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Post by pallas on Aug 31, 2023 20:06:45 GMT
Idk I made a place for my writings I needed somewhere for my random stuff.
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Post by pallas on Sept 22, 2023 21:46:48 GMT
It was said that it took seven years for all of the cells in the human body to replace themselves. That technically wasn’t true, of course, but the older Laurie did feel like rather a different person to the boy who had gone through hell with the exiled when he’d been 21.
He searched his reflection in the mirror, took in the face he saw there. A little older, but he welcomed the first signs of laughter lines by his eyes, smile lines by his mouth. He had survived more than he thought he was capable of, and as a result he was living in joy. Joy he got to have written on his face.
The man ran his hands through the dark hair, the curls that had long since grown back. These curls had no memory of being pulled and petted by Ripley. No, these were the curls his son played with. These curls were the spoils of a fight for ownership of his own body.
His body had once been a battleground, one of the fronts on which Ripley had waged war against him. He knew well each scar his ex had left him, every one a reminder of a time when he had believed himself worthless and deserving of pain. He had hated them once, but now he understood them for what they were; marks of what he had been through and survived. Besides, how could he hate them now, when his husband loved him for everything that he was, scars and all? The scars to which River would press kisses when Laurie did not mind them being touched, momentarily erasing the memory of Ripley’s cruelty. He had learned to love himself again, and more than that he had learned that he deserved to be loved. And God, did he and River show one another every day how much they loved each other.
He looked and felt better than he ever had with the exiled. He had kicked his smoking habit quickly after his return, thanks to River mostly, and he barely drank at all these days. He didn’t need to numb himself anymore, after all, and he no longer needed cigarettes to anchor him. He’d learned how to show up for himself and be the person he needed, and how to be there for River while also nurturing himself.
It had taken a lot of work and time for he and River to learn the rhythm they had together, but they had. They knew intimately what the other needed and when. River knew when Laurie needed space, when he was jumpy and would startle at loud noises and sudden touch, and when he needed comfort. Laurie knew when River was withdrawing into himself, and he knew when to draw him out and when to let him be. They weren’t always perfect, no couple was, but they put work in to be there for one another in the way they needed.
“You look great, babe,” a voice said, soon followed by the sensation of River’s hands wrapping around him. Lightly, not constricting. Laurie lifted his hand to rest on top of his husband’s, his way of welcoming the touch, and turned to kiss River.
“I promised Guiney I’d meet her for a quick coffee before the fitting,” he answered by way of explanation. Normally he would be quite casual for these things, but he always liked to make an effort when seeing his friends.
River smiled, and the husbands said their goodbyes before Laurie headed out of the bedroom. His next stop was the dining room, where Pip sat at the table with his breakfast. Laurie ruffled the boy’s hair, leaning forward to plant a farewell kiss on his forehead.
“Where’re you going, Papa?” questioned Pip, who had too much cereal in his mouth but Laurie chose not to comment on that.
“I’ve got a costume fitting,” Laurie replied softly “and I’m seeing Tata Guiney. I’ll be back before dinner. Be good for your dad, okay?”
Laurie had always dreamed of becoming an actor, and that dream had truly launched for him beyond anything he could’ve hoped for. He’d begun having successes around the time he and River got married and had gotten his breakout role not long after that. Things had only improved for him from there. Every day he couldn’t believe that things were going this well. It felt like a dream.
“If you’re good we’ll call Aunt Luka later and say hi, okay?” he promised, to eager agreement from Pip.
And as he said goodbye to his son and his husband, he couldn’t help but think about how good his life was. He had once been so angry at Ripley for trying so hard to destroy him, to tear him away from himself until he couldn’t recognise who he was anymore. He’d been full of anger and vengeance. And at that time, that was what he’d needed to feel as he healed.
But now he was realising that he didn’t need vengeance. That his happiness was more than enough. No, Laurie couldn’t shake the complete and overwhelmingly joyful feeling that he had won.
And not for anyone else. Not to rub it in Ripley’s face. For himself.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Oct 4, 2023 23:26:40 GMT
Lucien had been unable to sleep. He didn’t have a lot of nights like this, not compared to so many of the others. Everyone had been through so much that generally on any one night a person could count on at least one resident of the Pantheon to be having a sleepless night.
But he’d been through plenty himself, and sometimes sleep eluded even him. He’d wake up with a weight on his chest, breathing shallow and fast, feeling in a panic. Feeling as if he were in the middle of a fight, and as pinned to the bed as he had been to the ground when Styx had stuck those arrows in him. Usually on bad nights it didn’t take him long before he knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all.
This was one of those nights. He knew almost instantly that he wouldn’t sleep and decided early on to wave the metaphorical white flag and surrender to a night of sleeplessness. With that in mind he decided to try and find somewhere quiet to pass the time.
Padding out of his room, heedless of the coldness of the Pantheon floor against his bare feet, he decided to head to a lounge area, the same one where the others had once played truth or dare. He’d just gotten to the end of his corridor when he heard the scream.
Lucien took not even a moment to think or consider; if his experience as an ascendant had taught him anything, it was how to respond quickly to things like this. He took off sprinting, feet striking the floor.
The sound had come from the Norse wing, he soon discovered. It took little further investigation for him to end up stopping outside of Luka’s room, which he had identified as the source of the noise. His chest tightened.
“Luka?” he managed to get out, to no response that he could hear. The Apollo champion tried the door, finding with a wave of relief that it worked. He didn’t have time to waste if there was something wrong, so he added only “I’m coming in, that okay?” as a warning before he pushed the door open.
He rushed into the room, breathless. The light was dim in the room, but he could make out Luka sitting up in her bed. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, he could see the movement of it. She was pressed up against the headboard, the sheets seemingly kicked away from her in terror. He could see the light catch her widened eyes, which had been moving rapidly around the room before settling on him as he entered. Her body was tense in how she held herself, and in her fright she held energy like a coiled spring, as if expecting to be attacked and have to fight for her life.
She said nothing, seemingly too gripped by terror to speak. But when he entered she tried to scramble even further back, and for a split second there was no recognition in her eyes. Just pure, unadulterated fear.
“Lukes,” his voice held concern for her as he held up his hands in a placating gesture. He was not a threat. He was not whatever danger she’d just awoken from, “It’s me, it’s just me.”
Luka’s look of fear remained for a moment, though it softened, and she seemed quickly to recognise him now. She relaxed just a little bit, but he could see she still sat quite rigidly.
He lowered his hands once it was evident she knew he was not a threat. He stepped a little further into the room but did not get too close, for fear now that he was going to crowd her when she needed to breathe or that she might not be comfortable with him in that moment.
“Nightmare?” he asked, brows furrowing as he looked at his friend.
He didn’t need the shaky nod she gave to confirm it. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t she be having nightmares? After everything, the kidnapping and the fights? After facing Fenrir? Of course all of that would be affecting her, it had to be.
She swallowed and opened her mouth, seemingly about to verbalise the nightmare, before she closed her mouth and turned her head slightly away. He saw her lip quiver, though, and that was when he approached.
He sat on the edge of the bed, not crowding her initially but wanting to offer the girl some comfort.
“I get those sometimes,” he offered gently, trying his best to give her something. Anything at all to try and ease the emotions she was feeling in that moment.
Luka seemed better by now, sitting forward a little and running a hand through her curls with a sigh. She seemed to be trying to steady herself, for he could still detect a slight shakiness in the breath.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she eventually said, sounding hollow to the bones with exhaustion now.
Lucien shook his head slightly, getting a little closer so he could sling one arm around his friend’s shoulder. Lightly, because he knew how she didn’t like to feel restricted these days.
“Didn’t ask you to.” Lucien said gently, but couldn’t resist adding, “The stuff that goes on in that head of yours during the day is wild enough for me.”
That pulled a ghost of a smile from Luka, who elbowed him in the ribs, prompting laughter from the Apollo champion. She seemed to have at least momentarily been distracted from what she was feeling.
He didn’t need to ask what the nightmare was about. He’d heard that fight with Fenrir and he could only imagine how it had been to actually experience it. He’d felt the pain Luka had gone through but that couldn’t compare to the smell of the wolf’s breath, the terror of being pinned in his jaws. An experience Lucien had blessedly been spared thus far.
Luka had not been so lucky, and had dealt with the wolf twice. Who wouldn’t have a nightmare or two after that?
But right now the why didn’t matter. His friend was afraid, and he knew in the light of day she would never have wanted him to see how badly she was affected by everything. How afraid she was.
“I’m not going anywhere,” was all he said, softly, “not unless you want me to.”
_______
Lucien’s mind brought him far too often nowadays back to those rooms. His plain cell with the hunters, so understimulating with its white, clinical design that it was a battle to keep his sanity. That hospital-like room they took him most often for testing. He couldn’t forget that helpless feeling, restrained and sedated just enough to make him compliant. Vulnerable. He’d be in there only minutes sometimes, while they took some blood or something. Other times he’d be in there what felt like hours while they investigated and observed his healing abilities.
They always told him to breathe before they hurt him, as if that was any fucking help. “Alright, deep breath for me,” every time as if they were helping him and not injuring him just to make him heal himself.
Usually they stopped when Lucien started getting nosebleeds, because they didn’t usually get much data beyond that point. They’d tried pushing him further than that, and it hadn’t gone that well.
The Apollo champion sat up in his bed with a cry, heart pounding hard in his chest. He registered his breathing was rapid and for a few terrifying moments he didn’t know where he was. He was disoriented, unable to focus. His skin was cold and clammy, his chest tight, pulse rushing. For all his panicked mind knew for a split second, he could be back in that room.
But then she appeared by his bed. Dark curls and those eyes with their slight glow in the low light. Luka.
If she was there, he could not be back with the hunters. He took a shaky breath, let himself actually take in his surroundings for a moment. He was on a hospital-like bed, but this was also clearly not the hunters base.
He, among others, had been recovering. He’d been injured following his time with the hunters and subsequently the battle with the exiled for control of the Pantheon. He has helped with the healing of a lot of the others but had refused to heal his own injuries. After his experiences with the hunters, the idea of healing his injuries terrified him. It brought back far too many unpleasant memories. Pascal had patched him up as best he could for now and Luka had evidently been assigned to watch over him.
“Hey,” Luka was saying now, quietly, “it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe. Luci, you’re safe.”
Her repetitive soothing phrases called him a little, and he felt his breathing slowing at least. Luke was there, so he was okay.
“I’m not safe though,” she joked lightly, “almost had a heart attack when you screamed like that.”
Lucien felt his lips pull up into a slight smile despite himself, and suddenly the last of that cold wash of fear he’d felt upon initially waking up seemed to be fading.
She perched on the bed, carefully, before pulling another blanket around Lucien’s shoulders and her own. It was warm and comforting, more needed in that moment than he would ever give himself permission to admit. She’d been careful to avoid any of his injuries; he knew she didn’t want to hurt him, but he also knew she didn’t want to face Pascal’s wrath in the morning.
She didn’t ask him to explain anything. Not the nightmares, not the unwillingness to heal himself despite the latter being the reason she was stuck keeping an eye on him.
“I can stay here like this until you fall back asleep.” Luka said “All night if you need to. Alright? You’re okay.”
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Oct 10, 2023 22:58:53 GMT
Lucien should have been glad to see Luka. After she’d first disappeared, he would have been. He’d wanted nothing more than for her to return, to see her safe and back home. But things had changed since then.
When she had arrived back, Lucien had said nothing to her. He’d left her without a word.
Everything he had wanted to say, though, had swirled in a tempest within his mind and he’d known from the moment he’d decided to greet Luka with silence that his true feelings would come out eventually. In fact, since her return any time he ran into her inevitably resulted in a spat.
He couldn’t help himself. Even when he didn’t intend it, all that he could do even when trying to speak civilly to her was spit venom. He was so angry he could barely keep everything contained, but he could tell his spiteful little comments were getting on Luka’s nerves too.
Eventually she addressed it. The two of them were alone together in the meeting room for the leaders, for these meetings were the only time he was forced to be around Luka, before the girl spoke.
“Lucien,” her voice was tight, “tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”
He looked at her, confused that now she appeared to be the one who was angry at him. Surely she had no right to be angry, given everything that had transpired.
“I’m not sure you have room to talk about what anyone else has done,” Lucien shot back.
Lucien thought he could see a flicker of hurt in Luka’s expression, but she regained herself quickly. Her hand reached for a pocket as she spoke.
“I knew you were angry and hurt, but I never imagined that you’d do this to me.”
Her hand reappeared, and lay a small object on the table. Lucien instantly recognised the small yellow stone. The letter ‘L’ for his name was picked out in gold. He knew the lyre symbol for Apollo would be on the other side.
His token.
“Lucien, if you-” Luka broke off, voice thick and evidently failing her at the idea of finishing the suggestion she was about to make.
Lucien just looked away from her, then, which Luka took for confirmation of her suspicions.
“How could you?” she exploded “Everything we’ve been through, and you vote to exile me? I trusted you.”
That got Lucien’s attention, alright, and the boy turned on her with his own explosion of anger. He couldn’t control it, couldn’t hold it back. This was what had been building up inside of him all this time.
“You want to talk to me about trust?” Lucien snapped “After what you did? After you left without a word like that, and hurt me and everybody else while you were with them?”
