▇⋮ you only live ┊♕┊ NINE TIMES ? > closed

[a wild muffin appears]

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_______________TIME SKIP!

What? A time skip already? I barely started!


elly ssi




DoV-gnilkrad




Corpius




r a d i - b i r r




sass bunny




cempasuchil




Lilspills




LlamaX-x




little miss takel




l3onerific




Infallible Ferocity




Smile C I E L



Yes, sorry, guys.
A friend of mine had to pull out due to personal reasons I won't go in details of.
She had three characters and as the result, a lot of people would be stuck in conversation.
I thought it would be best to just move things along.
For those of you who are new, just assume your character had been at the meeting.
We are skipping to AFTER THE MEETING.
It is now in the afternoon.
There'll be a party thing tonight for New Years, so your character may choose to stay for that or leave. If you only have one character, please stay. If you have multiple characters, you can send some home and keep the others around to play.
You may change out of your family colors and put on something more fancy. c:

PS: If you see people posting that is not on the front page...It's for a reason. Don't be alarmed!

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

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It had been a long night for Vaughn. They all were. Each time, when serenity should have washed over him, the subtle numbness of sleep consuming his body, he saw his visions at their most vivid. A person flat on their back had few places to run.

That being the case, it was fairly understandable if not reasonable that Vaughn hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t had one in at least five years. It was fortunate, then, that of the few things that Vaughn excelled in, lying to himself was at the top of the list. He supposed ‘systematically destroying my twin brother’s life’ was either tied or a close second.

Drew Crowley was an upstanding citizen in most senses of the word. Their parents had always praised him for his brilliance, their peers fawned over him for his charm, and the moment he so much as blinked in a girl’s direction, a flock of admirers followed. There were moments when describing Drew as his attractive twin brother made Vaughn feel a twinge narcissistic, but he genuinely meant both that and the “joke” of being the ugly identical twin.

Among these many talents of socializing, smiling, sitting straight up in a seat and not flinching at daylight, Drew had also managed to tack on being a better driver. Of course, it likely helped Drew’s case that Vaughn’s concentration was on the verge of breaking since dawn had.

Thirty minutes, Vaughn sat in silence. He kept his hand wrapped around the back of his mobile, grip tightening until his knuckles were white, glasses blurring as he tried to watch the horizon and saw only a new nightmare. He could hear chatter beside him, Drew going off with some girl, no doubt.

Vaughn had meant to be quiet. This was the only silence he expected to get until the new year was firmly established. Even with the diluted half of a conversation, at least Drew’s voice was one he was accustomed to. Still, his hands were starting to shake. His posture stiffened. The more he tried not to think about what he saw, the more his hands on that phone started to feel like drying blood.

He turned his head away from the window. His eyes snapped shut, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He didn’t move to correct it. His fingers were too occupied clicking his contact, then sliding the phone against his ear. He counted out the rings under his increasingly heavy, keeping track. Seven or less, then he’d get what he needed.

”One… two… three…” and they passed, one by one, all the way up to seven.

He turned his head slightly, glimpsing back at Drew. Still preoccupied.

Vaughn shuddered his head, nearly twitching but not quite there. He raised his finger back to the touch screen, the rest of his posture lowering to make up the difference. He clicked on the next contact, then waited for the ring again. One… two…

”Vaughn?” Even in the turbulence, stuck in this car, Vaughn still felt a flutter of relief. He heard a soft buzz as the other line switched settings—from speaker to normal, he suspected, since the volume got a bit louder. ”I know your breathing pattern. That, and caller ID while not being a feckin’ idjit. What’s the matter?”

The honest answer was too long to give and worse to say. Vaughn opened his mouth to try. He’d meant to say it. Still, the words trickled out of him, stiff and disingenuous. ”…Happy Christmas.”

If there existed a person who would’ve believed Vaughn meant that, it wasn’t the guy on the other line.

”Wonderful. A bit late, or proactive, given we’ve said it about fifty times already. Might as well save up ‘fore the new year’s too official. You’d stop being belated, just get weird,” Malachi joked. Already, he knew something was wrong.

Vaughn tried to imagine the way Malachi was standing by the phone. He could barely get an image, but there was something. He was holding a drink in the other hand—a coffee, in his black and yellow batman mug with the crack down half of the handle, which he’d never replace because it held the ‘perfect amount of coffee’. It was cold by now, which meant he paid very little attention to it when he slammed it down on the counter-top, kicked up his feet and pulled himself to sit by the cabinets with it.

”Is Laurel with you?”

”Home, yeah. Awake, not so much. Slipped some gin in her cocoa to get a nap. Between that and the fruitcake, might start looking for some advance placement AA, soon, but, right as rain for now. Rain made of vodka, you know, as the gods intended. That’s why the world’s so screwy. Production crew thought we’d all be knackered,” Malachi grinned. Vaughn could hear it tugging at him. For a second, it almost helped, only to dissipate right back into a stranger’s face again.

Vaughn took a moment to collect himself. He forced his eyes wider, staring down at the floor—the dust, his empty snack bag, anything that wasn’t in his imagination.

”What’s happened?”

And suddenly, the thing Vaughn called to mention seemed like the last thing to bring up. ”Nothing. Of consequence, anyway.” He meant to add on an excuse, but he could barely take a breath before Malachi spoke over him.

”Bollocks. I saw you twenty minutes ago. I’m sure the sound of my voice is encouragement enough but, I do know you. Including how you're a passive deceptive, and, for good measure, that you wouldn’t call for a complete nothing. Physical nothing, sure, but total…”

Vaughn exhaled. ”Dr. Frisk. He isn’t answering.”

”Drunk off his arse already, probably.” Malachi rolled his eyes, maybe—or perhaps he’d pinched the bridge of his nose and did that weird tongue-click that occasionally showed up when he’d been disappointed. He paused, taking a second to recalibrate. When he spoke again, his tone was calmer, relaxed—his ‘patient treating’ voice.

”There is nothing wrong with what you’re thinking. However you feel, or perceive, these visions, the ideas, they’re just concepts. Images of something that has nothing to do with where you are or who you will be. That you can see or understand something doesn’t make it part of you,” Malachi tried to explain. Each assurance was soothing on a conceptual level, yet, in a way, the heavy sarcasm had been better, if only because he could try to avoid what he knew was coming, or to use ramblings he didn’t actually hear as a mask to make it look like he wasn’t getting lost in his head, again, losing sight of things that existed in favor of what he wished never would.

Vaughn could hardly hear Malachi when he added on. ”Tell me what you see.”

No.

It could’ve been such a simple answer. He wanted to do that. He could almost feel his own sweat slide down the back of the phone. He thought he was clammy—or, at least he tried to think so, until the second he looked away from the ground and his own hand, and what he should have known was his became the residue of someone else, lights glistening, staring back with hollow sockets in absence of eyes or a soul.

”Christmas lights. I see. Lights,” Vaughn practically hiccupped to admitting it. He knew better than to say it. He didn’t want to. Still, he trusted Malachi, and the only thing worse than the therapy was who Vaughn was so sure he was without it.

Over and over again, people told him that he wasn’t a monster. He needed that affirmation to live. For years, it had been plenty—good enough to cope with that he’d not sought treatment, that he could function somewhere vaguely reminiscent of normalcy. Now, every drop of sweat was blood on his hands, each hiccup was his own self-loathing, and every moment with his mind was filled with what no decent person would ever dream.

”This woman next door. Brielle. She. There was a family, there. She was outside. With children. Three children, all below four, below point of tendency towards permanent memory formation. She brought food, later. I asked her inside. For tea. Just tea. To warm up. We sat down. Her stare, eyes adjusting in the light, her pupils, they, blossomed, a black hole in the space of herself….” It was so hard to breathe when he’d first started to speak, yet the more he stuttered out, the harder it became to stop. He clutched the phone, hunching over, his breathing strained as he struggled against the trance. That murky skyline imprinted with a corpse was warping before him. It wasn’t a hallucination. He couldn’t literally see a single thing, yet it was as vivid in his mind’s eye as any other nightmare. ”I held her down inside the sink. Thrashing. Electrocuted her. Stripped the tree—one false product for another—and I. I strung them. Eyes, first. For an access point. Threaded it through her. Pulling holes. There was blood, of course. Blood everywhere. But, I could see the light, faint, muted. Red, orange, green for blue, brown for green, a burning sky of stars...”

”Vaughn, come back.” The voice traveled through the receiver. In concept, Vaughn heard it, but the syllables barely meant a thing.

”She was beautiful. Quiet. Warm. So warm. I.”

”She isn’t there, Vaughn. You’re telling me a story,” Malachi tried to insist, far calmer than he should be, than Vaughn deserved to hear. How could he even call his boyfriend when his counselor didn’t answer? Drew always said it was wrong. Another mistake. How novel.

”I remember,”

”You’re remembering an idea. A novel. A play. It’s what you’re good at.”

”Sophie.”

”Damn it.” The phone Vaughn had been clinging so tightly to slipped from his grasp. The protective casing thudded against the floor. The panicked demands were barely crackles against the flimsy felt carpet. ”Vaughn? Where are you?”

Again, Vaughn could hear the noise, but the message was redacted in all but its source. Malachi speaking didn’t matter. All he saw was that woman—detestable, vicious, yet pleading for her life as if it meant something to anyone outside her own delusions of importance. Of all the places Vaughn’s imagination could take him to fixate on, the lady in the polka dot dress with six puncture wounds was by far the worst. She was the one he’d killed.

”Tell me or I’m tracing your bleedin’ GPS. Vaughn?” Malachi shouted through the phone, the reduced volume barely reaching the driver’s seat.



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[ where ? || in the car ] [ who ? || drew ] [ feeling ? || having an attack ]

a wild muffin appears

[a wild muffin appears]

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Every New Years party was similar. Lots of people. Alcohol and food. Hugs and kisses exchanged everywhere. Various scents mixing in the increasing warm living room. Drew had his role down since the age of seven and it never changed. He could probably recycle the same lines, even, if he wanted to give up completely on having conversations that were anything close to interesting. Perhaps a part of him was still hopeful, even after all these years. Drew turned briefly to the one next to him in the passenger seat, who had mastered the art of stillness like a perfect statue. He sighed, focusing his attention back on the road. They were only about ten minutes in and already Vaughn looked like he was suffering. His eyes took on this certain look that suggested that he was trying to keep himself in control.

