Welcome to Gaia! ::

Fall weather was the best time for draining. Drew everyone out with their comfort drinks, their pumpkin spice lattes, onto decks and in streets and around cobblestoned corners where people made lazy, disorganized lines away from a few well-parked food trucks. They gathered around sales, under awnings when they thought it would rain, collected around new theatre showings and delinquents collected around the lots of abandoned buildings. Fall wasn't oppressive like summer, wasn't arctic like winter.

Faustite always found it easier to sweep narrow alleyways first — places where the reach of his powers left no one untouched. He'd paced down one already, tethering energy to an orb in the palm o his hand until it grew sizable with the energy of a dozen people. Few of those people were healthy, but it was enough to offset his quota.

Most passed out before they got beyond being gobstruck at what they saw. One recognized him, however, and started fumbling frantically for their backpack. This one, he decided, would not wake up again. Ramming his hand into the tall girl's chest, his black hand curled around the starseed and wrenched. She'd fallen then, ragdolled down and collapsed in a shallow pool of collected rainwater, just beneath the building's overhang. Its blaring theatre lights reflected in it, reflected across her face, reflected on something bright and vibrant in her bag.

She had long hair, and it spread like liquid gold in the pool. Faustite crouched over it. Noted the blood from her collapse dribbling from her head. She was still alive, then. He tucked away the orb into nothing.

Looked teenaged, he decided. Shirt and skirt, and if it was a uniform, it was one Faustite hadn't recognized. Her backpack was covered in pins and keychains, and he frowned at how they tried to tangle his long fingernails as he unzipped her bag. In it, he found a pile if folded, if disorganized, notes; a handful of colorful gummy erasers, and a bright pink canister of pepper spray.

Pepper spray? Faustite frowned. She couldn't be a simple civilian, right? The way she looked at him, reached for her bag — she had to have been a recent senshi. He just had to dig deeper.

Page aura sprung into his periphery. Didn't matter, he reminded himself. The flamecraft thing dug and dug, pulled the entrails of each backpack pocket out, scattered makeups and pencils and gel pens and sticky notes and notecards, tossed old graded tests buried at the bottom of the bag, a three-ring binder, some notebooks. The Page aura wasn't fading.

No, it grew closer. But no Page would be that stupid —

Faustite glanced up when he heard the rattle of metal. A rounded aluminum trashcan lid struck him in the nose, bloomed pain over his face, and he sat back on his haunches to hold his face. Brows furrowed, he felt wetness and he pulled his hands away, saw glistening black on black. Knew his face was stained goth from his own blood. Knew this absolute ******** of a Page was at fault.

So he stood, ignoring the starseed, ignoring his lack of evidence. Swiped up the metal lid from the ground, held it tightly by the squared handle at the center and turned the thing to rest lengthwise over his grate, as if a hat held solemnly to his stomach.

This one, this page, this boy, he was at that ******** of Ashanite's design. Among the gather that circumscribed their littlest members, and the targeted Squire-not-Knight. He knew nothing on this one, no name, no magic, no instance of a weapon. Had only the symbols to go by, Uranus at a glance, and the mix of anger and fear on his face. This one, he decided, wasn't worth learning. This one's name would be forgotten. This one's line would end. This one would pay his starseed to meet their needs.

"If you broke my ******** nose —" he seethed, blood flecking out with each pressed consonant. Pulled the trashcan lid off his midriff like a lid off a hot dinner, and swung it at this nosy little gawker. This dumbshit pissant Page who thought he could save everybody.

See how he liked superheated ******** trashcan lids, then.

Hissed an expletive for the trash can attack, but found it more a hindrance than a threat. The thing clanged off its paired lid when he used it for a shield. Piles of trash flooded out by his left leg, in part due to the top bag being ripped. Out came orange rinds, wadded newspapers, coffee grounds, an empty fifth of vodka —

Oh, the Page was running. Oh, the Page was running for the prone thing he left in a pothole puddle. Oh, the Page wanted to be a hero.

