[ BOSS ORP ] From The Ashes (THE FINALE P.76)

[Blade Kuroda]

Shun quietly watched as Candace began to seethe before storming off. It would not be the last time he sees her. He was certain of that. Turning his attention back towards the phoenix, he frowned as he was trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do about this. At least it hadn't actually struck them yet. Though, perhaps they wouldn't need to. Furrowing his brow, he stared as the phoenix dissolved into white, encasing them all. And then there were suddenly many all around them. They were like ghosts, but at the same time... not. Just shaded figures resembling the four clans members, moving all about. Where were they going? It was hard to tell really.

Hearing one voice above the rest, he focused in on them. They could go home now? Wait. Where was this girl taking him? Home? As he was pulled along, he couldn't help but think back. It wasn't one specific memory, but a few playing through his head in succession. He had been quite a fool back then, when those feelings first began to arise. The reaper could recall those strange feelings in his chest, wondering if he had gotten sick.

That first kiss at the haunted house, when things seemed grim on what was to happen to them. The realization that he had fallen in love with her. It was such a foreign thing that he didn't understand, but he had felt it. He still didn't completely understand it today. There was also that moment, where after all the chaos of the Haunted House was over with, and that they had recovered where their feelings only became confirmed for one another. Now she meant more to him than anything else he could ever have imagined. She was his world. She had shown him he had the capacity to care for others. To have compassion. It was her who had given him a reason to smile now and then.

Prior to the school, he really didn't know what love or friendship was. It was almost strange how he had pushed these things away before. It wasn't really that he couldn't get it, but he never sought it out. They seemed.. frivolous. Things that he didn't need. They were things that could be exploited and nothing more.

How wrong he had been. While he still enjoyed his solitude, he had trouble imagining a life completely without them. Even if they did some really odd things that he wouldn't really understand. Or probably ever will. Like the whole deal with ball pits. Or even the whole strange thing about being 'adopted' as a sibling and whatnot. Strange quirks, but he had come to accept them. To a degree at least.

He still probably wasn't going to play in a ball pit. Ever.

The thoughts in his head finally settled in on something simple.

They were in the comforts of his room. Simply resting. Mitsu was already fast asleep with her head upon his chest. For whatever reason, he was still awake at the time, just watching over her while gently stroking through her hair with his fingers. There was a sense of serenity within him there. It was here where he belonged. Or at least, it was where he felt he did. He had his family, but the dynamics there were far different. Granted, there were times where he had some interesting or even amusing moments with the associates or the ally families, but it just wasn't the same. It was hard to feel like he had truly belonged there when he was what felt like under a constant weight of disappointment. It didn't matter. Things would likely get worse with them after what he had pulled recently.

No. It was here that was his home. And he had doubts that was going to be changing any time soon.

Feeling her gripping his hand, he did the same in return. Together. That was how they'd go.  

[Nio Love]

"Excuse me, are you crossing as well?"

The little figure in white looked up at the statue, as if it would react to her. She even waited an appropriate amount of time before she seemed to smile, and nod. Then she walked away, leaving the statue alone, in peace. The fog parted around the statue, wanting nothing to do with it. No one tried to convince it to move, or walk forward, or cross anything. No one had to.

It was too late for her.


It would have been easier if he'd just let her do the mindwipe. Why did she have to find a friend so stubborn? Why did she even have to find a friend at all? Even now, as she somehow saw Jericho's determined glare meeting hers, she could tell all of this would have been easier if she'd just let go.

"It still wouldn't be the same, Riley." She knew he was responding to something she must have said in the past, but for a single moment, she made believe he was talking to her right then and there. This was the Jericho she wanted to see. Not the one who was left behind at home, waiting to hear news about her. Waiting to find out she'd given up, after all.

"Maybe sometimes it is... but I don't think this is one of those times," he said quietly while staring into her eyes. "You aren't about to kill any of us.. as far as I know. Even if you were, I'd stop you."

And just like that, Riley had to come to terms with what she was witnessing. Though everything felt hazy, and colors had faded from the scene, something was giving her one last vision of the past. Her sightless eyes were useless, but somewhere deep down inside that stone cold shell, something has seeped in to her, beckoning her. Calling to her. Reminding her that there was still one place she was accepted for who she was, despite everything.

"I know you can pull through this. You don't need to retreat every time you get a bruise or cut... the Riley I know wouldn't let that deter her. She's one I can rely on, not only as the fiercesome leader she's meant to be but as the pillar and friend that she can be.. Don't break that treasure in half, please."

Defiant.

Riley's guilt melted and her eyes were suddenly burning with a familiar light. She even looked like she would be smiling. You see? This is why I knew you were perfect to stand by my side. Well done, Jericho. If you are so adamant in your stance, then you should fight for what you believe in. She reached up and hugged him gently. If you really think I'm making the wrong decision, there's only one real way to convince me that I am mistaken.

The hug slipped away, and she pulled herself out of his arms, standing on her own two feet once more. All her strength had returned, if only because he'd called out to a natural instinct within her.

Then she crouched ferally, hands curling into claws. If you win, I won't receive a mind-wipe. If I win, you will wake up tomorrow and it will already have been done.

She was watching it all happen. She couldn't stop it, nor could she change the fate of the moment. If she had just won that fight, Jericho wouldn't be suffering right now. Malodore wouldn't be suffering in her arms. And all the fog managed to do, for that one, bittersweet moment, was give her one more chance to feel guilty for having failed them all. One more chance to feel.

She wished, more than anything, that she had never touched anyone's life the way she had. Perhaps then, the statue would just be a statue.

"It still wouldn't be the same, Riley."

No. She whispered to the vision, even as it faded away and she felt the last few moments of thought leave her finally in sweet oblivion. It would be better.  

[xoxomenai]

Faustus felt a cold gust prickle along his skin, and glanced around. Something was not right. Quickly he reached out for Olivia’s hand, taking hers in his own, searching for Amarus’s as well, alarmed he could not seem to find it. A moment later his hand slipped into what he deemed to be hers.

