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Something seriously weird was happening in Destiny City. Well–something seriously weirder, Blarney amended mentally, given what his life had become over the past month or so. He’d awoken as a Page of Earth, he’d discovered magic was real but so were monsters and also so were aliens, so the idea that someone had been bitten by the arson bug really shouldn’t have phased him.

But phase him it did - maybe because all the other things were just…the universe broadening itself to him, allowing him to see more of itself, pieces that had already been in play that Mason-pre-Blarney just hadn’t known about. But the fires…sure, there was a chance that it was just a random hooligan, a perfectly normal human explanation for what was going on, but…

Somehow, Blarney doubted it.

So he’d been following the fires. Or, more accurately, he’d been trying to get ahead of the fires - choosing opposite corners of the city than where the most recent dumpsters had been set alight, hoping to get lucky and come across the person, persons or monster that was taking issue with Destiny City’s waste disposal system. So far, no dice. Blarney was just starting to wonder if this was what being magic was really like - if for all Halia and Miss Garde’s warnings and clear trauma from the whole world-eating-snake-thing, that most of the time it was just…boring. It was just things not really happening, but always feeling like they could happen, and would, the second you dropped your guard.

Then the apartment had burned down. That was too big to be a coincidence, so that night, that was where Blarney found himself. Down the block from the ruined building, peering curiously around corners as he observed the busiwork of the civilian population - police, firemen, other people in suits that Blarney figured were probably arson investigators. They were trying their best to keep civilians away, but…well, Blarney wasn’t a civilian, not anymore.

Granted, he didn’t have any magic powers except jumping really high and running really fast either, but–still. These people had to go home eventually; surely they would take a break or leave for the night eventually.

So Blarney was watching them work from a rooftop kittycorner to the apartment in question, a cold tumbler full of ice water in one hand. Madeline had insisted upon him throwing it into his subspace invisi-backpack, because ‘you’ll get dehydrated, running around the city in the middle of the night like an absolute maniac’. He’d fought her on it out of principle - he was Blarney, now, not just Mason her twin brother, but he’d caved, as he almost always did with his sister, and now he was glad for it, because dang if he wasn’t thirsty.

What exactly he thought he’d find, he wasn’t sure. He was sure–pretty sure–okay, he was hopeful that if he could get into the apartment, he’d find some evidence one way or the other - magical or mundane, Blarney or Mason. If it was just an electrical fire, or an insurance scam, then he would set it aside and go back to the dumpster fires, because he was reasonably sure–pretty sure–that was magical, at its root, mysterious as it was.

But Blarney was currently in a holding pattern, there on that roof– he couldn’t even try to sneak into the apartment, not while it was crawling with mundane police officers, so for now…he just waited, and listened, and wondered if he could piece what they were thinking together from snippets of overheard mundane mambo-jumbo jargon.

A few shadows crept across the valley between sky and city; passing clouds, city smog, the thin geal of atmosphere muddied over with remnants of smoke and more. The greater universe at large unblinking in the face of man’s troubles, even as some of the shadows thickened, darkened. Gently maring the shape of the moon, but not the orange-yellow brights made to guide cars and ruin the travel of moths.

Save for how clouds didn’t typically make sounds as they passed — not even faint ones — dip low — low enough to look like an impossibly sized drone instead of a cloud — or block the winking sky with a man-spans worth of road-pitch winged shapes! The clouds certainly didn’t watch with eight beady eyes that lumned over with predator-like reflectivity everytime a third eyelid blinked.

And the shadow that had slid past Blarney from above seemed to tilt, to turn back; singular neck splitting into three, narrow beaks spanning wide. Soundless was it’s cawing, but the intent seemed to be clear as the flecks of shimmering green-red-purple rapidly glimmering over the creatures thickly feathered coat—

R U N —

Blarney was mostly focused on the apartment building and the people below, so he almost missed it when the sky started falling.

Just his luck.

But almost missing it is not the same as missing it, and for all the obliviousness possessed of him, he did in fact notice when the giant ******** three-headed bird tried to take his damn head off.

