The Messenger

This is an RP Blog and is in no way affiliated with VALVE! Hey there! I’m the Messenger— I’m basically an assistant to all classes, delivering ammo, metal, and even small health kits to whoever I can reach! Feel free to ask me anything! I’ll do my best to help :)

[meet-the-messenger]

Intro Post

Hello! I’m RED Team’s Messenger.

I act as an assistant to the classes, delivering messages, but also acting as a mobile resupply in-battle. Currently studying under any Merc who lets me!

(They/Them pronouns)

Bird version:

In Character / Description

“Dialogue”

(Action)

*3rd Person POV*

(OOC: Mod Talking)

Rules:

- No NSFW (Both Messenger and the Mod are aro/ace, so please no shipping or NSFW!)

- Feel free to RP! Asks are always open & encouraged! :)

- @meet-the-messenger if you make any art or have any questions!

Main Blog: @miscellaneous-dragon-art

Side Blog: @miscellaneous-non-dragon-art

Niche Blog: @miscellaneous-tf-art

MEDICS ONLY PAST THIS POINT:

(Messenger’s unredacted medical file) (/j anyone can look obviously)

Bird Messenger Reference Images:

[meet-the-journalist]

(Open role-play)

[ #🗒️Observing you from afar, taking frantic notes on a very thick and worn down notebook as if he was rushing to squeeze a history out of you. ]

[meet-the-messenger]

August’s ear flicked as they smiled softly, not looking up from the book they were reading.

“Hello, Javier.”

They said calmly, their voice coming from behind the Journalist. Their eyes glinted as they recalled the parallel between this and their first meeting.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ Once upon a time, they had met each other in similar paths, in similar ways. But Javier feared to intervene first in their way; how couldn't he? They looked so different.

It was their voice that guided him. There weren't enough universes for a coincidence of this magnitude to exist. He closed his notebook and came to their encounter.

“ Hello, August. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took the liberty to sit by their side. He couldn't help but be amazed by the complete transformation. He gave them a friendly smile, resting his weight against the ground with his elbows.

“ Blue suits you well! You resemble a january snowflake, with your wings and tail. Can't say I'm not surprised, though. When did this occur? ”

[meet-the-messenger]

August smiled warmly, fangs flashing. They seemed… oddly relieved, by the Journalist’s reaction. It was so… normal. It had been a while since they’d had some normalcy…

“Ah, thank you!” They grinned.

“I believe it’s been… 200 years now..?” They hummed thoughtfully.

[meet-the-journalist]

“ Two- years? Two hundred? I don't mean to alarm you or myself, but I could've sworn we saw each other... Maybe a week ago, week and half perhaps. […] Though....not that you mention it, yes. It looks like you've lived another two hundred years. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He turned to sit in a way that directly face them. Took a long glance at them, trying to not be invasive about it. They probably wouldn't be ecstatic to recall two hundred years, he thought. He started to dig into his bag.

“ Well, my friend, I don't know where I was those two thousand years, but as in here now, I think we should treat ourselves with a nice snack. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took out of his bag two big bags of sunflower seeds; one plain and the other salted; branded clearly to avoid mix-ups.

“ Two hundred years is a long way. You must be hungry. Here, I um, I investigated which seeds are bird friendly. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They smiled, fangs flashing again as their eyes widened (their blue eyes… hadn’t they been brown before..?)

“Woah now, I’m not two thousand years old—”

They chuckled, taking the seeds gratefully

“Ah, thank you! Luckily, after death my diet doesn’t seem limited anymore. That was a relief to discover— though I do still prefer my dove diet,”

“And you don’t need to worry, my King kept me fed” they said, popping a seed into their mouth with a croon.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ Journalist hopes he heard that wrong. Well, okay, little people live through a whole war, but he was holding onto the hope that Messenger would be protected, somehow. And while he doesn't like being a wreck in public, he felt like such a revelation was worth a ‘bloody murder’ type of scream. But, once again, if someone just went through two hundred years, maybe a scream isn't a warm welcome.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Keep it together.

“ Okay. August, you're a dear, dear friend of mine. You made New Mexico feel less like a bunch of dirt and more like a home. That being said, I feel like I'm the one who's been away for two hundred years. You- how? No, wait, it doesn't even matter how. I'm just- out of my blue. My depth, my depth..not blue- I know you couldn't- tell me, it's not like you knew but- where- where was I? And more importantly, are you still..., because I- Just- a second. Sorry. Sorry. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He berates himself for freaking out. It's not his place to be emotional, he's not the one who died. But at the same time, it's the second time this happens. He feels the sudden urge to latch onto their back and never get far enough to not be able to help. He rubs his face quickly. Put yourself together, this is not your place to grieve. He clear his throat, ignoring the knot in there.

“ Sorry. It doesn't matter. You're..., well you're here. That's all that matters. So, I'm glad the King- ..king? ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He opened his eyes once again, trying to met their gaze to squeeze any context he could out of their facial expressions. That's when he saw their eyes. Blue. Okay. It's okay, just a deep breath. Deep breath.

[meet-the-messenger]

August’s eyes softened, and they pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping Javier in their wings.

“Don’t put my emotions before yours. I’ve had 200 years to process, you’re only now finding out. It’s okay,” They hugged him close, comforting.

“As for how… in about the way you’d imagine I would. Protecting someone else.” They smiled softly, pulling away to study his face.

“My King, actually. Was the one I was protecting. Though he wasn’t a king then.”

They laughed quietly at his expression.

“Yes, I have a King now.” They stood up, doing a dramatic bow with a teasing expression.

“August, Royal Knight of Pride, at your service,”

They flourished, still wearing that same teasing smile, though their fangs glinted mischievously.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ As he felt the embrace of both of their wings, Journalist basically flew into their arms. He could fear his stomach dropping, thinking about all the other times he didn't go for a hug because he feared a little bit of awkwardness. They died. They died with the both of them having hugged probably a dozen times. Had whatever extraordinary circumstance not happened, that would've been all. His feelings are stuck in his throat and he clings onto the hug tighter than he normally would let himself. He bites down a sob, to avoid bittering the reunion, but his eyes became glassy despite his efforts. They're here, still. Hopefully to stay.

As they pulled away to look at him, he took in more detail the changes his friend had over gone. They didn't look like he remembered, but he would be dead before he didn't recognize their eyes. There was hope, at last.

He couldn't help but snicker at the dramatic bow. Two hundred years couldn't make his friend a stranger, it seemed. Ah, they're already here. Why waste the limited sun hours with sobs?

“ My, Royal Knight of Pride? At what circumstances do I own such an important visitor? ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He lets out a chuckle, standing up and down and over exaggerated bow as well.

“ Well well, so who's this King I should thank for your visit, August? Can't say I'm not curious. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They chuckled, smiling at him warmly. They’d… they’d missed this. They hadn’t realized how much they had but by the stars they’d missed it.

“Ah, that would be Dominik, King of the Pride ring of Hell.”

They grinned again, looking into the horizon with a fond but distant expression, lightly caught up in memories.

[meet-the-journalist]

“ My... that's one unique title. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took another good look at their distinct appearance. He had been staring, but dear, every time he looked his eyes found a new detail, new shade of blue, something new to look at in wonder. He tilted his head, replying to their warm smile with one of his own.

“ Be sure to give him my regards. By the way you speak of him, I can imagine you two had a good run. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They grinned again, fangs visible as they nodded

“Oh I wouldn’t say had, I’m still very much his Knight, he’s still… well, not alive, but. You know what I mean— he’s— physically and mentally present? Hm. I’m realizing I don’t know what to call this state…”

“But yes, he’s been very kind.” Their ear flicked as they seemed to get lost in thought again, but in a good way.

They caught him staring at their new features and offered a frost-tipped hand with a knowing grin.

“It’s okay, go ahead, I don’t mind. I couldn’t stop staring at them either when…” They trailed off again “…when it first happened.” They finished softly, though they didn’t seem saddened. Bittersweet, if anything.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took a second to look at their eyes, trying to communicate he was listening, even through his limited understanding.

While he was a bit embarrassed to be caught off guard observing, he lost no time, gently taking their hands into his for a quick inspection. Ironically, the sight of their blue hands made him shiver a little. Even though it didn't seem to hurt them, the sight of a hand so pale and so...blue awakened a primal fear within him. Once he pushed his ancestrally delivered fear of the frost and the snow, he noted the claws that adorned their hands. He had never seen anything quite like it.

“ I won't lie, friend, I have a million questions. The most important one is, you said it's been two hundred years...would I need to wait two hundred years to see you again? I fear I will miss you. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ His eyes travelers far from their eyes to their frost-tipped hands, a distant gaze in them.

[meet-the-messenger]

Their hands were cold to the touch, but not uncomfortably so, just… cold. It didn’t seem to bother them, though, in fact they didn’t seem to notice.

Their fingers were also just slightly stiffer, physically hardened by the ice that seemed to simply be part of them now.

At the question, their smile faded a little, and their gaze grew distant again. They… they didn’t know. They hoped not, but…

“No… no I don’t think you’ll have to wait that long… not if I can help it.”

Their expression… darkened oddly at that. There was a promise there. They wouldn’t let that happen.

“But I’m here now, and I won’t be leaving any time soon, I can promise you that.”

They smiled reassuringly, and then their eyes gained a devious glint.

“Hey, wanna see something cool..?”

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He looked up at them as he held their hand, seeing as the smile faded into a more restrained gesture. He let out a soft sigh of his own as he debated on the limits of his own mortality. Heaven knows he would wait for them for five hundred years if he could, but he was merely a human. His biggest fear was not living enough to see them again.

He let out a warm smile as August promised to make sure that time wouldn't pull them apart for long. He held their hand with a little more of a sheltering aspect to the gesture, almost enveloping them.

He would trust August with his life; he trusted wholeheartedly on their promise.

“ Then we better not lose a single second! ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ The proposal made his eyes glint with curiosity, a smile that looked like an accomplice blooming in his face.

“ Something cool? I'm all eyes and ears ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They grinned, the water above their head bubbling before suddenly there was a burst of mist.

Quickly, the entire area was covered in thick, white fog. It even seemed to cling to their feathers in some places, making them almost appear to melt into it a little.

It swirled around them, a cool reprieve from the desert sun, before gathering into a ball above Journalist’s hands, spinning and shifting as August moved it between states— first boiling, then steam and clouds, then freezing it into suspended ice crystals which flung tiny rainbows into the air around them, then compacting into a snowball— a snowball!!! In the middle of the desert! And it didn’t seem to be melting at all!!!

