Welcome to Gaia! ::

She stood with her back straight, braced as her attention was torn between the wheeling phoenix above and the milling students and trainees. Occasionally she would raise her flamethrower and point, driving off those that sought to take advantage of the distraction. It was less of a conscious act and more of an instinctual reaction.

Aria jumped when she felt something take hold of her hand, her flamethrower whipping around to point and nearly smack into Lance's face as he held her hand, looking up at her. He merely blinked at the proximity of her weapon to his face, his grip tightening as she tried to pull away.

"Lanc-"

"Aria," Lance interrupted, looking up at her. It was so strange, she reflected. Wasn't she supposed to be the one who looked up to him? It was... odd. Wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

"I just wanted to say-" The world was beginning to fade away into white as the horsemen closed in. "- I'm sorry."

The grip on her hand relaxed, releasing as the fog crashed down. Aria was jostled as the figures surrounded her, moving and separating her. "Lance? Lance!" She shouted, trying to elbow and push her way through --

Someone grabbed her hand. Aria latched onto it like a lifeline, letting it lead her. "Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?" She opened her mouth to speak, to say something before --

She was standing still, looking up as the hunter rose from the mahogany desk. The black woman paced around the desk, her hands clasped behind her back as she approached the teenager. Aria could still smell the disinfectant, feel the itch that begged to be scratched beneath her bandage. The trials were rough, and Aria had managed to burn herself just as much as she had been able to burn her opponents. But unlike them, she had survived. Aria was glad that her stomach was empty. Just recalling the vivid detail of what had transpired during her initiation gauntlet into joining Deus Ex made her want to throw up. Again.

But she couldn't. Not with the older hunter walking slowly around her, as if she savored every step. Aria kept her gaze forward, trying very hard to not glance at the Mist hunter as she stalked by. It was difficult to not look at her. Never before had Aria seen a woman with so many beads in her hair, or flaunt such vicious-looking scars openly. She dropped her gaze, not wishing to stare at the physically marring marks on the dark woman's skin.

The huntress came to a stop before Aria, reaching out to tilt Aria's chin up. Her face was turned to one side then the next, as if inspecting her. "So," she began. "You survived."

She couldn't move. She couldn't nod. She had not choice but to stammer a soft, "Y-yes."

The answer surprised her. "Good." The answer was blunt, followed by a 180-degree turn to swipe something off of the desk before thrusting it at Aria. "It would do you well to keep surviving. You will need such skill with the Mists."

Aria fumbled, nearly dropping the package. It came undone in her hands: her new coat. She stared at it, jumping as the older hunter clapped her on the shoulder. "We are the few, the Inner Mists. Welcome, little sister. I am Nkiruka. I will be your sister, your mentor, your leader. Follow my every command, and you will not die."

But it was a lie. Nkiruka was dead. She was killed by the very things that Aria had a hand in killing earlier. The Mist hunter stopped, shaking her head. This wasn't right. Nkiruka was dead. She had lied to her. If she had listened, then she would have died too, right?!

"Aria."

She jumped, spinning and bringing her weapon up only to be stopped as it encountered something solid. No, someone. She looked up, blushed, then looked down and tried to back up, nearly stumbling backwards over the uneven terrain before his strong hands shot out and grabbed her, steadying her.

He stepped close as she lowered her weapon, desummoning it and sliding it into the sheath on her leg. Her cheeks burned hotter as he chuckled, his arms embracing her as he pulled her close. "You're rather jumpy for a Moon," he joked, his hot breath tickling her ear. "Especially so for a medic. I know you guys are supposed to be defensive, but don't you think you're a little too paranoid?"

"But I'm on guard duty," she protested, trying to and failing to hide the yawn that escaped her. "I'm supposed to be paranoid."

There was silence. She couldn't help but to lean against him, fighting against the urge to close her eyes. He was so warm, and just being in his arms... She resisted the urge to close her eyes, trying to place the feeling. It was... Aria didn't have a name for it. She only knew that she liked it. She liked the way he glanced at her when he thought she didn't notice. She felt a thrill when he looked her up and down, as if trying to measure her up and see past the Moon Division coat she wore.

Her thoughts were interrupted as he nudged her. "Are you listenin'? I thought you were on guard duty," he joked, earning another blush from her. "I asked you what shift you have."

Aria bit her lip, thinking. "I... I think first shift? Yes, first shift."

She felt him tense, his grip tightening. Aria winched as he squeezed, one of his hands on her delicate wrists. It was too late to call back the tears that broke free faster than the sudden release as he stepped away.

Aria turned and lunged, catching him. "No! It's okay! It's okay, really!"

"Aria, just because you're a Moon doesn't mean that you're supposed to be standing guard all night!" He shot back angrily, trying to shake her off.

"But I'm not! I'm not Moon!"

She could feel him tense. "What do you mean?"

"I... I'm sorry." Aria released him and stepped back, quickly scrubbing at her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry. It had been a few years since that day. She was over it. She was over it.

She wasn't over it.

"I... I'm not Moon division. I never introduced myself. I..." She took a deep breath. She wanted badly to turn away, to not look at him when she spoke. But her weapon nudged her. It was a matter of strength, after all. Aria could not afford to be weak. Not now, not ever again.

Aria took another breath, unable to raise her head as she spoke the truth. "My name is Aria. I am the only survivor of the Mist Division. I'm the last one, the only one who made it out alive. I wear the coats of other divisions in order to blend in, to... to belong."

She stood there, head bowed. She could hear him move. This was it, she realized. This was another group of hunters who knew her dirty little secret, hunters that wouldn't accept her. It wouldn't be the first group, nor would it be the last. It didn't matter if she was a Division Leader. She was still a trainee at heart, one who spent her time in the library striving to learn as much as she can in order to live up to the title. She was the one who had to beg other hunters to teach her. She had to stoop low enough to steal the coats of other divisions and masquerade as a fresh trainee just in order to get the field experience.