Blarney let out a string of words that were definitely not approved by his sister and did what came naturally, which in this case, was winging the thermos at the bird as hard as he could. He didn’t even know if he hit it, but it gave him a chance to roll away and grab his stick and land in defensive position. Sort of. How did you get into a defensive position against a giant ******** three-headed bird-monster??

He didn’t know youma came in winged!!!!

You don’t have to fight this, a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered. You can run. You don’t have to deal with giant birds that want to eat you.

Blarney narrowed his eyes at the bird. Mason might want to run - Mason might even think it was the smarter decision to run.

But Blarney had his magic stick, his flowercrown, and a mystery - and maybe now, he had a clue.

“C’mon, Big Bird,” Blarney muttered, squaring his shoulders. “All I need is for you to breathe fire and I’ve got your number.”

…Please don’t let it breathe fire.

The creature wheeled off awkwardly, peeling upwards away from the flung thermos of a threat. Looking more than peeved as it circled, higher, and higher, sizing up the enemy in green. Before tucking it’s extremities and falling into a narrow dive; the wind whistling over its form as it came bullet-like at the Page again.

A divebomb of feathers barreling down, closer, and closer, until —

Inches before it touched its would’ve adversary it vanished. It was nonsensical, really. The way the overlarge tribis *was* and then very suddenly *wasn’t*, the way it had seemed to slide between planes of matter and disappear entirely elsewhere.

Like a seam in the universe had swallowed it whole—

Only for someone else to take its place.

“Yanno, I think Cerb’s might’ve actually been scared of you for a second!” A slow applause for the bravest of little toasters, a grin that would’ve been charming and warm on anyone else, but seemed distinctly off-putting as Albite turned it on the would-be sleuth of the hour.

“But I’m not.”

Albite moved to fill the gap of distance, magic rippling along his arms like a warning.

Like a promise.

Blarney braced for impact or for the chance to whack the bird-monster out of the sky…and braced….and braced….

…

Was he dead already? He hadn’t even felt it. Blarney peeked one eye open and then the other, frowning at the empty air where he was just sure there had been a three-headed bird monster a second ago, ready to slam into him at break-neck (necks?) speed.

…That had just been water his sister had given him, right?

Before Blarney could ponder his sanity any further, the third-strangest thing of the night happened, and a man stepped out of the very same nothing into which the bird-monster had vanished a moment before.

It hit Blarney like a physical thing - the wave that immediately followed this man. Everything in him screamed run, run far, run now. He grit his teeth as he took in the person before him - cracks in his chest and his forehead, like Sailor Ako had - but that was where the similarities ended. Ako had seemed…perhaps not exactly friendly, but not actively menacing, either. He hadn’t thought he was in danger of his life with Ako.

This man could - and maybe would - wreck Blarney. He knew that as easy as he knew his own name. His voice sent shivers down his spine, and Blarney took an unconscious step backwards, wanting to just put some distance between himself and this new threat, but his grip tightened on his stick and he refused to move more than that: just a step. No further.

Goodness wasn’t supposed to run at the first sight of badness. Just because this was his first real sighting of it…

Blarney swallowed. Straightened his shoulders. Tried to make his voice sound deeper, more grown-up, more serious. Not threatening, quite; if the bad guys had a radar like the good guys did, he knew that this guy would be able to tell in a second that Blarney was no real threat to him, but…well, that was no reason to cower, was it? He just wanted to seem…confident. Not terrified down to his very bones.

“Why did you set this place on fire?”

It was somewhere between a shot in the dark and a logical conclusion; it was entirely possible that this bad guy had absolutely nothing to do with the fire in the apartment building, which in turn maybe had nothing to do with the fires set around town. But it was a big coincidence if the fires had nothing to do with each other, and a bigger coincidence if this bad guy just so happened to be lurking around an active maybe-crime scene.

But there was no harm in letting this guy think he knew more than he did, right? Cops on the shows he and his sister watched did it all the time. Maybe he could trick this guy into giving something away.

Before this guy, you know, beat him into the ground, which was absolutely a possibility that Blarney was only becoming more aware of the longer he stayed on that roof. He was beginning to sweat in places he didn’t even know he could sweat, but he refused to run. Maybe he’d get stomped - but maybe he’d learn something first, and maybe that would be worth it somehow.