Their smile widened.

[meet-the-journalist]

“.....Wha- it's that- How‽ Oh my Goodness! It's snow, it's actual snow! I've never seen snow before, Hooooly Mother of Christ! ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He moved his head around the compact ball. It emitted cold, even now, with the sun shining as bright as ever. He carefully dug a finger into the snow, enchanted at it. How could something so small be so cold? So white? So soft?

Had it been with anyone else, he would've been ashamed of his giggling; but he just couldn't help himself.

This was real snow! Snow! Like the one in illustrations or tales! Real, tangible snow, right in front of him! If anyone saw him, they would never doubt again that ’childlike wonder’ wasn't restricted by age.

“ It's so pretty, so beautiful..I never imagined snow could be so...real.”

[meet-the-messenger]

Their grin widened as they had an idea. They weren’t nearly as powerful as King Dominik, but…

They pulled some more water from their core, spreading a dense but short layer of fog over the ground again, as well as some small, dense clouds above them.

With immense focus, the mist on the ground slowly froze into a thin layer of snow, and, ever so gently… it…

… it began to snow. The tiny clouds began to drop thick snowflakes which floated down. The air around them dropped several degrees, though it was nowhere near being truly cold.

The effort this took was evident on their face, but they looked oddly proud at the tiny system they’d created, as snowflakes began sticking to their hair and Javier’s.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ His eyes never once left their hands during the process, up until the very second it began to snow. He looked up at the clouds, completely amazed and awestruck. Soon he was standing on the tips of his toes, arms extended to the sky, like he wanted to reach the clouds. He even jumped a few times, he hadn't jumped with this joy since he was more or less an infant.

The laughter and giggling came as nothing but natural; her hands extended watching his palms collect snow, then bringing the snow up to his face, feeling the coolness against his skin. He felt the snow on his feet way before he saw it, he sat (almost throwing himself down) putting his hands into the whiteness, the softness. There was a spark on his eyes that is most commonly found when a child first sees bubbles. He cupped a bit of snow into his hands, making a small snowball himself. Never in his wilder dreams, had he thought he would find himself in such a enjoyment.

He practically jumps out of his place, extending and closing his arms around them, pure joy in his face. The hug tries to express every emotion that is too great to put into words. They can see when he laughs, because some snow falls off his shoulders.

[meet-the-messenger]

August giggled, hugging him back tightly as their wings close around him, sparkling in all the colors of the snow around them. They were elated to see Javier so overjoyed, and they actually picked him up off of his feet a bit to spin him around before setting him down again, a massive grin on their face.

“I take it you like it????” They giggled, bubbly coo’s emanating from them.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ Javier let a small "oof" as he was picked up, almost camouflaged between all of the giggles. He imagines this is how the sky feels when the sun adorns it with rainbows. Akin to cats, he took the opportunity of being elevated to stretch his hands and feet, feeling the snow and cold wind nesting onto the crevices of his clothes. Happiness has been an abstract concept since the moment of its conception into human minds, except for this moment; because right now happiness was as tangible and reachable as the snow above and below them, so present you'd only need to open your eyes to perceive it.

He looks up at them as he is set down, as he grabs their hand, already crouching down onto the ever flowing snow.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“ If I like it? August, I love it! Should I learn every language in the world, there will never be enough words to tell you just how- how wonderful, amazing, beautiful this moment is. Let's make a snowbird. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They giggled, swirling some snow in their hand with their magic, before nodding, spreading the snow on the ground out juuuust far enough for them to both fit as they let themselves fall backwards with a laugh.

Their limbs were spread out, wings at full extension as they laid there. Now, against the snow, it was clear just how much their feathers had shifted to match it, as they almost seemed to disappear into the snow in some spots, despite merely laying on top of it and not in it.

their ear flicked as they grinned at Javier, inviting him to join them on the snowy ground.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ He didn't need to be invited twice; he put his weight into his knees, proceeding to plop down face first into the snow with a chuckle. He stretched his legs and arms as if trying to simulate a starfish, just letting himself be cooled by the snow, relaxed by the cold breeze. His giggles traveled through the ground, the vibrations making their way back into his face as he chuckled with wonder. He lifted his head, both his eyebrows and eyelashes packed with snow, and gave them a warm smile.

He took a deep, lengthy breath, letting the cold air soothe his lungs. He held his arms close to his chest, rolling around the snow, just a tiny bit into the sand, rolling back to the snow.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They chuckled fondly at his antics, watching him roll around in glee as the snow continued falling from the small snow day they’d created.

Suddenly, their fangs flashed with a mischievous grin, as they picked up a chunk of snow into a small ball and tossed it at Javier, their expression challenging him to a snowball fight.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

On this day and age, it's unheard of for a child to be unaware of snow, of the marvelous white blankets that transformed of boring grounds into whole new world. And still, even now that communication was the hit of the decades (aside from Australium), it was pretty common for kids around the globe to hear songs, odes and tales worshipping winter snow, so close culturally and so unreachable in reality. Javier was one of those kids; being sold the tale of snow as a form of community in a town with no plausible way for either to form.

But, maybe, it didn't have to be like this. Maybe snow was really a form of community and enjoyment, maybe his town was just not the place for those to flourish. The reflection hit him at the same time as the snowball, the cold impact onto his chest far too comforting to be just a simple hit. A mischievous smile formed at his face, as he compacted some snow onto a ball. It was at least a bit strange, that he knew this scenario from memory but had never experienced they joy of living it?

Perhaps, just maybe, he was truly out of that town. Why should he still constrict his chances by the parameters of a place left behind?

The ball he threw impacted onto their shoulder, almost missing them. With an excitement rarely seen in these lands, he started to roll another ball as soon as his hands where free.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They laughed at the hit to their shoulder, brushing the snow off with one hand as they readied themselves, suddenly diving to the side and scooping up snow in their arms as they prepared their snow ammunitions. Snowmunitions, if you will. Reminder that this is August with 200 years of experience serving as a Knight under their belt… Javier’s in for a tough battle as they grinned wickedly.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

War declared, raise your shields for no one shall remain unscathed when the dust settles and the sun bows in respect for the fallen.

Unaware of how snow works, Journalist spreads as if to imitate a cat mid fall. The strategy at play is to capture as much snow as possible under his control to prevent running cold mid fight. He encounters his first obstacle fast; snow is cold. Of course he knew that already, what no amount of pictures and Christmas songs can prepare you for is the numbness that precedes that cold. He opens and closes his hands, dumbfounded. Those fingers that obey him feel foreign. He rubs his hands, touching his face to let the cold meet him.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They giggled, relaxing their stance as they watched their friend fondly. For someone who appeared to be touched by ice, their expression was filled with warmth.

August twirled a finger, and a few snowflakes danced on a cold curl of wind that blew playfully across his cheeks. They swirled it around him a bit, giggling at his reaction.

[meet-the-journalist]

A gasp escaped him, as he twirled around to try and catch a better view of the snowflakes. He extends his hands, glancing in awe at the unique shapes that land on them. He is not wearing a jacket, but he never felt this secure before. It's cold; but against the better judgement of thousands of years of evolution the cold is not a threat, it's a friend.

His eyes ultimately find August's, as he throws a smile at them, completely filled with absolute awe at the beauty of something so small as a snowflake. He was convinced that there were as many details in that single instance of nature as there where stars on the night vault.

🗞️—····│. ₊˚.˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They giggled. The snowflake melted almost immediately upon coming into contact with Javier’s hand— the thin, fragile crystals disappearing. August chuckled, they’d expected that— but they also could tell Javier wanted a closer look, so they swirled some around their own, frost-tipped fingers, and, when the snowflakes landed on them, they didn’t melt.

(In some ways, small moments like these— snowflakes melting against the warmth of a living person but not reacting to August’s skin— are subtle reminders of the fact that they’re no longer alive, but it didn’t seem to bother them anymore. All that mattered to them was that they were here.)

August held out their hand for the Journalist to see, the snowflakes gathering on their palm but not melting as they smiled at him.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ Nobody tells you how much it's hurts. Certainly, nobody told him.

He knows clearly that he wants to cry. It's the only thing that's clear; his mind is hazy. This pain isn't situated; it's leaking off him. More pain than flesh. He wants to cry and the tears to take away the pain. It's not really pain. It's just hunger.

He doesn't realize he's already well into gasping for air between sobs. Not like anyone would remind him; he's crouched between two boulders a few miles away from any building. It's by design; if someone hears anything he risks his life.

It's hunger, he tells himself. Hunger never killed anyone. It's not been long. The cargo will come. The ground will show him the path the truck took. It's pain. It's just pain. Pain never killed anyone. He's fine.

It's been almost five weeks since the cargo came. He stocks food, he's not idiotic with his stomach. But it's never been this long without new cargo. The last truck was stuffed to the top; that should've been the first sign. He should've taken more. He had time to take more. What did morals serve for in a war? To starve. To starve. Starve.

It's like there is an ice cold metal rod in his head. It aches and it burns and it feels like the pressure of earth wants to crush him like cockroaches get crushed in between shoes. He feels his face fresh, like when the air hits your face. He's sweating. Is he sick? No. No, not sick. Just pain.

Pain doesn't kill anyone. They can't delay the cargo much longer. He pressed his bag against his stomach, in an effort to drown the pain out by pressure. He feels himself skipping into sleep. The possibility wakes him into terror. He sits up.

He is not going to die like this. Alone in the dirt.

He must have something. He grabs his bag and empties it on the ground. The rustling of paper enrages him. He wants to burn the notebook, to burn the mountain, to burn everything into nothingness.

The paper!

He ambushes the notebook, passing the pages with urgent panic. He looks at every entry for a coffee stain, or at least, a clean page. He found about ten pages with enough coffee stains to deem them useless. Edible.

It's messy and humiliating. He finally realizes he's been sobbing because the salt of the tears helps condiment his meal. He can't eat as fast as he wants, as he needs. He barely chews some of the chunks. He doesn't really want to remember himself that this is paper.

It's okay. Pain never killed anyone.

They can't delay the rations much further.

It hurts.

[meet-the-messenger]

Messenger had been going for an evening flight, enjoying the dying rays of the sunset as their white feathers glimmered in the final golden beams. They glanced at the ground, which had already been bathed in growing shadow, when their sharp eyes spotted a figure on the ground, hunched over.

They dipped a wing to bank lower, intending to circle the figure, but the moment they realized who it was, their heart soars and then dropped to their stomach in fear as they took in his… everything.

