwing and Liquidator, frowning. Darkwing was breathing heavily, clearly distressed by the topic.

Liquidator felt himself go entirely still. Had he heard Darkwing right? Had he meant that? Quackerjack was dead? As if his throat had gone dry, Liquidator swallowed. "I may need you to repeat your previous statement due to a misunderstanding."

Darkwing took a deep breath. "Quackerjack. He's dead. He- He snapped and when his last caper failed, he... Well he actually..." The hero pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and offered it to the Liquidator. Since he couldn't take it, Liquidator just stared as it was pressed against the glass for him to read.

THIS IS THE

BEST I'LL

EVER BE.

-JACKY

Darkwing's voice wavered as he spoke. "He tried to hurt a lot of people in his last caper. I tried talking him out of it. I tried to calm him down and find a way to help, I did." He teared up. "It backfired horribly. I stopped him from hurting all but one person. He- He turned himself into a doll like he'd intended for..." The hero swallowed and looked up at the other. "I worked with the police department to change him back but it didn't work. He's as good as dead."

Liquidator felt his water run cold. In his horror, he didn't notice his legs frosting over. "So he offed himself?"

Darkwing nodded, withdrawing the note. Liquidator almost reached to grab it, but his hand just pressed against the glass. "Please believe me when I say I'm sorry for your loss. If only I could-"

"Save the pity," Liquidator said coldly. "And leave the premises immediately." He glared at the so-called "hero." Quackerjack was gone and no amount of apologizing would bring him back. The canine was glad he couldn't exactly cry. He refused to let Darkwing see him that way. "Congratulations on defeating another bad guy."

"Don't pull that crap on me," Darkwing said defensively. "I'm not proud of it. Despite what you and the others seem to think."

Liquidator's interest peaked. "Who else have you told this information to?"

"Megavolt and Bushroot-"

"How are you alive after facing them?" Liquidator asked. "Because if I wasn't behind this wall, I'd force my fist down your trachea and give you a patented death by drowning!" He pounded a hand against the glass, a loud thud echoing but no damage being done. His body went from frosting over to starting to boil. "You're a dead duck!"

A guard turned and nudged Darkwing to move out. As the group started leaving, Liquidator slammed his fist on the wall again. "I guarantee your doom once I get out of here, Darkwing!" he shouted. "Mark my words!!"

The door slammed shut and Liquidator only waited a moment before he broke down. "GAH!" He looked down. If he could breathe, he'd be gasping to keep himself together. But instead, he just pounded on the wall uselessly.

Quackerjack was gone. Megavolt and Bushroot must be crushed. Megavolt was the closest to the jester. Bushroot was so attached to him, all of them, really. And he could get so emotional. They were both probably so hurt. Liquidator was hurting, too. He hurt because he knew they were the only three people in the world who cared. Because he knew Darkwing wasn't capable of mourning a villain.

But Quackerjack was no villain to them. He was a teammate. He was a friend. He was company, a source of laughter, and the heart of the team. He always brought them together, up until a few months ago when he reunited them. He freed them from a living hell and they had fun together. Sure, they got arrested soon after, but oh, how Bud had missed the action. He'd missed them all so much. And now he was feeling that longing tenfold. He longed for Quackerjack to lighten the mood but he was gone! He longed to find Bushroot and Megavolt so he could hold them close and keep them safe.

He couldn't keep Quackerjack safe from here. He couldn't keep the others safe. Knowing how wildly unpredictable and unstable they were- Oh god, he had to get to them.

___

Liquidator stood and faced his guard. She was going to shove a tray of food through the sealed hole like normal. But Liquidator had other plans. He focused in on himself and then on her, feeling the movement of blood through her veins. He held his arms out and seized that movement. She cried out in shock and tried to pull her arms back. It didn't work. Liquidator bent his arms and started moving them both up and down. Her arms moved in sync with him.

"Ah!" She struggled against him but it didn't work. "What are you doing?"

Liquidator moved his legs and she walked to the seal of the door. He didn't answer, just struggling to grab onto it with the opposite movements. When he moved right, she moved left. He saw her fingers graze the lock and then reached to his hip. She pulled the keys off her belt and started meticulously using each one on the lock. The fourth one made the padlock click and fall. He dropped the keys and grabbed onto the latch.