Aria needed to get their names. Then find the names of the people they knew and spoke with. She would have to avoid them if she wanted to keep her game up, if she wanted to continue to glean valuable irreplaceable experience. She --

She was being hugged?

She felt herself tense in response, the other backing up enough to tilt her chin up gently and place a kiss on it. She could taste the salt of her tears on her lips, a soft blush glowing across her features as she realized he could too.

He broke it off. "I don't care." He smiled into her confused face, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I don't know whether it was an accident or whether you really did stab them all in the back. I don't care, and frankly? If it was the latter, I'd be mighty impressed." He tightened his grip on her, leaning close to kiss her forehead. "All I know is that you risked your life to save mine. That's all I need to know. Besides, I'm a sucker for a girl in distress."

He relaxed his grip on her, pulling her with him towards the log where she sat earlier, keeping watch. He pulled her down next to her, removing his jacket and tossing it over her. He overrode her protests with a shake of his head, slipping his arm around her and holding her close. "Come on. Let's get you back to guard duty. Just rest your head against my shoulder and let me sit with you for awhile. Besides," he glanced at her, studying her face in the moonlight before raising a hand to gently wipe a tear from her cheek. "You're a Division Leader. You need to be more confident and put your foot down. You shouldn't let anyone walk over you. And you should probably stop skulking around in that coat."

She meekly bowed her head in agreement, looking up sharply when he added, "Besides, I think that coat would look better on my bedroom floor."

"Lance!"

His laugh warmed her, the warmth spreading through her body as he pulled her close to him. "Come on, get some shut-eye." He told her gently. "You're going to be no use to anyone dead on your feet, masquerading Moon or no'. I've got your back, darlin'. I'll stand by your side."

She wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep, breathe in his musky scent that was heightened by -- no. No. Lance couldn't stand anymore. She wasn't there when it happened. She could always count on him to be there when she needed him -- no. Another lie. She knew that he slept with other women, that he wooed and charmed them just as much as he did to her. But she couldn't help it. He was the first one to look past the rumors to see her for who she was, to accept her not as a potential threat but as an ally.

Aria couldn't fault him. Sun Hunters had such short lifespans. And yet. And yet she couldn't help but to be envious of the other women. She knew of them. She knew them. She wasn't stupid, and yet... Yet she couldn't help but to grab her jealousy and bury it away, to cover it with a thick layer of ice and give to Symph's care. She had no right to say, even if it meant steeling herself for the small false smile to give to him.

It was all a lie. She wasn't there when he needed her. She swooped in to snatch and pick up the pieces, convincing him to come to her. He had lived. But for how long? Was it right to give into his pride? His doubts? His fears? Was it right when he worked with her so hard to build up her own confidence, on the field and behind closed doors as they sat together to watch the sun rise? It was a lie, a sham. She had no right to him. Not when she was using him for her own gain, to have someone to confide in and trust. She was alone.



She was going to die right here. Right now. Alone.



She was such a fool. Such a thrice-damned fool for believing things could be different. Who was she kidding? She wanted to submit, to bow her head. She wanted to die.



She used to cut herself when she was younger. When she was more unsure of the world. It wasn't to kill herself then. It was the only way she could figure out she was alive. She never meant anything by it then. Now? Not it wasn't the same.



Pull what? Wait. The knife. She had a knife. The blade could bite, could caress her skin and whisper across it. She managed to pull the knife free and held it up, trembling. She could cut it.



There was a warmth. A feeling of something inside her, an emptiness being filled. The realization was enough to bring her to tears: she was no longer alone.

She was no longer alone.
She was no longer alone.
She was no longer alone.

"Symphony!" Aria cried out, desperation tightening her voice. She could feel the building tension of the rolling thunder. She could taste the rain as it fell across the plains. Aria shaped every sound, every smell and taste and touch into the wordless name of her weapon as she called. Helpmehelpmehelpme come to me come to me come to me cometomecometomehelphelphelphelphelp!

The sound of falling rain grew louder, ominous. Aria held her hands out and concentrated, focusing on the sound. She felt a familiar weight form within her hand, her thoughts shaping it. Flamethrower? No. Symphony's true form was not needed right now. She needed her Other form. The form Symphony rested in. The form Aria carried around with her and kept at her side 24/7, always within arm's reach.

Aria clenched the knife that appeared in her hands. It didn't matter that moments before it was right there on her hip. She couldn't reach it, couldn't comprehend the thought to pull it free. She could feel the comforting presence of her weapon in her mind, the warmth that approved of her choice.

Then there was a sudden chill as Symphony realized what her Hunter was about to do. There was a dread, a warning. Names. Liar. Oathbreaker. Betrayer. But Aria had been called worse before. Murderer. Scavenger. Selfish. Conceited.

She was fine with it.

Aria maneuvered the blade up and into her sleeve, ignoring the snarling beast that lunged out of the fog to snap at her face and distract her. She ignored the gnashing teeth as Aria wrenched off the bracelet she kept tied around her wrist, sliding it over to her other one before ripping off the fingerless gloves there.

She held the knife next to her wrist, both her and the beast before her looking down at the marks on the inside of her arm. The lines weren't vertical. They weren't aligned. They were skewed, helter-skelter. Scars that never fully healed correctly, scars that made her burn with embarrassment as a division leader-sister lectured her harshly, covering them and shoving one of her own bracelets over it and making her swear to never remove them to harm her again. Scars that made her shift uncomfortably as an idle hand froze from its caress to hesitantly touch a second time.

They were her shame, and the pale eyes that blazed forth from the beast in front of her reminded her of the promise she made. The beast roared, soundless and breathless.

