Jun 3, 2025
17 Pages (Kevan MacKay, 2025).
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17 Pages (Kevan MacKay, 2025).
I doubt it but is anyone else also sleep deprived and losing their mind over the 17 Pages release?
incredibly niche problem i am probably having for this platform but i have just finished the bobby broccoli 17 pages nebula exclusive and i NEED to yell about it OMG
If you have nebula or end up with a subscription, I have to recommend BobbyBroccoli’s 17 pages so hard. I won’t spoil it, but it makes an incredibly good storytelling choice which makes it really clear why it’s a nebula original
Cyril- Character Analysis
This post was based on an ask made a while ago concerning Hypnos’ character. I personally think his appearance enhanced the development of the game for the Winter World chapters, additionally with the depth of MC’s character. Hopefully this post will help clarify some things in relation to who he is and why he is important to the game’s progression. Please enjoy his well-deserved character analysis post. And yes- lots of spoilers! Please don’t read if you don't want to be spoiled on future content from Chapters 19+.
“This is the world you wanted.”
Hypnos first appears in the Epilogue of Chapter 19, when MC escapes her dream (the one with the separate routes of the guys) and begins to enter the Winter World through Black Cabin.
A soft hue appeared amidst this world of frozen white. A handsome, elegant young man walked towards me from the mist. Snow fell upon him, but as if he was protected by some force, none stuck on him. For a moment, I felt that this person looked really familiar, but it was someone I’ve never met. His eyes seemed detached, yet full of pity.
“This world’s pretty interesting, don’t you think?”
I did not sense any direct threat from him, but I was also unable to let my guard down.
“Is this not the world you wanted? You were aware of it long ago. No need to go on deceiving yourself.”
His tone was peaceful, but there was a chill to it that made me shiver.
“In this world, time’s been frozen. Everything you fear hasn't taken place. It was not I who made this world, but you. Everything you have experienced is a product of that which you yearn for the most. If everything could start over, if life could return to normal, if none of this had occurred...”
He saw into my heart effortlessly, tearing down each fragile wall I’d made with each word that he spoke.
The man’s gentle expression turned cold. His smile faded into subdued indifference.
“You think everything you’ve experienced is fake? Everything is real. Everyone in this world had sunken into the same dream. We will forever remain in a dream land.”
The man chuckled gently. Snow and wind blurred his form, blurring my vision. -Chapter 19 (Epilogue)
Some people would probably have the reaction of ??? and others would think he’s a new love interest HAHA.
It’s clear that this section of the chapter does not give much insight into his character, his name or who he is all. But, we can (hopefully) tell from what we are given, that he will play an important role in the future since he has an actual VA, and is (quite confusingly) going on about “the world that she wanted”. Though, this will be all cleared up later. From here, he makes small appearances in the next few chapters, which helps foreshadow and gradually help set the final showdown to conclude the Winter World.
While my mind wandered, I accidentally ran into someone in the corner. Even more unluckily, as I retreated backwards I stepped on a slick patch of ice, almost sending me sprawling.
“Careful.”
A light laughter fell on my ears. Before I could react, I was caught by the person I bumped into.
“Are you okay?”
I looked up and was met with a pair of gentle green eyes. A handsome face filled my vision. For an instant, I felt that he was familiar, and the sight of an ice-covered world seemed to appear before me. He gracefully let go of my wrist in a gentlemanly manner, stepped back to a more appropriate distance. -Chapter 20-17
A man walked out onto a rooftop covered with snow and held out his hand, catching a snowflake falling from the sky. The snowflake in his palm turned into an exquisite, white robin with its eager wings spread as if escaping a prison and flying into the sky.
He looked down from on high, surveying the city blanketed in dazzling white snow, a faint smile on his face.
“Truly something to look forward to- a long cold winter.” -Chapter 21-25
At this point, we still don’t even know who this man is. Or if he even has a name! But finally, the chapter after reveals a little bit more to help us come to somewhat of a conclusion about his character.
Chapter 22-5
The automatic vending machine behind me kept repeating the same sentence. I turned around to find that the machine wasn't on the fritz- there was actually someone continually trying to make a payment. I couldn't help but go over to see if they needed help.
A pair of eyes clear as glass turned on me. Although there was a gentle look in his eyes, there was a subtle feeling of distance.
I suddenly recognised that face! It was that famous piano player- Cyril!
MC: “Excuse me, do you need help?”
A hint of warmth suffused his cold eyes, as he gestured in frustration at the vending machine.
Cyril: “Just want to buy a bottle of water, but I don’t know how to use these machines.”
(*Intense vending machine purchase in process*)
Instead, I decided to just point at the app on my own phone and give him a brief explanation, afraid that I would miss my bus.
MC: “This time, I’ll buy for you. This is the one you want?”
Cyril: “Right, thanks.”
When I accidentally brushed against his long, slender fingertip, there wasn’t even a hint of warmth.
MC: “Your hand is ice cold. How about I buy a warm drink for you?”
He seemed a little hesitant, but he gave a slight nod and accepted my proposal with a smile.
The drink thunked down into the dispenser, and before I could react, he already bent down and retrieved the bottle and mine from the machine.
When he extended the drink to me, I realised that at the bottom, there were two kinds of paper, which appeared to be tickets of some kind.
I lifted them up and carefully looked at them. They were tickets to an upcoming and very sold out piano tour. Moreover, this was for the final VIP performance aboard the HMS (Abbreviated for “Her Majesty’s Ship”) Victoria.
He may not look like it, but he’s actually quite a warm, kind person.
The silver haired man watched as the bus drove away, and the drink in his hand turned solid ice without him noticing.
As snow drifted down around him, a faintly perceptible smile formed on his lips.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
We find out that the young man’s name is Cyril, a famous piano player. During this exchange, Cyril is taking his time to observe MC and how she’s responding to the Winter World. He appears to be genuinely surprised about MC’s display of kindness, even though she’s been tossed out by the men most important to her, and into a foreign world wreaked of havoc.
He lets MC purchase the warm milk tea for him, and they both talk about the most mundane things ever. This may seem like just filler conversations, but actually holds importance because it actually influences how he views the world and MC in the future.
Cyril then uses this chance to extend his invitations to his sold out piano performance on the HMS Victoria. MC thinks he’s “quite a warm, kind person”- to which, we will find out if she’s wrong later. We also can confirm that he is an Evolver as we watch him turn his drink into solid ice, as well as the same man who was left unidentified in the previous chapters.
Chapter 23-13
??: “At this point, we’re all certain that the one behind this “Eternal Winter” is one of our former members.”
??: “Another traitor?”
??: “One with the power to traverse time and construct dreamscapes. There's only one that it could be.”
??: “The traitor code-named Hypnos?”
With those words, a deathly stillness fell over the air, as if some indescribable darkness had stolen into the room.
True name: Unknown. Age: Unknown. Evol: Time travel, dream construction.
Pitifully few clues to go on, not even a single photograph.
Was that person who trapped me in that dream and the traitor the same? If it was true that everything before happened on another world’s timeline, then does that mean this person had jumped through into this world timeline?
??: “Just what is he planning to do?”
??: “Whatever it is, since he’s a traitor to the organisation, it’s bound to be contrary to our goals. We must put a stop to him.”
??: “Continue the investigation. We must find the satellite coordinates. We cannot let him interfere with our plan.”
If this mystery mastermind had such powerful abilities, then what chance do I have at stopping him?
The hexagonal crystal symbol wasn't a major part of their discussion, but it stuck a faint chord with a hazy part of my memory. I finally remembered- that ticket to the concert!
They consider this powerful Evolver- Hypnos, a traitor to Black Swan and the individual behind the Eternal Winter incident. But nobody knows what he looks like. However, MC notices that the hexagon design is seen similar to the tickets that Cyril gave to her for his performance on the HMS Victoria. She now knows that Cyril is Hypnos, then realises that the satellite launch isn’t on land, but on sea. She knows how to stop the winter from spreading.
Here we automatically assume that he’s another Black Swan bad-guy-turned-traitor. What is his true goal? And why does it have to be that handsome piano player, out of all people?
Chapter 24-5
Before we could enter the main hall and check out the situation, a sonorous piano melody was belated through the ship’s speakers over that whole patch of sea.
The gentle tune formed an invisible yet unbreakable net in the air. Everyone in proximity to it became the piano music’s prisoner, unable to escape.
I felt a strong feeling of drowsiness. I tried to stop it but it seemed to have already gotten into my veins. Every cell in my body reverberated with it.
Everyone in the hall was swaying like soulless puppets, and on the stage, Cyril held his eyes slightly closed as he played the last requiem for them.
Chapter 24-7
MC travels to confront him on his ship, and watches him entrance people with his piano playing. This is how he got his code-name “Hypnos”. (Similar to how Kiro can charm and control people). Thankfully, Helios appears, his Evol is powerful enough to command MC to escape this.
“Why can’t a lie... be a good thing, too? Is this not the world you wanted?”
An anonymous voice seeped into my consciousness, accompanied by a dim, far away sounding piano.
The false warmth swooped in, and exhausted as I was, I chose to accept it.
My hand was originally grasping at air, but just then I distinctly felt the touch of something solid and warm. I could faintly feel someone grabbing onto me tight.
I forced open my heavy eyes, and a familiar outline filled my blurry vision.
“K- Kiro...?”
For a second, I couldn’t tell if I was in a dream or reality. His face was in shadow, and those usually sea blue eyes now flashed golden, as beautiful as the night stars.
He shouted at me, loud enough to hear over the inescapable piano music-
“I command you to awaken!”
