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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 12, 2020 17:14:44 GMT -5
THIS IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE DEPENDING ON THE FINAL SCENE - DO NOT TAKE AS CANON“Shhh, it’s okay,” a voice cooed, as if comforting a child “don’t fight it so much, it’ll only make it worse.”
Lane lay on her back, where Styx has only moments before pinned her down. The hilt of a knife protruded from her stomach, and an ever increasing pool of dark blood pooled around her.
She was dying, and she knew that she had no chance of surviving this; Lucien was incapacitated, Styx had already told her as much, just to make sure he couldn’t heal her at the last moment. The champion of Apollo could be knocked out, badly hurt, tied up. She didn’t know.
The girl reached with trembling hands for the necklace. The chain was broken, the necklace ripped off her in the fight, but it lay next to her. She could see, though, that the final bead was turning from green to white. Once it turned completely white it would fade, and Lane’s soul would belong to Hades and the Underworld.
“The gift from Hermes, hmm?” Styx questioned “you did everything you could. You did beautifully. But it was unfair and cruel of him to expect so much of you, to use you as cannon fodder. This isn’t your fault.”
“Please, Lane,” she could hear Hermes pleading “I didn’t mean for any of this.”
Lane didn’t respond then, just tightening her grip on the chain with its final bead.
The blood was staining though, and she noticed idly that the dark blood had reached the tips of one of her locks of blue hair, dying it red. Styx noticed this at the same time, seemingly fascinated by the colours as she picked up the hair in her fingers and twisted it, examining it.
“Were you a natural redhead?” Styx asked, as casually as if this were a normal situation, apart from the use of the past tense “you should’ve been. Red was your colour.”
Lane was barely registering the girl’s words, instead her eyes watching a drifting particle of dust in the sunlight as it danced on the air. That small detail was the only thing she could try to focus on.
Tears spilling down her cheeks seemed especially fascinating to Styx, who picked one up on her thumb to examine it as if she’d never seen a tear before. As if she’d forgotten what emotions felt like.
“Don’t cry,” Styx said softly “this was always meant to happen, even Hermes knew that, no matter how much he pretended he could save your soul from the lord of the dead. No, I’m just helping a struggling soul. I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon.”
“I’m sorry, kid,” Hermes was repeating over and over again “I’m so, so sorry.”
She was angry at Hermes, in this moment. Wished she could tell him she didn’t want his apologies. That she didn’t want anything to do with him, and didn’t appreciate the way the thief of the gods had toyed with her and her life just for his goals.
The bead was turning more and more white now, a slow spread across its surface. She wished the others were here. Pascal, for example, who had become a good friend despite Lane’s issues with Hades. But mostly Daniel.
If Daniel were here she’d tell him she was sorry, tell him she loved him. They could pretend they were on his beach, talking. That would make this dying moment more bearable. But she was on her own, just her and Styx.
“Why are you still here?” Lane managed to get out, her words slow with laboured breathing and slurred from the effort and pain of speaking, “is this fun for you?”
She was starting to convulse now, she could feel the drumming of her feet against the floor as her body shook. The pain was unbearable now, seeming to swallow everything else in a black hole.
“I like to see killings through,” was Styx’s reply “and besides, they’re rarely so slow and so pretty. Look at the patterns your blood is making.”
So Styx did take some enjoyment from this. Which meant Lane had at least one way she could spite her killer. Take away some of her fun.
She reached up and closed her hand on the handle of the knife.
“You want to bleed our faster?” Styx questioned with curiosity “I suppose speed is kind of your thing.”
Lane ignored her, wrenching the knife out and pushing it away with whatever failing strength she still had. She just curled up tighter in on herself, rolling over to the side as she curled around her wound as if to protect it.
She could almost hear Daniel’s voice, blending with Hermes’ in her head. Begging her to stay, to keep fighting. Not to give up hope.
“Let me go,” she whispered as if she were speaking to him “I was never meant to stay.”
What was it they always said? Live fast, die young.
Styx’s chattering faded into the background, as if she were hearing it through glass. The world went fuzzy, and her vision was eventually overtaken by a light, obscuring the view as her bead finally went completely white and then vanished, leaving the empty chain.
The next thing she would see was the dark river of the underworld, the namesake of the very girl who killed her.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Sept 12, 2020 18:36:17 GMT -5
(Not canon, subject to change.) Betrayal... the one truth known. The only thing that stays.
Clutching a photo close to her, Luka sunk to the ground, staring at the picture she had. She remembered it so vividly, the group, training on day. In the background, Echo could be seen with Lucien and Theo. River was near them, glaring at Lucien.
Near the forefront of the picture was her, her ebony hair pulled back into a low, curly ponytail, vivid blue eyes crinkled in laughter, lips curled up, frozen in time. Beside her, was the cause of all the issues.
His curly hair was dark, but short, fanning out like a halo. Lips pulled into a grin, in the photo, they almost looked like siblings.
They had acted like siblings. She his terrible little wingwoman, teasing and singing and jesting. He would help her with the anxieties she felt, things she didn't think she could share. River was the only other she trusted, but he was angry so much of the time.
She dropped the photo, watching as it landed softly on the ground, burying her head into her hands. The torrent of emotions was suffocating, instincts of several creatures fighting against her own. All fighting to comfort, to hide, to seek comfort.
Pulling into herself more, she fought off the scream that wanted to work it's way through her throat. She glanced at another photo, one on a dresser beside her bed. Various group photos, one with Laurie and River, Echo beside them, all smiling at the camera.
The pit opened up more, filling her eyes with unwanted tears. River, poor River. Injured, hurt, lonely River.
Echo, Naida...
"Luka, you need to control your emotions," Loki sternly commented in her ear, she could just imagine him rolling his eyes. Apathy was all he knew, he didn't understand.
"They...they took them, they're gone," She whispered, unable to understand much more than that.
"I know kid, but you have to move on, moping won't get them back-"
"They're gone," She whispered back, standing, wiping at the tears still falling from her eyes. She chuckled low, glaring at the air around her, "You don't f*cking care though, then again, why would you? You only care about yourself."
It was silent long after that.
__
Maybe it wasn't only a kidnapping. It surely wasn't for Laurie and his new...
Luka couldn't stand to look at River's broken smile anymore, or at the empty seat Naida used to occupy. She stood, as the other leaders gave off silly arguments. Talking and talking, ignoring the issue at hand.
"Why are we even discussing this?" She snapped, slamming her hands onto the table as eyes turned to face her. "We're wasting time, we need to go back and get them."
"And what?" Irene snapped back, standing up to match Luka, "We risk more of the Ascendants to chase after them?"
"They seem perfectly content where they are as it is," River ground out. Obviously he meant just one of them, but Luka wasn't going to pity him anymore.
"Yes, because Echo and Naida and everyone else are just having a blast!" She laughed, though no humor was in it, "I get your upset that Laurie moved on, but we have bigger things to worry about then your love life!"
She regretted the words as soon as she said them, Dillon gaped at her, River looked away, Clementine just glanced at her, eyes turning stony.
She wasn't expecting Lucien to be the one to speak up, "Luka, let it go."
The glare she sent his way was enough to set him on fire, her hands shaking as she trembled slightly in her rage, "And what? We all just whine about it, nursing our wounds back to health and complaining about it like we always do? That's why we're in this mess, too busy thinking about me, me, me, me, me, instead of caring about fighting back! That's why they're pushing us around, because we let them!"
"And what do you want us to do? Get ourselves killed because you can't accept that maybe, just maybe, you weren't as good a friend as you thought?" Clementine questioned, calm and poised as always. Not seeming bothered, though the far off look in their eyes proved the contrary. Luka froze, glaring at them, daring them to continue, and they did, "This isn't a game Luka."
"I don't think it is-" She defended, voice falling slightly. "Why can't you guys understand? They need us. They need our help, how can you just stand by and watch?" Her voice was soft, like the broken girl she once was.
"We aren't, Luka. But we can't charge into this without thinking. It isn't worth it to hurt more people, I-They're going to have to be okay," Clementine responded, sounding more like they were convincing themselves than anyone else.
That night, Luka left. The looming walls of her room stripped bare, pictures of friends lay in ashes on the ground, ripped apart and destroyed.
__
Despite the tears in her eyes, and the bright flash of the portal, all that she could see was the ashes flying higher into the sky, the flames, licking at the metal, the fabric gone and frayed. The skeleton of her umbrella clattering to the ground as the last of her friends entered the portal.
She dropped to her knees, looking at the snake tattoo on her arm. It went still, flashing a simple color of red, as something painful ripped through her body.
"Kid?" Loki sounded panicked, voice loud and grating, "Kid, you have to run. Luka. Run. Luka!"
"Why didn't you just pick someone else to curse?" The whisper was unsettling, uncharacteristic. Not angry, not teasing, just sad and morose. Broken.
"Luka, come on kid, just get up and run. They're going to find you if you don't," his voice was drowned out by another dizzying wave. Burning, burning her alive.
It was like more power, but like a burning fire in her veins. Her hands ripped into the grass, for several, long moments, before a silhouette cast over her prone body, sitting in the grass.
She glanced up, blue eyes unable to register fear fast enough. The boy, a staff with a glowing green gem embedded into it, looking down at her. Face held into something like sympathy, flickering to anger, then amusement as he lifted the staff. Rearing it back.
It became dark when it hit her head, fuzzy, warm, and welcome.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 13, 2020 2:16:12 GMT -5
Laurie lay on his back on a bed, one knee drawn up with his hand resting on it while the other leg lay full-length.
There was no music, not like his room in the Pantheon where the sound was constant from that jukebox Dionysus had put in there. Talking of Dionysus, the god has fallen quiet. Not a word from him since Laurie had joined the Exiled who had kidnapped him. The silence was deafening.
He lifted his hand, in which had been a cigarette, a point of golden glowing light in the dimly lit room. The boy took a drag and exhaled, watching idly the changing patterns in the swirling smoke as it fanned across the air.
He had betrayed his friends, both those who had been kidnapped and those back at the Pantheon. He still tries to help when he could, sneaking food to the other kidnapped Ascendants. Making sure Echo was alright. He was careful about it, though, terrified of getting caught.
Most of all, he’d betrayed River.
But they’d broken up, he reminded himself. River had told him that the other leaders were concerned Laurie was too much of a distraction. Their romance was an inconvenience when it came to battle, apparently. So River has just broken it off, and that was that. What was Laurie supposed to do? Sit around hoping he changed his mind?
Besides, he hadn’t planned for Ripley. The boy had been kind to Laurie after the group were kidnapped, treating him genuinely nicely. And Laurie, like he always did, didn’t see Ripley was what he truly was. Like every relationship before River, Laurie just fell for the kindness being shown to him and didn’t even notice that he was taking a saw to the branch he was sitting on.
Ripley hadn’t been in love with him, by now that much was abundantly clear. He just wanted Laurie’s powers. Wanted someone to control, someone to insult and laugh with the others about the fact Laurie didn’t leave. That he couldn’t leave.
He was ‘Lamb’ to Ripley, and Laurie called him ‘mon loup’, ‘My Wolf’. If that didn’t say everything that needed to be said he didn’t know what did.
Suddenly, though, he heard footsteps down the hallway, and Laurie tensed up. He could tell those were Ripley’s footsteps. The panic was instant, his pulse rising and hammering in this throat.
The first thing he did was stub out the cigarette. Why? Laurie’s eyes moved to his skin, and the new marks that marred in since he had joined the exiled. Some of them were cute and bruises, yes, but there were many small burn marks. Perfectly circular.
A few on his arms, one on the top of his shoulder, a couple around his collarbone. Ripley just couldn’t resist putting out cigarettes on Laurie’s skin. He seemed to enjoy seeing how much pain Laurie could take, whether he could cry out. By now, Laurie was able to meet his eyes and not utter a peep through the whole thing. Which he was starting to suspect was becoming boring for Ripley.
He sat up and inhaled sharply as the door to the room opened.
———
He had been rescued from the exiled, and seemed to have been accepted back into the group by most of the Ascendants by now, though the trust they gave him still felt flimsy sometimes. He knew he was on thin ice.
But not everyone.
River, for example. Who had yelled at him the first day he’d come back, and the two of them had argued every day for a while afterwards. Until the redhead had run out of things to say and had fallen silent; now he didn’t speak to Laurie at all unless he absolutely had to, which broke Laurie more than anything.
When he’d yelled at Laurie, it meant he still felt something. That Laurie still meant something to him because his betrayal had hurt enough to make him yell. There was hope there. But when River was silent, it shut off everything. Sealed all the cracks through which Laurie might hope to get through to River. It was hopeless, then. That was what hurt to most; it was like River had given up.
Dionysus was still silent too, no doubt angry over the betrayal. Over the breaking of the deal he’d made.
So, Laurie felt truly alone.
He sat in his room, which was where he spent most of his time now. The others might come in occasionally, but generally he stayed in here because he couldn’t bear to face the others and the guilt of what he’d done.
Lately he wore his usual shirts but kept them more buttoned up, kept the sleeves as long as possible. Anything to hide the scars and injuries. The worst was a particularly painful gash on his back, and from the heat it gave he suspected it was infected. He could go to Lucien about it, swear the boy to secrecy. But what good would that do? The others would only end up finding out, and besides, why should he make Lucien experience the pain he’d been going through since his kidnapping? Why should Lucien pay for what Laurie had done?
No, he resolved to try and clean the wound himself the next time the bathrooms were empty. He couldn’t use his ensuite, the mirror wouldn’t be big enough for him to see what he was doing; he needed to sneak into the communal bathrooms when it was really early and nobody would be in there. The Pantheon has first aid kits, he knew that for a fact, they just didn’t have to use them because they had Lucien. He could take one of those, there’d be stuff in there to work on the wounds.
He was just contemplating this plan when the door opened to reveal River on the other side. The boy looked at him with such barely contained anger and hurt it felt like a physical wound. A sharp stabbing in his chest that caused him to catch his breath for a moment.
“Enzo wanted me to tell you dinner’s ready,” was all River said, though it seemed effort to him to even get those words out. Then he nodded in the direction of the kitchen before immediately moving to leave, stepping out of the doorway.
“River, wait!”
Laurie jumped to his feet, rushing to catch up with River. He caught him not far down the hallway, and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. River stopped but looked almost disgusted at the touch, wrenching his shoulder out of Laurie’s grip. But he did turn, stepping back to put more distance between him and Laurie and folding his arms. By now the Ares champion had learned that Laurie was just going to talk anyway. It was best to let him just say what he wanted and then walk away.
“I know my apologies aren’t going to do anything,” Laurie sighed “I’ve apologised a thousand times already. And I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t deserve it. But we live together, River, we can’t carry on like this.”
The expression on River’s face told him everything. Laurie could read that boy like a book; he obviously thought they could carry on avoiding one another, and fully intended to do so to the end of time if he had to.
“I never wanted to hurt you, or any of the others,” Laurie said softly “I was blind, and stupid, and selfish. I know that, and I’ve been tearing myself apart about it for weeks. I really thought... I thought I knew what I wanted. I was just hurting, and being manipulated. I’m sorry, really I am. I know I hurt you. But if me being with Ripley was so painful to you, perhaps you should never have left in the first place.”
What Laurie had done wasn’t River’s fault, but the other boy had to accept that he’d hurt Laurie too. That the leaders had put doubts in his mind and that was it.
Those final words seemed to have had some impact on River though, because some unreadable expression passed over his face. He abruptly turned back away, heading down the hallway.
And now dinner was probably going to be a tense affair.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Sept 13, 2020 15:22:18 GMT -5
Luka’s eye’s went wide at the flame, grinning practically from ear to ear. “I haven’t ever tried changing the color. O just keep to blue and red-orange, but green? That’s so cool!” She seemed delighted with his improvement.
She followed him to the others once the door was unlocked, her gaze flickering from Jason to others, like Irene and Clementine, though her smile reignited at his comment, “Aight mate, can do,” She commented, winking a tiny bit at the end of her sentence, though she seemed to ponder more. “In return, you hang out with us after the fights.” Anything to get Jason to join the groups would be great.
She worried over him sometimes, younger than her, reclusive at times too. She wasn’t nice by any stretch of the imagination, but she was being friendly, at least.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 13, 2020 17:36:44 GMT -5
Griffin’s swing at Lane’s arm had hit, and it was definitely not painless. Griffin was going easy, but this guy was strong, and that was for sure.
But she was unable to stop herself from grinning, kind of proud that her attack had hit, though she felt bad for hurting Griffin. She didn’t want to hurt him or anything.
”Sorry, Griff,” the girl said ”come on, let’s finish this.”
”Okay!” Lucien could be heard yelling ”Now it’s getting good.”
Again, more scuffling, and the muffled voice of Chiara telling him to shut his mouth. Only with a lot more swearing.
Lane wasn’t about to back down from this fight yet. She had one up on Griffin right now; he would probably get a couple more hits in but she figured the fight wouldn’t last much longer either way.
So she moved as fast as she was able to, which was still not as fast as Hermes said her abilities could get her with more training, and rushed for Griffin, aiming right for the shield in his grip. If she could push him back and pin him against the wall with his own shield that could be a good move.
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Post by Nariku The Avaricious on Sept 13, 2020 21:59:28 GMT -5
For as long as she could remember, Irene has a competitive spirit. So the second someone pitched the idea of a training competition, she fought tooth and nail to make it a reality. Not only was it a good chance for her to test herself against the other kids, it was also in a format that she couldn’t help get excited about. As she watched the fights unfold before her, she couldn’t help but get a gitty grin on her face in amusement and excitement. She had a bucket of popcorn in one hand and a megaphone in the other. If she was going to shout and make a lot of noise, she might as well make it audible to every single person in the building. There were 3 fights going on the moment; Lane v. Griffin, Kita v. Naida, and Luka v. Jason. Interesting match-ups to say the least. She wasn’t thrilled that snake girl was going first, and even more disappointed that she wasn’t going to take the shrimp down in the first round. Still, she put the megaphone up to her mouth and cheered Jason on. Watching him loose to her in the first few minutes was rather disappointing, enough so that Irene started booing and jeering at Luka.
Irene seemed like one of the only people who was really into the whole competition aspect of it. Theo sat in one of the front rows of the stands, staring at his phone and bored out of his mind. He didn’t particularly like watching people beat the snot out of each other, especially if the outcomes seemed obvious. Though, he instinctively stayed far away from the Lane v. Griffin fight. Everything about it gave him bad memories.
Meanwhile, Pascal sat in the corner of the room, looking down at the Lane v. Griffin fight in abject horror. At some point, he was expected to get in the ring with one of these people, nevermind the fact he didn’t have a shred of an idea what he was doing. He didn’t know how to fight, and Hades’s constant nagging about learning just made him more nervous. Plus, the entire situation the Lane girl just stressed him out to no end. He just wished for the ground to just suddenly open up and swallow him into the abyss, so he’d no longer have to suffer through this torment.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 27, 2020 12:41:01 GMT -5
HUNGER GAMES AU SNIPPET
"Why are you standing there, you bloody idiot! Run!"
The biting cold of the air nipped at Laurie's skin as the boy let out a rapid, panicked exhale, spilling into the air like swirling fog. Like a physical cloud of his fear.
His whole body was filled with it, still thrumming with nervous energy despite the fact that his assailant was no longer a threat, instead nursing an injury. His heart raced, pulse jumping at his neck. Every loud clash of weapons, every shout almost caused the boy to start, he was so tense.
He staggered back at the girl's words, the very force in them. She was younger than him, from District 2 if he recalled. She was the girl who'd complimented his ability with the throwing knives. Luka.
"What about-?" he began, the words coming out in stutters. Small, broken busts of fog.
Luka had no patience for that, interrupting him in a voice low and threatening. That sharp, terrifying smile that would've chilled his blood if it didn't feel thoroughly chilled already.
"Don't test me, Run. Eight. Run as fast as you can and don't look back."
"Laurie?"
The voice that pulled him from the memory of the events that had occurred only a few hours before was another female voice, a different one.
It belonged to Guinevere, who looked at him with concern in her eyes, knitting her eyebrows together as she tilted her head. Ariella sat beside her, working on cleaning out the gash on Guinevere's arm.
Laurie had thankfully, though he'd failed to get his hands on the key, been able to grab some supplies while pulling the girls away from the fight. Just one backpack, a small one, which was useless really. But better than nothing in this frozen environment.
It didn't have much in it; some dried food, a water bottle, and what seemed to be some kind of waterproof material. Probably to act as some sort of blanket, but Laurie figured it might be useful for making a shelter for the small group. After all, it'd be unfair to let only one of them have a blanket.
And probably the most useful object so far; a single throwing knife. Good for defence, but he also figured the group could use it for other things. Skinning any prey animals that might live out here (he figured there must be a few), a tool for making shelters or supplies.
It wasn't much.
Still, he thought grimly, it might be enough until they could get their hands on more supplies.
The group had found some form of shelter under a rock outcropping, sheltering them from the prevailing winds. But it wouldn't be enough soon; night was about to fall. The group had travelled as far and as quickly as they could after the bloodbath, making sure not to stop until they'd felt they were a safe distance away. That was when they'd paused to clean wounds and go through supplies.
"We have to keep moving," Guinevere reminded him, though she suddenly winced, looking at Ariella slightly accusatorily. Obviously it had hurt.
"I'm doing the best I can," Ariella responded "all we've got is melted snow, it's not going to feel good."
Guiney just huffed slightly, but turned her attention back to Laurie, who began to speak.
"We need to find shelter," Laurie nodded "we're going to freeze out here if we don't."
He didn't think they even had anything for making fires. There were ways of firelighting without matches, but Laurie wasn't seeing any way to make a bowdrill. They could get sparks with the right rocks, but he didn't see much in the way of tinder or fuel to burn.
"You're right," Guinevere nodded, sighing a little as she rose to her feet. She pulled her clothes tighter around herself, covering the gash in her arm to keep the cold wind from it.
Ariella did so too, and Laurie followed suit, shouldering the backpack as he did so. He'd chosen to carry the backpack mainly because the girls were better fighters than he. If they could carry less weight so they'd be more agile in a fight, Laurie wanted to make that happen.
It was good timing to move, too; it was dusk. The cold would be closing in very soon, but it was also a little less bright. Slightly safer for moving around this exposed Arena.
As they prepared to move on, though, the anthem struck up. All three tributes knew what that meant, their eyes immediately lifting to the sky to see the Capitol seal replacing the stars above them. Then five faces flashed above them.
Jason Bates, District 3. Griffin Wyatt, District 9. Kita Sveyn and Lorenzo Alexander, District 10. Dillon Fillery, District 11.
But it was of course Griffin's face that struck Laurie, made him feel that pang in his chest. Griffin, Ariella's district partner. Griffin, the boy who Guinevere had so obviously been smitten with.
He looked to the two girls standing beside him, trying to read their expressions. It wasn't hard to do so.
"I'm so sorry," Laurie murmured
That was all he could do. He had liked Griffin, sure, but he'd been so focussed on the District 12 tributes that he hadn't really gotten much of an opportunity to get to know the boy prior to the Games.
Talking of District 12, he felt a little guilty for the amount of relief he felt to know that Echo and River were safe. They were still out there; he needed to try to find them. Not just because he'd hinted at his feelings for River in the interview and so the entire Capitol would want to see a romance storyline from them - which just might be enough to get the Gamemakers to keep them alive.
No, because Laurie wanted more than anything to find them both. His feelings for River were real, and he'd decided that he wasn't just going to ignore that for the sake of the Games. Not after watching Guinevere lose Griffin just like that.
If either he or River could die at any moment, he didn't see the point in hiding their feelings.
But only 5 dead on the first day...
"We need to be careful," Laurie said to the girls "the Capitol will be desperate for more blood before long."
Not enough people had died to sate the Capitol's appetite for long. No, they had to keep moving. Had to try their best to stay alive.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Sept 27, 2020 15:41:41 GMT -5
Pip had his hair pulled into a low ponytail, his eyes flickering between both of his dads, and between some of the others he was with. He had teleported them into the base, and he hid as he heard Ripley’s voice, Something cold and angry building in his heart.
One look at his French dad had him biting his cheek in frustration, a cross between terrified and guilty. River, Pip’s cool dad, laid a calming hand on his boyfriend’s back.
Beside them, the menace among them facepalmed, before she stood up herself, her body morphing into that of a cat, jumping onto a nearby counter, ears swiveled back as she looked at Ripley, a cruel smile already on her lips.
Luka could be an idiot at times, and Pip quickly tugged on her tail, pulling her down and slapping his hand over her snout, glancing back in fear as he did so.
Irene glared at Pip and Luka from her hiding spot, though Pip knew it was aimed at the idiot instead of him. He shared her sentiments greatly.