“I left without saying anything to protect you, dumbass!” Luka retorted with exasperation “You’re not that dim, Lucien. I couldn’t have told you or you’d have come with me. I thought you of all people would have known me and understood I was never really on their side.”
Lucien felt a bitter laugh rising from him, and shook his head in disbelief.
“Me of all people?” Lucien repeated “I thought you of all people respected me enough to think I deserve to be able to make my own decisions without things being kept from me. I thought you of all people knew how sick I am of being condescended to like a child.”
Luka had the grace to look a little guilty there, the first sign that she actually understood how much she had hurt him. But she pressed on regardless.
“I was trying to look out for you.” Luka insisted, and she began to make a sound that Lucien wouldn’t have been able to identify as laughing or crying if it weren’t for the fact that her cheeks were growing wet with tears of hurt and frustration, “I care about you, you stupid fucking asshole.”
Lucien shook his head resolutely.
“No.” Lucien said firmly, uncomfortable with her distress “No. Don’t pretend you did this for any other reason than to make things easier for yourself.”
That was what his father had done when he left him. Disappeared because that was easier than facing things like an adult. Easier than having to see the fallout of the pain he had caused his wife and children.
“If this was about caring about me you’d have never fucking left without a word like that. You don’t do that to people you care about.” Lucien responded hotly, “I’ve done nothing but stay and try to show up for people again and again. Apart from Cleo I’m the only leader who’s been here all the way through this nightmare. You do not get to talk to me about staying and leaving.”
He was the only leader except Cleo who had been at the Pantheon and active without interruption since the kidnappings.
Luka truly turned on him there, with his accusation that she’d left just to make things easier for her evidently striking a nerve. Her expression burned with anger.
“So you were left. Join the club. We’ve all been failed, Lucien, but fucking grow up!” Luke exclaimed in frustration, “I was trying to save our friends’ lives and I’m sorry that took precedence over your feelings, but it did. You voted to exile me just to be childish and spiteful.”
He was taken aback that she thought that. He was shocked and hurt first by the vitriol of her words and then her suggestion that he’d voted to exile her out of spite, but he recovered and his expression darkened.
“That was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make,” Lucien replied “but there was only so long I could keep defending you in my head or tear myself apart trying to figure out what you were thinking. You hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me anything, how was I meant to trust that you were on our side?”
But he shook his head, already able to see that the conversation would go nowhere. Luka’s expression told him that. He might as well be beating his head against a wall. Silence soon settled between them before Lucien gave up on the argument and sighed, making for the door.
He was all too happy to leave Luka alone in there.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Oct 11, 2023 16:38:49 GMT
FLASHBACK - NOT NECESSARILY CANON
”I have eyes.”
The man’s words played unbidden in Laurie’s mind. Dionysus’ champion had not moved, still sitting cross-legged in his spot as if the circle of people had never dispersed. As if shoulders were still touching and laughter still bouncing far too loudly from the walls for the exceedingly early hour.
He reached up a hand to touch the spot on his temple on which not so long before the redhead had unexpectedly approached and briefly but decisively bestowed a kiss.
He still remembered the way he’d felt his cheeks start to flush, the way he’d made some joke to push past the moment because dwelling on it felt dangerous. And why did it? He’d been more casual about plenty more than a peck on the temple before.
Kisses from people he didn’t know the name of weren’t something he was entirely unfamiliar with. So why did this one feel different? What was it about this boy? This Ares champion felt so important in a way Laurie couldn’t articulate. Just a feeling that the name he didn’t know would one day, for better or worse, mean quite a lot to him.
His eyes landed on the plate left from Irene’s monstrosity of a sandwich, the creation of which he’d had little part in because he was far too busy trying not to gag at the heinous ingredients the others were suggesting. And this was coming from someone who had tried more than one regrettable experimental food combination in his time. The sight reminded him that he’d let the others go ahead without him on the promise to Cleo that he would tidy up the remainder of the mess and then join the others.
The tall brunet rose to his feet, stretching stiff legs, and began to collect the rubbish - starting with Irene’s plate, which he wanted take to the kitchen and wash up sooner rather than later. Better to get it over with.
”You clearly like him,” the god pointed out while Laurie reached out a free hand to straighten up a lopsided cushion on the couch. He didn’t know how Dionysus had known about the internal battle Laurie was having with himself, but even so soon after his choosing he’d gotten the impression that there was little point questioning anything when it came to the gods. Especially Dionysus, who didn’t seem like the type to enjoy giving straight answers.
”I don’t even know his name,” Laurie commented dismissively, because he really didn’t want to talk about this right now. He’d already had enough to deal with in the last 24 hours. Being taken suddenly from everything that was familiar to him, his English skills being put to an extreme test. And, you know, the whole chosen (kidnapped) by a god thing. No big deal.
In his head, he could almost hear said god’s smirk. ”Since when has that stopped you?” Dionysus questioned in a knowing kind of way that made Laurie’s stomach twist.
”You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Laurie’s voice had an edge to it that was uncharacteristic for him, his voice firm and decisive enough to shut Dionysus down as he bristled instinctively at the god’s words. The god wasn’t wrong that Laurie chased escape in various forms. It didn’t always work, and more than once hookup culture had taken chunks out of his self esteem. He wasn’t really built for it if he were honest with himself. But this felt different.
This boy was different.
He didn’t know how yet, but he knew it was true. This boy who could have him unravel with a kiss and three words. This boy who, the moment his lips had touched Laurie’s temple, had quelled the whirling maelstrom in his head into a quiet he’d never experienced before. Laurie wanted to know this boy’s name, and so much more besides.
The young man carried Irene’s plate through to the kitchen, holding back a grimace as he washed off the remnants of the disgusting concoction. Thankfully he was distracted from the task as he continued to mull over the boy. The kiss. He couldn’t stop thinking about the spray of freckles, especially the tiny one on the bridge of his nose that Laurie had only spotted when the boy had leaned in close. The intense eyes.
He was dangerous, Laurie knew that. Dangerous because Laurie just knew how terrifyingly easy it would be for him to let this boy see him for all his messiness. To let him know him in all his self-sabotaging, avoidant, self-destructive glory. And it wouldn’t be fair to him.
“I have eyes.”
”He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Laurie muttered as he scrubbed the plate a little harder than he needed to.
If this boy truly saw him, he wouldn’t like what he saw. Laurie was too much work even for himself. He sighed, putting the plate on the dish rack to dry and planting his hands on the counter either side of the sink.
This was all a moot point anyway. So, this man had found Laurie attractive on at least some level. That was it. Didn’t mean anything, certainly didn’t mean Laurie needed to be trying himself in knots about it. There was nothing more to it, and honestly Laurie was far more comfortable thinking that. The finding him attractive thing he could deal with.
But as he finished cleaning up the room, he couldn’t banish the boy from his mind. Every part of him screamed that this man was important, and no amount of scaring himself out of it could convince him otherwise.
And only Dionysus would ever see the smile that played across his face as he replayed the boy’s words in his head, the defensive grumble cementing itself in his mind as he turned the phrase over in his brain.
”I have eyes.”
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Oct 12, 2023 22:50:32 GMT
When Luka had held the missing poster in his face, devil horns scrawled hastily on his head, Lucien had done his best to act unamused but most of all unruffled by the sight of it. He’d even crumpled the thing up and thrown it back at his friend, hands itching to destroy the thing in his hand by crushing it into the knot it had twisted his stomach into.
But it was burned into his memory. The picture was probably the only decent photo of him that existed, because had always hated having his photo taken growing up and ever since had kept up his avoidance of cameras out of spite if nothing else. Generally pictures of him either involved him scowling or were unflattering yearbook photos, and anyone who knew him knew he’d rather die than have the latter see the light of day. This one, this one was decent. He wasn’t smiling, but he hadn’t smiled in a picture since he was a kid. Beside the photo in neat, even font were various relevant details about him. His height, age, weight and his hair and eye colours. His full name, Lucien Alexander Fairfax, printed beneath the photo.
And above, ‘MISSING’ in large bold lettering so nobody could miss it. Even the news report hadn’t made it truly sink in like this had that to the outside world, he was missing. To his mother, his mother with whom he was always guarded, never open because he never knew when she’d withdraw into that place in her mind and isolate herself from him again. His poor mother who had spent years fighting her own debilitating battles in her head and now had the loss of a son to reckon with. To his sister, with whom he had argued almost every day because he felt like he could never be anything but an inconvenience to her, too opinionated and snarky and troublemaking and not perfect enough like her, not good enough at soldiering on like she did. His careworn sister, who worked too much and worried too much and had been forced to grow up too young, leaving her little brother unsure how to reach her.
Lucien sat on his bed in his room, the image of the poster stuck in his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about it as he idly turned his phone in his hands.
Were they beginning to wonder if he might be dead? Would they eventually resign themselves to thinking that? Or would they stubbornly, achingly hold onto hope no matter how painful it was, like refusing to let go of a shard of glass even as it cut your palm? He didn’t know which was sadder, and did not enjoy dwelling on either possibility.
But what had hit him the most hadn’t been the starkness of the word ‘missing’ above his head, or the photo, or any of that. It had been that the phone number at the bottom was familiar. His sister’s. Not her current phone number, an old one from a few years back. Smart of her, using her old phone so she wasn’t sharing her current number and wouldn’t get overwhelmed with contact, with the added bonus that she was probably thinking that if Lucien returned she could easily just get rid of the old number.
But it was her. Elara had drawn up the posters, and given how far from their home in Chicago this one had been it seemed that she’d fought tooth and nail to have them put up far and wide. He couldn’t even imagine the work it had taken her, how much time and effort she must have put in to make sure those posters went out and were even being put up by people as far out as 700 miles from home.
He felt a pang. They’d had a difficult relationship, he wouldn’t try to pretend otherwise, and the fact that she was fighting so hard for him brought up a complicated swirl of emotions he didn’t feel like he had the capacity to unpick in that moment. He swallowed.
Before he even realised what he was doing he’d opened up the new phone he’d gotten since he’d handed his old one in at the police station before he’d been chosen, and found himself typing his sister’s phone number as the recipient for a new text.
How easy it would be to reach out. Tell her he was okay. Make up some kind of lie about taking off on his own because if he was never going back home he would rather she be angry at him than afraid for hin or even worse, grieving for him.
The cursor blinked maddeningly at him, urging him to find the words to fill the silence of the blank space on the screen.
But he couldn’t. Even if he could figure out what on earth to say, he knew he shouldn’t say it. He would only be putting her at risk, in the end. It was safer for the ascendants to disappear completely, that was the point. Besides, if he opened that door with Elara she’d only try to track him down. She was stubborn like that. And she’d never, ever let it go if he contacted her.
It wasn’t fair, but it had to be that way. She’d grieve and she’d move on some day and that would be safer. It hurt like shit, but that was how it needed to be.
Lucien sighed frustratedly, throwing the phone away from him to land further down the bed and putting his head in his hands.
But he still saw the poster burned into his mind’s eye like an afterimage from looking at the sun on lingering on the inside of his eyelids, and that cursor still blinked tauntingly at him from the darkness.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Oct 25, 2023 17:26:10 GMT
The European pantheon was uncharacteristically quiet. The chosen had apparently all tired themselves out with an extra hard training session earlier that day courtesy of a plan created with consultation from River. The other leader had been the perfect person to ask about how he might be able to stretch his ascendants in their training and shake things up a little.
Dillon had been going over some paperwork which he needed to pass on to Chiara, who helped maintain the archives and lived at the Antarctic base. He rubbed his eyes, sighing as he dragged the pen across the page to sign off on another report. He still hadn’t even seen the agenda for the next leaders’ meeting yet amongst this pile, so he knew he had some way to go yet. It was his fault for letting it pile up.
He wanted nothing more to relax and spend some time with Lorenzo but he had to get this done first. He was already behind and Chiara wasn’t usually an angry person but he didn’t want to know what it was like to be on her bad side.
The pen suddenly jerked, slashing the page with a scar of dark ink, when Dillon started. An alarm had broken the peace of the Pantheon, the sound ringing throughout the building with an insistent cry. The leader dropped the pen, pushing the paper aside to rise to his feet.
He instantly knew what to do, heading over to a screen at the other side of the office he was working in. He had to see where this distress signal was coming from. The man’s eyes flicked across the screen, settling on where the signal was coming from. His frown deepened.
Dillon was running by the time he left the room, pausing only to grab his sword from its spot by the door in the office and a jacket from the coat rack as he emerged into the hallway.
He passed by bedrooms, the doors of a few of which opened. Teenagers and young adults stuck their heads out; those who had been here long enough to have heard this before looked anxious, eyes flashing as they looked at the alarms ringing on the walls. Those who were newer blinked in a distant and bleary confusion as they watched their leader run past them.
But as Dillon reached the end of the corridor, another door opened. It was Lorenzo, who had clearly also heard the alarm and stepped out clearly prepared to leave himself. Worry was etched into his face as he stepped out, Dillon slowing down to speak to the other man.
”Which one?” Enzo’s question was to the point, his tone urgent. He grasped the situation.
Dillon had to hope it was nothing, of course. It wasn’t the first time they’d had an SOS call. But he had to respond like it was something. That being said, this time he had a bad feeling. He didn’t know why, but he knew something didn’t feel right.
”Australia.” was the single word with which Dillon responded.
What had Lucien gotten himself into?