Although without a hint of warmth, his eyes were like the first rays of dawn filtering through the curtains, melting away the fanciful dreamworld clouding my brain.
-
“I’m not like Ares. I don’t care about any Queen. If you want to influence the outcome, you have to do it your own way.”
Cyril still didn't stop playing, and instead kept moving his fingers across the key in a self-satisfied manner. The audience were completely under the spell of his melody, sunken into the deepest depths of a dream.
A black pistol was pointed straight at him, but the enraptured pianist did not let that stop his performance. Helios wasn’t in a hurry either, waiting quietly for the perfect, culminating core for this piece.
Just as the final note was stuck, Helios resolutely pulled back the tigger. A stream of smoke rose from the gun, but Cyril was somehow unharmed, blocked by an invisible force field.
Helios: “You constructed this dreamscape long before.”
Cyril: “I just don’t want this performance to have any interruptions.”
He rose elegantly from his piano bench and took a deep bow toward the hall absent of applause. Then he sauntered off the stage and looked at me.
Cyril: “You finally came.”
Chapter 24-9
Cyril: “Thank you for teaching me how to use the vending machine.”
I didn't expect him to speak up first, much less did I expect him to bring up that. As if we weren’t staring into the upcoming apocalypse, but just another utterly normal day.
Cyril: “It was you who showed me a different side of life. Although I still think, milk tea tastes better iced.”
MC: “But that doesn’t mean you have to wipe out the people who prefer drinking it hot.”
Cyril: “I think you misunderstood me. Just like you, I love this world. I love the complexity and uncertainty humanity has brought to it. I just think, it just doesn't have to move so fast.”
The smile he had showed- made me believe that from the bottom of his heart, everything he did was to make the world better, and that he should not recover any blame or interference from anyone.
Cyril: “Before one fully understands oneself, power beyond control can only be dangerous. Just like if I were to ask you now, do you truly understand yourself? How would you answer?”
He chuckled at my inability to respond.
The thoughts in his heart were hidden beneath a glacier, and all it showed on the surface was the very tip of it, preventing me from ever getting a clear idea of what he was thinking.
Cyril: “I’ve prepared a little gift for this kind of world.”
A giant steel tower shot upwards and stood tall between the water and sky. The satellite launch tower!
Cyril took hold of my hand and causally moved the key from his own hand. Before I had time to stop him, I saw crystal clear ice form at his fingertips. Pure and unblemished, but also dead. Just like this world before us.
Cyril: “Isn’t this a nice way to end things? This. Is the world you want.”
He then hands MC to press the button for him, then freezes the key to the Black Cabin. Cyril here genuinely believes that what he is doing is good for MC, as he uses the satellite launch platform from the ocean to spread the “Eternal Winter”- the “perfect world”.
Black Swan still pursues evolution of all humanity, but Cyril doesn’t agree with their methods. He knows MC is the Queen and thinks that in this Winter World, this is how she will only grow- without those she loves- if she had not known the boys and everyone she cares about. "If none of those things in the original world had occurred..."
What Hypnos stated reminds me of the Winter World Helios and what he said from when he saved her in Chapter 21.
“The weak should learn to survive on their own. No one will help them. Do everything you can, by fair means or foul. Give up everything in your past… even yourself. If you can’t do that, then go back to the world you came from.”
Which is a little nice touch because Helios appears to save her again with his Evol- but this time, MC is saving the world in her own way. She is not identifying with QUEEN first- but as herself. She had seen and been through so much pain to grow her mental and emotional strength to persevere and save this world with her kindness and love for humanity. MC, herself, has evolved.
Chapter 24-10
Cyril: “Not going to give the button to the launch a push? Perhaps you’ve forgotten, this is only my dream. Any decision you make here won't affect the outside world. Aren't you at least curious? The perfect world I wanted.”
What is the meaning of existence in a world of unrealistic perfection!?
MC: “If I do that, wouldn’t I be like an ostrich, sticking my head into the sand?”
Cyril: “If people found the perfect pile of “sand”, who knows if they’d stick with reality- and choose not to escape? After all, in reality, no one can predict what's going to happen from second to second. But in a perfect dream, everything always unfolds exactly as people desire.”
MC: “I can’t answer that for others. But it shows that the decision for how to answer should be left for each individual person.”
Cyril: “The way I see it, those who have no ability to judge never had the right to choose in the first place.”
Naturally, traitor though he was, he was still like others in Black Swan, holding a disdain for normal people, deep in his bones. When he rebelled against wasn't the thinking of the organisation, but their methods. But no matter which method of theirs it was, they all wanted to force their ideology on the whole world.
Did the world really need their brand of reason? Did humanity really need their idea of progress?
Everything in existence follows its own, original path, with absolutely no need for human intervention. And what I had to do was to maintain this balance.
I abruptly placed the remote back in his hand and told him my final decision.
It’s clear that Cyril doesn’t have that much experience with normalcy or identifies with at least humanity. He believes that it’s better to ignore reality and to live in a dream without the memories of the past or mourn the loss of others. Frozen without emotions, pain, or progress- the “perfect world”.
Chapter 25-4
After MC accepts her QUEEN identity, she finally uses that power to unite all timelines ultimately defeating Cyril, then returns back to the original world. Weirdly, he appears in front of her when she wakes up.
Cyril: “I believed I warned you long ago, no matter what world it is, it doesn't make much of a difference. You assume too much. In this world, I am just like you, a normal person. Think of it… as the price I’ve paid. My choice… was made for you. You were growing too slowly. Maybe that world was best suited for you after all. Too bad, you were too muddled to realise it. This world may soon experience a change, and it’s the kind of change that has nothing to do with you.
Time Subway
Time Subway takes place before Cyril leaves, after MC is hospitalised in Chapter 32. It reveals more about MC’s power and spiritual connection to Loveland City, the rest of the worlds and their timelines.
They meet on the train, though MC can’t remember meeting Cyril before. His piano music continues to play as the train moves backwards. (And that’s the thing about the subway- the train goes in cycles to each station, to the memories and worlds MC has previously lived in.)
Chapter 5
MC: “This train is really strange. It’s going backwards.”
Cyril: “Does the direction really matter? Though, I’ve never been on a subway train. Perhaps, there are a few imperfections.”
MC: “How did you get on the train?”
Cyril: “Same as you, I guess.”
MC: “Do you know where this train is going?”
Cyril: “To a place you want to be. So embrace your imagination. Think of everything you ever wanted. Eventually we will arrive at the perfect ending you’ve longed for.”
Chapter 6
MC: “I feel like I’m forgetting something. My memory has been foggy ever since I boarded this train.”
Cyril: “You do know me. You have to recall those memories on your own. Do you want to remember everything? Or, do you prefer to give up the past and start again right here?”
Cyril seemed to be hinting something, I felt that he’d always use such implicit language, but I couldn't remember when…
Chapter 7
Somehow this train gave me a sense of security. I could feel a familiar resonance between us. As if it was closely linked to me in the first place.
A thought slowly came to my mind, maybe I could decide on its direction at some point in time.
MC: “Why do you want me to go to the past?”
Cyril: “Back to when everything hadn’t taken place, isn’t that what you wanted? I’m only doing this for you. Sorry I didn’t ask for your permission. But you’ll be my best work.”
Chapter 8
Cyril: “This world belongs to you. My power doesn’t work here. I’m nothing more than a normal person in the real world. I’m going to use my power one last time. And this will be my final work. A perfect world is still what I’m after. It was you who broke free from the world I created. You showed me my limit. Indeed, the power triggered by your emotion outshined my skills. That’s why I chose your spiritual world, as the raw material of my final work.”
MC: “So this is just an infinite cycle within my spiritual word, isn’t it?”
Cyril: “I won’t say you are wrong. In this train, you can choose any stop and choose any exit you want. When you step out, this world becomes more complete. Meanwhile, this dream will continue the everlasting cycle, which is also your karma.”
MC: “So do I stay here?”
Cyril: “You can choose to leave… if you have the power to battle yourself. If you leave, this world will continue to exist all independent from all time space.”
MC: “How do I leave?”
Cyril: “You have to discover that for yourself.”
MC: “...Cyril, I need to go. If there’s really a perfect world you want, just take this world as my gift to you.”
Cyril: “I see, thank you... If only you could eventually put an end to this cycle.”
Chapter 32-1
Cyril- “I came to say goodbye.”
MC: “All that stuff that happened to me after losing my Evol has something to do with you. Starting from when “I ran into you” on the train, it was all a part of your plan.”
He smiled slightly, met my hostile gaze without a hint of displeasure. He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t admit it either. There was an undercurrent of tension to the stillness, but also some unusual and subtle peace.
This pianist… I’ve never seen anyone so out of touch with the world.
MC: “The vending machine, the scammer in the square, thorns on a flower, you don’t have much experience with everyday things, do you?”
Cyril: “However, it really has been a long time since anyone’s talked with me about such things.”
I may have been imagining it, but I seemed to detect a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
MC: “Just what are you after, coming here to see me like this?”
As he spoke, he reached out and put his hand at the back of mine. His fingers were ice cold.
But in this brief moment, a flurry of images flashed before my eyes.
Four white walls, an empty room, a triangular piano of translucent crystal placed in the corner. The figure of a man gradually emerged before the piano bench.
His thin graceful fingers danced daintily across the keys as snowflakes fell upon him and settled undisturbed.
That gentle piano melody reverberating in the shadows also came out as a muttered groan from the girl as pain hit her.