Naida seemed annoyed as well, though she offered a roll of eyes. Lucien for his part ducked his head, looking about ready to tackle anyone and everyone in the room, and Kaz was simply standing at the ready with his key, which looked weird but was helpful.
Last of all was Daniel and Pascal, the two kept to the back of the group, it was a larger Intel mission, but the Ascendants had grown in number. They now had both Kaz with his doors, and Pip with his teleportation to help them.
All in all, the group was of fairly good size. All eager to gather information, Atticus was talking to Ripley and Gwen still, the three leaders seemed to be meeting. Pip held his breath in fear, closing his eyes and hoping for all it was worth they hadn’t heard Luka’s claws scratching at the counter.
They hadn’t, if how they spoke still was any clue. However, a sharp burst of pain to his fingers had him throwing the cat towards Irene, biting back an abashed cry as he glared up in an accusatory manner.
“You bit me!” He all but cried out, in a soft whisper, there wasn’t any blood, but Luka was bristling and looked about as angry as could be, with her little calico fur, a mix of silver, black, and a soft burgundy tone of red, her fiery blue eyes narrowed at him as she hissed.
The child really wished she would learn to shut up sometimes, he heard the conversation halt, and rushed forward, scooping the cat into his arms and running towards his fathers as Kaz stabbed his key into the ground, opening a door that it summoned. Most of the group already went to the door, waiting on Pip’s queue to go.
With Luka digging her claws into his arm like an idiot, he stomped his foot into the ground next to the door, his own energy filling into the door and turning it a soft glow of gold. A strengthening of the portal, a teamwork with Kaz.
Though, Ripley and Atticus were already ready to attack, and Gwen was already turning into a monster. He was just a kid with fears and monsters for sure were on. Letting off a soft cry of panic, the portal lifted wildly out of control in reaction to his panic.
It turned white, and curled wildly out of controls, tendrils of the magic pulling at everyone nearby, and he started falling as it all fell away, sinking deeper.
—
When he opened his eyes, the world seemed a bit more dark, the moon nestled high into the sky, crickets chirping wildly in the groves beyond. His eyes opened in a panic, his left side and cheek pressed into the ground.
He groaned as he sat up. Twigs were locked into his curls, which were still held back, and the trees around him were looking. And yet, he was shocked to see looking buildings of stone, fire-lit lanterns swinging gently on the wind.
The song of crickets rose in volume, the wind pulling at chimes outside of shops, pulling on wooden signs. Soft tunes of music were distantly playing, though they were odd, sounding like lutes and soft piccolos, music that was so unlike that he listened to daily at home.
Everything about the place he was in was unlike home. Home was the bright golden and white statues, the Pantheon, with memoirs to their Guides. Home was Khonsu’s calming, excited chatter in his ears. It was odd, to wake up after such an odd Teleport, without his guide talking to him.
“Khonsu?” He questioned, voice a soft croak, “Khonsu, where am I...?”
He lifted a hand, picking twigs from his hair, rubbing at some scratches he gained. He was the youngest Ascendant, and the shame filtered in. A worry too, his dads, his family, what if they were stranded?
He lifted his head as he heard a twig snap, his eyes widening as he staggered back.
The figure had pale hair, and eyes of a pale, almost iridescent golden-white, like that of sunbeams. They wore a robe, and fine jewelry, unnatural eyes locking on Pip and a cocky grin overtaking their face as they held up a beam of light. Despite the fine clothing, it was all still black, juxtaposing with the unnatural eyes they had.
“Lucien?” Pip questioned, when the boy approached, because somehow, Lucien had changed attire? And how? How did he do it?
“Hey scrap,” Lucien commented, messing up Pip’s hair by rubbing at his head roughly when he approached, before helping the kid stand. Pip pouted, patting at his hair and glaring at the unusually bright eyes boy. “Seems we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“We were never in Kansas,” He pouted, because everyone made these Kansas jokes. Kansas seemed like a mythical place by how the others made it sound. Was it a state of being?
Well, Cool Dad did say it was a state, so maybe. Americans were confusing.
He was about to ask where the others were, but as Lucien lead him into the woods, he gasped, spotting them. Many of them changed in various ways, Naida’s eyes were a shimmering blue, deep and bright, like the depths of the sea. Her attire was a simple cloak, a dark blue color, that seemed to match with the water that pulled at her feet.
Close to her we’re the two more silent boys, who had become closed off since the death of the blue-haired girl that Pip never really met in person. Both of their eyes changed, Daniel had silver eyes now, and Pascal’s were a dark color, so dark that the color was hard to tell. Both were dressed in simple clothing, different in the raglike testure they had.
A figure stood on the outline of the trees, holding up her skirts with a glare on her face, before she roughly started ripping at them. Electricity seemed to draw from her fingers, the sharp yellow eyes she had flickered on the rags she wore in anger, and the sharp yellow was odd to see on Irene, different than he remembered. So unnatural.
Kaz didn’t seem to change much, his eyes remained in their normal color of soft brown, though his attire seemed more befitting to some royal guard member. There was a sword in a hilt, which seemed to replace his key that he usually wore on a necklace, which was strangely gone.
“Where are my dads?” Pip commented, though Lucien offered a sly grin, and suddenly Pip was being scooped up by a strong man in a borderline suffocating hug.
The stuttered French was too hard to understand, though he picked up messy translations of what Laurie was attempting to say, the words broken between English and French. Finally his dad stopped spinning him, setting him down and sinking to sit beside him, sighs of relief escaping the curly haired man as he checked Pip over for wounds.
His eyes finally came into view as he rubbed his fingers tenderly over the scrape on Pip’s cheek, the red eyes flickering into worry as he pulled Pip into him in a crushing hug again, and Pip could feel his relief.
Hugging his dad back, he opened his eyes after keeping them closed in content, staring at his other father, whose eyes remained normal, though he looked relieved, he had that classical, annoyed look on his face. Though River also had a crown on his head, looking like some prince out of a fairytale.
“Everyone looks weird,” Pip mumbled into Laurie’s chest, where he was currently cradled, “Your eyes are red.”
“Yours are purple,” River said, having heard them from his position, though he leaned down to join the hug, “Wherever we’re at, that relates to magic.”
Lucien nodded from where he was, gesturing to his own orbs of light, which floated meticulously through the air, though the soft aqua hue to his eyes became apparent then too, the tune of music fading a bit as he glanced over the small camp.
Pip was surprised by that, though he grinned up at his uncle, “Still a glorified bard?” He teased, which earned his hair another messy treatment.
He hadn’t seen one person yet, the person he practically threw into the portal in his haste to stop being clawed. He glanced up in panic, glancing between his fathers, “Where’s Luka?”
River broke out into a small set up chuckles, pointing towards a pouting figure that Pip had missed in his earlier investigation. Sitting against a tree, with small flames licking at her feet, was a humanoid figure, with some nonhuman features, those including animal like ones, particularly catlike in nature, upon hearing her name, she glared over in their direction, her strange, bright orange and magenta eyes narrowed in annoyance.
Pip broke into laughter at the very nature of it, though it didn’t last very long, he teleported away from his family, eyes widening at the lilac magic his portals left, as he peered into the tree line, eyes wide.
“We aren’t in the Pantheon, are we?” He pondered. And no, it’s wasn’t. There was no billboards, or glorified statues, there was strange beauty and magic in the air.
“No, it seems to me that we’re in some messed up dimension where I have a tail, what the hell did you do?” The voice was angry, obviously belonging to Luka, whose eyes had small slits for pupils, as she snuck closer on all fours, her strange eyes so much different then their classical blue.
He turned over, offering a shrug to Luka and a sheepish grin. Everyone seemed to be glancing at him, confused they all were, looking for answers.
“Um, we’re not in Kansas anymore?” He offered sheepishly, his accent twisted into his words as he caught a reflection of himself in Naida’s pool of water, strange violet eyes wide and worried.
Wherever they were, it wasn’t anything like home, that was for sure.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Sept 27, 2020 17:27:22 GMT -5
Minke was tempted to slap Lilith and Athena as they all fell into the portal that those three weird people caused.
Though, in all fairness, all thoughts of revenge faded as she crashed through a bit of scaffolding, landing roughly near a boy with long white hair, who was rolling around for a moment in pain.
“What do you mean, our house got destroyed!” She was up in a moment, stabbing her fingers into her older sister’s chest, too short to properly reach her face, but making do with what she had. Athena chuckled nervously from nearby, tucked back away from the angered little sister.
“Well, I mean, your the one that ran away, you worried us, why did you-,” Lilith began shaking Minke a bit, eyes wide and panicked.
“Actually maybe shut up?” The boy with the long hair sat up, but immediately rolled his eyes upon spotting another boy nearby, one with shorter pale hair, and glasses which were askew on his face. “I get kidnapped and I still have to deal with you? What the hell?”
The boy he was talking to groaned slightly, rubbing at his temples in annoyance, “I thought you said to shut up, Alex?” He grumbled, glaring at the boy.
Alex, apparently, didn’t get the message, and quickly, the two were bickering back and forth like dogs.
Another group of people chattered. A young boy, who deadass looked like a prince, with a crown and everything. The boy seemed to be upset with the arguing, standing up and crossing his arms, “Hestia never said there would be others, or that they’d be arguing,” he pouted, almost as if he thought the freaking out was stupid, “Didn’t your guides explain anything to you?”
“I’m sorry, but they were actually saying stuff I was supposed to listen to?” Another girl, with a head of bright orange hair, questioned as she narrowed her blue eyes at the boy.
“Leon, actually shut up,” The boy behind that girl, a brown with longer hair, tugged on her wrist a bit as if dragging her, while another boy, another that seemed to know the girl, who looked younger, rolled his eyes with a smirk on his lips.
“Why don’t we introduce ourselves?” A girl, seeming diplomatic, suggested as she stepped forward, while Elena, one of Lilith’s biggest enemies, winked at the boy near the diplomatic girl.
“My name is Tia,” Tia started, waving, as she then gestured to a boy near her, one that was hanging back, “This is Carlo, my brother. And that’s Callan.”
Both boys waved to the others. Carlo had a flower crown in his hair, while Callan was pointedly looking away from Elena, a blush on his face.
“I was chosen by Odin, why don’t we all take turns saying who chose us?” Tia suggested, seeming to center the group.
“Wait, wait, we’re all just...okay with this? We’re just going to spit out the names of gods and pretend that’s normal?” Dante questioned, glaring at Alex as if to silence him.
Minke herself glared at her own two sisters, who she had just reunited with prior to entering this strange building, before those three people cornered them, and talked to them.
“My name is Carlo, continuing onwards, um, Demeter?” He said it as if it was obvious, and Lilith started snorting slightly.
“Wait, wait, are you like...my mom?” She crossed her arms then, lifting her chin, “If I find out any of you are Hades I’m kicking you’re ass if you try to kidnap me.”
Elena seemed to chirp up then, offering a broad smile, as she bowed deeply, “Chosen of Apollo, at your service.”
Lilith glared at the girl, “I detest how well that fits you, you’re the glorified f*ckboy of whatever this shitshow is.”
“Don’t you know it,” Elena shot back, offering Callan a brief flutter of her eyelashes, “And what about you, pretty boy?”
“I feel like Ares does not fit me and I want to go home? Tia? Can we go home?” He turned around, glancing at his friend with wide eyes, becoming redder by the moment.
“My name is Razzle, and I’m going to kick your ass!” The hyper boy by the redhead grinned as he shifted into a cat, crawling up the girl’s back and perching onto her shoulder, grin still on his face.
“Zelos, Get Off.” He didn’t, so the girl pulled from a nearby water source, dousing both of them in water, much to the cat’s distaste. He jumped off, shaking wildly. The girl only smirked in reply, “My name’s Leon, a girl named Nephthys picked me?” She went softer then, as if hearing a voice in her ears, a look of doubt crossing her face as she went quiet.
“Hephaestus does fire stuff, right?” The long haired boy beside her questioned, eyes wide. When Leon nodded, he turned to the others, seeming to grin slightly, “My name is Zach. Zelos, whose yours?”
“Loki, now piss off,” The cat was already curling into a ball to nap, much to the annoyance of Leon, who sighed deeply, pinching her nose.
“Why are we pretending this is okay?” A boy, a brunette, it seemed, back away from the rest of the group, “Are you all mad? I think your mad. We need to find out how to go home.” He was already turning away, looking around.
“Ohhhhh! What are you looking for?” The prince boy, Zahavi, was already hopping up to him, looking at the boy as he looked for clues.
“A way out, I just said that.” The boy was gruff, picking up some of the scattered scaffolding that spilled when Minke crashed through it.
“I like your watch, your watch is pretty.” Zahavi pointed to the watch, like a bird attracted to silver, and the boy pulled it away with a glare.
“Don’t touch it.” He snapped, glaring back at the younger group, “My name is Eldred. We don’t have time to waste on games, why is everyone just standing around?” He snapped. He seemed to pause then, realizing the boy likely wouldn’t shut up for a while, “Before you ask, my guide is Sif.”
“That’s fun and all, but like, are we going to ignore that we were kidnapped?” Alex questioned once more, to which Dante snapped a glare at him.
Deciding it was the perfect time to speak, Athena stepped away from Minke, “My name is Athena-“
“This will be fun,” Minke snorted out as Zahavi turned quickly, grin on his lips.
“Like the goddess?” He questioned, “Are you the goddess? That’s so cool!”
Eldred seemed to ram his head into a wall nearby in reply, and Athena cracked a crooked smile, “She’s my guide, ironically.”
That seemed to float over Zahavi’s head, his grin still wide, “That’s so cool that your a goddess.”
Leon seemed to deadpan at the prince-boy, while Zach chuckled slightly and Eldred groaned once more, eagerly looking for a way to get away from them all.
“What's your name?” Tia questioned Minke then, seeming to realize the girl’s lack of response yet as she soaked everything in.
Turning back around, Minke deadpanned, “Which...Which name do you want? There’s a lot of them.” Lilith snapped a glare at her, so Minke just picked one randomly from her head, “Minke, Vici, Lez, please just-“
“Her full name is Alessandra Minke Victoria-“ Athena intervened, teasingly.
“And shut up.” Minke commented, glaring at her sister, who shockingly went quite, eyes wide as she clasped her hands over her mouth, looking confused.
“Hecate chose me, and I think I can do magic? It must surely be magic if it shuts Vidi up.”
“Not that anyone asked but my name is Izzy, I was chosen by Heracles, not like anyone asked though,” Izzy went quiet, looking at Alex and Dante expectantly.
Alex glared at Dante, “You first, Dante, who chose you?”
Dante blinked back at him, “Yeah, no, you’re going first, I don’t trust you not to lie about it.”
“No, you first,” Alex shot back, glaring at Dante as he crossed his arms. Some angry sparks of electricity ran under his feet, and Dante took note of it, deadpanning.
“Thor?” He guessed, to which Alex guffawed.
“Psssh, no. I’m like, the king of this shitshow now, I got Zeus.”
Dante gaped, before standing up promptly and looking around.
“Wait, wait, Dante, what are you doing?” This was Elena this time, who went from flirting with Callan to realizing that Dante was now ignoring everything.
“I’m helping Eldred find a way out,” Dante commented, as if it was as clear as day.
“And your guide is?”
“Oh she won’t shut up about her cheating husband and his stupid little egotistical chosen,” Dante commented, before glaring at Alex, “Tell Zeus that Hera says hi.”
Despite the circumstances, Minke started laughing as the two boys went on arguing once more, while her sisters tended to trying to find more answers.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 28, 2020 15:14:24 GMT -5
SCENE COULD BE SUBJECT TO CHANGE - DO NOT TAKE AS CANONAs bad decisions went, this was probably the worst Laurie had ever made.
After the kidnapping of him and a small group of the other Ascendants, he'd ended up joining the exiled. Partly because of the manipulation of Ripley, whom he was now dating, but also partly because in some ways what the exiled said made sense. He could understand the way they thought, in a way.
Ripley had left Laurie to fight alone this time, though he was staying nearby. To take the opportunity to mock River, no doubt, for it was River that Laurie found himself facing now.
Laurie was facing him in the darkened alley of a city, the ground reflective with the rain, lighting the ground with the bright streetlights of the city. Blinding against the dark sky. There was nobody around; or at least, not right now. Laurie had seated himself on a low wall, feet dangling as he exhaled, watching his cigarette smoke turn gold as it rose past a streetlight up ahead. The glowing end of the cigarette lit up his face whenever he took a drag, a point of brightness in the dim light.
He supposed he looked a little different as a member of the exiled. He no longer had his key for the Pantheon; the others had all had theirs left behind for the Ascendants to find, only Laurie's being taken by the exiled and kept after his kidnapping. He didn't know where they'd put it, but he bet they were keeping it like some sort of trophy.
He wore more layers of clothing than normal, buttoned his shirt more than normal, in an effort not to expose the injuries Ripley gave him frequently. He wasn't going to show any vulnerability to him. That would only prove that the other boy had obviously always thought about him. That Laurie couldn't take care of himself, that he was a distraction who needed River to keep him safe in a fight.
Talking of whom, a flash had brought a figure into the alleyway, River dropping into sight from his portal. By now he was used to that kind of transport, Laurie noted; it didn't unbalance him as much as it used to. River was silhouetted at first, but Laurie knew his shape. He'd recognise his ex anywhere.
It didn't take long for River to notice Laurie, and when the redhead stepped forward his face was thrown into sharp relief by the golden streetlight. Not as gentle as the starlight that had illuminated him when they'd first kissed.
Emotion seemed to pass across River's face in rapid succession, changing so quickly it was almost hard to catch. He saw recognition at first, a brightening of his eyes as if he was instinctively happy to see Laurie. A little bit of surprise thrown in, and relief to see him well. But he seemed to fight that positive response, his gaze sharpening and his eyebrows drawing together. A hardness came across his face, and he could see the anger there. Bubbling beneath the surface, barely contained. He just knew Ares was probably yelling in his ear.
"Laurie," River said, and his voice seemed to shake as he said the name. The boy couldn't tell whether it was shaking out of anger or out of something else.
The champion of Ares' response did get to Laurie, of course. He knew he'd hurt River, and of course he wasn't immune to that. But he had to pretend he wasn't; he had to keep going. Not just because of what Ripley would do if he didn't, but because this was the right thing to do. Ripley, at least, trusted Laurie's abilities in a fight. He thought Laurie was powerful, more powerful than the Ascendants had given him credit for. Dionysus might have stopped communicating with Laurie, but Laurie still had his powers and that was what counted. Besides, the exiled were right about the gods, weren't they?
The champion of Dionysus took a final drag from the cigarette, before flicking it away over the wall behind him, and hopping down to stand in front of River. As he did so, he picked up his own weapon that had been sitting against the wall; a staff.
"You look good, River," Laurie commented "how's the rescue mission coming?"
He was, of course, referring to the Ascendants' efforts to get their kidnapped friends back from the exiled. A plan Atticus, Ripley and Gwen obviously knew about; the three leaders had been planning their countermoves since before they'd even committed the kidnapping. Every step carefully planned.
Those words angered River, whose grip tightened on the spear in his hand. Laurie noted the way his knuckles seemed to whiten, the boy's lips thinning as he glared.
"Why are you doing this?" River asked "what are you possibly getting out of hurting us all?"
Yeah, those words hurt. He knew he was hurting them. River, Luka, Cleo, Lucien, Dillon, Naida, Irene; the leaders. And not only them, but everyone.
"I saw an opportunity." was Laurie's simple answer "The exiled don't think I'm weak, they don't see me as a distraction or an inconvenience. After all, before we both forget, you're the one who hurt me first."
River seemed to physically startle at those words, but then they angered him anew, as he lifted the spear and gestured towards Laurie with the weapon, eyes blazing.
"So, what, I hurt you and your solution is to join the exiled?" River spat "You join them in hurting all of us?"
Laurie laughed then, lifting his staff in response.
"Like the Ascendants are so innocent!" Laurie pointed out "You think there's no blood on any of your hands? The ordinary people think you're all evil, River, and they have good reason to. The sheer amount of collateral damage you all cause is astonishing."
"It takes two sides to fight," River responded "it's the exiled's collateral damage, too."
"At least the exiled are fighting for something!" Laurie shot back "what do you all fight for? The gods told you that you're meant to fight so you just...did it? I have a newsflash for you, babe, Ares is just using you as cannon fodder. He chose a kid nobody would miss, and he sent you to fight his battles for him."
"We're fighting for good!" River growled then, spear glinting as it caught the light, shifting in his hand "you can't pretend for a second that those assholes you've allied yourself with could claim the same."
That was the internal struggle that had been raging in Laurie since he joined the exiled. They claimed they were fighting for good, but a part of Laurie knew they weren't. He couldn't completely reconcile the values they claimed to have with the actions they took to achieve their goals. But he didn't know what else to do.
He hadn't intended to get into this mess, but he was in it now. The Ascendants couldn't free him, and it was too dangerous to take any kind of middle-ground. He had to pick a side. And he'd made his decision the moment Ripley was kind to him.
"Good and bad is all made-up crap," Laurie responded "or if it isn't, the gods are in trouble. The gods who didn't give a shit about us when were were being abused, or living on the streets, or had nothing to live on, or nobody to care. Who choose vulnerable kids and convinced them it was a good idea to lay down their lives on their behalf."
River seemed finally to have had enough of Laurie's talk then, taking a battle stance and raising his weapon. This fight? This was not going to be easy.
A memory flashed through Laurie's head of the first time the two of them had fought; Laurie flirting with River to try to distract him, River eventually managing to get a good punch in and ended up winning the fight. Laurie remembered how concerned River had been that he'd hurt him, no matter how much Laurie reassured him it was alright. No matter how much he laughed it all off.
"We're done talking," the redhead said firmly "I'm going to kick your ass."
Laurie just took his own attack stance, staff at the ready. Maybe it was time he finally showed River what he could do. The agreement he'd made with Styx, the deal he's taken, that was powerful. He knew he'd pay for it later but it was the only way he could use his powers against the Ascendants. He hadn't had a choice.
At least he could try and get some use out of it now.
"Do you promise?" Laurie asked with a smile
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Sept 28, 2020 16:51:11 GMT -5
Subject to Change, Spoiler for Future Plot
"You require my abilities?" The grin she bore was stained there, for some reason, it felt strained. This was her duty, her purpose, why she was there. Laurie had thought he was silent, but he wasn't.
Her room was devoid of color, just a dark, stony hideout in the Exile's base. She turned from her reading, giving Laurie an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow in question.
"I-" He started, looking unsettled, his sleeves covering his arms, body covered in fabric to hide the wounds inflicted to him. Even that settled darkly in her mind, twisted at something long forgotten in her soul, a memory, perhaps? "How would you know?" He pondered. He was free, and that was odd. Usually Ripley kept him under lock and key.
"Why else would you visit me?" A laugh, dark and hollow, "You want something, neither of us have all day, what is it?"
He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't, the frown on his lips deepening, "When I received my powers, Dionysus made a pact with the other Guides, a pact that does not allow me to enable my powers against them. But now that I work with the exiles," there was a note of sadness, the longing look in his eyes, and doubt. She was made to pick at those, pull them apart, though his inquiry interested her, "That pact is hindering my potential here."
It took a moment to fully understand his request, though she offered that sneaky grin as she advanced like a predator upon prey, "You want to make a deal to undo that."
He nodded in affirmation, after all, she was the master of Deals. She could undo and create them as she pleased, they always came with a cost though. "I have made my choice, that pact doesn't apply anymore."
"A deal never loses application." She corrected, raised her hand, an invitation to shake her own, "However, lucky for you, I am the master of dealings. I can allow you to use your powers against whoever you so desire," he seemed to become a little less tense, a little hopeful and yet crushed at the same time, "However, I get something in return."
Immediately he seemed to recluse, his hand falling back to his side as he backed up to create more space between them, his eyes unsure as he looked at her, "What do you get?" While he seemed impassive, she offered a smirk at the small wobble in his voice, the nervousness there.
It quickly fell, a wave of sadness overtaking her features as she crossed her own arms, "Lately, I find myself remembering what it was like to be alive." She looked down, allowing her white strands of hair to fall over her features, as she'd seen many do in their despair before, "In return for your wish, shall you ever return to the Pantheon, I will be given access to the Pantheon as well."
His features turned dark, turning away, "I'm never going back. I was worthless, a joke, to them." She smirked from below her curtain of hair as he spoke, unable to even face her, "What would you get out of going there?"
She offered a sad chuckle, because little did he know, little did any of them know, "We all have our secrets, Laurie." With that, she tapped his shoulder, beckoning him to turn. Holding out her hand once more, she offered a lopsided grin, "Well then, is it a deal."
She shook her hand, eyes locked and set, a look of foreboding hidden deep within them.