"To answer your question," he said quietly. His voice was full of venom. "I am getting the hell out of here, and you shall be my unwilling accomplice."

Silent tears fell down the guards face as she felt her blood controlled by a supervillain. Once she'd undone the latch and swung the door open, he released her. The villain flowed out of the cell, swirling and spraying everywhere. "I apologize for any inconvenience. My intention was not to harm you, but unfortunately you came down to give me my rations while I was not at my best. I wish you well."

With that, he splashed down and out of the hall. The villain found a window and leapt out of it. He was right. He was in a desert. The alarm was raised as he sped from the prison.

Now to return to St. Canard and find the other two.

So that didn't go well on Darkwing's end. Now that the rest of the Fearsome Four know about the tragedy, what will they do? What is Liquidator planning? If you're interested, comment. I might continue this story if people show interest in it. Farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbages, don't eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life! Moonset!

#darkwing duck #darkwing duck 1991 #mourning dove #megavolt #quackerjack #liquidator #bushroot #fearsome five #fearsome four #quackervolt #playthyme #bushjack #quackerroot #elmo sputterspark #reginald bushroot #bud flud #waterway #the poly four #dwd

56 notes · View notes

sculptorofcrimson · 6 months

Text

Pavilion of Golden Flowers

A Warhammer retelling of the Drunken Concubine.