They immediately landed, rushing over to the Journalist with a panicked expression.

“Javier??? Oh my— are— are you alright?? What’s wrong?? Why are you eating paper???”

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ Dust picked up from their landing, the small wave of cold air hitting his already weakened frame. It was just too much, he couldn't even stomach the horrible taste of rancid coffee and dust. One hand in the dirt, one of his elbows helping him up from the dirt, he barely makes it far enough from the sand that the half chewed paper didn't end up right in his face. One could be charitable and say he threw up the rest of his meal, if there had been anything to throw up. There is only bitter, bitter saliva and stomach acid. His world was reduced to his pain, up until the moment he heard his name in the distance. It wouldn't be the first time that delirium grabbed onto his misery and weakness, nor the first time he would've been deceived by his mind to ease the thought of dying alone.

It was most likely not worth the effort of looking up and dealing with the headache that sun and starvation caused. But hope was all he had left.

He looked up, fear and shame sticking him harder than hunger could. No. Not them. They couldn't see him like- like this, like a dying dog.

He coughed to try and get the rest of his mess out of his mouth, making an extra effort to face away from August. No. Please no. He prayed to anyone who would listen. Don't let them see me like this. If they realize how it's been, they'll leave. And they'll be right. But I've finally had a friend. Please. No.

He shakes his head as he tries to clean his mouth with a hand full of sand. Please not them.

Fear is the only thing that allowed him to speak in that state, because the fear of being seen like this was far more powerful than preserving energy. His voice was so raspy he didn't recognize it at first. How long had he spent in silence with himself?

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“ Nothing's wrong. I'm okay. I'm...[cough] I had a bad dream, that's all. ”

God, he wishes he could try to stand to prove his point.

[meet-the-messenger]

Their heart sank as they took in his trembling frame, hearing the rasp in his voice as he tried to insist he was fine.

Messenger could tell he was lying, though. Their brow furrowed at the out of character act as they rushed over to support him. Seeing their friend so weak broke their heart, and they let out several alarmed coo’s.

“No, you’re not, why— why would you—” They started, alarmed and confused, and suddenly, several things clicked in their mind.

Javier’s enthusiasm at the oranges in the supply room, his constantly disheveled appearance, the fact that he wasn’t employed by RED or BLU…

Was Javier… homeless..?

They felt a painful memory pang in the back of their mind. Memories of Romania, of growing up in the streets, desperately scrounging for food and shelter, hiding behind dumpsters and trash to evade the officers that patrolled their hometown, searching for rebels… the reasons they knew German and Russian… memories of the desperate hunger of a homeless kid in a starving country.

Now that they looked, they could clearly see that same painful desperation in Javier now, despite his best attempts to hide it, and they keened loudly, immediately hugging him tightly.

“I— Javier I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t know— I— If I’d known I would have—”

‘Do something!!!!!’ their mind screamed at them, and they whimpered quietly as their conscious writhed. They needed to take it slow, Javier was clearly in a delicate place right now.

Firmly, but gently, they placed their hands on his shoulders, turning to look him in the eye, not letting him look away.

Their eyes, which were normally entirely black…

The whites of their eyes were visible at the very edges, pupils constricted in worry as they gave him a look of concern and focus.

“Javier, be honest with me, when was the last time you had proper food?”

Their voice was steady. Warm, but assertive, like a concerned parent.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ It was difficult to notice just how weak you've gotten when you're the only person you can compare yourself to. That's why, despite not feeling exactly threatened more than ashamed, he flinched when he felt himself incapable of resisting…anything, really. It was not the hug that frightened him, it was the realization that even the adrenaline he felt couldn't give him enough strength to resist the hug or at least hug back. He bent his back in an effort to make the change on his frame less obvious. Shame, so much shame. If given a choice, he would've preferred to be discovered by a stranger. At least then he would be met with disgust rather than worry.

But he leaned into the hug, head first like one dives into a pool. This was a home in itself, he thought vaguely; what's a home but those arms who hold you when you can't hold yourself?

The moment he let himself close his eyes, feeling finally safe to give into the tiredness that had been accumulating like sand in clothes, it was that exact moment when the apologies started. It was a needle to the heart, to just know how pathetic, how worn down and weak he must've looked to prompt their panic and pity, it made him sick just to think of it. He shook his head a few times as firmly as he could, with his eyes close to avoid the nausea that derived from any fast movement since the last two days.

It was the grip of their hands on his shoulders that really got through him the severity of the situation; he had been held like this very few times in his life, never to be delivered good news.

All it took was one look into their eyes as the question sank by the density of the implications to almost bring him to tears. The nausea had once again regained control of his body. He looked away in fear. Fear of his friend's gaze on him, fear of his struggle being discovered, fear of what the tomorrow of their friendship would look like from now on. Fear of answering; verbalizing makes it real. He can feel his heart in his throat as he holds onto their arms and looks down.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“...Please don't. I'm- I'm okay. I'll be okay. Let's forget this. Please don't make me answer that. Please. We can't go back from there. Please. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ There were another million pleas hidden between the layers of shame and the thin layer of tears that started to flood his eyes. Please don't look at me like this. Please don't think of me like this. Please forget this. Please, forgive this.

As much as escaping could've helped the temporary situation, he had a permanent problem now. He knew that, one way or another, he had forever altered the chemistry of their friendship. He despised himself for it, he wished more now than never that moving sand had got him when he first arrived.

He tries to look away, to move. He is unsteady on his knees and they give up when he tries to stand up. He manages to grasp a handful of their uniform. He can't even look up at them this time. Not even infants are this vulnerable to the open desert and to an aware stare.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They immediately caught him, eyes going even wider at his words as tears began to prick their eyes in response. They knew this desperation all too well. The shame. They knew he wouldn’t tell them, and at this point it didn’t really matter— all that mattered was getting him some food, now.

Their expression shifted to one of determination.

“No, I’m not leaving, not now. I couldn’t live with myself if I left and you died. I won’t— I won’t be made to watch anyone else starve ever again. You’re coming with me, and we’re going to get you some food, and you’re going to be okay, okay?”

Their breath hitched as they held back their tears and, in one, strong movement, they scooped Javier into their arms, carrying him bridal style as they took off, flying him full-force to the base.

“You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be ok—”

They assured quietly the entire flight, though it seemed the assurance was just as much aimed at themselves as it was Javier…

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

In a weak attempt to try and keep them from helping him, he extended a hand out to the height of their chest as he realized their plan. He couldn't hold his resistance for long enough for them to even realize. A worry started to nest on his mind about how far August would go to try and help him. Even the mention of getting him something to eat made his already immobilizing guilt to wallow and feed on his shame. He shakes his head as vehemently as his position and state allow him too.

And then, when they took off, he opened his eyes to take in the sky above his head. He couldn't see much, the sun blinded his path of view. But it was nice, in a way he would never admit because he didn't believe himself to be worthy off, it was nice to have someone refuse to leave you behind to die. His heart pounds as he blinks rapidly to scare away tears.

Maybe this is what angels do when you die. Carry you softly through the air, when you're hungry and hurt, help you feel the air between your fingers and whisper calm while they hold you. Maybe this is heaven. He can't remember where he was before, but he is pretty sure this is heaven too. What a funny thing, wasn't it? If you're withered enough you can find heaven in pain too. He opened his left hand, letting the cold air pass through him, carry him away, refresh his skin from the misery and sweat.

He closed his eyes; trying to process the images was a hassle. It's not like he could even make out the things around him; everything felt flashing and indecipherable like an overexposed photo. He was nauseous again. He turned his face to them, almost as if searching for refuge from both the sky. He pressed his forehead against his shoulder.

He wonders if heaven would at least look his way, when it's all over.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

With extreme accuracy, they dove through the double doors to enter the RED-base, immediately rushing into the Mailroom as they held Javier firmly, with surprising strength. They were a Mercenary, after all, even if they didn’t always look it…

They sat him on a chair, grabbing bottles of water and food, stuffing them into their bag before lifting Javier into their arms once more, running to the Medbay, which was, luckily or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it, empty.

They entered some kind of trance as they set him up on one of the beds, bringing equipment over and cleaning supplies. They weren’t a Medic, but they had training.

They uncapped a bottle of water and slowly lifted it to Javier’s mouth, encouraging him to drink.

“Start slow, your body can’t handle too much right now. If you drink too quickly you’ll make yourself sicker. I’m going to start an IV to start hydrating you while you drink this— and I want you to drink the whole thing, every drop. But don’t chug. Once you’ve done that we can start working on maybe getting some proper food in you— we don’t want to shock your system.”

They explained what they were doing as they did it, making sure Javier knew everything they were doing in an attempt to calm him (and to give him a chance to object to anything they’re doing before they do it.) Their expression was soft and filled with concern, but also focus.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

Misfortune had an infatuation with Javier. He was barely conscious as they entered the building, the movement making it all so difficult to track, the cold lights, the weakness. He has little to not energy to resist, he let himself be moved and carried away like a leaf succumbs to the wind. It wasn't until he opened his eyes to a sensation that guilt once again took his calm away. Water. He was being offered not only water, but hydration by an IV. IV? What even was that? Where was he? He stumbled trying to get out of the bed, out of the Medbay; it all felt too sterile, too clean. He didn't belong here, he would taint this place with disgrace. His body could only propel him forward, holding his weight into his hands. He shook his head vigorously, ignoring the nausea the movement brought

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“...N-No. You don't need to do that. It'll be a waste of your supplies. The- the cargo is already late. I can't take it, what if someone needs it after I've gotten better? What if you need it? Lord knows you're at more risk daily than I've- ”

│. ₊˚.❝

A cough attack takes his throat hostage. As he covers his mouth his both of his hands, he can only think of how much he must be damaging the whole room just by being there. His germs, the dirtiness he carries with himself are all over the room now. He shrinks into the bed, as if to contaminate it less.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“ Sugar. S-sugar with water. That's what I take when I feel unwell. I just need that. I'm making these sheets dusty- God, I'm so sorry August. I could've sworn I had enough provisions. ”

│. ₊˚.❝

There is a burning desire to run. Run from the embarrassment, run from the shame, run from the care. Deep inside, he knows that a sabotage like this could easily kill him. If only he could remember what day it was, maybe he could scare himself into receiving the care.

God, his head hurts.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

With a single hand, they push him back onto the bed, without even seeming to break a sweat. Their expression is full of concern.