The cool gust picked up to a firm breeze, so cold against his warmth. Fog was rolling in, strange and white. The boil squeezed the hands of the two beside him, staring as it enveloped the air around him. He could no longer see his friends. The fog was too thick, and the voices …

Voices?? … Whose?? … his friends?? … who were they?? … what were friends?? … It suddenly made no sense to him.

Still, the voices persisted, low and soft, fading in and out, as figures dark and light passed by all around him. He wanted to call out to them, ask where he was … who he was … but nothing made sense here, and his voice seemed not to come. In the confusion, a figure called out to him.

"Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?" The voice was quiet, and rather blank, questioning softly. Faustus blinked for a moment, considering the proposal. Was he?? … Where was he, and if he were here, what was he to do with himself?? … Around him, the voices whispered, promises that all would be alright, that he would be home. … Home?? … why did that word sound so warm and familiar?? …

Ahead, the pale figure shifted, began to move in a direction, becoming suddenly smaller and smaller, fainter and fainter. No, it couldn’t leave him here. Not lost and alone here. He wanted to go too, to go home. Stretching out an arm after the figure, Faustus began to run.

Ahead the figure drifted, coming closer, growing farther, faint and distant on the horizon. The boil tried to call out, to scream, make any sound, but sound wouldn’t come. He nearly tripped at one point, gasping as an image formed itself suddenly in his mind.

A small flame demon child, Faustus rushed eagerly into the foyer of his parent’s warm home. It was his fifth birthday, and he was to receive a very important gift. Giggling with glee, the small boil hurried down the stairs, to where his mother and father waited patiently, kind smiles on their faces.

“Mother, Father, has it arrived??” he asked, in a tiny, eager voice.

“See for yourself,” his father winked, both of them stepping aside to reveal a rather large and neatly wrapped box behind.

Eyes bright, the small boil rushed forward, tearing away at the colorful wrapping to open the box. Within, sat a curious creature. A small, beady-eyed dragonkit, formed of what seemed to be molten lava and flames itself. A Firelands dragonkit. He squealed with excitement, clutching her round the neck as she began to lick her rough, warm tongue up his cheek.

“I love her,” he smiled, staring into her dark eyes, the reflection of the room dancing across them. “I will call you … Ember.”

Ember. Mother, Father. This was home. The cozy warmth of a life spent with his dear Ember, his family. Each step took Faustus closer, and yet further from the figure ahead, yet his thoughts, his mind kept reliving the arrival of his beloved pet. It was just ahead, he knew it waited out there, wherever the figure was waiting. He just had to keep walking, he had to make it … He had to …

Faustus continued to walk, taking his steps slowly but carefully, one at a time.

{{OOC: Wordcount: 615}}  

[Ice Queen]

Danny was saying something--and beating on him again, but Roch’s attention was drawn to the small white figure, who asked him something important. His mouth opened--starting to reply--

“Hey boil! Where the hell have you been?” Fang’s voice rang out over the crowd as Roch strolled down the street, Desiree over his shoulder. “Can’t start a party without you here!”

“Yeah, right!” the twelve year old reaper called back, grinning idiotically. “Like that ever stopped you before!”

The night was balmy hot. It was one of those summer nights that sent all the neighbors out on the front steps of their apartment buildings, wearing as little clothing as they possibly could. “Halloween wasn’t supposed to get this hot,” Roch’s neighbors were often heard to mutter during the day. They would snap and whine at each other, fighting with fans and searching for shade. But come nightfall, they would come right back here, crowded together without touching. Bonding. They called out as they saw him coming, tired but anticipating, and he grinned and nodded to each of them. He knew them by name--whatever name they had chosen to go by.

“What’s takin’ so long, boil?” Bones demanded in that rough, raspy voice that made Roch’s smile fall slightly before broadening again. He could smell the liquor from here, even though he was two buildings down from the skeleton.

“I got a call from my old man,” Roch said.

“Hah! Ain’t he in the human world still?”

“Nah, he’s back,” Roch said, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading for the other guitarist. “He said to expect him tonight,” he added, dropping down on the step next to him. “Somethin’ about quality time.”

The entire group started laughing at that, and Roch joined in as he slipped his guitar strap over his shoulder. “Let’s get this party started, whaddaya say?” Roch asked, leaning back against the stone half wall next to the steps. He tuned his guitar, glancing over at Bones with a grin as the skeleton reached up, tilting his hat just so and clamping his teeth down on a stogie before he started the oh-so-familiar first song. The ghouls--the street walkers dressed in scanty outfits, the mothers that had been buried under menial work all their lives, the young ghouls that still didn’t know the difference between boils and themselves, pulled themselves off of the steps and started dancing in the street.

Roch watched them, his fingers dancing over the strings, a grin pulling at his lips as they were joined by the men, laughing, teasing, flirting to the sound of his and Bones’ guitars. Someone brought out a water hose, splashing the dancers, drawing the little scarelings to play.

“You forgot again, didn’t you?” Bones asked.

“Huh?” Roch said, glancing up from the dancing with a curious expression.

“The reason your old man’s home--its--“

A howl ripped through the air, melodic with just a hint of insanity. Roch knew that howl. He threw back his head, howling to the full moon at the top of his voice, grinning as all the werewolves started laughing at him. They teased him about his imitation howl--they always had. But he was proud of it, proud of the way it ripped through the air, primal and wild, even if his voice would never be that of a wolf.

Bones let out a laugh, shaking his head reluctantly as he grinned at the boil. “Whaddaya say, boil? You think you can take me on yet?”

“You mean it?” Roch asked eagerly, his fingers tensing on the strings of his guitar as he turned to the skeleton. “You won’t cry if I beat you, will you?”

“Like that’d happen any time soon!” Bones scoffed. He paused, though, his bony digits poised over the strings of his guitar. “Boil?”

“Huh?”

“Happy birthday,” the old skeleton said roughly. For a moment Roch stared at him, almost missing the notes of the challenging riff he was expected to repeat--even improve on.