Synopsis: Valdor waits for his master

“Love and hate breeds a trice

Couple like the moon with sun

Love and hate are vast

Ask, do kings love?” - Drunken Concubine

~~~

Terra no longer snowed. The white flakes that once cascaded and tumbled before Terra’s slow ruin, the pale frost that had blanketed the Himalayas and chilled golden armor to divine bone, had departed for scorching spring, never to arise once more. There was no more water to freeze, not a single drop of natural moisture upon Terra to fall from its plump heavy clouds. No more bitter frost to wrap the world underneath its wintery embrace. Even the Imperial Palace’s pools and lascivious decor held no natural born water of Terra’s oceans, not eden wealth could restore the lost, for Poseidon had long since abandoned humanity to its fate.

The skies no longer wept in sorrow. They had no more tears to shed. It would be winter, if not for the fact Terra’s climate was nearly as dead as its oceans, and the Imperial Palace was insulated against such natural wonders. There would be no natural ice upon Terra’s surface, for now and forevermore. The only weak flicker of nature’s dying grasp was the slowly spreading moonlight, hovering with marked fickleness as an icy moon rose above the palace. Before it’s single-eyed gaze, the world sharpened and illuminated itself, the ghostly light painting it silver in all its ancient splendor.

It was through this nostalgic haze did the concubine toss back another cup, wineglass crinkling underneath gene-enhanced fingers that could have crushed a man’s throat. The hulking behemoth of a man would have looked intimidating under any other circumstance, even when draped in nothing but silken regalia and stripped of his weapons and armor. Not so long ago, his stern features had been set in an unsmiling glower as the serfs had massaged and groomed and dressed him for his lord, the Emperor's favorite concubine barely resisting as they draped him in silk and threaded scarves around his muscled frame. He hadn’t struggled when they had pulled on jewelry pretentious enough to bankrupt an entire star sector and veiled him in such golden extravagance it was nearly ostentatious. He would have protested against such attire(it was not practical, it was not even easy to move around in, how was he supposed to defend his lord in such ridiculousness?), but the serfs were already tugging the much larger Custodian towards his appointment. Their movements had been harried in their scampering as they had ushered him before a feast fit for an emperor, the Custodian now perfectly prepared to magnificence as if he had been any other item now artfully arranged for their Emperor’s amusement.

Yet still as majestic as ever even when draped in silks instead of auramite, Constantin Valdor was as resplendent as ever as he helped himself to another drink, the liquid searing his throat as his Custodian biology attempted to make sense of what he was drinking. His gene-enhanced form shuddered slightly as the liquid seared his insides, flesh and cells unable to comprehend what foreign substance could be strong enough to bypass his innate resilience.

Such indulgence would out of character for the Captain-General, but the hour of restraint had long since passed, such reservations simply ceased to matter when the clock ticked on and on and on yet, whereas the hands turned and the sand slipped through the hourglass, his lord and master had never even appeared. It was possible that such a thing had simply slipped His mind, however impervious as it was, and left Valdor sitting there, alone, half-slumped over his...seventeenth? Eighteenth? bottle of the finest wine within the Imperium.

At this point, they might as well give him the entire Imperial Palace's cellar.

The serfs and servants and servitors still scurried for the aborted appointment, and the Captain-General watched them with the dull impartiality of cold detachment, the alcohol wrought haze having thankfully having numbed the cold humiliation of the Emperor’s abandonment to muteness.

Still holding the wineglass in a crushing grip, Valdor idly wondered who could sharing the Emperor’s bed as of this moment. Who had been the lucky concubine chosen instead of him? Ra, for his humanity? Kadai? Saturnalia? Perhaps even Diocletian, as feisty as he was? Perhaps tonight the Emperor wanted a challenge instead of Valdor’s mute obedience.

The Captain-General let his gaze linger upon the wineglass, now slowly being refilled by the hand of a Lucifer Black. Briefly, their eyes met, and the guardsman flinched when he noted Valdor’s piercing glare upon his, however dulled by wine that gaze was. The Lucifer Black dropped his eyes, and his hands shook, spilling a neat drop of red liquid along the side of the glass. Neither of them comments. Valdor only made a noncommittal noise as he dismissed the guardsman, gaze travelling onto the serfs still hurriedly running through their preparations as if they truly expected the Emperor to ever arrive. Valdor took a sip of the wine. And then another. Because why not? He long since knew the bitter truth the servants didn’t.

The Emperor would not arrive today. Valdor knew that even as he accompanied them and waited for a master that would never return. The Emperor would never be here now, not in one hour, not in two, not when He had already chosen another concubine over him.

Such indulgence would be impossible to fathom under other circumstances. Yet Valdor found no reason to refuse as he beckoned for the guardsman to approach again, waiting for a refill with endless patience and a serenity that tasted bitter.