“IV stands for Intra-Venous, it’s a solution we give people when they’re malnourished. And it’s no waste. We have excess. More specifically I stock excess, just in case. Besides, I manage our supplies, and our Medic is one of my adoptive fathers. You remember Dorian..? I assure you no-one’s going to mind. And most certainly am I not going to let you hurt yourself by declining treatment.”

“…I can get you sugar water later, but you’ll need more than that to feel better, and I’m not going to let you starve yourself. And don’t worry about the dust or contaminating the room. Mercenaries are often rushed in here straight from the battlefield in far worse states. As someone who can see the germs in here in UV… You’re fine. In fact, you’re relatively pristine compared to some spots I can see—” They winced a bit.

They moved to a shelf in the back, pulling out some MREs they’d hidden away.

“I keep provisions hidden and stocked all over the base just… in case. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

They opened it for him, pouring some water into the bag to heat the meal with a slight grimace.

“They don’t taste the best, but they’re nutrient-dense and a lot better when they’re hot. And don’t you dare try to refuse it. I will stay here and make sure you eat this. These are supplies I ordered extra of— not rations we were given as our standard. No-one’s going to go hungry if you eat this, I promise. No-one even knew it was here.”

They gave him a firm look as they held out the MRE and the little plastic spork it came with. Their expression was hard, but full of concern and warmth. They wouldn’t let their friend suffer on their watch.

[meet-the-journalist]

It takes practically nothing to push him back into the bed. His urge to fight is more of an emotional need than an actual panic reaction; he won't really do anything about it. Just like he has done his whole life. He makes an effort and looks at August face to face, even as the nausea hits him. He knows that, by every metric and any rule, he should've not been on the recliner. Not that he cares about the trespassing rules or the material costs that TFI will have to pay to even come even with this intervention, not at all. The rules he's breaking and merely social. For one, he is older, he should be able to fend for himself, anything else is just shameful. He used to work when he was right years old, it's just ridiculous to see him like this. August is under no obligation to help him; that might be the one who is scaring him the most. He's lived all his life tied to those rules and right here and now they don't seem to have ever existed. There is kindness where punishment used to be.

Malnourished, he heard the word but refused to accept it as a reality. Surely he can't be that weak; it was just that the sun had been particularly nasty lately. The moment a refusal starts to form into his throat, is the raw worry in their eyes that shuts him right up. He lowers his head, nodding as his mind manages to bring back a fuzzy memory from Dorian. He has been horribly nice to him. For a second, he wonders if the little effect he has seen from the bird-shot was also because of his diet. He doesn't want to think about it.

A hot meal. A memory mugs him, it demands all of his verbal capacity and a full down breakdown. He tries to resist the tears that pricked on his eyes, like cactus thorns. A hot meal, heat being transferred to him through contact. Steam flowing up on the air, patterns unrepeatable, unique and intimate. He remembers the last hot meal he had. It was back in Mexico, a homemade tortilla with some salt on it and homemade salsa. Home-made, there was no question to his place in the world then, almost none at all. It's almost sad if he thinks about it for long, the meal was light and unassuming because deep in his mind he didn't actually think he wasn't coming back. Wouldn't be the first time he cowardly thought it and never made it through his hesitation. Because running away was a childish dream, until up the moment he actually jumped into the train.

He can't possibly also cry right now, he's been enough of a bother as is. He bites the inside of his cheek; he miscalculates the force and now his gums are bleeding. That's been happening more often, almost around the time his nails started to turn a pale purple. In a split second decision, he swallows the blood, tilting his head down, as he accepts the food. He just hopes the bruises aren't very noticeable; he can't recall how they started to appear that easily.

As the warmth spreads into his hands, he looks down at the food like it's the most precious sight on earth. Despite her best efforts, a tear slides off his face and into the mix.

🗞️—····│. ₊˚.˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They crooned, noticing the early signs of scurvy as well as the malnutrition and severe dehydration they’d already noticed. They sat nearby, waiting for Javier to eat as they gently wrap a wing around him. Their expression is saddened, and they look away for a moment, deep in thought. After a moment… they spoke, turning back to the Journalist.

“I…. never told you about my childhood….. did I…”

They took a breath.

“Did I ever tell you where I am from..?” (They… hadn’t.)

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? giggles)

Oh come on!~ It's your comrade or enemy to be fair Cultist!

(An awkward silence, Cultist? standing still his eye twitching smiling before in a few seconds frowning)

....actually scratch that its his "god" right now

I wanted to see all the "friends" he made...and maybe read all your files

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened a tad, worried about their friend, though their smile never faltered as they held up the facade.)

“Oh..? And who is his… “god” if I may ask..?”

(They tilted their head, ‘friendly’ smile still plastered on their face.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

I thought my most devoted follower told you...guess he forgot his purpose already...

(His eyes narrow fingers digging into his flesh)

A...god of creation...in a way

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately clocked the self-harm induced by the god. They didn’t like the sound of any of this, and their feathers rose anxiously. Their wing twitched. The… one that held Harbin’s feather, hidden and tucked behind layers upon layers of white feathers, in a spot only they could reach. They wouldn’t use it though, unless the situation turned truly dire.)

(They watched his fingers dig in and their face twitched, leaning away from the god a bit as their stance shifted subtly.)

“What do you want.”

(They weren’t playing around anymore. Their ‘friendly’ smile had finally dropped, as well as their normally sociable and innocent demeanor. The situation was getting serious, and they recognized the threat to their friend’s safety— though, they didn’t know what the god would do if they drew attention to the fact that he was hurting their friend.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? smiles fingers starting to digger in tight as small drops of blood started to pour from his palms]

I want you to stay away from my follower, I don't have any use of bothering you at all. And besides he'll just believe anything I say to him...just like with the red cultist and Mrs.Helen, first assistant...or her expandable helper...

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their eyes widened in… anger. No. Wrath. Messenger… was experiencing Wrath. Oh you pissed them off— that’s damn difficult to do. And also not something you want to do.)

“Let. Him. Go.”

(They demanded, fixing the god with a dark expression. They twitched again, and their wings folded around them. From the outside, it looked like an act of comfort; a self-soothing motion. In reality, they were grabbing Harbin’s feather, preparing a wish if the god refused to listen.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

No

[Cultist smiles before taking out a dagger]

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened further.)

“That wasn’t a request.”

(They took a breath, squeezing Harbin’s feather in their hands… and they made a Wish.)

(They wished for this god to be out of their friend’s body, now. Pink and red magic exploded out of the feather, and they glared at the god.)

“Leave my friend alone, now.”

@harbin-ludwig-of-red <- gonna let them choose exactly how the magic operates since it’s their feather ^^

[harbin-ludwig-of-red]

(The feather did exactly what was wished, forcibly pulling the god physically out of its host, throwing it onto the ground with a wet "plop." And somewhere, far away, Harbin was doing demonic paperwork in Hell, he suddenly perked up, and smiled, smug.)

"...Hmm...Someone used a feather...odd."

@meet-the-blu-cultist

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[The moment the god left his body, he collapsed, feeling pain all over his body and his palms where it had digged his fingers...he attempted to sit up or at least have move a part of his body but to avail]

@meet-the-messenger

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately ran towards him, holding him in their arms and crooning in concern. They picked the Cultist up effortlessly in their arms, immediately flapping a bit to get some distance from the freshly-ejected god, before cradling him gently, cooing as they looked him over.)

“There we go— you’re alright— do you remember anything?”

(Their expression was full of concern, and their tone was more serious than the Cultist had ever heard it. Their head twitched a bit to the side. They were extraordinarily careful to not let the god leave their sight.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[He looked up, at them wincing in pain before looking at his the god his eyes seem more clearer than before]

...Ill...be f-fine ...ugh...I feel like I g-got hit with a sledge hammer..it's not the first time

[Cultist coughed hard before spitting out a black substance mixed with his blood]

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their brow furrowed in concern)

“What do you mean it’s not the first time??”

(Then, their eyes widened as he spat out the old goop, immediately using their shoe to kick the rotten, black substance away with an expression of disgust and worry.)

(They glared at the god as they held the Cultist’s shoulders, keeping him steady.)

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? giggles)

Oh come on!~ It's your comrade or enemy to be fair Cultist!

(An awkward silence, Cultist? standing still his eye twitching smiling before in a few seconds frowning)

....actually scratch that its his "god" right now

I wanted to see all the "friends" he made...and maybe read all your files

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened a tad, worried about their friend, though their smile never faltered as they held up the facade.)

“Oh..? And who is his… “god” if I may ask..?”

(They tilted their head, ‘friendly’ smile still plastered on their face.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

I thought my most devoted follower told you...guess he forgot his purpose already...

(His eyes narrow fingers digging into his flesh)

A...god of creation...in a way

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately clocked the self-harm induced by the god. They didn’t like the sound of any of this, and their feathers rose anxiously. Their wing twitched. The… one that held Harbin’s feather, hidden and tucked behind layers upon layers of white feathers, in a spot only they could reach. They wouldn’t use it though, unless the situation turned truly dire.)

(They watched his fingers dig in and their face twitched, leaning away from the god a bit as their stance shifted subtly.)

“What do you want.”

(They weren’t playing around anymore. Their ‘friendly’ smile had finally dropped, as well as their normally sociable and innocent demeanor. The situation was getting serious, and they recognized the threat to their friend’s safety— though, they didn’t know what the god would do if they drew attention to the fact that he was hurting their friend.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? smiles fingers starting to digger in tight as small drops of blood started to pour from his palms]

I want you to stay away from my follower, I don't have any use of bothering you at all. And besides he'll just believe anything I say to him...just like with the red cultist and Mrs.Helen, first assistant...or her expandable helper...

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their eyes widened in… anger. No. Wrath. Messenger… was experiencing Wrath. Oh you pissed them off— that’s damn difficult to do. And also not something you want to do.)

“Let. Him. Go.”

(They demanded, fixing the god with a dark expression. They twitched again, and their wings folded around them. From the outside, it looked like an act of comfort; a self-soothing motion. In reality, they were grabbing Harbin’s feather, preparing a wish if the god refused to listen.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

No

[Cultist smiles before taking out a dagger]

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened further.)

“That wasn’t a request.”

(They took a breath, squeezing Harbin’s feather in their hands… and they made a Wish.)

(They wished for this god to be out of their friend’s body, now. Pink and red magic exploded out of the feather, and they glared at the god.)

“Leave my friend alone, now.”