Aria screamed and fell to her knees, clutching the knife to her chest as Symphony removed the Fear shields that had blocked out her pain from earlier. The burns on her legs, the cuts on her torso. It was as if the wounds were bleeding again fresh, the sudden weight of pain nearly driving her unconscious.

It was her training as the Mist Division Lead that brought her to this. It was her training that kept her conscious, kept her focus despite the haze of pain as the beast seemed to flicker out of her vision, alternating between pacing and standing over her protectively. It was funny what ends survival would drive one to seek and pursue, Aria distantly realized.

Now, however, it was no longer a matter of survival. It was a matter of staying conscious.

Quote:

(( OOC: Aria is attempting to break free of the hallucination~ ))

((also words: 2,787))

Nothing was working!

When had everything gone so south? This entire visit had felt like a whirlwind, and then the Hunters came, and then what was once full of beauty and warmth was gone, scattered on the ground with one large spike emerging from the ground, to never ever be viewed in its fullest form again. What she had experienced was gone and standing in front of her was only a Phoenix, of smoke, rising to the sky and spilling over, parts falling apart and spinning as she could have sworn she saw pieces begin to spill out, everywhere, eyes widening as she took in the sight before...

...everything was gone.

Her eyes darted from left to right, taking in what there was to take in: nothing. There was nothing above, nothing below, nothing in front and nothing behind. A small gasp escaped Serafina's lips, her legs weakening as she attempted to orient herself. Where was she? Was this the end of everything? All she had wanted was to meet others, to explore unknown lands, unknown places and things and get to know the stories of others. Was this because she had been rude to the lotus ghoul? Perhaps if she had been a little nicer, not everything would have blown up in such a spectacular fashion and maybe not everything would have disappeared, lost to the winds forever...

"Sera!"

Her eyes widened, her back stiffened, and she looked over to catch the familiar echoing voice of one of her schoolmates. So far away. She would never see them again, not here, but something told her that she was thinking too much, thinking too hard, and her eyes closed, head rolling for a moment as she fell to what she was seeing. It was moments before she opened her eyes back up, walking towards the group of people she recognized as the group she had formed amoungst her peers, the group she had been proud of as much as she thought it was time to move beyond them, nothing made her quite as happy as seeing them right at that moment.

"So what's the new story today?" she found herself saying, laughing cheerfully on cue as one of those around her relayed something particularly juicy about two ghouls caught in the bathroom--but, of course, when was it anything different? Serafina felt the joy well up in her heart, her eyes shining as she navigated through the conversation, the tense feeling that had been filling her veins with a different kind of fear than she liked slipping away, letting her relax into what she was presented with, a good memory she wanted to hold fast and tight to, to never let go no matter what. Things were okay. People liked her, people told her things, and she was surrounded, a socialite, and everyone knew her name. Things would be alright.

Her mind almost missed the echoing voice of the figure behind her, bringing her out of her pleasant illusion. It took a few moments before she registered the soft, "Excuse me." bringing her out of what she saw in front of her, the people laughing as she relayed the stories that she had heard from the day herself, or heard through the grapevine herself, including what that one ghoul had done their professor's class--and what was she thinking?! Serafina's head rolled again, her eyes drifting too look at what was behind her, a smile making her upper lip twitch under her surgical mask, her entire jaw going a bit slack as it did.

She paused, and blinked, looking down to the small figure, her ghostly eyes taking a moment to notice him.

And so they spoke again.

"Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?"

Crossing? Crossing was a term unfamiliar, but yet, nothing in her rebelled against it. Nothing told her that this was wrong, that this was bad, and that she should not attempt to do so. She could almost hear the voices of those she knew, and those she had met, even the voices of those who had taught her throughout the week... Yes. It would be alright. Yes. She would cross. It could be alright. This would be alright.

"Yes," spoke the kuchisake-onna. "One last time."

((Wordcount: 70 cool )

Things were getting increasingly strange, which should not bother Amarus. After all, she'd awoken in a haunted house, but... she wasn't sure what was happening, this time around. Where they were headed, or how they could even... get there. Amarus couldn't see a thing, as the white fog descended around them. Blinded, she reached out for Faustus' hand, unable to find it at first. His fingers found hers, however, and she imagined that Olivia must be on his other side, if she remembered correctly. She held on tightly, but the fog only became more dense, until finally she felt that they had been separated. She wiggled the fingers of her empty hand, trying to look at it in disbelief but seeing only white and grey, black, fog, and finally: Four Clans members parted the shadows and she stood amongst them.

"Excuse me, are you crossing as well?"

Amarus looked at the figure in white, to her left. Her face, smooth and expressionless, glasslike just trained upon the figure in white. Was she... crossing? "Where do I have to cross to?" she asked, confused. As the fog had descended upon her, and cut her off from her friends, she felt returned to herself. She felt her mind clear, and the same stillness settled over her. Peace of mind, perhaps? What would one call such a feeling? The figure dragged her forward, though, regardless of where she wanted or intended to go. She simply watched it happen, silently, her silver eyes scanning the fog for any sign of this home the voices spoke of.

"How do you know what my home is? When even I have no clue..." Amarus asked quietly. She was skeptical, and far inside herself, something did long to be pulled home. Something longed to relinquish control and follow, so that she might discover where, exactly, home might be. She had never known, that was something that she never expected to find out, either. Whoever she had been once was gone, and she was the remnant.

Once, she had tried to ask Mort if there were souls, and if she had one. There had never really been an answer, because if a robot could look like a living thing, then what was to say that she was not equally as soulless? Technically she supposed she was a soul itself, but it was a confusing feeling. If she was a soul, then she could not possibly have a soul, and so she was less than any living thing might be; the shadow ripped from a creature which had once lived. That was how Amarus had felt. She had feelings, but they were nearly inaccessible; physical touch, but it required concentration, and even then it was not always as pressing as she imagined it could be for others.