Leaning against a wall, cradling her head in her arms, this was not what Styx had envisioned when she thought of the Pantheon. She had expected a disgusting peacefulness, she expected fairytale heroes who fought for all things good. She expected to see Laurie welcomed back with warm hugs and tears, not a air of coldness and anger.
Though, she couldn't judge, if she were able to care, she would likely feel the betrayal too. But she wasn't close enough.
In the end, it seems that the young snake took it upon herself to free the group from the exiles. Even Styx had believed Luka had really willingly betrayed the Ascendants for a while. The girl was the chosen of Loki, and everything about her gave off a feeling that Luka would always choose the winning side. And yet, Luka took it upon herself, in the middle of the night, and free her friends from the Exiles control. Styx had maintained a spot with Laurie, but the chosen of Loki had yet to be returned.
Styx knew deep down there was a rather large chance that the girl herself was dead. Unlikely, however, due to the lack of sensing her presence joining the river.
Laurie himself faced guilt over his actions, over his missing friend, he constantly tried to make amends with that one redheaded boy, River. He tried to make amends with everyone. Some were very forgiving, but many others couldn't let what he did go.
Styx, herself, had taken to a reformation herself. She explained herself, in clear detail, admitting the blank spaces in her memory, the blind following of the Exiles, who found her after she was awoken from her Death. She explained that she thought she was doing the right thing, but that something pulled, something expressed that she was wrong.
It was all so very confusing. And yet, slowly, as time went by, she got to know them better. She picked up one things they liked, a tool of her past manipulation, she helped where she could.
When Laurie argued with River, she'd offer her condolences, telling him to let the boy have time. When Lorenzo burnt dinner, she did everything she could to help him prepare a new meal. She set aside time to get to know them all, though she avoided one in particular.
The emotions welling inside her were so uncommon. A cause for fear, especially the bonds she felt towards Lydia and Pascal, who seemed to recognize her. Slowly, flashbacks would happen, she'd see a memory with them, or feel her body slammed into glass. A hug from her sister, a punch from her father. Reading with Pascal, being dragged back into the cycle.
They had been close to her, one had been a friend, a brother, the other her sister. She had mixed feelings on them, but they weren't the ones she avoided.
The girl with the beads, the blue hair with the yellow streak, the speedster, who was friendly and kind. Lane was the one who brought up the negative feelings so many times. Feelings of loss, of confusion, like she was lost in the water, the water that pulled her deeper and deeper until she couldn't breath anymore.
Lane was like her, and while she pretended so often with her feelings, going along with the scheme and plan she had, to learn more about her pawns, and yet, she slowly started to feel guilt. The feel in general.
It was one of those days, later into the night, and without a need for sleep, Styx still tried to anyways. Her dreams were plagued, blood, pain, crying, helplessness, drowning.
She had flung herself awake, crawling out of the bed, panicked breaths in bursts. Pain along her throat, where the phantom of the wound lay scarred, hidden beneath her bandana. Pain in her lungs, which didn't need to function properly anymore.
She scurried out of the room as quick as possible, tears already cascading down her cheeks despite her confusion at why they were there. She longed to see Pascal or Lydia, she wanted to find Theodore, try to console his fear in her, his avoidance of her.
She shook, collapsing against a nearby wall, tugging at her white strands of hair which were unlike the pale blue she had them dyed as when she was warm and alive and breathing and happy.
It was a pain unlike anything she knew, pain wasn't something she really felt, nothing past phantoms of what the pain should feel like. She was barely touched in her battles against others, and when she was, most of the pain was so miniscule it barely made a dent. And yet, this pain was deep in her soul, parallel to that feeling of drowning, or bleeding out, and she curled up tighter, willing with all her might for it to go away, and yet like a wave, it kept growing and growing, eating at her.
Everything blocked out, it was dark, the dim lights of the hallway doing nothing to help the suffocating feeling she felt. She burrowed deeper, hyper aware of what she felt, of what she was feeling.
A hand rested on her kneecap, and that just brought up another flash. A hand raised, pain, pain, and fear. Out of instinct, she rolled away, expecting to be pushed back as it was, and opened her eyes, eager to see who had hurt her, who was here to hurt her.
Lane looked spooked as well, shocked at how skittish Styx had been, a worried look on her face that pulled at whatever was wrong with Styx. She stooped down, her blue hair casting a curious shadow over her face, as her eyes searched Styx, as if her eyes could see the pains Styx was feeling.
"What are you doing here?" Styx snapped, forgetting everything her kind persona had made up, retracting into herself again, looking away from Lane, as if it would make the girl disappear. As if it would make these feeling disappear.
Lane hesitated, before she leaned her back against the wall, sinking to sit beside Styx, who flinched at the movement. Though Lane kept her distance, looking forward instead, "You know, I could ask you the same thing," she started, words soft.
"I don't know," Styx responded, honest, resting her head on her knees, still tense despite her best wishes not to be. Lane was someone she had used her powers against, someone she was eager to harm, to hurt, before. But not Styx had no idea what she was doing, what was happening to her.
Lane seemed taken aback by that, though she offered a sad smile in return, "Neither do I, sometimes. I'm supposed to be dead, you know?" It wasn't much of a question, Lane knew that Styx already knew that fact. And Styx did, "But I'm not, and you're not, either."
She was wrong though, "I am, I died. You're dead, in some standards, too. Neither of us are supposed to be here," and I'm not supposed to feel, her mind screamed back, like two sides of a coin, battling for who was the true face of the coin, and who was the tail.
"But we are," Lane pointed out, and Styx hated that sweetness, that optimism. That kindness, that undying spirit Lane had. "We are here, and it doesn't matter how, it's who we are that matters."
Styx scoffed, though not too entirely unkind, "I don't know who I am." she started, thinking back on the memories she had, though small in number, and the memories she had from attacking the Ascendants, her goal, her plan. "I thought I did, but I-I just don't." the words broke, as a bit of a sob muffled them, her eyes closing, burying them into her knees to hide away.
"It's fine to not know who you are," Lane whispered, voice gentle, forgiving, as she placed a gentle hand on Styx's head, rubbing the curls in a comforting manner, "No one really know who they are, I don't. I don't know what my future looks like, how long I have left, and that scares me, you know?"
Styx couldn't really think of a response, so she nodded, eyes still closed, encompassed in darkness, a comfort to her.
"But while I'm here, I can do what I'm meant to do. I can help people, help my friends, I can be a good person," Styx turned her head, to see Lane smiling at her, a gentleness, a kindness hidden deep there, "And I know you can be too."
She couldn't though. "I can't," she insisted, "I've done horrible things."
Lane shook her head, "That's the past. But I know that isn't who you are. You can't undo what you have done, but you can try to be better. Pascal and Lydia, they believe in you, they remember you. You can't forget who you used to be."
Who she used to be?
She used to be an abused girl, who was friends with people that did just fine without her. She was a girl who was ignored and hurt. She was someone who was forgotten, and in the end, she kept up a foolish belief all for nothing. Nothing changed. No one helped. In the end, she was killed for her kindness. Because light like that didn't last.
Her gaze locked on Lane, nodding once, taking her dagger out of her sheath and looking at it. Holding it up slightly, as he rubbed her thumb over the cool, silver metal, "I can't forget who I was." She echoed.
Lane smiled, nodding, and standing up, dusting off her pajamas. "Exactly! You can build who you are off of who you were, learn from your mistakes and be a better person!" she chirped off, turning her back, offering Styx another smile. "In that way, you can balance out the good and the bad, and make yourself better."
"Balance?" Her voice dropped slightly, pushing herself to stand up, her focus then on Lane. Yes, Lane was right, Styx couldn't forget what she was meant to do. Lane was too good for any of this, as long as she was alive, her pain and confusion would continue.
Lane froze slightly, noticing the change in tone, but before she could really make a move to get away, Styx stepped forward, as graceful as could be, already speaking, "You're right, I have to remember who I was, who I am, I can't let my emotions get in the way of that. And you, my dear, have overstayed your welcome."
Lane let off a pained gasp, as the dagger stabbed deep into her side, and Styx cradled her a bit, despite being smaller, sinking down when Lane did, and pushing her hair back.
She knew what it was like to die, but this was long overdue.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 29, 2020 18:02:24 GMT -5
THIS IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE - DO NOT TAKE AS CANONThe last thing she remembered was the smell of blood, and its iron coating her tongue. Styx’s chattering, and the world fading to a white.
But not before a smiling Styx had pulled on her chin to open her mouth, laying a coin on the tongue.
The next thing she was aware of was a sweet and still air, and dim light. Lane woke up lying down, like in the position in which she had died. When she opened her eyes and sat up to examine the scene, the familiarity was what struck her first.
It was very similar to the landscape of the dream she’d had. A dark, inky river that seemed to have the stars in its waters. The river Styx, the river that shared its name with Lane’s own killer.
She moved to the waters, kneeling beside them to peer into the blackness, the smooth dark waters which reflected her back like a mirror.
She looked... not that different. A little paler, perhaps. But in other ways she almost looked better. Her hair seemed a little less vibrant in its colour but was soft and shiny, and seemed almost to float a little as if weightless. Her eyes were bright and healthy, though her lips were pale.
The necklace still glinted around her neck, and the beads had returned now. But instead of being the same green colour as Hermes’ beads, with gold on them, they were white. A bone white like the colour the last one had bleached to when she died. And on it in black paint was the bident that was Hades’ symbol.
Her soul belonged to him now.
She was just looking down at her stomach to see that she still possessed (though painless) the fatal wound that had brought her here, examining it, when movement in the water caught her attention.
A pair of feet wearing golden winged sandals touched elegantly down onto the ground next to her.
The girl turned to see Hermes standing behind her, and if she didn’t know better she could swear he looked.. guilty? Upset?
Either way, his hand was outstretched and he looked at her somewhat expectantly. Thus she took his hand with a sigh, and let him help her to her feet.
“I’m still mad at you,” Lane commented, wanting to make that absolutely clear before this conversation went on any longer.
“I’ve already apologised, Lane,” Hermes responded “you only get one apology from a god at the most. Generally we don’t bother, so if you get one you should take it.”
The trickster god did seem far more bothered than he was letting on, though, taking in her changed appearance with sympathy in his eyes.
“Come on,” the god continued “I’m just here to take you to the other side. That’s my job, right?”
It was only then that Lane realised something crucial, her eyes widening rapidly.
“Wait,” she said in astonishment “I took your hand to help me up before. I can touch you? You’re not just a vision?”
The only other time she’d ever physically touched Hermes was when he’d been in his human form, so this was new. He was in his divine form now, shining in his winged sandals and hat. His eyes were what was most unusual, shining like coins.
“Yeah, you’re not a mortal anymore,” Hermes answered “you’re a shade, a spirit. You can touch me.”
They began to walk then, mostly still in silence. Lane didn’t want to talk in case she was reminded of how angry she was supposed to be at Hermes, and Hermes didn’t seem to want to take that chance either.
Instead, it was a quiet journey along the riverbank until Hermes stopped her at a small mooring post. It was at that moment that a boat, with a black-cloaked figure manning it, glided silently across the waters until it stopped beyond the pair.
Lane watched in fear as the figure held a beckoning, skeletal hand in the girl’s direction.
“I don’t cross the Styx, not unless necessary. That would encroach upon my uncle’s territory and I’m on thin ice with him as it is,” Hermes explained “so this is as far as I go.”
He reached out and shook her hand firmly, and it was then that she noticed the black armband on his arm. She was sure she’d heard before of Greek men wearing that for forty days as a sign of mourning. Was he doing that for her?
“I’m proud of you, kid, really I am,” the god smiled sadly “thank you for being my champion. And I’m sorry.”
Lane smiled then, unable to resist the joke, “I thought you said gods only apologise once?”
Hermes chuckled then, but nodded towards the beckoning figure.
“Charon wants payment, a coin,” Hermes said “if they put a coin in your mouth there should be one on your person; check your pockets.”
Lane did so, and did in fact come up with a coin, which she placed into the ferryman’s hand, watching the skeletal digits snap closed around it. Charon seemed to gesture then for Lane to go aboard.
“He’ll take you across, and you’ll head to Elysium,” Hermes began “my uncle knows you’re here. Oh, and one more thing-“
Hermes then seemed to produce some clothes. Simple leather armour it would seem, perfectly tailored and with gold detailing. It was light, perfect for a speedy runner like Lane; the main piece was an cuirass with pauldrons. A small dagger went with it, which was all Lane ever used in terms of weapons anyway - it had Hermes’ winged sandal design on the hilt.
“I had this made for you,” Hermes continued “Hephaestus crafted it with the input of Athena and Ares. It’s nothing incredible, but it’ll serve you. Something other than the clothes you died in, anyway. And if you ever happen to be up above again... you’ll need it.”
She supposed he was right; the clothes she’d died in still had her blood on them. And if she had this armour, then she could fight if Pascal ever needed to give her physical form.
That was it, then. Final goodbyes and then Lane got into the boat and crossed the Styx with Charon, heading for Elysium.
But before she got there, she figured she’d probably have some explaining to do to Hades.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 5, 2020 17:00:36 GMT -5
HUNGER GAMES AU SNIPPETThe memory of those last moments in the Justice Building before he’d been taken to board the train to the Capitol were burned in Dillon’s mind as if they’d been branded there. He’d never forget them.
He’d said his goodbyes to his father, of course, but he didn’t care about those. Didn’t care about the asshole, abusive father who’d treated him like shit all these years.
No, the only person he cared about saying goodbye to him was the person who entered afterwards.
Briony was still in her reaping clothes, the dress she’d made herself and the ribbon in her hair made of matching fabric. She’d greeted him earlier that day when they headed out to the reaping together with a smile; she had a smile like sunshine, the kind of smile that warmed you and told you everything was going to be okay even if it wasn’t.
But meeting him in that room, her smile was gone. Instead he was greeted with the tracks of tearstains on her cheeks.
Dillon couldn’t bear to see that, and so he rushed forward to hug her. The two best friends stayed like that for a few moments before she finally released him. She looked into his eyes, her own brown ones coated with the silvery sheen of tears.
“What if it was mine?” Briony questioned shakily
Dillon tilted his head in confusion, his mouth drawing into a frown.
“What do you mean?” responded the boy concernedly
“You took tesserae out for me,” Briony answered “you always have, even though I told you not to, that I took enough of my own. What if-“
The girl’s voice cracked then, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth for a moment as if she were stifling a sob. She took a moment, taking a deep breath. Dillon watched her eyebrows, which had been raised, settle down and her face seem to lose the tension as she tried to calm herself down. That was when she finally removed her hand again.
“What if that entry they pulled out for you was in there because of me?”
Finally Dillon understood, and let out a choked sound of recognition as he pulled his friend in for another hug.
“This wasn’t your fault, Bri,” Dillon soothed “of course it wasn’t in there because of you. I want you to remember that.”
He’d never let her blame herself for this, especially if Dillon didn’t come back. Briony couldn’t be allowed to think even for a second that she was the reason Dillon had been chosen. He wouldn’t let her do that.
When he released her once again, Briony pulled something off her wrist and offered it to him.
“My siblings and I made it,” the girl explained “it was going to be my tribute token if I got reaped. But you don’t have one and I... I want you to have something from me in there.”
It was a small bracelet made of woven grass, which Dillon took with a sad smile and slipped it onto his own wrist.
“Thank you,” was all Dillon could say, the boy swallowing as he tried to keep tears at bay. Even he knew you didn’t walk out with tears on your face when you headed to the train.
His thoughts soon wandered though, to his plans to have the token returned to Briony if he didn’t make it back.
Briony didn’t need any prompting to know what kind of thoughts were running through her friend’s head, and she stepped forward to lay a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re going to make it, Dillon,” she encouraged gently “somebody’s got to win. You know about plants and herbs, you could survive out there-“
“-There are twenty-four of us, Bri,” Dillon interrupted, voice laced with frustration “let’s not pretend my knowing which plants won’t poison me is going to be any help against a career with a knife. I can’t win.”
Briony seemed hurt by that, as if the very notion that Dillon wasn’t determined he was going to win was some kind of insult.
“You’ve got to try.” Briony ordered him “Promise me that you won’t give up, that you’ll try. For me. You’re my best friend, Dillon, I can’t lose you.”
He softened then, sighing before he gave a nod.
“I promise,” he agreed
She seemed desperate to lighten the mood then, because she forced a smile onto her face.
“And name-drop me in your interview,” she smiled “I’m only your best friend, after all. Besides, it’ll make you look more popular, people will like that.”
But it was too late to keep talking, because suddenly the door was bursting open and peacekeepers were rushing in, and it was time. Time for Dillon to go to the station and leave District 11 for the first time, probably never to return. Time for Briony to return to her family and try and get through watching these Games.
It was time.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 9, 2020 18:04:09 GMT -5
The clatter of his fork against the plate was what brought Lucien back to the real world.
The noise was the audio equivalent of a lightning strike against a night sky, sudden and as stark against the general hubbub of mealtime as the brightness of the lightning was against the dark. The eyes of every Ascendant at the table turned to him.
Cleo had been sitting in between an arguing Luka and Irene, looking as if they were about one second away from tearing both of the bickering girls’ heads off. Laurie and River had been sitting next to one another, flirting as they always did at the table (and at which Lucien would normally be yelling them to get a room), Echo sitting on the other side of River. Chiara has been engrossed in a book, the same one she’d been reading when they went camping all that time ago; perhaps she was rereading it. Kaz had been explaining something animatedly to Griffin, though Lucien didn’t know what.
All conversation dropped silent, everyone turning to look at the sudden source of the noise.
“Hey, Sunbrother, you okay?” Lorenzo questioned, leaning forward with concern “you look a little pale.”
Lucien couldn’t force his mouth to even form any words. It felt dry, all he could do was swallow uselessly and blink a couple times, his face stuck in an expression of shock.
Eventually he just silently rose to his feet, chair scraping against the floor, and rushed out of the room, heading out into the corridor. He needed a few moments to breathe, to get his head together. It felt all muggy, as if it were full of fog.
But he wasn’t going to get his peace; footsteps alerted him to someone following him, and he was soon greeted with the identity of his pursuer. The dark-haired champion of Loki.
“Hey, wanna explain what in the hell happened there?” Luka questioned “I’ve seen people dodging gunshots move slower than you did running out just then.”
“Nothing!” Lucien shot back, way too quickly and defensively to be believable, biting the word out
“Convincing,” commented Luka sarcastically “come on, Lucien, since when have you ever been the flighty type? What’s happening?”
The boy looked at her for a moment, struggling to decide for a moment whether he should say anything. If he did she probably wouldn’t listen. But Apollo had shown him this for a reason, he knew that, and he wasn’t going to ignore what Apollo had done for him by keeping this prophecy quiet. And besides, it simply wouldn’t be right to keep this information from her.
And yet was it safe for him to tell her everything he’d just seen?
Lucien sighed, but took a step closer to Luka.
“Listen to me,” Lucien began “you have to promise me something.”
Luka quirked an eyebrow and responded “I don’t promise anything, but go on.”
God, she was making this difficult.
“Stay away from Chiara,” Lucien replied, his voice low, deliberate, with gravity. He needed to get this point across.
“And why would I need to do that?” was Luka’s response. She was looking at him as if he’s grown a third head or something, but what he did know was that she wasn’t taking this very seriously.
“I just had a vision, from Apollo,” he explained “something bad is going to happen. I need you to stay away from her.”
“Please, you and your goddamn visions. Don’t be stupid, Lucien, it’s fine,” Luka groaned
“Would you listen to me for once in your life? Are you capable of that?” the champion of Apollo exploded “one of you is going to get badly hurt. I know everything is just one big game to you, but this isn’t a game now - not after Lane. If you don’t listen to me-“
“I’m not scared of her,” Luka scoffed, eyes glittering with mirth
Lucien shook his head slightly then, his gaze becoming more serious as he looked at the girl standing before him.
“She’s not the one I’m worried about.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 11, 2020 17:57:14 GMT -5
DO NOT TAKE AS CANON - SUBJECT TO CHANGE
Lucien, it was fair to say, could never have predicted that his older sister would show up at the Pantheon. His feelings about it were mixed to say the least, and he and his sister didn’t get on, but he’d made his peace with it at the very minimum.
In fact, he was sitting with a few of the other Ascendants in one of the living areas within the Pantheon, Elara included, without any problem. Minding his own business after a long day of training while the television blared in the background - nobody was really watching it.
But he heard the name Fairfax and his eyes shifted to the screen. The man on it looked rather like Lucien and Elara; certainly Lucien was supposed to have taken after his father. He looked glamorous as ever; last Lucien heard he’d just come back from a world tour.
Lucien had kept his father’s surname, while Elara had reverted to their mother’s maiden name. The man had vanished about seven years ago looking to make a name for himself as a musician, and he’d certainly done that. He was pretty famous, as it happened.
“Do you have a comment on the rumours that the two missing young people - Lucien Fairfax and, more recently, Elara Leflore - are your own children?” asked a reporter, shoving a camera in the man’s face
So the newspapers had finally been tipped off, huh? Made sense; with the missing youths around the world making headline news, it was only a matter of time before someone who’d known the family in Chicago would capitalise on the situation by letting the newspapers know about the rumours.
Lucien leaned forward, surprised to see his father on the screen. He even nudged Elara to catch her attention, though he was pretty sure she’d already noticed.
The musician slipped off the sunglasses he’d been wearing, looking into the camera as the blinding lights of flash photography went off around him.
“I can confirm the rumours are true,” he answered “and it deeply saddens me to hear of what happened to my daughter and son.”
Deeply saddened. Huh. He didn’t look particularly saddened.
“In fact, difficult times like this are often what inspire my music,” the man continued “which is why I’m currently recording an album to be released towards the end of the year which is heavily influenced by the disappearance of Elara and Lucien.”
Lucien didn’t hear a word more of the report from there, he didn’t need to. He was already on his feet and heading out of the room; Elara was in hot pursuit.
He rushed upstairs and burst into his room, and was pacing angrily across the floor when his sister entered after him. All he needed was to make eye contact with Elara and he knew she understood.
In fact, when they locked eyes, he stopped. His feet almost suddenly seemed rooted to the ground.
“He can’t do this shit, Elara.” Lucien stated, as if saying this would somehow make it true, “he just can’t.”
Elara looked kind of angry too, but in her own Elara way. She got angry but it didn’t look the same as when Lucien did. Her anger was cool, and went more beneath the surface. Like a subterranean river.
“This is what he does,” the girl replied “what he always did. I know you were ten and you don’t remember as much, but this is what he’s like.”
“So you’re not angry?” Lucien asked incredulously, his voice rising “This is just an ‘oh well, that’s Dad’ moment to you?”
“Of course I’m angry, I’m just not surprised,” Elara explained “unlike you, I never had any illusions about him. He could do no wrong in your eyes, you hero-worshipped the man.”
Elara was right. Lucien had hero-worshipped him, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that he’d been nothing more than a chain of disappointments. The champion of Apollo remembered being ten years old, waiting for his dad to come home. He had been so sure he would; he used to sit by the windows for hours hoping to see him heading down the street. Of course, he never did.
“Well, I’m done.” Lucien responded darkly “I’m sick of it-“
His eyes fell on the guitar that sat nearby, the one Apollo had brought for him from home. One of his father’s old guitars that the boy had patched up all by himself. He’d been pretty proud of that; in fact, his music was the only thing he was proud of.
In his rage, he stalked over and picked it up, holding it in one hand by the neck.
“-sick of the disappointment-” Lucien continued
As he spoke those words, he lifted the guitar and smashed it against the floor, causing Elara to startle a little. The sounds of dissonant chords echoed around the room.
“-sick of kidding myself-“ he added
Those words were accompanied by more smashing of the guitar.
“-sick of giving him the benefit of the goddamn doubt.”
One last smash then. The guitar was wrecked by now, the neck snapped, strings broken, body fractured.
It was only really then that he realised what he’d done, letting the mangled instrument drop noisily from his hands to clatter against the floor. He could feel the hot, angry tears. The burning fury.
“Lucien-“ Elara began
“-No.” Lucien interrupted “this isn’t okay. He abandoned us and Mom, didn’t even so much as pay a cent to help support us. He didn’t want us. But we go missing and instead of thinking to check our mother’s okay, or even trying to help find us, he uses our going missing to sell his next album? That’s disgusting.”
“I know!” Elara sighed frustratedly “but getting angry at him from hundreds of miles away won’t help us either, and it won’t make him a good father.”
“Then I’ll go to him,” Lucien challenged “find his recording studio and get angry right in his face!”
Elara blinked then. It seemed to take her a moment to process the pure stupidity of that idea, her eyes flashing behind her glasses as her eyebrows knitted together.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Elara shook her head “You’re not doing this. It’s just like you to rush into a fight, you’re so bullheaded. You don’t need it-“
“-Oh, I know that I need it,” Lucien chuckled bitterly “I’m going and you can’t stop me.”