Faustite stepped over the debris, twisted his body as much as the grate would allow. Aimed for the tall boy's retreating figure, then hurled the trash can lid at him, as the Page was so kind to do to Faustite minutes earlier.

Faustite sniffed back some of the clotted blood, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. Still felt the sting for it, damnable thing. He started at a pace, then transitioned to a sprint in the wake of that bent up, superheated frisbee of a lid.

The starseed in question was a twinkling gem lying near its owner. Shimmered within the lake of crap that Faustite scooped out of her backpack, that he left discarded around the girl's still form. To the untrained eye, it was easily overlooked among glittering makeup palettes, gel pens, stickers, and pencil cases, keychains and keys, a hot pink pepper spray pellet. But it still held on, retained its brightness, while the Page wanted to save its owner.

Faustite faltered when he saw the Page reeling around with an intent to throw. It spared the burning General only enough time to decompose his form into fire, where the pellet could pass harmlessly through him and either puff up or lay uselessly at the end of the alley. As liquid fire, he churned toward the Page, braided up toward him in imagined heat.

So he found the girl. So he found her starseed, lying there in the rummaged pile of s**t. So he could drop it in and grant her life again and 'save' someone.

As if she was worth saving. As if Faustite intended to leave her dead, knowing he hadn't verified whether she was a Senshi or part of the Negaverse. Small chuckle for knowing the Page knew even less, likely. In all his frantic moves for action, he didn't seem the type to critically analyze the situation. He could be saving a Negaverse agent. This could've been a setup to catch and murder stupid Pages who thought to take on Generals.

Well. No use for such thoughts now.

Fire rippled up and reformed the General in flesh, just behind his Page friend, who sat with his loose white tank top lying over the source of this five-minute sidetrack that was completely extraneous (and Faustite thought, as he reached, that it was the Page's punishment for not leaving it well enough alone). Black fingers found the star in his heart and Faustite thought, walking into the sun, in spite of the fact that you're burning up in its fire. "Lights out," he whispered and pulled.

The girl gasped her first breaths of life back into her no-longer-dying body, fish lips catching at the air until she reversed the blue on her lips and nails. She saw what happened without seeing, then she saw what was happening while seeing. Struggled to life as her body remembered form follows function. She did what her body could remember to do: she grabbed her empty backpack and swung it at the fire-thing, and a buckle clacked against the gem in his palm, and it flew into the alley proper.

"Ig..."

"Vi, told you not to call me on this line unless there was a problem."

"That's because there is a problem, Ig."

Ignacio had come to his feet without another question, breezing by Garber and Safira arguing about something in the living room as he headed toward the door. "What's up?"

"Your husband's gotten into a fight with a general."

"Oh for ********, pretty sure-- Ig? Ig!"

Ignacio stopped answering because Ignacio had been replaced with Transcendent Eternal Sailor Encke, and he bolted, jumping as high as he could and immediately taking to the roofs to track down where his guardian was, where a page aura was, where a general aura was - of course Basiluzzo had gone on a solo patrol just to end up chasing down a general of all things. Who did he think he was saving? Basiluzzo was a page. A general outranked him in no matter what measure it was. Basiluzzo could have been a strong man combined with a dancer and still would have had trouble outright fighting off a general. He didn't even have any magic. What if the general had magic? What if the general was a strong man combined with a dancer-

He leaped off the roof when he felt the prerequisite auras - because what other pages were bold enough to take on generals, certainly was not a frequent statistic - and made the rest of the way on lower levels, ignoring the ringing of his senshi phone for the moment. Shoved by a few people in a rush, earned assorted grumbles and one person complaining about the damned sci-fi cosplayer, and shouted a vague, "Sorry!" in the direction of a couple as he slowed down near the blinking lights of a theatre. Alright.