Enzo nodded, but looked more concerned than ever. Dillon watched the other man step back to talk to one of the ascendants who had opened their door. One of the older and more responsible ascendants. Lorenzo seemed to be giving them some instructions, to which they nodded before Enzo returned back to Dillon’s side. It didn’t take much for Dillon to figure out that Enzo had given that ascendant some instructions to look after the others, meaning Enzo could go with Dillon rather than staying back to protect the ascendants under their charge.
Dillon would’ve preferred him to stay and protect them, but there was no time to argue. They had to get to a portal and fast.
When the two men emerged into the portal room of the Australian pantheon, it was immediately clear something was wrong.
Nobody was there to greet them, for starters, as there usually would be when a pantheon was awaiting backup. Dillon swallowed as he took in that the door to the portal room looked like it had been forced. The main lights were off, leaving the room illuminated by only the flickering fluorescent emergency lights.
The leader shared a glance with his partner, squeezing Lorenzo’s hand briefly before releasing it and drawing his sword. Just in case.
Leading the way out into the hallways of the Australian pantheon only brought Dillon more disturbing scenes.
The hallways were in disarray, doorways haphazardly flung open and one hanging off its hinges. Silent, far too silent. Dillon’s grip tightened on his sword when the fluorescent flashing light revealed a spattered dark stain on the wall.
”Is that…?” Enzo’s question was more rhetorical than anything. They both knew exactly what it was, had seen far too much blood over the years they’d been ascendants. Dillon just met the other man’s eye and nodded grimly.
The bigger question, the question which was causing Dillon the most dread, was where was everybody?
That was when Enzo seemed to pause, and Dillon instantly knew he must have heard something. The blond began to walk, steps light, and Dillon followed with his sword at the ready.
The other man reached a door that was closed, behind which Dillon now too could hear the sounds of muffled, urgent conversation. Dillon tensed; was this some of the residents of the pantheon, or could it be whoever was responsible for doing this?
Enzo opened the door, entering with Dillon behind him. There was an instant commotion as eyes snapped to him and a figure rushed to draw a weapon.
The low light revealed three figures. Two sat slumped against a wall, one who had been in the middle of lifting their shirt with one hand to expose an awful wound on their torso. The third figure had been crouched in front of the other two, evidently examining their injuries, but now stood to face Enzo and Dillon, sword in hand.
The standing figure, who looked to be a woman in her early twenties, had a panicked look about her. She was breathing quickly, eyes wide. This girl had the terrified look of hunted prey. Dillon remembered her, she was a champion of some minor god or other and one of the more experienced champions in the Australian pantheon.
She’d clearly been expecting an attacker, but the moment she recognised the two new arrivals relief washed across her expression.
Dillon hated that in that moment he couldn’t remember her name.
For now, he lowered his sword, looking between the girl and the other two injured ascendants in concern.
”It’s okay Tahnee, we’re here now and more leaders are on the way. What…what happened?” Enzo asked, beating Dillon to his question and giving him the girl’s name.
Tahnee just shook her head, wordless, terrified and unable to come out with a response. Whatever this was, she couldn’t talk about it yet. So Dillon asked the next best question he could think of.
”Lucien, where is he?” Dillon questioned.
The girl’s eyes drifted back to the exit of the room, her expression becoming more haunted. Even in the inconsistent light Dillon could see that she was trembling now.
”He made the more vulnerable ones barricade themselves in the training room upstairs while the rest of us fought. But we kept losing ground, had to retreat further and further into the building. Last I saw Mr F and some of the others had gone upstairs to protect the ones hiding. But we heard screaming, and I heard noises coming downstairs-“
The woman was close to crying, still clearly utterly terrified. It was clear to Dillon that she and the others had hidden down here so she could tend to the injuries the other two had sustained during the fight. The room was in a mess, furniture upended. It was clear a struggle had taken place in here too, perhaps that which had caused these injuries.
Dillon nodded, trying to show Tahnee that she didn’t need to continue and distress herself. Though he would’ve liked to have left someone with her to help the injured she was tending to, he knew both he and Lorenzo might still be needed. Especially if the threat had not left.
”The others will be coming.” he assured the girl. The fear in Tahnee’s dark brown eyes had abated somewhat, but he still didn’t feel good about leaving her. ”We need to make sure the place is secure, but someone will be coming. Well… we’ll make sure there’s a healer to help you.”
The girl nodded, seeming more confident now. Confident enough to return to helping her friends. Tahnee could manage without a healer for now, though she would need one soon.
Which begged the question: where in all the realms was Lucien?
Dillon shared a look with Enzo and led the way back out of the room and into the hallway, continuing down it to head further from the heart of the pantheon.
The eerie silence was concerning as they moved through the hallways, shadows flitting in and out of existence with the flickering emergency lighting. Eventually they came to the end of the corridor, stepping out into an atrium area.
Dillon sucked in a breath, stopping so abruptly Enzo almost collided into him.
The heavy double doors to the Australian Pantheon had been forced open, the wood splintered and cracked. Blood could be seen along the outer edges of the doors, as if the person who had opened them had blood on their hands.
The body of a young ascendant Dillon did not recognise lay face down just outside the building. It was dark, but Dillon could spot the shadowy shape. Mid-brown hair caught the low light, caked with dust and with blood pooling on the ground around them. Dillon could see no rise and fall to suggest breathing, which might indicate life.
And they weren’t the only one. Another figure lay more distantly outside, too far to identify in the dark. Though clearly a large and sturdily-built person if the shadow of their frame was anything to go by, they looked small as they lay curled into themselves, a spear lying abandoned near their hand.
There had clearly been a struggle outside, weapons strewn around and the ground churned by running feet.
This attack had resulted in loss of the lives of some of the young chosen. And Lucien would have never stood for that, not if he could help it. Dillon didn’t even want to know what state the other leader had to be in if some of his charges hadn’t survived.
An arrow lodged in the doorframe of that main doorway, on the inside, clearly indicated Lucien’s presence. He’d clearly gotten the ascendants to retreat into the building after the loss of the two ascendants outside and most likely the injury of others.
Dillon followed from the angle of the arrow, turning to decipher that it must have been fired from partway up a staircase leading upstairs from behind them in the atrium. Dillon could imagine the scene; Lucien ushering the rest of the ascendants upstairs as they began to lose ground, pausing to fire an arrow to keep their assailant at bay a little longer and buy time for his charges to get upstairs.
”Tahnee said the others would be upstairs. Including the most vulnerable.” Enzo’s voice was tight with barely-contained emotion. Dillon understood it. Not only at the deaths of yet more young ascendants, though both men had seen that often enough in these past years even if it never got easier, but at the knowledge that both men seemed to leave unexpressed.
They were not going to find Lucien safe and uninjured, whatever else they might find.
Dillon nodded silently, leading the way upstairs. More blood on the banister, apparently as someone had placed their hand on it while running upstairs.
When they reached the top of the staircase, the sense of wrongness seemed stronger than ever. The men followed the general trail of destruction, though, which took them through yet another hallway.
A door at the end of the doorway showed signs of splintering, as if someone had tried it hard to force it, but it had not given. Dillon was willing to bet there was a barricade on the other side of it behind which Lucien’s ascendants were hiding.
But that wasn’t what he was interested in.
Just down the hallway from the door, a figure sat against the wall as if propped up. Their head was tipped back and clearly only supported by the wall, and it was clear from this distance that this person was at least unconscious.
The emergency lights flickered again, illuminating blond hair.
Dillon’s breath caught and he rushed closer, sheathing his sword as he went. It seemed that whatever the threat was had passed, anyway, and Dillon was far too bothered by the person leaning against the wall.
As he approached, the truth he’d wanted to deny as he got closer became irrefutable.
Lucien was propped against the wall, and the short trail of blood leading to where he lay seemed to indicate that he had dragged himself there. He was pale, too pale, skin taking on a waxy quality. Far too still. His chest did not seem to be moving.
As Dillon approached and knelt by his friend, unheeding or uncaring of the pool of blood the man was lying in, he took in the scene with shock. Lucien’s right hand lay limply over his stomach, as if protecting what Dillon quickly assessed was a bad gut wound. Undoubtedly what had killed Lucien but, perplexingly, something he should have been able to heal. It wouldn’t have killed him instantly, or it shouldn’t have. The other hand lay limply at his side, palm open. A sword lay just out of his fingers’ reach, as if it had slipped from the man’s grip. His bow lay broken at his other side, his quiver thrown not too far from it.
Lucien’s skin was laced with other cuts and injuries, the hair at his forehead caked with blood from a long cut that had barely missed the man’s right eye. Up close he could see a few silver hairs among the blond.
Dillon reached to Lucien’s wrist, the one on his left hand which had seemingly held his sword not long ago. A gentle pressure from Dillon’s fingers revealed no pulse, and the man’s heart dropped like a lead weight. The slight but fading warmth of Lucien’s skin told he had not been dead for long.
Lorenzo had approached, Dillon was aware from the pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
”Can you go check on the kids? And call Pascal for the injured.” Dillon asked, though he didn’t know where he’d gotten the breath to form the words.
A sound of assent seemed all Lorenzo could manage, then the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hallway. The muffled sounds of his voice appealing to the frightened young people inside to allow him in.
Dillon took the moment of relative privacy to let his head drop. Let his heart break a little. He and Lucien were not especially close, but the men had known one another and worked together as leaders for 25 years. That was far from nothing. He mourned for him, for the leader who over the years had shown just how much more he had to him than anger.
The caring healer. The fierce friend. The dedicated leader. The brother.
Lucien had grown so much from the teenage boy he once was. He’d shown himself to be devoted to the young ascendants under his care, and over the years he’d given so much of himself to the ascendants. Like all of the ascendants he had been afraid, angry, had broken under the pressure. And still he stayed, determined to be there for those that needed him.
He’d been a capable leader, too. Enough that it seemed that the losses to his pantheon had been minimised, if not entirely avoided.
More footsteps suddenly had Dillon alert, but before he could draw his sword a call from a familiar voice indicated to the British man than the approaching individual was no threat.
”Lucien?”
The choked call was River’s voice, and the second set of footsteps Dillon guessed had to belong to Laurie.
”Is he…?” River’s voice was much closer now, directly behind Dillon and hoarse and raw.
Dillon nodded, and he heard the Ares champion’s ragged intake of breath at the confirmation.
It was quiet for what felt like an eternal moment, but then Dillon felt the mood change. He didn’t know how he sensed it, maybe he’d detected a new tension in River behind him.
”Babe,” River addressed Laurie with an edge to his voice that felt ominous. ”Babe, get back to the Pantheon.”
”River?” That was an unsure Laurie, and a shifting sound indicated to Dillon that the man had taken a step closer to his husband.
”Get back, get the kids somewhere safe.” River was insistent, and there was a pause where obviously a taken aback Laurie was delayed in responding. That prompted a sharp ”Now! Please!”
Laurie’s footsteps ran until they were heard no longer, but the exchange between the men indicated River was afraid of some immediate danger.
When Dillon cast his eyes once again over the scene, it became obvious why.
First, Lucien’s key was missing. A small tear in the material on his jacket revealed that it had been ripped from the garment, and it was nowhere to be seen in the hallway around them. Which meant that if the assailant had taken it, they now had easier access to the other pantheons. Directly from the portal rooms in the heart of the various pantheon buildings.
Second, near Lucien’s discarded quiver lay a neat line of arrows. Seven in all, but the first of them was snapped in the middle.
Which might not mean anything if it weren’t so neatly arranged. And if there weren’t seven of them.
And then there was the forced door to the portal room from which the SOS signal had come, as if it weren’t an ascendant who’d pressed the button to send out the alarm at all…
Dillon realised with an icy wave of dread what River had put together moments before.
Whoever had done this meant to target the other six pantheons, probably one by one. And they wanted all of the remaining leaders to know.
”Lorenzo!” Dillon called, voice rising slightly in his new panic as he shot to his feet.
The footsteps were rapid as Enzo rejoined then, looking at Dillon with concerned eyes and clearly trying his hardest not to look at the body of the man he’d always called his Sunbrother.
”You get back too.” Dillon instructed. ”River and I will deal with… with this. Turn off the SOS signal before you leave.”
The other leaders would already be on their way, in fact he could hear Cleo’s voice echoing from downstairs. But perhaps he and River could head the others off, make them get home and up the defences of their own pantheons.
There was the matter of the body, but that was secondary to the safety of Lucien’s ascendants and the safety of the other pantheons.
For the first time in a long time, the ascendants may have to prepare together for an all out war.
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CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Nov 8, 2023 13:01:05 GMT
In. Out. Breathe.
He could do that, for however long this meeting lasted. Breathing, after all, was supposed to be the easiest thing in the world. If he could focus on doing the easiest thing in the world, it might make this meeting, the hardest thing he’d ever done, a little more bearable.
He’d ignored the insults from Gwen, the hateful stares from Atticus. Reacting to them would do nothing - or nothing good, anyway. Gwen at least was relatively indifferent to him in an uncaring kind of way. She didn’t like him, obviously, but she generally didn’t seem to see him as worth putting effort into despising.
Atticus? Atticus was entirely different.
Laurie couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the way those two looked at one another. Ripley made no effort to hide his flirting with Atticus regardless of if Laurie was there or not and Atticus made no attempt to disguise his open hatred of Laurie. As if Laurie had somehow schemed to steal Ripley from him. But how could he say anything? Ripley’s subtle threats thus far in their relationship had not been lost on him, and he was so open about his flirtations with Atticus that Laurie could only expect that being challenged on it would only end up going badly for Laurie.