"Be nice to Aunt August later, alright?" Drew let his voice circle the car, partly in attempt to distract his brother and partly because the silence was getting strangely uncomfortable. This really shouldn't happen. Years of practice should have made him fantastic at handling silences, episodes and whatever other curve ball that Vaughn could throw at him. Perhaps it was because they haven't seen each other in a while due to the vacation Drew took with his girlfriend. Lacy was young, energetic and very fond of her gossip. Their vacation was five days and already Drew knew everything about her family, friends, professors and bosses. And everything meant everything - there was no such thing as too much information with that little lady.

Maybe he should have tried to bring her. Sure, mother would have given her looks and mumbled about how she was barely legal, but at least she'd liven things up a little. After all, Lacy no longer had a family of her own. She might not mind some affectionate kisses, even if it was from heavy perfumed old August. Maybe if there was another young one in the house, Aunt August would be able to keep her hands and lips off of the twins. Especially Vaughn. Every New Years when Auntie jumped out of her wheel chair and tackled Vaughn, his face turned into a very interesting shade. When they were kids, Vaughn actually kicked her once. In the shin. Back then she wasn't in the wheel chair and mother felt less obligation to give Vaughn the 'be good' look of warning.

Speaking of mother. This year she'd surely nag them on getting married again. Drew and Vaughn had always been very dissimilar though they did have pretty much the same DNA. Mother, therefore, usually badgered them about very different things (Drew got significantly less than Vaughn). The marriage thing, though, was one of the few nag topics that applied to both of them. She simply couldn't understand why her beautiful sons couldn't just get themselves wives already and have babies. At this rate - or so she whined every year - she'd be in a wheel chair like her older sister before grandchildren were available. Her sons were going to take her chance to run around with her grandchildren in the garden away from her. How horrible of them.

It wasn't like they didn't try. Vaughn, at the very least, had a decent shot. Mother was overjoyed with that Eileen woman. When the news about the baby's blood type came, she was crushed. Even more than Vaughn perhaps. With Drew, he had never lacked girlfriends. One after the other, barely any stops in between. Mother had always been reluctant to blame her 'good' son for anything, so she pointed her finger at the young girls instead. She called them little fox demons who wouldn't stop seducing her son and said they prevented him from settling down with a true woman. In truth, Drew was pretty sure he was more at blame for the nowhere near marriage thing. After all, no matter how intensely he loved them, it always disappeared after a few months. He could take care of them, coddle them, spoil them with the gentlest kind of love, yet he could never make himself stay.

His cellphone rang. It was Lacy. She usually liked calling him around this time - class just ended, hours before social events. Early afternoons was when she felt the most lonely. "Hey love." That was all he needed to say to get her to start pouring her entire day's worth of gossip into his ear. Drew didn't mind this. Talking with Lacy was pretty good for driving. It was sort of like the pleasant background music that kept you more focused. Of course, he always responded with the right things when she took breaks in the middle to replenish her oxygen supply.

Drew's eyes drifted off the empty road for a moment. His brother's knuckles were turning white from the death grip on his phone. This was normal. Always happened during their car trips. Drew saw no reason to become concerned, yet he was.

Intuition, you see, had always been something he relied on. Even back when he was a child. He always knew when to step in between mother and Vaughn before she lost it. He always knew if Vaughn wasn't interested in eating those crackers though he was perfectly willing to yesterday. He also somehow always placed the gingerbread men in a way Vaughn would eat one on Christmases. When parents lost the little brother after a trip to the mall, Drew could always retrace their step and return home in less than an hour with younger twin in haul. He was great at taking care of Vaughn, though he hated it. Drew could recall having hated his brother so much at one point that he just wanted to push the other off a building. He really thought about it one day when the twins were helping dad with roof repair. It was supposed to be a family bonding event. It was snowing. So beautiful. Drew had thought perhaps if he shoved Vaughn down, the snow would bury him. Surely something as enchantingly lovely as snow could cover up everything ugly. Even the blood that would have been there. Even his brother's mangled corpse.

Yet he'd never do that. Because with hate there was always love.

A lot more love.

Even if his little brother wasn't like everyone else's. Even if they could never hug and play sports and talked about girls. Even if he had to cut crust off the same sort of sandwich every morning in a repetitive routine that drove him crazy. Even if Vaughn refused to eat his dinner just because two pieces of things on that plate touched. It didn't matter. The love he had for his twin brother never went away like the love he had for his girlfriends. Deep down, Drew found himself worrying. Thinking. Considering. Hoping for the best. Yet there was no point. Just as he couldn't make his love for his girlfriends stay, he couldn't make his love for his brother go. Perhaps he should hate Vaughn more because of it.

Malachi was on the phone. His brother delivered a ridiculous 'happy christmas' when Drew could easily tell he wanted to say something along the lines of 'I just wanted to hear your voice'. For a second Drew almost wanted to hang up on dear chattering Lacy, so Vaughn could hang up on Malachi and talk to him instead. He wouldn't do that though. Of course not.

The minutes ticked by. Lacy had to leave to go to a social gathering. She was getting ready to play the 'no, you hang up first' game. Drew usually had plenty of patience for those, though he found them uninteresting. Vaughn's conversation, however, proved to be distracting. Christmas lights. Brielle. Tea and children. Stringing up eyes. One of Vaughn's morbid stories. "Sorry, Lacy, say that again?" He missed one of her sentences while distracted by the horror. It wasn't the worst story he heard, he supposed. Nothing Vaughn could tell him would scare him more than that first time.

By the time Vaughn got to 'Sophie', Drew's girlfriend had delivered her 'you hang up first'. The typical response here would be "no darling, you" except today, Drew couldn't play along. Instead he actually hung up on her and set the hand he freed onto Vaughn's shoulder. "Shh, she's not here." Drew whispered soothingly. Vaughn's phone had fallen somewhere, Malachi's voice muffled but still there. "You are here with me. We are in my car, heading to our parents's house." Drew started, only to be interrupted by his own phone ringing. It was Lacy calling back, likely to inquire why he actually hung up right away. He loosened his fingers, letting his phone fall to join Vaughn's. "Everything is okay, we are almost there-"

Screech. Thud. A hint of blue. Another vehicle?

Wheels sliding off the wet road. Flash of green. Trees.

It smells like fire in here. The burning smell. Can never get it out of his nostrils now.

Hard metal, cutting into the trees. The sounds their trunks made. Crunch. Bones. Pretty sure was his own. Which ones? Glass shattering. Soft sounds. Almost sweet. One fell against his forehead. Gently, not cutting. It just wanted to slide down his head like the rain droplets that he can now feel.

Along with pain. Then nothing.

Thank god for nothing.

Smile C I E L

[DoV-gnilkrad]

⇢⇢⇢ ⇥ tab ♕


tab Unfortunately, due to the festivities of the night, the weekly meeting with Ms. Nevsky was pulled forward a few hours. Ashland preferred to have to meet her at night. As a rule, he retired early and started his day before dawn. The reality of having a never ceasing job was that he could not stay up all night and sleep all day as he would have preferred. It shouldn't come as a surprise that The Star had a nocturnal inclination. So when Calypso and him met over tea it was normally no earlier than dusk, and ended after, just before his bed time (sometime between 5:30 and 10 pm, depending on the season). When else would it be appropriate for the Moon and the Star to talk?

tab This was the highlight of his week, and as such had become something of a ritual. Isaiah was always dismissed for a while, or the rest of the night if he would like. Other servants tended them in the guardian when the weather permitted, like tonight. Sitting in the veranda out of the way of the lazy drizzle. They set the table with tea and assorted sweet things, (since learning Calypso's favorites, he always made sure they were there) and quietly disappeared. Ashland was used to the constant presence of his Help, but for these meetings he had them wait outside earshot. ... He liked this. It had been too long, a month and a half of one or the other being away. Most weeks was polite small talk, relationship building and politics. But it had become significant to him, and Nicolas considered Calypso one of his few friends. An equal but for him being royalty, and she not. For now. This last month he had missed their tea parties in particular. He'd been wanting her ... input on something personal. Something he'd kept from Strength and Justice, for fear of what they might do. Tried to keep from Hermit, though if he wanted to know what nightmares Nicolas was having there would be no stopping him, and no way to know unless Wulf wanted him too. Isaiah had seen the cold sweats and shaking moments of fear and panic before the dreams faded but... but Calypso was more inclined to his own way of thinking. And being what she was, it was her clarity Nicolas needed, not comfort. Which meant... asking for help. And.. a proposition he was quite frankly terrified to make.

tab It'd started like every other meeting. A stiff formality as Nicolas poured her tea, and asked about her travels, telling her she was missed. Slowly relaxing as he was able to put away the stress of the week and simply enjoy her company. A flawless conversationalist and refreshingly honest. Growing up, Nicolas had been in awe of her social graces. Awe and envy, and even all these years later he often felt like she was the one carrying them along politely. It was much harder to interact with people as a person instead of an Emperor, but Calypso made it painless. As far as she could, anyways. There was a history that couldn't be ignored, and Nicolas knew she had every reason to resent him. .. This week had been particularly stressful. The gathering, of course. He'd told her that he'd considered simply having her conduct the interview. She was much better suited to it than he was, but it would be the only time for the next fifteen years that some of them would see the clan. The Emperor was obligated to speak to them.

tab But as the catching up and chit chat ran out, he was running out of ways to stall. "Calypso.." He squared his shoulders, setting his cup down gently, eyes turned away. He rarely used her first name out of respect for her. All the formality and shy pretentiousness crept into the syllables as he gave a halting start and tried again. "For months now I have been having a reoccurring nightmare of my death. It is not unusual, the dreams, when they are prophetic, are hard to interpreted and subject to change. What's more is there is no way to differentiate between what is given and what is simply a product of the subconscious. The frequency made them harder to ignore, and recently - today - I had a vision." She would know that he put so little stock in his power of prophecy. What might have been his greatest strength he couldn't fully trust. Visions were misleading, and dreams were subject to the same rules as every other dream. They made little sense, speaking in metaphor that he hated trying to interpret. It all sounded like voodoo to him, and each glimpse of the future raised more questions. Prophecy is inexact and disorderly, which he hated. But he had managed to figure out some rules through pure chance. Visions, for example, were much more likely to be true. "It was not particularly informative, but I would be negligent if I did not entertain the possibility that I may be in danger."