Just get in there and sock the general, grab Basiluzzo, and get out. Easy enough-

What he saw when he finally was able to get a look at what was happening was not easy enough. Red and orange flames lighting up the alley, a civilian whacking a being with a stomach of fire with an empty purse, and his husband all but limp on the ground in front of him.

Thought he saw something go flying.

No.

Nonononononononono--

His thoughts came to a stuttering stop and skip like a record scratch before instincts came online, anxiety and acting skills overriding any other emotion he had at the moment as his body kicked into action. Opted not to announce himself, concentrating instead on dropping and sweeping in and putting some space between the civilian and the general, Basiluzzo between them at his feet. Didn't seem to notice Basiluzzo. Couldn't focus on Basiluzzo. Fully focused on Faustite.

Jerked his head toward the other side of the alley away from Faustite in hopes the civilian would go.

"Really? Menacing a civilian and a page this time?"

He had seen something get whacked down the alleyway. Knowing what it was, he backed in the direction he saw it go. Kept his gaze almost entirely on Faustite.

"Don't you have something better to do? Setting parks on fire, maybe?"

There.

Aquamarine, beautiful like Basiluzzo's eyes, like the raging seas of his passion that would lead Basiluzzo to challenge a general to save a civilian - Encke swiped it off the ground.

Turned his gaze back to Faustite.

The words didn't quite make it out of his lips, but the searing thoughts of Cometary Burn might have been enough to set the whole alley ablaze.

Hopefully the civilian had cleared far enough, but the centering to the far side of Faustite should help.

Encke clutched the starseed, careful to not damage it but feeling every bit of it in his palm, in his fingers, seeing the light peeking out between his fingers. The man who was bounced and flung like a ragdoll had pulled this out. Taken it. He had taken so many other starseeds; he had even saved other starseeds from him, had probably failed to save countless others--

Only his acting talents kept it from bubbling over to the surface, his expression angered but also exasperated, because there was another element of why did they keep running into each other like this, why could Faustite not just stay away or go away, why did Encke keep finding him; he deeply wished the man would either disappear or purify already--

He approached Basiluzzo, slowly, intending to extract him from the situation and then put the starseed into his chest once he could be certain Faustite wouldn't attempt to just snatch it again; Faustite's insistence on moving himself, on teleporting closer to where the civilian had been, on pressing his foot into Basiluzzo's neck - another way to -

Encke, at the moment, didn't terribly feel like listening, but the more pressing concern was-

"To be frank with you," Encke took in a deep breath, keeping his distance so Faustite did not threaten it further but still leveling him with a glare, "what do you think you can say that will make me decide that what I just saw was acceptable? No matter what this page did," looked upon Basiluzzo with a bit of mild disdain out of the side of his eye because looking at him directly might have cracked some of the egg, "nothing grants me or you the right to be the executioner of if their soul deserves the chance to live again or should just be used as a disposable battery to power some other being."

He desperately wanted Faustite's foot off Basiluzzo's neck.

If he could grab him and dart out, he couldn't outrun teleportation, but perhaps Faustite would give up on following.

He was already injured.

Encke saw the way Faustite's boot pressed against Basiluzzo's neck.

Maybe he should have just shut up and bodily-tackled the general when he thought he had the chance. But would he have the chance? Should he have tried to recover Basiluzzo's body first before going for the starseed? But what then? What if he had just gone for the starseed instead? Then it would have been over. One pop into the mouth, one crush like the crush that haunted his nightmares, and Basiluzzo would be dead, never to be reborn again, never to exist as a being again, never to be a soul again--

He felt like every thought was hitting him all at once and he couldn't breathe until a bright light streaked through the alleyway, and the general hit the ground.

"Get off him!" At the entrance to the alleyway stood a small cat, her fur puffed out as a signal of how much she was on the full offensive. She gallivanted a bit closer, ignoring the sting that always came after using her energy to beam someone who definitely deserved it. "Breaking necks! Really!"