@harbin-ludwig-of-red <- gonna let them choose exactly how the magic operates since it’s their feather ^^

[harbin-ludwig-of-red]

(The feather did exactly what was wished, forcibly pulling the god physically out of its host, throwing it onto the ground with a wet "plop." And somewhere, far away, Harbin was doing demonic paperwork in Hell, he suddenly perked up, and smiled, smug.)

"...Hmm...Someone used a feather...odd."

@meet-the-blu-cultist

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[The moment the god left his body, he collapsed, feeling pain all over his body and his palms where it had digged his fingers...he attempted to sit up or at least have move a part of his body but to avail]

@meet-the-messenger

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately ran towards him, holding him in their arms and crooning in concern. They picked the Cultist up effortlessly in their arms, immediately flapping a bit to get some distance from the freshly-ejected god, before cradling him gently, cooing as they looked him over.)

“There we go— you’re alright— do you remember anything?”

(Their expression was full of concern, and their tone was more serious than the Cultist had ever heard it. Their head twitched a bit to the side. They were extraordinarily careful to not let the god leave their sight.)

[meet-the-messenger]

*RING!! RING!! Messengers phone (or telephone) rings, it seems @spiros-a-best-buddy s calling*

They pause their letter-sorting to glance at the landline curiously, before picking it up.

“Hello! This is the Messenger speaking, who is calling?”

They chirp, putting on their customer service tone (They don’t have caller ID lol) and a chipper smile.

[spiros-a-best-buddy]

I THINK I FOUND THE UHHH, BAG I- FUCK I LOST IT AGAIN HOLD ON-

[meet-the-messenger]

They wilted a bit as they heard Spiro loose the bag in real time. Their smile grew strained.

“Oh, h-hey, Spiro… please just uh… let me know once you’ve actually found it and bring it to me… until then.”

They hung up the phone, placing it back on the hook with a sigh. They didn’t like having their hopes raised and dashed repeatedly like this. It just made them sad.

[meet-the-journalist]

(Open role-play)

[ #🗒️Observing you from afar, taking frantic notes on a very thick and worn down notebook as if he was rushing to squeeze a history out of you. ]

[meet-the-messenger]

August’s ear flicked as they smiled softly, not looking up from the book they were reading.

“Hello, Javier.”

They said calmly, their voice coming from behind the Journalist. Their eyes glinted as they recalled the parallel between this and their first meeting.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ Once upon a time, they had met each other in similar paths, in similar ways. But Javier feared to intervene first in their way; how couldn't he? They looked so different.

It was their voice that guided him. There weren't enough universes for a coincidence of this magnitude to exist. He closed his notebook and came to their encounter.

“ Hello, August. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took the liberty to sit by their side. He couldn't help but be amazed by the complete transformation. He gave them a friendly smile, resting his weight against the ground with his elbows.

“ Blue suits you well! You resemble a january snowflake, with your wings and tail. Can't say I'm not surprised, though. When did this occur? ”

[meet-the-messenger]

August smiled warmly, fangs flashing. They seemed… oddly relieved, by the Journalist’s reaction. It was so… normal. It had been a while since they’d had some normalcy…

“Ah, thank you!” They grinned.

“I believe it’s been… 200 years now..?” They hummed thoughtfully.

[meet-the-journalist]

“ Two- years? Two hundred? I don't mean to alarm you or myself, but I could've sworn we saw each other... Maybe a week ago, week and half perhaps. […] Though....not that you mention it, yes. It looks like you've lived another two hundred years. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He turned to sit in a way that directly face them. Took a long glance at them, trying to not be invasive about it. They probably wouldn't be ecstatic to recall two hundred years, he thought. He started to dig into his bag.

“ Well, my friend, I don't know where I was those two thousand years, but as in here now, I think we should treat ourselves with a nice snack. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took out of his bag two big bags of sunflower seeds; one plain and the other salted; branded clearly to avoid mix-ups.

“ Two hundred years is a long way. You must be hungry. Here, I um, I investigated which seeds are bird friendly. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They smiled, fangs flashing again as their eyes widened (their blue eyes… hadn’t they been brown before..?)

“Woah now, I’m not two thousand years old—”

They chuckled, taking the seeds gratefully

“Ah, thank you! Luckily, after death my diet doesn’t seem limited anymore. That was a relief to discover— though I do still prefer my dove diet,”

“And you don’t need to worry, my King kept me fed” they said, popping a seed into their mouth with a croon.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ Journalist hopes he heard that wrong. Well, okay, little people live through a whole war, but he was holding onto the hope that Messenger would be protected, somehow. And while he doesn't like being a wreck in public, he felt like such a revelation was worth a ‘bloody murder’ type of scream. But, once again, if someone just went through two hundred years, maybe a scream isn't a warm welcome.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Keep it together.

“ Okay. August, you're a dear, dear friend of mine. You made New Mexico feel less like a bunch of dirt and more like a home. That being said, I feel like I'm the one who's been away for two hundred years. You- how? No, wait, it doesn't even matter how. I'm just- out of my blue. My depth, my depth..not blue- I know you couldn't- tell me, it's not like you knew but- where- where was I? And more importantly, are you still..., because I- Just- a second. Sorry. Sorry. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He berates himself for freaking out. It's not his place to be emotional, he's not the one who died. But at the same time, it's the second time this happens. He feels the sudden urge to latch onto their back and never get far enough to not be able to help. He rubs his face quickly. Put yourself together, this is not your place to grieve. He clear his throat, ignoring the knot in there.

“ Sorry. It doesn't matter. You're..., well you're here. That's all that matters. So, I'm glad the King- ..king? ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He opened his eyes once again, trying to met their gaze to squeeze any context he could out of their facial expressions. That's when he saw their eyes. Blue. Okay. It's okay, just a deep breath. Deep breath.

[meet-the-messenger]

August’s eyes softened, and they pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping Javier in their wings.

“Don’t put my emotions before yours. I’ve had 200 years to process, you’re only now finding out. It’s okay,” They hugged him close, comforting.

“As for how… in about the way you’d imagine I would. Protecting someone else.” They smiled softly, pulling away to study his face.

“My King, actually. Was the one I was protecting. Though he wasn’t a king then.”

They laughed quietly at his expression.

“Yes, I have a King now.” They stood up, doing a dramatic bow with a teasing expression.

“August, Royal Knight of Pride, at your service,”

They flourished, still wearing that same teasing smile, though their fangs glinted mischievously.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ As he felt the embrace of both of their wings, Journalist basically flew into their arms. He could fear his stomach dropping, thinking about all the other times he didn't go for a hug because he feared a little bit of awkwardness. They died. They died with the both of them having hugged probably a dozen times. Had whatever extraordinary circumstance not happened, that would've been all. His feelings are stuck in his throat and he clings onto the hug tighter than he normally would let himself. He bites down a sob, to avoid bittering the reunion, but his eyes became glassy despite his efforts. They're here, still. Hopefully to stay.

As they pulled away to look at him, he took in more detail the changes his friend had over gone. They didn't look like he remembered, but he would be dead before he didn't recognize their eyes. There was hope, at last.

He couldn't help but snicker at the dramatic bow. Two hundred years couldn't make his friend a stranger, it seemed. Ah, they're already here. Why waste the limited sun hours with sobs?

“ My, Royal Knight of Pride? At what circumstances do I own such an important visitor? ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He lets out a chuckle, standing up and down and over exaggerated bow as well.

“ Well well, so who's this King I should thank for your visit, August? Can't say I'm not curious. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They chuckled, smiling at him warmly. They’d… they’d missed this. They hadn’t realized how much they had but by the stars they’d missed it.

“Ah, that would be Dominik, King of the Pride ring of Hell.”

They grinned again, looking into the horizon with a fond but distant expression, lightly caught up in memories.

[meet-the-journalist]

“ My... that's one unique title. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took another good look at their distinct appearance. He had been staring, but dear, every time he looked his eyes found a new detail, new shade of blue, something new to look at in wonder. He tilted his head, replying to their warm smile with one of his own.

“ Be sure to give him my regards. By the way you speak of him, I can imagine you two had a good run. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They grinned again, fangs visible as they nodded

“Oh I wouldn’t say had, I’m still very much his Knight, he’s still… well, not alive, but. You know what I mean— he’s— physically and mentally present? Hm. I’m realizing I don’t know what to call this state…”

“But yes, he’s been very kind.” Their ear flicked as they seemed to get lost in thought again, but in a good way.

They caught him staring at their new features and offered a frost-tipped hand with a knowing grin.

“It’s okay, go ahead, I don’t mind. I couldn’t stop staring at them either when…” They trailed off again “…when it first happened.” They finished softly, though they didn’t seem saddened. Bittersweet, if anything.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He took a second to look at their eyes, trying to communicate he was listening, even through his limited understanding.

While he was a bit embarrassed to be caught off guard observing, he lost no time, gently taking their hands into his for a quick inspection. Ironically, the sight of their blue hands made him shiver a little. Even though it didn't seem to hurt them, the sight of a hand so pale and so...blue awakened a primal fear within him. Once he pushed his ancestrally delivered fear of the frost and the snow, he noted the claws that adorned their hands. He had never seen anything quite like it.

“ I won't lie, friend, I have a million questions. The most important one is, you said it's been two hundred years...would I need to wait two hundred years to see you again? I fear I will miss you. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ His eyes travelers far from their eyes to their frost-tipped hands, a distant gaze in them.

[meet-the-messenger]

Their hands were cold to the touch, but not uncomfortably so, just… cold. It didn’t seem to bother them, though, in fact they didn’t seem to notice.

Their fingers were also just slightly stiffer, physically hardened by the ice that seemed to simply be part of them now.

At the question, their smile faded a little, and their gaze grew distant again. They… they didn’t know. They hoped not, but…

“No… no I don’t think you’ll have to wait that long… not if I can help it.”

Their expression… darkened oddly at that. There was a promise there. They wouldn’t let that happen.

“But I’m here now, and I won’t be leaving any time soon, I can promise you that.”

They smiled reassuringly, and then their eyes gained a devious glint.

“Hey, wanna see something cool..?”

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He looked up at them as he held their hand, seeing as the smile faded into a more restrained gesture. He let out a soft sigh of his own as he debated on the limits of his own mortality. Heaven knows he would wait for them for five hundred years if he could, but he was merely a human. His biggest fear was not living enough to see them again.

He let out a warm smile as August promised to make sure that time wouldn't pull them apart for long. He held their hand with a little more of a sheltering aspect to the gesture, almost enveloping them.