The boy sat next to Ripley now, trying for all he was worth to calm his nerves. His heart was racing so hard he was almost surprised Ripley couldn’t hear it, even though that would be impossible. His boyfriend had his arm around his shoulders, and Laurie was so anxious he had to try and remind himself to not be too tense in Ripley’s hold. The hand in his hair, playing with a curl, felt possessive.
It felt nothing like Denise, who he had always let play with his hair as a child. He lost count of how many pictures there were of him with various hair ties and clips (invariably sparkly) in his hair as a toddler thanks to his elder sister. And even when they got older she was one of few people he’d let touch it generally. Her touch had been loving and uncomplicated. Just the pure simplicity of a sibling bond.
While Ripley’s hand in his hair was gentle, it felt like he was laying a claim on him. And while he wound a curl around his finger, Laurie couldn’t help but feel incredibly aware of how easy it would be for Ripley’s affectionate touch to become pulling.
He leaned in when Ripley seemed to be encouraging him to, because he wanted to be responsive, but he could not relax completely. He felt so… so filled with stress and adrenaline. Ever since the kidnapping, he’d been wrestling with so much in his head. So much doubt about the gods and the ascendants, which he was unable to reconcile with their previous friendship. Trying to process his feelings around the loss of River in a private, self-contained way; even if he had felt able to share that with Ripley (which he decidedly did not), he wanted his thoughts and feelings about River to be his and his alone. His grief for nobody’s eyes but the silent Dionysus. His own mind felt lost to him, with his thoughts and emotions so conflicted and confused. He was so… destabilised in himself. Unsure what to think, or feel, or believe.
Then there was Ripley. He would threaten Laurie sometimes, and occasionally hurt him. Not much, and never in ways that left any lasting physical evidence. Not yet. But between that and everything else, Laurie had been at an almost constant base level of stress and anxiety for quite a while.
Which had skyrocketed when it came to this meeting.
He’d been trying to distract his thoughts by focusing on the details of the dirty, dusty place around them. Especially to try and block out the sounds of Fenrir with his meal. But there was little need to because Ripley’s voice declaring that someone was late drew Laurie’s attention.
Drew it to them.
He’d known he was going to see them again, obviously, but he hadn’t prepared himself for the way his heart dropped to his stomach when he saw them approaching. Cleo, Griffin, Theo, Chiara, Dillon and Guinevere.
Theo, who had given him four shirts because Fenrir had ripped one when Laurie helped him. Guinevere, with whom he’d cried after the breakup with River.
How was he supposed to play this part for them? How was he supposed to betray them?
He knew what Ripley had told him. That the ascendants were being manipulated by the gods, the gods who did not really care about their mortal champions beyond being able to use them as pawns in their own petty squabbles. He had plenty of evidence from his own observations to believe that was true, even without the testimony of the exiled. But Laurie still didn’t know if he could act like he himself didn’t care about his old friends anymore.
But then they were sitting down, Dillon and Cleo apologising for being late, and Laurie knew that the time for thinking was long past. He was already in this, and he had to do what Ripley wanted him to do and he had to do it well. No matter what happened here.
It didn’t stop him feeling guilty, though. Every concerned look, every expression of relief and joy that he was okay, cut like a knife. Because he knew he was going to hurt them. He knew their joy should be anger. But he couldn’t let that guilt show on his expression, because Ripley would prey on any mistakes, so he kept his face as neutral as possible.
It was at that point that Esme approached to take her seat, and Laurie’s eyes could not help but go to the crown. He felt a flash of recognition, knowing all too well that the key belonged to Pascal.
Laurie’s mind began to whir. Why did she have it? What had happened to Pascal? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if the exiled knew the crown was not Esme’s; perhaps they had let her wear it as some kind of trophy. But it seemed more likely to him that they didn’t, because the keys of the kidnapped ascendants had been disposed of as far as he knew. Either way, he now had to grapple with the issue of whether or not to mention the crown. If the exiled didn’t know about this - which raised its own questions about what Esme was doing - and it came out that Laurie had known and not said anything, that would look bad. If they didn’t know and he did say something, would Atticus feel that Laurie was embarrassing the exiled in front of the ascendants? And if he said something and they did know, it would be him who would look stupid.
He settled on not saying anything for now. He could use the information to his advantage later and if he did get in trouble for not saying anything he could play it off somehow or other. Pretend he had thought the exiled knew about the crown or something.
Atticus butchered Dillon and Cleo’s names and from next to Laurie, Ripley corrected him. Laurie didn’t know what Ripley had called Atticus in Afrikaans (for he knew it was Afrikaans) but the tone was enough for him to pick up on some flirting.
It felt like shit. Absolute shit. Not only was it embarrassing because it was happening right in front of the ascendants, but Ripley was doing it with openness and no concerns about doing so. It was one of the many reasons Laurie knew he could not discuss this with Ripley. His boyfriend did not care what Laurie thought or felt about it, clearly. Laurie knew that if he brought it up or tried to discuss boundaries that his feelings would be ignored and minimised and that more likely than not, Ripley would find a way to turn this all back around on him.
Make him look jealous and irrational. Have him thinking that maybe he might be.
So he swallowed it down, pushed the feeling away. Well, not away. It would fester somewhere, no doubt. He’d already had issues with his self-esteem, not felt like he was worthy of proper love but meant only for some facsimile of it at best. Damaged goods that could not deserve for someone to love him. This would only feed those doubts and insecurities.
But now Theo was asking about Ripley’s boyfriend, and Laurie wished in that moment that a hole could have opened beneath his feet. Only exacerbated by Cleo’s plea to Ripley not to hurt Laurie. They had no idea, and it hurt. They had no idea they should hate him. They had no idea that he’d betrayed them. Hr prayed Ripley couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t see the guilt in him.
Then Ripley was grabbing his face, a touch Laurie did not shy away from though the whole time he was begging in his mind for it to stop. For this all to stop. But it was like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. His boyfriend turned his face and leaned into Laurie, lowering his voice and uttering a chilling threat.
“What would give them that idea?”
Sealed with a kiss, he saw that threat for what it was. A reminder that he had to get this right. That he could not afford to mess up in the moment that was to follow or he would suffer for it. Laurie stiffened briefly.
Then Ripley sat back, his tone sweet but Laurie could hear the smugness in it as he encouraged Laurie to answer Theo’s question.
Laurie didn’t know if Dionysus was listening, if any god was listening, but he prayed in that moment that they would get him through this.
The others were looking at him with hurt, confusion and betrayal in that moment, and Laurie hurt to see the truth dawn on them. Griffin’s disbelief tore a hole in his heart, as did Guinevere’s shocked gasp. God, he felt like dirt. He sat for a moment, unable to summon any words as he looked over the row of hurt and betrayed faces. His throat felt dry.
But he’d have to say it. He had to say something, and he had to sell it. The truth would get him nowhere, so a lie it would have to be.
He began to shuffle nervously in his seat but, reminding himself that he couldn’t afford not to be convincing here, he converted it into a movement to lean further into Ripley and prayed he had managed to pass it off well enough. He forced himself to relax, put himself back into all the times he’d felt confident and comfortable around the ascendants. Like the game of truth or dare when they’d first met, or the camping trip. His body language improved despite the memories being so bittersweet.
Besides, he told himself, Ripley had done most of the work. He just had to bring it home.
He didn’t know what to say, though. He had to choose his words carefully, especially with Cleo being able to detect lies. Something enough to please Ripley, but nothing too crazy. Something he could hide behind if he needed to.
Once he figured out what he wanted to say, it took him even longer to summon the words to his lips.
“I’m…good.” Laurie said “I’m fine. Cleo, don’t.”
He was begging Cleo to drop the topic of Laurie and his welfare. Not to pursue it any further. It would only give Ripley a chance to toy with both him and the ascendants, and it was a dangerous topic to dwell on. Particularly after Ripley’s threat only moments ago.
Stop worrying, stop asking questions, just stop.
He’d hoped they might understand, given how smart Cleo was. But their face was the picture of disgust as they spat out that he was a liar.
Shit. How could they have known he was lying about being okay and still announced it in front of the entire room? He felt his own rush of anger and betrayal at that, even though really given how he was hurting his friends he didn’t know what he had expected. He supposed he’d just thought that Cleo might have caught on to the potential threat to his safety and not chosen to air the lie.
That anger and betrayal soon turned to panic. Ripley wouldn’t have missed that, and if any of the exiled knew how Cleo’s powers worked then Laurie could potentially be in a lot of trouble. More trouble than he could afford to be in.
He was about to desperately try to cover for himself when Ripley kissed his temple. It was affectionate, again, but Laurie couldn’t help but wonder if threat or danger lay behind it after what Cleo had just said. Blessedly, all Ripley did was instruct him to take a walk.
That was something Laurie was more than willing to do.
Grateful for the opportunity to have a few moments away from the table to collect himself , Laurie left as quickly as he was able without looking overly eager to leave. He paused only to squeeze Ripley’s shoulder in silent goodbye.
Once he was away from the table, he let out a shuddering exhale. Safely out of sight of the others, he leaned against a massive pillar and tried for a few long moments to get his breathing anywhere near even. He’d been feeling a storm of fear and guilt anyway, but Cleo’s accusation had sent him dangerously close to a panic. He couldn’t afford panic; panic meant mistakes. Panic showed guilt.
He knew that Ripley would ask him about his lie at some point or another. Maybe immediately after the meeting, maybe a long time after. That meant Laurie had to come up with some way to cover for himself.
All he had to defend himself was that his response had been vague and subjective. If questioned, he could say that he had felt like he was fine, and it was Ma’at or whatever who seemed to disagree with him. Maybe not extremely convincing, but it was the only chance he had. The only thing he could try.
And then there was the issue of Esme. What if one of the ascendants couldn’t keep their mouths shut about her? If she lied, Cleo would be bound to call her out. In which case it would at least look strange that Laurie had said nothing at all. However, if he was the first to say it he forfeited the chance to benefit from what he knew at a later date and could anger Atticus.
The precious minutes he spent away from the table passed far too quickly, generally consisting of Laurie trying to prevent himself from totally breaking down in panic. He felt cornered, trapped. Scrutinised by both Ripley and the ascendants in everything he did. Doomed to failure with this meeting one way or another.
In. Out. Breathe.
Keep it together. Dionysus was not listening or did not care. He had to get through this himself.
He returned just in time to witness a horrifying scene.
Esme had been exposed as a liar during his absence, and the sight of her being torn apart by Fenrir was too much to bear. He closed his eyes, swallowed briefly, and looked away Averting his gaze did nothing to stop him hearing the horrible sounds, though. He took a shaky breath, thumb tracing circles on Ripley’s shoulder. His body was filled with nervous energy, pure terror really. He felt sick, and if he held out his hands in that moment he knew they would be shaking.
Was that what it had been like for Haleema? He couldn’t help but ask himself the question. It was the first time he’d witnessed the exiled actually kill someone before, and the thought was terrifying. It made Ripley’s threats feel much less idle, much less distant. If he made a wrong move while he was with these people he could very easily end up the same way as Esme. His life was very much on the line here.
Theo’s rage was palpable, as palpable as the terror, the disgust, the shock of the rest of the ascendants. Laurie only felt anchored himself by the weight of Ripley’s head resting against his shoulder. A reminder of what was expected of him here.
The conversation turned then, to the demands of the exiled. Laurie focused on the conversation, then, avoiding looking at the bloody mess that had once been Esme. He could only hope that his part in this meeting was mostly done now that they were discussing terms. There was no need for him to do or say anything more, in theory.
Let the grown-ups talk, as it were.
He had to pretend he wasn’t horrified at the exiled’s suggestion that they trade the kidnapped ascendants for some of the remaining group. He had to assume the exiled were doing this to trade the group they’d kidnapped for more powerful, more important, higher-profile prisoners. It didn’t mean trading lives for lives felt okay.
But perhaps if the exiled could influence some of the most powerful ascendants, they could make the remaining group see how much the gods were letting them down. Could make them see the exiled point of view. Maybe then this fight could just be over.
Laurie had to tell himself something, anything, to make this feel slightly less awful.
They were asking for Luka and Lucien, who were just children. That felt wrong, so wrong. But was it more wrong than the ascendants’ decision to make them leaders? Making them put their lives on the line, making them responsible for the lives of their friends?
Atticus started joking about wanting Theo to be his toy if Ripley had his own - obviously in reference to Laurie. Laurie’s eyes flicked to Theo’s at that suggestion. He felt sympathy for him in that, for he knew what it was like being stuck in between Atticus and Ripley, used to create jealousy. When he looked back at Atticus, he knew there was a sharpness in the way he was looking at him. None of this was okay.
But it seemed that his job at this meeting was not yet done, because Cleo began addressing him again. Clearly unable to take his desperate hint to let this go. Asking if this was something he would choose.
Of course he wouldn’t want things to be like this if he had a choice in it. He knew that, really, no matter how much he saw how right the exiled were on some things. How right they were about the gods. They’d lost so much and their anger for that was valid. But of course Laurie would have never wanted this situation if he could choose it.
But he had chosen this. He could not deny that. And he could not lie about it.
He needed to say something, though. Something that Cleo could not call out as a lie but which would not expose how much Laurie hated this whole situation. How much he wished everything could be different.