He was pulling on a jacket at this point and stepping past his sister to the doorway, at which point he cast her a sideways glance.
“But you can come with me.”
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Oct 12, 2020 12:47:53 GMT -5
The first round of sparring was going quite well, if Clementine had to be completely honest. From Naida's fight with Kita, to Lane beating Griffin.
They chose to ignore some of the other events. Namely, Luka's abilities and her fight with Jason. Though the boy was improving, so they didn't feel the need to complain too much.
All the while, Lorenzo hung back, his eyes glancing over each victor as they exited the training rooms. He was a Pacifist as it was, he had no interest in partaking in any of these battles. He wouldn't have a choice though. The leaders had decided to do it.
He personally speculated that Lucien and River were mostly to blame. Everyone probably was okay with it, thinking it an opportunity to grow. But those two boys? They always were itching for a fight.
When it was his turn to ender the Training room, he cast Pascal a nervous glance, his hands reflexively tightening as he glanced up as the timer began.
He had no idea how this would go. He didn't like fighting, but to his knowledge, neither did Pascal.
__
With her fight done, Luka watched the fights with attentive eyes. Smirking and laughing at times when small fails would come up, and overall ignoring Irene's entire existence. Instead, she glanced around, opening a cabinet and fishing out a game of Monopoly, setting it down on a table near her.
A invitation to pass the time as the battles continued. All ready to go.
"While they fight in a ring, why not fight with monopolizing?"
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 12, 2020 17:58:17 GMT -5
CUTE WRITING FOR NO APPARENT REASON”Hey”
A voice whispered out into darkness, barely contained laughter held behind the single word. The lighting was too dim to catch more than the barest sign of movement of a hand reaching out to touch the shoulder of a figure lying in bed.
A light flickered on and there was rustling of bedsheets as a young redheaded man rolled over to look at the camera, bleary-eyed and quickly moving to cover a yawn.
“It’s six in the morning on a Saturday, babe,” the man murmured “what’s up and what are you doing with the camera?”
“I wanna see what you think,” the first voice responded “let me ask you a question.”
“Okay?” River replied suspiciously as he propped himself up on one elbow
“Why can’t pirates ever finish the alphabet?” Laurie asked, the pride already evident in his voice.
River rolled his eyes then, letting out a good-natured groan.
“I don’t know, but I get the feeling the answer is going to make me wanna kill you,” the champion of Ares joked
“Because they always get lost at C!”
Laurie couldn’t help but laugh at his own joke then, but he only laughed harder when River whacked him with a pillow, laughing too.
“Goddamn it, Lumiere” River laughed “that was so bad. Now I have to murder you.”
“Fine,” Laurie said “but anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
There was some more laughing, but then the footage cut off.
————
The next piece of footage started out dark, but it seemed the person filming was hiding behind a curtain. Footsteps were audible a few seconds later, followed by a voice calling out.
“River? Babe?”
Suddenly light flooded the scene as River jumped out from behind the curtain, startling Laurie in the middle of the room.
The young man pretty much jumped out of his skin, but his face was soon overtaken by an expression of indignation.
“Merde!” he exclaimed “Tu m'as fait peur!”
River was understandably laughing pretty hard then, the furious expression on Laurie’s face only making him laugh harder.
“I-I’m sorry,” River responded with mock innocence in between trying to get his breath between peals of laughter “I don’t speak baguette.”
That was when Laurie took off chasing River, both of their footsteps pounding on the floor with laughter echoing around them.
“You asshole!” Laurie yelled, laughing himself by now
“Oh, it’s an angry baguette”
“SHUT UP!”
—————-
Laurie was filming again the next time, the sounds of the ocean audible in the background. He walked along the beach and had the camera turned so it could film him and River, who was walking alongside him with his arm around him.
The whole scene was bathed in a pretty golden light from the sunset, and a slight breeze was visibly ruffling their hair.
“Hey, mon amour.” Laurie began “guess what?”
He was smiling, and River gave a smile in return, squeezing Laurie as he did.
“What?” River questioned “keeping in mind I’ll have to kill you if this is another dad joke.”
Laurie chuckled, but leaned forward to rest his forehead against River’s.
“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice only barely audible over the dull crashing of the waves.
River kissed him then, and when they stopped they stayed for a moment with their foreheads touching like they had been before.
“I love you too.” the champion of Ares answered
————-
A lot of the rest of the footage was similar, excluding special ones like footage from their wedding. Mostly the camera was taken up with dumb moments like joking around at home. Or footage from birthdays, where they both went all-out for the other. Or Laurie telling River he’d gotten a job after an audition.
But more than anything the footage was just of... them. One of them filming the other while they didn’t even notice they were being filmed, mostly chatting with a friend or dancing in the kitchen.
There was something especially beautiful about someone being filmed by someone they loved. Laurie knew to capture River’s smile properly, and River knew how to capture Laurie while he was relaxed and natural, not playing up to the cameras.
But the boy watching the footage of his two parents didn’t hear the door behind him opening and footsteps entering the room.
“Oh, Pip, look what you found!” Laurie’s voice came from behind him, before calling for his husband, “River! Come look, it’s us!”
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Post by 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓿 on Oct 12, 2020 18:48:35 GMT -5
(Hello! wanted to do some writing! I did post Kita up above for her and Naida's fight!)
Harry Potter AU "Ahhhhhhh....Dubois.....I remember that name. Your father....who was it....Arthur...yes that was it!" the Sorting Hat mused softly as a young Susanna sat silently. Her gaze fixed head above the crowd before her. First years nervously waiting their house announcements and older students chattering and whispering their guesses amongst themselves. "Let's see now dear.....Your father a Slytherin, your grandfather before him and so on....your pureblood heritage serves well to Slytherin of course.....you have that cunning, that drive, and that nature....though I sense something inside you....do you really want Slytherin?" Susanna sat silently still, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, "Where ever you think is best." she murmured softly to the ancient cap. "Well then..." it mused once more.
Susanna Dubois, eldest of the Dubois pureblood family. Hailing from France they'd settled in London nearly three generations ago. The family was nearly as prevalent in French pureblood society as the English "Sacred Twenty-Eight". Sanna always thought that a garish name to call a group of people. Calling themselves and being referred to as such seemed so....pretentious. Her father had always wanted to move back to France, always spoke of it, but just never moved on the matter. "Jobs and such" he'd always told her mother and siblings. So here was where they stayed. The Dubois family was known for their cunning, their adeptness at quick spell-work and drive to succeed. At times it came off pretentious, perhaps self-righteous and pompous but, they never let that hinder them. All that had trickled down to Sanna. She knew the moment they stepped into King's Cross where she would be placed. Her mother had already gotten her some green jumpers and socks to match her soon-to-be school uniform, embroidered with the family crest too of course. Always prideful of the family. What a laugh it would've been had she been placed into another House. Each portion of the trip had been just as she'd been told. The train ride with nervous, giddy first years, the quiet boat ride across the lake, the grandiosity of the Great Hall at their first supper. All as she expected. What wasn't expected was that question from the Sorting Hat. "Do you really want Slytherin?" Of course she did. She had to. It was family tradition. So Slytherin it had to be.
"Ms. Dubois?" McGonagall's voice rang through as Sanna focused back in, her fingers tapping gently on the table at her thoughts. "Hmm? Yes professor?" "I inquired what the spell Anteoculatia does to one's target" Sanna took a moment and then sighed lightly and nodded, "It causes your opponent to grow horns, it's considered a dark charm." Sanna responded simply. "Ah, very good! 10 points to Slytherin then for that!" McGongall turned to continue upon the charm, today's lesson was about dark charms and hexes and how to undo and protect oneself from them. Sanna had learned plenty of those from her family over time, an easy enough question for her to answer, luckily.
Finally Transfiguration ended, the now 5th year Slytherin tucked her quills and parchment away. Rose to her feet and shed her robe. She folded it and tucked it over her satchel before throwing the bundle over her shoulder. Adjusting her auburn hair, Sanna let out another sigh, letting others leave ahead of her before glancing back towards Professor McGonagall, biting her lip as she thought if this was a good time to ask her questions. She decided not, the Professor had busied herself with cleaning and a Gryffindor student was nearby, assisting. She didn't really wish to talk to the Professor with other's around. With that decision Sanna turned and began out and down the halls. Free time for her. Her hazel gaze flicked for a moment down each end of the corridor before she turned and began towards the dungeons. Perhaps she'd find some quiet down there for a bit?
Sanna never stood out that much for a Dubois. Of course those in her house knew her, she had made friends over the years. But, other's beyond Slytherin wouldn't quite have been able to pick her out of a crowd unless they'd seen her before. She didn't busy herself to sports or clubs. She stood an average height of 5'4", average build, and lightly tanned skin. Auburn hair with light waves, and slender features, really nothing someone would pick out as "pureblood nobility". That's how she preferred it too.
Sanna made a single stop to the Common Room, dropping her bag and robe, changing into something more comfortable. A pair of thing black pants, and a green jumper over her button-down shirt. Tugging her hair into a low bun and tucking her wand into it, she headed out once more. Just a small bag at her side now, parchment, quills, and a small notebook inside.
Finally, she reached her destination. She potions classroom. Knocking quietly a droll of a voice responded, "Come in." Sanna entered quietly and greeting Professor Snape with a nod, "Hello Professor." she greeted simply, giving him a small smile. Over the years she'd grown fond of this particular classroom, and the Potions class in general. She had become quite adept at the skill. During her free time Sanna would busy herself down in the classroom assisting in organizing, cataloguing and cleaning. She found the tasks peaceful. Many others found them deathly boring. "Ah, Ms. Dubois, you can continue where ever you left off last. Do note, I got in a small box of gurdyroot, belladonna, and asphodel from Professor Sprout." With those instructions the Professor went back to his own tasks.
Sanna set her satchel upon a table, pulled her notebook and quill, and began. Her eyes moving quietly over the shelves of ingredients and then to the box that had been mentioned. Perhaps that first. She set herself up and opened the box, the sweet and tangy smells of the herbs hitting her immediately. Another small smile from the Slytherin.
For hours, Sanna remained in the classroom. Her next class was in her anyway. She moved between shelves and jars. Cleaning new containers for each ingredient. Moving lesser amounts into smaller jars and labelling each meticulously, jotting each note down into her notebook. As students began to trickle in, she finished up her work. Tearing her pages out and handing them to Snape.
"I've moved leeches and beetles each into a new jar, they're all labeled as such." she responded simply. With that, she settled into her seat and waited silently for the class to begin.
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Post by 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓿 on Oct 12, 2020 19:29:34 GMT -5
Harry Potter AU A Hufflepuff through and through. Kind to a fault. Humble, soft-spoken, gentle. Kita was no doubt placed into the exactly right House. Though that was the only job of the Sorting Hat of course. Over the four years at Hogwarts, Kita had found herself surrounded by friends, be they Hufflepuff or other. It truly was her home away from home, which she desperately needed at times. The middle child of five, each having gone to various houses, Kita was the first and only Hufflepuff. Which she was teased for endlessly by her older siblings. One a Gryffindor and the other a Ravenclaw. Her mother was always sweet to her about her House placement though, knowing she needn't be ashamed of it. Her father, the muggle of the bunch, had learned some but, not enough. Though he always tried his hardest. All-in-all, Kita truly loved her family but Hogwarts was much more her home.
Today was her favorite day. Today was Care of Magical Creatures class. Being in her fourth year, they were now learning about slightly more dangerous animals. Which Kita was always excited about. Though she was demure in stature and gentle in nature, she had no fear for these creatures. She respected them. Understood their natures. And cared deeply for what they were. It intrigued her endlessly to learn about them. Where they came from, how they behaved, what they liked and disliked. She could go on and on and her friends had learned that if you got her started, Kita would talk your head off about the creatures.
Strolling happily down the hills towards the hut at the edge of the forest, that usual giddy happiness fluttered in her stomach. Kita was prepared today. Though she wore her normal Hufflepuff uniform; a pleated skirt, buttoned shirt, tie and robe. She had dawned comfortable shoes for the standing and walking they might be about to do. Her silvery blond hair tied back into a high ponytail and her sleeves already rolled up to her elbows. To say this was her favorite class was an absolute understatement
As she approached the hut, Kita spotted a couple of small crates. These weren't particularly for dangerous animals because the crates seemed more like ones fitted for house pets. There were six of them and within the crates one could see small animals moving inside. Each crate sat in a small enclosure of chicken wire, fencing them off from the surrounding areas. "Good afternoon class!" Boomed the friendly voice. Hagrid, still the teacher for the students, stood proudly before the group and the crates. "Today's lesson will be a test of 'yer wit and 'yer reading!" he smiled and then turned to the crates, opening each. From the crates came seven hedgehogs, each. Simple creatures, a common thing many of these students at seen before. "Hedgehogs?" questioned many of the students at once, some in whispers and some a bit more boisterous. The creatures went about their normal business, snuffling around the garden, searching for worms and beetles. "Ay! Hedgehogs indeed! But, I've got one Knarl in each crate for you lot to find!" responding to the questioning gazes and nodded, "Well, if you'd've done 'yer reading ya might've known!" Hagrid laughed. "Now, split into groups and hop to it!"
Six groups of students, each going to a crate and looking through their books on how to tell apart Knarls from hedgehogs. Though the book hadn't been all that helpful. "The Knarl is a creature that greatly resembles a hedgehog, so much so that there is only one known (behavioural) difference between them." Kita, of course, had done her own research though. Where the book only vaguely went on to describe the difference to look for, other books went more in depth. Her eyes moved around the area before settling on a small bundle of pleasant looking flowers. Those would do. Kita went over and plucked them carefully. Her group members staring at her quizzically as she did so, though not questioning her. Kita fashioned a nice looking snack for the group of creatures and then set the gift into the middle of the enclosed area.
The seven creatures all snuffled around for a moment before finding the gift and happily munching away. However, the Knarl gave itself away. "When food is left out for a hedgehog it will appreciate and enjoy the gift; a knarl will see it as an attempt to lure it into a trap and hence savage the garden of the householder who left the food." The Knarl went on to destroy and rip apart the small garden space it had been put into. Making vicious small growls and ripping everything it could find to shreds. "There you are." Kita murmured softly. Watching the Knarl go about its destruction with happiness and intrigue. Hagrid had taken notice and came over, clapping a large hand over the small shoulders of the Hufflepuff, "Congratulations Ms. Sveyn! Y've done it once again!" Kita's groupmates beamed to her and for the rest of the time they were allowed to play and watch their small group of creatures. The other groups hadn't seen the trick so they still sat, struggling and bickering on how to tell their Knarl apart.
Hagrid turned to the groups once again, "When ya can't get the answer from one spot, y've got to find others to help! How else will ya learn about creatures! No one book tells ya all of it!"
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Post by Nariku The Avaricious on Oct 12, 2020 23:14:29 GMT -5
“This is a bad idea” Pascal nervously mumbled as he paced just outside the training room. He held his hands at the sides of his head, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating at the thought of actually fighting. The young man hadn’t had propper exercise in ages, nor did he know anything about fighting. What was he even supposed to do when he got in there? With his thoughts swirling around in his head, he couldn’t help but drop to the ground and place his back against the wall. “Why didn’t they just let me stay in my room,” he groaned, burying his face in his knees, “I just can’t…”
“Is this going to be a common occurrence with you?”
Pascal’s attention suddenly perked up at the haunting voice he was all too familiar with. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” He replied, keeping his voice in a low tone.
“Oh I don’t know, panicking about something minute or choosing to run off on your own. Which do you think I’m referring to?” Hades stated bluntly, making it obvious through his tone that he was annoyed.
Pascal furrowed his brow as a knot seemed to form in the back of his throat. What exactly did the lord of the underworld expect from him? The most the young man ever did was fail to get into medical school. Nothing close to what Hades has been demanding of him for the past few weeks. Being thrown into a situation with a bunch of kids he’s barely gotten used to and given powers he hasn’t even begun to comprehend has all been too much. Not to mention when the other kids got attacked and the entirety of the Lane situation. Neither of them were doing him any favors. “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do” he finally responded, managing to let out a shaky breath, “It’s too much right now, I just need time to-”
“Time to do what exactly? Continue dreading something as small as a sparring match? You can’t expect the world to wait until *you’re* ready. The fates aren’t kind enough to give you that privilege” Hades retorted.
For a bit, Pascal was silent, unsure how to respond to the god’s statement. In a way, he knew he was somewhat right, but the tone of his voice still hurt to hear. Instead, he bit his lip and buried his head deeper into his knees. It didn’t help when he heard Hades grumbling in the back of his head.
“You want to sit here and throw this fight? Fine, be my guest. Just know that I don’t agree with your desire to waste away like this. Be sure to keep that in mind.”
When Hades’ voice seemed to fade away, Pascal was left alone with his thoughts. In a way, it was relieving that the god’s voice wasn’t nagging him anymore. However, now the choice was put squarely on his shoulders. Once he managed to regain his composure a bit, he slowly made his way back up his feet and made his way to the door. If he just left there and then, he wouldn’t have to deal with this whole tourney anymore. He’d just forfeit the match and it’d be out of his hair. It’s not like he had any chance at winning… However, when he tried to reach and grab the door knob, he hesitated. The words Hades had said were still bouncing around in his head, vying for his attention despite his efforts to push them aside. “You’re wasting away” Pascal muttered the words under his breath, remembering the phrase back when the god of the underworld had shown up in his apartment. He was right about that, but what did it matter? It didn’t matter what he did with his life if he was just destined to die like everyone else. Why would Hades even care if the outcome was the same. Then, his mind seemed to drift back to the other kids, sitting around the main area, injured and dying after fighting off some enemy he never got to see. They all fought tooth and nail to survive, and here Pascal was, sitting in his room all day, waiting for each cup of coffee to suddenly be his last. Something about that just didn’t seem right to him: Being useless, a burden, a coward. Is that something he wanted? No, but it was something that he’d been used to for the past year or so. Finally, Pascal let out a sigh and dropped his hand to his side. Something had to change, he knew that. Maybe trying wouldn’t be so bad this time around.
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Walking into the training room, Pascal couldn’t help but feel anxious about everything that was going on around him. He gave Lorenzo a nervous glance. Sure, he managed to will himself into the arena, but what was he supposed to do if he had no idea how to fight???
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Oct 13, 2020 1:44:35 GMT -5
A is Atticus.
In his case, it’s Adelaide, even though she hated that name. In their run down apartment, grinning from ear to ear until mom would get home, drunk and angry as another date would fail. Taking it out of Alice, because she jumped in for her older brother, even though he’d scream no, no, no.
She was everywhere in the ivy, in the trees, in the roots and leaves and broken smiles.
She was in the rain, her tears were always cold on his skin. She was in the snow, falling slowly, but surely melting away.
She was in Nathan’s sadness, in a soft agreement between all of the Exiles. The war, the first, real war, when some had been driven mad by magic, others died by their own downfall, and those they had to put out of their misery when they lost and lost and lost.
She was in the lightning, flashing bright in the sky. Traces of light filtering over their faces as they stood above tiny memoirs they made to the fallen originals.
Mostly, he saw her in the face of Zeus’ replacement. The anger to her brow, curling over her eyes as she’d string out curses left and right. The protective fury held for the others.
A was for anger.
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B was for Bright.
No one was named for it. No one had to be. Bright was in the smiles they’d share over dinner, or the rare times Lorenzo’s light manifested as glowing orbs in the night. Bright was in Chiara’s gaze anytime she’d open her eyes, flooded by senses, all from around and far beyond her sight, a mixture of rainbows that would drive anyone else insane.
Bright was in Laurie and River’s interactions, anytime they’d pass, Small, soft glances angled at one another, flashing lovesick smiles of joy.
As cords would be strung, a voice in harmony with the strings as he played. Brightness would enter any room Lucien gifted with his music, flooding the Ascendants with the brightness his guide carried.
Brightness was in the eve of their choosing. The dawn of their ascension.
Dawn down not last forever.
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C is for Chiara.
Chiara, whose senses flood over her in waves of terrifying force. Who wishes and longs not to see as much as she does, or hear as much. Loud noises hurt, bright colors sting. But in the absence of either she feels she must be going insane.
Luka ponders that, as she tends to sometimes. A wonder of how it went from Loki, her guide, being a teasing force of nature to being cruel enough to kill Heimdallr. Then again, the act was done in return.
It was a wonder, really. Two forces, meant to fight, to clash, to kill one another.
Luka decided, from the moment Loki insisted that was fate, that she’d make sure to do everything in her power to defy it.
Chiara would do the same.
And yet...
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D is for Dane.
It’s the cute name that the others come up with when they see Lane and Daniel interact.
Luka teasingly relates it to the Great Dane dog, and starts referring to the two as the Great Dane of the Pantheon. Echo got in on the joke, drawing posters of the dog at times and sliding it under Lane and Daniel’s doors.
It’s cute, it’s sweet.
It’s such a shame that young love can die so swiftly.
—
E is for Echo.
Because, as everyone in the Pantheon would tell you, of course it is.
Echo, who they protect. Whose red hair cascades in soft, swift curls to the left of her head, with soft silvery eyes.
Echo, who is scared of the dark, scared of monsters, scared of heights, who is scared of almost everything.
Echo, the young girl who still has some of that innocence, an innocence that each other the others lost to hardships. Echo, who has a chance to be a kid, even for a while. Echo, who they long to protect.
Echo, who longs to protect them.
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F is for Fire.
Sanna is Fire in it’s most beautiful form. Unique, uncontrollable, passionate, proud. Sanna is fire in a brave form, in an unstoppable form.
Irene isn’t really fire, but one could consider her to be like it. Fiery tempered, red hot. Lucien would be with her, in his blazing glory.
Luka is a form of fire that is small, but dangerous. The burning core among the embers, dancing from place to place.
There’s are many fires alight in the Pantheon. Dillon’s soft nature fitting the soft crackling of firewood. The love of Guinevere and Griffin being like the warmth of the flames.
They had never expected to lose warmth.
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G is for Griffin.
He is the tallest. One of the strongest. The big brother, the best friend.
Maybe he lacks in intelligence, he makes up in heart, in kindness. That’s enough, obviously it’s enough. It’s enough for Dillon, who will glance at Griffin for help from time to time.
With Ariella, he ran away from the life he had. With his best friend, he made a new one, started a new destiny.
With Guinevere, he brought love into that destiny. He considered himself lucky to have her, but she’s claim she was the lucky one for sure.
Theodore would run, but he couldn’t be blamed. At least he didn’t scream.
Often.
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H is for Help
“Help,” Laurie would say, looking out of the windows of the Pantheon, hands tightening on the seal beneath him. “That’s a message for help.”
“I know,” Echo responded, arms curling into a folded position. Eyes glittering with unshed tears as she looked down, “I know,” she said again, because there wasn’t much else to say.
“What do we do?” The voice belonged to Kaz, who was glancing at the building before them, in ashes.
“I don’t know,” River was the last to speak, stepping forward to gingerly pick up the small piece of fabric, a symbol drawn on in scratchy letters. A warning. A call for help.
Before them, the buildings torn to ash in the crossfire continued to shoulder.
—
I is for Irene.
“I’m going to kill her,” Atticus thundered, flaming hands down on his table. He went to smooth his hair, which stuck out comically from his head. Yells of pain escaped him as he touched the frazzled hair, shocks tingling his finger tips.
It reminded him of Alice. Of her zapping him in a teasing manner.
This time, it was no game. It belonged to the imposter, the enemy.
He didn’t know when his own goal switched from proving why the Ascendants were dangerous and switched to seeing Irene dead.
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J is for Jason.
Guinevere would tell you he’s for sure one of her favorites. Clear minded, always with a book. Helpful and reliable, and hella cool.
Chiara would tell you he’s pretty chill, and mention the meetings the two would hold, discussing their favorite literature and their knowledge of mythology.
Luka would tell you he should have more fun, be more outgoing. Luka’s also not the best judge of character. Neither is Lucien, who would complain and claim Jason is much too docile.
Sanna would say he’s a good kid, and Seely would grin and nod along.
Ask anyone in the Pantheon. Jason is the youngest, sure, but also beloved by them all.
—
K is for Kita.
She’s another sweetheart. Ariella has a particular liking to her. Understandably, though.
Kita is often compared to a dog. A dog is loyal, caring, compassionate. A dog is more than just a best friend.
A dog is selfless, smart, playful. Sometimes they are graceful, and as Kita would dance in the night, those who were gifted with witnessing those moments would agree.
Kita was jokingly called a dog because of her namesake. But she was an embodiment of all the good qualities of a canine.
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L is for...