He would trust August with his life; he trusted wholeheartedly on their promise.

“ Then we better not lose a single second! ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ The proposal made his eyes glint with curiosity, a smile that looked like an accomplice blooming in his face.

“ Something cool? I'm all eyes and ears ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They grinned, the water above their head bubbling before suddenly there was a burst of mist.

Quickly, the entire area was covered in thick, white fog. It even seemed to cling to their feathers in some places, making them almost appear to melt into it a little.

It swirled around them, a cool reprieve from the desert sun, before gathering into a ball above Journalist’s hands, spinning and shifting as August moved it between states— first boiling, then steam and clouds, then freezing it into suspended ice crystals which flung tiny rainbows into the air around them, then compacting into a snowball— a snowball!!! In the middle of the desert! And it didn’t seem to be melting at all!!!

Their smile widened.

[meet-the-journalist]

“.....Wha- it's that- How‽ Oh my Goodness! It's snow, it's actual snow! I've never seen snow before, Hooooly Mother of Christ! ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He moved his head around the compact ball. It emitted cold, even now, with the sun shining as bright as ever. He carefully dug a finger into the snow, enchanted at it. How could something so small be so cold? So white? So soft?

Had it been with anyone else, he would've been ashamed of his giggling; but he just couldn't help himself.

This was real snow! Snow! Like the one in illustrations or tales! Real, tangible snow, right in front of him! If anyone saw him, they would never doubt again that ’childlike wonder’ wasn't restricted by age.

“ It's so pretty, so beautiful..I never imagined snow could be so...real.”

[meet-the-messenger]

Their grin widened as they had an idea. They weren’t nearly as powerful as King Dominik, but…

They pulled some more water from their core, spreading a dense but short layer of fog over the ground again, as well as some small, dense clouds above them.

With immense focus, the mist on the ground slowly froze into a thin layer of snow, and, ever so gently… it…

… it began to snow. The tiny clouds began to drop thick snowflakes which floated down. The air around them dropped several degrees, though it was nowhere near being truly cold.

The effort this took was evident on their face, but they looked oddly proud at the tiny system they’d created, as snowflakes began sticking to their hair and Javier’s.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ His eyes never once left their hands during the process, up until the very second it began to snow. He looked up at the clouds, completely amazed and awestruck. Soon he was standing on the tips of his toes, arms extended to the sky, like he wanted to reach the clouds. He even jumped a few times, he hadn't jumped with this joy since he was more or less an infant.

The laughter and giggling came as nothing but natural; her hands extended watching his palms collect snow, then bringing the snow up to his face, feeling the coolness against his skin. He felt the snow on his feet way before he saw it, he sat (almost throwing himself down) putting his hands into the whiteness, the softness. There was a spark on his eyes that is most commonly found when a child first sees bubbles. He cupped a bit of snow into his hands, making a small snowball himself. Never in his wilder dreams, had he thought he would find himself in such a enjoyment.

He practically jumps out of his place, extending and closing his arms around them, pure joy in his face. The hug tries to express every emotion that is too great to put into words. They can see when he laughs, because some snow falls off his shoulders.

[meet-the-messenger]

August giggled, hugging him back tightly as their wings close around him, sparkling in all the colors of the snow around them. They were elated to see Javier so overjoyed, and they actually picked him up off of his feet a bit to spin him around before setting him down again, a massive grin on their face.

“I take it you like it????” They giggled, bubbly coo’s emanating from them.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ Javier let a small "oof" as he was picked up, almost camouflaged between all of the giggles. He imagines this is how the sky feels when the sun adorns it with rainbows. Akin to cats, he took the opportunity of being elevated to stretch his hands and feet, feeling the snow and cold wind nesting onto the crevices of his clothes. Happiness has been an abstract concept since the moment of its conception into human minds, except for this moment; because right now happiness was as tangible and reachable as the snow above and below them, so present you'd only need to open your eyes to perceive it.

He looks up at them as he is set down, as he grabs their hand, already crouching down onto the ever flowing snow.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“ If I like it? August, I love it! Should I learn every language in the world, there will never be enough words to tell you just how- how wonderful, amazing, beautiful this moment is. Let's make a snowbird. ”

[meet-the-messenger]

They giggled, swirling some snow in their hand with their magic, before nodding, spreading the snow on the ground out juuuust far enough for them to both fit as they let themselves fall backwards with a laugh.

Their limbs were spread out, wings at full extension as they laid there. Now, against the snow, it was clear just how much their feathers had shifted to match it, as they almost seemed to disappear into the snow in some spots, despite merely laying on top of it and not in it.

their ear flicked as they grinned at Javier, inviting him to join them on the snowy ground.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ He didn't need to be invited twice; he put his weight into his knees, proceeding to plop down face first into the snow with a chuckle. He stretched his legs and arms as if trying to simulate a starfish, just letting himself be cooled by the snow, relaxed by the cold breeze. His giggles traveled through the ground, the vibrations making their way back into his face as he chuckled with wonder. He lifted his head, both his eyebrows and eyelashes packed with snow, and gave them a warm smile.

He took a deep, lengthy breath, letting the cold air soothe his lungs. He held his arms close to his chest, rolling around the snow, just a tiny bit into the sand, rolling back to the snow.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They chuckled fondly at his antics, watching him roll around in glee as the snow continued falling from the small snow day they’d created.

Suddenly, their fangs flashed with a mischievous grin, as they picked up a chunk of snow into a small ball and tossed it at Javier, their expression challenging him to a snowball fight.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

On this day and age, it's unheard of for a child to be unaware of snow, of the marvelous white blankets that transformed of boring grounds into whole new world. And still, even now that communication was the hit of the decades (aside from Australium), it was pretty common for kids around the globe to hear songs, odes and tales worshipping winter snow, so close culturally and so unreachable in reality. Javier was one of those kids; being sold the tale of snow as a form of community in a town with no plausible way for either to form.

But, maybe, it didn't have to be like this. Maybe snow was really a form of community and enjoyment, maybe his town was just not the place for those to flourish. The reflection hit him at the same time as the snowball, the cold impact onto his chest far too comforting to be just a simple hit. A mischievous smile formed at his face, as he compacted some snow onto a ball. It was at least a bit strange, that he knew this scenario from memory but had never experienced they joy of living it?

Perhaps, just maybe, he was truly out of that town. Why should he still constrict his chances by the parameters of a place left behind?

The ball he threw impacted onto their shoulder, almost missing them. With an excitement rarely seen in these lands, he started to roll another ball as soon as his hands where free.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They laughed at the hit to their shoulder, brushing the snow off with one hand as they readied themselves, suddenly diving to the side and scooping up snow in their arms as they prepared their snow ammunitions. Snowmunitions, if you will. Reminder that this is August with 200 years of experience serving as a Knight under their belt… Javier’s in for a tough battle as they grinned wickedly.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

War declared, raise your shields for no one shall remain unscathed when the dust settles and the sun bows in respect for the fallen.

Unaware of how snow works, Journalist spreads as if to imitate a cat mid fall. The strategy at play is to capture as much snow as possible under his control to prevent running cold mid fight. He encounters his first obstacle fast; snow is cold. Of course he knew that already, what no amount of pictures and Christmas songs can prepare you for is the numbness that precedes that cold. He opens and closes his hands, dumbfounded. Those fingers that obey him feel foreign. He rubs his hands, touching his face to let the cold meet him.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They giggled, relaxing their stance as they watched their friend fondly. For someone who appeared to be touched by ice, their expression was filled with warmth.

August twirled a finger, and a few snowflakes danced on a cold curl of wind that blew playfully across his cheeks. They swirled it around him a bit, giggling at his reaction.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ Nobody tells you how much it's hurts. Certainly, nobody told him.

He knows clearly that he wants to cry. It's the only thing that's clear; his mind is hazy. This pain isn't situated; it's leaking off him. More pain than flesh. He wants to cry and the tears to take away the pain. It's not really pain. It's just hunger.

He doesn't realize he's already well into gasping for air between sobs. Not like anyone would remind him; he's crouched between two boulders a few miles away from any building. It's by design; if someone hears anything he risks his life.

It's hunger, he tells himself. Hunger never killed anyone. It's not been long. The cargo will come. The ground will show him the path the truck took. It's pain. It's just pain. Pain never killed anyone. He's fine.

It's been almost five weeks since the cargo came. He stocks food, he's not idiotic with his stomach. But it's never been this long without new cargo. The last truck was stuffed to the top; that should've been the first sign. He should've taken more. He had time to take more. What did morals serve for in a war? To starve. To starve. Starve.

It's like there is an ice cold metal rod in his head. It aches and it burns and it feels like the pressure of earth wants to crush him like cockroaches get crushed in between shoes. He feels his face fresh, like when the air hits your face. He's sweating. Is he sick? No. No, not sick. Just pain.

Pain doesn't kill anyone. They can't delay the cargo much longer. He pressed his bag against his stomach, in an effort to drown the pain out by pressure. He feels himself skipping into sleep. The possibility wakes him into terror. He sits up.

He is not going to die like this. Alone in the dirt.

He must have something. He grabs his bag and empties it on the ground. The rustling of paper enrages him. He wants to burn the notebook, to burn the mountain, to burn everything into nothingness.

The paper!

He ambushes the notebook, passing the pages with urgent panic. He looks at every entry for a coffee stain, or at least, a clean page. He found about ten pages with enough coffee stains to deem them useless. Edible.

It's messy and humiliating. He finally realizes he's been sobbing because the salt of the tears helps condiment his meal. He can't eat as fast as he wants, as he needs. He barely chews some of the chunks. He doesn't really want to remember himself that this is paper.

It's okay. Pain never killed anyone.

They can't delay the rations much further.

It hurts.

[meet-the-messenger]

Messenger had been going for an evening flight, enjoying the dying rays of the sunset as their white feathers glimmered in the final golden beams. They glanced at the ground, which had already been bathed in growing shadow, when their sharp eyes spotted a figure on the ground, hunched over.

They dipped a wing to bank lower, intending to circle the figure, but the moment they realized who it was, their heart soars and then dropped to their stomach in fear as they took in his… everything.

They immediately landed, rushing over to the Journalist with a panicked expression.

“Javier??? Oh my— are— are you alright?? What’s wrong?? Why are you eating paper???”