“Thanks.”

((WC: 674))  

[prolixity]

The fog flowed down and out of the phoenix, muffling all the world in white. It was as though the friends he stood beside were nowhere within reach. Not even the ground was visible beneath his feet. A cold moment of panic gripped Jordan, but he pushed it back down. Whatever this was, he'd deal with it, they'd deal with it, and they'd all go home.

The figures that coalesced out of the fog seemed natural there, somehow, and he felt no surprise at their presence, even when he saw the ornate, strange clothing they wore and the occasional winged figure, and realized that they were not human at all, but Horsemen. They were all going somewhere, taking no notice of a solitary human standing off to one side, watching with curiosity and apprehension and maybe a little sorrow.

"Excuse me." A small cool hand slipped into his, and he looked down to see a small figure in white. "Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?" They smiled and began gently to tug him forward, into the stream of figures, walking somewhere. Walking home, said the whispers, blurred and whited out like the fog. Going home. You can come too, they said. It will be fine. Everything will be okay. Let's go home.

November was cold and dry and sunny, and Jordan sat on the back patio, watching Katie and the friend she'd brought to dinner chase each other around the yard. Jessica and Amy were inside, far too old and too cool to play tag with eight-year-olds; Andy, at 12, was just barely too old and too cool to play tag, but he shot surreptitious glances at the shrieking girls, and seemed just about to forget that he was above that kind of thing, no, really.

"Go play, dumbass," Jordan said, and shoved Andy's chair with a foot. The kid didn't like to sit on the ground, even though the bricks were warm from the sun that had been shining on them all morning. Pretty soon the angle of the light would change and the shadow of the house would drop over the patio, and then it'd be too cool, and Jordan would go inside just in time to be roped into helping set the table. But for now, the only people allowed in the kitchen were people helping with the meal, and the bricks were warm, and Andy was acting like a kid for once, only sticking his tongue out at his older brother before jumping up and running full tilt at Katie and the friend whose name Jordan was going to have to be reminded of again, yelling "I'M GONNA GET YOUUUUUUUU!" at the top of his lungs like he'd only been waiting for someone to tell him he could.

Tia Rosa opened the back door. "Out, you little pests! Out of the kitchen, you don't get any turkey, you fat puppies you! Jordan, there you are. Keep them busy! And don't let the kids trample the geraniums!"

"Yes, ma'am," Jordan said, drawling the words lazily and giving his aunt an angelic smile.

"You'd lay there in the sun all day like a lizard if I let you," Tia Rosa scolded, but she was laughing. "I mean it! Don't let anyone let the beasties back inside until I say they can come in." The door closed, and Jordan leaned back against the border of the flowerbed again. The dogs came bustling over in a tiny cloud of self-important fluff and enthusiasm. Ginger had found one of those ridiculous little miniature tennis balls somewhere, and she dropped it in his lap; all three dogs then sat and watched him expectantly.

"Fine, fine," Jordan said, mock-annoyed, and picked the ball up. "Aw, man, you got it all slobbery. Here, go fetch it and get it grosser." He tossed the ball in the general direction of the younger kids; Katie shrieked, dodged the wrong way, and got a slobbery dog toy to the chest. A moment later, the dogs were mobbing her feet enthusiastically.

"JORDY!" she yelled. "YOU TOTALLY DID THAT ON PURPOSE OHMYGAWD! YOU'RE A - A - YOU'RE A FARTFACE!"

Jordan folded over laughing. He had no homework left and five days of break still to go, nobody had yelled at anyone and meant it all day, Tia Rosa was cooking for serious, and Andy was smiling, big and bright and gleeful.

It will be fine. Everything will be okay. Let's go home, said the whispers. He walked in the fog, smiling faintly, eyes dreamy and distant and focused on that long-ago day, when everything had been peaceful, when all of them had been happy.

((Wordcount: 792))  

[Baneful]

One moment he was standing yelling, incandescent in his outrage. He was always at his happiest when he was yelling at someone or other and as he reeled from Rin's little ploy he was distracted. He didn't even notice the white fog rolling in around them until it became impossible to even see anyone, even those who moments ago had been meters from him.

He was alone.

Panic seized him like icy talons. He didn't want to be alone, he hated being alone. Oh please ******** god don't let him be alone. He had been hoping things had changed, that this wouldn't happen again. These last few days had taught him the value of so much more than just himself. If he met the man who'd set out from his dorm at the beginning of all this again, he didn't think he'd recognise him. All his petty little hang ups and tiny worries, his cowardice and inability to face anything about himself. The threat of death had thrown everything into razor sharp focus, and he'd learned, he'd ******** changed. He'd done his best, it wasn't fair.

He didn't want to be alone. It was a desperate fear similar to the terror the vines had inspired in him, that the snakes inspired in him, a primal terror. Even as the fogged figures appeared around him, none would respond. He could cry out to them as loud as he liked, and he tried, tried until he was half hoarse, but none replied. Surrounded by people but infinitely alone, it was an all too familiar nightmare, and he was scared.

He could do nothing but protest as the pale figure at the crossroads took him and led him on. Feeble pleas that he needed to wait, he needed to stay, there were people he needed to wait for. They'd be here, no really, they would. He swore, they'd have to be. It didn't listen.

Ignored and invisible, just like when he was a child.

--The fog rolled in --

It was rare to have moments like this, time when it was just him and his mother. Just the two of them, and she had that bright alert look about her. He liked to think of it as her being awake. He didn't understand why his mum was tired so often, or why he had so many dads, he only understood the simple intuitive little things children pick up on. He knew when she was sad and it distressed him, he knew when she was afraid and it distressed him. Somewhere in his heart he always knew that she was meant to be strong, he was meant to feel safe. And moments like this one was when he did.

The little heater they had was too small to heat the bare room, but huddled up close to his mum he didn't feel the cold. Both of them simply sat and watched the bars of the heater, till they could feel the warmth on their eyes.

They didn't speak, they didn't have to. The shadows couldn't hurt him here. He wished things could stay like this forever.