"Lane, get back here!" Clementine yelled out, though they broke into silly giggles moments later. A shocker for sure, Cleo never laughed.
Daniel burst out snorting after. Lane had taken Cleo's notes from in front of them, speeding off moments later.
"Give me that back!" Cleo then yelled out, trying and failing not to smile as they watched the blue haired girl speed by.
Everyone adored Lane, with her telltale blue and yellow hair. All would laugh with her, sing with her in pitchy notes that often caused Chiara to glare at them in spite. She was fun, and kind, and an all around good person.
As the blue blur ran by, a girl with white hair glanced down, silver eyes closing as she stepped back into the shadow.
Laughter wouldn't last.
It never did.
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M is for Monody.
Those of the Greek Pantheon would like associate naturally with the song, the song you sang to the dead.
The death of love, for one. Laurie was back, that should have been a joyous occasion. Happy, really. But there was a deep divide in the Pantheon.
People turned on others, tensions ran high. They had Laurie, Echo, Naida, and the other backs now. Luka was gone though, and that was on their count.
Echo still couldn't believe that even after they, even if controlled, turned on their friends, that they were allowed back, but Luka wasn't. She couldn't believe that Styx was allowed to stay, especially not after...
Guinevere, from beside her, sucked in a breath, lowering by the body, placing a hand on one of Lane's own cold ones. There was so much blood and destruction in the hallway, "How could we have let this happen?" She had whispered.
And so many would share in that sentiment.
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N is for Naida.
Naida never really asked to be brought by some magical deities into a training camp with other magical kids to train to fight in a war.
No one really asked for it. But she was especially spiteful, or at least, that's what Enzo thought.
Naida never smiled, Naida never laughed. Naida was kidnapped with the others and still came back in a minorly decent shape.
It confused him. How she could seem so calm, and yet so angry at the same time. He could never hold his emotions well.
He had no idea how she did.
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O is for Open.
An odd word to represent the Ascendants, but a fitting one none-the-less.
Open are their hearts, when they enter this strange territory, and remain together to fight through the unknown.
Open are Kaz's doors, as he gets an escape from the murderous midget.
Open are Theodore's eyes anytime Griffin so much as looks at him.
Open is River's heart, when he stares at the stars that night so long ago with Laurie. Open is his heart, when he hears Echo start to warm up to them, to talk to them.
Open was his heart, so long ago.
But as he woke up, alone, once more. He realized doors didn't stay open forever.
They never would.
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P is for Penny.
Lorenzo regards Penny as a spitfire. He regards many people like spitfires. Luka, Irene, Lucien, River are all spitfires.
Penny is a unique, tiny, kind of adorable spitfire. Tiny as can be, and yet he can tell. He can tell. There is something kind, something sweet beyond that rocky exterior of hers. There's something that caused the anger, and it's his goal to find that.
Inside of some rocks are shining crystals, fragile, yes, but crystals all the same. He doesn't really think she's fragile, but he doesn't think she's just a heart of stone either.
So he extends his hand, despite bleeding and bruising. He tries to ignore the pain, because he's tired of hurting. Tired of always hurting.
Dillon is calling to him, but he ignores it as he staggers slightly, but leaves his palm open.
"You don't have to do this," He says, because he's always trying.
She stares at his hand, anger over her features, but something sad in her eyes. Her words are spoken in that finality she has, and he mourns over his lost brothers and sisters who are the Exiled.
"Yes, I do."
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Q is for Quiet.
When Lane dies, it's too quiet.
With Luka gone, it's too quiet.
Without Lucien singing, because why would you sing when your father does and you're everything he's not? It's quiet then too.
It's quiet without Echo's bravery to speak.
It's quiet without the soft words of Laurie and River outside in the hallway, or out of the doors, looking at the stars and speaking in hushed voices.
It's quiet.
It's too quiet.
And Chiara doesn't know what to do.
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R is for River.
Then it's for Ripley, because River decided to cut himself out of Laurie's life. It's Ripley, because even though it hurts to be loved by Ripley (a voice in his head screams this isn't love), it's fine, because at least he's wanted.
He's used to one night stands, he's used to his wants and desires being thrown down, kicked around, and spat out. He's used to others being more important than him. Denise always was at home.
He's so used to it.
He thought that had changed. He thought he genuinely could be happy in the Pantheon. Thought he mattered. Thought that they saw him as more than just a party boy. He thought that he was loved.
But no. He fooled himself. Not that he should be surprised, he would bitterly think.
Why would they waste time on him? After all, wasn't that what he was? A waste of time, a fun kick until the next big thing came around and he was forgotten. A fling?
Ripley, while Ripley hurt, didn't treat him like he was a passing fling. To Ripley, it seemed permanent, like Laurie would always be there to torment.
As he took another drag of his cigarette, he convinced himself that whatever it was, it was fine. Because at least he wasn't discarded this time.
He tried to put all thoughts of River out of his head.
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S is for Styx.
"Look at me, Lane," Styx taunted, in an earlier battle. Long before everything would go down. Maybe it was a dream, maybe a nightmare.
A message.
"Remember something clearly, Lane. The more you cheat death, the more you'll lose along the way. Life never continued long without taking. Especially stolen life."
Maybe they were thoughts. Maybe not.
It didn't matter much anymore, now did it?
Styx watched as the life drained out of Lane's eyes, a stony expression over her face, a small, forced grin in place. A coin set in Lane's mouth, another token from Styx, just so Lane could cross her river.
Styx really did give Lane too much. She ended that pain, she paid her fees.
"Be lucky you get to escape what's coming next."
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T is for Trust.
There's...not a lot of that in the Pantheon. After Laurie and the others are brought back.
They exiled Luka, then they learned they were wrong. That caused a divide. Laurie himself caused one.
"Shouldn't he be in exile?" One had asked, gesturing at the boy as they stared at the 6 leaders still there, eyes narrowed, "He's the reason Styx got in."
"We all decided to let her stay," Guinevere cut in, glaring at them.
"Guinevere is right," Clementine pointed out, but glared at Laurie still, "That doesn't mean he's not guilty of so much more."
Bickering would ensue. Bickering would follow.
Lane would mournfully watch from beside Pascal. But eventually, the tensions would cool. They had to.
She doubted the trust would return.
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U is for Umbrella.
It's gone, she knows. It's a skeleton, and so it's not much different than her.
At least it's structure, it's bones do not break. At least it burned away.
But it doesn't stay that way forever. It heals, it flourishes back into the familiar fabric. It shocks her, as she escapes and returns.
An umbrella is used to guard one from the torrents of rain.
It had always guarded Luka from the torrent of problems. Plus, maybe hitting a few people and a giant wolf.
In a sheath lies twin daggers, a weapon of exile Loki had gifted her. They wouldn't protect her from the storm.
Sometimes, umbrella's are used to shield multiple people.
But the only person she would protect would be herself.
That's what she thought.
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V is for Valhalla.
When they enter, it's more than they had expected. Much more.
It's quiet though. Too quiet.
They're used to noise by now. The forgiveness that followed the storm, because rainbows and light shine through those clouds. They're used to the laughter, the fights, the teasing, the yelling, the compliments, the insults.
They had gotten used to that life. One they didn't have before.
As they stared at the light around them, they wondered what it was like.
They had forgotten what it was like to breath.
-
W is for Wise.
Wise is Jason, as he reads and reflects.
Wise is Sanna, as she silently watches the area around her.
W is also for water. Naida's water, filled with salt, but wrathful and strong.
The reflections in the water. The whispers in the air.
W is for War.
And war never stops taking, does it?
-
X is for Xenial.
Lorenzo and Dillon are both very kind to guests and strangers. Xenial is a custom they know rather well.
Be kind to guests, be kind to those who you do not know.
When the others visit Dillon's pantheon, in Europe, it's in preparation.
Kindness in the face of despair. There's still a war.
Lorenzo offers Dillon a smile as he goes to tend to guests. Dillon grins in response, scoping out the room.
Lucien is watching Luka closely, the boy had been acting strangely. Dillon didn't really know why.
Seely and Theodore were chatting, Seely pointing out some assorted animals she had found at a nearby zoo with a grin, camera in hand.
It's sweet to see moments like these, because they are the ones that don't remain.
Laurie and River are shoulder to shoulder, one leaning his head on the other's shoulder, arms wrapped around each other as a freckled boy with dark skin excitedly points out different drawings he made. Near him is a redhead, with a blond streak in her hair, grinning at the boy and laughing as he jokes.
Echo, Laurie, River, and Pip seem to be doing well. Dillon is determined to make sure that continues.
He's scared to see what the next battles will bring, however.
-
Z is for Zero.
They all started off at Zero. Maybe the negatives, in some of their cases.
Sometimes, time worked in mysterious ways like that. Happiness spanning, and it would. It would continue, with or without a single person. Pain healed, because time healed it.
Five reasons why this matters?
For issues to work out, peace has to work out in your mind. Main, grief, doesn't last forever. They know this.
Their free(three?) of the issues they once knew. Lane is dead, she's not gone. Pascal makes sure of that.
To them, betrayals of long ago still haunt, but they don't define.
They've learned from their mistakes.
One way they've made it through is to keep fighting.
But time catches up, she realizes, a little to late.
"Chiara!"
Zero.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 13, 2020 5:23:20 GMT -5
SUBJECT TO CHANGE - DO NOT TAKE AS CANON"You should Disgrace me."
That was what Laurie said to Dionysus, addressing his guide through his thoughts as he watched the other Ascendants around him, sitting in the living area of the Pantheon. They were all quiet and subdued, it being only a couple of days after Luka had returned and still not long after Lane's funeral.
Laurie couldn't even look at Daniel, the amount of guilt it caused him. Nor Luka.
Lucien strummed on his guitar but it could barely be considered that, since the playing was so half-hearted and the musician so distracted. Everyone was just so quiet, a dark shadow having settled over the group that Laurie suspected had been there ever since the kidnapping.
"Why do you say that?" Dionysus responded - and the lack of shock, or even any negative emotion, in his voice at the suggestion was a shock to the young Ascendant.
Laurie didn't even understand why the god even had to ask; wasn't it obvious?
"I can't do this anymore," was Laurie's reply "all of this is my fault. I hurt River, I hurt Echo, I hurt everyone I was kidnapped with. I hurt Luka. It's my fault Lane is dead-"
"-That's not your fault," Dionysus insisted
"Yes, it damn well is!" Laurie was getting frustrated now "if I hadn't made that deal with Styx, she would never have gotten into the Pantheon and Lane would still be alive."
While those words sunk in, he finally did allow his eyes to flicker over to Daniel then, and the guy looked terrible. Like he hadn't slept properly in a long time, which Laurie supposed was probably true. But it was his eyes that were saddest, that wrenched at Laurie's heart because he could just see the pain.
He remembered the chaos when her body was found. Shouts for the others to come quickly, which mingled into gasping, sounds of shock. Screaming, crying. Lucien making a desperate attempt to save her even though it was obvious that it was already far too late.
His fault. All his fault.
"Ripley was right." Laurie sighed "he said wonderful things sometimes, and he also said terrible ones. Terrible because they were true. I'm weak. Too weak for this. And I don't want it anymore. Take your powers, your stupid powers, and give them to somebody else. Someone you didn't find vomiting in a nightclub bathroom."
There was a moment's silence then before Dionysus finally spoke again.
"So that's your plan, is it?" the god asked "Just blow up the group and then piss off back to France because you can't stand the pain of watching them clean up your mess? Run away the moment things get tough?"
"They got tough!" Laurie shot back "they got really tough, and you weren't there because I bruised your ego by going back on your stupid little deal. I did my time for you. No more."
"This is your one chance to make something of yourself." Dionysus insisted "If you want to go back to your old life, to the drinking and the partying because you can't stand not feeling numb then go right ahead, I'll choose a new champion. But you know what you're walking away from, and that it's your own cowardice taking you back."
"I'm not a coward, I'm just not a god!" the boy responded "This isn't about me going back to Bordeaux, this is about me not wanting to hurt my friends any more. I can't keep doing this to them."
Another moment of silence, in which Laurie's eyes drifted over to River, who had his arm around Echo and was talking to her, seemingly trying to cheer her up. Keep her strong.
River was another one it still hurt for him to look at. He'd hurt him so badly, caused him so much pain. And he didn't know if they'd ever get past it. Seeing him made his heart ache. Now, after Lane's death and Luka's return from exile, more than ever.
Laurie wished River could see what an incredible person he was.
"And him?" Dionysus challenged gently "you're prepared to give up on him?"
"I love him," Laurie answered "but that's why I should go. He deserves better than me, after how much I hurt him. And I don't know if I can learn to think about him without it causing me pain. It's better for both of us if you took my memory and sent me home, made me forget him. And made him forget me too."
"That's not what you really want. What you want is him. What you want is these friends."
He did, he did want these friends. Laurie's problem was that he wasn't sure if he could have that. He'd damaged the group so badly, destroyed the trust they had in him. He thought the only way to protect them was to go away. Let them do this without him.
"Laurent Bevin, you are staying right here." the god insisted "They need you here, I need you here. And to be frank I don't find it flattering that you challenge my judgement in choosing you. You have far more to do yet. Mistakes or not, I'm not done with you."
"But those mistakes-"
-"are nothing compared to those of the gods. Myself included." Dionysus assured him "You are my champion, and I won't let you throw that away so easily."
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Post by 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓿 on Oct 13, 2020 18:44:56 GMT -5
Seely Kaase Champion of Sekhmet The days following the battles had been tough. Hard for everyone. A weird sort of tension sat in the air. The realization that there were others who were like them out there, and not only like them but more advanced and powerful and spiteful, it hit each of them differently. It had caused a shift in how things went forward. Everyone realized how much they needed to work themselves, train themselves, and hone these abilities they'd been given. It was imperative.
For Seely it was terrifying.
Still there were nightmares, time had passed and things had mended in some places, but the worst still hadn't passed. Theo still had fear in his eyes everytime he saw Griffin. And though she'd avoided him, she knew it would be there when he looked at Seely too. She hated that. The nightmares seemed to be flashes of what she'd done. Pulsing rage, red at the edges of her vision, the violence she'd inflicted on Theo. The kick. The punch. All of it kept her up at nights.
In these weeks she'd avoided listening to Sekhmet too. How could a god like this gift these powers to Seely? How could that goddess expect Seely to want to use her abilities after what she'd done? And now....this tournament. Seely understood why they needed it, she understood what the point was, but it terrified her. She had all but planned to throw it. But, today...everyone worked so hard they all showed their powers and what they could do to help and protect each other. Heck...even Kita, Echo, and Pascal seemed to be working hard to be better fighters. And these were the softest and quietest of them all. How could she just step back and give up after seeing them push themselves?
This morning was quiet and Seely sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes tired and body exhausted as well. But, today she would listen to Sekhmet, try to train her powers, figure out what this.....terrible strength was.
In training room Seely stood silently, staring at the ground. "Alright...what do I need to do?" she questioned softly to the empty room. "My dear." Sekhmet cooed gently in her head, "We will start slow. First you need to move past what has happened." Seely bit her lip and nodded, clenching her fists and digging her nails into her palms. "Alright." "Remember, you were not in control. But, also you are capable of that power on your own." Sekhmet instructed. "Unfortunately my power comes from anger, rage, and anguish. That was my gift and my duty. But" a small pause to let Seely take in what she'd said. "Luckily, you have a reason to be angry now." "A reason?" Seely questioned, swallowing back as a couple trickles of those moment came to her. Blood. Theo's cries. Lane's desperate calls. "Yes. A reason. You can be angry at those traitors now. You can be angry for what they made you do. And you can be angry that they dare to attack your new family and home." Seely lifted her gaze then, blinking and nodding in understanding. "Alright."
A couple hours past, these weren't exactly productive. More just stretching and working her body to get herself prepared. She needed to firstly get in shape and prepare for what her and Sekhmet were going to attempt. "It takes a lot out of the body to use these strengths. The exhaustion your body felt will not go away with a couple of training sessions. But, if you continue to work and train, you can push yourself further." "Let's do this then." Seely muttered, taking in a deep breath and running her hands over her face. "I can't let it happen again." a bit of desperation and pleading in that phrase. "Focus yourself. Focus on that anger and the things that keep you from having peace." she was instructed, the voice growing a bit stronger in her head. Nodding, Seely began to dwell on those thoughts. Lowering her head and closing her eyes. That terrible small girl. That lilting song. The anger she felt for that girl. And all the others. Her friends coming back battered, bruised and in a bloodied mess.
She felt it then, a sort of coursing through her veins. A heat. A strength. For the first time she didn't quite feel afraid of this power as it began to fill her body. With a deep breath she opened her eyes, lifting her gaze to the punching bag in front of her. With a quick move she began the steps and moves that Sekhmet had been teaching her. Landing hard blow after hard blow, sending the back swinging violently around on its chain. Seely felt it. A boldness and a drive. As the bag flew backwards, it came swinging towards her and in a terrible flash it was Theo. His battered face and bloody nose. Seely cried out and stumbled back, tripping herself.
"I can't do this." she muttered as she set herself on the floor and steadied her mind back on the present. "It's going to keep happening." her hand went into her face and she clenched her jaw tight. "My dear." Sekhmet purred once more, "It will. I cannot lie and sat it won't. But, you must fight through. Change those images of your friend. Know that it is not real. It will become easier and you will feel that angry strength become easier to control. You must learn for the sake of all those here."
Taking in another deep breath, steadying herself and pushing away angry tears Seely nodded. "Fine. Let's keep going then." Rising up Seely took her place again and focused back on those thoughts. Anger and rage. Things she needed to feel. Things she need not to fear but, to embrace. This was the only way she could go forward. What happened had happened, there was nothing she could do to change that. But, she could change what happens next time.
Inside her, a sleeping lion seemed finally to be waking. Not waking angrily, jolted from its sleep and in a fury. But waking slowly and purposefully.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Oct 14, 2020 14:58:29 GMT -5
Chapter 12: Guilt Behind her, Griffin fell, the canon resounding in her ears, tears and screams and begging escaping her.
Blood, pain, a cut on her arm. He died. For her.
Ariella ushered her away, and she ran, she ran because he died and she was alive, but he died for her.
Her breath came out in fog, the cold sleeping into her bones felt like the icy grip that circled around her heart. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him, him smiling, him dying.
Laurie got caught up, and she hoped, with all she had, that she wasn’t about to lose another friend. But no canon sounded, and as she looked back, clearing the gap, she spotted the boy being shielded by the girl from 2. The boy from 1 was on the ground, holding a wound, and if she wasn’t blinded by her shock and pain and grief, she may have been shocked,
The girl with the black hair turned, an icy smirk on her lips, words causing Laurie to look struck. Guinevere decided that in that moment, Laurie looked like a deer, considered helpless, still, but strong and fast, and the girl was like a snake. Her fangs bared, but so able to twist and slither, you never knew whose side she was on.
Laurie took off with his bag, rejoining her and Ariella, and the snake slithered away, the young boy, the knowledgeable bird, young, and still so full of potential broke his wings and fell to his death, like a doomed baby bird, leaving the nest too soon.
The sunlight died and the kind song ended, and all that was left was darkness and silence.
Worst of all, the love faded, and without it, hope seemed to fade.
—
She woke up, sweating, tears in her eyes. Ariella had tended to her wounds, a small shelter, hidden within the rocks, was made. It was cold, and yet she was sweating.
That was cause for concern, though she blamed the nature of her dreams. It had been like this all night, fitful, reliving the deaths. Guinevere was a strong girl, brave even, but even she was not conditioned to death. She was the girl who wore dresses and collected roses, helping Council her friends on crushes. She ignored the games for most of her years, always having the TV on but tending to some hang out instead. She didn’t know the first thing about how to cope with this loss.
She was a rich girl from District 8, her parents owning a factory. She attended galas, wore makeup to cover her imperfections as they were perceived, and acted like the perfect poster child.
Nothing prepared her to feel so bare, without her makeup, thrown into a harsh environment. Sure, a week was given to train, and train she did. But that didn’t prepare her for the sadness and grief.
It made her feel stupid, dumb. Feeling so upset about someone she barely knew, and yet, she knew it was true and honest. A true heartbreak. He was her friend in the least, and had the potential to be so much more.
"I'm sorry," a voice whispered, to her left, and she fixed Laurie with a panicked look. He was staying up, on guard, and he frowned at her as she vigorously rubbed at her eyes, eager to remove any trace of her sadness. She had to be strong, and strong people didn't waste time and tears. Not in this world.
She leaned up fully, shivering slightly, despite Laurie's blankets he had in that pack he was able to snatch, it was absolutely frigid outside, seeping, and haunting. Her fingers were numb, though Laurie looked worse.
He was paler than normal, lips tinted blue as he shivered. He had loaned the blankets to Guinevere and Ariella as they slept, leaving himself open to the bitter, frosty air.
She patted the area next to her, offering a soft chuckle, forced, as he eagerly left his perch and curled into the warmth there. "Why are you sorry, Laurie?" it didn't make sense for him to be sorry, he had done nothing wrong.
"You lost him, that chance, and I'm here, just preoccupied with thinking about finding River, and I'm...sorry for that?" IT wasn't much of a question, more like a curiosity in why she wasn't completely ballistic over this whole situation.
She shrugged, grabbing his hands in her own and encompassing them. They were freezing cold to the touch, but still, it was important for him to warm up, "I'm not mad at you." and she wasn't, because he hadn't done a thing wrong. "You can't control how you feel, and you can't control what happens."
Laurie hummed in agreeance, looking up at the stars then. They had found a rocky face, hiding in one of the large cracks in the stone, an area not as open. But the stars were still visible up above. "I'm still sorry."
"I'm still not going to forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive." She pinched the skin of his fingers, angling a glare at him as he winced, payback. "Stop apologizing, you're going to wake Ariella up if you continue on with it."
"Only because you insist on hurting me," Laurie grinned, nudging her with his shoulder blade. Guinevere could see the traces of worry over his features, as his gaze lingered on her cut, worried. It worried her too, to be honest. It was nasty, didn't look good at all. They cleaned it with snow earlier, and a tiny bit of water from a canteen Laurie got in the pack.
To prove she was fine, she nudged him right back, grinning for a moment, as well as she could. Her body and heart hurt much too much. "You're such a baby."
She got him to chuckle, so she was counting that as a win. Ariella, from behind them, curled deep into the other blanket, let off a soft snore as she turned. Poor Ariella was desolate after Griffin died, more than Guinevere. While Guinevere grew romantically attached, Ariella and Griffin grew up with one another. They saw each other through each difficult situation.
"So, once we find him," Guinevere made sure to make it a when, not an if, Laurie needed that, "What are we going to do?" Her hands let his own go, as Laurie lifted them, glancing at her thankfully.
He looked a bit dumbstruck for a moment, that familiar lovesick gaze passing over his face for a moment, which almost caused her to laugh.
"Them," he corrected, gently. He was fond of the small girl that hung around River too, not that Guinevere particularly blamed them. "And we'll band together, that'll give us a better chance against the careers," he pointed out.
She glanced away, looking at the moon, well, the Arena's interpretation of a moon. She found herself wishing she could see the real sky again, that she took treasure in the beauty of what she had when she still had it. "And what about the keys?" She started, glancing back at Laurie, eyes narrowed.
As he went to answer, a loud bang, a canon, interrupted him. His mouth remained open in shock as Ariella shot out of the bed, immediately grabbing a knife Laurie had snagged, from beside her makeshift leaf bed. When Ariella realized there was no thread, she looked at her companions, eyes wide.
Guinevere could share in the sentiment, she hated hearing canons, a signal that someone was dead. One of the other kids meeting an unfortunate end. She tugged a bit at the blanket, glancing over at Laurie only to be immediately concerned.
Laurie looked horribly terrified, eyes focused on the distance. Guinevere followed his gaze, spotting the hovercraft becoming visible, claw already picking up the poor soul.
It was too far to see who it was, too dark.
She had no idea why Laurie looked so scared, and Ariella piped up, "Hey, dude, you okay?"
He was looking out into the distance, like he was trying to find an answer, like he could somehow find some hidden treasure broken there.
She realized, then, what he was likely panicked about, "It's not him, Laurie," she assured. No way it was him. "We only heard one, he's with Echo, right? No way either of them would get killed without the other," it was blunt, but true. She had seen Echo, she wouldn't leave River behind no matter what, and River? He wouldn't leave Echo either.
"But-" Laurie began, and Ariella stepped in, sounding sure, but much sweeter than Guinevere could ever hope to be.
"Nope. Whoever that was? Cold probably got them, they were over in IceLand over there," Ariella jabbed her thumb in that direction, walking forward. The crevice, the tiny cave they were in, was illuminated by moonlight at the entrance.
"I guess," Despite his unsure words, Guinevere was glad to see that Laurie looked significantly less stressed out than before. Not completely calm, but much calmer.