tab He'd heard a voice but couldn't place it. He didn't know how many lives would be lost, or when, or where, or lost to whom. It'd came in a violent shake and nosebleed, as wild as a fever dream. Nothing could be made out. Tonight, he had mind to request Wulf's presence, hoping an outside observe would be able to more objectively observe, and that someone more intelligent than he was would be able to gleam more information than he had. But.. he knew how Strength and Isaiah would advice him. Assume the threat is real. Which lead him to the.. awkward conversation. "We've talked before about the impracticality in the line of succession. Even in death, I will not see my people left to chaos." There was an unexpected bite to the words. Frustration. If he died, it would bloody murder. There weren't enough people to let politics kill in the mad scramble for power. The arguments over who had right to rule. What would happen during the time of transition? No, he would not allow it. They were too unstable as it was, and too few to let themselves be torn asunder, as a bid for power would do. He'd worked too hard to let it all come unraveled a week after he's gone. Ashland didn't rule in passion or inspiring words. He was sure that one of the largest critiques was that he did not seem to care. Privately, when it was just him and a trusted friend.. conviction broke the well trained mask of impassivity. He took a sip of tea before continuing, in the resumed, official aloofness.

tab "I apologize for the forwardness, but I do not know what time I have left, should the vision come to fruition. You-- We're I not available to rule- you are the only other I would trust with the responsibility." He paused again, dipping away from eye contact, censoring what he had planned to say. Trying to keep it as professional as possible. The truth was, they both knew she was born to rule. As much as he was. A common life was not in her fate. The Moon and The Star.. what could be more natural? She was competent, trustworthy, ambitious, sensible, and she understood What they were. She was not meant to be anything less than Queen. And even then, the title was an insult. Goddess befit her more. He had long since known that there was no one else he would deem worthy to rule by his side. These little tea parties were not intended to be courtship, nor had he ever stated a romantic inclination towards her nor voiced his ideas on the political arrangement they would come to later but..... he had Seen it. Dreamt it. Emperor and Empress. Until now, there had been no rush. Only the inevitability of a prophecy he actually wanted to fulfill. "Without securing your position before my death, you will not be able to take the throne unopposed. We need to avoid that conflict, it would set us back decades, more if the Cantrell family seized the power from under your rightful position."

tab Ashland took a breath, started to speak, and stopped. Somewhere during the speech his ears had turned bright red, the only sign of his discomfort. He'd practiced it. Over and over in his mind, and this was not at all how he envisioned it going. Once he'd started talking, all the carefully made phrases slipped way. He had never said so much all at once before but it was critical he impress upon her the reasons why he was.. asking what he was. "I believe it would be best if you.. took the title of Empress before there is serious threat." Oh gods, he felt like he was going to throw up.

[Corpius]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx CALYPSO BEULAH NEVSKY, MOON xxxxxxxx► Nicolas/Miran/Alone
It should have excited her. An announcement like that, didn't all girls dream of their engagement? And to see the whole clan come to life for the prospect of the royal wedding, love or hate it...

Her blood ran cold, eyes looking away. Circumstances did not permit such lighthearted feelings but he was right, it was necessary. The sooner the better. But to be seen attending with him, by them all, on his arm. Calypso didn't feel any pride or joy at the idea. Only exhaustion that social functions almost never gave her. "I wonder. Shock and awe, or pleasant relief?" She mused with a smile that didn't have quite enough mirth behind it.

The interruption was quite nearly a blessing, and Calypso turned the moment they were interrupted, dark eyes widening the moment she realized it was Miran, irritated and soaked in blood. That was not something she associated with her gentle, charming friend, and immediately Calypso moved to stand, only stopping when Miran spoke to his brother. Explaining, leaving more questions than answers really, before departing.

Moon's eyes went to the Star's, almost obediently. Then away again, before he could speak. "I'm going to check on him." With suddenly a good excuse to get away from their....situation and the gravity of her choice, Calypso stood and left the pagoda, chasing Miran back up to the mansion. New clan members and car accidents were still Nicolas' business, not really hers. Had Miran been injured? Or the blood someone else's? It didn't matter. The World was, and always had been, an important friend. The most important, perhaps, because if her life had been any different, it might have been Miran asking for her hand in marriage tonight and not Nicolas. Just somethings that weren't meant to be, and it was no fault of Miran's. He wasn't suited to the life Calypso had been raised to live and couldn't stay away from.

She didn't find him, though; a wrong turn here, or there, and eventually she came to a stop realizing she must have gone in the opposite direction. Hopefully he was okay, or at least capable of taking care of himself- or that someone might find him who would.

Instead, Calypso came to a stop, eyes on the floor, then looked around quickly before leaning against the wall for support. Trying not to shake, or feel sick.

[zombirr]

__________▃▃▃▃_____▃▃▃▃ _ ❥ ❥ _ the lovers

x

“Do you love me?” She smiled coyly at the obviously nervous man before her. “O-Of course I do!” He’d squeaked in return; immediately looking embarrassed at his outburst. “I mean, of course I do. I stop by every day. I call every day. I…didn’t you get the flowers? Chocolates? The purses?” He’d been wringing his hands as if that would help him calm down. “I was told you liked them. They’re the newest ones. They were-“ Venus cleared her throat and smiled at him again. “I loved the gifts and I really appreciated that you’d go through all that trouble for me. It’s just…I wonder if you really love me?” The smile dropped and she looked away as if she was actually unsure of his love for her. In reality Venus knew this poor human probably loved her more than he could even comprehend. He’d definitely give his life for her. Unfortunately for him there were at least five others that felt exactly the same. It wasn’t as amazing when you were one of many and even less astounding when it was a supernatural force that made one so enamored. However, Venus was bored and any duplicate gifts (or exceptionally ugly ones) were sold to help her live the lavish life she was (now) accustomed to.

She supposed she could get a job to help her bring in money, she’d even been offered modeling contracts, but she was much too delicate for that. It would have been so unfair for her glorious face to be all over the place as well, people would become obsessed, she’d have to hire bodyguards, and the clan might be discovered. It was all too risky. So she relied on her suitors. Currently she was being courted by a doctor, a dentist, a lawyer, a young woman that had inherited a fortune, an actress, and this gentleman that happened to be a CEO. This current fellow was quite a bit older than her (not that she cared) and his children had been yammering in his ears about her and how shady she seemed, which was why he was going on a guilt trip. She probably could have just made him love her more but that was hardly as fun as this. She listened to him go on and on, watched him get on his knees, and even noticed the tears before she stopped him. “I have to go Richard. I told you I have a meeting with family today and I can’t be late…not even for you and your excuses.” She looked at him as though she were actually sad before moving away. “Please leave. I’ll be in touch when I’ve really thought this through.” A pause before she managed a few tears. “I just need time.”

With that he was gone and she was grabbing her bags and heading out. She didn’t care about being late for the meeting, it was all the same faces, but she was excited to see her sister again.

The blackness would hit me and the void would be calling,
__ Let's do the time warp again. . .
Let's do the Time Warp again! Skip !!
___ It's just a jump to the left,
_____ And then a step to the right !!
_______ With your hands on your hips,
_________ You bring your knees in tight !!

The meeting was boring. The people were boring. She hadn’t seen her sister and was dreading having to spend time alone with Nicolas. She hated reporting to him as though she was some child having to explain to her parents why she made the choices she did. It was disgusting. No one had the right to question her like that. No one. But she’d play nice and sit there and answer his questions as though it didn’t make her want to step on him with her most cutting high heels. She’d probably smile while they talked even though she was thinking about making him lick her pretty shoes and watching as their Emperor was reduced to the dog he really was. It was one of the few ways she could make it through those meetings. That or imagining what it’d be like if she was able to have free reign. No playing by the clan rules, no explanations about her choices, nothing but her whims. Eventually she’d sit there and wonder if she should tell someone about these fantasies. She should probably see a therapist. However, she’d just chuckle (not aloud because she didn’t want to hear Nicolas whine about it) because she was perfect just the way she was. There was no need for her to seek help or wonder if she should change. She was magnificent and that was all that mattered.

__ With a bit of a mind fliiiiip . . .
You're into the Time sliiiiip Skip !!
___ And nothing can ever be the same ,
_____ You're spaced out on sensation !!
_______ Like you're under sedation,
_________ Let's do the Time Warp again !!

She was proud of herself for making it through the meeting without a hitch. She deserved a nice party after listening to Nicolas drone on about things she couldn’t care about if her lives depended on it. Venus had retired to her room to change before the party. She was always fashion forward and couldn’t be seen attending a party in the outfit she already had on. That was just ridiculous. Besides, her cute actress had recently given her a new dress that she was just dying to wear. It was black and sheer and she looked amazing in it. She had taken her time getting ready (one didn’t want to rush a masterpiece) but soon enough she was walking out of her room. She had made her way to the area where most of the partying would be happening and was set to make her grand entrance. In all honesty, all of her entrances were grand, simply because she was showing up. They were especially grand when she was dressed so gorgeously. She wished she could duplicate just so she could watch herself walk into a room from a different perspective, it must be a glorious sight. Anyways, she couldn’t so she’d just have to deal.

It was when she making her entrance, thinking about how she wished she could watch herself, that her heel broke. Her heel broke and she was falling. She had been on the stairs and was certain the fall was going to do damage and all she could think was that she’d really loved these heels and she’d never be able to wear them again. It was when she felt a softer landing that she realized someone had caught her. “Frost?” A grin broke out. “Why aren’t you sweet? Now tell me, since you’re being so helpful, do we have anyone in the clan that can fix shoes? Oh, what about that guy that heals people, his power should work on shoes too, right?” She’d decided (whether Isaiah answered or not) that she was correct in her assumption. “Would you be a dear and fetch him for me?” She was about to get lost in examining her heel until a smug grin appeared. “…Or did you save me so I could make someone love you?” She waited only long enough to see his reaction before continuing on. “Maybe you’d like the Emperor? Or maybe you want to stop loving him? Is that it?” Her grin grew with each passing moment. “Perhaps you’d like the other Ashland? Maybe Alex? Or Verene? Maybe the Moon? I suppose I should reward you for saving me from a nasty fall. Just name anyone and I can make them yours.” She looked as though she was waiting for a response when her eyes suddenly lit up as though she’d stumbled across something spectacular. “Maybe you’d like more than one? A harem for the Emperor’s bodyguard. I guess I could make that exception this one time. Just for you. I’ll have to max out at three though, so pick wisely, because I can’t have the whole clan falling for you. That’s just not fair.”