“You’d be surprised what I would choose,” he had eventually settled on. Ambiguous, something Cleo could not call a lie, but still implying his loyalties laid very clearly with the exiled.
His words reminded him of the conversation he’d had with Guinevere after the breakup with River.
“Sometimes people do unprecedented things under pressure, Laurie. Sometimes we don’t recognise what they become. We never expect those we love to break, but sometimes the pressure can crack them.”
How right she’d been. How quickly he had begun to crack, how little he recognised himself now. Sometimes he wondered if this was who he really was, this weak and frightened person who thought only of how he might keep surviving. If when the chips were down, he was not the person he’d thought he was.
Still, he let his gaze linger on Guiney a beat longer than it did the rest of the group. He wondered if the words had called to mind their conversation just as it had for him. He wondered if she would understand. Probably not. Probably what he’d said meant nothing, either to Guinevere or anybody else.
Even if they knew he’d never meant for any of this, would they understand? Probably not. He’d betrayed them, after all. And nobody but him and Ripley knew what the last few weeks had been like for him. He had nobody who could truly know what he was going through.
Cleo still wouldn’t let it drop, began urging him to think of his friends who he had left behind.
Urging him to think of River.
The very mention of him made Laurie’s heart twist painfully. It still hurt, hurt more than he could say, to know he was gone. He could not share his grief with anyone. Ripley had comforted him initially, been an anchor when the news had first been broken, but now they were together Laurie dared not mention River. Ripley didn’t like it when he did. So it didn’t matter that Laurie still felt like he was falling apart some days. He couldn’t tell anyone.
But River was gone. And River hadn’t wanted Laurie, anyway. That much had been made obvious when they broke up. He saw Laurie as nothing but a liability that was holding him back from his leadership duties. Someone who was weak and couldn’t handle himself. Someone who was nothing more than a distraction.
Laurie missed him desperately. He’d have given anything to see him again. He’d have given even more for River to have had the life he deserved rather than dying alone on that factory floor, thinking Laurie still hated him for the breakup. But that Laurie missed him beyond words was just as true as it was that River had broken Laurie’s heart. Made him feel like all the worst things Laurie had ever thought about himself were true.
So what did Laurie owe him, then? Why should he care about what River wanted when he had no obligation to him any more? When River had thought so little of him in the end?
“He made what he wanted very clear.” Laurie’s reply was tight with emotion. He did not want me. He did not want the inconvenience of loving me. He did not want me getting in his way.
The discussions around the deal continued, with the exiled eventually suggesting handing Pascal back over as a gesture of goodwill. But they required a gesture of goodwill in return from the ascendants - the provision of one of their group in return for Pascal to act as insurance that they deal would be approached in good faith.
There was great uproar when Theo volunteered himself. The ascendants did not want to allow it, but neither Theo nor the exiled would hear their protests. Watching the boy’s goodbye to his friends was something Laurie knew he would not be able to bear, so he did not look at the boy as he volunteered himself and made his approach to the table.
It was only when he sat down that Laurie acknowledged him with a flicker of a smile. He dared allow himself nothing more, not in front of Ripley or the other exiled. But he wanted to show he was not devoid of care for his old friend. He wanted to show that he saw Theo. That he didn’t hate him, that they were in this mess and he felt for him for it.
Theo seemed to catch the smile, made a conspiratorial joke about how he should have packed a bag. At Theo’s joke, Laurie’s tired smile deepened a little, but he dared not risk a verbal reply to the other boy. Especially after what Atticus had just said to Theo when he’d been texting on his phone. He didn’t know how the exiled would respond to him communicating with Theo even in a controlled environment like this one. He wished with every part of him that he could have responded back. A little joke in return about how they both really should’ve been more prepared.
But then Cleo started on their tirade. Their words stabbed like knives - Cleo knew how to pick their words to cut deepest, he’d give them that much. They hurt, and it took all of Laurie’s effort not to react. To meet their eyes without looking away as they confronted him. Because did he not deserve it? Did he not deserve to have to meet their eyes as Cleo called him a selfish prick for betraying his friends? Because no matter how he might try and justify it by telling himself that they were misguided, following cruel and tyrannical gods, that fact was undeniably true. He had betrayed them.
He was selfish, for had he not spent the entire meeting caring only about keeping himself safe? Had he not betrayed his friends to protect himself?
He tried not to let the pain register on his face, keeping his expression steady as Cleo insulted him. They had every right to say what they were saying, but he didn’t have to show in front of Ripley how they were getting to him.
And his parents had said acting was useless.
But then as he rose to join Ripley, they said something he could not stop himself from reacting to.
”I was right. Convincing River to leave your sorry ass really was for the best.”
He felt the shaky wall he’d been trying to desperately to bolster the whole meeting threatening to crumble. The facade that was keeping him from falling apart entirely, for one sickening moment, was in a kind of jeopardy he knew he could not afford.
He froze for a second but then worked to turn back to Cleo, and more emotion registered on his face than he’d allowed himself to show all night. Heartbreak and fury melted in a white-hot mixture inside him, a heat that felt like it was burning through his very organs. He couldn’t keep it from his expression, nor the shock and betrayal as he processed the words.
At first he couldn’t make a sound, no words coming to him. None would be adequate for what he felt or wanted to express.
”I- you-” the broken words were filled with every ounce of the anger and hurt he was feeling. The break in his voice felt in time with his heart shattering all over again.
Ripley was indicating it was time to go, gently hitting him on the arm to get him to get going. He rose to his feet, but his mind was too full.
River had never even wanted to break up with him. He’d done so on the orders of Cleo and, judging by his shamefaced expression, Dillon too. What he’d said when they’d broken up, he’d never meant it. He’d never wanted to hurt him. None of it had been real, and he must have been tortured by the decision that had been forced on him. Poor River, who was gone and had been forced to live with the secret of who had really been behind the breakup and never been allowed to tell Laurie the truth.
And Laurie? He’d been lied to. Used like a pawn by the leaders behind his back. His happiness toyed with like it was worth nothing, without him even in the room. None of the leaders had been decent enough to tell him the truth or involved him in the conversation. If they’d spoken to Laurie about their concerns, he and River could have come up with a solution mutually. That was when it sunk in. River might not have been the one who thought Laurie was a liability, but the leaders were. They’d never seen him as anything other than a joke, an obstacle that needed to be removed because he was in the way of River doing his job. The exiled weren’t wrong that the ascendants were following cruel and tyrannical gods, and it seemed to Laurie that they were not so different from their guides. Treating him as if his life was theirs to meddle with as they pleased for their amusement.
What did Laurie owe them? Why did they deserve his loyalty when all they did with it was hurt him and lie to his face? How could Cleo have the audacity to try and appeal to Laurie when they’d done that to him?
They’d told him that for no other reason than to be spiteful. For a moment, just a moment, he felt a mite less guilty for being with the exiled.
Regardless, he could not articulate a response to Cleo’s insults, and Ripley was departing so he did not have time to linger any longer anyway. So, face still stricken, he followed Ripley.
He wanted to collapse, to scream and cry and rage. He wanted nothing more than to fall apart, but he didn’t have that luxury.
He’d burned any bridges left with him and the ascendants, that much was certain now. They hated him, would never accept him back. He was someone for them to hate, now. The pathetic, lying traitor who had turned their back on them. At least the exiled had the decency not to pretend about what they wanted.
But the ascendants had betrayed Laurie before he had ever betrayed them. The leaders had betrayed his trust by destroying his happiness behind his back and lying about it. Letting River take the flack for their decision. Wasn’t this exactly what Ripley had said? Weren’t they led by corrupt guides who cared nothing for them? Hadn’t they proven they cared just as little?
He didn’t know what to think anymore. But what he did know was that there was no way now that he could ever return to the ascendants even if he wanted to.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Nov 28, 2023 23:42:34 GMT
She’d never had siblings before.
In fact, she’d never really known what it was like to feel comfortable around people. Letting her walls down was not something Chiara was accustomed to doing. Her father had been as reliable and trustworthy a parent as he was a person, and worse, it had always been Chiara who had to pick up the pieces when he made a mess of things. She had learned not to trust other people or rely on them for anything from a very young age.
Luka should have been the very personification of all Chiara disliked. Lack of trust. Chaos. Lack of control. Unpredictability. Untrustworthiness. She was everything Chiara had taught herself was dangerous, or a threat. Everything she had learned to avoid.
Yet here Chiara was, laughing next to Luka and Theo in pyjamas, the entire moment vaguely scented with popcorn. In that moment, she realised that she’d found something entirely unexpected in these two people.
Theo was difficult to get to know truly because of those walls he put up, that thin facade of confidence that did not fool her but which he stubbornly refused to abandon. Maybe he feared what would happen if he let people see him with nothing to hide behind. But he was a good man, that much she was confident she knew. She did not doubt for a moment his kindness or how he cared for his friends.
Luka was made of an energy that had defied Chiara’s understanding at first. Luka embraced chaos in a way she could not. Chiara found comfort in making sense of the world. Patterns and predictability were built into nature right from its very building blocks, after all. But from Luka she had learned that chaos, defiance of order, that was just as natural. Just as vital. She didn’t have to hate it, and if she did she would blind herself to true understanding. Mostly, though, she’d learned that letting people surprise her was not such a bad thing. Luka was a good person and Chiara could not, did not, hate her. She even found she trusted her, even if she hadn’t understood her at first.
She’d never had siblings, and yet she couldn’t help but wonder if what she had with Theo and Luka was something like it. She could never have anticipated them, but she loved the friendship she’d suddenly found she had with them.
She trusted these people enough, regardless, to let her guard down with them a little. Be a person she didn’t know she could be. She didn’t regret it, even if it did scare her sometimes.
She knew how nervous Theo was for the meeting, how afraid Luka was for their safety. And yet they’d managed to make one another forget that, joking around with dumb commentary about the movie and throwing the occasional piece of popcorn at one another.
She’d never realised when she’d met them what the two of them would mean to her.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Dec 3, 2023 11:12:28 GMT
It was the night after Lucien and Luka’s infamous supermarket trip. He had just been trying to get some much needed relaxation time after a day of Cleo reprimanding him and Luka in their office and then training, so he’d gone up to his room after dinner and was now sitting on the edge of his bed in the process of tuning his guitar.
It seemed his peace was to be short-lived, because a figure fell across his doorway. He’d left the door slightly ajar but the appearance of Luka at his door had him wondering if he should be regretting that decision.
She stood there in silence for a while with a smirk on her face, obviously trying to annoy him. He knew, he’d played the same game with his sister at home. Eventually she won the unspoken competition she’d established when an irritated Lucien stopped tuning the guitar and sighed. He relented, opting to be the first one to speak just to end the suffering even if he meant he’d lost that particular battle.
”What?” Lucien asked, abandoning his guitar and laying it on the bed beside him as he have Luka his full attention. She’d obviously come with the full intention of affectionately bothering him, given her room wasn’t even in this wing of the building.
”What’re you doing up here?” Luka questioned, before tutting, ”Don’t tell me Sunshine boy forgot he was supposed to be doing the dishes tonight. I am shocked and horrified, Lucien Alexander Fairfax.”
Oh great, she could middle name him now. That was a fun new development.
”Who told you my middle name?”
”Lucky guess.” Luka’s bald faced lie was said with an airy conviction he couldn’t help but find hilarious.
”Bullshit.” Lucien scoffed, but he shook his head and he could feel the slightest lift at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t deny she was funny. ”No it wasn’t.”
”No it wasn’t.” Luka replied, ”Obviously it was on your missing poster. It was practically handed to me on a silver platter, that’s more divine intervention than I’ve seen since we were chosen. It would’ve been blasphemous to ignore it.” Of course. He couldn’t have expected Luka to pass up on an opportunity like that. She might as well have been given nuclear codes though, because he knew she was going to use this information to its full potential.
Lucien didn’t answer, and after a short pause Luka spoke once more. ”So when are we doing that again?”
The blond furrowed his brow. ”Doing what?”
Luka responded a roll of her eyes. ”Duh, another little adventure like our shopping trip. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t have fun.”
There was always something with this girl, wasn’t there? But he was right. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t had fun despite how disastrous their little excursion had been. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy her company.
”Cleo reprimanded us for one hour and seventeen minutes this morning.” Lucien gave his response drily, ”And thirty two seconds, but who’s counting?”
”Not you, clearly.” Luka answered with sarcasm. ”What’s your point?”
Lucien just laughed. She seemed to have a way of making him do that, with her mischievous energy. With her freeness. He hadn’t known her for that long, but as the two youngest leaders they understood one another. It was nice, to have someone who got him like that. Even if she drove him mad sometimes.
”Tell Cleo I’ll be down to do the dishes in like two minutes.” Lucien told her.
Luka held up her middle finger but moved to leave. And of course, as any sibling would do, she left the door wide open and pressed his light switch to plunge him into darkness as she left.
Her laughter accompanied her retreating footsteps.
_______
He almost lost her when Fenrir attacked like that. He didn’t quite know how to wrap his head around the enormity of that. Of how easy it would’ve been for her to just be gone.
After he’d healed her and the others, he’d refused to leave her side. He remembered Cleo trying to convince him to go to his own bed, but even in his foggy state after healing everybody he’d refused with a ferocity and a vehemence Cleo couldn’t ignore.