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ Dust picked up from their landing, the small wave of cold air hitting his already weakened frame. It was just too much, he couldn't even stomach the horrible taste of rancid coffee and dust. One hand in the dirt, one of his elbows helping him up from the dirt, he barely makes it far enough from the sand that the half chewed paper didn't end up right in his face. One could be charitable and say he threw up the rest of his meal, if there had been anything to throw up. There is only bitter, bitter saliva and stomach acid. His world was reduced to his pain, up until the moment he heard his name in the distance. It wouldn't be the first time that delirium grabbed onto his misery and weakness, nor the first time he would've been deceived by his mind to ease the thought of dying alone.

It was most likely not worth the effort of looking up and dealing with the headache that sun and starvation caused. But hope was all he had left.

He looked up, fear and shame sticking him harder than hunger could. No. Not them. They couldn't see him like- like this, like a dying dog.

He coughed to try and get the rest of his mess out of his mouth, making an extra effort to face away from August. No. Please no. He prayed to anyone who would listen. Don't let them see me like this. If they realize how it's been, they'll leave. And they'll be right. But I've finally had a friend. Please. No.

He shakes his head as he tries to clean his mouth with a hand full of sand. Please not them.

Fear is the only thing that allowed him to speak in that state, because the fear of being seen like this was far more powerful than preserving energy. His voice was so raspy he didn't recognize it at first. How long had he spent in silence with himself?

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“ Nothing's wrong. I'm okay. I'm...[cough] I had a bad dream, that's all. ”

God, he wishes he could try to stand to prove his point.

[meet-the-messenger]

Their heart sank as they took in his trembling frame, hearing the rasp in his voice as he tried to insist he was fine.

Messenger could tell he was lying, though. Their brow furrowed at the out of character act as they rushed over to support him. Seeing their friend so weak broke their heart, and they let out several alarmed coo’s.

“No, you’re not, why— why would you—” They started, alarmed and confused, and suddenly, several things clicked in their mind.

Javier’s enthusiasm at the oranges in the supply room, his constantly disheveled appearance, the fact that he wasn’t employed by RED or BLU…

Was Javier… homeless..?

They felt a painful memory pang in the back of their mind. Memories of Romania, of growing up in the streets, desperately scrounging for food and shelter, hiding behind dumpsters and trash to evade the officers that patrolled their hometown, searching for rebels… the reasons they knew German and Russian… memories of the desperate hunger of a homeless kid in a starving country.

Now that they looked, they could clearly see that same painful desperation in Javier now, despite his best attempts to hide it, and they keened loudly, immediately hugging him tightly.

“I— Javier I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t know— I— If I’d known I would have—”

‘Do something!!!!!’ their mind screamed at them, and they whimpered quietly as their conscious writhed. They needed to take it slow, Javier was clearly in a delicate place right now.

Firmly, but gently, they placed their hands on his shoulders, turning to look him in the eye, not letting him look away.

Their eyes, which were normally entirely black…

The whites of their eyes were visible at the very edges, pupils constricted in worry as they gave him a look of concern and focus.

“Javier, be honest with me, when was the last time you had proper food?”

Their voice was steady. Warm, but assertive, like a concerned parent.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝ It was difficult to notice just how weak you've gotten when you're the only person you can compare yourself to. That's why, despite not feeling exactly threatened more than ashamed, he flinched when he felt himself incapable of resisting…anything, really. It was not the hug that frightened him, it was the realization that even the adrenaline he felt couldn't give him enough strength to resist the hug or at least hug back. He bent his back in an effort to make the change on his frame less obvious. Shame, so much shame. If given a choice, he would've preferred to be discovered by a stranger. At least then he would be met with disgust rather than worry.

But he leaned into the hug, head first like one dives into a pool. This was a home in itself, he thought vaguely; what's a home but those arms who hold you when you can't hold yourself?

The moment he let himself close his eyes, feeling finally safe to give into the tiredness that had been accumulating like sand in clothes, it was that exact moment when the apologies started. It was a needle to the heart, to just know how pathetic, how worn down and weak he must've looked to prompt their panic and pity, it made him sick just to think of it. He shook his head a few times as firmly as he could, with his eyes close to avoid the nausea that derived from any fast movement since the last two days.

It was the grip of their hands on his shoulders that really got through him the severity of the situation; he had been held like this very few times in his life, never to be delivered good news.

All it took was one look into their eyes as the question sank by the density of the implications to almost bring him to tears. The nausea had once again regained control of his body. He looked away in fear. Fear of his friend's gaze on him, fear of his struggle being discovered, fear of what the tomorrow of their friendship would look like from now on. Fear of answering; verbalizing makes it real. He can feel his heart in his throat as he holds onto their arms and looks down.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“...Please don't. I'm- I'm okay. I'll be okay. Let's forget this. Please don't make me answer that. Please. We can't go back from there. Please. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ There were another million pleas hidden between the layers of shame and the thin layer of tears that started to flood his eyes. Please don't look at me like this. Please don't think of me like this. Please forget this. Please, forgive this.

As much as escaping could've helped the temporary situation, he had a permanent problem now. He knew that, one way or another, he had forever altered the chemistry of their friendship. He despised himself for it, he wished more now than never that moving sand had got him when he first arrived.

He tries to look away, to move. He is unsteady on his knees and they give up when he tries to stand up. He manages to grasp a handful of their uniform. He can't even look up at them this time. Not even infants are this vulnerable to the open desert and to an aware stare.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

They immediately caught him, eyes going even wider at his words as tears began to prick their eyes in response. They knew this desperation all too well. The shame. They knew he wouldn’t tell them, and at this point it didn’t really matter— all that mattered was getting him some food, now.

Their expression shifted to one of determination.

“No, I’m not leaving, not now. I couldn’t live with myself if I left and you died. I won’t— I won’t be made to watch anyone else starve ever again. You’re coming with me, and we’re going to get you some food, and you’re going to be okay, okay?”

Their breath hitched as they held back their tears and, in one, strong movement, they scooped Javier into their arms, carrying him bridal style as they took off, flying him full-force to the base.

“You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be ok—”

They assured quietly the entire flight, though it seemed the assurance was just as much aimed at themselves as it was Javier…

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

In a weak attempt to try and keep them from helping him, he extended a hand out to the height of their chest as he realized their plan. He couldn't hold his resistance for long enough for them to even realize. A worry started to nest on his mind about how far August would go to try and help him. Even the mention of getting him something to eat made his already immobilizing guilt to wallow and feed on his shame. He shakes his head as vehemently as his position and state allow him too.

And then, when they took off, he opened his eyes to take in the sky above his head. He couldn't see much, the sun blinded his path of view. But it was nice, in a way he would never admit because he didn't believe himself to be worthy off, it was nice to have someone refuse to leave you behind to die. His heart pounds as he blinks rapidly to scare away tears.

Maybe this is what angels do when you die. Carry you softly through the air, when you're hungry and hurt, help you feel the air between your fingers and whisper calm while they hold you. Maybe this is heaven. He can't remember where he was before, but he is pretty sure this is heaven too. What a funny thing, wasn't it? If you're withered enough you can find heaven in pain too. He opened his left hand, letting the cold air pass through him, carry him away, refresh his skin from the misery and sweat.

He closed his eyes; trying to process the images was a hassle. It's not like he could even make out the things around him; everything felt flashing and indecipherable like an overexposed photo. He was nauseous again. He turned his face to them, almost as if searching for refuge from both the sky. He pressed his forehead against his shoulder.

He wonders if heaven would at least look his way, when it's all over.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

With extreme accuracy, they dove through the double doors to enter the RED-base, immediately rushing into the Mailroom as they held Javier firmly, with surprising strength. They were a Mercenary, after all, even if they didn’t always look it…

They sat him on a chair, grabbing bottles of water and food, stuffing them into their bag before lifting Javier into their arms once more, running to the Medbay, which was, luckily or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it, empty.

They entered some kind of trance as they set him up on one of the beds, bringing equipment over and cleaning supplies. They weren’t a Medic, but they had training.

They uncapped a bottle of water and slowly lifted it to Javier’s mouth, encouraging him to drink.

“Start slow, your body can’t handle too much right now. If you drink too quickly you’ll make yourself sicker. I’m going to start an IV to start hydrating you while you drink this— and I want you to drink the whole thing, every drop. But don’t chug. Once you’ve done that we can start working on maybe getting some proper food in you— we don’t want to shock your system.”

They explained what they were doing as they did it, making sure Javier knew everything they were doing in an attempt to calm him (and to give him a chance to object to anything they’re doing before they do it.) Their expression was soft and filled with concern, but also focus.

[meet-the-journalist]

│. ₊˚.❝

Misfortune had an infatuation with Javier. He was barely conscious as they entered the building, the movement making it all so difficult to track, the cold lights, the weakness. He has little to not energy to resist, he let himself be moved and carried away like a leaf succumbs to the wind. It wasn't until he opened his eyes to a sensation that guilt once again took his calm away. Water. He was being offered not only water, but hydration by an IV. IV? What even was that? Where was he? He stumbled trying to get out of the bed, out of the Medbay; it all felt too sterile, too clean. He didn't belong here, he would taint this place with disgrace. His body could only propel him forward, holding his weight into his hands. He shook his head vigorously, ignoring the nausea the movement brought

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“...N-No. You don't need to do that. It'll be a waste of your supplies. The- the cargo is already late. I can't take it, what if someone needs it after I've gotten better? What if you need it? Lord knows you're at more risk daily than I've- ”

│. ₊˚.❝

A cough attack takes his throat hostage. As he covers his mouth his both of his hands, he can only think of how much he must be damaging the whole room just by being there. His germs, the dirtiness he carries with himself are all over the room now. He shrinks into the bed, as if to contaminate it less.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

“ Sugar. S-sugar with water. That's what I take when I feel unwell. I just need that. I'm making these sheets dusty- God, I'm so sorry August. I could've sworn I had enough provisions. ”

│. ₊˚.❝

There is a burning desire to run. Run from the embarrassment, run from the shame, run from the care. Deep inside, he knows that a sabotage like this could easily kill him. If only he could remember what day it was, maybe he could scare himself into receiving the care.

God, his head hurts.

📽️ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ

[meet-the-messenger]

With a single hand, they push him back onto the bed, without even seeming to break a sweat. Their expression is full of concern.

“IV stands for Intra-Venous, it’s a solution we give people when they’re malnourished. And it’s no waste. We have excess. More specifically I stock excess, just in case. Besides, I manage our supplies, and our Medic is one of my adoptive fathers. You remember Dorian..? I assure you no-one’s going to mind. And most certainly am I not going to let you hurt yourself by declining treatment.”