It would be okay to look for home together, let's look for home, okay? It will be fine, let's look for home, one last time. The voices seemed to be reassuring her, and in the midst of the sound, following the white figure not by choice but by obligation, Amarus' eyes unfocused and trained on something in the past:

------ ------

At first, in the memory, there is sound, and light. And a dumpster. Amarus dug through the boxes, setting them up as a fortress. Someone had discarded quite a lot of them, and she was more than happy to play around and create herself a cardboard castle. After all, she had nothing better to do, and nowhere better to be. Definitely not class, for one. She was king, here, at the dumpster behind the monster dorms. That was when Neil had first appeared. She asked if he needed the boxes, and he said he didn't.

That was when, after building a castle, they spent the afternoon tearing it down: claws, kicks, punches, demolishing everything in sight. Neil won, which meant that Amarus would need to get a rematch. Some day, if she ever saw her friend again. That felt so far away, though, and it gave way to a recent memory in which Amarus' feelings weren't so muted, held at bay.

---- ----

Finally, the memory which repeated over and over again, as the white figure pulled her forward. The sky at Conquest's isle reflected into the water, amidst the lotus blossoms. Amarus sat on the edge of one of the bridges, her bound hair dangling towards the water. She eyed them, tempted to jump in, but... well. She was there for a reason. For a goodbye. The Lotus blossoms made her feel alive in a way that she obviously did not deserve; for the first time, she had been woken to caring for others more than in the capacity of a warrior. Amarus remembered Faustus with her, and she remembered the sound of his voice. Even his voice sounded warm.

"It's amazing isn't it?? The sky is so blue here ... I've never seen a blue sky before ..."

From within the confines of the memory, Amarus could remember agreeing that it was beautiful there. And it was. It was so beautiful that it almost hurt, and it did hurt to have to leave it. Most of all, it hurt to have to feel this sense of loss, and grief. She was not accustomed to feeling any such thing; what was lost, was lost. If she was mired down by the pain of forgetting or losing, she would hardly have made it out of the gates.

At the time, when Faustus had told her he would miss her, the words she had spoken betrayed that conflict. "I don't like missing anyone. Ghosts don't have memories, so I didn't have anyone to miss." She had given Faustus her pin, and he had edged closer. Amarus liked the warmth he provided, especially since it was so unlike her own.

From a distance, watching her memory unfold, Amarus felt that same shy happiness bloom in her then. It was unusual to feel so vulnerable. But she felt happy, truly happy. Having a friend who could make her feel like she was being watched over was extremely unusual, because Amarus was not one who inspired such emotions in anyone; she was cool, collected, and blank as a mirror: what one saw in her face was merely an empty reflection. She existed to fight, and thrived on competition. She followed power, sought it out, and coveted it. Power, and power alone.

But to have a friend hold her and let her stay nearby, to have a friend take her hand and make sure she did not get lost, to have a friend look over their shoulder to make sure she was still there: these things had become precious to her.

She had nothing to do but blame the Lotus Blossoms.


---- ----

Amarus followed the footsteps on, something strong in her tugging its way from the figure in white: her memory, looping over and over, made her flex her fingers again. Hadn't she been holding someone's hand?... Could home be somewhere there? Because she did not think that she would find it, wherever she was headed... Instinctively, Amarus folded her hands into one of the kuji-kiri. If only she could remember what the symbol meant, if she could just focus. Focus.

[[ OOC : Word count: 1233 ]]

Clarice looked down at the small figure and found herself stepping forward, the world going soft and grey. Two large hands held her own, they were each different yet massive. They held her and the entire world in their grip, they protected her. They made sure that no matter what, everything would be okay. When she stumbled they pulled her up, when she leapt and jumped they'd her swing her up and the world was playful and fun. One hand was so large, and blocky, and covered in hard calluses and hair, but it was gentle, oh it was so careful and she was precious. The other was more refined, with pretty shiny nails and soft, fragrant skin, but it was firm and sure, and she was never lost.

But as they walked forward, the hands grew smaller, and she grew larger. Every step it their grip felt less certain, less safe. Her confidence wavered and she began to pull away, more and more. And suddenly she was lost and as she reached out for those hands in silent desperation, they were gone. She was alone and wandering, the soft, grey world shifting around her like a vast ocean of whispers too quiet to hear.

Another step, and again Figures approached but she dare not reach out, dare not look up. If she was going to be lost, she would do so of her own accord, not stranded by someone trusted, depended on. A careful distance was maintained, and she walked in place as the world moved on.

And then there were hands, on her shoulder's, pushing her forward smooth insistence. They were gloved, mysterious things, but they held strength and certainty, and for all their hidden motives she was once again moving with purpose. The presence at her back held little comfort, the hands at times straying and never reluctant to issue pain.

Others closed in, some coming close, reaching out to her just to disappear. There was a brief, strange period, as a young man's hand, sweaty and shaking, gripped hers in a mix of desperation and attraction. It ended badly, her bruising him in so many terribly ways. A vengeful victim, he'd stay in the distance for some time, always straying close to pinch and snap at her painfully when her purpose weakened, her attention strayed.

A smaller hand, covered in flour and rainbow paint, tugged her aside and spun her around every time her gait flagged tiredly. She still didn't dare look up, but the twirling of hearts and white and rainbow stripes brought a new dimension to the grey world, offering brief adventures into colourful unknowns. The rainbow never stayed for too long, often dancing just ahead and out of sight, always searching for...what were they searching for again...where were they...