[[ ooc ; outfit in top pic, added extra stuff so everyone could get a feel for venus ~ ]]



a wild muffin appears

[a wild muffin appears]

tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab

This superhero tendency thing. Yeah, he really needed to do something about it. Sometimes having enhanced speed wasn't that great since it definitely enabled him to do before he think. As the result, he now have the woman whom he usually took great measures in avoiding in his arms. "Hi." Oh great, he just greeted her too as a knee-jerk reaction to her inquiry. Way to shoot himself in the foot twice in a day, now he was engaged in a conversation with this one.

His relationship with the energetic, charming and so very lovable Venus Copeland hasn't been the best. It wasn't like he disliked her like he did with Calypso Nevsky. He just found being in her presence extremely uncomfortable. Maybe it was because she liked teasing him too much, from childhood to adulthood. And she also asked about the wellness status of his sex life every time they had the pleasure of conversing. She was walking down the staircase earlier in those hazardous shoes of hers. Her heavy dress, along with the insane beaded shoulder drape thing she was wearing, might have been too much for the skinny little heel. It caved under the pressure and decided to snap. It wouldn't do to have one of the guests fall to her death at the Emperor's party, so Isaiah just reacted. In hindsight, he should have waited until she fell and became unconscious, then whisk her away to emergency services before other guests took notice. Dealing with an unconscious Copeland was surely better.

Things really tend to fall on important days, huh. First there was the maid, now there was the Venus Copeland. That was twice now that Isaiah had to catch someone/thing.

"I don't believe that is how the Hangman's powers work." Even if his powers did work on inanimate objects, Isaiah highly doubted it was appropriate to ask the man for such assistance. Regretting his decision more every second, Isaiah's eyes lit up briefly when she offered him an opportunity to walk away. Never mind that she was talking to him like a common servant who should go fetch things for her self-appointed royal highness. If he could just leave, it'd be fantastic. "Sure, I will see if I can find him. If you will exc-"

"Or did you save me so I can make someone love you?"

Never mind. Knew it was too good to be true. There was no way this one could let him off without bringing Nicolas into the conversation first.

Isaiah gave Venus a look, contemplating whether or not he should drop this woman like a sack of potatoes as he desired. In the end though, he decided to set her down nicely on her feet. If angered, this crazy person was capable of very interesting things. "My Emperor's immunity will keep him from your tricks, Miss Copeland." In some ways, the Emperor's heart was in a place safer than the rest of them in the clan. "And I am not in love with him." Not quite true. He definitely loved Nicolas. As his Emperor, of course. As family too. With his parents dead and sister exiled, Nicolas took on the roles they left behind. Sometimes he was a teacher too, and one just as beloved as Lady Strength and Basil Cantrell. Isaiah was just saying he didn't love Nicolas in the way that everyone else around him claim that he did.

He was...Certain of it. At least, he was reasonable sure he was certain of it.

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I will decline." Miran was like a brother. Vera was like a sister. Alex was- Wait, she even brought up Alex? Well Alex was an a*****e and his best friend, so that wouldn't do. As for Calypso...Isaiah would rather get needles shoved up his spine. Besides, he was fairly certain that one was going to be the future Empress. Nicolas seemed pretty interested in making it happen and in this clan, the Emperor could have whatever he wanted. Isaiah already made his peace with that, he did wish that Nicolas would wait on it until he was dead. Only a few decades. For a Fate Defyer, not a very long time at all.

Venus had started talking of a harem and Isaiah knew he must do something to distract her. "I think this shoe may be repairable after all." He held up the broken heel piece and studied it. Shoe glue was available and Isaiah took a quick second to fetch it. He was no repair man but knew enough basics to glue this back together. It should stay in one piece until she had time to take it to a professional. "I don't recommend trying to put this on for at least an hour. Would you like to borrow a pair of spare shoes?" The mansion was well prepared for accidents and believe it or not, they did stock up on shoes in advance in case of something like this.





r a d i - b i r r

[Ferocious Panda Fights]

tab ☀XXPalace XX☀XXIsaiah & Alex --& Alex XX☀XXCalm down, Vera. XX☀XXPre-Time Skip & Post-Time Skip

tab The effort that Vera had put into acting civilized and nice was obviously wasted as Isaiah and Alex instantly saw through the fake smile, which instantly dissolved into a sneer at Isaiah’s comment. “That was horrible, Vera. That fake smile wouldn’t even have fooled me.” “Shut up, Frost,” was her weak retort, still thrown for a loop at the sight of their old friend. What, she couldn’t at least try to pretend to be ******** happy to see him? Like everything was one hundred percent A-okay?

tab Well, no. That was a stupid idea and she knew it.

tab Her forced smile was now replaced with a thoughtful frown, her brows furrowed as she stared back at Alex Cantrell. What was with that look in his eyes? He looked at her like… like something was different, and she couldn’t figure out why. Who knows – maybe she was wearing the same look. He put on a jovial face, and although it might have been genuine joy as he reunited with his friends, there was something below the surface that was eating away at him. He looked tired, she realized, as she noticed lines on his face that hadn’t been there before. What had he been doing for two years?

tab Her moment of musing ended abruptly as Isaiah snuck up behind Alex and pulled him into a headlock. “Get him, Vera. I know you wanted to hurt him more than that little knock.” Her brown eyes widened, both from shock and a sudden flux of anger. “Are you ******** nuts?!” she hissed, glancing around at the nearby clansmen. None of them seemed to take note of the developing scene – yet, she thought, as her hands curled into fists. This was a stupid idea that only Isaiah could come up with. But [********], did she want to hit that little s**t so badly. She pursed her ruby lips, fighting the urge to clock Alex in the middle of the room. There had to be a reason why he left without telling them, she reminded herself. But that hadn’t made it hurt any less two years ago. Barely made it better now.

tab Thankfully, Alex had the good sense to take away the bait, unhooking himself from the hold faster than Vera’s eyes could track. Sometimes super speed was ******** annoying. She stiffened as he gently took hold of her wrist. “Vera, come with me? I want to speak with you, in a more… private location.” She took a deep breath from the diaphragm, trying to calm herself enough that she could uncurl her fingers from a tight fist. Before she could respond, though, several voices chimed in over their conversation. “Alex!!” Three men, two clad in the bright red of the Cantrell family, nearly tackled him in their excitement and unceremoniously pulled him away from Vera and Isaiah. Now obliged to at least greet the three, she saw Alex flash an apologetic glance at her and mouth one word: “Later.”

:******** later.

tab Vera’s fisted hand hung in the air for a moment, her anger rising. This was too much to handle at the moment. The crowded room felt claustrophobic. “Excuse me,” she said abruptly, turning to quickly leave the room. She strode through a few hallways, her smoldering aura carving a wide berth through any passersby making their way to the reception hall. When she was alone, she finally released the breath that she had been holding as a stream of orange flames from her lips. The fire that came to life on her hands did nothing but tickle her skin and hair as she smoothed her bun with her fingers. She took deep, flaming breaths for a moment. Eventually she would have to talk to him: but for now, she just had to calm down or risk exploding in the meeting room. Maybe a walk would do her good.

☀x☼XXTIME SKIPXX☼x☀

tab The meeting went as well as one might expect. Her frustrations had been whisked away with the fire that she created in times of stress. By now, she knew that using her pyrokinesis as a tool for stress relief was not a healthy release. Manipulating existing fire was easy for Vera, but the flames that she created herself were fueled by her own energy. Easing her frustrations through firebreathing, while satisfying at the time, was never more than a temporary solution. She felt more relaxed afterwards due to the consumption of her energy rather than from the easement of her emotions. But it came in handy when she had little time to deal with her emotions, and it allowed her to sit politely through the meeting without an impending explosion in sight. All she had to do was keep her mind on the conversation, however mundane it may have been.

tab With the meeting over and the New Year’s celebration approaching, Vera found that her time to be underdressed had run out. She retrieved the bag of clothes that she had left with a few of the servants earlier in the day and found an empty powder room to change in. The dress that she had brought for the party fit her form well, but it was uncomfortable nonetheless. She already missed her leather jacket, folded neatly in the bag to leave her arms bare but for a golden cuff on one wrist. Hair and makeup was quick work for the woman as she carefully braided and pinned her black locks into place and brushed dark eyeshadow onto her eyelids. Given her tomboy, fireball attitude, some might have been surprised that she knew how to do such feminine things at all. Her answer to that assumption was simple: never underestimate the powers of Calypso Nevsky. She could teach a goat the ways of fashion, and the damn thing would look like a supermodel.

tab Returning her duffel bag to the same storage room she’d retrieved it from, she made her way casually through the halls of the palace. Few people stopped to chat with her, a repulsion that she was accustomed to. Her aura and intense stare seemed to demand a larger bubble than her five foot four inch frame would suggest. As she turned the corner, Vera caught sight of Alex, his back turned to her where he stood. It felt unsettling that she would recognize his back long before she caught a whiff of his spearmint and smoke scent… almost as if no time had passed at all. When she closed the distance between them, she caught his attention with a tap on the shoulder. “Alex? You still wanna talk?”


O O C ☀ Sorry this ended up being more pre-time skip than post-time skip content... Vera's feelings needed to be let out of my brain, haha.


LilsSpills

[Corpius]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx SIOBHAN MERCY OSIER, STRENGTH xxxxxxxx► Chris
While the palace roamed with five times as many people as usual, or so it felt, Siobhan Osier slept. Her presence was unnecessary; Isaiah was in charge of security on the small island state the clan called their homeland and her report to Nicolas had been more a debriefing, completed in full when she’d arrived at 5am that morning. On her third day with no sleep, and her first night with a real bed in weeks, she’d excused herself from the festivities to rest.

She woke at dusk, a little....on edge. Why, she couldn’t say. Gut feelings; you learned to trust them in her kind of work. Things were quiet as she wandered through the palace, Sascha rippling tawny gold in the dimmed hallways. Given no reason to trust her suspicious feeling, she’d turned back towards her own rooms, when the big cat next to her gave a surreptitious little chirp and bounded off with a quiet thud of heavy feline paws. She followed him with an annoyed huff, hoping it was someone’s pet chihuahua that had captured his wandering attention.