Suddenly, the piano playing intensified, the tempo building to a frenzy like a subway train rattling through a tunnel.
I saw a boy get up from the piano, walk to the front of the stage, and take a bow to the thunderous roar of applause.
The scene shifted. The boy was once again standing in the gloomy storm, holding a white rose to his chest, listening in silence to a priest delivering a eulogy.
??: “Keep playing, Little Cyril. Use your power and help Mummy make the perfect world.”
Cyril: “A perfect world… I’ve got it.”
I saw his past, present and future. I saw the boy slowly growing up and playing that final melody in the centre of a frozen plain. He played tirelessly, as if he’s trapped inside in a world of memory.
Cyril: “Can you tell me what you saw?”
In those crystal clear eyes, I saw my own expression, and there was an ineffable expression of sadness to them.
MC: “Is a perfect creation… really that important?”
Cyril’s eyes were flat, like the negative space in an ink wash painting.
Cyril: “The sad fact is that they will never be able to achieve it.”
MC: “But absolute perfection doesn’t exist. Everything has blemishes and faults. But that doesn’t mean that they’re not good enough, and it certainly doesn’t mean that they don’t have a right to exist in this world.”
Cyril: “Perhaps. You’ve certainly proven that point yourself. One final thing before I go, of course, you can choose not to believe it. Perfection has never been an illusion; everything in this world has a singular, perfectly-suited exit. Although, I think you already found it.”
MC: “Where are you going?”
Cyril: “A world that belonged to you, but now belongs to me. Thank you for the world you’ve given me, and the interesting memories. And that bubble tea, I quite like the flavour.”
His words fell softly, as if shrouding me in a tranquil, pure white dream.
Upon seeing his past, present and future, all that MC sees is Cyril playing the piano. It turns out, his true motivation for creating the “perfect world” was for his mother when she passed. With MC’s help, he finally admits that it cannot be achieved. He isn’t directly hostile like the other Black Swan members either, and calmly admits his defeat and accepts MC’s decision.
Behind the Curtain- 6 (Chapter 28)
??: “If you want to see it, go. The door being opened will be closed soon.”
The black box grows bigger, and fills the entire vision in black-
Cyril: “Do you know the origin of the name BLACK SWAN?”
I see an elegant young man standing inside a luxury gift shop. There, piano pieces are playing. He looked down at me. The black box reflects in the cool eyes looking a lot like snow.
MC: “Am I inside the box?”
Cyril: “BLACK SWAN” is a word that means an unexpected event. Humans have no way to predict the impact of the event. When I first heard their name, I immediately saw the appeal. I also wanted to be a part of it. But…the majority of them still live in this illusion. Only a few were aware that humanity is ignorant. They can't help me to complete my work.”
While speaking, he pressed the crystal piano keyboard. The jolting sound echoes—
Cyril’s Mum: “With your power, continue this and please show me the perfect world.”
The woman lies on bed, looking at him with those beautiful eyes that looked a lot like that boy’s. There’s no strength in them.
Cyril’s Mum: “For one last time, I want to experience the beauty of this world with my whole being. That’s also the reason for your existence.”
The boy then grows up in the snowstorm and turns into an innocent boy. His outline became sharp, becoming an elegant young man.
The snowy wind pushes the window open and surrounds his mother. She then transforms into white snow and suddenly disappears.
The man doesn’t notice the occurring snowstorm, but instead concentrates on the graceful piano playing.
A piece of glass shatters and lands on the piano. The young man engrossed in playing keeps an eye on the keys.
MC: “Look out!”
The piece of glass cuts the young man’s long finger. A line of blood flows, on the skin like ice and snow.
The young man finally stops. As if time had been frozen, the lingering sound of the piano remained in the room covered with heavy snow.
He looks up. Like an innocent puzzled child who touched the piano for the first time, those eyes come into mind.
Cyril: “Who…are you?”
MC: “...who am I?”
Cyril had been stuck all this time within his memory of his promise to his mother- in pursuit of the “perfect world”. His world was biased upon thinking that humanity- even Evolvers, were ignorant and unable to help him achieve his goals. This demonstrates the divide and individuation between each Black Swan member of not being able to work together effectively to achieve the collective goal- of the “New World”.
It was nice to see MC being able to overcome her self-doubt and enter Black Cabin by accepting the QUEEN title in a world so foreign to her. Her hope, love and determination had saved the world again. Cyril played a huge part in this chapter of her life, almost like prepping her for the final prophecy of fate.
And “Doomsday” is coming.
Me: it would be cool if for DVD release Gusari had drawn something like Strawberry Swing but with Ugetsu
Today:
Plagg’s Day Out 6: A Tale of 12 Souls
Also on Ao3
Day 5 << Day 6 >> Day 7
The akuma had eight hands.
Eight.
“What the fresh hell is this?” Queen Bee screamed. “Seriously! What is this?”
“A spider?” Ladybug looked distinctly uncomfortable. “A lady spider riding a tiger. Holding...things? I’m confused.”
The akuma was indeed holding things. And was also riding a tiger. And her powers were seemingly completely random.
“I am Karma!” The woman screamed. “And I will show you divinity!”
“If that is seriously a lady spider riding a tiger, I’m just gonna go ahead and nope on outta here.” Rena Rouge muttered from next to Chat.
“Karma?” Chat frowned. Eight hands...riding a tiger… He felt like he should know this, but he was completely distracted by the effects of this akuma. Some people fell to their knees, or prostrated themselves, and started fervently praying. some dropped and started meditating. Some people simply acted happy. Others started babbling. The rest just dropped. In fact, the tiger seemed to be the only normal thing - it’s claws were tearing things to shreds as the akuma rampaged.
“This is not ‘karma’,” Chat muttered, “this is chaos.”
Nodding, Rena lifted her flute. A few notes produced copied of the group, including the missing Jade Turtle. The copies leapt into the fray, distracting the akuma while trying not to get hit.
“Bee, Chat, start relocating casualties.” Ladybug ordered. “Especially the wanderers - they’re completely oblivious to the danger. Rena, keep up the diversions - see if you can lure her away from Chat and Bee. Help me look for the item, it has to be-”
Chat didn’t stick around to listen to more: he knew the drill. Grounding his baton, he dropped in, grabbing a man who was wandering too close to the tiger’s slashing claws.
“Hello friend!” The man beamed as Chat landed next to him. “What a lovely day! Are you well? I hope you’re doing well!”
“I’m great. Could you do me a favor and head that way?” Chat smiled at him as he pointed away from the akuma’s current path. “And maybe take a few others with you?”
“I would love to help you.” The man beamed. “And make some new friends! Oh yes, friends are wonderful.”
As the man turned to leave, Chat reached down, hauling up one of the people and leapt away.
“Hey!” The lady squawked indignantly. “You interrupted me!”
“Do you really think this is the time for that?” Chat asked her.
“Nothing should interrupt your daily devotions.” The woman frowned at him severely. “How dare you ignore the tenants of the faith?”
Chat set her down in a side alley. “Well then, continue here, where it’s safer.”
The woman fell to her knees, hands clasped in front of her.
Rinse, repeat. People praying had to be forcibly moved, cheerful ones were happy enough to leave on their own (though they could get distracted when they met new “friends” and got to chatting). The unconscious ones Chat simply moved to a safer location, and arranged them as comfortably as he quickly could.
“My Lady!” Chat called, landing at her flank as her yo-yo spun. Ladybug didn’t even spare him a glance, though her lips quirked at the sound of his voice. “Have you found the item?”
“We think so.” Ladybug said. “Necklace.”
Chat studied the akuma, who was wearing a myriad of jewelry. “I see it: thin chain, gold, small pendant?”
“Yes.” Ladybug moved, stepping in front of him to block an arrow that came shooting towards them. “Rena’s got distractions running, but she seems to have caught onto us and mostly ignores them.”
“Where is Rena?” Chat frowned. Rena was relatively new - only a few months in, and had a tendency to try to jump into the middle of the fray, despite only having a flute as a weapon.
“She went high.” Ladybug said. “She’s calling out casualties to Bee while we wait for JT to show up.”
“His shield would be rather useful.” Chat said ruefully, baton snapping out to knock aside another arrow. “Do we know what her powers are?”
“Not really.” Ladybug shook her head. “The general idea is ‘don’t let her touch you.’”
“Sound advice.” Chat laughed. “So, good old Plan T, then?”
“Plan T it is.” Ladybug grinned at him fiercely, automatically switching her yo-yo to the other side as he stepped up next to her. Returning her grin, he leapt forward.
And this was where he belonged. Beside his Lady was where Chat felt the most peace, no matter the situation. It may have been because it had only been the two of them for so long, but Chat never worked as seamlessly with the other heroes as he did Ladybug.
It had actually been quite the learning curve for both of them, back when Queen Bee had joined the team. He’d thought the lack of dynamic was because Bee was naturally bossy and assertive, almost short-tempered in a lot of cases. They just hadn’t clicked: the teamwork took honest effort and there had been a lot more talking (and arguing) than there had ever been between him and Ladybug. Chat had thought it just a matter of different personalities, but even after Bee had integrated into their team and they’d reestablished their equilibrium, working with her was never as smooth as working with Ladybug.
Then Jade Turtle had appeared. Jade was an easy-going man, and after having been forced to referee more than a few catfights between Ladybug and Queen Bee (watching two beautiful women wearing spandex claw and hiss at each other - sometimes literally - was not as sexy as the internet had led him to believe) Chat had been grateful for JT’s laid-back demeanor. Jade had been easy to get along with from the start: he listened, took orders, was slow to anger and quick to defend. His shield was a massive boon, and he had a terrific sense of humor. But even though Chat liked and respected Jade Turtle, and even though he was absurdly grateful to have another guy on the team, they’d never managed to move with that unthinking confidence as he and Ladybug did.