A masculine hand, gold watch and a ring, the cuff of a well-tailored shirt. It was snapping as her, grasping, beckoning. It hurt when it grabbed at her, and she hurt it right back. It was a game of want and pain, each tugging the other with little consideration. Who was stronger? Who was boss? And then the game gentled, but the tugging never stopped. He offered another path, another destination. She shoved the hand away with all her strength, and she was strong now. Her hands, once small, precious things had become strong, and dangerous. She was quick to use them and slow to regret. She didn't need anyone to pull her off her course. Those who dared to venture close quickly found reason to regret and a giant gaping abyss opened near her feet and began to crumble.

The presence at her back remained a steady pressure, and she continued forward, smoothly guided past unseen dangers.

At her side a strong hand was held out, patiently waiting for her to take it. This one wouldn't stray far. This one would stay, step for step. It wouldn't pull her off course, but if she fell it would hold her up. If she wavered, it would hold on with a firmness oh so gentle. She would be precious once again.

She waved it away, time and time again.

And on she walked, never letting any stay too close for too long, never able or even trying to escape the grip on her shoulders. Never once looking up. Perhaps there would have been fragments of happy memories, or moments of belonging, and....where were they going again...

There might have been something more for Clarice to see, brief, happy memories, but as she walked on, she never once dared to look up and witness them. So step, and step again, ever forward, no longer straying.

And then a blood spattered hand, two pendants dangling from shaking fingers. They fell and she took another step. If they got up, they'd get up. They'd follow after soon enough, if it was right, if it was meant to be, there would be someone to guide them just as she was. The hands at her shoulders tightened with approval, and she stopped and reached out. She gripped that bloodied hand in her own and jerked it painfully forward. The figure rose and stumbled and nearly fell into the soft, grey distance. They righted themselves, and as they took the first stumbling steps forward she wondered if she'd done the right thing. Who was she to decide such a thing for them? Who was she to attempt to guide anyone? She gentled her grip as their pace grew sure and adapted to the pitfalls underfoot. At times they strayed and stumbled and it was almost too much to bear. After holding that life in her hands, she hated to let go and let it be risked against the distant unknowns.

The strong, patient hand remained at her side, and maybe it was time to be precious once again. Maybe she could hold onto something without it leaving, maybe the world could once again be wonderful and everything be okay. Just this once. Tentatively she reached back and felt that warm strength....fade away. It was gone and she was left grasping at a void she couldn't even begin to understand.

Only the one behind her remained, as ever. The only point of certainty. She looked forward, and let the rest of the grey world fade in and out. More figures coming close even as others disappeared.

A dark, pretty hand, letting her grip it until the pain and loss receded to just slightly intolerable.

An almost comically large hand knocked into her from time to time, it was clumsy, so clumsy. She'd tug at it with impatience, and at odd moments notice a strange grace hiding just beneath its exaggerated gestures. It was a strong hand, but when she held it, it would shake and tremble despite it's size. Slowly and surely, they steadied and became more sure. But she still watched it carefully, ready to reach out should they stumble, never forgetting the fragility of that large, shaking hand.

And then in the distance, a hand was slapping all others aside as they ran and stumbled and fell, and still forced an almost angry distance. The abyss once again opened wide, and she found herself reaching out with an almost painful sense of nostalgia.

Suddenly, she was tugged forward, a strong, feminine hand pulling her forward by the wrist, playful and insistent. For a moment, she almost wanted to look up, to stray and run. Instead Clarice kept her head down, and maintained a steady pace.

More hands, reaching to help her, reaching for help. The angry boy disappeared in the far off distance, no more sudden pinches for wrongs far behind the. The rainbow stripes faded into the grey, and suddenly the world grew flatter, losing a dimension of sudden unlikely surprises and joy and...what had she been looking for again...

Familiar hands reach out, and she held on to them briefly so briefly, but they strayed and the abyss was ever lurking underfoot. She wanted them to stop, to stay close. She wanted them to be small enough to hold in the palm of her hand, to stay there and protected and safe. They were precious, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be strong enough to make everything okay, but she would try, if they would let her, if only they would stay with her, if only they would stop disappearing from sight only to return bloody and staggering.

The grey world began bleeding red.

And finally Clarice looked up.

Before her stretched a vast white emptiness. The presence behind her was gone, those beside her were gone. And she was alone.

She stood in place and the raised her hand. In it she held the hilt of a massive, unlikely sword.

She was not alone.

As Clarice brought Raeg down, smashing through the white, white emptiness and shattering the world, she finally remembered where she was going.

Pieces of the sky gently rained down, and the soft, grey world slowly reappeared.

Looking up, Clarice saw those who still waited for her, and without hesitation, she took another step toward home.

Danny shoved Desiree out of the way (OTP SHATTERED) and put her arms around his shoulders, her head gently placed on his shoulder. "Hey. Heyyy," she cooed sympathetically, "S'not your fault. You're not useless. "

She let go of the hug, but stood there with her hands still on his shoulders. "You're Rochester jacking Scythe and you're my best friend, okay?" She slapped him lightly upside the head and said, "I gave you my pin for a reason snothead."

The flame demonness laughed and pulled him closer for another hug (she really liked Roch hugs okay, he didn't give them a lot), but when she opened her eyes Roch was gone. Not just Roch, everyone was gone. An empty white fog billowed playfully around her. Danny took no more than a few steps when figures started rushing around her. Feathers were flying, cloaks flowing, people rushing, walking, floating, flying. Somewhere a giant horse figured loomed, but Danny's eyes were focused in on a small figure dressed in white, that seemed to push all the greys and blacks away from it.

"Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?" it chirped.

Danny stared at the figure, her mien confused, but calm. "Crossing? Crossing where?" The figure did nothing but usher her forward, and the memory overtook her in a swift, dizzy haze.