Coming around the corner, she frowned, and hurried forward. “Sascha, you idiot, down! Down!” Coming on in years, the male lion was rather elderly at fourteen years old, a rescue from a roadside circus nearly twelve years ago now. Osier, the Lady Strength, had acquired him from the underfunded and overcrowded sanctuary that had rescued him, and spent the next five years taming the poor, mistreated and mistrustful creature. Now he was little more than a big sweetheart with carefully trimmed claws and a friendly attitude that scared the daylights out of most people.

Such as the smaller man he’d just cornered, a familiar smell that to the lion said ‘friend’. Sascha’s manners were better than to pounce him, but he’d driven the man up against the wall, head and shoulders butting at his knees in well-intentioned affection. Pet me, his soft chirps and growls said. Not that anyone but Strength understood what exactly he was saying, and even then it was in the strange, broken words that was animal speech. Sascha had picked up the ability to- articulate, for lack of better word, to Siobhan. But even then words escaped him, and often got described in round about humorous ways.

Now the big cat gave her what could only be described as a very grumpy look, and promptly sat himself down on his target’s feet, an unmovable weight that stubbornly refused to be dragged off. “Rude.” She told him, then looked up at Christopher Gray. “Cats.” The word was exasperated. It didn’t matter how big or small, they all acted like royalty. “He’ll move if you scratch his head. Eventually. Ah, but I’m glad I ran into you, actually, I- I had some technical problems.” She gave him the most charming smile that said, no, Chris, I didn’t break anything delicate and technical and really expensive on accident.

It wasn’t that she was technology dumb, or behind the times. Rather, there were all sorts of things that helped in her line of work- she could do a lot of things, but why exert ten times the effort if a well programed computer could do it for you? Not to mention the little things- high quality hidden cameras, computerized scopes, tracking targets through electronic footprint. It sounded so James Bond, but Strength’s specialty was in- well, physical things. And Christopher was good at what he did, was close to home, and usually didn’t ask awkward questions. It worked well enough. And he was- charming, in a fun-to-torment sort of way that never failed to amuse the older woman.

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

xxx

xx▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄



It may have taken a conscious effort for Christoph to be more distracted.

It didn’t matter how many times Chris had walked through these hallways, they would never not be disorienting. He would have stopped to ponder exactly what that said about him considering the fact that he’d been here at least four times a week, but the truth was the truth, no matter how embarrassing. Granted, if Chris had stopped, he may have realized that wandering around while he was on his phone again wasn’t exactly helping.

”Man, where are you right now?” one of his friends’ voice poured through the receiver.

Chris leaned his head against the receiver, pressing the handle of his bright yellow fake retro phone piece into the crook of his shoulder. His view of the room tilted on its side accordingly, giving the design perspective of a haunted funhouse. He closed an eye, struggling to look at something that only he’d ever know. He held the mobile phone said earpiece was plugged into in the opposite hand, swinging it about in such a way that ensured he’d tangle his arm in the cord.

”I’m filing a restraining order against your tie. Yeah, the one with the little light bulb Rudolph nose. It’s going total Freddy Krueger on my dreams, so. If someone shows up in a hazmat suit yelling about freeing you from possessed elf Hal 9000’s office wear line, listen. They know their s**t,” Chris explained with far more enthusiasm than the statement justified. He flailed his hand away from the cord, detangling as he paced along.

The other side of the line fell into an undistinguishable roar—not the kind that was soon to come, but a crowd of partying people. Chris’ footsteps slowed without stopping, waiting to hear what his friend had to say when he finally raised his voice to speak. ”I’m sorry, what?”

It was at that moment that Chris came to a complete stop in this dimly lit, distinctly archaic hallway, basking in the lonely, intimidating, almost dungeon-like glow and echo of his own breath. His gaze flattened against the lenses of his glasses, and his tone dipped accordingly. ”Dude, I’m so pissed at you right now.”

”For what, calling?” they shouted back from the club, or possibly a bar. Chris couldn’t exactly tell. He supposed there was a foreign language in the background, given the fact that it was a party at what in his equivalent was the afternoon. They may as well have been speaking simlish for all that he could understand of the words themselves, but the context of this was plenty enough for him to pinch the bridge of his glasses and brush his nose along with it.

Christoph liked to think he’d been doing a good job of not complaining. Granted, he also sometimes liked to think that if he met Nick Frost and Simon Pegg, they would get along so well and he’d get to go work in movies, so he hadn’t had the best track record of reliable wishful thinking. Still, listening to one of his friends at some weird foreign party thing was putting him on the baking soda volcano verge of exploding. Which he promptly did, his words spilling and echoing all over the hallway. ”From a club? Yes. I can smell the sweaty body glitter. And the fog machine. It’s that, artificial sweet burnt smell. Boiling maple syrup, but way higher on the gross scale. Because that actually almost sounds good and it’s really not. Unless you have pancakes. Maybe. If they’re chocolate chip and strawberry, at the same time.”

By the time Chris stopped speaking, he could barely hear the fuzz on the other side of the line. It spurted with an unusually static-distorted snicker. ”Oh my God. Chris. What the hell are you on?” they asked, almost disbelieving.

”Boredom!” He threw his one hand holding the mobile into the air, jostling the unusually-springy phone cord up along with his arm.

”Is that weed, sleep deprivation, or should I stare at walls more?” While Chris was listening, his phone cord succumbed to gravity. It smacked him in the face.

”No. No, you don’t. Ever. Go. Have fun in non-foot-thong-y dance music land. I’ll keep petrifying at the museum of breathing people,” he proclaimed with far too much enthusiasm than that statement could ever deserve.

The other line snickered harder, presumably with his friend doing the same. He could tell they were putting forth a conscious effort not to laugh when they offered ”I’ll take a shot for you. How’s that sound?”

”Terrible.”

”Great. My job’s done.”

Chris shook his head and swiped his hand away from himself, paying very little mind to anything aside from his conversation. ”Y’know, one of these years, I’m not doing this great dying uncle Davie’s bianual family reunion s**t. No. I’m getting so blacked out you’d think there’s some CIA-Interpol covert espionage whatever, wherever this is. Stow out in some foreign country. Find some people who don’t smell like mothballs in a hospital. Swipe open a penthouse on some dude’s credit card. Who isn’t me. I tell you, we’ll be popping bottles like zits before picture day. And if it’s Australia, it won’t even be the New Year for you, yet. And I’ll be in the future. Drunk. Which is really not a good way to time travel, usually, unless you’re going to the Middle Ages when water wasn’t safe yet, in which case it’s basically a pregame since you’ll get there and be drunk right away anyway.”

The more that Chris started to speak, the less mind he paid to where he was wandering or why he was moving there. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he meant to change into something less presentable before facing the word, yet it didn’t seem to matter anymore. He was far more occupied with the logistics of time traveling to a time without water. ”I wonder if that’s why everyone was so oppressed back then. They were too drunk to coordinate. That, and they couldn’t tweet to put together riots. Really, small scale, disorganized drunken riots.” The topic was so consuming, for that matter, that there was essentially nothing around the corner that registered in his mind. That included the potential electrical signals from the movement of an upcoming lion ready to pounce.

He may not have noticed the fact that someone had prodded him, even, were it not for the fact that it was, indeed, a god damn lion. As such, it had the strength of one. It took all of half a second before Chris was knocked off balance. ”Ho—“ Chris’ feet slid out from under him, his heels rocking back so far that, momentarily, he may as well have been floating from jumping off the ground. His headset slipped off of his shoulder and his phone followed suit, plopping to the floor with a clacking thud. He would’ve been more concerned if the sound wasn’t softer than the next thud, this one being his shoulders sliding against the wall. ”Ack—“

It may have taken a few seconds for Christoph to recall how to breathe. His heart and mind were both a bit preoccupied by the fluffy, enthusiastic potential killer squishing him down by the wall. His pupils dilated accordingly, working up a sweat in a matter of seconds at the expense of his ability to move. He was marginally quicker with the ability to speak, uttering a few staggered ideas with an audible strain usually reserved for compromising situations that were less public.

”Down—or---up—or—direction--“ Chris struggled to order, the end result coming out as more of a timid suggestion. His limbs stayed locked at his side, taking on the posture of a restroom sign along with the sudden urge to visit one.

From the moment Sascha had appeared, Chris should have known who was with her, yet there was something about being confronted with a giant cat that stopped him from making the connection so soon. It would’ve been a stretch to say that he was calmer once Mercy had spoken her pet down. Chris could still barely make the connection that this was her pet.

He also couldn’t do much moving, given the very large, abnormally warm paperweight that was on the verge of numbing his feet, but, hey, at least he could make eye contact with the person who’d brought it here.

Chris tried to raise his head. He smiled though the tension, obviously faking it. ”Ah, yes. Yep. This is, a cat. Technically.”

As Mercy started to apologize and explain, Chris was able to reorient himself, at least enough so that he’d understood what she was trying to say. He raised one arm to his opposite elbow, pushing his sleeve up. ”Great. Well. Not for you, obviously, more of a—I’ll do it,” He didn’t need more information than just that look to agree. If what she was asking was physically possible and didn’t bring about the end of days, he might as well.

Chris lowered his right hand towards Sascha, moving towards the top of the lion’s head—close enough to his neck that he was pretty sure he couldn’t bite there. His fingers brushed against it slightly, trying to follow the ‘pet me’ instruction he’d been given with as little pressure as possible. ”You want to wait for Sascha’s permission? Or explain it here? Or… I just realized that could be a cat pun. Sorry. It’s not since, lions don’t purr, but. Yeah.” Chris blinked the idea out of him, then lowered his head to look directly at Sascha. His voice softened as much as it ever did. ”Please be nice.”



▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

xx
[ where ? || ] [ who ? || mercy ] [ feeling ? || holy s**t ] [ outfit ]

Corpius

[zombirr]

______▃▃▃▃___▃▃▃▃ _ ›〉 _ the world

Miran didn’t say goodbye to anyone. He’d finished his meeting with his brother and bolted for his car, angry tears and thoughts clouding his vision and mind. He didn’t know what he expected. This happened every time. He should’ve known better. He’d told himself he was ready, he’d had a nice chat with Christoph (who was hilarious by the way) and he was prepared to expect the worst from Nicolas, but even his expectations weren’t close. Miran was apparently even an optimist when he was trying to be pessimistic about a situation. So he was upset and frustrated and he just needed to sit in his car and cry for a bit. So he did. He spent too long crying but he felt better at the end. He’d wiped away the tears on his sleeve before pulling off his button up shirt and replacing it with the sweater he had sitting in the passenger seat. Miran needed the comfort of a cozy sweater over the suffocating feeling of his family color. The sweater was soft, warm, and almost everything Miran needed at the moment. He sniffled a few more times before starting his car and driving off. He felt confident he was in the right state to drive. His emotions were leveling off and he just wanted to get home.

He had been fiddling with the radio, trying to find some upbeat music, when his phone rang. It rang and rang and rang and Miran ignored it. He didn’t like being on the phone while he was driving. However, the phone rang again and again and it seemed urgent. He felt the worry eat away at him with each ring until he found himself trying to keep his eyes on the road while his hand searched. He’d ended up knocking the phone under the seat and had to pull his eyes away from the road, ending up contorting his body, finally found the phone but it was too late. He felt himself lurch forward and his head collide with the dash. He thought he’d blacked out (if only briefly) since he seemed to be missing a few minutes. It was when his mind registered what had happened, that he must have hit something, he began to panic. Miran climbed from his car and surveyed the area. His car was relatively fine but the other car-he’d hit a car! He’d raced to the other car, noticing how much worse it was compared to his. There was fire, shards of glass, and noises. People! More than one person. Possibly a family. What if he’d just killed a kid?

Oh wait, he had an ability that could tell him if people were going to die no need to panic. Except he wasn’t feeling well, he felt sick, the kind of sick that meant death. His head hurt though and the crash could have been what was making him feel ill. His thoughts were on what this meant but his body was on autopilot. He was looking at two faces before he knew it. No children. Good. But one of the guys looked pretty bad. “s**t.” Miran needed to move him, get him to his car and back to the clan so they could save him, but he didn’t want to make things worse. Sometimes moving people was the worst thing you could do…right? He’d looked at the other person one more time, they were awake, moving. He needed to pull this person free; any damage done could be undone. “I’m just….I’m just going to get you out of here really quick.” He was speaking to himself more than anyone else as he worked at freeing the unconscious man. After a bit of struggling he’d managed to get him free and drag him away from the car. He hadn’t even checked for the other man until he was sure the unconscious one was in a safe spot.

“Are you okay?” Miran asked when he’d finally gotten a chance to look the other guy over. “Cause your…brother isn’t. I need to get him back to my brother’s place. There’s a bunch of people there that can help him.” He felt like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. Probably shock. “Can you help me get him into the car, just open the doors for me?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he grabbed the unconscious brother. Everyone was in the car and they were on their way. Miran was speeding back to the mansion, his attention completely on the road, though his phone was still ringing somewhere in the car. He felt a misplaced anger bubble as the phone continued.

It felt like an eternity later but they were finally pulling up to the mansion. As soon as the car was in park he was running towards the doors. He hadn’t bothered finding anyone and instead ran into the spot where the most people would be gathered and started screaming his head off. “I need help!” It was all he could say as he frantically pointed towards the doors. Of course the blood on his clothes was probably more of a hint than Miran was giving.

[[ ooc ;; post is all over the place, didn't proofread, but hopefully it's okay ]]

Smile C I E L




a wild muffin appears

[Smile C I E L]

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The last thing Vaughn recalled was the middle of a conversation. It was strange to the point of troubling, how long Malachi had spent being silent. Vaughn spoke towards his right accordingly, his head tilting towards the phone he’d so vividly known was in his grasp, waiting for an answer that couldn’t come. ”Chi?”

Vaughn’s words reverberated through his mind. A crackle of the electrical fire followed suit, sparks scattering across the dash board for whatever reason. The engine whirred with no movement, and his nostrils were flooded with the bitter bite of rubber in smoke. The wind passed through the cracked window, pushing the cloud against the opposite door.

At that moment, Vaughn saw the puzzle fall in place. He’d had a minor bout of retrograde amnesia, triggered by the impact of a crash. What sky he could see through the smoke was the same, so mere minutes had passed, if even that long. His phone was no longer in his grasp, his fingers clutching at warm air, then at the liquid running across his own, bristled cheek.

Vaughn slid his fingers forward, bringing them to the bridge of his shattered glasses. The image he saw was distorted, the distance varying considerably at the cracks of his lens. Still, he could see the droplets on his fingertips. They were clear, without a trace of blood, only the residue of the building heat. He was fine, surprisingly so.

The trajectory of the car sent the driver’s seat in much deeper than the passenger’s. The felt, unnatural floor keeping his feet from the ground was tilted. Vaughn felt his footing tilt accordingly. He leaned forward, turning away from the crack in the dash and the tree branches beside it to reach for his phone and a better view. The phone’s screen was shattered as well, his call disconnected to the home screen, but there. Vaughn hardly spent a second glimpsing before he’d checked beside him. ”Drew--”

It wasn’t as if he’d never seen his brother’s blood before. Far too many times, far worse crossed him. At this point, the real thing was less a disaster as it was another figment, mangled in his mind’s eye.

At first, Vaughn raised his hand to look at the other side of the car. He stopped hardly an inch into moving, observing the angle of the tree branch and how the licks of fire in their engine were still spurting along the ridge. This angle wasn’t good. It’d do more damage.

Vaughn pulled his sleeve over his hand, shielding it a bit more from the heat of the metal pieces. He clicked down on the plastic button, dislodging his seat belt, then grabbed the door handle and stumbled his way out. His feet rocked the opposite direction as he stood up, sliding their way into something reminiscent of standing without being anywhere close to upright.

He was so focused on the better, copied half of him on the opposite side of the car that Vaughn had failed to notice how absurdly lucky he would have seemed. The entire windshield had cracked, his glasses had been struck hard enough to break the right lens and the ear piece off of the frame, his clothing was tattered from glass and saturated in the scent of smoke, and yet there wasn’t a single cut on him. The few flecks of blood were small, primarily on the right side of his face and torso, presumably from Drew. If it weren’t for the black out, there wouldn’t be a thing wrong with Vaughn that hadn’t already been.

As his shoes found their place on ground, and Vaughn’s understanding was grounded accordingly, he finally noticed something he should have a while ago. There was another car involved.

Given what little he could see, Vaughn opted not to focus on that much. He wouldn’t have cared at all, were it not for the stranger from said car heading in the same direction Vaughn had meant to. He looked through the broken window, past Drew’s still but breathing body to the stranger on the other side, though the distance in his voice might make one wonder if he’d truly been addressing either.

”Whiplash, minor concussive symptoms. Nothing worse,” Vaughn dismissed, his inflection detached to the point where one could suspect him of reading off a flash card. His stare focused as much as he could through the upper half of his glasses, watching the stranger’s movements. He cleared his throat. ”Don’t dislodge the fragment. That glass, the shard, it’s plugging the puncture--a spike in a dam, essentially,” he warned, the subtlest hint of urgency sneaking in.

When the question from the stranger had changed, Vaughn’s hands stayed at his side, showing hardly any signs he was going to move—only looking straight into the stranger’s eyes with an unflinching, almost misplaced intensity. ”Yes.”

Only after Vaughn finished speaking did he start to move. He paced around the back of the car, behind where the stranger stood. He brushed his glasses up by the bridge with the back of his sleeve-covered hand, giving him a better look at Drew—though he still had to squint to see him. ”At least six major lacerations, primarily radial and ulnar,” he muttered, not quite quiet enough to make it clear whether or not he’d meant the observation to himself. His tone barely changed between thoughts, the sole indication that he’d meant to speak to Miran being a turn of his head to look straight at him, again. ”If there’s one in twenty minute radius, I’d rather we use a hospital.”

Vaughn kept his distance until he saw Miran approach his brother, at which point he took the opposite side and slowly brought Drew towards the car. He backed into the back seat with the body, bringing Drew there along with him. He shifted Drew’s position according to the injuries, arranging the injured limbs in such a way where he could restrict the blood flow. He didn’t bother to look away from Drew, concentrating on the task at hand. He assumed that the stranger could hear him as he spoke down to the wounds he was trying to tie off. ”I have medical training. Drive. Better than before, preferably.”

However long the drive had taken, Vaughn didn’t quite know. He hadn’t bothered to look at the clock. Again, he presumed that it wasn’t long, as the lighting had barely changed. He had torn apart his jacket, having used the broken arm of his glasses to puncture the fabric, then tore and arranged the strips by hand.

Vaughn felt the stranger’s car come to a stop, followed by the footsteps. This time, he did pause, looking up towards the three mirrors in the car to view the stranger’s leaving from there. ”Disinfectant with a needle and thread. Or a hospital,” Vaughn stated back, on the verge of demanding, but too businesslike to sound exactly panicked.

As the stranger walked away from the car, a long list of dangerous potential scenarios came to Vaughn’s mind. He kept one hand on Drew’s largest wound, applying pressure to the spot. The other reached into his pocket, ensuring he still knew where his phone was. He took the broken piece of his glasses into his left hand, his fingers curling around the nail and wire frame beneath the plastic. ”Blood loss is insufficient for lasting damage. You’ll be fine. As before. As you always are,” he spoke to Drew, his words slightly quieter than before, but just as composed.



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[ where ? || in the car ] [ who ? || drew > miran > drew again ] [ feeling ? || focusing ]

a wild muffin appears

r a d i - b i r r

[a wild muffin appears]

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It was as they told him. Death was not a terrifying experience. There weren't any angry voices telling you all the wrong things you did. No fingers pointing at you in accusation and judgement. At the same time, however, there weren't beautiful creatures dressed in white singing songs of welcome. It felt like he was stuck at the stage just before he woke up every morning. Warm, content. Reluctant to fully leave the world of dreams that had brought him so much childish pleasure. He was drifting, half in a trance. There was no pain. There would never be pain again. Yet there was something missing. Drew couldn't quite his finger on what the thing was, but the hollowness in his heart prompted him to keep searching.

So finally, he opened his eyes.