---the fog crept into the room and swept everything away --

Home was so hard to find after the death of his mother. He didn't live anywhere long, drifting. He liked to imagine he was a lone wolf, too misunderstood for a pack of his own. His friends didn't understand him, the women irritated him. Home was a dance floor, the music loud enough to compete with his pulse, loud enough he could feel it still in the quiet lonely hours of the morning in the arms of a person he didn't care for. Home was the sweet blissful kiss of alcohol, the vibrant rush of life of whatever drug was in vogue at the time. Home was all of these things and at the same time none of them. He sought that place, that safe feeling in everything until it began to poison his mind like the insane fog itself.

He'd watched a wildlife show towards the end, hung over on a couch, overdue in rent, nowhere to go. It said that lone wolves died without a pack. And he started to believe it. He needed to find a home, and time was slipping away.

-- hands on his back as he was pushed onwards --

Hands on him in a hug. A warm and satisfying hug he'd wished would never end. He'd been scared to let go, scared to ease back into that solitude he'd felt. A life behind steel walls of hate and rage, forever exhausting anger with no hope of redemption. And they'd pulled him out of it. And handed him a hope he'd never felt.

Looking up on a battlefield only to realise somehow he'd gained more friends, true friends than he could ever remember having.

--"Home. Let's go home. Everyone will be there."--

They would all be there.

Clerise with her lewd gestures and rage fit to match his own, and all the simple clarity only someone as free as her could possess.

Rin with her distinctly motherly concern for him and an understanding of him that ran far deeper than most had ever bothered to pursue. His moral barometer, the person unafraid to tell him when he'd overstepped the mark. More than he deserved.

Even the people who'd managed to learn to tolerate him, his comrades, Cass who somehow managed to defuse even his most vehement attempts to set her off. Jerry who despite his polar differences, still stood up on the field and fought for his corner. So many people he'd thought would never care to tolerate someone like him.

And the two people he could only hope with all his heart he'd get to meet again. So different but both so necessary, so complimentary to who he was. Harrison who he felt he could trust with anything, dependable, logical, attractive and frankly ******** hilarious. Jordan who he could trust with the things he normally kept so tightly chained behind his walls, who he could open up to and could melt him with a look. With them he felt safe. And it was so early still, so much left still to go.

--The fog clouded everything, but he couldn't forget that aching desire to get home. To return.--

He closed his eyes and as he walked he could see home, footsteps echoing in the perpetual white, he couldn't leave without them.

Home was an island.

Home was his friends.

(Words 1093)

 

[demon_pachabel]

Home? she didn't really..have a home. A crossroads? No, she didn't really have anywhere to be. Anything she needed to be working on. Shoot, were they late to get back?

when had it gotten to be...

so...

late?

“Why does this building have to be so damn hard to dra- HATI!! HATI! PAW OFF THE PAPER!! HATI!!” The edge of the paper that Shehk was drawing on suddenly ripped right into one of the buildings she’d drawn – painstakingly. There was a ruler set out on the floor with her and eraser shavings were scattered about. Why had she decided working on the floor was the better idea? Probably the same reason why she’d decided pretending to sleep was a good idea.

It passed the time.

Hati looked up at Shehk when she retrieved the paper, frowning a bit, before she looked back to the actual map of the town she’d bought earlier that day. She looked at the buildings, then at the grid she’d sketched out herself. She was off. It took another thirty minutes to correct her error, but it cleaned up soon enough. After a long time of looking at it, she crumpled up the paper and tossed it off to one side. Skoll ran after it, fetching it up like it was a ball that had been thrown just for him before crawling underneath the pricolici’s bed to stash it with the rest of the fail’d maps he’d retrieved as ‘his’ prizes.

It had taken her another three hours to finally draw a map she liked – it had taken longer for her to handle a lighter and not hyperventilate herself into a fit about accidentally setting herself on fire with it to burn the edges. There. It was done. The last piece of everything.

There was a small wooden chest – likely a jewelry box at some point – sitting on her desk, waiting to be locked up. However, it was empty. She hadn’t exactly been sure what to put in it, to be honest. That was the hard part. ‘Do something related to his interests’ had been the advice she’d taken. What did Red Dragons like? Besides Rileys. Everybody liked those and she couldn’t exactly give him his best friend. He could get that on his own, Jack dammit!

The easy solution had been treasure, actually. Jericho liked shiny things, didn’t he? But what kind of shiny thing? She needed to get it together tomorrow before she deemed it ready to go for the next night. The clues were written, people were harassed to let her borrow their public signs, and she just… what did someone give a dragon that probably had everything already? He probably wouldn’t care, but what if that was something he’d care about?

Wait, why did she care? They weren’t dating. It was just a one time thing. Still, she would have rather gone all or nothing with it. Take a nice little break from stressful things. Have a bit of fun.

Okay, she had to get a good prize just in case the treasure hunt wasn’t something he considered ‘fun’. A fallback, maybe. That..that was still a lot to think about. Even as the next day had passed around. That was when she’d found the flier in her mailbox about a small independent film festival and – hello, what was this shiny thing they had printed on it? The subtitle said ‘Dragon’s Claw’ now did it? Was that a real thing?

Did it actually exist?....Were they common?

It had taken some sweet talking (and puppy dog eyes) to get some information about the local independent director who had made the short with the item in it, and then she’d taken every possibly wrong turn before finding where they worked during the day – funny how she could get lost when she had drawn a map of the city how many times the night before?

Peh. It didn’t matter. She’d found it. However, when she knocked on the door, there was a long silence that answered her. Not a real answer, but the sound of something falling and then a rather…deranged looking reaper answering the door with his hair slicked back and wrapped up in a paint-crusted bandana, a bright pink flamingo-feathered coat, and a smock that looked like something had melted down the front of it, giving her a bizarre look.