---

"Errr, yes Daniella. If you hide we'll count to sixy, and come find you." A few servants nodded at each other, very knowing glances being exchanged. Hide and Seek was a simple enough concept. Danny had dragged them into it more than enough times for everyone to learn the rules.

Danny's face lit up like a lightbulb. Hide and Seek was the BEST game ever. So was tag, and darts and statues. Honestly, she just liked having someone to play with, something to do, someone to talk with. Something to listen to other than how great Oersted was. She wanted friendship in the large empty house that was only filled serious servants and fake friendships from school. "Really? You mean it? No cheating okay!!!" Danny was already bouncing where she was standing, her tiny, black, underdeveloped wings twittering with excitement. Her small orange eyes glittered with anticipation.

With equal excitement, a blonde maid responded, "Of course we won't! Now go run along and find a really good hiding spot. It can't be easy or we'll find you lickety split!" The maid then turned around, and unbeknownst to Danny, her smile fell into a neutral expression. The small clump of servants Danny had gathered rushed into the next room and began whispering heatidly. Danny simply assumed they were counting- what else would they be talking about?

"Do we really-"

"Of course Irene. It's an order."

"Entertain her when we're gone please dears- I KNOW. It doesn't make it any less-"

"Hush she could be listening. Start counting."

Her tiny tennis-shoed feet started stomping through the yard. In a mere thirty seconds she was in the darker forest area of her house; trees lit ablaze above her, dancing with the bright orange flame that Danny had an affinity to. She smiled and began climbing the tallest tree she could find. She was like a spidermonkey the way she climbed, grabbing limbs and swing up to the tallest branches. No one would ever find her up here! She had the best spot in the whole wide world and no one could ever find her!

More comfortable now, Danny's head rested softly against the sturdy trunk of the tree, and her eyes scanned the forest floor, just waiting for the exhilarating whoops of the servants below her. The excitement and effort it had taken to get up here were beginning to wear off, but she remained wide awake. Any moment they'd come and find her, and then it would be her turn to find them! Oh she was just so excited. Danny sat there, alert and enthusiastic for a while, scared she might be caught, but thrilled by the danger of it all. After all, for an eight year old, hide and seek was quite dangerous and intense.

They never came though. Danny waited, and waited. Nearly an hour had past, but Danny remained perfectly still. She was SURE they'd come thrashing through the forest any moment. Her little eight year old heart was still hopeful. Soon they'd find her and they'd have a good laugh about how good she was at hiding.

... Right?

Danny sat for a few more minutes, her smile beginning to fade into a frown, and then a depressed pout. She began adjusting herself to climb down from the tree when a twig snapped. All at once the smile was back, along with the wide eyes and giddy expression. They WERE looking for her! She just knew they had taken so long because she was such an expert hider.

A thrilling moment of silence, and then two servants broke into the small clearing with Danny's tree. One was a taller man, and the other was a bright eyed ghoul. They were in matching black uniforms, the standard of the Fitzgerald house. The ghoul spoke first, waving her hands in grand gestures.

"We need about three of the fire lilies- The mistress wanted them for her nightstand. Something about the decor being off in the room. At least we don't have cleaning duty right? It's impossible to get those brat's scorch marks out of the wall."

"Oh tell me about it," the man responded, "I spent at LEAST an hour yesterday trying to get the mud out of her shoes. Absolutely obnoxious."

"Oh Jack and when she runs around the house and gets in everyone's way?"

"Yeah! Totally. Jack, between me and you-" The man leaned in closer and looked around, checking the clearing, but seeing no one said, "I mean since they can't hear us out here in the forest ... I think she's the most annoying little scareling in Halloween. I'm only in the job for the money. The Fitzs' pay is good, but I don't know how much more I can take of that orange-haired twerp."

"I know, I know. Like when she asked us to play hide and go seek today? Can she not see we have freakin' UNLIVES besides her?" The ghoul threw her hands skyward in frustration.

"Oh s**t, were we in charge of finding her?"

"Nahhh it doesn't matter. It might just be better if she didn't show back up."

"Jack, that's mean! ... but I think it's kind of true."

"Oh my Jack you can't tell anyone I said any of this stuff."

"Yeah, yeah of course. Look I've got the three flowers. Why don't we head back."

"Yeah ... say did you hear about the new chef they hired?"

The voices faded into the black of the forest, and eventually the only sound was the soft crackling of the flames over Danny's head. She sat there for a while, not in the mood to climb down. She didn't know how to interpret what she'd just heard. She always thought the servants loved playing games with her. They always looked so happy and content to play with her.

So ... what? They didn't want her to even come back to the manor? They didn't want her there? Thought her annoying? Well she didn't care! She didn't care one bit. Danny had never cared what others thought. All that mattered was her collection of things in her room, and getting to play around in the yard. Who needed servants?

In fact, she was so nice she was going to give them what they wanted. Her butt stayed firmly attached to the tree limb. She'd stay lost and they could all have a wonderful jackin' lives without her.

The night turned later and later, and soon the sky wasn't its normal gloomy dark, but the true darkness of night. Danny was hungry and growing tired, but at least the flames above her were keeping her warm. Her head leaned against the trunk for so long that the bark had slightly imprinted in her forehead. Her eyes were fluttering shut, but a voice startled her.

"Miss Danny? Miss Danny, please come down." It was Rosalie, Danny's personal maid. Well not quite personal. She was technically the family's butler, but tended mostly to Danny's needs. Today she'd had the day off, but the moment she'd heard Danny was playing hide and seek, she'd headed quite promptly out to the forest. Only Rosalie knew the ins and outs of Danny's hidey holes. The roof outside her window was a close second place, but Rosalie had reasoned it would be faster to check the outside first.