Lucien had slept in the bed right next to Luka’s, so he could keep an eye on her and the others. He wouldn’t leave them, wouldn’t leave Luka.
The Medbay was peaceful in the middle of the night, he’d found when he woke briefly partway through the night. Even with so many people in it. Ariella was peacefully asleep in her bed, or as peacefully as she could be with that sling. Guinevere and Griffin had stationed themselves at the foot of her bed and had by now passed out asleep themselves; it was dark but he could see the tangle of limbs and blankets. Chiara slept too, the almost permanent furrow in her brow that she’d had recently smoothed out as she breathed deeply. He knew her arm not working worried her more than she’d let on; he could only imagine how unsettling it was to not have your body do what you wanted it to. Theo was also crashed out, buried under a blanket. He’d had a difficult time the night before, but he had responded evasively to any concern from the others. Maybe he needed time.
Luka next to him looked far too pale. Her sleep was fitful, he could see how pained she was even in rest. That made his chest twist. He wished he could have been there for her out there. But if he had been there, there was no telling what could have happened. Knowing that didn’t make it feel any better that all of these people had been hurt and he’d just had to listen to their pain over the comms with no way to help unless they made it back.
Losing Luka was not an option to him, he knew that deep in his gut. She was his friend, his ally when he felt outnumbered or not heard among the leaders. She seemed to know how what he was thinking of how he was feeling without having to ask. She was there when he felt he wasn’t being understood. She was the only one who understood what it was like to have the pressure of leadership while still being seen as a child. Being given responsibility but never being trusted with it. Bearing the weight of expectations people placed on them with no faith that they’d meet them.
Worse, any slip up or mistake was just proving those who didn’t think them capable of leadership right. There was nowhere to hide.
Luka’s friendship was sometimes the thing getting him through the nightmarish situation they were in right now. Conceiving of the idea that she’d almost died the night before was difficult. He’d never yet truly been forced to confront the idea that something could happen to her, that she could be gone just like that.
Lucien turned over, facing away from Luka and her troubled sleep. It wasn’t an idea he could bear to consider for too long.
____
The wait for the meeting with the exiled was agonising. He was sure they intended it that way; not just to give both sides time to plan, but to make the ascendants suffer. Force them to sit with the imminent danger their kidnapped friends were in hanging over their head like Damocles’ sword. To force them to truly absorb what was happening. To know their friends’ situation and be unable to intervene yet.
Yet. That was all he had to hold onto. He didn’t know if it was enough, the blind hope that things would somehow work out eventually.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. When he wasn’t in meetings with the remaining leaders, he had free time while those who were actually going to the meeting had their own strategy sessions to prepare. Too much free time, if he were honest.
He found himself spending that time in Medbay. He kept going there again and again. He supposed he felt a responsibility for it. He was the only healer left, and while he’d never been a person who liked organising, a big part of him felt the need to do what he knew Pascal would be doing if he were there. Keep the Medbay clean, stocked and always prepared. He found the organisation actually helped him clear his head too, and it made him feel a little bit less anxious. Gave him some control. After all, he of all people knew injuries could happen unexpectedly at any time. He would never let himself be caught out again.
He was doing what had become his usual checks of the Medbay when she came in. Back on her feet now after the attack from Fenrir, though that was more due to her own stubbornness than anything else.
Luka approached to stand beside him before quietly beginning to help him fold some spare sheets for the Medbay beds. They worked comfortably alongside one another for a while before she spoke.
“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you just check the Medbay supplies yesterday?” the dark-haired girl asked, folding the sheet with a surprisingly neat and crisp line as she gave him a sidelong glance.
“Yeah.” Lucien replied evenly as he too worked. He knew where Luka was going with this.
“So surely unless they’ve grown legs and walked away, you’ve got exactly the same number of everything you had yesterday.” Luka continued, her tone casual.
“What’s your point?” Lucien sighed, putting the sheet he’d just folded down and stopping to look at Luka.
“My point is you’ve been driving yourself round the bend since Hallowe’en.” Luka pointed out, “Even more so lately. At some point you have to stop torturing yourself with all this pressure.”
Lucien didn’t reply, just let out a short exhale and returned to his work. When he didn’t answer, Luka gave him a pointed look.
“Luci.” her tone reminded him of the one his mother used when she knew he was lying. He stubbornly refused to answer her, which didn’t seem to deter Luka. “I’m worried about you.”
“The others are the ones going to this meeting in a couple of days.” Lucien pointed out. “I’m not the one to be worried about.”
He didn’t want to talk about it. The immense pressure he was feeling as both a healer and a leader. The fact that no matter how hard he tried he didn’t seem to be able to be good enough or do the right things. Luka had more important things to worry about, like getting better or focusing on Theo and Chiara who were going to the meeting without her. Everyone had more pressing things to worry about than his whining or complaining. He didn’t want to put it all on her.
Maybe after the meeting he’d tell her. Let it all out so he could at least release some of the tightness in his chest, let some of the pressure escape. He’d wait until a better time came along before he shared this burden.
Luka sighed defeatedly, obviously deciding she couldn’t argue with him. But then her expression flickered as an idea seemed to strike her. “When did you last do training?”
“Uhh…” Lucien hesitated. He’d been trying to keep up with his training but since the last mission he’d forgotten. It had been days certainly but probably longer.
“Come on,” Luka interrupted his hesitation, nodding to the door. “let’s get you out of here and into the training room so I can kick your ass. Shouldn’t be hard, I need some light exercise.”
He might be determined not to talk about what was bothering him, but he realised in that moment that Luka was no less determined to help him in whatever way she could. Whether he wanted to talk or not. She’d found her own way to help until he felt more comfortable talking. Because she wanted to fight for him.
Because Luka didn’t need to know what was happening with him to care.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Dec 15, 2023 19:44:05 GMT
FLASHBACK SCENE
It was no secret to the fifteen-year-old Lucien that prom was coming up. It was all the people in his elder sister’s grade could talk about. Theme announcements, posters everywhere. Lucien couldn’t care less about prom as a concept, but he could see how it had created a feverish hum of excitement among the seniors.
So it had concerned him when his sister had said exactly nothing about prom from the moment it had been announced. He hadn’t even seen her come home with the letter about how much the entrance tickets would be. She had said not a word about the dance and she hadn’t spent any time searching for an outfit. Her silence on the matter worried him because he knew what his sister was like. She never did anything for herself and as much as Elara tried to hide such things from him, Lucien knew exactly how bad things were money-wise.
There were things Elara could not hide, like how empty their refrigerator was. She seemed to think Lucien noticed far less than he did, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew they couldn’t afford much of anything. He knew they certainly couldn’t afford that Lucien was still growing out of his clothes at the rate he was, and he also knew they couldn’t afford for Elara to have the future she wanted and deserved. None of it was fair.
It wasn’t until he went to take out the trash and he saw his sister’s letter about the prom entrance fee sitting inside it torn in two that his suspicions were finally confirmed. Elara had decided they couldn’t afford for her to go to prom, either. He could already picture her tearing the letter in two, throwing it away before Lucien or anyone else could spot it and try and talk her into going. Something about this one extra injustice crossed a line for Lucien.
He and his sister didn’t have the best relationship. He was the first to admit that. He didn’t mean to make life hard for her by acting out the way he did, but he was angry all the time.
Angry at the kids at school who made fun of the fact that Elara had worn the same outfit for almost a week because their washing machine was broken and they had no clean clothes. They hadn’t seen her crying tears of frustration, cursing at the machine while Lucien tried to pull together a meal for them and their mother. It wasn’t until their mother had one of her better days and was capable of addressing the issue that the problem was solved, but it had meant spending money they couldn’t afford to get it fixed.
Angry at his friends who just didn’t get it sometimes. That he couldn’t afford to do the same things, go to the same places as them. He remembered being twelve and a friend telling him that their mother had said Lucien wasn’t allowed to visit their house anymore because Lucien’s family never returned the favour. His mother was embarrassed to have visitors to the house even when she had the energy and mental capacity to do so, and they barely had the money to feed themselves, never mind anyone else.
Sometimes, angry at his mother. He knew that wasn’t fair of him. She was sick. Clinically ill. And god did she try. She tried every day to be there for her kids in whatever way she could. But some days she couldn’t even care for herself properly and a lot of the time she couldn’t be there for her kids in the way they needed emotionally or physically. He never doubted how much she loved them, but sometimes he was angry that she couldn’t be a parent.
Angry at Elara because she had to be his parent more than his sister sometimes. Angry because she was so well-behaved and good at school, and Lucien could not live up to her perfect student status. Angry because she didn’t understand him. Angry because she wasn’t a screw-up like him and he couldn’t understand how she was holding everything together. Angry because she wanted him to be like her and he wasn’t, and he couldn’t be.
But he understood what his sister did for him and the family. That she took on so much stress and pressure and never got to live for herself. He couldn’t let that stand this time.
Thankfully, he’d seen his sister's letter and knew exactly how much the entry fee was.
So he worked to scrape together the $50 for the fee. He played with his band and got his share of the tips, sold anything of his that was in good enough condition and he didn’t need anymore, and went out and busked to get the last of the money he needed. It took him a couple of weeks to get the money together without his sister noticing. It was vital that she not know, because if she did she’d only try to stop him helping. Besides, he wanted to surprise her.
He went into school the next day with the $50 ready, and feeling a rush of anticipation at being able to actually do something nice for his sister. She suspected nothing, so he hoped to be able to surprise her with the news that evening that she could go to prom. Getting her something to wear was another issue, but he was confident that between him and Elara they should be able to manage something.
So he’d waited until the end of the day, once the hallways and classrooms were almost empty before going to find the staff member in the school office that the seniors had been instructed to pay their fees to. He didn’t like her much, but the feeling seemed to be mutual.
He’d never seen Mrs Knezevich from the waist down because he’d only ever seen her hunched behind her desk. For all he knew she had octopus tentacles. She had what could only be described as the mother of all Karen haircuts and sadly her attitude did little to challenge the stereotype.
He approached the woman’s desk with the kind of sunny smile he deserved for when he was either trying to be particularly insolent or get away with something.
“Mrs K!” he greeted with a warmth that only seemed to make the woman suspicious, because she paused in her furious click-clacking typing and he saw her lip curls slightly.
Lucien leaned against her desk, one hand braced on the surface of it. Mrs Knezevich made sure she took several excruciating seconds to finish whatever she was typing before she turned her attention to him, fixing him with a wary stare over the frames of her glasses.
“Mr Fairfax.” she said flatly. As she spoke, he couldn’t help but notice that some of her favourite waxy Pepto-Bismol pink lipstick had made its way onto her front tooth. He hoped it had been there all day and nobody had told her. “What do you want?”
Lucien fumbled in his pocket before producing a slightly crumpled envelope containing the $50. On the envelope he’d scrawled his sister’s name and ‘prom fee’.
“My mom sent me with the payment for my sister’s prom fee.” he said, holding out the envelope to Mrs Knezevich, “She said she’s sorry it took so long.”
The woman looked with some disdain at Lucien’s extended hand with the envelope.
“The deadline was yesterday,” the woman answered, and he could tell already that she had no intention of taking the envelope, “tell your mother she’s too late.”
“She knows it’s too late.” Lucien was losing patience now, “Come on, Mrs K, it’s only one day late.”
Mrs Knezevich scowled, pushing his hand away. “Late is late. If I made an exception and started letting people hand their fees in late nobody would bother getting their payments in on time.”
He was remembering every single reason why he hated this woman so much.
“This is stupid!” Lucien snapped, “I know the school doesn’t actually give a shit that this is a day late. Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean you should punish my sister. She’s never been late for anything in her life, she’s one of the best students in this whole school, and you’re telling me you can’t make an exception for her just once?”
He hadn’t exactly thought through his little tirade, because he was too busy feeling angry on his sister’s behalf. His sister who worked harder than anyone he knew. His sister who never put a foot wrong. This was absolutely unfair. Mrs Knezevich didn’t seem to feel the same way, however, because she began to turn pink with anger. He vaguely wondered if she’d end up matching her lipstick.
“Lucien Fairfax, if you don’t stop talking to me that way right now I will personally make sure you have detention for a week. I suggest you leave my office, and take the money with you.” Mrs Knezevich’s tone was sharp and left no room for argument. She even picked up her pencil and pointed at him with it while she talked, just to really make her point.
Lucien huffed, but stuffed the envelope back in his pocket, turning to storm back out of the office. He couldn’t believe he’d missed the deadline; he felt awful about it. He’d had every intention of surprising his sister that evening by telling her what he’d done. Now he didn’t have any good news for her. If he’d just gotten the money a little quicker, this wouldn’t have happened and everything would be fine.
“And tell your mother that if she ever handed in forms and fees on time, we wouldn’t be in this position!” Mrs Knezevich called after him. The words caused a new flash of rage, burning hot in Lucien’s chest.
He made sure to slam the door behind him.
____
CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Dec 29, 2023 16:00:42 GMT
FLASH FORWARD, NOT NECESSARILY CANON
Lucien lay back on what could only be called a mattress in the loosest sense of the word, because in all honesty he might as well be lying on the linoleum floor, and closed his aching eyes against the sterile white void that was his room with the hunters.