Except not really, his eyes were very much shut. Allow Drew to quickly explain the situation. He was looking into the back seat of a car where Vaughn sat. There close to him, was a man with almost identical features. That man, unfortunately, must be him. Drew wondered how he was seeing this. Some near-death-soul-wandered-out-of-body experience? Heh, sure sounded like something Vaughn would be into. If Drew somehow survived, he'd definitely try to remember this and tell his brother about it for his next novel. Judging by how he looked, however, that chance wasn't very high.

At least Vaughn didn't appear to be hurt excessively. That was all that mattered. Although, why weren't they rushing to a hospital? There weren't one that was close by, but Drew would appreciate more of an effort from these people. Surely they could at least drive to hospital instead of just letting him bleed out here...Wherever here was. With much reluctance, Drew tore his eyes away from the car where his brother sat with his no doubt to be increasingly dead body. This place, it was beautiful.

Drew removed himself from the parking area and moved towards the direction where the young driver had dashed off to. A grand hall was revealed before him. Everywhere he turned, there were men and women dressed in their finest. Was there some sort of gathering? Drew stepped through the doors, walking around the place with only a touch of reluctance. He was not the type to enter anyone's residence without permission, especially when there was an event being hosted. Troublemaking was the other twin's job, not his. That said, this time, Drew was fairly certain he was going to get away with it, for everyone in this stunning room was frozen.

It was as if a spell was cast. Everyone and everything was completely still. Beverages were stopped in the middle of their pour and lips only curved half way to a smile. Only Drew could move and explore this place. With contentment he walked up the staircase, deciding that he deserved to at least take with him a nice memory to afterlife. Half way up the stairs was when he heard a noise. Drew turned at once, just in time to see a door shut. There was someone who wasn't frozen...Someone was unaffected by whatever spell that was cast in this area. Another sound followed the first, coming from the opposite direction. So there was not one but two who were free to move about.

Drew decided to follow the second sound, for it was closer to him. Two people caught his attention right away. The man was noticed because he was the creator of the second noise Drew had heard. The woman next to him (frozen like all the others except for her friend here) caught his attention because there was no way to not notice her. Out of all of the women he had seen, this one was the most lovely. Far beyond any of them, incomparable. Yet, lovely was not quite the word for her. She demanded something more powerful, less gentle but no less charming. Drew paused before the pair, wondering if they would notice him.

They did not. Though the man could move, he did not seem to be able to see Drew. Experimentally, Drew took two steps closer, close enough to the man that if he could, he would have seen the bloody guy before him for sure. Interesting, so he was just a soul after all. Perhaps talking could work? He should attempt at communication. Drew opened his mouth to speak and was too quickly drawn away from his unfrozen companion. Guess his soul could only stay out for so long. Time was up. Perhaps the next thing he saw would be that blinding white light those who narrowly escaped death often talked about.

Too bad. Drew thought. He regretted his decision to explore. Had he known that he was so short on time, he would have stayed the entire time by Vaughn's side.

No blinding white light. Unfortunately, the pain was back too. Much duller than it had been, but definitely there. Drew heard the sound of his own ragged breath and realized that his soul was once again tucked inside of his body. There were other sounds around him. People were talking. Someone was shouting. But most clear of all was Vaughn, telling him that he was going to be fine. Such confidence. He wanted to reply. His brain was still functioning. He could still think and remember. Drew thus thought back to all of the things he saw outside of his body, trying to save every single detail just in case he was going to make it. Grand hall. Delicious looking food. Two people who weren't under the spell. Oh yes, beautiful people. So many of them, all dressed up and made up...All bearing a mark on their bodies-

Wait.

The pain pounding against his skull only worsened at this sudden halt, but Drew pushed through it. He was getting close to something. Something very important.

One of his shoes must have fallen off somewhere. He noticed his sock was pulled down from his ankle to reveal a small birthmark earlier. His mother said it looked like a little sail boat. His father said it was a triangle. Drew had never paid any attention until now. Finally he realized what it was...A number. Like the ones the others in this place held on them. His number, resembling a sail boat very much, was '4'.

OOC: NOTE! My character did freeze time and wander out of his body. Your character wouldn't have noticed it unless he/she had some sort of immunity. For majority of people in this role play, this pause wouldn't have been noticed. So just carry on with your post how you'd usually do them.

Smile C I E L




Corpius




DoV-gnilkrad

[DoV-gnilkrad]

⇢⇢⇢ ⇥ tab ♕


tab For the tense second they just stared at each other. Ashland's eyes widening just a little as she dropped her cup. The world slowed down for a few seconds, blood roaring a panic in his ears. Dark eyes blinking from hers to the cup, green when they opened again - although he had no clue of the change himself, nor if she was even capable of noticing it. *Flicking up to her, blinking rapid black into the calm deep blue. "My. That was a little more expressive than I anticipated." The clipped formality was almost insulting. By which he meant playful. Nicolas has a poor sense of humor; he found little amusement in jokes or the type of play that Vera and Alex engaged in. All insult and banter. When he bantered it tended to cut to the wick and be borderline mean. Sneering and condescending. It was not intended to be cruel - or was it? - but it had not earned him many friends through the years. And, in an official position, he avoided humor at all cost for just that reason. One would hope the tone was countered by him half raising from his chair, turning to look at the servers, who had heard the shatter and were making their way over even as he began to summon them. "Are you alright, Lady Nevsky?" Just as he hadn't sounded playful - he didn't sound concerned. He was. Honest, he was. It just didn't show at all.

tab What did show was paternal concern. Brow creasing in silent disapproval as she reminded him of her - disability. It was not as glamour as James Bond movies make it out to be. She might not feel it, but that only gave him more cause to worry. He would send The Physician to her later, and for now, raise a halting hand to the wait staff. Sinking lightly to his chair, tucking away the bruises to his ego. It didn't matter how professional this was. No man wanted to think the idea of him proposing would make a woman drop hot tea on her. But- well. It was quiet - sudden.

tab Ashland gave a few curt nods through her speech, accepting the points she made as fare. Not enough to sway him, but his determination was in part .. less objective than the conversation would dictate as polite. "The Sun was never a threat," He smiled indulgently, tilting his head slightly to the side. Come now, they both knew how ill-suited she was for this. It wasn't that Ms. Kobayashi was entirely without leadership qualities. She was just .. well titled. Wild and strong, but without an ounce of grace to her. The Sun is a brutish leader and he wouldn't trust her with anything delicate. Verene burned everything she touched - what did they imagine she would do to their clan? Of all the ambitious players in court, Nicolas was least concerned with Verene - And Alex. Not that he saw the insolent child as ambitious. "Nor is that rambunctious cousin of yours. Our concerns are directed more rightful at the other Cantrell."


tab Cantrell Senior was a man Nicolas had admired for most of his life. Brilliant, ruthless, polite - he was exactly the type of politician Nicolas has wanted to be when he was younger. It wasn't that they didn't have their disagreements on how to manage the clan, but his respect was untarnished. Cantrell had not taken Ashland under his tutelage the way The Hermit had (Nicolas would have welcomed the influence, truth be told. But, in hindsight, he suspected it was wounded pride that prevented it. Ego is the fall of empire) but he had learned from him indirectly. And Ashland knew that the Cantrell family would never take the seat of second best. Cousin was not a close enough family tie. If he were Cantrell Senior... he would put The Moon on the throne, and secure his power by wedding into it. God knows that the family could not be trusted to Alex, let alone the entire clan. As unfair as it was, Nicolas was extremely doubtful that a woman would be able to take the throne in her own right. He had spent time in feminine skin, and in councils where there none. Even in his life time there had been progress, but ... but it was not going to be so easily won. Calypso wasn't just the obvious choice; she was the only choice. .. Greedy men do not think of the greater good, though, and her trust was far misplaced if she thought that Cantrell Senior would submit to her based on her merits alone.


tab That, however, was not a particularly supportive nor polite thing to point out. Ashland took a stiff breath, squaring his shoulders to give the visual impression of biting his tongue. "You're confidence has failed you before, Dearest Moon. Fate is a poor gamble.." Not that... that had been much better. She'd lost once. Why the families voted as they did was not clear, nor would it ever be. Idealistically, it should have been that Nicolas was simply more qualified. Realistically, he knew politics was not so kind. Whatever factors put him on the throne would not change in just thirty years. Insulting as it was to her ego...And with all respects, she hadn't thought that she would lose to him, either. With a stern look, Nicolas fidgeted with his cup. Twisting it absently on the saucer; one of his displeased motions. "Whoso ever takes the throne in our absence will not be able to do so without opposition. The last time an emperor died we were drowning in candidates." Three nine lifers at once, and all with three powers. But all children, making the competition rather innocent. No blood split, and he had no doubt most of the decisions was made behind closed doors or over their heads. "The line of succession is not so clear now. " To the eyes of the unfaithful, they would have as much right to rule as The Moon. " Before the next coronation there will be blood. Yours cannot be wasted."

tab "...We have not yet informed The Wheel of Fortune or the Lady Strength," a clipped change in topic. "The identity of our assassin is unclear. If at all possible we will avoid casting suspicion on everyone for the week." Isaiah would not be productive. He would simply try to guard Nicolas 24/7, which was not exactly a very trusting policy. It would ruin his reputation if he did live.. in more way than one. He couldn't be sharing a bed while company was over, certainly not now that he opened negotiations to take wife. And Strength had been away, not that he would have bothered her with simply dreams. The visions did warrant more alarm, but Ashland also did not seem to be taking them as seriously as someone should. "If the threat is eminent, then we have to admit they chose a perfect time.Their fortitude is admirable; we do not think we would be able to kill someone under so many watchful eyes." But that is the way these games are played. High risk, high reward. For the briefest of moments a little smile touched Ashland's face as he glances out over the garden. ... If he had to die... he would like it to be on a day like this, and with some measure of dignity.


tab Nicolas... hated his ability to see the future. He had never really trusted; it only raised more questions than it answered. He had come to envy the people moving cluelessly through their lives. Nicolas had simply seen too much. Every once in a while that showed. Glimpses of a heavy melancholy, but burden of all seers. There was a reason why Cassandra went mad. Why prophecy is associated with tears. Visions never foretell happiness. It forces one to be patient. Be calm. The future is coming, with our without our stress. There probably isn't anything you can do to change it, and even if you change that particular hardship, there will always be another. The universe did not intend for people to live peacefully, and changing one danger usually lead to a more creative one. Accept the things you cannot change.... He couldn't be sure there was a real threat. Someone was planning his murder, or else it would not even be a possibility. But this had happened before. Just not with so much tenacity. They may back out, he may have opportunities to talk reason to them. From now till then there was a world of possibilities of what could go wrong with their plan. But if he was going to die -- that was reality you have to live in with this gift. Learning to take the little glimpses of good in the overwhelming sorrow. At least he would die in the winter. Let it be at night...


tab "We don't expect an answer tonight," The worry turned to a brittle smile, which faded as fast as it came when he looked back to His Moon. "But know that we intend that you will at our side, or you will rule in our stead."