However, make no mistake. Rosalie was not overwrought with concern for Danny, nor was she in tears over the little ghoul's disappearance. She was quite calm, neutral in expression as always, hands folded gently in front of her. On one wrist was a small purse, purple and plastic, but closed shut awkwardly. The true heroism was in the fact that Rosalie, a zombie, had come out to a forest on fire.

"I'm not coming down," Danny replied, stubborn and grumpy. As far as she was concerned, this tree was her new home and she was never leaving.

"Miss Danny you're being quite stubborn. It's very unbecoming."

"Well you should unbecome gone!" she responded. If anything, Danny as a child had even stupider insults than when she was a high school student. She hadn't even gotten the negative-positives right.

"Not even for a pack of snot gushers?" The maid held up a small orange packet of the juicy snack.

"Take your stupid gushers. Just go back to the house I'm sure EVERYONE'S waiting." Danny was stubborn.

"Fine then I shall leave if that's what the mistress wants." Rosalie promptly tucked the packet back into her purple purse, and then turned around, heading back to the house. She wasn't going to fix something that didn't want to be fixed.

"Rosalie wait!" Danny called behind her. She looked left and right, then awkwardly ambled down the tree in the way only a little kid could. Rosalie made no effort to move, her back still firmly turned on Danny. Her feet stopped moving though, so she was indeed waiting like Danny had asked. Danny's chubby little body trotted over to Rosalie's. Danny reached out and selfishly held Rosalie's hand, her thumb claw in her mouth. Rosalie said something about how sucking on one's thumb was unbecoming, but Danny ignored it. "Why'd you come?"

"Because it is a maid's duty."

"The other one's didn't think so. They said they didn't like me."

"Their views are not necessary to your paradigm, so discard them."

"Rosalie..."

"They're not important."

"That's not nice."

"Neither are they."

Danny thought about this for a moment, and then hugged Rosalie's leg. "Yours is though," she said, squeezing the older lady's leg. Though Rosalie only looked about eighteen thanks to her undead status, Danny secretly believed she was a thousand million years old.

"Mine though?"

"Your um. Your view," Danny said, the words tripping off her tongue, "Your view's important Rosalie." Rosalie's expression didn't change. She didn't even bat an eyelash. Danny kept talking though. "And those other servants can just go away. I hate them."

"That is a most inappropriate thing for a young lady to say."

"It's true. I hate them. I hate them I hate them I h-h-h-" Danny was shaking and rubbing her arms, starting to cry. Rosalie said nothing, but came over and hugged the ghoul close as Danny shook into her stomach. "I d-don't hate themmmm," she sobbed, "Why didn't they come find me?!" Rosalie made soft cooing noises until Danny stoppped, stroking her hair softly.

Then Rosalie detached Danny from her body, and began walking. "Come, I'm sure dinner is already cold." Danny tottered after her, as best she could. It wasn't that hard though. Danny's legs were long, especially for an eight year old's. She'd always been a bit taller than the others.

"Rosy, I like you," Danny said amiably. Rosalie said nothing, so Danny walked in silence for a while. Finally, when they were near the house, Danny said, "Hey Rosy ... can I have those gushers?"

The zombie maid thought for a moment, obviously weighing the pros and cons of giving an eight year old a sugary snack at this time of night, but her sensibility ran out. With a sigh, she pulled out the orange packet once more and handed it to Danny, who excitedly ripped through it.

Very timidly, Danny said, "Um ... Thanks Rosy."

((WC: 2100. Can't stop won't stop))

Auri finally stopped screaming and sat up. She looked to the figure cloaked in white. Who was this person, and why was their presence so comforting?

Auri was walking down a long hallway with the them. It felt like it was so long ago. She looked up to him in his immaculate business suit. It was as black and smooth as surface of a night lake. His ever present smile stretched ear to ear under those obsidian shades. He shone with golden aura that Auri herself dreamed one day to achieve.

"Daddy? Where are we going?” her little feet shuffled to keep up with his long stride. “Am I getting another present?" she said to Mr. King. It was her 7th birthday after all.

He chuckled to himself. "I guess you could say that, princess.” Could say that.... say that....



It was all a haze. Time distorted and reformed like a dream interrupted. What was going on?! She came back into the vision.



"Is it a warhorse?! I want a warhorse daddy!" she said tugging on his sleeve. His cufflinks jingled in rhythm with her shakes.

"Oh no, I'm afraid not dear. There is something I need to show you." He lead her down the hallway past his rows of golden records and awards. Case after case of what seemed to be everything one could hope to accomplish in the music industry. "Auri." Auri... Auri... He turned to her and squat down on a knee bringing his face down to hers. "I know this may seem a bit soon to say but..." He looked around to see that no one was in earshot. "When I was you age Grandpap told me what it meant to be a Midas demon. How it is our destiny to go off on our own. To make a name for ourselves. To succeed from the ground up and make our own legacy."

"What do you mean Daddy? Am I gonna have to start now?" she questioned him pouting at the thought of work.

"HA HA HA! No-no, gumdrop. Not yet anyway. But there is something I would like you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"We you grow up and have proven you ready to make it on your own... well... I want you to take over the company." He began to tear up. "You have so much potential and I just want to give you the best head-start I can." He put one hand on her shoulder. "You have the talent in you to make my accomplishments look like a children's game."

"But I am a kid!" she interjected. "And anyway what would you do? Don't you have to keep your company to stay strong? Won't you dissipate without it?"

"I have some other side ventures to help me get by. You don't need to worry yourself about that. And besides, I need you to look after JD for me. I won't be around forever and I worry about him sometimes. But I see how you can bring out the best in people around you. There is nothing that can stop you if you have the right people to get your back. It's a very special gift. Don't let it go to waste. "

"I won't daddy!" she assured him. Her hand held out in a salute.