Cell was more accurate. It was windowless and unrelentingly plain and white. Nothing to really focus on. So understimulating that it was agitating, his brain and body desperate for something to do. No true sense of time and nothing to pass the hours but lie around and maybe try to sleep. His body had a deep ache to his bones from all the healing he’d done without enough recovery time in between, but the boy strongly suspected that his mind had every chance of giving up before his body did. Staying sane seemed to be a harder task every day. He hadn’t been there long but he was feeling the mental strain.
He hadn’t the others since the fall of the pantheon, with the exception of those who had been taken by the hunters along with him. But even those people, he hadn’t really seen since their arrival here. No real idea of what they were going through and if they were okay.
He thought about the others all the time, those with him in the hunters base and those who were not.
River found his way into Lucien’s thoughts frequently. He didn’t know if River had made it somewhere safe, only that he wasn’t with Lucien. He wished he had properly told the older boy what he meant to him before all this. That for all they got on one another’s nerves sometimes, that for all he knew he’d annoyed the shit out of River many times, he saw him as a brother. That he cared about him and appreciated the way River cared for him as well.
River had been there for him at times when he himself had desperately needed someone to be there for him. He’d been let down and hurt and yet he had never quite stopped looking out for people. River wasn’t perfect, nobody was. But Lucien respected him deeply, which incidentally was why he gave him shit at any opportunity just like any little brother should do. Because he loved him. He wished he’d said all that, even though Lucien was sure River knew it without him ever having to say it. He had to trust he’d have another chance to say it, but he wasn’t sure when that would be.
He wondered what the champion of Ares would say to him if he were there now. Probably tell him to do whatever he had to do to stay alive. Maybe smack him upside the head for running his mouth so much, but tell him not to let them break him. He had to try and get through this somehow, get out of here however he could. But until then River would want him to be every bit as stubborn as Lucien had always said he was and refuse to let this destroy him completely. Broken was okay. River would be alright with broken as long as he was alive.
Then there was Luka. He didn’t know where she was either, but she was smart. More resourceful than he was. He trusted that wherever she’d found herself, she would be alright. So long as she didn’t do anything stupid. It didn’t mean he didn’t fear for her. It didn’t mean that he didn’t think about her every day. Because she meant a lot to him, regardless of the pain he’d felt while she’d been with the exiled. Being angry at her for that didn’t seem to matter so much now.
She was his best friend and in so many ways, they were the same. They shared the experience of being young leaders, they shared stubbornness and sarcasm and a ferocity in how they cared for other people. He saw himself in her, the good and the bad. He hoped she knew that just because his sister had come back into his life, that didn’t mean he cared for her any less. He hoped she knew how sorry he was for ever thinking she could want to hurt the people who had called her friend. He hoped she knew that his anger had been because she meant so much to him.
If she were here, she’d want him to give the hunters hell. Truthfully, Lucien wanted nothing more than to stop fighting so much. He was tired and he could feel his resolve fading. What was the point of yelling when everybody heard but nobody listened? He ached to just go quietly when they came to take him for testing, make it a little easier for himself. But it wasn’t in him, not yet. His fight was starting to leave him, but he wasn’t down yet. Not quite. But still he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, no matter how much he heard Luka’s voice in his head telling him to make every second as difficult as he could for them.
Pascal popped into his head sometimes. His mentor, who seemed to have a level-headed outlook when Lucien was as far from level-headed as a person could be. Pascal seemed to be able to look at things with detachment when Lucien could not, which let him see things Lucien failed to. Pascal was steady, at least most of the time. Lucien was passionate with a tendency to let his feelings rule him, even if he was trying to be better at that now.
Pascal would say he should be steady, try to keep calm. Lucien’s passion led to mistakes or rash choices and those could lead to death. They wanted to push him to his limits so it was essential he take care of himself as much as he could. Give himself the best chance of stretching those limits with as little damage to himself as possible. Stay calm, stay alive. He’d learned more than just medical knowledge from Pascal, but he didn’t know if he could succeed in applying it. He and his mentor were so different in their natures.
Did Pascal know that he’d changed everything for Lucien when he agreed to help him as healer? Did Pascal know that he had a friend in Lucien, even if Lucien wouldn’t describe them as close? He probably had no clue.
Then there was his sister, who occupied his thoughts very often. She was here with him, but he had no clue if she was okay. Elara was almost always on his mind, jostling for space with Apollo who would pipe up with what little encouragement he could offer fairly frequently. He worried for her.
She was probably the one to whom he had the most to say. If he could speak to her now he’d tell her how sorry he was for fighting against her so much when they were younger. Thinking she was his enemy when all she wanted was to make sure he was okay.
She had given up everything to look after Lucien and their mother. Elara had always wanted college, and that wasn’t open to her. Even if they could afford it, there was so much else to think of. She’d sacrificed her dreams, her chance to live her life for herself, to be there for Lucien and their mom. Elara probably didn’t know how much Lucien had picked up on. She had tried so hard to shield him from so much that she probably thought Lucien hadn’t seen what she’d done for him. But he had. He’d seen it all.
He’d give anything for her to know that. To tell her that she hadn’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated, and he appreciated her even more so now. That he had gotten to know her all over again since she’d been chosen and that he liked the Elara he had come to know. She was smart and capable and way cooler than he was in so many ways. Most importantly, he could truly be a brother to her now, because she could be his sister rather than his caregiver.
His experiences had made him grow up too fast in some ways but all of this had made him so much closer to his sister and given them a chance to be friends as well as siblings. He hated that they’d only just started to make progress and become closer when all this happened. If they didn’t make it out of here she might never know how much he cared about her, she might never know that he saw her. He saw her and everything she had done for their family.
It hadn’t truly hit him how much he wanted to say to the people he cared about until he thought he realised he didn’t know when he would have the chance to say it. He hadn’t truly understood how much people cared about him and how much he cared about them until he’d had time to truly reflect on what they meant to him. He’d given so much to the ascendants, putting himself through pain to heal them. Some of it had been out of a sense of duty because of the responsibility that came with his abilities, but he knew most of it was because he cared about his friends.
If nothing else got him through this, they had to. He had to get through this so he could get himself and the others out of here. He had to do this so he could tell the people he loved that he loved them, because he hated that they didn’t know. He’d taken it for granted that they knew, but that didn’t feel like enough now.
So he’d survive this. He couldn’t allow anything else.
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CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Jan 1, 2024 1:13:20 GMT
Dionysus’ palace sat the furthest out from the cluster of palaces belonging to the rest of the Olympians. It was because his aunt Hestia had originally been one of the twelve Olympians and so her palace remained in the inner circle. Dionysus was the newest addition, taking Hestia’s place among the twelve, so he lived a little further out from the rest of his family, closer to the minor gods.
One would think he’d dislike the reminder that he was somewhat an outsider among these gods, but he didn’t particularly mind this one. Anyone who knew his family knew that the ability to have distance from them whenever he desired was a luxury not to be sniffed at. Even a god who enjoyed drama needed a break from the constant quarrelling sometimes.
He’d have peace, if nothing else.
Or so he thought. The god was just sitting in his enclosed courtyard, enveloped in the heavily perfumed air and leaning against a column entwined in a delicate twist of ivy, when he heard a muffled knock from a short distance away. Dionysus sighed in irritation.
Someone was at his front door.
He thought his family had gotten the hint that he wasn’t amenable to visitors. A deity in a rage was never anything to be trifled with, no matter whether it was the king of the gods himself or a lesser god. Dionysus knew as much from bitter experience, and he himself had taught many a mortal that same lessons.
”Go away, Ares!” Dionysus called back, loud enough for his brother to hear. It had to be Ares, surely. He had been the one who showed the most concern for Dionysus withdrawing as he had of late. Either him or Hestia. His dear aunt had also tried to speak to him, trying as she always did to keep peace within the family. She almost had succeeded in softening her nephew, but he had proven too stubborn for the goddess of the hearth.
“Alas, it is not he.” came the reply from the other side of the door. At first Dionysus thought it was in fact Hestia, but this voice lacked the warmth with which his aunt spoke to everyone. This voice was cool, calm but had an imperious quality, somehow carrying from the front door without her really having to raise her voice.
Dionysus frowned, confused. Why would she visit him? He rode to his feet quickly, crossing the courtyard to enter the his entranceway and pulling open the doors, heavy wooden things carved with ivy and grapes, to reveal the goddess on the other side.
Dionysus had been surprised when he heard the voice, but seeing her only cemented it. There she was, in all her stately glory. She held herself tall, every inch of her carrying an assuredness. The ease of a very old being with an incredible amount of power. The older gods on Olympus wore their divinity with an effortlessness that many newer gods like Dionysus did not.
Why was the queen of the gods, gleaming as always with gold and jewels, at his doorstep? She’d never had much love for him.
”Lady Hera.” Dionysus greeted even as the goddess stepped by him before he could deny her entry. He should be embarrassed for how he’d spoken when he thought she was Ares, but she seemed to have grown not to expect too much deference from Dionysus anyway. He closed the door behind her and followed his stepmother as she stepped through the hallway and back out into the courtyard from which he’d come. ”This is most irregular.”
She wasted no time mincing words. Just turned around, folded gold-braceleted arms and fixed those eyes on him in that way that told him she had little desire to entertain any nonsense from him. ”You have been acting most irregular.”
Dionysus huffed, leaning back against one of the pillars just as he had been prior to her arrival. So she was here to talk to him now? They really must be running out of people to try to coax him to return to his normal involvement in life on Olympus.
”With respect,” which invariably Dionysus used to veil disrespect, ”Ares has already tried to speak to me-“
”So I’ve gathered.” was Hera’s dry reply.
”-As has Aunt Hestia.” Dionysus continued. ”I appreciate that you have come here, but if my lord father has asked you to talk with me then I am afraid you will be disappointed.”
He doubted this was Zeus’ doing, in actuality. Dionysus was not one of his favoured children, which generally meant his father did not see him. He saw only Apollo and Athena. It was why Dionysus had bonded so well with his other siblings. Particularly those on the sidelines, like Hephaestus and especially Ares who incidentally was an excellent drinking buddy.
But it being Hera’s idea seemed even stranger.
”Believe it or not,” Hera did not sound amused with him so far but Dionysus was past caring, ”I decided to come here all by myself.”
Why? She’d never exactly loved him. This was the goddess who had inflicted madness on him he was in the mortal world. This was the woman who had been responsible for his mother’s death.
”You are letting a slight from one mortal affect you so.” the goddess commented, a comment to which Dionysus could not help but snort.
”I find it a little ironic for you to say so.” Dionysus couldn’t help but point out. Hera, after all, had a history of going after mortals and demigods who displeased her. Ask any of Zeus’ unfortunate lovers. Ask Dionysus’ mother. Ask Heracles - or Dionysus himself.
Hera was silent at that, with no retort to his statement. She had to admit that she was not innocent. She couldn’t deny her hypocrisy.
But he understood now why Hera was here. Like Hestia, his stepmother cared about family in her own way. Hell, Hera was the goddess of family. And she was also queen of the gods. There had come a point where she’d had to investigate the disturbance in her domain herself. The discord.
”I do not wish to discuss him. That was the purpose behind not taking visitors.” Dionysus was firm. He refused to invite any discussion about Laurie or the mess he was in. Or how he’d taken the gift Dionysus had given him, the trust he had placed in him, and used it to his own advantage.
”What is this really about, Dionysus?” Hera questioned, her brow creasing. ”Is this about your defensiveness over your godhood? Or is this about the fact that the great Liberator could not give his champion freedom?”
It was true that Dionysus did have a tendency to overreact to slights. He was sensitive about that kind of thing, because his road to Olympus had not been as easy as some of his siblings and mortals had not always recognised his godhood.
But what she’d said next had hit home too. Of course he’d felt awful that he couldn’t protect Laurie. That he couldn’t stop the kidnapping or save him afterwards. But Laurie had turned away from him.
”This is about betrayal.” Dionysus retorted, ”I allow the boy to share in my power and he repays me by believing the first lies he hears and undermining my authority over the gift I gave him.”
If Laurie had trusted him, he would never have believed Ripley Gates’ lies so easily. If Laurie had respected him, he would not have cheated his way around the boundaries Dionysus had placed on the powers he’d given him.
Dionysus had stopped watching after that. He did not know what Laurent Bevin was doing, or thinking, or feeling for once and he frankly no longer cared.
”He is a mortal, Dionysus.” Hera rolled her eyes in exasperation, ”They have done foolish things as long as they have existed. You are giving this child too much power over you if he can have you sulking here in your palace.”
These were big words for a goddess who punished any poor mortal who was ensnared by Zeus, but then he supposed that she at least dealt with the ones who had offended her and then moved past it. He apparently refused go get over this affront.
”Eventually you must decide to either Disgrace the boy and have done with it or to stop your brooding and remain his guide. But this,” the queen of the gods gestured broadly to Dionysus and the palace around them, ”cannot stand.”
Perhaps she was right. Dionysus knew he refused to Disgrace his champion. To do so would be to condemn Laurie to a brutal death at the hands of the exiled and Dionysus’ wrath had not removed all sense of care for the boy. He’d chosen Laurie because he’d seen a strength and a kind of toughness in this intensely vulnerable boy who hid behind a facade of confidence that he did not actually feel. A wall with no foundations. He’d seen the boy who was no warrior but who without thinking would attack a giant wolf to protect his friend because that was just the kind of man he was. That was the boy Dionysus discovered in a bathroom stall in a Bordeaux nightclub. And he didn’t know if he was willing to give up on Laurie even if Laurie had given up on him.