Still, they were a well-oiled machine. Once all the kinks were worked out, they all worked well together and knew their places. Patrols could be broken up, and Chat didn’t have to stress to get to an inconvenient akuma as quickly as possible - they now had backup. When Rena Rouge had shown up, it was almost second nature to make a space for her. And even though Chat enjoyed their patrols together, and appreciated her sly intelligence and edgy humor, there was still something missing.
He and Ladybug gravitated towards each other, almost extensions of each other. The moved together and fought together with an unthinking ease: he knew what she was thinking almost before she spoke, and she knew what he would do almost before he did it. Two halves of the same whole, or so he thought when he was waxing particularly romantic.
That’s because you are, now head in the game! Plagg snapped, directing his baton hand to knock aside a thrown javelin.
Yep. Sorry. Thanks. A whistling noise had Chat ducking, and grimacing as the javelin zipped past and back into Karma’s hand.
“Divine justice will be mine.” Karma’s voice was as angry as every other akuma’s but her face maintained the serene expression it had held since her appearance. Beneath her, the tiger roared.
“I don’t think this is the way to go about it.” Ladybug scolded, yo-yo deflecting a trident jab. “Chat, can you-”
“On it!” Chat used his baton to vult upwards, flipping over Ladybug’s yo-yo to land on the light post above and behind the akuma. He waited as Ladybug continued her verbal assault, letting the akuma forget about him as his partner herded her his way.
Grinning as she lined up underneath him, Chat let go, dropping down slightly behind the akuma, bouncing up and reaching for the glimmer of gold he could see between the strands of other jewelry decorating her neck.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chat saw her upper hand reaching back, one glowing finger coming towards him. He saw it, but it was too late - he had already committed to the move. Just as his fingertips brushed the glimmer of gold, her finger touched him, and everything went black.
Know thyself.
He’s on a beach. A pitiful excuse for a beach, it’s nothing like the sun kissed sands of his home. This shore is hard and rocky, sparse grasses giving way to thin and twisted trees. Idly, Theseus rubs his finger over the black ring on his thumb, now lit with it’s glowing green feline paw.
The ring had been a gift from a stranger. Theseus had thought a servant had left it on his table, or perhaps that an enemy had planted it as evidence against him. Yet, when he had opened the box, the strange creature that had presented itself to him had spoken of a quest, and a great destiny.
His outfit, form-fitting and pitch black, felt painfully out of place on arid plain. Sparse trees break up the landscape, but the trees are scraggly and twisted, and aren’t plentiful enough to be called a forest. A cold wind blew off of the ocean, ruffling his hair and sending loose brown locks tumbling into his face. Irritably, he shoved it back, wishing for a headband to contain them. His fingers scraped over the edge of his black mask.
“Are you sure we need to be here?” He asked nobody in particular.
It’s here. The creature, Plagg, answered. Theseus was decidedly not used to people speaking inside his head. Close. Keep a sharp eye.
Theseus rolled his eyes, not sure how anything could be hiding, unless it was in the sand or under a rock. Behind him, his crew muttered rebelliously - they were in Scythian territory, and the men were nervous.
“Could it be with the tribes?” One of them asked.
“Where are the tribes?” Another murmured.
“Well, if it’s ‘the queen’s golden girdle’” a third voice piped up irritably, “then it’s probably with the queen.”
“But which one? There’s hundreds of tribes! They’re nomads! How do we even know we’re in the right place?”
Danger tingled down his spine and Theseus spun, staff in hand and lashing out to knock aside the arrow that was headed for his comrade’s head.
Everyone gasped, scrambling for weapons and cover as people appeared, shimmering into existence like a mirage. A whistling noise had Theseus diving to the side, but he was too slow - something lashed out, wrapping around his ankles and sending him crashing to the ground.
They were surrounded: warriors sat astride the scruffy ponies the plains boasted, or were on foot, wrapped in heavy leathers and sand-colored furs. Stoic expressions on beardless faces, swords and bows were all drawn and pointed their way.
Theseus had eyes for none of them. A figure stood aloft in one of the scraggly trees, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed them. Scarlet leather blazed in the thin light, mottled with black furs and gleaming with touches of gold. Laughing, they stepped backwards off of the tree branch, and the rope around his ankles drug him forwards, continuing to reel him in long after his captor had landed on the ground, not stopping until Theseus was suspended upside down before her.
These were not beardless men, Theseus realized with a start - they were women. Long black braids hung down her shoulders and back, and blue eyes studied him with laughter and contempt.
“I am Hippolyta.” She said in carefully accented Greek. “And you are my prisoner.”
Cleopatra leans back into her chaise and smirks at him, "If it be love indeed, tell me how much."
The barren beach and biting wind have been replaced. No longer outside, he is in. Humid air, ripe with excotic scents, teases the back of his neck as his lover beckons him forward.
She's wheedling and he loves it, the cat and mouse chase of their relationship setting fire to his veins. Never one to back down from a challenge, especially if said challenge is going to involve a hyperbolic war of words with his Lady, Chat bends at the waist and takes her hand, locking eyes with her.
"There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd."
He slips into her room unnoticed, lurking in the shadows cast by curtains and lanterns. He knows he’ll remain unseen until he wishes to be seen - it’s one of the things that make him so effective at his job, and so desirable to his Queen. However, unseen does not mean incorporeal, so he takes a position in a little-used corner, watching until the last of her slaves had served and undressed her.
Her gowns were becoming increasingly elaborate since expanding her rule, her collection of intricately woven scarves and robes of every color growing exponentially by the day. Every one a mark of prestige, of victory. She has spent years on battlefields and war fronts, serving as an inspiration to the troops. Her popularity has given her an almost iconic status within her new empire, and he revels in the knowledge that he helped give it to her.
Once, he’d told sworn that he would give her the world. Now, he has. She dismisses her servants, sends the guards outside. The flickering candle lights illuminate her, glimmering on the golden jewelry she wears. Light and shadow play across newly exposed skin as she removes the last of her robes and begins anointing herself with scented oils.
For a time, the only sounds is the faint rustling of cloth and the splash of water.
"Is it over?" She asks, unclasping one of the many golden chains around her neck. Setting it aside, she turns to face him, vibrant eyes trained intently on where he stands hidden. Her hair glows in the candlelight, so dark in color that it practically shines blue, "Is he gone?"
"Of course," He slinks towards her, catching his black and green reflection in the mirror as he passes. "Palmyra is yours."
Scented candles and trembling sighs as replaced with an wooded grove and screams. Dilwyn stumbles back, lashing out with his staff to bat the golden hammer away. The two weapons collide, and though the hammer’s aim is thrown off course, Dilwyn has been thrown fatally off balance.
He has no idea how the burly Scot had managed to hide in the forest, clad as he is in bright yellow and black. He should stand out like...well, like a Scotsman amongst the Brits, and yet, he’d managed to sneak up on him, knocking him to the ground as Dilwyn was traveling to meet with the Red Lady.
“Black Cat! Duck!” Dilwyn lets gravity take him, dropping and rolling away as the hammer crashed down where he’d been. A familiar zipping noise herald’s his Lady’s arrival, as she leaps from the trees, her weapon lashing around the man’s ankle and dragging him down.
“I’m not a black cat!” Dilwyn protests as he gains his feet and brandishes his silver staff. “Black cats are un-Christian!”
Pain flashes through his Lady’s blue eyes before she’s distracted with the Scotsman - Killer Bee - who has grabbed her rope and is trying to haul her forward.
“Kitty.” She scolds him even as he slams his staff on her string, dragging it down and giving himself slack to twist the string around it, “You have a pact with a faerie, who inhabits a ring to give you supernatural powers. You are un-Christian.”
Dilwyn grimaces, grasping his staff on either side of the string and adding his enhanced strength to hers to counter the stronger man’s pull. Killer Bee gives up, going with the tug and trying to gain enough slack to unbind his ankle.
He is un-Christian. As the son of the head Deacon, his father would undoubtedly say so, immediately before he damned him to the fires of hell. Still, Dilwyn did not feel evil, despite his activities. He did good things - he protected people from threats, both mundane and supernatural. He read his scriptures, he faithfully attended mass every Sunday. He did extra devotions to make up for his sin of lying during confession.
The argument about whether they were going to hell or not was an old one. It bothered him, more than he would admit, that he was often told he was evil, but did his best to be good and virtuous. His Lady, on the other hand, had accepted her faerie and the charge laid upon her with joy.
Dilwyn yanked the rope viciously, jerking the man off-balance and sliding his staff free. Leaping forward, he pinned the golden hammer, forcing a foot against the man’s throat and reaching into the mass of hair to yank free the comb. Killer Bee screamed his rage, but it was too late.
Bringing his staff down with more force than necessary, Dilwyn rendered his fallen opponent unconscious.
It was later, much later, when Dilwyn was out next. The Scotsman, who still refused to divulge his name or Clan, was in jail, facing charges of thievery, murder and conspiring against the crown. Despite his further crimes as Killer Bee, he would not be able to ace those charges - the Red Lady had taken the comb, promising to return it to the one who guarded such artifacts.
She would not say who that was, and Dilwyn had been forced to concede the point - as much as he wanted the man to face justice, the comb needed to be returned to where it could be safely kept.