“Are you here answering the call for actors? ‘cause you don’t fit any of the descriptions of what I needed.” He said roughly. Shehk’s ears flicked back. “No, I’m here to inquire about a prop used in your short film ‘The Dragon’s Claw’?” she held up the flier. The reaper looked at it, then shrugged. “That thing? What about it?” he asked, looking up at her again. Ugh, undeads. And a dog. He was surprised she didn’t smell funny. “I’d like to see if there was a way I could maybe get it from you if you don’t have any future plans for it?” she sounded far too hopeful about it.

He again looked at her, and then squinted his eyes. “…Why does a little ghoul like you need something like that?” Shehk took a deep breath. “I have a friend I think would like it and- “ “Birthday present?” Shehk made a small face. Did she even know when the dragon’s birthday was? “Uh. Yes?” No. Not a birthday, but same idea. The reaper looked at her for a long time, as if debating what he thought of a ghoul who would go to that length to hunt down something that seemed so..mundane to him. “Come on in. If you can find it, you can have it.” Shehk had followed willingly and –

“….”

To say the least, the inside of the reaper’s house looked like he could have been hiding bodies in there for the Kuroda mafia and they never would have been found again, not even by the mafia themselves. There were knick knacks piled up all around, old boxes of pizza, a picture of Lady Gaga back in her prime monster days, broken clocks, dolls that had been torn asunder.. she could have sworn she’d seen a cannon cat crawl through the debris a-

A bunch of stuff landslide down across the small narrow walkway the reaper had made, and he simply stepped over it. Shehk moved to step over it as well when the aforementioned Cannon cat appeared, hissed, swatted in her direction, and then ran back into the piles of stuff. There had to be scrags or something in there. There was no other explanation. Just scrags. “Lots of stuff in here.” She noted as she walked. The reaper shrugged. “I guess.”

Eventually he lead her to a room that was, to say the least to Shehk, disorganized. Things were half sorted into piles near the bottom and then after a while any semblance of organization had been given up on and just tossed on top of it. She’d had to try not to swear, just grinning thankfully before she’d rolled up her sleeves and gotten to work.

Eight hours it had taken to sort through the pile. Ultimately, however, it had come to her with another landslide of stuff that had actually taken her down with it. The reaper hadn’t even heard her as she’d been buried, shrieking underneath a pile of what seemed to be old laundry and – oh god, that was squishy. She didn't want to think about whatever that was. Yuck! She was totally taking a shower after this. Maybe six of them.

As she’d moved to unbury herself, she cut her hand on something, yelping a bit before she’d picked it up – a broken chain. However, the item itself needed to be cleaned of more than just her blood. It looked like it had been buried in oil paints at some point in time, but after wiping it off on one of the dirty t-shirts, it seemed to be exactly what she’d been looking for.

Shehk had carefully navigated to find the eccentric reaper. “So I can..just take this, right?” she asked, holding it up, “Or do you need something else?” As it was, she was hoping he’d just let her go. He looked over his shoulder at her. “You’re still here?” he asked and she grinned warily before he just shooed her with one hand.

Freedom! Fresh air had never tasted so sweet to her, yet the moon was out now. She’d been gone forever! Now she just needed to take a shower, and then she’d work on cleaning up that prize of hers. And getting it a new chain before she finished her preparations the next day.

As it was, she had to hope it would be worth it – the planning was so much fun! She hadn’t really had much fun in a while, so it was getting her hopes up for a nice break from her self-inflicted woe. It was time to get better.

She was ready to be better.

And maybe to stop smelling like laundry and cannon cat.  

[prolixity]

((Music))

Siddie looked up hopelessly into the sky, where the phoenix hung with its feathers made of faces. She imagined she could recognize a few of them, faces she'd seen during her so-brief stay on the islands. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the phoenix. "I'm so sorry."

When the fog came whispering down to wrap around her like a cool silken embrace, she smiled.

There were walkers in the fog, pale grey indistinct shapes at first, forms that became more solid as they walked. People of the Four Clans, she realized; Death in their soft enfolding robes, War in their painted splendor, Conquest in long robes she could only dream of trying on, Famine wrapped and mysterious, their eyes and their bones gleaming between their scarves. They were beautiful even painted all in grey by the fog, silent and seeking, traveling. Their home was gone. They were looking for home.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice said. A little figure all wrapped in white stood looking at Siddie with a curious, gentle expression.

Siddie scrambled hastily to her feet. "I'm sorry," she said, brushing at her skirts in a futile effort to get the blood and dirt off.

"Are you crossing as well?" the scareling asked, and slipped its small hand into hers.

"I don't, I'm not sure, I couldn't - " But she was being coaxed into the procession, gently but inexorably, slipping in among the Horsemen. It's okay, said the voices in the fog, soft and slurred and comforting. Come with us. We're only going home. Everything was muted; the sense of urgency Siddie had felt throughout the whole horrifying disaster had faded away into a kind of echoing peace. Let's go home.

Her parents hadn't wanted her to come home over festival; they had things to do, things to take care of that didn't include coddling flighty offspring. Siddie didn't mind, though. She'd been hoping she could stay. She liked it here.

She kicked her feet idly in the air, listening to the swish of tatters and lace as her lovely new skirt moved. Sammy liked this skirt; probably, Siddie thought, because it was light and the zombie ghoul could flip it and make her shriek and blush. But that was really kind of all right. It wasn't like the ghouls at etiquette lessons, who would embarrass you just so they could laugh. Sammy did it because she liked Siddie, really and genuinely liked her. And maybe at first that had confused Siddie, because she wasn't used to being liked without having to do something in return, but she was starting to accept it more easily now.

She rolled onto her back on the soft rug and flopped her open copy of Coffin Ghoul magazine down over her stomach, smiling up at Sammy where the zombie sat on the bed, reading the assigned chapter with a faint frown, her lips moving every now and then when she encountered a difficult term. Sammy didn't notice, but Ixxy did; the scareon trilled at Siddie and jumped down to march over and demand her tribute in the form of scritches behind the earfins. Siddie obliged.