“…I can get you sugar water later, but you’ll need more than that to feel better, and I’m not going to let you starve yourself. And don’t worry about the dust or contaminating the room. Mercenaries are often rushed in here straight from the battlefield in far worse states. As someone who can see the germs in here in UV… You’re fine. In fact, you’re relatively pristine compared to some spots I can see—” They winced a bit.

They moved to a shelf in the back, pulling out some MREs they’d hidden away.

“I keep provisions hidden and stocked all over the base just… in case. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

They opened it for him, pouring some water into the bag to heat the meal with a slight grimace.

“They don’t taste the best, but they’re nutrient-dense and a lot better when they’re hot. And don’t you dare try to refuse it. I will stay here and make sure you eat this. These are supplies I ordered extra of— not rations we were given as our standard. No-one’s going to go hungry if you eat this, I promise. No-one even knew it was here.”

They gave him a firm look as they held out the MRE and the little plastic spork it came with. Their expression was hard, but full of concern and warmth. They wouldn’t let their friend suffer on their watch.

[meet-the-messenger]

“Family dinners have certainly gotten more interesting since we found out who Harbin’s father is…”

@harbin-ludwig-of-red

reference:

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? giggles)

Oh come on!~ It's your comrade or enemy to be fair Cultist!

(An awkward silence, Cultist? standing still his eye twitching smiling before in a few seconds frowning)

....actually scratch that its his "god" right now

I wanted to see all the "friends" he made...and maybe read all your files

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened a tad, worried about their friend, though their smile never faltered as they held up the facade.)

“Oh..? And who is his… “god” if I may ask..?”

(They tilted their head, ‘friendly’ smile still plastered on their face.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

I thought my most devoted follower told you...guess he forgot his purpose already...

(His eyes narrow fingers digging into his flesh)

A...god of creation...in a way

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately clocked the self-harm induced by the god. They didn’t like the sound of any of this, and their feathers rose anxiously. Their wing twitched. The… one that held Harbin’s feather, hidden and tucked behind layers upon layers of white feathers, in a spot only they could reach. They wouldn’t use it though, unless the situation turned truly dire.)

(They watched his fingers dig in and their face twitched, leaning away from the god a bit as their stance shifted subtly.)

“What do you want.”

(They weren’t playing around anymore. Their ‘friendly’ smile had finally dropped, as well as their normally sociable and innocent demeanor. The situation was getting serious, and they recognized the threat to their friend’s safety— though, they didn’t know what the god would do if they drew attention to the fact that he was hurting their friend.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? smiles fingers starting to digger in tight as small drops of blood started to pour from his palms]

I want you to stay away from my follower, I don't have any use of bothering you at all. And besides he'll just believe anything I say to him...just like with the red cultist and Mrs.Helen, first assistant...or her expandable helper...

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their eyes widened in… anger. No. Wrath. Messenger… was experiencing Wrath. Oh you pissed them off— that’s damn difficult to do. And also not something you want to do.)

“Let. Him. Go.”

(They demanded, fixing the god with a dark expression. They twitched again, and their wings folded around them. From the outside, it looked like an act of comfort; a self-soothing motion. In reality, they were grabbing Harbin’s feather, preparing a wish if the god refused to listen.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

No

[Cultist smiles before taking out a dagger]

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened further.)

“That wasn’t a request.”

(They took a breath, squeezing Harbin’s feather in their hands… and they made a Wish.)

(They wished for this god to be out of their friend’s body, now. Pink and red magic exploded out of the feather, and they glared at the god.)

“Leave my friend alone, now.”

@harbin-ludwig-of-red <- gonna let them choose exactly how the magic operates since it’s their feather ^^

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? giggles)

Oh come on!~ It's your comrade or enemy to be fair Cultist!

(An awkward silence, Cultist? standing still his eye twitching smiling before in a few seconds frowning)

....actually scratch that its his "god" right now

I wanted to see all the "friends" he made...and maybe read all your files

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened a tad, worried about their friend, though their smile never faltered as they held up the facade.)

“Oh..? And who is his… “god” if I may ask..?”

(They tilted their head, ‘friendly’ smile still plastered on their face.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

I thought my most devoted follower told you...guess he forgot his purpose already...

(His eyes narrow fingers digging into his flesh)

A...god of creation...in a way

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately clocked the self-harm induced by the god. They didn’t like the sound of any of this, and their feathers rose anxiously. Their wing twitched. The… one that held Harbin’s feather, hidden and tucked behind layers upon layers of white feathers, in a spot only they could reach. They wouldn’t use it though, unless the situation turned truly dire.)

(They watched his fingers dig in and their face twitched, leaning away from the god a bit as their stance shifted subtly.)

“What do you want.”

(They weren’t playing around anymore. Their ‘friendly’ smile had finally dropped, as well as their normally sociable and innocent demeanor. The situation was getting serious, and they recognized the threat to their friend’s safety— though, they didn’t know what the god would do if they drew attention to the fact that he was hurting their friend.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? smiles fingers starting to digger in tight as small drops of blood started to pour from his palms]

I want you to stay away from my follower, I don't have any use of bothering you at all. And besides he'll just believe anything I say to him...just like with the red cultist and Mrs.Helen, first assistant...or her expandable helper...

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their eyes widened in… anger. No. Wrath. Messenger… was experiencing Wrath. Oh you pissed them off— that’s damn difficult to do. And also not something you want to do.)

“Let. Him. Go.”

(They demanded, fixing the god with a dark expression. They twitched again, and their wings folded around them. From the outside, it looked like an act of comfort; a self-soothing motion. In reality, they were grabbing Harbin’s feather, preparing a wish if the god refused to listen.)

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? giggles)

Oh come on!~ It's your comrade or enemy to be fair Cultist!

(An awkward silence, Cultist? standing still his eye twitching smiling before in a few seconds frowning)

....actually scratch that its his "god" right now

I wanted to see all the "friends" he made...and maybe read all your files

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened a tad, worried about their friend, though their smile never faltered as they held up the facade.)

“Oh..? And who is his… “god” if I may ask..?”

(They tilted their head, ‘friendly’ smile still plastered on their face.)

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

I thought my most devoted follower told you...guess he forgot his purpose already...

(His eyes narrow fingers digging into his flesh)

A...god of creation...in a way

[meet-the-messenger]

(They immediately clocked the self-harm induced by the god. They didn’t like the sound of any of this, and their feathers rose anxiously. Their wing twitched. The… one that held Harbin’s feather, hidden and tucked behind layers upon layers of white feathers, in a spot only they could reach. They wouldn’t use it though, unless the situation turned truly dire.)

(They watched his fingers dig in and their face twitched, leaning away from the god a bit as their stance shifted subtly.)

“What do you want.”

(They weren’t playing around anymore. Their ‘friendly’ smile had finally dropped, as well as their normally sociable and innocent demeanor. The situation was getting serious, and they recognized the threat to their friend’s safety— though, they didn’t know what the god would do if they drew attention to the fact that he was hurting their friend.)

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-blu-cultist]

[Cultist? giggles)

Oh come on!~ It's your comrade or enemy to be fair Cultist!

(An awkward silence, Cultist? standing still his eye twitching smiling before in a few seconds frowning)

....actually scratch that its his "god" right now

I wanted to see all the "friends" he made...and maybe read all your files

[meet-the-messenger]

(Their expression darkened a tad, worried about their friend, though their smile never faltered as they held up the facade.)

“Oh..? And who is his… “god” if I may ask..?”

(They tilted their head, ‘friendly’ smile still plastered on their face.)

[thearchivistandtheredactor]

Messenger’s page… shifts. More information becomes visible.

The edges still curl with ice and roses, but…

At the bottom, center of the page, is the base of a tree, whose branches spread throughout the rest of the page, like potential paths their future could take…

At the base of the first branches, marking where everything begins, is a silhouette of a seagull.

From there, symbols involving ice, roses, and doves are heavy throughout, until…

The branches reconverge on a single point.

Signified by a single, golden arrow piercing the intersecting branches. A blue diamond is faintly visible behind the branches.

After that, there is an elegant, icy-blue shield, decorated with feathers, water, and… a blue diamond in the center.

The branches at this point split down only two paths.

One is calm, painted in blues and whites, the branch not seeming to end as it fades away, to stories untold.

The other… starts off the same way, but abruptly becomes jagged, veins of violent pink and red seeping into the branch as it twists, and seems… rotted, damaged, broken. The sides of the page where this branch fades away are notably blank, the ice and roses that curled everywhere else disturbingly vacant.

Behind it all, is a silhouette of Messenger, split in half by the tree. On one side, they appear normal.

On the other side… there is the silhouette of horns, and pointed ears.

Messenger’s story… does not end any time soon. Their struggles will mount as they continue, even after their death, which seems disturbingly close— in less than a year. They will face triumph and defeat, hope and pain, love and loss.

Their page is packed with information, yet vague. As if nothing has been set in stone. The only guarantee… seems to be focused around that golden arrow and shield. The same ones on Dominik’s page.

- 〽️🐦‍⬛ / @meet-the-messenger

Archivist just looks at it hands shaking not knowing how to deal with this new information. He was glad he wasn't going into shutdown, but he didn't know how he could explain this to Redactor. Redactor already gets mad at everything when he doesn't tell him something specific. Gosh Archivist didn't know what to do.

[meet-the-messenger]

// GEHEHEHHEHE

[meet-the-messenger]

give this to spiro

*hands a love letter*

They tilted their head, but nodded, placing the letter in their bag.

“Ok! May I ask who it’s from—?”

They turned to ask, but when they looked back the person was gone. They shrugged. They’d deliver it on their morning rounds today regardless.

[meet-the-messenger]

...huh...most of your information is blacked out...yet I'm surprised my follower befriended you

(It's a wild cultist!...You think... he looks off...yeah its not him)

@meet-the-blu-cultist

They smiled, but then their brow furrowed. Something was… not right about the BLU Cultist. Then, the comment about their file clicked, and their gaze sharpened.

They gave a friendly smile, tilting their head, but there was a focus to their movements that wasn’t normally present. They were on alert.

“Ah! Hello! And who are you, may I ask?”

[meet-the-messenger]

*RING!! RING!! Messengers phone (or telephone) rings, it seems @spiros-a-best-buddy s calling*

They pause their letter-sorting to glance at the landline curiously, before picking it up.

“Hello! This is the Messenger speaking, who is calling?”

They chirp, putting on their customer service tone (They don’t have caller ID lol) and a chipper smile.