He leapt through the trees, letting his enhanced vision and superior reflexes guide him in the darkness. Ignoring his faerie as it tried to convince him of his innocence, and remarked on the irony of using his powers to escape his confliction with having said powers. Dilwyn’s stomach churned at the dichotomy of having sworn a pact with evil forces to uphold good. It didn’t sit well - it didn’t make sense. Nothing did.
The fire flickering in the distance caught his attention. Curiosity drew him nearer, despite his fear at what he might find. Would it be more faeries, frolicking in the forest? Demons, dancing in the dark and sacrificing the souls of the innocent to the devil? Something else, something more sinister? Or maybe a hunting party, camping in the woods in preparation for the morning hunt.
It was a party. The group was larger than he would have supposed - their village was fairly small and more than half of the people were either strangers, or someone barely recognised as traveling merchant families from other towns.
She was on the fringes of the clearing, laughing at the couples dancing and leaping the bonfire. Nearby a band played, the primal pounding of the drum and the sweet sounds of the lute and gittern accompanying the a bard who was singing a traditional Welsh ballad. Her loose white gown was bound with only a belt, her feet were bare, and a flowers were woven into her hair.
His Lady. He knew, without knowing how he knew. He was drawn to her always; her beauty, her grace, her spirit. He’d often wondered if she were in their village. He’d wondered, if circumstances were different, if his family might allow a marriage with hers. Plagg had told him often enough that even if he looked her in the face every day, he would never know her for who she was - the magic did not allow it. But here, in the night, with the presence of something hanging thick and cloying in the air, he knew who she was.
Beltane. Plagg spoke up from beside him. Even the gods cannot interfere with the magic that guides the wheel of the year.
What? He watched as boys, and handsome young men, and even older men, approached her where she sat giggling with the other young women. They offered her smiles, and honeyed bread, and cups of mead. She turned them all down with a laugh, waving them off cheerfully.
It’s Beltane, the second sacred holiday of the Celts. The fertility festival. Plagg added dryly. You’ll recognise her tonight, but only under certain circumstances will that hold true in the morning.
Circumstances? What ‘circumstances?’ Dilwyn asked distractedly, but Plagg refused to answer. Dilwyn didn’t care, because his Lady had turned, and her gaze was trained with unerring accuracy in his direction. She knew he was there, though how he knew, he couldn’t say.
The Red Lady stood, excusing herself from her friends. She winds her way around the circle, collecting a platter with bread heaped with honey, fruits from the spring forest, and a goblet of mead. Chatting and laughing, she meanders ever closer as the firelight plays in the shadows of her hair and folds of her gown. Dilwyn cannot tear his eyes from her, and cannot find it in him to worry at his behavior.
Careful. Plagg’s voice is distant and easily ignored. If you do this, there’s no going back.
Back? Back to what? Dilwyn doesn’t care, because she’s in front of him, blue eyes almost luminous as she offers him honeyed bread and a shy smile.
“Kitty.” The word is a whisper, a prayer, a benediction and a promise. Dilwyn shudders, fire igniting in his veins in a way he cannot ignore as he watches his hand rise to take the chalice of honeyed mead from her grasp.
“My Lady.”
He’s a fisherman, scarred hands hauling in the nets, dumping fish and seaweed onto the deck. Plagg is hiding under his collar, in the shade of his dǒulì as his chosen toils in the sun.
“I still cannot believe you gave it all up...for fish.” The tiny black cat complains. “Wealth, power, prestige-”
“Court intrigues and backstabbing. Cold meals, stale rice and military exercises.” Xai Li nods. “Yes, I have no idea why I would return to my home, with honor to my family’s name, to build a life for myself.”
Plagg snorts, and Xai Li knows he’s not fooling his old friend in the least. Smiling, Xai Li thinks of his Lady, his wife, who was by his side through the war, disguised as a man to avoid detection. Later, found, was elevated, much as he was, but they elected to retire with honor rather than continue life at court.
Her face is round and pale like the moon, her lips dark and full and her hands talented and dainty. A pair of dark earrings glint in her ears as she weaves.
Pale metal gleams on his finger.
It’s cold - bitterly cold, since the sun has almost set. His boots crunch in the snow, and despite the layers of fur and wool he’s donned, Pyotr is shivering. Still, hunting went well, and having made the kill, his family will have a new bear skin throw for the darkest days of winter. Even better, being part of the hunting group who had tracked down the bear had meant he’d escaped having to sit through the council meeting. Pyotr whistles a jaunty tune, pleased with how the day has gone.
His home is straight ahead, candles glowing in the windows like a beacon of warmth and peace. Nika has long pulled in the wash, and the children are no doubt indoor as well, practicing their alphabets and maths under his wife’s patient tutelage.
Sure enough, Viktor and Anna are sitting at the central table, boards out and charcoal sticks in hand. Anna’s tongue pokes out from between her lips as she forms her words; Viktor is whining.
“But Mama!” He complains. “Letters are boring! I want to go hunting, with Papa! Artur went with his father!”
“Artur went fishing, not hunting.” Pyotr corrects his son as he steps in the door. “Today we were hunting for bear, and even though you are fierce, you are not ready for that.”
Nika straightens from her place at Anna’s side, hand pressing against her lower back as she offers him a smile. “Husband! Finally - I thought the veche might have eaten you.”
Pyotr snorts, setting down his pack and unlacing his thick boots. “No, I escaped that ghastly fate by sacrificing father instead.”
“You sacrificed grandfather?” Anna’s head pops up, wide blue eyes - so like her mother’s - full of concern.
“No, sweeting.” Pyotr wanders over, planting a kiss atop her braids as he eyes her neatly printed letters as well as the flowers she’d drawn in the margins.
“Oh.” Relieved, Anna goes back to her work, copying the verse she’d been set.
“Papa, will I have to go to council meetings some day?” Viktor asks with a frown.
“Unfortunately,” Pyotr nods solemnly. “It is the fate of all men - to sit and listen to older men complain.”
Next to him, Nika snorts out her amusement, holding out a bowl of rich-smelling stew and a hunk of dense bread. Taking them from her and setting them down, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. One arm reaches out, sliding across her shoulders and drawing her in as his other hand presses gently on the rounded curve of her stomach. “How are you feeling? Is Natasha behaving for you?”
Her smile is tired and strained, but it’s there. “Your son is as well-behaved as you are.”
The lights are too bright, the music too loud. No longer in the forest, the opulence of the ballroom is staggering in comparison to the simple, homey cabin.
Powdered wigs and powdered faces, covered in masks to conceal the wearer’s identity. Satin and silk and pearls and jewels sewn into ornate outfits made to represent any number of creatures both mundane and fantastical. There is a lavish feast spread out on the table for consumption, overflowing with meats and pastries. The wine is flowing and plentiful, and he can hear cups clinking around him as people laugh.
He's been to hundreds of these events, these tedious masquerade balls where he's always expected to uphold his father's perfect image. It drives him to distraction and in a moment of pure rebellion, he ventures out onto the floor.
"Who is that?"
His father's server simply shrugs, "I'm afraid you will have to be more specific."
"The woman over there," he gestures, the claws on the tips of his fingertips pointing across the room, "On William's arm, dressed in the finest silks of red and black."
"I know not, sir."
He follows her as she dances, utterly entranced, "I have never encountered beauty such as this. She could teach the torches of this hall a thing or two about burning so bright. Did my heart ever love until now?"
He was too late. His unit had been beaten back, and one of the English dogs had gotten close enough to put a dagger in his leg, delaying his journey. He was only hear now because of the grace of Marcus’ illusions, showing him still abed and resting quietly.
It was all for naught. His carelessness had left his partner dead.
The burning in his leg, the stickiness of the blood seeping through bandages, were all secondary to the pain in his chest. His breath scraped against his lungs, each inhale tasting of ashes and defeat.
“Calm down, Jean.” Plagg’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion and emotions. “You’ll give us away. And if you do, you’ll…”
Join her at the stake. The words hung in the air, unspoken, Plagg’s normally acerbic attitude faltering under the weight of his chosen’s pain.
“We’ll have to come back later.” Plagg continued. “The earrings must not be allowed to fall into Cauchon’s hands.”
The scent of smoke and the taste of tears are only a memory. The clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the call of voices in unknown languages are only heard in dreams that are half-forgotten by morning.
The trees are huge and dense, dappling sunlight and shadows in ever-shifting patterns across the branches. Nearby, a flock of parrots is cracking nuts and looking for seeds amongst the branches. A snake lounges on a nearby branch, barely discernable from the vines around it as it waits for unwary prey to wander closer. In the distance, monkeys scream to each other as a predator approaches.
The Jaguar kneels amongst the branches, spear in hand as he waits for his partner to lure their prey past. He sees her, scarlet body-covering flashing in the shifting light. Her dark hair is streaming out behind her and her smile is gleaming at the apex of her swing, luring the monster after as she alights on the branch.
The creature howls in its madness, it’s strange and unwieldy body barreling after his Lady clumsily. Laughing, she wait until the last moment - until it’s too late for the beast to correct it’s course, until it’s just where he needs it - and then she flings her strange bola. It loops around another branch, directly to the side, and she leaps, graceful as a bird while their quarry screams in rage.
Wrist snapping forward, Jaguar lets the spear fly.
The spear never struck.
Instead, the familiar weight of his wakizashi was at his hip, carefully concealed under his travel cloak.
It had been a long day. Having posed as a merchant delivering foods, Daisuke had entered the west gate. Fresh produce meant he was allowed into the inner walls, to deliver his goods directly to the kitchens situated near the living quarters. Once his delivery had been accomplished, Daisuke had detoured to the toilets, where he had emerged as a gardener. From there he spent the day raking, clipping, and tending to the blooms, making sure to remain inconspicuous (even when some particularly beautiful courtiers had strolled through).