The immediate panic filtered out of Encke's bones as he gripped onto the starseed even tighter. He felt the edges of it pressing against his palms. Basiluzzo's essence. Basiluzzo's being. He saw the way the general of fire breathed smoke and ash into the air and for a moment almost felt bad, in the next moment wondering why he couldn't have brought himself to take advantage of the other recent time he saw him laid on the ground like that. The answer should have been so easy.

Instead, he was the nightwatch.

Viatrix groused and grumbled to herself, ignoring the general in favor of pressing her paw against Basiluzzo's neck and checking for a pulse. She could feel one, albeit perhaps not as strong as she would have liked. Scrunched her nose and shouted over to Encke with a "Hurry up!"

Encke was still too distracted with the general, with the panic, with the desire for him to go away and with the desire to keep his facade from breaking. There are no good kings, he heard, only burning palaces.

And he was gone.

"That was a poem--"

Being Encke's guardian meant that Viatrix had seen plenty of starseeds in her day, but she also knew the longer that the starseed sat in Encke's hand, the less time they had to work with. For one, Basiluzzo wasn't on any support to keep his body alive-- "Encke!" barked Viatrix, jerking her head toward his hand. "He's gone! We have a bigger problem!"

Encke snapped out of it instantaneously, dashing over to join the cat with his husband. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers, taking a look once more at the gem that sat in his hand. Beautiful. Brilliant. Just like Basiluzzo. It was Basiluzzo. He ran a finger over it, brought it to his lips to kiss it gently, and then pushed it back toward his chest.

The starseed vanished within him and Encke sat back in relief.

"Basi!" shouted Viatrix, much more interested in waking Basiluzzo back up than any of this sweetness and this worry. To point, she picked up one of her paws and bopped him in the side of the head. "You're still in there, right!"

Encke let out a breath of relief at Basiluzzo's swearing, the tension leaving his body as Basiluzzo seemed to pick it up. The distance and pain in his eyes hurt, but the hurt was dull behind the elation that they had saved Basiluzzo, that Faustite hadn't succeeded, that his husband was still going to breathe another day as his husband and exist furthermore at all--

"Basi!" Viatrix sounded excited for a moment, and the light in her eyes echoed that, but it didn't last terribly long. She felt Encke's eyes on her and promptly ignored them as she trotted around Basiluzzo and observed his state. "Nuh-uh. Don't think so. I don't know how much you got knocked around, but you aren't going home like this. Do you see your arm? Not the one you got up against your chest. The other one. Clearly busted up."

She almost headbutted it but decided against it, perhaps for her own sake as well as his. One way to get herself booted across the alleyway by either the very shaken Basiluzzo or a very overprotective husband of Basiluzzo was by touching his injuries at all.

"Plus, best to get checked over when you get a starseed returned, you know? Not necessary but extended periods without it can get you on life support machines. Before you just die. So is the way of things. Can't live without a soul."

"Vi!" Encke hissed, swatting in her direction. "Stop. It won't harm him to get a moment of rest--"

"No, you stop," Viatrix turned that stern look back on him. "Don't think you saved your husband now. I mean, you did, but where would you be without me? I'm the one who noticed he was in trouble. And I'm also the one who beamed that haughty fire general when he just went ahead and put his foot on Basi's starseedless neck. You were too busy stonewalling and seeming unattached. Or monologuing. I don't wanna hear it from you either. We're doing this my way."

Encke felt very small under Viatrix's scolding, very silly for a senshi of ten years-- "Aye-aye, cap'n."

"Pick 'im up," Viatrix jerked her head toward Basiluzzo, headbutted him gently in the arm that probably didn't hurt, and then circled Encke, "and get him to the nearest hospital. Probably the one your mom works at. Once he gets that janky arm in a cast, we can all go home, okay?"

Encke shot Basiluzzo an apologetic look, before scooping him up carefully to hold him in something of a bridal carry.

"Hang on, love." Encke bent down to kiss his forehead.

"We'll get you home soon."