‘Gods, these pages? Fresher, younger, greener every year—’ Albite thought as he pulled up short, pressed heel into roughened rooftop and shifted instead to circle the Earth Knight with a distinctly lower case K to his name. ‘But this one?’ Albite had rules, after all. Nothing concrete, but rules all the same! About punching babies, and punting pets, and shoving old people off of roofs…

His initial read of the Earth page had placed the man, at least in his mind, distinctly within the ‘baby’ category. An issue to be dangled over a roof and spooked into shutting the ******** up and going the ******** home before somebody (the page in question) died messily.

A little soul fondling did the world a lot of good – a bit of snatching fed greedy youma chirping ‘here, pet pet pet, fetch!’ at him in his nightmares….

‘But this guy!?’ Albite was impressed enough in the moment, like finding a particularly vicious crab on the beach, food in any other moment, but with its claws raised high? A little green crab. Clutching that stick like it’d save him while he threw allegations into the simmering evening—

It was almost charming. Such bravado in the face of mind-bending ********. Being too fool-thick with stand-your-ground energy and idiot touching the stove again tenaciousness! It reminded Waru distinctly of himself, wanting to talk to Cybele that first time, getting warnings end over end, but still pushing past that breaking point, until his ribs snapped.

Until the game was called.

‘I never did learn from it. But maybe this page is smarter than I ever was?’ He thought firmly, magic coiling his form like hungry ribbons, beloved, satin-seeming in the darkness. Pulling himself and the urge to lash out back, tamping down his instincts, opening his mouth as he was best known to do!

“Why did ‘your people’ kidnap ‘my friend’ —“ A question for a question, and he said the words in that derogatory manner, as if the Pages people were blood spilled on his Sunday best. As if the Earth Page might as well have been with them the whole time. Didn’t they all know each other? Weren’t they in cahoots?

“And right before Christmas too —“ Gentle chiding, the tsk, tsk, tsk, of a clicked tongue as Albite stared down the other man. “Grinches, all of you.” Moving, never closer, but moving. Because stillness was too great a thing to ask of anyone, because the Page hadn’t given ground first.

Because this whole encounter was fascinating!!

“Explains ******** green though, huh?” A sugar-free punchline delivered as though he was expecting a laugh-track to pop up in the background and color the whole scene with ‘aren’t I funny?’ vibes.

Blarney - blinked. His mind, which was always vibrating several speeds too fast for himself and most other people, began whirring at a higher level, piecing together what this terrifying man was spitting at him.

Disregard: Grinches. Blarney was a goshdang delight at Christmastime. He and Madeline always wore matching sweaters, and he would’ve opened his mouth to say so, except he very much did not want this guy to ever know anything about his sister, so he couldn’t very well admit that she existed, could he.

Regard, carefully: you people, Christmas, my friend. These things were the meat of the matter, and they, unfortunately, did ring bells for him, though admittedly second-hand bells.

He didn’t lower his stick, but he did relax his posture slightly; in spite of everything about this guy absolutely screaming predator who would and could hunt him down like a cheetah on a wounded gazelle on the plains of the savannah, he hadn’t struck first. He clearly wanted Blarney to know he could strike, if he cared to, and Blarney heard that message - loud and clear.

But he hadn’t struck. He was - talking. Sort of. He didn’t answer his question, but he asked one of his own.

It was a dialogue. Sort of. After a fashion.

“The whole…kidnapping and torture thing, right?” Blarney asked, letting out a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t around for that whole thing. I don’t know…like, truly any of the details about it, or who did what, or why, except that…” Blarney sighed and shook his head. “It sounded like the whole thing was a disaster. Not…all of ‘my people’,” he paused, making air quotes with his fingers around his stick, “were like, okay with what went down and how it went down.” Halia’s furious face burned in his mind. “Apparently the communication on that whole front was…not great. I wasn’t there, like I said, so I don’t know for sure, but…” Blarney shrugged.