The Emperor had taken the emotions of jealousy and envy and carved them out of his chest years ago. In fact, He had even taken the memories of desire itself and torn them out of His perfect creation, had drained away as much of his humanity and conscience as He pleased. Even now, lost in drunken reflection, Valdor found it impossible to even feel a twinge of loss or sympathy for his condition, had found it so unspeakably strange and incomprehensible. Such programming was wired into his literal bones, singed into the very fabric of his soul and shackled into the chains of his mind. There was no greater pleasure than serving his master, if only because he could feel nothing else otherwise. Of course, when pain and absence of pain were all you could feel, you too would gravitate against feeling nothing at all.

The Lucifer Black seemed no longer frightened of Valdor’s presence, although the short glances he gave the Custodian were now full of wariness and guarded observation. Valdor ignored him, more out of the fact he knew the guardsman wanted to talk to him no more than he desired to initiate a conversation. Instead, they both watched the wine refill in a wineglass that would soon crack from Valdor’s grip upon it, and when it was full, the Lucifer Black stepped back without a word.

The wine was supposed to be the finest in the Imperium, yet acting as a connoisseur of wine was the last thing upon his half-dazed mind as Valdor mused upon the hollow ache upon his chest, the strange withdrawal he felt upon his master’s abandonment. It was the unpleasant sensation of betrayal, a deep-seated ache in the absence of his normally iron-clad duty. The liquid was searing as he downed another cup of the Imperium’s finest spirits.

His master wasn’t here. And the Emperor most likely would not appear tonight, or even tomorrow. Right as of this moment, He was most likely enjoying His time with another Custodian, perhaps humoring Ra, perhaps listening to Diocletian, perhaps even doing both in their company.

The thought was no consolation. The fact that his brothers were accompanying the Emperor while Valdor tried not to rip the sheer silken attire surrounding his muscled form did nothing to aid the Captain-General. While Valdor was no longer capable of jealousy, he was not yet quite ready to let go of the closest thing he had for pain in the face of this coldly blunt rejection. He was not yet ready to… forgive? Forgive, perhaps? Was that the word? Was he still capable of such an action, stripped of humanity as he was?No, Valdor believed not. To forgive would be to imply the Emperor had done wrong. To forgive would be to imply that there was a sin that needed forgiving. And the Custodian found himself unable to hold the Emperor to His sins, to His great mistakes and misconceptions. It was simply beyond him, quite literally unable to summon the hatred required for even such a small action.

The Emperor had carved out his ability to feel such poisoned luxuries long ago.

And thus, you cannot forgive someone you could not even blame in the first place.

There was no scapegoat, no one else to blame as Valdor raised the cup to his lips and drank from the finest wines in the Imperium. The Captain-General hung draped in the finest silks of Terra, and lounging within the finest Palace to have ever been graced by Mankind, and yet nursing the dull pain who refused to drown beneath endless drinks and the finest of liquor the Imperium had to offer. The liquid was searing yet numbing upon his tongue, yet he had accustomed himself to its taste with surprising efficiency.

Such human revelations were not supposed to be part of his duty, and would not be part of his duty. He was to serve in all regards, and so be it. So be it if the Emperor has another concubine in His mind, it was not his duty to intervene after all. This had, of course, happened multiple times in the past, and doubtlessly would continue in the future.

But if that was the case, why was he so rankled over his master’s absence? Why would he desire Him so?

Valdor’s grip tightens once more upon the wineglass at the echoing of his own thoughts, unable to completely drown out sorrows long since assumed lost to him.

Sorrow. What an ugly word.

Thanks to the Emperor he no longer held the capacity to feel in any defined form anymore, and if he could, it would be better to leave him to the illusion that he couldn’t. The wineglass cracks underneath his force, finally giving away, shards of glass normally unable to pierce Custodian flesh suddenly driven into skin and muscle by the sheer strength of Valdor’s grip.

The Lucifer Black that had been preparing to refill the glass utters a sharp cry of surprise at the shattering, flinching at the Custodian’s sudden motion.

“And so be it.” Valdor growled aloud, his words surprisingly clear and sharp despite the inebriation that had overtaken him. The guardsman flinched and looked up in surprise, partially due to the fact Valdor had seemed to speak to him, partially due to the fact the Custodian’s piercing gaze was fixated on…something. Something not quite within the room with them right as of this moment, something he himself possibly could not name. Valdor’s cold gaze settles upon him for a moment and the guardsman’s hand trembles slightly upon his pitcher, but does not falter. He only watches the Custodian with a mixture of caution, surprise, and carefully guarded curiosity at the strange, somehow dark expression which briefly flitted across the much larger Custodian's features, before it was gone once more.