He could not decide yet.
”Apologies, but I have to ask,” Dionysus couldn’t help himself, ”why do you concern yourself with this?”
This is what he couldn’t understand. Why did Hera care? The very woman who had tried to harm him out of vengeance when he had done nothing wrong but be born a son of Zeus. At least Dionysus was not actively trying to cause Laurie any harm out of revenge.
Hera sighed, moving with graceful step to stand beside him. At length, the goddess turned her head to look at him. She appeared to consider something quietly for a time before she finally offered a response.
”Because I saw your existence as a slight once. A threat to me, an insult. I wanted to punish you and your mother because your father had hurt me.” Hera began to explain.
Dionysus remembered what he had gone through. Hera had done everything she could to make his existence hell for a period of time. And his poor mother… well, Semele’s crime was being too trusting. Of Zeus, of Hera. Just like Laurie who was believing this boy’s deceit.
Laurie had gone down to the underworld to retrieve his mother’s spirit, truly earning his status as a god. He’d been born divine and immortal, having been born a second time from Zeus’ thigh, as opposed to simply a demigod. But his godly status and his place on Olympus had been earned.
”But when Hephaestus bound me, it was you who convinced him to return to Olympus and free me. You had no obligation to do anything for me after my treatment of you, but you helped regardless. From that moment I confess I could no longer hate you.”
That was when Dionysus’ place as an Olympian had been truly secured. When his divinity came to be respected by all of the gods, even the stepmother who had once wanted to see him suffer. And a bond had also been forged between Hephaestus, the binder, and Dionysus, the liberator.
Hera looked at him with a sincerity. ”You are capable of showing great kindness and giving second chances. Do not forget that.”
As unlikely as it sounded, it seemed that Hera might just care for Dionysus a little after all.
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Post by pallas on Jan 15, 2024 18:55:08 GMT
When Gwen had first been chosen, she’d been a scared teenager at fifteen. She had been determined to be equal to the task she’d been given by the gods, but she’d been afraid of it. Terrified, in fact.
It was Atticus who had been there for her. He who had cracked jokes to make her smile when things were overwhelming. He who had been the one to guide her in training when she was shaky. He who had been the one to build up her confidence when she had felt she wasn’t capable. He who had been like a parent or an older brother to her.
He who had comforted her when people began to die and she began to truly realise that this was not about playing heroes. This was about being soldiers.
But when Alice died, Gwen watched something break in him. As he mourned her, she watched the old him snap in two right before her eyes, leaving so much of himself behind with his sister. There was only Atticus before Alice, and Atticus after Alice. She knew he’d never be the same again, the boy she had known lost forever.
She had mourned with him, she had cared for him while he grieved. Stood at his side and been there for him. She had watched as the hurt began to fester into bitterness and anger. She had seen the first sparks of Atticus Fell’s need for revenge kindling his heart. Making it beat again.
And for a little while, she was almost glad for his anger. It was part of grieving, after all, and it was the most alive she had seen him ever since Alice had drawn her last breath. She understood that. As the champion of Nemesis, she knew the value of vengeance. She knew that anger could purify, scour away everything until all there was left was clarity. She knew anger could raise a person whose soul was half-dead to action. She had resolved simply to be there while he felt his anger, to support him and be a rock for him. And when he was ready to not be angry anymore she would be ready to support him then, too.
But the anger never went away, just grew and metastasised until Gwen could recognise little of the boy she’d first met. He was taken over and consumed by his desire to punish the gods for the death of his sister. Still she followed him, because she could not bear to leave him when he needed her, after all he’d done for her. She followed him because she thought there was a chance she could change his mind. She followed him because she could not bear to leave the closest thing to family she had.
Gwen followed Atticus Fell as he turned against the gods, even though she could see the cliff edge before them. She followed him when Nemesis could not understand their desire to stand in judgement over the gods for their crimes against the first ascendants, for she believed only in avenging the gods, not those they had hurt. She followed him when Nemesis left her, for the goddess who punished mortals for hubris against the gods was embarrassed that her champion had committed that same sin. The arrogance of believing she could judge the gods.
When Ceto came and chose her, giving her new powers, it was Atticus who was there for her. Atticus who comforted her as she sobbed, terrified after the first time she had transformed into a monster. She did not leave him, because he was still kind to her. He was still hurting. He still needed her, and she still needed him.
She still held on to the hope that she could convince him not to follow through with his mission to destroy the gods.
And then Ripley Gates arrived. He had powers over sand, but that was his weapon in name only. Ripley was armed with charming words, a flash of a smile, and big ideas. Ideas about bringing the palaces of the gods tumbling down and becoming a god in their place. Remaking the world according to his design. He was the first exiled who was not originally an ascendant. In that, Ripley almost embodied the exiled mission which Atticus had forged in the crucible of his grief and fury. And he tempered it, elevated it. Ripley brought new heights of ambition, new determination, new fire to their plans.
She could not hate him. He was charming and he knew what to say. Ripley could read her, and he seemed to know Gwen faster than she could have thought possible. He knew how she worked. He could be a good ally to her when she felt overlooked, like her advice was not being heeded. Ripley became her friend. He became someone she trusted, at least as far as she trusted anyone.
But she saw the way Atticus looked at Ripley. She saw the way something in him lit up. Gwen wasn’t blind to it, but surely nobody could be. No matter how Atticus might try to play down the feelings he was experiencing, Gwen could tell. She knew him too well not to be able to tell when he was hiding something, not when they’d fought and lived together for so long.
She could tell. And that was how she knew the moment Ripley Gates arrived that she had lost Atticus to his vendetta against the gods.
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CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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Post by pallas on Feb 13, 2024 16:13:08 GMT
Chiara’s fingertips brushed cool metal, fleetingly alighting on the door handle. She wished she understood why suddenly even passing that familiar threshold felt insurmountable. Why did the thought of walking through that door, when she knew exactly what she would find on the other side, set off a ringing in her ears?
The girl took in a breath, gripped the door handle properly this time, and gathered her resolve.
On the other side of the door was quiet.
It wasn’t even a calming or tranquil kind of quiet. It was a silence that felt heavy and stale, that spoke of emptiness rather than peace. The kind of eerie silence that made it feel like the walls were pressing in on her.
It was just her corridor on the Norse wing, which she had passed through so many times before. But it felt decidedly changed now. Everything looked the same; lines of empty rooms aside from the three huddled close together, their own island in the middle of the corridor. But she knew better.
She knew everything was different now.
Chiara passed their empty rooms. Theo’s would be exactly as he left it before they went to the meeting that day. As if the room was waiting expectantly for his return. Probably clothes still lying on the bed, laid down while he was deciding on his outfit for the meeting. Then there was Luka’s. She undoubtedly had been more prepared. If Chiara had gleaned anything from what was missing it was that Luka had planned this - whether she’d planned it carefully or spent five minutes on it remained to be seen.
She couldn’t get Theo’s goodbye out of her head. His determination at the meeting, the way he’d sacrificed himself. She was sure he thought nobody saw him for who he was, but Chiara did. A good person who didn’t know his own worth.
And Luka? Well, Luka obviously had a plan. But Chiara had never understood what was going on in Luka’s head anyway. Her friend was as unpredictable to her as Loki must be to Heimdallr. Whatever her plan was, Chiara hated that she was gone.
She wasn’t sure if the chill settling on her skin was from the eerie silence of the corridor or just cooling sweat from her training with River.
The training sessions were going better than she could’ve anticipated. She trusted River, and while she didn’t expect to see improvement in her injured arm quickly, she felt confident he could help her see results with fighting with her left arm relatively fast if she listened to him and was dedicated to the training. Plus she felt that not only was the training a benefit to her, but it would also be good for River to have someone to train what with Jason being gone and everything else that was happening.
They talked, but Chiara was careful to keep the conversation light. Not necessarily superficial, but just normal. She had tried to get him to open up before and she saw how wrong she’d been to approach it in the way she did. Besides, she felt like they both needed that normal conversation now. Getting him to open up wasn’t the goal anymore; that decision should’ve always been left up to River.
It had been a welcome distraction from what was going on, but the positivity and hope that she had left River’s training with faded quickly when she had to return to her room and remembered just how maddeningly quiet it was going to be. The quiet where her enhanced hearing was searching desperately for something in the disconcerting silence where before there’d usually always been at least some sound of movement or stirring in the Norse wing. It only briefly put off her having to face the situation again.
Unable to linger any longer in the hallway, she pushed open the door to her own bedroom and was quickly enveloped in wooden walls, columns with carved artwork in a curving, swirling style. Beams braced the ceiling. It was a cosy room, she had to admit. The whole place was bathed in warmth and honeyed light from the fireplace. The firelight set the threads from the tapestries decorating the walls alight, and carpets softened her tread as she entered. It was like a cabin, or even as if elements were inspired by a longhouse, and in her opinion it was one of the homeliest rooms she’d been in inside the pantheon.
As soon as she was inside her hands were immediately clutching for her hair, harshly pulling out the tie holding her ponytail until it relented and her hair fell loose. She had always liked to look neat when she could; no stains, no wrinkles, nothing. Her father had always drilled the importance of good presentation into her. Conmen cared about those sorts of things, were acutely aware of how people judged based on appearance and used that fact to their advantage. Right now in that moment she was so tired, so defeated, she couldn’t bring herself to care about any of it. She certainly couldn’t care about how her hair looked after yanking at it like that.
She exhaled a frustrated sigh, and apparently sat down on the bed because she was suddenly aware of the feeling of the bedsheets under her palms, the pale golden thread gleaming dimly.
Chiara’s eyes drifted over to her desk where she’d left Theo’s key. She should’ve hidden it better. Her guide was a guardian and she couldn’t so much as watch over a fucking comb. It was almost funny, really, but the bitter laughter that rose from her tasted sour and sounded sourer when she heard it leave her mouth. It was strained, and so brief that it was over almost as soon as it had started.
Her good hand covered her mouth, stifling the remainder of the sound as it died. What an idiot she felt. Why hadn’t she seen all this coming? It was obvious the exiled were going to ask for the deal they did; the ascendants had nothing else they wanted and it wasn’t like they could broker an end to the fight between the two sides. With the kidnapping they’d made things much more personal. And Theo, well of course he would trade himself. The group hadn’t done much to make him feel valued and she should’ve known he would sacrifice himself for the good of the group.
Luka, well she was always steps ahead of everyone else and never easy to predict. But that hug at the end of the meeting, that should’ve told her everything. In hindsight, it felt for all the world like a goodbye. Not to mention that Theo being missing, the situation with Laurie, Cleo’s constant criticism, and Lucien’s well-meaning but thoughtless attempts to sacrifice himself should’ve all tipped her off that Luka was going to end up doing something stupid. How on earth had she not seen it? Luka might be a wildcard but surely Chiara knew her better than that.
She thought she had, but that had been her mistake. Arrogantly assuming her eyes were wide open, that she knew her friends. How could she have made that mistake, growing up with her father, someone who lied so often and so easily that even he believed himself sometimes? She’d missed the signs with Luka, thought she could predict her. She couldn’t predict anybody.
Chiara had never been really very good at friends or being close to people. It suited her fine, because she’d always been someone who appreciated the value of her own company. She’d moved around a lot as a child, her father making it sound like a big adventure or a holiday though now she was old enough to realise he’d just been trying to keep from being caught. That kind of experience wasn’t conducive to building friendships as a kid, so she’d gotten used to being content in her own company. And yet here Theo and Luka had somehow (most inconveniently) managed to make her want to seek out their company, miss them when they were gone. It was strange. Heimdallr hadn’t approved of her friendship with Luka because he hated Loki as much as he did, but he couldn’t have stopped Chiara even if he’d forbidden their friendship.
She didn’t have Jason’s company in the library now either, which had always made her visits there more enjoyable. His company was pleasant, even when they just read alongside one another without really talking. Him not being there felt strange, as if part of the library itself was missing without him.
And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Haleema was gone and the ascendants had to grieve her loss with no true reprieve from the conflict with the exiled to allow that to happen properly. Chiara hadn’t even been able to bring herself to look at Haleema’s room, which she assumed, much like Theo’s, must be just as it was when she’d left. Hallowe’en felt so like a lifetime ago.
All in all, though she was unspeakably happy about Echo and Daniel returning, everything felt far from okay. Even for those who remained in the Pantheon, there was tension between members of the group. Disunity. Emotional wounds that might not ever heal. And Chiara knew they would never again quite be the people they were when they went camping together.
She didn’t know if she minded so much, in some ways, if she wasn’t ever the girl she had been again. In other ways she missed that person.
None of it mattered now. She didn’t have the answers. But she did want more than anything to do whatever it took to get her friends back home. To end the unbearable emptiness and kill the silence, yes, but mostly because she hadn’t realised just how much they had meant to her before.
She’d give anything to have Luka burst into her room in that moment, just to do some of her usual Luka nonsense and then leave Chiara’s door wide open when she left. She’d give anything to hear Theo clattering around in his room next door, bemoaning the difficulty of putting together outfits that were both fashionable and battle-appropriate.
She hadn’t truly realised just how much being their friend mattered to her. Just how much she appreciated having them in her life.
The girl could only hope she’d get the chance to tell them.
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CHARACTER PROFILE IMAGE CREDIT: ElenaA via Picrew
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