If she could do this all the time, just be quiet and happy with someone she liked, she'd be - she'd be very happy, she thought. Sometimes she argued with Sammy, sometimes their interests were different enough that it irritated them both, but they had never had one of the chilly, barbed fights her parents had all the time. Maybe that wasn't the way it had to be. Siddie was beginning to think that maybe that wasn't so unrealistic a thought after all.

A quiet afternoon, her ghoulfriend, and a minipet to cuddle. That was everything she really wanted right now, this day.

Let's go home, the voices said softly into Siddie's ears, and her lips shaped the words without sound. Content. She was content, and peaceful, and she was home. Going home.

Everything will be okay.

((Wordcount: 660))  

[ramenli]

Before they could really go to seek out their friends, old teammates and those that were too important not to find, the bird transformed again. A fog so thick that it was almost palpable surrounded him. Alexander had stepped away, and even though he could not have made it very far, not at his pace, he was impossible to make out. There were figures that could be seen in the fog, reminiscent of horsemen. Again, no one that he really knew but...had that been one of those that had assisted him out of the cave while he had been on the Isle of War? It was confusing, and having his sense of sight taken from him put him more on edge. He was alone, and not at a time when he wanted to be.

Then a figure emerged. Somehow the white of the small being standing out even in the white fog that rolled around him. Asking him if he was coming. Taking his hand and tugging slightly, pulling him forward in its quest for home.

He twisted his neck from side to side, a full 180 degrees this way and then the other, rolling his shoulders and bouncing on the ball of his feet as he eyed the other boil. It was just Chao that he was facing. He had faced him several times before in practice. He won in practice. At least, he won when he went all out against him and he was not handicapped in one way or another.

He glanced at his instructor who simply gave him a nod, knowing he was capable of winning even on a bad day. And this did not feel like a bad day. Unfortunately...not winning was the plan. At least for him. Just make this a good show, wait for a good opportunity, and not get up. It would likely make more skill to pull that off than to actually win the match. He signaled to the referee that he was ready, watching as Chao gave his own signal, and then it began.

They circled for a moment, a test certainly but each knew the other. Knew how he fought, knew what he was capable of. Chao broke first, moving out of desperation as he knew he was outmatched. His form for this attack was perfect, hands pointed just so, his feet making the powerful slapping noises against the ground that rang so true that they could not have been anything but deliberate. Then he was there, slapping and lashing out. Yin caught the blow on his arm, moving with them, lessening the damage, closing in himself before turning, spinning around him and giving his back a shove. The boil went to one knee and quickly flipped around, one foot sweeping out to try to knock him off of his feet. Yin quickly stepped back, watching him as he regained his footing before closing in himself this time, taking the offensive. He noted when Chao's guard drop, knew that he if simply gave him a hard punch to his kidneys the victory would soon be his. But instead he took the shot...and held back. The blow barely touching him, enough to look convincing to most but not to do seriously damage. Later he could just say it was for the show, to make the fight last.

The battle went on, lasting far longer than necessary as he just kept waiting for the right moment to be forced down, or out of the rink. And it never came. He had to make the opening, that was the only choice. Quickly he calculated his options. A jump kick, but a miss. It would put him off balance, Chao would counterattack, and when he fell he would stay down. With the right circumstances he might even get knocked completely out of the rink.

He took a moment to stare at Chao's right shoulder. Giving the boil ample time to see where he was aiming. Then he struck. He jumped, one foot touching the ground and pushing himself off, then the other one straightening as he brought that same knee up. As he was kicking out he noticed Chao moving...but in the wrong direction. Apparently he had believed it to be a bluff and had moved right himself. Too late to draw back the kick it landed squarely in his chest, sending him flying backwards, well out of the sparring area. He landed in a crouch, stunned. The referee came forward, pulling him up, raising his hand into the air and announcing him as the winner for the competition. The best adolescent male fighter of the Mantodae.

He looked up to see his instructor. His mentor. The hardened man looked at him and with a small smile dipped his head. To him. Acknowledging his accomplishment. Pride evident in his eyes when he looked back up.

Pride in him.

The memory ended before the next feelings washed over him. The feelings of apprehension and terror over what he had just done. What it would mean. How he had destroyed his plans and now he would have absolutely no control over what would happen to him. Before the panic had set in. Before he had scrambled to get his few belongings that he could somewhat call his together and he had fled like the pathetic creature that he was.

Instead it just went back to the beginning, just before that final match, playing through until that perfect moment of accomplishment and pleasure at seeing that proud look on his mentor's face before looping. Everything was going to be okay. He was going home. And everything would be fine if he just crossed over. Home.  

[kalindara]

Aurian shook her head at Wylfenne's question, not as a denial but a result of not having an answer. The Reaper could barely grasp all that had happened today and the utter chaos of this battle was not making it any easier. If there was something that could be done to help the Heirs, Aurian didn't know where to start. Maybe there was nothing that they could do in this situation - the Clans hadn't been forthcoming about themselves, maybe the Horsemen were just as different from the denizens of Amityville as the Hunters were.

She edged closer to Lacie. The younger ghoul was even more innocent that Aurian, bringing out Aurian's 'big sister' mode almost constantly. She wished she could have spared Lacie all of this, that somehow she could have protected the young Reaper, sent her home or somewhere safe when all of this began. But that was a futile wish. All Aurian could do now was stay by Lacie's side and protect her as best she could.

"We'll be okay," she promised Lacie. Maybe that would turn out to be a lie, but for now Aurian believed it. Somehow they'd find the strength to get through this, together.

She was so concerned with Lacie that Aurian missed seeing the phoenix dissolve. The first indication that something was wrong was creeping white fog edging into her vision. Aurian ever so slowly turned her head to stare over one shoulder. A shudder wracked her body.

"Oh Jack," she whispered. "Not again."

Her mind flashed back to the Hunter's island where she'd first encountered their crazy mist. Overlaid on that was the much more recent experience of the Death Trials. The fog that had tried to swallow them, to make them lost within the forest. It had been all that was left after losing Vaith and Mai...