It had never really occurred to him that the bad guys - collectively - might have…friends. He thought about what he would do if someone kidnapped and tortured one of his friends - Madeline, or Halia, or Miss Garde even, or Khaz - and he…

Blarney glanced behind him, taking in the smouldering remains of the building. Yeah, lighting a few buildings and dumpsters on fire was the least he would do in that situation.

…No. He would do worse. Much worse, he knew suddenly and with great clarity.

“It’s not just about like, destroying stuff, is it?” Blarney asked, studying the other man intently. “If it was, you’d be lighting other stuff on fire - buses, office buildings. Stuff that would make some noise.” Blarney squinted at him. “So why blow up the apartment?”

“Me,” Gesturing to himself, because introductions were important! “Albite, of Retribution.“ Because if he was threatening somebody? Hell, even if the threat was meant for someone else? It was important to him to pass down, along whatever live lines existed within factions, that it was him asking. To make sure they knew who he was asking for, for what, and for why!! “You,” Another gesture, haphazard, lazy tilt of palm and wrist. “Earth Knight, with a lower case k. Just a page actually…”

“N’whether you were there or not? Whether you agreed to it happening or not? Your colors were flying brightly! There was green, n’yellow, n’encke, n’order types all ******** over the place—” He knew there were others, not their names, not their faces, no one who he cared about enough when he had only two eyes and one brain and so his sights were a bit narrower. Encke would have his day. That time would come, but that was Senshi business, fulla history, fulla ******** told himself to deal with it later. To handle the task at hand and the very apologetic looking page required all his focus at the moment.

“There was Hy-brasyl, and there was Grieve..” Did the Page not know Hy-brasyl? Did they all not know each other? And sure the Earth was a large place!! But how many green-giant knights could there possibly be?! Un-networked, untethered, lost and wandering without kin. It sounded insane as he thought it, unimaginable to him, to be one of many but not connected to all. He preferred his army of ands to their white-laced loose cannons of singular origin. “Whether you were in on it, there for it? Only matters t’me insofar as how personal I take handling you.” As if to say ‘You see how nice I’m being? How over here I am?’ “Because you’d best believe I’m taking what they did…very…very personally…”

“But I’m not unreasonable! Yanno? I can get that it wasn’t you…and forgive the fact that you’re just a page enough t’ve been unable t’stop ‘em? Moreso if you keep an ear out….if you tell me when they show up….if you tell them…anyone who’ll hear you? That m’looking for ‘em personally.” As if he could keep his lines neat and messy instead of coloring all the hell over the page like a toddler on steroids.

“And this?” He did step back, squinted at the burnt out remnants now alight with police presence, yellow tape, flashlights in the blue, red, white variety. “I did this because I could—“ Because I have to, that was what he’d told Fulgurite. That he needed to do this, that it had to be done, that the only way to erase from his mind what once had been…what *was*...was to burn it out of his brain in the most physical manner he could imagine! A nice, concentrated fire of metal-melting proportions.

“Because sometimes it’s what’s necessary…for a person's peace of mind…for mine, at least? Because losing people s u c k s s s….like…real bad…so ********, baby knight, d’you even know yet? Maybe y’dont…” He snorted at himself, knew how insane it all sounded, seemed, the reality of the actions and if he’d been anyone else in the universe other than himself!? It did cause him to blink though, to pause curiously before he ran on too long with his sentences, shifting between his feet before cautiously asking.

“Why? Y’worried someone’s hurt? That there's really an arsonist runnin’ round out there settin’ random fires…for uh..nefarious purposes?” It felt reasonable to ask, and when he really looked at the page in all his green-glory getup. He felt nostalgia for it, simpler days, vanilla ice cream, a world where he might’ve once reacted like this too!

A slight frown creased his face as the man - Albite, of Retribution, apparently - began rattling off names. Some were familiar to Blarney, but only in passing; he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if a name he did know came up. He knew Aruna had been there, but that was all he knew - he saw now, the wisdom, in her not telling him any more about who had ratted to whom about what. It was better that he not know.

The frown deepened as he further considered what Albite said. Your colors. He looked down at his outfit, and thought of Miss Garde, how heart-warming it had felt to see someone and know, at a glance, that they were on his team. That’s what it had felt like - finding a team, or part of one, anyway, even if Miss Garde herself was firmly anti-team-ups. It didn’t matter; there was someone on his side, which meant there were probably more someones out there, and that had been reassuring to him.