* Nicolas had never had the courage to ask her what she saw. He assumed it was the face he used most; this face. Because he was most often surrounded by white men (Isaiah), and this was the guise he had grown up with, he assumed it was his default. Which is not the same a 'real.' What did eyes that could not be fooled for magic see of a person whose entire being was dictated by it? Was he a he? Was he even human-shaped? The Moon's ability was a terrifying thing to him. She was... she was his partner. The one equal, and if you caught him in the privet moments alone, when he was feeling honest enough to admit to himself ... a - a romantic interest or sorts. They were destined to be together. In this life, or the next, she would be his wife. And from that political connection they would learn to love each other. The knowledge made him.. affectionate for her in the present. He would be writing no love poems, nor making heartfelt confessions. They were strictly formal with each other. But if he had to chose one person to imagine himself with, it would be her. Not Isaiah, even when the other man could still his heart. His bed felt empty when he slept alone, and he ached for Isaiah's company whenever it wasn't there. "Love" was much more fairly applied to his bodyguard than his future wife. But ... but it was foolish to think of themselves in terms of a single lifetime. He would love her. Someday. As for now, he knew that ... that she was the only person who would be able to see him honestly. And for that, reject him honestly. It was a risk he was unwilling take. If Nicolas did intend to propose with a romantic connotation then the words would not have come. Fear would have stopped them. This was so much safer. Talking objectively. A debate and negotiation, divorced from insecurity and affection.

[LilsSpills]

**Before reading, please note that Cantrell Senior (aka Alex's dad) is named Allistair Cantrell. Also, don't be freaked out if you don't know who Maeve Cantrell is. She is an npc. If anyone's wondering what she looks like, just imagine a 50 year old Vivien Leigh razz Okay happy reading!



Alex instantaneously recognized the man by his side as one of Maeve Cantrell’s men. In retrospect, Alex should have anticipate this the moment he walked through the doors; the Cantrells had eyes everywhere, and strolling through a gathering like this was tantamount to declaring his presence on a loudspeaker. It left a sour taste on Alex's tongue, but his father was bound to catch him sooner rather than later.

‘Still, did they have to do this at such a shitty time?’ Alex thought with irritation, contemplating telling the men off before thinking better of it. He turned back to Vera and tried to convey his apologies to the best of his abilities. As expected, Vera looked pissed— but better fury than sadness. Alex kept his eyes on her lone form until he couldn't anymore.

“You can drop the jovial act now,” Alex sighed, turning to face the men around him. “And I'd appreciate if you let go of my arm—it’s not like I can run away in a place like this.”

The man by his side released him instantaneously. “My apologies, Alexander. Just an old habit.” The man reassured with a plastic smile.

Oh, Alex was familiar with his "old habits". A long time ago, in a similar, escalated situation, Alex had caught the man off guard and used super speed to smash his front teeth in. Alex cringed guiltily as he caught a glimpse of the man’s deceptively authentic dentures. The guy really didn’t deserve what he got, but Alex was in a dark place back then: fifteen, impulsive, and most dangerously, unstable.

The halls became more and more recluse as they progressed, and soon Alex was ushered into a quiet guest room. A tall, thin woman stood in the room, her frame dipped in rich Cantrell reds. At fifty-six years of age, Maeve Diedra Cantrell was the definition of elegant aging, her present beauty despite the numerous lines on her face a testament to her once exuberant allure. Maeve’s poised posture and resplendent gown complimented one another, enhancing her lavish yet domineering image. Even though she was not a Cantrell by birth, her upbringing in the family shaped her into the walking, talking, breathing image of the perfect Cantrell today.

Inscrutable, pragmatic, and undyingly loyal, Maeve was widely acknowledged as Allistair Cantrell's right-hand-man. On the surface, she managed important tasks for the family, handling small-scale negotiations and acting as Allistair’s representative when the man was not available himself. In intimate circles, Maeve was regarded as Allistair's underboss, undertaking dirty work that the Cantrell senior would never tarnish himself with. Alex had regarded Maeve fondly in his childhood, viewing her as a comforting presence who would sneak candy into his pocket after his father lectured him. Now, Alex grew weary of her, his memories of her unnaturally intimate attachment to his father twisting itself into something salacious and ugly in his head.

“It's good to see you, Alexander,” Maeve greeted. Her cold feline eye tended to scrutinize every fiber of one’s being, invoking a sense of vulnerability and unease. “I see you’ve done well for yourself over these past two years.”

“Maeve,” Alex greeted robotically. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Shouldn’t you be with the old man? Or off on some business negotiation?”

“I was sent here to represent the Cantrell family in case you did not show up.”

“…I wouldn’t miss a gathering like this.”

“Yes, we anticipated that,” Maeve replied softly. “Just precautionary measures, Alexander. Your father is very glad to see you back. As we all are.”

Very glad, Alex snorted. Maeve always had a way of twisting words to the prettier side.

“I’m sure you’re ecstatic,” Alex said, feeling the ominous throbbing of an approaching headache. “Alright, let’s get to the point. You never approach me unless it’s for my father. So what is it? What does he want from me?”

“Your father requests a meeting with you at the estate, after this gathering.”

“Fair enough," Alex said after a pause. "Is that it? Can I go now?”

Maeve regarded him for a pregnant moment, as if searching, and failing, to find the most diplomatic words.

“I have no more messages of importance for you, Alex. I would, however, take some time to think over what you'd say to your father.” Maeve cautioned.

“Thanks for the warning,” Alex replied sardonically before wheeling for the door. Alex already knew his father would skin him alive, ever since the day he'd left two years ago. He didn’t need to be in Maeve’s presence any longer than necessary. Nonetheless, her words continued to echo in his head, even after he had walked into the crowded halls.


-TIME SKIP-


Alex crouched against the wall of the mansion, evening air breezing across his face as he chugged his fifth can of Redbull with fervor. Aside from the meeting, Alex had spent the whole day greeting innumerable politicians, allies and adversaries alike (a custom drilled into his head by his father). To be honest, it was exhausting work, and the traitorous, empathetic part of him wondered how his father had endured it all in his youth. Alex had exhausted himself, yet still hadn’t spoken a word to the one person he had been aiming for—Calypso.

Alex rubbed his temples, cringing as his headache soared. In that moment, Alex begrudgingly admitted that Isaiah was right—if he was getting this unhinged after just a day without smoking, he had a serious problem. Just as he was contemplating sneaking out a cigarette, a group of boys stepped into his periphery, their voices booming obnoxiously across the open field.

“…you believed what happened? I heard she lost another life.”

“Yeah, I heard it was a street-fight. Gang related.”

“What is this, the tenth time now? Does she even have any lives left?”

Groaning in exasperation, Alex rose from his spot, preparing to leave. There goes his break…cut short by gossiping kids, of all things.

“Such a shame…she had so much potential, too. If only she got that temper of hers under control…”

“Yeah! Think about it…Imagine what you could've done with nine lives..."

Alex’s mind came to a screeching halt. He froze, all senses on alert as he registered the previous sentence.

“Hahaha! I’m willing to bet money Verene Kobayashi is gonna kick the bucket before that temper goes away.”

Red bled into Alex’s vision as he registered those words. His body moved automatically, storming over to the group and yanked on the speaker’s shirt. “What’d you say about Verene Kobayashi?” He gritted out in a deceptively even voice.

“Wh-what the hell? Let go of me, man!” The man stammered, fear and confusion flashing in his eyes.

“Who did you get this information from? Tell me everything you know right now, and I might be nice and leave your teeth intact."


xxx


Alex walked back to the mansion in disarray, trying to absorb the things he had just heard. If what the kid said had any semblance of truth, then Alex had ******** up. He had left when Vera was at her most vulnerable time, when she needed his support the most. But he had to leave; there were no other solutions at the time. Alex rubbed his temples, head storming with conflicting thoughts.

Feeling a small tap on his back, Alex turned around and, incredulously, was greeted with the object of his turmoil.

Except…she appeared different than usual. Vera was done up, polished, her natural beauty amplified by make-up and an elegant bodice-fitting gown. Alex did a double-take, unsure for a split second whether the girl in front of him was Vera or a fashionably inclined imitator. Alex admitted that it was unrealistic and childish to expect Vera to show up in the evening dressed in her usual leather ensemble, but he hadn’t expected this. When did Vera start wearing dresses? Hell, when did she start to wear make-up??

“Alex? You still wanna talk?”

Alex caught himself and reeled back from his surprise. Right, he needed to focus.

“Yeah, but not here—the walls have ears. Come, follow me.” Alex said as he guided Vera into a room and closed the door. He didn’t want to facilitate even more gossip from wandering eavesdroppers.

Once they were in appropriate privacy, Alex began.

“Vera, I want to apologize for disappearing for two years. I can’t imagine how much it must have upset you all, but please believe me when I say I did that for a just reason. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do now, so at least you don’t have to worry about me disappearing in the near future.” Alex paused, clearing his throat once more. “I…I overheard some kids talking out there…about what happened to you while I was gone.” Alex began cautiously, searching Vera's disposition for clues. ******** this, he’s never been good at being subtle, so he'll just get to the point. “They said that you got into a fight recently. A bad one. That it was pretty messed up… apparently one of the kid’s relatives worked at the hospital that admitted you, and that’s how he found out. Don’t worry, I’ve made sure that he won’t spread any more hearsay about you. I just…I guess I just wanted to confirm if you were alright.” Alex finished, regarding his friend tenderly. “Are you alright, Vera?”






At: Mansion

With: Verene Kobayashi

Feeling: Nerves are fried




Quote:

Infallible Ferocity