"That's my girl.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “You are legacy of the Pen name. Not this company, not anything else. You are Auri Ferrous Pen, and never forget it!"

She jumped up and hugged him tightly around his broad shoulders. His suit turned gold under her touch. “I love you daddy. I won't let you down.”

“I love you too princess.” princess... prin...
That was one of the few times her father ever had time to be with her one on one. That was the day she would learn her calling.


Mr. King's words echoed in her head. She remembered why she came here. She remembered why she put up with her brother's constant whining. She remembered what it meant to be a Midas demon!

Her heart filled with pride. These hunters, these horsemen, and especially THAT STUPID BIRD WASN'T GOING TO GET IN HER WAY!

She snapped back to reality. It looked like she wasn't the only one having a head trip, but one thing was certain. It was time to get off this shitty island!

The white fog that surrounded him was surprising - alarming. He couldn't find Deryk anymore much less anything else. His heart beat hard against his chest as he felt unnerved by the visions before him not sure what to make of it until the figure in white spoke to him.

He couldn't stop himself. Jude truly did want to go home. If it was a trap it was one he fell into far too easily...

He had loved everything about her. The way she neatly fit into his arms, the way she laughed, and the way she looked. He loved the way she confided in him when her Mother was horrible to her and he loved the way she let him open up without feeling like she was going to mock him for his thoughts and feelings. She was the one that completed his heart and made it whole she was the one that brought him out of his shell and into the world.

Jude loved his Susannah more than anything in the world he wanted to have her back again if he could turn back time to get her back he would have done so just so he could have his Heaven once more. If this 'going home' meant he could be with Susannah he would go home. Home to her. Hell, if going home meant he could see his mother again he'd sprint toward the horizon as fast as his feet could take him without even a single glance backward.

Unlike Susannah his Mother hadn't come with him she didn't get that choice from him - all she got was a hastily scrawled note saying he and Susannah had to go somewhere and encouraging her to go ahead and leave his Father. It wasn't like being around the man was going to do his Mother any good. She deserved better. He had many good memories of when he was with Susannah but the ones with his Mother seemed to shine brighter just then reminding him of a promise he had made of a Son to his Mother.

Together they often watched Thundercats - Jude nestled up with his toy sword, gauntlet and his favorite Thundercat Logo t-shirt, nestled up warm and comfortable against her side as he watched the animated action on television in quiet contentment as she quietly threaded her fingertips through his hair in a gentle repeated petting motion. Sometimes he fell asleep but today he was wide awake and thinking - thinking hard on something as the episode played on and the numbers slowly crawled forward on the VCR positioned above the television.

Now and again Anastasia stared down at her son with curiosity within her bright blue eyes, "What is on your mind my little Lion-O?" she teased softly with a bit of a giggle.

Jude startled a little bit his dark brown eyes staring up at the ever cheerful expression of his mother and gave her a small grin, "I'm going to save you," he said simply to her as he sat up holding his sword up, "all by myself, I don't need the other Thundercats."

She blinked rapidly and looked at her son's dark sun-kissed features, "Oh really? Who are you saving me from, Lion-O?" Anastasia asked, playing along with the act.

The boy swung his blade over toward the door that led to his Father's office, "From Mumm-ra of course," he said his tone matter-of-fact.

Anastasia held back a quiet giggle and tiled her head to the side her curls bouncing a little bit, her son was often a charming small boy in moments like these, "But he's not keeping me here...?"

Jude's expression became flat and unconvinced as he moved to stand up in front of his Mother his hands coming to rest on her knees still holding the sword in one hand and wearing the toy gauntlet on the other, "He makes you cry, he makes you upset. He does not treat you the way the Queen of Thundera should be treated. We should escape." His voice had become oddly pitched almost bordering on upset, as if he was about to cry from distress. He'd seen Shadows run to the room they often held a lot of their muffled arguments thinking he would not hear them.

She was caught off guard by the sudden passionate plea as he stared up at her face so earnestly. Anastasia wasn't certain what she should do before she leaned forward her hands moving to cup his face, "Hey Jude," she began to sing at him but it seemed he wasn't having it as he pulled away from her.

"No! Not that song. You can't sing it away...!" Tears welled up and dripped down his face. She moved forward and caught him up in her arms and held him as he struggled against her as she just waited for him to settle down a bit which he did his struggle turning into small childish sobs, "I hate him! I hate that you look sad when you think no one is looking. I hate that he's part of it! I hate him!" he wailed as he tossed the sword to the other side of the room.

Anastasia just held on to him, "Don't make it bad...Take a sad song and make it better," she leaned and softly nuzzled his cheek and gave him a small kiss there waiting a moment more. When he seemed to have calmed she rested her head against his, "...You are my song that makes it better for me Jude. One day we'll walk out of here together hand-in-hand and leave Mumm-ra to himself, but right now it must be this way."

"Why?" He asked petulantly his head moving to rest against her chest as she moved to pet his hair and brush some of it from his face.

She pursed her lips and gave a small sigh, "It is...Just one of those things. Sometimes you love someone so much that you are too scared and weak to leave them."

The small boy stared up at her uncomprehending of her words and the meaning behind him, "So ... if I use the Sword of Omens to break the spell he has on you one day...We can leave?"

It seemed he wasn't giving up on this. Anastasia gave a small laugh, "Yes, but you must train very hard first, alright? You must learn how to use your Sword before you can think to defeat that spell he has on me."

He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, "Okay! I will learn how to use m'sword! An' I will save you from Mumm-Ra's spell," he said determinedly staring up at his mother as she just laughed lightly and nodded a bit.

"That'll do, Lion-O," she leaned and kissed his forehead as they settled back in to watch another episode of the ThunderCats recordings.


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