He had taken his lunch in the gardens, passing himself off as temporary help that had been hired to prepare the grounds for the Lord’s upcoming celebration. One of many, his story was readily accepted. Daisuke had continued his work until the sun was dipping low in the sky, once again detouring to the toilets as the other gardeners departed.
However, now he was outside the inner walls - indeed, he was across the moat. Not that the distance was a problem; the kwami nestled in his pocket could easily ferry him across with a single phrase. However, there was no subtle way of vaulting across a moat.
And, considering who his opposition was, subtlety was paramount. Intelligence indicated that Lady Luck had sided with the elder Lord, against the reigning Shogun. Daisuke had come across her before, both as an ally and an enemy, and she was not somebody to be take lightly.
Nijō Castle is gone. He is no longer a shinobi sneaking through the night. Now, he stands just out of sight of a doorway, his heart beating wildly inside his ribcage.
"It's my secret!" She cries as he watches her through the reflection of the window, her arms wrapped around her middle in anguish. "How can I marry him when I'm in love with someone else?" She clasps her trembling hands together, "If this is heaven Tikki, then I am truly miserable."
The kwarmi, so similar to his own and yet somehow completely different, hovers before her eyes, "Please! Don't do this to yourself Ladybug."
"I dreamt I was there once," She continues, stricken with grief, "and the angels flung me from the clouds back to the earth where I woke, sobbing for joy. I've no more business marrying him than I do being in heaven, but he shall never know. He must not ever know how much I love him for whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are one and the same and Edward is as far from mine as fire and ice."
"You cannot reveal yourself to him," the kwarmi begs, "He cannot know!"
Clutching his chest, he stumbles backwards and disappears into the shadows whence he came.
Chat's eyes snapped open, searching frantically for the threat - for his wife- his...lover? His friend. His partner. His enemy? His everything. Where was she? Was she tall or short? Young? Blonde? No, brunette. Wait, black. Blue. Her eyes were blue. Her eyes were always blue.
People swam into view above him, their suits strange and familiar as they stared down at him with worried expressions.
“Chat? Chat Noir! Chat, are you okay?” Black hair in a million tiny braids swung around her shoulders, her face achingly familiar and completely foreign. Was she a friend this time? Or the threat? Who was she?
“Who- Who am I?” She sounded bewildered, and skin the color of cocoa overlaid her pale cheeks. Wild blond locks whipped around her head...except they were pigtails. “Chat, I'm Ladybug! Kitty, what happened to you?"
The scent of smoke makes him want to sneeze, but the taste of honeyed mead lingering on his tongue comforts him. He speaks, or tries to, but the words don’t make sense to him despite their familiarity.
“Maybe that akuma scrambled his brains.” The woman in yellow and black peered at him intently. Chat was absurdly grateful that she didn’t seem to be shifting identities.
“None of the other victims were this confused!” Russet ringlets shivered as another girl shook her head, and her bushy fox tail twitched in agitation.
“Nika? No, Cleo...Anna. Efa. My Lady.” Chat ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the light and calm his churning stomach.“Who...who am I now?”
“Chat? Kitty?” He forces his eyes open, squinting up and focusing on her eyes. So blue. Always blue, to his green. It’s how they’re found. It’s how he knows her. He keeps his eyes on hers as overlapping features shift, until they resolve into someone he can name.
Ladybug. She’s had the name before, in other languages. Her face and form and outfit have changed, but he always knew who she was. The real question was, who was he? He wants to ask, but he can’t, because he head is threatening to split open as several personalities contend for dominance.
Adrien Agreste. Plagg’s voice is tired and dazed-sounding, even in his head. Plagg. His kwami. His companion, in this lifetime and tens of others.
You are Adrien Agreste. Plagg repeats, and he - Adrien - listens. The others - his team mates - are hauling him up, pulling him away from curious onlookers and flashing lights. They’re on a roof and his legs refuse to hold him up. He collapses against a wall as voices swirl around him.
Rena used her special ability and she needs to leave, but is worried. Queen Bee - who is not a burly Scotsman, but a petite blonde with a rapier wit - leaves with Guī. (No, not Guī, he thinks, but someone like him.) They go to speak to reporters and assess victims, to help clean up.
His Lady, in red and black, with dark pigtails and blue eyes, leans down next to him. Her small hand is on his shoulder, pale, wearing rings, covered in red. The Black Cat, now named Adrien Agreste, leans over and heaves onto the tarmac next to him.
There’s precious little in his stomach to sick up, but his body tries it’s best. Even his stomach is confused, wondering whether he’d eaten tough plains tubers, rich roasted lamb, succulent figs or plain rice. He drank water earlier. But there was champagne at the party? The taste of mead persists.
“Oh, Chat. Oh, Kitty. It’s okay, mon minou, you’re alright. I’m with you.” His Lady stays by his side, smoothing blonde hair back from his forehead, rubbing comforting circles on a back not covered in armor or cloth. Leather. He’s wearing leather, or something like it. Still, her voice is sweet, familiar and foreign and grounding as memories that aren’t his swirl in his head.
Too confused to be embarrassed, to tired to care about propriety, he (Adrien Agreste, Plagg tells him. Chat Noir.) hauls her into his lap, ignoring her squeak of surprise as he buried his face against her neck. She smells like shampoo and artificial flowers, like skin and sweat, and Chat focuses on it, telling himself that it’s really real.
Her pulse is fluttering faintly near his nose. Her ribs, encircled by his arms, expand and contract as she breathes, and the muscles under his fingers twitch and flex. He listens to the sound of her breathing, and the scrape of their uniforms brushing as she turns in his embrace, relaxing when her arms wind around his neck and pull him closer, drawing him into the circle of her arms and letting him cling to her as she whispers soothing words in his ear.
Chat keeps his eyes closed, trying to relax under the mental onslaught that’s thankfully slowing. He focuses on breathing, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth to calm his stomach as he listens to Plagg telling him facts about himself - this version of himself. The snark is missing, but he now knows that even Plagg can be gentle when the time calls for it.
Whatever happened, however confusing and strange and disorienting, has at least reaffirmed two things for him (whoever he is). One, that whoever he is, and whenever he is, there are two constants in his existence: Plagg, and his Lady. Two...there’s a reason for that.
300 BCE - Scythia (Iran) - Theseus and Hippolyta
41 BCE - Alexandria - Marc Antony and Cleopatra
270 CE - Palmyrene Empire (Syria) - The Assassin (lover of Queen Zenobia)
350 CE - Wales - Dilwyn and Efa
530 CE - China - Xai Li and Hau Mulan
1200s CE - Russia - Pytor and Nika
1300s CE - Italy - Romeo and Juliet
1431 CE - Jean de Metz and Joan of Arc
1510 CE - Amazon Basin - unknown
1615 CE - Kyoto, Japan - Daisuke and Akira (shinobi)
1794 CE - ??- ??? and ??? ← Who the hell are these people Bronte?
1865 CE - United States - Kembel Warren and nope fuck it I’m done
Dwelling Chapter Twelve
“The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been.”
Dwelling Summary
Dwelling Chapter One
Dwelling Chapter Eleven
Dwelling Chapter Thirteen
She couldn’t possibly have been asleep for very long when Drew shook her awake, laughing, “I can’t believe you fell asleep before the judges could decide who won.”
She brushed his hands off her shoulders, more than a little flustered by the realization that she was only a small movement away from genuinely cuddling up to him. “Yeah, well,” she muttered awkwardly, going to rub at her eyes before remembering her bandaged hands and dropping them back into her lap. “Who’d they pick?”
The name he said only made her raise an eyebrow at him until he sighed out, “The one that made the steak with the garlic herb butter?”
Shea nodded at that. “Good. That looked good.”
“I know. You probably bruised my ribs from how many times you told me to make that.” He rubbed at his side, glaring at her through glasses she was tempted to steal for no other reason than to annoy him… and to make herself stop feeling awkward about having fallen asleep on his shoulder. “You should eat some more food,” he said before she could follow through with the idea. “There are at least two more servings left.”
“Not hungry.”
He practically wagged his finger in her face. “I told you earlier, you have to eat more to make up for skipping lunch.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ve already eaten more today than I do most days,” she mumbled, hating that telling him this still felt so… so much like telling him some big secret. Something she should be ashamed of. Maybe because of the way his brow furrowed or the way he shook his head slowly like he didn’t know what to say.
“Fine,” he relented sullenly. “But we’re going to have to work on building your appetite. Eating so little can’t possibly be healthy.”
Shrugging, she yawned, “Whatever,” and waved her hand to dismiss the uncomfortable subject.
He blinked at her, a frown still plastered on his face before his expression shifted and he rubbed at his shoulder awkwardly. “You should– um… You look– Well, no you just… you seem tired… You should– and I will too– but you should go to bed.”
Embarrassed, she was quick to agree and retreat into the safety of her own room, barely remembering not to lock the door behind her. She heard his door close just after she collapsed onto her bed.
Of course, once there, she couldn’t fall back to sleep. She tossed and turned, squeezing her eyes shut so tight colors danced behind her eyelids. She couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than staring around the room at the panic-inducing blank white walls. A moment later, when the mortifying wishful image of curling up against Drew flashed through her mind, she decided that staring at the walls was better, even if it did make her stomach turn.