"We'll find them," She assured, taking his hand again, as she stood to be by Ariella, pulling him up. She was taller than him, so was Ariella. She offered a sad smile at him, and was surprised when she found herself with an armful of Laurie.
She hugged him back, burying her face in his fluff of hair, hiding herself from the world. It was peaceful and calm.
Ariella, she could hear, took a sharp inhale of breath, before speaking up, a small change felt charged in the air, "Guys, look!"
She sounded excited, which confused, but eased Guinevere's small amount of worry that was building. Guinevere didn't know how much more heartbreak she could take in one day, something good would be nice for a change.
"What is it?" Laurie questioned, stepping around Guinevere to look, before grinning, raising in the air and waving.
Guinevere finally looked, spotting Pascal walked into the clearing just a bit away, a clear one to see. He looked pretty normal, a little bruised, maybe, but the closer Guinevere watched, she spotted something off.
He looked scared, more so than usual, eyes wide, from what she could tell. He paused, seeming to take a breath, before glancing back, as if he was expecting something to jump out of the shadows and tackle him.
Or maybe that's exactly what he expected. Laurie waved from nearby, and Ariella did too, seeming not to notice. Maybe there were glad to see someone alive, someone who seemed friendly.
Laurie was about to jump down or yell out to the boy, Guinevere could tell.
Pascal turned his head, in their direction, his head stopping in it's motion, as if he spotted them. He was looking down though, and seemed a bit frozen for a moment.
Guinevere had no idea what was going on. It looked like he had seen them, but whatever it was made her scared, bothered her.
"What's he doing?" Ariella questioned, as Laurie's hands fell to his sides.
Pascal then glanced up, his eyes seeming to meet with the groups. Guinevere could see his fear clearly, even from up above. The small clearing was below their crevice, the clearing they used to find the spot. It took minimal climbing to reach the area they were in.
Guinevere realized it was sheer rock below them, a dead end for prey.
Pascal then turned away, as an arrow lodged into his chest.
Immediately, Guinevere tugged both Laurie and Ariella back, hard, wincing as they fell ungracefully into the jagged edges of the rock under them. Not that she had a choice.
The canon sounded, causing tears to well in Guinevere's eyes, and she could hear the voice of the Careers as they spoke, "Poor kid," That sounded like Naida. "Good kill, Lucien."
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Oct 14, 2020 18:54:47 GMT -5
Lorenzo gave Pascal a sheepish grin, placing his hands behind his back. He didn't agree with this whole thing, but as long as no one would get hurt, surely it couldn't be that bad?
"The timer started boys, you...kind of have to start?" A voice, undoubtedly Luka's filtered over the communicator.
Even so, Lorenzo looked helpless for a few moments. Weighing his options. He'd rather not disappoint everyone by refusing to do it, and they'd likely keep them locked in there unless they did spar.
Approaching closer to Pascal, "Um, I'm sorry if I hurt you," he started, and he already hated this whole thing. Instead of going for a punch, he instead misaimed a beam of harmless light at Pascal. It went off track completely, trailing on the ground.
It almost looked like a golden laser light, as if Pascal would grow ears and a tail and pounce on it. Lorenzo became completely sidetracked with the light, his attention focused on it in wonder. It left him open to attack, however.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Oct 16, 2020 16:25:12 GMT -5
Subject to Change, Not to be Taken as Pure Canon
-------------
The Pantheon was uncharacteristically quiet, not filled with the usual ringing voices of its boisterous young occupants. Instead it was filled with the quiet of night, with its muffled air.
Luka couldn’t explain why she was awake. Maybe it was just one of those nights. There was some kind of disturbance in her, a fluttering in her stomach. A tug that didn’t seem to go away. A niggle in her brain.
It had been there ever since Lucien first told her about the vision he’d seen, though she’d tried to play it off like it was nothing. Now that niggle was stronger than ever.
The champion of Loki found herself heading through the hallway which led to all of their bedrooms, only to find a sliver of golden light spilling onto the wooden floors from beneath one doorway, which stood ajar.
Chiara’s room.
She stepped forward carefully, treading lightly as possible so as not to make any noise, wincing slightly each time her foot fell too heavily.
She stopped not far from the doorway, close enough to see inside as she peeked around the doorframe.
What Luka saw inside was strange.
Chiara had her hair messily pulled back, which was strange in itself because that girl literally never allowed even a hair on her head to be out of place. She was wearing dark clothes, which was also unusual; she didn’t have a tendency to wear black. Most of all, though, she was pulling on a jacket.
Strange, like she was going on a journey.
An unease fell upon Luka as she watched the blonde girl turn to look at the sword she’d lain on her bed, grabbing it and testing it in her hand for a moment. As if that sword wasn’t the same familiar blade she’d been using for months. She seemed nervous, preoccupied. Jumpy, even; Luka had shifted her position once and the tiny sound had been enough to make the girl look towards the doorway briefly. That nervousness was probably why she was testing the sword, as if she wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong with the weapon.
An unease and dread that was enough to spur Luka into action. Stepping back, Luka held her breath, hoping that Chiara hadn’t realized she had been watched. Chiara had supreme sensory, her hearing was like that of a rabbit being hunted. Though Luka was glad she didn’t hear any further steps from Chiara, and the other girl had not called out either. After counting for multiple moments, Luka decided to test her luck, curiosity overcoming her weariness over Lucien’s warning. The Champion of Loki was notorious for being unable to deny her curiosity once her mind was set upon a problem.
Moving carefully, and wincing all the while, Luka chanced another glance into the room. Chiara’s behaviour was uncharacteristic, unusual. Chiara was calm, collected, nothing could shake her, not even giant wolves. But now, fidgeting, seeming unsettled at the smallest of movements, decked in noir, nothing seemed at all normal about the situation.
It only served to deepen the unease Luka had felt earlier. A pit building in her stomach, as her fingers traced the doorway as she thought of what may cause Chiara to look like she was about to head off to war.
Movement caught her eyes, and she watched as Chiara put the sword she had been fiddling nervously with into a sheath, the blond taking a deep shaky breath, before turning to her desk nearby. Luka watched as the girl picked up her beloved book, the one she had from the very beginning, all those months ago.
The Prose Edda, a book Luka would rather not think about. For some reason, it seemed to fit the moment, though Luka had no idea why.
It was all so confusing, why Chiara was acting so odd, decked out with her weapon, holding the book. Luka continued to watch as Chiara ran her fingers over the cover, eyes wavering over the cover, before she opened the book with shaky fingers. Pale fingers skimmed over pages as Chiara turned to the desired page she had in mind.
As her eyes scanned the pages, the dreary feeling in the air seemed to increase tenfold. Chiara’s features seemed to filter between so many emotions, and Luka couldn’t pick up on them long enough to tell them apart with how quickly they seemed to fly over her features. Worry and resilience is what Chiara settled on, turning to place the opened book on her bed, pulling the tassel up to mark the page. Luka couldn’t quite see the page from her position, but the actions confused her all the same.
Chiara had treasured that book, wouldn’t let anyone have it or damage it. She always had it near, she probably had the whole thing memorized. Chiara leaving it open would never happen, but all the same, the actions seemed purposeful.
She’d held the book so carefully, like she always did. Gentle with the pages, laying it lightly down onto the bed. As if she were putting great care into this. As if she more than just cared about this book, but that it was important in a way Luka didn’t yet understand.
They seemed deliberate, like Chiara was making a point with them. A point Luka was lost upon at the current moment.
Breathing slowly, Luka hid again, letting her body curl up as she slid to the ground, back pressed against the wall as she pondered over the events.
She had no idea what Chiara was doing, why Chiara was somewhat messy, despite being a perfectionist. Why the calm, stable member of Luka’s Pantheon was acting like she just saw Lane’s ghost appear out of nowhere.
The thoughts fell away as panic ensued. Footsteps came towards Luka’s direction, a telltale that Chiara was heading to the door. Glancing from side to side, Luka realized she couldn’t exactly run off in a quiet manner, and instead decided to shift. Form transforming into that of a bat, black wings immediately flapping, flying up and towards the top of the doorway. Perching on the small flat surface there, Luka chanced a glance downward.
Chiara exited her room, sword in sheath, fidgety behavior turned slightly into resolve. A mission was in Chiara’s mind, Luka could tell that much. The girl didn’t even bother to close the door to her room in her rush. She instead set her sights on the living area.
Carefully, Luka flew back to the ground, landing there, and allowing her form to shift back into her normal one. Dark hair fell back over her shoulders, but Chiara had already turned left at the end of the hallway into the living area of the Antarctic Pantheon.
That was odd, to say the least. As softly as she could, Luka sped-walk through the hall, pivoting on her left foot at the end, so her back pressed against the wall. Chancing a peek over the corner, she spotted Chiara activating the portal device located there.
Luka blinked once, twice, tired and confused from how the day had been going thus far. It was much too early to begin on mystery-solving, but Chiara was being a complete enigma. Luka liked mysteries, but enigmas? Not so much. The amount of sleep she could be getting was tempting in the face of the morning, but obviously Chiara wasn’t going to be chill enough for Luka to be able to rest easy.
Yet, Chiara looked around more, thankfully not looking back, which served to only make Luka more suspicious. Chiara was always very careful in her observations, checking every possible option. What had made her somehow so jumpy and yet so careless? After programming the portal that led to the outside, Chiara activated it using her key.
The small golden and white glow from the portal was a mixture of dazzling and blinding. Luka had to cover her eyes with her hand, yet between her fingers, she could make out Chiara’s silhouette, seeming unphased and yet struck all the same.
A moment, and Chiara was through the portal.
Tightening her grasp on her umbrella, Luka waited a moment. Nothing in this situation was normal, nothing made sense. Chiara was acting in a way Luka had never seen before. It was reckless, it was stupid. Those were both Luka’s things, and it was really odd to see it happening on one of the most rational people she knew.
Luka had left once, on her own, in the middle of the night. She had snuck away, and it had ended terribly. Horrible things had happened; before, during, and after she did so. Just the thoughts brought the bitter feelings back.
As decisions went, Luka kept to whichever one her mind made up, and her mind had already set on getting answers. Doing a full sweep of the room, to make sure they wouldn’t be followed, Luka approached the portal, closing her eyes as she stepped through.
She hadn’t forgotten Lucien’s warning, but with how Chiara was acting, that fear, Luka couldn’t let her face whatever made her act like that, not alone. Not like she did.
Deep breath. Darkness and only her heartbeat. That falling feeling that by now was familiar but still made the stomach drop. One never quite could get used to portals, not unless one was Lane; Hermes’ champion had been an expert from the start.
The darkness would surround Luka a few moments more. And hopefully once she emerged from it, answers would await her.
Chiara shouldn’t have to face whatever had gotten her acting so oddly by herself.
--
Being a champion of Heimdallr came with some perks, for sure. But most of it was not exactly very pleasant. The enhanced senses, for example? Useful but very painful to actually experience.
But there was one other power with which Chiara had been provided by her oh-so-beneficent guide.
She’d been able to sense some kind of danger, and lately that feeling had grown stronger and stronger. Enough to make her hair stand on end, because of which she’d had to either wear long-sleeved shirts or pretend she was cold. She was pretty sure the other Ascendants thought she was sick or something.
But that night, she’d finally had enough.
This danger was strong, she could tell. Stronger than anything the Ascendants had faced before. This was worse than the feeling she’d gotten when the exiled had launched that attack on the Pantheon.
No, this was an existential threat. And possibly not just to the Ascendants, but to the people outside the Pantheons.
She knew the protocol, too; if there was a danger (especially if it was large enough to threaten civilians), then that required one to send an SOS message to the other Pantheons. Backup was always needed with this kind of thing.
But not this time. She couldn’t prove the danger, didn’t even know its nature. Chiara knew the stupidity of walking into this kind of situation alone, but she figured it couldn’t be worse than letting all the other Ascendants run into it blind too. At least this way she could have some kind of idea of what they were facing.
When she emerged from the portal, it was into a dark and moonless night.
It was chilly. Cold enough for the wind to bite even through her jacket. Her senses were immediately overwhelmed, a crashing roar in her ears that very quickly revealed itself to be the ocean. It churned in the darkness, inky black and only barely reflecting at the crests of its waves the paltry amount of light the stars provided.
Jesus, she hadn’t been to the beach since she got her powers. She had no idea it was so noisy.
Of course, she noted as she glanced down to her feet, she was on sand. Not especially shocking given that she was on a beach, but her brain was doing anything and everything to try and satisfy itself with some answers.
But by that starlight she noted a figure further down the beach, silhouetted against the sand. Her hand drifted down to the hilt of her sword, fingers brushing the cool metal.
The figure was facing the water, not her, so she supposed they might not have seen her yet.
She noted an old abandoned ice-cream stand sunk lopsided into the sand, all sun-bleached colours. This was what she immediately ducked behind, thankful the sand muffled any sound of movement.
She hadn’t noticed Luka appear and find her own hiding place, too distracted by the mysterious figure to realise her friend had followed her.
Her breathing was shallow and shaky as she, down on her haunches, moved to peek round and try to get a better look at this figure. Her hand was still hovering around her sword.
Her enhanced eyesight was really a blessing here, because it was what allowed her to observe them from such a distance.
The girl watched as he - for it was a he, she was pretty sure - held out his hand a little. He twisted his palm just a little, curling his fingers inwards, and Chiara watched as particles of the beach sand drifted upwards into the air, almost like twisting columns of smoke above a flame.
This was the person who was the source of the danger Chiara was sensing, she just knew it.
Ripley? No, his guide wasn’t with him anymore. And besides, she would’ve recognised Ripley’s shape instantly.
Then there was only one other person this could be. While it explained the response of her danger senses, she didn’t want to believe it. Surely it couldn’t be?
But Chiara’s blood ran cold as the figure turned in exactly Chiara’s direction. He knew she was there.
There was just time to jump back and rise to her feet as, with a sweep of his arm, the figure sent the ice-cream truck (by nature of the fact that he also sent a lot of the sand under it) flying across the beach.
She was exposed. There was no time to run. And the figure was approaching her with long, purposeful strides.
So she finally drew her sword, her enhanced senses acutely aware of the ring of the metal as she did so.
“So quick to draw a weapon,” the man tutted “and here I thought you were the sensible one.”
Chiara’s grip tightened on the hilt of her blade, knuckles whitening.
“Set,” Chiara greeted, biting out the name as if it disgusted her. Though she wasn’t sure she’d done a good enough job of hiding the surprise and fear from her voice.
“One and the same.” came his response “I believe I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance through my former champion.”
Even the mention of Ripley was enough to set Chiara even more on edge. He had been the cause of so much pain for the Pantheon. River had once told her in confidence that Laurie still had nightmares sometimes. And River himself had come out of the confrontation with Ripley with a stab wound and enough trauma to last a lifetime. Which was depressing because he’d already had plenty to begin with.
Set’s gaze dropped to her arm, which was covered by the jacket. But his eyes seemed to stop on the exact spot where her scar lay.
Even the look was enough to make Chiara’s skin crawl. She tried to ignore it, focusing on the feel of the sword in her hand, the steady weight of it. The feeling of the wind tugging at her hastily-tied hair.
Still neither god nor mortal realised that they weren’t alone. That the sand deadening their words wasn’t keeping them from all ears.
“How’s the arm treating you?” the god questioned mockingly “That’s what happened last time you raised a weapon against a god.”
He was right. And this time there would be no Luka to save her life, no Lucien to heal her.
__
“Have the gods brought me snacks to appease my anger?” The voice was ancient, deep. A horrible feeling of dread washed over Luka as she looked around for the source. The abandoned factory had many places to hide, but she had a feeling she knew who it was, even without seeing them. This whole being referred to as a snack thing wasn’t exactly ideal either, thanks.
“Have they not yet learned I am never satisfied?” Whoever this was knew the gods. Probably was an enemy, given that they kept referring to people as snacks. Taking a moment to scan the room, and quickly becoming annoyed by the monologue of secret Mr. Shadow Man, she turned her head to see if she was alone.
Her umbrella had started to glow in the Pantheon, and she had felt that familiar feeling of falling, of weightlessness. This time, luckily, she hadn’t fallen down multiple flights of stairs. She did land ungracefully, but that's besides the point. A quick scan to her left, and she spotted Chiara practically face to face with a skull.
Which, okay, that was kind of horrifying. But also kind of hilarious, because Chiara was totally a stick in the mud and now she looked like someone stole her precious book.
“This is some bullshit,” Chiara had mumbled, so the words were more of a shared thought then much of something like a conversation starter. It was quiet though, other than the shadow creature, who was growling and sniffing.
Luka would have likely snorted at Chiara’s amazing discovery that yeah, this was a big pile of bullshit, if it hadn’t been for twin giant red eyes appearing practically right in front of her. Like his gaze was pinpointed on her, hated her for some reason she didn’t understand but decided was probably not entirely her fault yet.
“You.” He had great observing skills, she was indeed herself. She still took an intake of air, stepping back on her left foot, wincing as she kicked at some bone behind her. The bones looked strangely human, that skull looked strangely human.
This giant shadow red-eyed creepy thing hated her and looked like he was about to eat her.
He didn’t leave her questioning his hate for long, his next words, spoken with growls in each syllable, pretty much brought all of his hate to light much quicker than they really should have, “You smell of my father,” he said. Because of course, this was one of Loki’s terrible children. Loki, she decided, was the absolute worst. Luckily, the attention was off of Luka rather quickly, he instead fixed Chiara with a glare, becoming visible as he revealed himself, stalking closer. He had midnight black fur, deadly red eyes, and stood at 13-feet of height.
Chiara...didn’t really appear too disoriented or surprised, and instead fixed Luka with a much-too-calm look, raising an eyebrow, “This oversized dog is related to your guide?” They both knew that wasn’t much of a question. In case they were both poorly left out of the loop, Loki only had one giant wolf spawn.
He licked his lips as he glanced upon Chiara, which was probably the most horrifying thing Luka had ever seen, “And you smell of Heimdallr.”
“Fenrir,” Chiara replied, a mix of anger and ferocity, which was ultimately very shocking in contrast to her earlier fear and doubt. It was like Chiara was truly angry at this creature, as if he did something personal to her.
“Luka, meet my son, Fenrir. Fenrir meet my Champion.” Loki supplied unhelpfully in her mind, as if introductions hadn’t already come and passed. She ignored him instead, eyes wavering between the wolf and Chiara, eyes wide in horror.
Fenrir seemed to be appeased then, licking his lips once more, shaking out his fur as he watched them, as if they were his next meal. “Perhaps it was a gift.”
Chiara then asked her about a plan, though she was too sidetracked in fear and in her own curses internally at Loki to really think up a good one. The blasted thing wanted to eat them.
Still, Chiara had asked, which meant Luka did kind of have to help. Especially if she didn’t want to die right now by being munched on by a blasted 13-foot wolf.
Not making eye contact with her partner in the fight, Luka picked up the bone closest to her and threw it, throwing a sheepish grin at Chiara then as she shrugged, “Fetch?”
Fetch failed, massively. The bone landed, and Fenrir’s attention turned to it, which momentarily made Luka believe her ludicrously stupid thing worked until he turned his attention back to the girls and deliberately crushed the bone under his paw and remarked “I like it when my food fights back,” he paused, lifted a paw and licking at it for a moment. “I will give you one warning and one warning only," and he did give a warning.
Then he ran at them.
The fight that ensued afterward seemed to be a blur. A painful, horrifying blur that was more Chiara and Luka attempting to not be the next entrée at meal time, and Fenrir trying to make them dog chow. Luka got slammed into a gravestone, which wasn’t exactly fun but in fairness was entirely her fault. She had been the one attempting to climb up the wolf’s tail for the simple fact of pissing him off. It had worked, perhaps too well.
Between spitting out the best nickname for Fenrir ever (Fluffy would never stop making Luka laugh) and brandishing a bone as a sword, Chiara was admittedly doing most of the hard work in this fight. Brave, a braveness that demanded respect in every sense.
When the wolf tail-whacked Luka into the gravestone, she crumbled immediately, struggling to get up due to the pain, and Chiara faced off against the wolf again, alone.
“Even the gods would not kill me.” Fenrir had said, red eyes narrowed at the girl. His teeth bared in anger that he had to work so hard for his food. Annoyed.
“The gods will kill you, when your time comes,” The words were cold, and probably the coolest vibe-check Luka ever saw someone receive. It obviously bothered the giant wolf. Though Luka soon lost track of thinking about the humor in that situation. Chiara had balls of steel for saying it, Luka was sure.
At the time, she didn’t have control of her abilities. She shifted, usually, on the basis of strong emotion. Sadness, fear, anger, every emotion took form. As a snake, she had bit the wolf’s left hind leg, seeping venom into his veins. Obviously such little venom wouldn’t kill a monster like him, but it slowed him.
It also served to have him lash out. He pinned Luka under a paw, and she lost sight of Chiara when she reverted back into a human, struggling for hair beneath his heavy paws. Unbeknownst to Luka, Chiara had likely saved her life, sharpening a nearby bone with a stone, and stabbing Fenrir’s side with it.
When the weight was removed, Luka heard the fighting continue, rather than seeing it. She heard a small cry of pain, cut short, heard three distinctive thumps into the ground, and saw Fenrir stagger away back into hiding.
Falsely, she had assumed he had gotten his ass handed to him by Chiara. Falsely, she believed that his retreat had come without a cost.
Cockily, she had pulled herself up, stretching a bit to try and help the soreness in her bones, wincing as the cut from her slam into the tombstone seemed to rub against her shirt wrong. “Alright, Chiara, we have to-” she turned to address her teammate, only to stagger back with eyes wide.
Chiara was dead.
Blood coated everything, her arm was seeping in a river of red, turning murky upon to grass and dirt, particles of brown mixed into scarlet. Luka couldn’t breath for a moment, fear and sorrow latching onto her heart like a vice.
That was, until she saw the faint rise and fall of the girl’s chest. She wasn’t dead yet, but horribly injured, her arm looked like it was hanging on by a thread really.
Floundering slightly, she almost chuckled in relief, overcome by annoyance because Chiara made Luka believe she was dead and that was horrifying, “Could you have at least waited 10 minutes so we could find a way out?!” she questioned her unconscious destined rival.
They got back to the Pantheon fine, blood covered for sure, and Luka hadn’t stopped complaining for a very long time about Chiara sleeping on the job. Still, Luka was glad it had ended as well as it had. That Chiara didn’t die on that day.
If they both hadn’t been there for each other though…
Luka didn’t like the possibility that they would have died. It was a certainty in her mind. Even worse, they would have been dog food.
At the end of the day, Lucien had healed her, though Luka felt pity for her friend as he was overcome with Chiara’s pain and almost blacked out himself.
It had left a large scar on Chiara’s arms. It looked badass though, but Luka could tell it bothered Chiara, from time to time. It bothered Chiara how close she had come to death.
———
Set’s words had evidently frightened Chiara a little; even in the dim light the flash in her eyes wasn’t hidden. But she was good enough at hiding it, settling her face into a careful mask, even allowing a smile to tug at one corner of her mouth as she turned the blade in her hand.
“The arm’s doing well enough to kick your ass,” Chiara responded to Set, “and last time I didn’t have a sword, so I’m thinking I like my chances.”
The problem, as far as Chiara knew in that moment, was that she was alone.
She didn’t have Luka this time.
Not that she knew of, at least. Unknown to Chiara, the short girl had been hiding behind the ice-cream truck for a large majority of Set and Chiara’s conversation, lost to her own thoughts. How was Set there, one his own, without a guide? Why was Chiara talking to the guy?
It left that feeling, that instinct that something was horrible wrong growing.
Set tutted at Chiara then, looking relaxed, dignified, as if Chiara was nothing more than a passing nuisance, “Last time you faced a child with daddy issues.” he reminded, starting to circle the girl, sand billowing up with each of his footsteps.
“Please,” Chiara scoffed “all the gods have daddy issues. He’s not special, and neither are you.”
But she was bored with the conversation now. He’d drawn her out her, her ability to sense danger leading her right to him.
She’d come here to address the danger he represented, not to talk.
“I’m sure you’re a very talented conversationalist,” Chiara continued “but I find myself bored. I don’t have all night to get rid of you and your stupid blip on my danger radar, so let’s do this.”
“Alright kid,” Set seemed genuinely amused by her, but not even amusement could save her now, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he tutted, simply flicking his wrist as the sand seeming to hover around his footsteps aligned together into a whip, snaking out to curl around her ankle and tug. An action that sent her flying into the sand banks, like a child throwing a doll.
The god paused in his steps, flashing a cruel grin at Chiara after his attack, “You mentioned your sensory for danger? I feel flattered,” he crooned then, raising himself up a bit with pillars of sand under his feet, “Now that I’m free, it’s nice to know that at least someone recognizes I’ll be their end.”