"Lacie-!" Aurian swung back to her friend. They should stick close together; it was easy to get lost in the thick fog. But Lacie was gone. Aurian was greeted by a wall of white mist in all directions. There was no sign of Lacie, or other students, or even the Hunters. Aurian stretched out her arm. She could barely make out her own hand, the fog obscuring everything that wasn't right in front of her.

"Lacie?" she called. "Wylfenne?"

Something moved in the mist. Aurian stumbled forward, trying to chase the figure. Her hand fell as it drew close. It wasn't either of her friends. A Clans member, perhaps? The feathers and jewellery looked familiar, though the face wasn't.

"Excuse me...?" she tried to get the attention of the passing figure. It ignored her, disappearing back into the fog. Another darkened blur passed by, heading in a different direction. Despite her attempts to speak to the figures or chase them down, they all moved purposefully on, gazes locked in the distance as though unable to see Aurian at all.

"Hello?"

There was a faint echo, but no response to Aurian's frustrated yell.

Or was there?

"Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?"

Aurian yelped and spun around. One hand pressed to her heart as she gaped at the figure in white. "You scared me!" she gasped. "Wait, you're talking to me? You see me?"

The Clans member in white was different to the others in the mist, clearly. Whispers from the mist told Aurian she could trust this person. That everything would be fine if she followed. She could go home, wasn't that what she wanted?

"Home?" Aurian's voice wavered. It was hard to breath around the lump in her throat as she thought of the halls of Amityville, safe and familiar, and far, far away from Hunters and Horsemen and the mists of Insanity. She frowned at the last thought. There was something about the mists, something she ought to remember... It faded as the figure in white prompted her to keep moving.

Home. Aurian thought of that last moment in the Death Trials - her dearest friends holding out their hands, the promise that she wasn't falling behind, would never be left behind. They loved her, they'd stay with her. Aurian felt warm trails on her cheeks. She rubbed at them with the back of one gloved hand, the material coming away damp. She could almost smell the exotic perfume that Mai wore, the faint muskiness of Vaith's jacket and fur collar.

"Home?" she repeated. The figure gestured Aurian onwards. The memory of Vaith and Mai waiting, holding out their hands for her replayed. Aurian slowly walked forward.

Boozver

Xaki

peipur

Random Artist

Word Count: 757
+3 Four Clans Points  

[Syusaki]

Wilson was used to being in clouds. His weapon always discharged large, billowing clouds of green gas that obscured his vision for a moment before they dissipated, but this fog was different. He couldn’t see a single thing, not even the ground when he looked down. Someone tugged on his arm, pulled him forward step by step. Wilson took a breath of fresh air. Fresh air? He reached up for his mask, but it was gone. The white figure ceased gripping his hand and faded into the background as something else overtook the unnerving silence.

It was cold, but he was used to cold. To be honest, he loved the cold. He thrived in it. His breath came out in wispy puffs of white that evanesced into the air. The collar of his jacket brushed against his cheek as Wilson walked down the sidewalk. His hands slid into his coat pockets and his boots crunched against the snow in a steady beat. For a moment he heard only the sound of his own footsteps, which made him pause. He furrowed his brows as he stood silently. There was supposed to be another pair of footsteps right alongside his, comfortingly crunching with his steps.

Wilson turned around. Quiet worry tinged his voice as he called out, “Em?” But he didn’t have to search far for his girlfriend. She was still there, a ways away from him, but still there. A long, pink scarf was snuggly wrapped around her neck as she bent forward, hands crossed over her chest as she tried to resist the cold weather.

The sound that came out of his mouth was a mixture of a sigh and laughter. “What’s wrong?” An amused smile tugged at his lips as he backtracked over to Em. A bare yet warm hand slid out his pocket to grasp Em’s mitten-covered one.

“It’s cold,” she noted glumly, shivering as if to prove her point.

Wilson laughed again as he looked around to make sure no one was there before he placed a warm kiss on her cheek. “My house is just another block away, okay?” Home is just around the corner. He walked forward again, but Em stubbornly remained in place as worried creases filled her forehead.

“What if they don’t like me?”

He rolled his eyes at her, putting more force into his tug until they were walking side by side. “You’re being silly.”

“Am not.”

“Em, you’re smart and nice and responsible and calm and adorable. Don’t you dare think otherwise.” It was Em’s turn to roll her eyes as Wilson began to swing their interlocked hands together while he hummed softly.

“And more mature.”

“Exactly! So my parents will love you.” Their laughter melted together, easily and perfectly. Wilson was still humming when both of their steps sounded simultaneously up the front porch of his house. The floorboards were old as ever, emitting shrieks that often sent his younger self in a skittish panic, but this time there was someone to hold his hand reassuringly and tell him she understood. His grip on Em’s hand tightened as he pushed the front door open with his other hand.

The house had barely changed. Inside he could still hear the nostalgic sound of his mother frying up dinner with her trusty black pan and over the crackling fire of the stove. He could still hear the high-pitched laughter of his aunt as she listened to his father crack another lame joke. He could already smell dinner as he walked into the kitchen—dumplings, his favorite. All three adults turned to look at him.

“Wilson!”

“Kiddo!”

“Willie!”

Wilson smiled. “I’m home.”  

[Ice Queen]

Syd was about to reply to the tiger and Aleister when the creature in white asked her a strange question. Crossroads? What? Weren't they supposed to be going back to Deus--

The chair was heavier than it looked, Sydney thought as she tried to shove the chair across the cheap linoleum kitchen floor. It was bigger than she was, sure, but its arms and legs were skinnier than hers, so it shouldn’t weigh as much, right? The little girl’s stubborn look fell into place as she tilted her body, shoving her shoulder into it as hard as she could.

The rattling sound of a chair being pushed by a three year old was loud enough to wake the dead, she was certain. She jerked to a stop, guilt clear on her face as her usually tilted brown eyes widened and her tiny hand covered her mouth. For a moment she looked at the walls of their tiny two room apartment, positive that their neighbors would shove a finger through the wall and rip it open to yell at her. They were made of paper, after all. Her mother was always saying “how annoying it was having walls that were paper thin.”