At the time. It had been reassuring at the time. For the first time since he powered up, he felt something less than pride and affection for his outfit; it felt like he needed to give it a thorough wash. He hated that feeling; but more than that, he hated the guilt he felt rising in him. Even if he hadn’t been there himself - even if he hadn’t even been awake to the magical world yet - he was here now. What he did reflected on his team, and what his team did - or had done - reflected on him. It was as much his fault as it was theirs. That’s what being a team - being a family meant.

“I don’t know,” Blarney finally said, eyes downcast. He lowered his stick. He could feel everyone who cared about him - Aruna, his sister, even Miss Joy - yelling in the back of his head to stay on guard, don’t get dead, be ready, be vigilant, but…

Blarney looked back up at Albite. “I haven’t lost anyone.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘yet’, because that was allowing for the possibility of loss, and he simply refused to put that into the universe. “But…if I did lose someone? Someone important, like…whoever it was that you lost?” Blarney shook his head. “I think I might do a lot worse than burning down an apartment building.” Blarney sighed and looked up to the stars for a long moment, then back down to earth, to the building, to Albite.

“I was actually hoping it was a regular old arsonist. That it wasn’t…” he gestured between the two of them, “part of this whole thing. I guess if it has to be magical, there’s worse motivations for it, if you really weren’t doing it for…” he paused, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face, “nefarious purposes.” He knew this guy could be lying to him, but - well, if he was, to what end? He’d already admitted to starting the fire, so why would he bother lying about the motivation? It didn’t seem like he was doing it to get sympathy or to justify his actions.

Blarney shook his head again, his eyes catching on the earth medallion on his gloves. “How much do you know about…” he gestured to himself, all six-foot-one-noodle-body of him, “about this? Knights in general? ‘Cause I don’t know anything about…” he gestured on his own body to his chest, his forehead, meaning the giant gaping holes on Albite’s body, which somehow seemed more menacing that harmful on him. “I’ve only met one other person who had those, and all she did was tell me that they didn’t hurt. Which is good. They look like they hurt.” Blarney hesitated, then decided to do the bravest/dumbest thing he’d done so far: he sat down.

“If you’re not going to like, crush me like a bug or throw me off the roof or…I dunno, Retributionize me to death, can we…talk? You can tell me about your friend, if you want. If it would keep you from lighting any more of my city on fire.”

‘Awh s**t, I made him sad!!’

He was taken aback by it, how sorry he was to have disappointed the young looking man with magical bullshit instead of genuine crimes. For the burgeoning feeling of *caring* about the little pages hurt anything; the sad frown, the bird on a wire getting shot mid-flight feelings! He almost wanted to apologize, as his shoulders fell and his stance went lax from the neck down.

Fresh page, fresh page, and maybe he needs a hug even more’n me? Maybe he needs a friend and….

He couldn’t do it, take that next step forwards, let the tether of his dwindling anger completely go. He could set it at his feet and step on it though, call his own anger to heel momentarily, offer honesty? Pure honesty. If nothing else, he always had that on hand like loose change in his pockets. Jingling for the next open cup….

A bevy of useless, truth-filled wishes waiting for an open well to toss them into.

“It won’t…” He breathed and it hurt, he breathed and it was a growl, he looked at the green-garbed Knight solemnly and shook his head ‘sorry, not this round’. Still feeling more eager to bite the stick filled hands before him than leave them entirely be. “The lot worse I could do…that m’not doing right this instant….The kind that maybe someday ‘just talking’ will help us both with?”

“Just not tonight.” Distance felt better, felt smart, for his sake. For the pages. “Cause tonight? Tonight m’still in it…not in the overindulging kinda way…the city aint gonna burn, yeh? Cause other people live here n’just me, the kind I care about enough t’not do that. N’grief has t’have its limits…” As if he was hopeful for an answer from within, from the stars, from the Shamrock Knight standing tall and willowy and looking suddenly too down to keep looking at head on.