Valdor finally drops his gaze as he turned away, expression listless and unreadable, the shards of glass of what had once been a fine wineglass now piercing through his skin and the silken fabric. With surprising calmness, he sets down the broken glass, silently savoring - or as much as a being like him could savor - in few sensations he was yet capable of feeling: the bitter sting of pain, if only for a few moments before it was gone. Almost intangible once more in an eternity of unending invulnerability. Instead, he only draws back in silent almost-disappointment, watching the guardsman move to sweep up the broken pieces, soft footsteps rustling against lavish carpets as the pale-faced Lucifer Black busied himself with the task. When it came to the ranks of the golden, the still-living immortalized dead, silence was a virtue, and it was one they could easily afford.

He does not acknowledge the Lucifer Black, and offered him not even a single word as he turns and strides out of the room, his gait slightly lacking the usual eerie grace with which the Captain-General usually displaced himself with, an uncharacteristic alcohol-bourne clumsiness gracing his every step. The truth of his destination, he was not yet certain of, even though he knew he must find somewhere else to go. Somewhere further away, somewhere where his master wouldn’t be able to look upon him with disappointment and rebuke.

The Lucifer Black only watches him leave, the closest to vulnerable the Custodian would ever be, titanic form casting shadows against the silverware and the shattered glass. It was only when Valdor’s hulking silhouette was gone did the guardsman release a soft, exhausted sigh of worried relief.

Even alone, Valdor could not find it in himself to regret. His steps beat a hollow rhythm, the sound echoing off the walls, a soft, frozen heartbeat of entombed steel. He should have accepted what he had always known. It would be for the best, yes. He was nothing more than a tool of the Emperor’s, His loyal servant and Captain-General, created to please His every whim. Nothing more. Nothing less. Who was he to disagree?

He had no more tears to shed in the face of this, no more sorrow to feel. Such emotions had been ripped from him long ago. He was Valdor, the Captain-General of the Custodes. He was Valdor, the Emperor’s favorite, or he should have been. He was Valdor, and as he spasmodically leaned against a gaping doorway, trying to rationalize how he wasn’t drunk, how he wasn’t actually drunkenly leaning against a frame never meant to support his weight, he coldly explained away how the Emperor’s absence tonight should have been no surprise. He was busy, of course He was. He had other matters greater than a single Custodian to attend to, it would have been thoughtless of him to assume otherwise. And of course, His eye strayed from him to Ra. Or Diocletian. Or Khorarinn. There were ten thousand of them, it would have been arrogance on his part to assume otherwise. How foolish of him.

Shaking his head, hearing the decorative bangles wound into his neural implants jangle, the Captain-General’s gaze aimlessly wandered to the full moon still shining through the gaps of the Imperial Palace’s view. It was a single, baleful eye glaring down upon him, casting its silver gaze upon the emptied floor, upon the pillars and murals half-shrouded in shadows. Its languid light was almost a mockery to the hollow ache in his bones, an empty cry, an emperor’s fickle favor made grand and hollow in the taunting moonlight.

Slumping against the wall when he heard the door’s hinges begin to creak from his sustained weight, the Custodian’s sharp gaze wanders from the pool of liquid moonlight to the sight of the Palace’s gardens, in full bloom, yet so artificially sickly sweet even the Emperor’s gene-wonders could not have removed their deviance. A stray finger catches onto one of the golden bangles, and Valdor’s cold expression never falters as he grasps onto one of its latches and harshly tugs downwards. His gaze never even flickers in intensity, glaring back at the moon with enough frost to rival even the abyss of space itself as the bangle was forcibly wrenched from delicate neural implants, the sharp sting of pain drowned out without even a flinch. Valdor grasps the removed bangle, the pinpricks of Custodian blood already fading as his regeneration takes hold, the Captain-General quietly glaring back at the soulless moon that would never offer solace. The way it came to him, bubbling out just from under the surface like some entombed corpse from beneath the grave, the revelation itself was almost cruel. And made all the more taunting by the fickle light of a hollow night. Yet, it was not particularly surprising. No, not at all.

What is the meaning of glory, what is the purpose of prosperity? What of pride, what of greatness, what of even loyalty itself, when he could not even fathom betrayal itself? His hand tenses and relaxes as if in sync with his rapid thoughts, crushing the gold of the bangle now and imprinting the soft metal with his clawed grip.

It was hard to imagine a time before then, a time before when he still felt memories of avarice, of greed, of loathing, of joy itself, reduced to half-snuffed candles flickering in a dream.

The bangle snaps under the force of his grip. Uncaringly, he tosses it aside. It clatters as it falls.

Of course, His eye had strayed from him to Ra.

Of course.

Transfixed, utterly inebriated, and watching the stars that were never truly humanity’s birthright, the first Custodian tried to pretend that his Emperor’s cold dismissal wasn’t so terrible, so visceral, that even immortals knew pain.

~~~

"Love and hate are vast

Ask, will king re-love

Chrysanths Terrace reflects moon

Who knows how lonely my heart

Drunken in king's arms

dreaming of love” - Drunken Concubine

#concubine custodes #constantin valdor #emperor of mankind #warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k #wh40k #sculptor of crimson #sculptor writes #opera #space opera #can custodes get drunk?#plot reasons demand yes #This fox condones dropkicking Valdor out of a third story window #sculptor is a very evil fox #no proofreading we die like ferrus

8 notes · View notes