Sending more particles of the sand, aiming them for Chiara’s face, his grin broadened, “I really do hope you’re not bored anymore. That would really be quite a shame.”
Chiara had let go of her sword in the chaos as she was thrown, but it was within arm’s reach and so she grabbed it once again, brushing sand away from her mouth and eyes with her free hand.
“You won’t be my end,” Chiara said confidently “just like that failure of a champion you used to have. Try as he might, Ripley didn’t succeed in being the end of anything.”
Laurie and River were still alive and in love, the kids the exiled had kidnapped were safe. Ripley hadn’t even managed to keep hold of his powers or his status as Set’s champion.
The girl rose to her feet, her footing a little unsteady in the shifting sand, but she brandished her sword once again.
“Afraid, Set?” Chiara asked “too scared to let me get close enough for a proper fight?”
She aimed to goad him into a melee fight; that way she could have at least some advantage. Her enhanced senses gave her an advantage when it came to predicting her opponent’s movements.
So she made a rush towards him, with a swing of her sword. Perhaps not the most disciplined battle tactic but if she could force him into a close-quarters fight she might stand a chance.
Set grunted at Chiara, parrying to the left as he brought out a small blade from a sheath he had. Really, for him, it was all he would need. He wouldn’t even need to use it, most of the time, however.
“I don’t fear any mortal, nor do I fear any other god,” He calmly corrected, though an angry fire was set in his eyes, though he laughed a bit, “I wonder what Heimdallr thinks of you, being a good little hero. Surely he must know it’s suicide.”
He kicked out his left leg, kickin sand up towards Chiara again, as if he was puffing smoke into the air. From behind the fallen ice-cream truck, Luka watched with weary eyes, debating intervening.
Chiara obviously was trying to do this alone, and in all fairness, Set hadn’t made any moves to hurt her too horribly.
Though to be honest, most of Luka’s hesitance was coming from that warning from Lucien. A wariness about what may happen if she did intervene.
Sand in her eyes. Annoying, and enough to cause Chiara to flinch a little, but not enough to seriously hurt her.
Another swing with her blade, though she knew he would parry again. She needed a plan. Something cleverer than this. One thing Chiara knew she had was brains. If there was a chance she could outsmart him…
The suicide comment, though, led her to smirk.
“Heimdallr’s own death has been foretold for an awfully long time. The concept of a suicidal fight doesn’t exactly scare him,” the girl retorted “If I can bring you down, even do a little harm to you, before you can hurt the rest of the Ascendants or anyone else then I’ll be satisfied.”
Set predictably parried, though he gave a small pause at her words, rolling his eyes in grandiose fashion as he sauntered a bit closer, “Oh yes, his battle with Loki, how could I forget?” he made a wave of dismissal to subject with his right hand, flippant, it seemed, “The difference is, doll, that I can’t be taken down by a little girl who can sense danger. You seem to forget that you’re mortal.”
With those words, the sand under Chiara’s feet curled up, latching onto her legs, dragging down for a moment, as if trying to pull her into the sand. Within seconds, however, Set stepped closer, and the vines of sand whipped the girl back into the ground, closer to the waves lapping at the shoreline.
Okay, so this was not ideal. She had to think of some way to stop him pulling her towards the beach. In a panic, all she could think of was sticking the blade of the sword deep into the sand as she was pulled back, hoping to create enough drag to slow it down.
It did, but she knew it wouldn’t last long; Set did, after all, control the sand.
She struggled against the vines of sand, fixing Set with a furious glare. If she was going down, she’d make sure she looked him in the eyes as she did.
“Yeah, I’m mortal,” Chiara spat “and compared to you I’m weak. But you gods have a terrible habit of assuming mortals should just bow down to them. Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be, right? The strong rule the weak, and the weak just have to accept their place. But do you know what? No.”
She didn’t stop struggling, her mind going a mile a minute as her eyes flickered around the scene. She had to keep talking, keep Set distracted while she tried to figure some kind of plan out. Any kind of plan.
In fact, coming out here without any plan had probably been among the less intelligent things Chiara had ever done.
“Death means something to mortals. And if I have to die to protect my friends? Yeah, I’ll take that deal. Rather that than die for nothing.”
Lane flickered through her mind then. Because what had Lane really died for? Some bullshit about the balance of the universe, and Hades’ fragile ego. And Styx just… well, being Styx.
Set shook his head, walking closer to where his vines of sand now held her, dragging her off to the water. He leaned down, giving the vines pause, as he patted her head, as if talking to an obedient dog, “And yet, you’ll die for nothing,” he started, shaking his head, “You’ve done nothing to stop me, I’ll continue on my path regardless of your pitiful attempt at protection.”
He stood at his full height, letting the sand holding Chiara raise up a bit, so she was in the position of a bow. He clicked his tongue a few times, spikes of sand rising up beside him, some dangerously close to Chiara, cutting at skin.
“Such a shame, you had a chance to be a formidable foe, but you, my dear, have to go.” He shook his head again, turning away as if she didn’t even get a spare of his time any longer, “Poor chosen of Heimdallr, she’ll die all alone.”
“She isn’t alone.”
He glanced at the new voice, noticing a short figure brandishing an umbrella, of all things, with a sharpened end, needle-like. Luka glanced at Chiara for a moment, seeming agitated, “You’re supposed to be the smart one, the one who thinks things through, damnit. Now I have to do it for you,” she hissed out.
“Luka,” Chiara’s voice was a little quieter now, having lost most of the bravado she’d been relying on before “you idiot, you weren’t supposed to follow me.”
She swallowed, eyes drifting to the figure of Set for a moment before flickering back to Luka.
“I- I didn’t want everyone to get involved,” the blonde admitted “I just wanted to find out what we were dealing with. If we went in blind it could’ve been like- Luka, we can’t lose anyone again.”
“Yeah!” Luka snapped back, eyes focused now only on Set, it was a stand still, Chiara in the mound of sand, Set holding her there with spikes aimed at her, and Luka standing ready to fire at the god, “We can’t lose anyone, that includes you, Rainbow. Look what you’ve gotten yourself into, it’s an absolute dog’s breakfast!”
She didn’t spare any time looking at Chiara, instead she took steps forward, “You’re an idiot and a fool, both of you,” she barked out, “But Chiara’s right about one thing, you will not hurt our people unless you go through us.”
Set seemed interested now, his attention diverted from Chiara - since the girl wasn’t exactly going anywhere right now anyway - and focusing on the newcomer before him.
“That can be arranged, little champion of Loki.” he threatened “since your friend here is a little preoccupied at the moment, though, looks like it’s just you and me.”
The god smiled a dangerous smile then, his eyes moving back to Chiara, who met his gaze with little of its previous determination, before letting it settle back on the dark-haired girl.
“Let’s make things interesting.”
“Cut the crap, drongo,” The Australian insult dripped easily off her tongue, “And let’s tango,” with a smirk, she shifted her form into that a wolf, black fur was eerily resemblant of Fenrir’s own, with small scars visible on the right front paw and shoulders. The marks of her prior fights and misgivings, some from Set’s old Champion himself.
She charged at the god of the sand, teeth bared as she lunged at him, growling deep, and fire was already summoning around her paws.
Chiara struggled still, eyes watching the fighting now ensuing between Luka and Set. She was held in place by the sand, and couldn’t move any. Instead, she took to looking for escape.
Set deflected Luka’s attack, sidestepping and raising a weapon of his own, a sword built out of sand, holding it out in her direction, “Step away while you can, mutt.”
Luka charged again, fangs bared, lunging up, paws surrounded by flames outstretched. She was halted by a shield of sand Set built, which curled around her at that point, before flicking her to the side roughly.
Skidding into the sand, her form changed back to normal, hair flying wildly as she rolled into a stop. Grunting slightly, she shakily planted her palms into the ground, glaring up at the Egyptian God.
“You know, your guide could have done so much more if he used his abilities to maintain fear. Killing Baldr and Heimdallr, those were cute tricks, he should have been more organized though,” Set regarded both Luka and Chiara then, grinning back at Luka, “Guess that stupidity never really left, did it?”
He was cocky, annoyingly so. Pushing herself into a stand, jumping up and grabbing her umbrella once more, Luka used her key to direct a fireball at Set, humor and mocking in her voice, “You’d get a lot more accomplished if you learned to shut your mouth.”
The fireball hit around his abdomen, causing him to stagger back. Luka knew it wouldn’t do much in the long run, because he was immortal. But causing some damage would do good. It would give Chiara more of a chance to get away. Though by the looks of it, the sand hadn’t budged enough yet.
That was fine, Luka had a lot more where that came from. Now a ton, but enough anger to do so for a while. Pushing off a mound of sand behind her, Luka dove in for another attack, stabbing at Set with the sharpened needle tip of the Umbrella.
He still was able to step to the side, though it did nick him. She could tell by the budding of the cut, and she grinned cockily herself then, “You might be immortal, that doesn’t make you invincible. But you know your fate with Horus ends quite bloody, doesn’t it?”
That served to tick him off some, he swung out with his own sword, lower, she jumped up, shifting forms again, even though it was somewhat draining.
She landed as a smaller target, a small fox, with large ears. He looked momentarily confused, which was good. Whipping her fluffy tail outwards, she slashed more fire towards him, aiming for his feet.
Small chirps of laughter escaped her, glancing at Chiara who was struggling, and seemed to be making some ground in loosening some of the sand. Set quickly retaliated, recovering from the wounds inflicted, by harshly kicking out at the fox.
Which, yeah, that hurt. Getting tossed around never felt good. A sharp pain filled her body from the impact, and she went airborne, shifting midair back into a human, throwing out another fireball in retaliation before she hit the ground rolling once more.
This time, however, before she could get up and start moving, sand wrapped firmly around her wrists, forcing her back to the ground as she tugged uselessly at them.
“Really, Set, so scared of two mortals you have to hold us down to finish the job?” Chiara called out then, and that was really smart, actually. Attacking his ego was good. His ego was big, like, his biggest personality trait at least. Going after it gave them a chance to escape.
“Oh no, he’s just afraid to jump off of his ego, then he’d die by the fall,” Luka sputtered angrily in retort, “Not that Set has any redeeming qualities as it is, so I don’t know how his pillar of self-worth got so high when there’s literally nothing to build it out of!”
Set, sadly, ignored them, stalking closer to Luka then, like a predator upon prey. Steps slow and deliberate. The sword he made earlier of sand dissipated back into individual particles of sand, floating into the air and surrounding Luka then. Set’s way of showing power in the situation.
“Your fate isn’t to fight me, little one,” He began, wiping at his cuts and burns in annoyance. “Really, I’m not your enemy in this situation.” His tone was arrogant, purposeful however, and thus dangerous.
“Yeah, you bloody are,” Luka snapped back, beyond annoyed by his antics, and whatever he was trying to do. “You’re attacking one of my friends, you’ve hurt my people, and if Chiara felt the need to encounter you, that means you’re going to attack my pantheon. That makes you my enemy by default, you idiot.”
Set snickered slightly, arms crossed as he raised an eyebrow, “Such a spitfire, so full of anger, surely I can’t be the cause of it all. After all, I thought we were on good terms. Ripley had treated you so-”
“Don’t.” The word was a quiet one, a command, hissed out and dangerous. “Your excuse for a Champion isn’t the issue here, so don’t bring up things that don’t matter.” Ripley was a menace. To Luka, sure. But to Laurie and River, his actions had been unforgivable.
Set was his Guide, the voice in his head that tempted him to do everything he did. Set was the enemy in this, the danger. He was much more powerful than a power hungry kid. He was the source of that power.
“Fine, all I’m saying is, she’s gotta go,” as the sand moved, Luka could spot Chiara tensing. Something was wrong, more so than just Set and his newfound vendetta against Chiara. “That’s not my job though, I can understand why that would have been agitating. After all, Loki kills Heimdallr,” realization dawned both on Chiara’s and Luka’a faces. “You should have the honor.”
The restraints on Luka’s restraints loosened, the sand seeming to melt slightly, as the particles that Set had set into rotation around her joined together in front of her face, forming the sword formed of sand.
She shook her head, glaring at him, “I am not killing her. She might be stupid but she’s my friend.”
Set wasn’t giving in, stepping closer. He shrugged, offhandedly, “Look, you really think she sees you as a friend?” Chiara then glared up at him, opening her mouth to speak, but sand quickly covered her mouth, preventing any words she wanted to say. Set turned his attention back to Luka in disinterest, “First was exile, now she doesn’t trust you, her leader, enough to tell you she’s going on some mission?” He stepped closer, voice dropping, “How long until she decides to handle you herself? Before she decides to do what Heimdallr wants, and cuts the Champion of Loki out of the picture entirely?”
Luka clamped her mouth shut, glaring at him. Sure, Chiara acted off sometimes, sometimes seemed distrustful towards Luka, but that didn’t mean Chiara would kill her. But Set was right about one thing, Chiara didn’t trust her, not when the others Exiled her, not when she sensed this danger. If Chiara couldn’t trust her, could Luka really trust Chiara? Chiara was obsessive about that Prose Edda book, like she wanted to prepare.
Chiara redoubled her efforts to struggle now, trying desperately to do something, anything. She tried twisting her head but it did nothing for the grip of the sand on her mouth.
She seemed quickly to realise she wasn’t getting out of this one that easily, and fell still. Her eyes settled on Luka, desperately hoping the girl would see sense.
She hadn’t given up, though, on trying to get out of the sand’s grip. Because how did one get out of quicksand, for example? You didn’t move too quickly and try to rush out. That would get you killed. No, you moved slowly. Perhaps this situation called for that.
And so she slowly and gradually tried to move, little by little.
“Kid, he’s just trying to get you to turn against her,” Loki warned inside her head, and yeah, she wasn’t stupid, she knew that. She didn’t get a chance to respond though.
“Ragnarok dictates you’ll kill one another,” Set pointed out then, seeming to pick up on the change in her attitude, the fight fading into obedience. Loki had picked a girl that lived on rebellion and also stages of obedience, doing whatever she needed to survive. She was doubting her allegiance to the chosen of Heimdallr, her fated enemy. So Set continued, “Either you both take one another out, or…”
Chiara knew where this was going, of course, but she could get no more out than a muffled sound of protest. Besides, Set wasn’t paying attention to her; she was incapacitated. This was about Luka now.
“I take her out before she gets the chance,” Luka finished. A hand rose, free of the sandy constraints, her hand tightening on the hilt of the sand-made sword.Cradling it then in both hands. Her gaze then trained on Chiara, eyes narrowing in determination. “Before she turns on me.”
--
A distress call at God knew what time. That was never a good sign. Who was in danger now? River at the North American Pantheon? Dillon at the European one? Naida in Asia? Irene in South America? Cleo in Africa?
Lucien grabbed his bow and headed to the portal, and found the source of the distress signal indicated on a screen next to it in order to tell him where he was heading.
Surely not? That was a research base, nobody threatened attack there.
But then again, Luka was running it. Plus, that was a base for Ascendants with particularly powerful abilities who needed the space and… lack of civilians… that Antarctica provided in order for them to be able to learn to use them safely.
Danger there wouldn’t be entirely unexpected.
So the leader of the Australian pantheon leader stepped through the portal into that darkness and that falling feeling.
It looked like he was going to Antarctica.
He emerged from the portal into a room that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but which he’d only been in a few times. He hadn’t visited Antarctica all that often; he instead thought it was nicer to encourage Luka to visit him. That way she could come back to Australia for a while.
A member of the Pantheon was already awaiting his arrival, a young teenager he didn’t recognise. Still, this kid must be powerful, Lucien figured, or he wouldn’t be at this Pantheon.
“You’re Lucien, right?” the boy asked urgently
“Yeah?” Lucien responded, but he was concerned that neither Luka nor Chiara had been the ones to greet him “What’s going on? Where’s-?”
He was interrupted by the boy grabbing his wrist and pulling him through the building.
“There’s no time to explain. You’re the first one to arrive,” the kid explained “I sent a distress signal to the others as well.”
That unsettled the Apollo champion even more. This was so bad that the kid had summoned everyone?
Lucien sure hoped this boy was right about whatever he thought was so dangerous.
Eventually the pair stopped outside of an open door, and the gold symbol of Gjallarhorn on it was enough to indicate to Lucien who the occupant of that room was without him even having to look inside.
But he did. Inside were Chiara’s neatly organised things. A bookshelf filled with books that were obviously well-loved and cared for. Not a single rip in the spines, no dog-eared pages. Chiara was careful about that.
He quickly noted that the room was empty, though the light was left on. The first thing that seemed strange was the fact that the wardrobe was thrown open. It was filled with Chiara’s clothes; carefully ironed shirts and cardigans, pants and skirts. Only one hanger was empty at that moment; one from among the section of the wardrobe containing her jackets. Obviously the girl had left in a hurry to leave the light on, her wardrobe open and the door ajar.
But that was when he noticed the book on the bed. He recognised it instantly as that book Chiara had been reading over and over ever since she first became a champion - the Prose Edda.
And the book was open on a particular page. The young man laid his bow onto the bed and picked up the book. He quickly scanned the pages over, his eyes widening as he dropped the book back onto the bed in shock.
The pages were about Ragnarok.
He turned quickly to the boy who’d led him there, panic in his eyes.
“Where’s Luka?” he asked quickly
“She’s gone too.” the boy replied helplessly, his voice shaking a little as he picked up on Lucien’s fear
“Shit.” Lucien muttered to himself
He knew what this was about. The prophecy. God, he wished Apollo hadn’t ever shown him that. It was pretty clear now that the two girls were in danger - and Lucien’s prophecy had told him exactly how this was going to end.
They couldn’t lose another.
“Get the others to hurry the hell up,” Lucien informed the boy “Luka and Chiara are in danger, and we don’t have time to wait for them. Tell River to bring Laurie; the more fighters the better.”
The kid ran and rushed off to do as Lucien has instructed him. Meanwhile, Lucien sighed and picked up his bow, his eyes drifting back to the book on the bed.
“Luka Ravana, Chiara Belcher, what have the two of you gotten yourselves into this time?” he murmured to himself
His moment of musing done, he rushed to the portal. He could greet the others as soon as they arrived and explain the situation.
And most importantly, they could try and figure out where Chiara and Luka had gone. Whatever was going on, they shouldn’t be on their own.
And no matter how much Apollo insisted the future couldn’t be changed, Lucien was determined to do everything he could to ensure that this prophecy wasn’t realised.
——
Chiara really hated this situation, something was buzzing in her head, the hairs on her arms standing straight up. Her gaze locked on Luka’s, who was swaggering closer, deliberately slow.
Her ears were ringing, her head pounding. Her senses seemed even more heightened than normal. She could hear the rushing of her pulse in her ears, almost enough to drown out the cacophony of sounds from around her, from the crashing of the waves to the sound of the sand beneath Luka’s feet as she approached.
A pulse that was speeding up with every step closer to her Luka took.
Sand billowed around them, it was a windy day at the beach, and the sound of waves was distant and yet so close. The smell of the saltwater was hanging in the air. On any other day, it would be perfect for camping out at a place where all of their elements could combine. It left Chiara wondering why Set chose this place, of all places, to prepare an attack. But there was something even worse than Set there.
Surely it wasn’t Luka? No, it felt like it could come in any direction, every direction. Maybe that’s what death did, though, signalled a great danger.
Maybe it was Heimdallr’s sick way of making sure she knew she wasn’t getting out of this alive.
Luka stopped, about five feet before Chiara, fixing her with a malicious grin. “You know, Rainbow, I really thought you would’ve found a way out by now,” the words were said in that classical condescending tone. “I thought you were supposed to be smart?”
Had Chiara been able to speak, she probably would’ve come up with some sarcastic comment. Or some way of telling Luka that she was working on it, you little asshole, but that wasn’t exactly possible, and she had to satisfy herself with a narrowing of her eyes.
Luka glanced back at Set, yawning then, “You know, I’m supposed to kill her in a real fight. Her being held down makes it too easy.” Her gaze flickered back to Chiara, full grin once more, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail laying down her back, “And really, even if she’s an idiot, this really ought to be fun, aye?”
Chiara really couldn’t tell whether Luka was serious, or whether she was on Chiara’s side and trying to get Set to let her go. That was the problem with the Champion of Loki; she was so unpredictable that in Chiara’s head either scenario was entirely possible.
And if it was the latter, she couldn’t let Set know she thought that, so she didn’t give up in her attempts to get free of the sand.
Set rolled his eyes, “I don’t see why it matters if she’s dying,” he turned back to Chiara though, grin in place, “But either way it won’t do any good in the long run. She’ll be much too preoccupied soon enough.” The sand relented, drawing back almost like a liquid wave.
Luka stepped closer to Chiara still, eyes focused, “You don’t trust me.” She pointed out, as if reprimanding Chiara rather than being really agitated, “You need to start trusting me,” she lowered her voice, “And we really need to do the Harry.”
She extended a hand towards the Champion of Heimdallr. Meanwhile, from the treeline, distantly, large looming creatures of all kinds seemed to be coming closer, silhouettes of people mixed in.
The suggestion that Chiara didn’t trust Luka was somewhat amusing to the girl at first. So maybe she didn’t fully trust Luka, but given this whole situation she was starting to feel like she’d been right not to.
But Luka’s next words had given her pause. Chiara’s lips thinned a little at Luka’s instruction to trust her. Chiara had trusted far too many people and watched it go wrong. But she nodded slightly. Extended her hand to Luka in return.
But that was when she noticed the silhouettes in the treeline. The danger she’d been sensing; her eyes widened, the whites flashing in the low light.
Maybe those creatures were only something Chiara could see, being as distant and as hidden in the dark as they were. Luka noticed the faint flash to her eyes, looking at her with a tip of her own head, “Chiara?” She questioned, already sounding absolutely annoyed and no longer at all genuine, “What’s the John Dory now?” Her impatient way of asking about what the hell was going on now? Can we please go home?
“She won’t be of much use now,” Set commented, like Luka hadn’t surprised him a bit. “Really, it would have been better if you never came.”
Set’s words had barely gotten through to Chiara, who was focussed on the figures. Luka couldn’t see them, of course; Chiara’s enhanced vision had allowed her to better see the movement out there. Either that or she was going crazy.
“The John Dory,” Chiara hissed “is that we’ve got company and I don’t exactly think they’re here for a tea party.”
She indicated with a tip of her head the figures, hoping against hope that now she’d told Luka about their presence, the other girl would notice them. Would understand what she was talking about.
But Set was right, it would’ve been better if they’d never came. If Chiara had never come, more specifically, because it was her fault Luka had followed.
“I’m sorry, Luka,” Chiara murmured “I should’ve done this better. Sent a message to the others, told you what was happening.”
Luka pushed her forward, growling slightly as her eyes seemed to adjust in the dark to where Chiara had pointed, one of her more animal-like instincts of adjustment, “Okay, ew, stop being sappy.” She started, “And let’s get out of here.”
She raised her umbrella, opening it, the portal opening up before them. Yet, it closed immediately, sand snatching the key from her hands and yanking it closer to Set.
The god picked it up, glancing at it in boredom, before throwing it behind him, raising an eyebrow at the girls, “That little trick won’t work either. You decided to come, and now you’re going to stay.”
“I hate him,” Luka grumbled, throwing her hand down in agitation. Luckily she still had the daggers, because from how it was looking, it was going to be another fight. Her gaze focused on Chiara then, “I can’t believe I’m asking, but, do you have any ideas? At all?”
Chiara had watched Luka’s key be taken from her, and was relieved by the knowledge that she herself still had hers, the bracelet hidden by her jacket and kept from Set’s sight. She couldn’t use it yet, of course, because if she did Set would know and would immediately try and take the key. But if they could find a good moment…
“Yeah, I’m not exactly a fan either,” Chiara commented dryly “but as for a plan…”
She kept her voice lowered to avoid the god hearing them, her nervous gaze flickering to the figures in the treeline for a moment before returning to Luka.
“I don’t know.” she muttered “but I think if we can find a way to distract him, I could make a portal without him noticing and we could get away. Regroup, send a distress signal to the others. Send Lane to gather those of the first wave who aren’t leading Pantheons; we’re going to need everyone.”
“You’re right,” probably two words Luka had never said a day in her life, “If Lane can contact Pascal, she’ll be able to get immediate help.” She seemed to ponder for a moment, unsheathing her snake-like daggers, the ones she received in exile. Her eyes flickered over them, she barely ever used the black blades, when she did it was in pure anger at the others. Training alone at night.
She tightened her grip on them, “I’ll distract him,” Luka had thought it over, “Right now, your senses are probably imploding your small head,” she fit an insult in, at least, “So you’re probably not going to be the best at fighting right now.”