No, I need t’go, let the cops find him stalking round the eaves in brilliant tree-shades. Let it be anyone but me found too near to here…

“How about this though?” An idea, and he sighed his way through finding the words for it. Caught them in his teeth, hissed before agreeing with himself on their delivery. “If in a week or two you’re still seeing fires in places they shouldn’t be? Try me then, kay.” A plea of an ask, both hands raised and placating as he stepped back further from the ledge of his own feelings gone muddy at his heeled feet. “I’ll tell you how much I know…about this? About all of it. ********’, babystep n’handhold you through it over snacks if I have to? Kay..…I’ll have the *patience* for it then instead of the *hate* for it right now…”

I wont wanna kill you for wearing her colors n’being order blessed.

He didn't say.

I’ll be able to tell him later down the line how he can only control himself n’his own actions. How it’s not his fault. How none of that? In any of this? Changes the reality of – ******** – my own complacency with murderers and torturers and those that’d do the same…

That me being to the left of different isn’t some higher horse m’riding on, just a wilder less focused one…

He just couldn't bring himself to do any of that right now. He was reaching for the shadows already, even as he was also reaching into his subspace pocket.

“Illll…..maaaybbeee…have finally quit thinkin’ about how you’d look dangled off this roof…n’whether your scream’d echo loud enough to drown out what's looping round in my head…” As Albite finished his sentence he ran, back into void, back through thin air and whipped shadows leaving behind a bunch of nothing.

Save for the glint of an emerald pin emblazoned with a symbol. Warm to the touch. Engraved in a way that made it nice to run one's fingers over it.

Blarney nodded slowly, watching the range of emotions flicker across the man’s face - he saw it, the possibility, and just as quickly saw it fade, die, in the heat of the burning ashes across the street. Blarney stood again, but didn’t try to stop Albite from doing whatever it was he was doing: leaving, mostly, it seemed.

Why did the head-n-chest-hole people never want to answer any of his questions? Blarney was starting to take it personally, but that was a distant, passing thought, weighed as his mind was with the realization that this person who had been abducted and tortured - by my own people - had at least one person in the world who cared enough about them to burn the world down in grief.

“Okay,” Blarney agreed softly, nodding once. Two weeks - he could give the man two weeks, as long as nobody was actually hurt in that timeframe. He didn’t bother speaking this condition out loud; it felt redundant. He watched him leave: he vanished, poof, into the nothingness, just like that demon bird had done, and Blarney was too sad to even be surprised.

…But he wasn’t too sad to be distracted by a shiny. Frowning in confusion, Blarney approached the space from which Albite had vanished, kneeling to examine the tiny pin left in his place. He poked it, lightly, with his stick, and when it didn’t explode, he picked it up to study it further. He wasn’t familiar with the sigil emblazoned upon it, but he could put two and two together. He was…hesitant, to say the least, about keeping a gift like this from someone who set fires to cope, from someone who he was pretty sure was definitely on the bad guy team, but…

But he tucked the pin into one of his pouches anyway, heard the satisfying clink it made when it hit the gold StarCharm he’d snagged from a booth on his way over - it felt like a lifetime ago, now. Maybe Logan or another cat could tell him how the pin worked - make sure it wasn’t a tracking beacon or a listening device, or something like that; something that could hurt the people he cared about. He didn’t think it was, not really, but…

Well, Blarney hadn’t lost anyone. Yet. He intended to keep it that way, so while he would keep this…gift? he would make sure doing so wouldn’t put anyone he loved at risk. He glanced down at the fire-blown building again, his mouth in a thin line. Well, he’d gotten answers - it turned out bad guys did return to the scene of the crime, apparently…

Blarney sighed, the light bouncing off his metal Earth sigils. He wondered, absently, if his next job - his next responsibility was to find the crimescene that had caused this crimescene. Hy-Brasil, Grief, Encke…

Blarney sighed again and turned away. What he would do if and when he found those people, he had no idea, but it was clear to him that Albite wasn’t just going to let this go, and Blarney found he couldn’t quite blame him for that.

After all, if the tables were turned, Blarney wouldn’t rest until he got justice–or vengeance.