When nothing happened (no finger holes, NOTHING!) the little girl toddled over to the chair that was by the counter and climbed on top of it. She took her time standing, worried when the chair wobbled--the floor had never been even, even when it was made, she was sure, then becoming confident once again when it stilled. Her stubby little arms reached upwards, trying to open the cabinet over the counter. The chair threatened to topple, and she was nowhere near the cabinet door, so with a disgruntled grunt she climbed onto the cheap counter in her socks and stood on that.

This time her fingers grabbed the handle just fine. She tugged it open, pulling out the colorful box of cereal--or trying to. It sure was high--

The little girl’s feet slipped, her socks getting no traction from the counter top, and fell backwards, hitting the chair hard and falling with it to the ground. Brightly colored cereal poured over her, the chair, and the ground. For a moment there was nothing but blackness. Slowly her eyes opened. Pain rushed through her body. Her eyes filled with tears as she gasped for breath, then, as soon as she got one, she started wailing at the top of her voice, forgetting about the paper walls entirely.

Feet tromped down the hall and her mother appeared at the kitchen door, staring at the scene for a second before she rushed over. “Okay, baby, Mommy’s going to call the ambulance--don’t MOVE.”

But the blood was rushing to the little girl’s head and she didn’t hear anything except for the word “move.” She started to sit up, only to get pushed back down again. “No, baby, don’t move. Mommy’s here, and she doesn’t want you to move--hello 911? Yes, I have a problem--My daughter seems to have fallen--there’s blood--Yes, she fell off the kitchen counter--or a chair--no I wasn’t there--“

Tears were streaming down from Sydney’s eyes, flowing over her temples and dripping into her hair. “It’s okay, baby,” her mother said a few moments later. “The good guys are coming. They’re going to make you feel all better, okay?”

Sydney was sobbing by this point, gasping sobs that shook her entire tiny body. It hurt! It’d been scary! Why wasn’t her mother holding her??

At a loss of what else to do, Sydney’s mother started to sing. Sydney couldn’t understand the words, but that didn’t matter. Slowly her tears stopped, the sweet tone of the strange lullaby calming her. They echoed in her mind as she was lifted by the people with the table, and taken into the back of the ambulance. She could feel her mother’s hand holding hers--and she knew, she just knew that everything was going to be okay.

The good guys would make her feel all better.

(She got seven stitches and a sucker, btw.)

((WC: 690))  

[kuumeii]

Scrunching her nose, the rabbit seemed to shy away from the group as the blinding fog washed over her. “Stay together!” She called out into the fog. Mea could barely make out the figures of her little band in the thickness, or were those her friends? Attempting to find them she moved a few paces with her arms stretched outward awkwardly, but it was to no avail. Void. That what it was – a void where the ghoul felt she was floating. “Hello?” She called, listening as nothing came back to her, not even an echo.Shuddering she took a few more steps in the endless white and called again.

“Hello?”

It felt like a sudden updraft as the whiteness became assaulted by the darker hues of the black and grey as the figures moved along. Shielding her eyes and hunching over she remained still until the gentle words called to her. “Crossing?” She questioned while her pink eyes swept the endless fog until settling on the white-clad figure. Upon resting her eyes on the figure she seemed transported back into her own mind and into a sea of nostalgic indulgence.

To any other creature a meal was simply a meal, and often in Halloween was not actually necessary, but to a young mouryou each meal was a new experience. Nothing compared to that first time – had it really been so long?

Damp. The smell of the earth under her claws had been damp as the ghoul dipped deep into the earth, unrooting a recently buried treasure. She couldn't even remember how old she had been but that she had been left to run wild for a while. Mea had lost her way so easily but hadn't cared when she couldn't find her way back home, rather she was thrilled and excited to see the new landscapes which awaited. Bounding along through trees the rabbit was assaulted with the greatest sensations of both smell and touch as the earth shifted under her feet.

She was truly free here. Away from disapproving eyes or rules, away from cramped quarters and the same boring smells, away from everything.

It set her soul ablaze with happiness and that was when she found it, all on her own. She'd been often told about what she was and her origins, but they were heedless words until that precise moment when she lifted her nose to the air and smelled something delicious. Instinct? Perhaps. Regardless she found herself digging quickly, furiously to get to it. It was not a scent she was used to – it was edible, yes, but nothing cooked or lacking in flavor, this was something better.

It was in those moments when she unearthed it, that tender morsel of flesh – and devoured it. It was an explosion of taste, fantastically juicy and a flavor she couldn't even place. If there was only one thing she was able to eat for the rest of her life, she wanted it to be this. Hours could have passed, even days in that one moment – that one PERFECT moment. “I want to do this for as long as I live.” She lamented, quietly retreating into the shade of a nearby tree and letting out an un-ladylike burp.

Shifting her eyes to the horizon she felt a satisfied smile come on. Untamed and vast the horizon seemed to call to her curiosity as well as her stomach.What else was out there? What other sweet things to eat, maybe even people to meet? In the wild she felt good, she felt... complete. It was more home to her than any place, the ability to move and eat and just be. It was a comfort to say the least, an epiphany. This is who she was, where she wanted to be – This was Alamea.

How she wished to return to that simplicity. Snapping back into reality she found herself moving, bouncing along as if she nothing bad had happened at all. Was this where she was supposed to go? Back to that comfort of self-discovery? Back to home?

Home is what you take with you.

An image flashed of her friends, of the experiences she recently had. Even in such a short amount of time how she'd grown bonded to them, forever changing their lives as they had changed hers. There was a bitterness to know they were not with her now. With a glazed-over gaze she stared back into the whiteness with only the sound of her clacking shoes and the various voices around her. It was warm and comforting, surely it was leading her to a better place, back with those old notions, that untamed wilderness and with her friends. Her home. She'd never lost it, it had been with her all along and she needed to get back to that - but where had her friends gone? I found them once, I'll find them again, somewhere in that horizon. Her legs led her on and her ears twitched.

And then we'll have a picnic...

((873))