She pulled restlessly at the blankets, all her earlier fears coming to mind at once. She knew he had already, but the temptation to go make sure the front door was locked was strong enough that she had to twist herself into the sheets to stop herself from checking. Not that it would matter if anyone on Team Go discovered where she was.
Despite her resolve not to go checking the door she stumbled out of the bed a moment later to check the small window in her room, wondering if the seal was tight enough that Mego wouldn’t be able to shrink small enough to snake his way inside if Hego hurled him up. Hell, she dismissed, even if it was tight enough to keep him out, it wouldn’t be unlike her parents to simply tear the wall down. Or the twins would clone their way inside. She had no idea if there even was an effective way to keep the little doppelgangers out.
Drew’s casual reaction to the potential of being labeled a kidnapper had her all the more worried. He really didn’t seem to understand how bad things might be for him. She blamed herself for that too. She should have just told him the whole truth the moment he told her she could stay. It was as she finally fell back to sleep, on the brink of unconsciousness, that she mentally declared she would tell him in the morning.
She woke up in a cold sweat, Wendell and Westley’s names dying on her tongue. She choked back a sob, commanding herself not to cry. She couldn’t change anything now. They survived. Before her minimal words of self-comfort could calm her, a new wave of panic flashed through her as some sort of clanking sounds drew her attention to her bedroom door.
She’d been sure Drew had gone to sleep, so she could see no reason for him to be out there. A glance toward her window showed the star-lit predawn sky, further evidence that if he wasn’t asleep he certainly should have been.
Pulling in a heaving breath, she listened intently for voices but heard nothing but a continuation of the quiet sounds. As she stood, combing her fingers through her hair and glaring at the door, she debated who she’d prefer for it to be.
If it was cops, she and Drew were both screwed. Heath would be a pain in the ass for her, and unless she could convince him, somehow, not to bother checking the other rooms, Drew would be beaten to a pulp before he could even get his glasses back on his dumb not-cute face. Heath was picky with when he played the overprotective big brother card, but she knew instinctively this would be one of those times. Merrick would be fine. As much as he drove her crazy he might be the only one who would understand why she would want to run away, and if she said to leave the other rooms alone he’d respect it - even if he did it with more than a fair share of mocking questions. The twins were unpredictable - but if they were the ones snooping around outside her room she hoped they’d be more excited to see her than they were about finding out who ‘kidnapped’ her.
She doubted her parents would bother to be the ones to show up. They never showed up to anything anymore, except for news interviews where they doted on and bragged about their children as if they didn’t treat them like magic puppets the rest of the time. She didn’t even give the question of what would happen if it was them the time of day… or night, as it were.
She looked herself over, deciding that the clothes she was wearing were sufficient enough to face whatever was happening outside and quietly opened the door. All she wanted to do was throw it open and start screaming, but if she was going to be forced to leave she figured it was better to do so without waking Drew. If she was going to leave it would probably be better for him if she simply vanished from his life altogether. That, and she couldn’t stand the idea of him… being there when she got dragged away, knowing she’d probably never get the chance to repay his kindness. She couldn’t even force herself to take the bandages off her hands, fearing momentarily that they would be the only reminder of him she’d be able to take with her.
The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been. It was cold, but it didn’t hurt, and as she whirled around to check the door frame she realized that it was… a grape?
She whipped her head back around, and realized with an almost painful relief that Drew was sitting at the small dining table, looking unharmed, if a bit panicked. He’d begun apologizing profusely before she even noticed the strange, colorful device in his hands. She relaxed as she took in the bits and pieces of… stuff spread out across the table. It was him. She’d heard him… tinkering away at whatever the device was outside her door.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to hold back a hysterical laugh.
“Um… I… Uhh… I built a grape cannon,” he stammered, grinning sheepishly at her and holding the thing, that did look a bit like a gun, out for her to see.
She snorted, to hide how much her hands were shaking. “Why?”
“Well, because, you were– and I was and… You threw grapes at me and I– I had the idea and wanted to see—”
It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. “What,” she asked incredulously, “I threw some grapes at you at the store so you decided to kill me ?”
“No,” he shouted, sounding more worried than upset. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to shoot at you! It just gave me the idea and I wanted to see if I could… build a projectile weapon to shoot… grapes.”
Peeling the bits of smushed grape off the door frame, she chuckled, “You’re a weird dude, Drew,” and flicked the mush over at him.
He stuck his tongue out at her, relaxing back into his chair. “Nyeh. Maybe I should’ve shot you.”
“Watch it,” she warned, mostly teasing.
“Do you wanna fire it?” he asked, holding it out toward her.
As she reached for it she teased, “At you? Sure,” and he pulled it back against his chest, with enough speed to surprise her, cradling it like a baby.
“Nngh! Nevermind, you’re not allowed.”
“Aw c’mon, let me see!”
“No!”
“Drew!” Shea reached forward, trying to get him to pass the dumb device over, but he pulled it away from her again. “I’m not above fighting you for that,” she warned him, already ready to throw herself across the table to get if she had to.
He gulped. “Just don’t– Just shoot it that way!”
She snatched the miniature cannon from his hands the moment he held it out to her. As per his instructions, she turned it away from him, aiming it at the door - or at least she hoped so. Superheros don’t need weaponry. Well, if she weren’t a superhero the surprising force of the kickback might have knocked her back a step or two - even if pulling the trigger in the first place was a little awkward with her hands still bandaged. The grape that shot out smacked against the door with a solid ‘thwunk!’ sound. She burst into laughter and fired again, her aim off, but just enough that she hit the hinge of the door instead. Grape bits flew through the air.
“Hey,” Drew protested, rushing around the table to snatch it from her. “It’s my turn!”
She laughed, relenting easily and letting him take his toy back. When he nudged her out of his way she caught a whiff of a vaguely familiar scent, and before she could realize she knew what it was, she was asking, “Have you been drinking?”
He fired the cannon, grape splattering just above the door, and shot her an impish grin. “Just a bit,” he confessed, holding a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret recipe. And I’m legal, so whatever.”
“Can I have some?” She was mostly kidding, but his quick, snappish reply in the negative had her crossing her arms and demanding to know why not.
He answered her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ask me again in five years and I’ll give you some.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. Then she reached out and shoved his shoulder. “Come on, don’t be lame. I only want a taste.”
He shook his head, stepping away from her. “No chance. I am not abetting in underage drinking.”
“You’ve been in college since you were how old? You’re really going to try and tell me nobody slipped you a drink from time to time?”
Drew stammered at her, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find an argument. When she snorted he threw his hands up in frustration, dropped the grape cannon on the table, and stormed into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a small cup of… of something, that barely filled even half the glass.
Now that she had it in her hand, she was a little nervous to actually drink it. She might be able to believe that Merrick had snuck some alcohol before, but she knew for a fact Heath had never touched the stuff. She hadn’t either - she’d tried to buy some cheap beer once, in a small act of rebellion, but had been unsuccessful and led outside the corner store by the owner who warned her she was lucky he wasn’t going to call her parents. Too bad he hadn’t realized that was exactly what she’d hoped he would do. If she hadn’t wanted to be caught she would have just pocketed the stupid drink.
“What is it?” she asked curiously, swirling it around the glass.
“Secret recipe,” Drew answered, scooping the cannon up and shooting at the door. He missed, and the grape splattered several inches to the side. A laugh burst out of her and he turned to glare in her direction. “It’s like caramel apple,” he elaborated, grumbling almost defensively. “I don’t usually make it until closer to Halloween but I wanted it so I made it now.”
Shea took a cautious sip, and couldn’t help smiling at the unexpectedly sweet taste. She took another sip, the alcohol burning a little as it ran down her throat, but not enough to discourage her from gulping down a bit more.
“Easy,” Drew practically whined, peering at her from over his own much larger drink. He pulled the glass away from her lips. “I know it’s not strong but still .”
“It’s good,” she told him, reluctantly putting the drink on the table, and holding out her hand. “I wanna shoot it again.”
He smirked, though she wasn’t sure if his smugness was from her praise of the drink or her interest in his little invention. Either way, he passed the device over to her.
“Aim for the… Aim for the door handle,” he laughed.
She leveled the device against her shoulder, and asked, “Why are you calling it a cannon when it’s more of a gun?” before shooting it. The click came, but nothing happened. She turned to look at him, and he just laughed again.
“Oh, yeah. Give it here.” As he dumped a handful of grapes into some strange looking compartment, she downed the last few sips of her drink. He snapped at her again to, “Slow down!” and ripped it from her hands. “I’m not going to give you anymore if you’re just going to chug it like that.”
“Sorry,” she offered, unapologetically. “It’s not my fault it’s delicious.”
He blushed, glancing away from her. “It’s better when I make it with homemade apple cider but I guess it’s good enough.”
She took the cannon from his outstretched hands, aiming it toward the door again. “Can I have some more?”
“Just a little,” he agreed with an overdramatic sigh, before taking her glass and retreating to the kitchen.
‘Just a little’ apparently meant double the amount he’d given her before. Glancing at his nearly drained cup she wondered how much of the stuff he’d really had before she caught him. Her suspicions were amplified ten-fold when he stumbled, smacking his hip on the table. He barely winced though she still had to snag the drink from his hand before any of it spilled.
“How much have you had?” she demanded, almost instinctively.
She’d had to walk a significant number of drunks home as part of her hero duty in the early years. Heath took over for her not long after she turned twelve. He’d run into her walking some man home, just in time to hear him offer her a beer or two in exchange for ‘an hour to do whatever the fuck I like to that perfect little body.’ She’d been near tears by the time she got home although she hadn’t even fully understood what the man was suggesting until a few months later when a similar scene played out in one of the horror films her parents forced her to watch. The situation had ended far worse for the young woman and Shea had melted one of her metal practice cubes, screaming and burning in horrified sympathy. It was the last movie she’d watched that she actually found frightening.