Luka didn’t say much else, looking at Chiara before returning her gaze to Set, who seemed to be waiting for them to speak up. “Since you were sappy, here’s my sappy. I’m proud of you, if this would have attacked the pantheon…” she trailed off, looking to the side, “Right now isn’t the time for guilt, okay?”
For a second, Chiara looked at Luka as if the girl had grown three heads. She’d never heard Luka say the words ‘I’m proud of you’ ever. Not once. And sappy was really not Luka’s thing.
But Chiara grabbed the sword that luckily had not been completely lost to her in the chaos. She likely wouldn’t need it if the plan went well, but having a weapon in hand never hurt.
“Luka,” Chiara began “you’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, and I’ve met Lucien. But I’m with you.”
She trusted her, she wanted Luka to know that.
But she looked to Set before her gaze went back to her friend, a new determination in her eyes.
“You ready?”
She was prepared to move while Luka distracted Set. Ready to make this portal so they could both get away. And maybe this whole thing would work out without anybody getting too badly hurt.
“I’m never not ready.” Luka commented, like an asshole, “What do you take me for? A bogan?” Teasing, that’s how she handled these situation. Something to ease up the stress.
Offering a smile to Chiara, a nod of her head, Luka stalked back towards Set, “Hey fluffy,” she started, “I’m getting real tired of your shit, sir. I’d really hate to steal Eydan’s job.”
That seemed to do….something in terms of pissing Set off. The god coldly regarded the girl, “Don’t mention that pathetic Champion.” He warned.
Luka lunged at the god once more, and Set made a new sword of sand parrying the attack of her daggers.
Meanwhile, Chiara was making her move.
Trying, while the god was distracted by Luka, to move away. Just slightly more out of his immediate line of sight. If she could make it so she was close enough for Luka to be able to get to her quickly, but not so obviously visible to Set that he would see Chiara making the portal too quickly.
She ran, moving away but making sure Luka could see her. Well, as much as she could, anyway. She needed the other girl to be able to plan her route over to Chiara before the god could stop the portal.
Landing a few good hits on Set, most with fire or small cuts, Luka had boastfully stepped back after one particularly good hit, panting slightly as she glared at him. From the side of her field of vision, she spotted Chiara making her path. That was good, making a path would be important.
For now she had to keep Set preoccupied, “I thought I was just a mortal, sure seems to me like I’m kind of kicking your ass.” She decided to point out.
“And here I thought you were useless,” Set’s chuckle sent a small chill down her spine, but she remained rooted to her spot, staring at him defiantly, “Such a shame you picked the wrong side.”
“I don’t do sides.” Charging in a curved motion, Luka swung out to the left, knowing he’d dodge right, before she threw the dagger in her left hand in his direction. A move River had taught her, long ago, when the Pantheon was still one.
She watched in amazement as the dagger sunk into the god’s bicep. Obviously it wouldn’t kill him, but the blow was impressive all the same. Grinning, she charged forward again, slashing out with her remaining dagger.
He sidestepped, grabbing at her wrist and twisting, causing the dagger to clunk unceremoniously into the ground. Though Luka was never one to give up, her blue eyes flashing in annoyance as fire blazed to life in her palms, burning at her wrists.
Set yelped as he staggered back, though something cruel lay in his eyes, like some part of this was some game. Luka growled at him, a hiss escaping her, very snake-like in sound, though it divulged into a grin, "What, am I pissing you off?"
Chiara had seen that Luka seemed to have been holding her own over Set. Now was the chance for Luka to get away, while she was still managing in this fight. If she waited too long her friend would start to tire, and she’d get hurt.
So it was at that moment the girl moved to touch the bracelet on her wrist, twisting the little Gjallarhorn charm at the end of it.
The portal shimmered to life, and Chiara looked to Luka, praying her friend would be able to rush over quickly enough. Before Set could notice.
Little did Chiara know, Set had very much noticed.
Pulling the dagger from his bicep, Set kicked Luka back, tossing the dagger at her in agitation. The wound would likely scar, and that would be an embarrassment itself, to be scarred by some mortal. Though the girl was cradling her wrist, the same one Atticus stabbed a root into all that time ago.
Despite Lucien’s eventual healing, it still was prone to being hurt. Right now it absolutely burned, though the adrenaline was helping some of the soreness in general from being thrown around. Both Luka and Chiara were littered in tiny wounds.
Luka scrambled back up, taking her chance to start running for the portal. Set watched, smiling then.
“There’s a reason I wanted you here,” His words were directed at Chiara, as if Luka was no more than a nuisance, “That little sense of yours just draws you out like a moth to flame, doesn’t it?”
Chiara was disgusted by him, but confused by why he hadn’t closed the portal yet. She wanted to wait until Luka got through, so the portal wouldn’t leave the Champion of Loki behind to face Set alone.
Grabbing her own key from the sand, Luka turned, pushing herself to go as fast as possible. She had mistakenly placed distance between herself and Chiara in order to keep Set distracted.
Sand rose up, swatting at Chiara’s side, knocking her off balance. Spikes of sand started forming midair around Set, almost like spears. All directed for Chiara.
The portal seemed to be fading, they never stayed open too long. They were running out of time.
“You, Champion of Heimdallr, are too much of a threat to leave here,” Set commented, “Sure, Loki’s little nuisance is a bother, but she’s not the one I weeded out.” His eyes remained stony as they settled on Chiara.
All the pikes moved, forming into one larger sand pike, tip sharp and large. Right in front of him, directed at her.
“Enjoy Valhalla, Chiara Belcher.”
The pike moved, and everything went too slow. The creatures and exiles moved in closer, though something seemed to be distantly encountering them. The pike of sand moved closer, fast, and Chiara closed her eyes, bracing for impact.
She really thought she should have felt more...well, just more. Some wave of emotion, some profound thought.
But instead, it was like everything Heimdallr had given her seemed to fade away. The thudding of her heartbeat, the rushing of her pulse, it faded almost to nothing. The roar of the waves nothing but a muted and distant crash.
It just felt calm, quiet. Like everything was slowed down. Almost like when she was a kid and she used to hide under the bedcovers with a book so her parents couldn’t see the torch and make her go to sleep.
But the peace didn’t last as long as she thought it would.
Steps, close, a yell, panic, chaos, pain.
“Chiara!”
The tearing of flesh, the crush of bone.
It was too late.
——-
It took longer than Lucien would’ve liked for the group to come together, Naida and Irene being the last stragglers to arrive.
But he’d explained the entire situation to them, including his vision, and as a group they’d headed through the portal to the location Chiara and Luka had both gone earlier.
Lucien emerged from the blackness onto a starlit beach.
The first thing he saw, though his eyes had not fully adjusted to the low light, was two figures on the sand. One lay on the ground, another knelt beside the other figure. Both shapes seemed feminine in form.
A sword lay on the ground next to the pair.
The kneeling figure seemed past the point of panic and was now weeping, one hand laid upon the hand of the other girl.
As they approached, Lucien noticed the way the blonde hair of one figure caught the starlight.
“Luka!” Lucien screamed
He rushed forward, the others on his heels, and knelt on the other side of the fallen figure. Dark hair spilled on the sand, mingling with dark blood.
Chiara knelt on the other side, tears streaking her cheeks as she mumbled incoherently. It sounded almost like apologies, like ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. The Champion of Heimdallr’s sword lay on the ground where she’d dropped it in her rush to help Luka.
Cold panic flooded the young Ascendant. He pulled off his leather jacket as if that would somehow help, lifting Luka’s head and rolling up his jacket to put it beneath her neck. Trying to ignore how cold her skin felt, trying to ignore the fact that she wasn’t still losing blood. A gaping wound, straight through the dark-haired girls chest, protruding back behind her, the area between her shoulder blades.
“No,no,no,no-“ Lucien muttered rapidly, his voice panicked
The Champion of Apollo laid his hand on Luka’s, dropping his head so his chin touched his chest and closing his eyes.
He waited, but that feeling of golden light that usually came did not.
“Come on…” he murmured “come on, you stubborn goddamn Aussie-“
He tried to clear his mind, but still nothing came. The boy started when a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Lucien, stop,” a male voice said gently “leave her now.”
His eyes flew open, and he looked over his shoulder to see River’s form behind him
“No.” Lucien said determinedly, angrily, but his voice quickly rose in pitch “No, I’m not going to stop, I can still-“
River pulled him to his feet then, though Lucien struggled and fought against him.
“It’s too late,” River tried to soothe, but his voice cracked as he spoke “it’s too late now.”
“NO IT’S NOT!” Lucien was yelling now
But when he tried to keep fighting to pull away from River, the older Ascendant pulled Lucien into a hug. Lucien didn’t know whether it was to soothe or restrain him.
“She’s gone.” River said firmly, his voice thick now
“It happened again.” Lucien’s voice was quiet now, barely able to speak properly without tears choking his voice “I was too late again.”
Meanwhile the other Ascendant leaders had approached Luka’s body. Some were trying to soothe the sobbing Chiara, who still wasn’t making a lot of sense with her words.
She was explaining how Luka had jumped in the way of the attack, gotten impaled. She’d saved Chiara’s life but had sacrificed hers in the process.
Some of the others were already trying to clean up her body. Moving her away from the blood-stained area of sand where she lay, grabbing her weapons so she could have them with her.
Trying to wipe away the blood, the blood that was everywhere. It could be washed away, but none of them would ever forget it.
Dark blood soaked into sand.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 17, 2020 17:19:48 GMT -5
DO NOT TAKE AS CANON - SUBJECT TO CHANGE
A flash of blinding light flooded Lucien’s vision with white, the boy having to avoid shielding his eyes as the camera clicked.
“Another,” an irritated male voice instructed shortly “and this time hold still, kid. And hold the number up so we can see it.”
Lucien lifted the number he held in one hand, which read ‘07’ on it. Above the number was written the words ‘Operation #3862: Pantheon’.
He’d been given the number seven because they were photographing and interviewing all of the leaders first, and Lucien was the last of those seven.
With the other hand, waiting until the perfect moment before the picture was taken, Lucien held up his middle finger. It was the only decent picture he’d taken so far, so they’d have to use it in his file.
The suited, angry-looking man who’d taken the photo tutted, but moved from behind the camera to grab Lucien by the elbow and pull him out of frame.
“Alright, you little shit. Time to get this over with.” the man grumbled
———
“Please state your name for the recording.”
The blond boy leaned forward towards where he was fairly sure the microphone that recorded their conversation lay, folding his arms across the table as he did so.
“None of your goddamn business.”
The suited man across the table, illuminated by a light so stark it deepened the lines of his frown into canyons, glared at him.
“I’m going to need your full name on the record before we can begin the interview,” he said through gritted teeth.
That was when Lucien smirked, clearly enjoying how easy it was to wind this stupid government agent up. It was almost too easy, easier than it was to wind up River, or Cleo.
“Oh, my full name?” Lucien asked as if he’d been confused “okay, well that would be...none of your goddamn business, asshole.”
The man seemed to lose his patience even more then, pulling his seat closer to the table, the horrible scraping sound echoing in the room.
“Kid, I’ve had to interview six of your little band already today and I’m fast losing my patience. You can either state your full name as I have it written in the file or be referred to as Subject 07 for the rest of this interview. Is that understood?”
Well, normally Lucien would go to any lengths to defy this guy in order to irritate him, he didn’t much like the idea of being referred to by a number for the entire interview. So he rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an irritated frown. This guy had taken all the fun out of this.
“Lucien Alexander Fairfax.”
“Thank you, Mr Fairfax. And your date of birth, and birthplace, if you please.”
The boy sighed, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket as he avoided eye-contact with the man.
“March 23rd, 2003. Chicago, Illinois.”
The man gave an affirmative noise, obviously satisfied that all of the information in Lucien’s file had been corroborated well enough. Lucien looked up, though, at the click of the door opening.
A young woman entered, in the same formal kind of suit the man interviewing Lucien wore. She had brown skin, dark hair. She reminded Lucien of Chiara in her neatness, in how precise her movements were. She took a seat next to the man.
“For the record, Agent Williams has just entered the room. Also present in the room and leading the interview is Agent Larson.”
Lucien’s eyebrow raised then, the boy unable to help himself.
“Do you always talk about yourself in third person, Agent Larson, it is it just when I’m around?” he asked mockingly
Agent Larson looked annoyed, his lips drawing together, but he didn’t comment on Lucien’s words. Agent Williams, however, did.
“You seem to enjoy running your mouth, Lucien.” she commented calmly “That’s good for us; those are usually the easiest interviews to control. People like you are the ones who tend to give the most away.”
Okay, well Lucien really wasn’t liking Agent Williams. And how right she seemed to be.
Her words had given Agent Larson enough time to recover, and he jumped in then.
“Can you please tell us your role within this group that call themselves the Ascendants?” Larson questioned
Lucien leaned back in his chair then, regarding Larson with some wariness. Still, he had to answer all the same.
“I’m one of the seven leaders.” he explained “the Champion of Apollo.”
Williams rolled her eyes then, spinning a pen between her fingers above the pad of paper she’d laid down on the table, obviously to take notes on.
“We’ve heard an awful lot about this Champions nonsense.” Williams said sceptically “You all seem to think you have some kind of abilities.”
“We do.” Lucien commented with a scoff “You think this is something we’d lie about? You think we all came from around the world as some kind of master plan to trick everyone into thinking we’ve got powers? You think we’re that desperate for attention?”
Williams seemed not to be convinced by that answer, one corner of her mouth quirking a little.
“No.” the woman stated simply “to be quite frank, I think you’re all deluded. Vulnerable kids who all went missing, and something happened to make you all snap.”
Lucien shook his head then, seeming slightly amused.
“Feel free to believe whatever you’d like, Agent Williams. I don’t have to prove anything to you.” the boy replied
Williams seemed to realise she had an opening there, clicking her pen so she could take notes as Lucien spoke.
“Fine. Exactly what are these powers you claim to have?” Williams challenged
Larson seemed satisfied to watch the two converse, eyes fixed on Lucien as the boy remained tight-lipped, staring instead at the wall behind the two agents.
“Answer the question, Fairfax.” Larson snapped
“No, I don’t think I will.” Lucien responded simply “I’m not telling either of you anything.”
Those defiant words seemed to have set Larson off again, the man’s face reddening as his anger grew.
”Son, do you know exactly how much trouble you’re in right now?” Larson threatened “Everywhere you and your little friends have been, there’s been serious damage and injury. This is serious for you, for all of you.”
Lucien still didn’t respond, so Larson simply opened a file that sat in front of him, pulling out a photo and sliding it across the table. At first he refused to look, but eventually curiosity overtook him and his gaze dropped to a photo of a smiling little girl.
”Her name was Felicity Nailor. Ten years old, very bright. A promising student. She was killed when a building collapsed on her - she was visiting her father at his office with her mother and brother. The entire family perished.”
Lucien swallowed, but his gaze settled on Larson properly for the first time since the conversation started.
”That was a building you were seen in the vicinity of. You and all of your Ascendant friends. And that’s one incident among many. So I think you’ll forgive me for wanting to know a little more about exactly what this group of yours is up to.”
Lucien dropped his eyes then, so he only heard Agent Williams’ voice when she spoke up again.
”I’ll ask you again, Lucien. What are these abilities you claim to have?”
The boy’s hands, though is arms were folded, gripped at his jacket just to have something to hold onto. The destruction they caused, he’d never really realised it before. After all, they were trying to do good. To protect from worse things happening.
It was easy not to see the damage.
”I’m the group healer.” Lucien finally said, the words coming out in a rush like he’d been holding them back “and I have enhanced accuracy. I’m not- I couldn’t bring down a building if I tried.”
Felicity Nailor is not my fault. Right?
His words seemed to intrigue Williams, though. The woman leaned toward, eyebrows raised.
”Healing?” she repeated
”Oh good, you’re not deaf.” Lucien shot back, made snarky by the nervousness he felt by how curious her response was. “Yes, that’s what I said.”
The two agents looked at one another, before Larson leaned towards the microphone.
”Interview suspended at 14:53.” Larson said “To be recommenced at a later date.”
Wait... that interview was too quick. Lucien’s pulse quickened, hammering in his neck, as Larson approached and pulled him to his feet, Williams moving to the other side as the two marched him out of the room.
When they got out into the hallway, though, they didn’t walk the way they had come. The three turned down an entirely different, unfamiliar hallway that didn’t seem to lead to the rooms where the Ascendants had been held up until now.
”Where are we going?” Lucien asked, trying to fight against Larson’s grip in vain, letting out a grunt of pain when Larson tightened his grip in response.
Neither of them answered, but they didn’t need to. They soon turned into a room. A room with white walls and floors, what looked like hospital beds, and lots of trays and tables covered in shiny medical equipment. It smelled like disinfectant.
It didn’t take a genius for the Champion of Apollo to know where this was going. He dug his heels into the floor, pulled back to try and escape their grip, but between the two of them Larson and Williams were able to force him forward.
They managed to get him onto the hospital bed, and that was when Lucien realised this thing also had restraints, which were quickly employed to strap him down.
”Get off me!” he raged “let me go!”
He knew what this was about. They wanted to run tests, see the extent of his abilities. And if his new powers were somehow able to be extracted via his blood or DNA - which, given how the Ascendants worked, he doubted was possible - they’d want to know about it. Imagine how much people would pay to be able to heal themselves of anything?
And he probably wouldn’t be the only Ascendant they’d do this with once they found out what they could do.
He struggled still, but the restraints held fast. Larson and Williams leaned over him, Williams watching with some disapproval as Lucien thrashed in his panic, and angry attempts to get free.
”It’s going to be impossible to do anything with him throwing himself around like this.” she tutted “Sedate him, but keep him awake. We need him conscious for this.”
Larson stepped out of view, returning a moment later with a wickedly long needle and a syringe filled with a clear liquid. Williams grabbed Lucien’s head and turned it harshly, exposing his neck more fully. He tried to wrench away, but she held firm.
He could feel Larson’s hand on his neck, and then suddenly a sharp pain followed by the coolness of that liquid entering his bloodstream. Williams let go of his head, which fell back to its original position.
”There, he’s basically paralysed.” Larson commented as he moved to place the syringe back on a tray “but he should stay conscious.”
Williams smiled, grabbing some latex gloves and pulling them over her hands as she leaned over Lucien once again.
”Alright, Subject 07, let’s see what you can do.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Oct 18, 2020 6:03:33 GMT -5
SUBJECT TO CHANGE - DO NOT TAKE AS CANON Another flash of the camera, almost enough to make Laurie flinch as he held up a number for the camera. Apparently, he was subject number 10. Or that's what they'd told him, anyway.
"Stop smiling!" an irritated voice instructed him "Why are you doing that?"
"It's a photo, right?" Laurie shrugged "You smile in photos. Or is that not a thing in America?"
Yeah, he was just being irritating by deliberately ruining the photos and playing dumb about it. He figured that the longer he delayed this before going in for what this guy referred to as the 'interview', the more likely he was to see River. Or hear some news of him. Anything.
But the guy wasn't having it.
"Not in these photos you don't, Frenchie. Hold still."
Another flash and he had what he needed, apparently, because he led Laurie away and down a long hallway.
____________
"Interview commences at 16:02. Present is Agent Larson, Agent Williams and...please state your full name for the record."
Laurie laid his hands on his lap, looking between the two suited figures sitting across the table from him
"Laurent Jean Pierre Bevin, technically. But most documents will only say Laurent Bevin, and everyone calls me Laurie anyway." he said, offering a weak smile at the end
Jean Pierre weren't technically his middle names, they didn't really have those in France. They were just extra given names, a common practice in France. The names of his grandfathers. They weren't actually used except for the most important administrative documents and so his full name would virtually never have been documented.
But aside from his name, Laurie had more important things he wanted to discuss with these two agents.'
"What did you do to River?" Laurie asked urgently "Is he here?"
Agent Larson's face seemed to harden then, the man clearly having no desire to answer Laurie's question at this point. He obviously wanted to keep his cards close to this chest, maybe thought it would be possible to use River as a bargaining chip; keeping knowledge of his whereabouts from Laurie would panic him and get him to answer their questions.
"We're the ones asking the questions here, Monsieur Bevin. Is that understood?"
Yeah, Laurie had heard all that stuff before. It reminded him a little too uncomfortably of his time with the exiled, brought back horrible memories. Enough to make him tense up. But he knew he had to focus. This interview was important. So he just nodded.
"I presume, given your ability to converse with us thus far, that you don't need an interpreter." Agent Williams began "However, I'm obliged to offer you one, and to remind you that you're entitled to one should you want it. Would you like an interpreter, Laurent?"
Laurent shook his head, and Agent Williams rolled her eyes with some exasperation, obviously irritated that Laurie hadn't given his answer verbally.
"For the record, the subject is shaking his head." the agent explained
"Don't you guys have cameras in here?" Laurie asked "I mean...to see me shaking my head?"
"Believe it or not, the 'just in case we find people with superpowers' department doesn't have a huge budget." Williams shot back boredly
Laurie made sure to log that information away. Could prove useful to know.
Agent Larson jumped in then, obviously eager to get the interview back on track. His glance at the clock on the wall of the room had already told Laurie that the agents were on limited time and they would have to move on to the next interviewee very soon.
"Alright, kid, now we just need your birth date and your birthplace and we can get started. It's all procedure, just to confirm your identity."
Yeah, Laurie didn't care too much about them knowing stuff like his name and birthday, so he was happy to oblige with these answers.
"I was born on the 7th of May, 1999." the young man answered "in Bordeaux, France."
Both agents seemed satisfied with his answers so far, and eager to get into the actual interview. But Laurie couldn't stop himself from asking yet more questions. At last if he wasted the obviously limited interview time, they might be able to get less out of him.
"Shouldn't I be under the jurisdiction of the French government? I'm a French national." Laurie pointed out "This is their business."
Agent Larson didn't seem to find that very amusing, jabbing his finger on the table as he raised his voice a little.
"Not when it's American cities you and your friends have been destroying, it isn't!" he countered "you made this our business."
Laurie fell silent then, and it was at this point that Williams slid something across the table to him. He picked up the paper, quickly taking in that it was an article about the group of young people from all around the world who seemed to have gone missing.
Among the photos was one of him.
"For the record, I'm showing the subject Exhibit 10A, a newspaper article about young people who vanished from different parts of the world at around the same time. M. Bevin, can you please state for the record whom the image third from the left depicts? And read the caption for the recording?"
Well, there wasn't exactly any scope for lying at this point. It was pretty obvious it was him, and even if he could deny it, his name was written in the caption beneath the picture.
"The picture is of me." Laurie answered "and the caption says 'Laurent Bevin, who vanished from a nightclub in Bordeaux, France.'"
His reading was a little slow; he wasn't as good at reading English as he was at speaking it. But neither of the agents seemed to care.
"That would be this nightclub, yes? For the record, I am showing the subject Exhibit 10B, a still from CCTV showing a nightclub in Bordeaux."
"Yes."
"And is that you entering it?" she asked, pointing to a figure outside the doorway
"Yes."
There was a moment of silence then as Agent Williams gathered the pictures back and placed them carefully back into the file. Agent Larson took over at that point.
"Now, what quite confuses my colleague and I is how one can just disappear from a nightclub bathroom without the CCTV showing anyone leaving. And how someone who is missing in France can suddenly show up in America - we have evidence of your presence in the country only a week after you vanished."
Laurie laughed then, much to the surprise of both agents.
"Yeah, it confused me as well." he admitted "but I don't have to answer that question. I might be feeling more generous with my answers if I knew whether River was alright."
There it was. The agents weren't the only ones with bargaining chips in this interview. He was pretty sure Agent Williams even looked mildly impressed for a second. Agent Larson conceded with a sigh.
"All you need to know is that the Gellis kid is safe. But it might not necessarily stay that way should you continue to be stubborn about this."
Okay, so Larson might be better at this than Laurie gave him credit for.
"Fine." he answered "Dionysus chose me as his champion, took me from the nightclub bathroom. I went through some portal and ended up here in America with the others. I know how stupid it sounds, but honestly if I were trying to lie to you don't you think I would've come up with something a little more believable than that?"
"It's not our job to believe you, Laurent, it's our job to find the truth." Williams answered curtly "So I imagine your claim is that this Dionysus figure gave you some kind of powers, then? What would those be?"
Once again, Laurie didn't think not answering this one would do him any good. If they really could hurt River, or Echo, or any of the others, he didn't want to risk it. Besides, he was the 10th person to be interviewed. Surely he wasn't the first to admit he had powers?
"Mind control abilities."
That seemed to intrigue both of the agents, and Laurie watched nervously as Agent Larson leaned forwards towards the microphone.
"Interview terminated at 16:07 to be recommenced at a future time."
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