“Not too much,” he replied, picking up his own glass and draining the last of it.
“Uh-huh…” She trailed a step after him as he refilled his glass to the brim, sipping at it carefully as he moved back to the table. She took a sip of her own, following him back.
She barely saw him roll his eyes as he put the cup down. “Door handle?” he said hopefully, pushing his grape cannon toward her again.
She grabbed it without putting her cup down and fired. The click was followed by the newly distinctive whistle of a grape flying across the apartment. Her aim was off, but not enough. The grape hit the door handle but she’d been hoping to hit it dead center. Drew still cheered, and she couldn’t resist shooting a smile his way.
“Again!” he exclaimed, and she gulped down a sip of her drink before laughing and firing again. He was tugging the cannon away from her for his turn even before the grape splattered.
His first shot actually hit the door and she found herself cheering even before he did. His second missed and nearly knocked down a picture frame beside the door. He yelped as it wobbled, then sighed in obvious relief.
“Would you rather,” he mused suddenly, near half an hour and too many drinks later, “go live in the woods or… get to live in a mansion but never get to go outside again?”
“Woods.”
“Why?”
“Did enough of never getting to go outside already.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, almost laughing before awkwardly taking a sip of his drink.
She knocked the rest of her own drink back. “What about you, Doc? Woods or a mansion?”
“Is not getting to go out really that bad?” “Judging from how pale you are, I’d guess you don’t spend a whole lot of time outside anyway,” she teased, firing the cannon.
Drew whined in protest but didn’t actually defend himself much further. “It might be nice to live in a place that actually has heating in the winter. So, if it’s a nice mansion… I’ll take the mansion.”
“What if it’s some shabby run-down mansion? Or haunted?”
He fidgeted and snapped the cannon away from her. “Then I guess I’ll join you in the woods. Your turn.” Shea held out her hands to take it back, but he just shook his head. “No, I meant to ask a question.”
“Oh. Um… Would you rather,” she paused to think, watching as a grape exploded against the ceiling above them. “Would you rather get the chance to go back in time and change one major event but know that it will just happen later or…. Change one major event but erase yourself from existence in the process.”
“I would erase myself,” he answered the moment the words were out of her mouth.
“What would you change?” she asked curiously.
“Nothing you need to know about.” She must have looked hurt, because as soon as he said it he looked away from her, passing the gun sheepishly back over and adding, “Nothing I want to talk about.”
“I’d do the same one,” she told him. She wouldn’t mind disappearing if it saved her brothers from living the life they did. She would stop the comet and let herself fade away without anyone’s knowledge that there were ever going to be super-powered kids saving a city.
She didn’t say that, but he nodded as if he understood anyway.
“Would you rather be able to breathe underwater or breathe fire?”
“I thought we were flipping coins for this before.”
“We’re both answering, so who cares?” Shea sighed and shook her head, pouring some of his drink into her glass, earning herself a glare and a refilled cup, still not quite as full as his had been. “I’ll take underwater. I’ve done the fire breathing thing. It just hurts your throat.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t breathe fire!”
“No,” she said pointedly, “I said I’m not a dragon. And no. I’m not showing you. It’s stupid and it hurts.”
“Come on, please?”
“No.”
“Pest.” Drew’s next fire of the grape cannon finally knocked the picture frame to the ground with a strangely loud shatter. His mood shifted almost instantaneously before the picture even hit the floor. If she’d been a little more focused she would have lunged for it, but as it was they both simply stood there and watched it fall.
He groaned as it broke, putting out a hand to stop her when she stepped toward it. “Glass,” he pointed out, though his voice sounded off. It took Shea a moment too long to realize his speech was more slurred than she’d realized.
He stepped carefully over the pieces of broken glass after pushing the cannon into her arms. Despite his repeated warning, she dropped the device on the table and moved toward him. She barely caught him slip something from the back of the frame into his pocket.
“What is that?” she asked, grabbing onto his arm.
His instantaneous, “Nothing,” caught her off guard, and she was quick to let go of him when he jerked his arm away. “She’s going to be so upset,” he murmured, tugging the picture free of the frame and stumbling his way over to the couch.
“Who is?” Shea asked, scooping up the glass. She could almost appreciate the bandages, for helping her to not cut up her palms.
“My mother,” he replied, holding up the photo for her to see.
Squinting at him from the kitchen she could see a picture of a woman with a young boy. “Is that you?” she asked tossing the wrapped up glass shards into the trash can.
“Sure, when I graduated high school. I was twelve here.”
“Why’d it take so long for you to go to college?”
She watched Drew’s shoulders move in a strange little shrug. “She didn’t want me to go off to college too early, so I homeschooled for a few years. It was probably a good thing, what with my not being able to read.”
“Did you always look like a dork?” she asked.
He dropped the photo on the coffee table. “Decide for yourself.”
This, Shea declared to herself, must be what if feels like to be drunk. Granted, she didn’t think she’d had all that much - and she was fairly certain he had been watering down every drink he’d given her. But the room was spinning a little, making her dizzy as she took slow, deliberate steps in his direction watching him take another swig of his drink.
A note of terror rang through her as her fuzzy mind cleared for the briefest of moments. He could have done anything to her drinks, anything at all, and she’d never even thought to be wary of it. She just… drank them as he handed them to her. As suddenly as it came, the terror was gone. He wouldn’t do that. She knew he wouldn’t do that. She’d known him for -what?- three days, four? She had no reason to trust him, not the way she did, but she did.
“Yeah,” she said with a nod of her head towards the photo that made the spinning change directions. “You were definitely always a dork.” Twelve-year-old Drew didn’t look much different from the Drew she knew, save for the cap and gown that were both clearly too big and the innocent look of a pre-pubescent child.
“Yes, thank you for that assessment,” he grumbled.
A laugh slipped out of her as she stumbled over air and collapsed onto the couch next to Drew. No, not next to him. On top of him. She fell into his lap, and in her daze, she forgot to make herself move off him. Even if she could have, his arms snaked around her, holding her against his chest though not in any real way, it felt like. Like he only did it because of instinct.
“Come on, come on, tell me the truth.” She realized he was laughing as she tried to process his arms around her. “Do you really think that rib-eye looked better than the salmon?”
She meant to say she did, but what came out instead was a gasp as she leaned back into him and poked his cheek slurring, “You should… you should make steak. I missed food. Didn’t even know I missed food ’til I met you.”
He chuckled and fell back across the couch. She hadn’t even noticed him push her off his lap. “Can’t afford to make that,” he said, gesturing to the TV. “But sure. Can make some sort of steak. Next week.” His fingers latched around her arm. “If,” he said pointedly.
“If what?” She asked, knowing she’d agree to just about anything in the moment.
“If you show me how you can breathe fire.”
She should have said no. She knew she should’ve said no. With a quick snap of her wrist, she’d snagged Drews drink out of his hand and said instead, “You know you’re lucky I like you, right?”
His grin faltered so slightly that she almost didn’t notice it. She took a small sip of the drink, surprised to find it tasted no more like alcohol than any of hers had, and swirled it around in her mouth.
Working the flames to her hands was easy. She’d focused on that, trained to do that for years. Working it up her chest and throat burned, making her eyes water. She almost gagged the plasma back down, but she took a deep breath in through her nose and tilted her face towards the ceiling.
Her powers didn’t come out like a dragon spitting flames in some cheesy kids movie. It bubbled between her jaws for a moment, like the world’s hottest mouthwash. She let out her breath, and with it, the plasma, burning through the air in a strange arc above her, before abruptly steaming out of existence.
She coughed and swallowed the residual flames. “It’s not effective and it hurts.” She coughed again, wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve.
With a grunt, Drew sat back up and shocked her by poking at her lips. “That,” he admitted as she swatted his hand away in surprise, “was pretty cool.”
She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Yeah, well. Y’better not be too drunk to remember it, cause I’m not doin’ it again.”
“You said you like me,” he teased suddenly, breaking out into a wide grin. “You don’t really think I’m a dork.”
“Do so think you’re a dork,” she argued. “But… yeah. Still like ya. You’re… I dunno, fun?”
Drew hummed and lay back against the couch, facing her. “I like you too.”
“It’s weird,” she confessed, wishing the room would start spinning again to justify why she was still talking. “I feel like… cause we only met a few days ago. But–”
“–I feel like I’ve known you forever,” he said, in unison with her.
“Jinx,” he exclaimed, pointing a finger in her face. “You owe me a soda.”
“Do you have soda?”
“I think there’s some in the fridge.”
“I’ll get you one.”
“You’re just gonna shake it up, aren’t you?” Drew whined suspiciously.
She smirked, fighting back a full-on grin and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then I don’t want one.” He yawned and pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table. “I just wanna take my cannon and go to bed.”
“You’re gonna bring that thing to bed with you?”
“Nngh– no, I just don’t want you to shoot me with it!”
“You shot me!”
“I shot at you,” he corrected. “Accidentally!”
“So I should get to shoot at you.”
“No!”
“Dork.”
“Pest.”
“Crybaby!”
“You can keep insulting me,” he sang, “but I know you like me!”
Shea rolled her eyes, and before she could say anything else a strange gurgling sound filled her ears and then everything went silent. Ice cold terror burned in her veins as Drew’s mouth continued to move. No sound came out. No sound that she could hear.