> With an air of exhaustion about him, Davyd Strider peels his sheets from his body. He's unsure of the day, let alone the time.
> His limbs are heavy as he forces himself out of bed.
> His strawberry blond hair sits heavily along his spine, braided down his back and greasy. His wings are in a similar state of disarray - pin feathers aching to be released from their keratin tomb.
> At a snails pace he drags his feet along the ground to his lounge room. He can't bring himself to turn the TV on, to get out his tablet, or to acknowledge the piles of letters that sit unopened at his front door.
> His phone vibrates, lighting up a familiar shade of teal.
> His chest aches at the sight.
> He turns his phone face down and lies on the sofa, head supported by a pillow.
Some time ago, a child had approached Blair. Blair didn't know their name, only that they were one of Sandwich Guy's children. They had approached him and said something simple, "It's not the ides you should beware, but the tide."
Blair should have heeded that advice.
He isn't thinking of that night or the child or the advice when he carefully wraps his hand with a sweatshirt in the small, cramped, way too hot bathroom. Blair isn't thinking about much, is very forcibly not thinking about much. If he lets his mind wander, he'll chicken out of doing this again.
Cove is sleeping, a rare sight, but a blessing for the moment. There's something funny, Blair will think later, when he is thinking about the advice given to him, that he decided to do this on the Ides of March. Something very funny indeed.
For now though, he presses his wrapped hand against the glass of the bathroom mirror, balled in a fist, and applies pressure. More pressure. More pressure, more and more and-
snap!
The glass cracks. Good. Blair doesn't want it to shatter and fall, that will wake Cove up. Slowly, he looses his fist but keeps the sweatshirt wrapped around his hand as he pries loose a long shard of mirror glass and holds it as tightly as he dares in his hand.
He'll be able to take Cove's phone from here and after he kills Cove and sets this place ablaze, be able to actually access location sharing on that device. Something Cove somehow enabled on his own phone, making it impossible to let anyone know where he actually was other than... The desert, somewhere.
Blair does not want to kill his ex-boyfriend.
When Blair thinks of Cove, there is a certain sense of a time before everything went to absolute shit. Maybe he'd never really been in love with Cove that way Cove had been in love with him, but he'd loved him all the same. He'd loved that shitty Mexican bar they'd go to, he'd loved teaching Cove Spanish and laughing as he stumbled through the words. He'd loved staying up all night with him, cramming for their midterms and finals. He'd loved that when he came out to Cove, Cove had never once gotten his new pronouns wrong.
Not once.
There was something special about that to Blair, even now, even still.
This was too much, though. Too much. Cove had kidnapped him not once, but twice. First away from Moonbeam, then away from Finlay. And while those two relationships weren't one in the same, they were both places Blair hadn't wanted to leave and Cove had still pulled him out and away from them anyway.
He had to do this. He had to get out of here. Blair doesn't know exactly what Cove is planning, but he knows that if they're in the desert it's got to have something to do with the Portal they once both helped build.
Cove killed Daybreak. That much, Blair knew. Could he kill Moonbeam? Was that the grand plan? To go back to Creatia and kill Moonbeam and... And what? What did people do after they killed the highest gods in all of the land? Blair didn't want to find out. Was scared to find out.
He had to do this.
Slowly, Blair creeps out of the bathroom and into the small living space this shack has. His heart is racing, and he thinks about praying to Belle but doesn't dare. Moonbeam wouldn't care much for him to start sending panicked prayers up to anyone but him. When he reaches the couch, he stands above Cove who lays there, breathing slowly, easily. His sunglasses have fallen off and onto the floor next to him.
Blair takes a deep breath and brings the mirror shard together in his hands, both covered by the sweatshirt now. Very briefly he catches his own reflection, the terror in his own eyes, and swallows hard.
He brings the jagged piece of glass down and slices deep into Cove's throat.
Cove sits bolt upright, his blood red but laced with something more, some sort of golden glow spatters everywhere. His hands grip at his throat and wrench the shard out and throw it hard to the side. Cove rolls, falling off the couch, clutching his throat and bleeding red-glittery gold into the carpet below. It's a river of blood, more blood out of a person's body than Blair has ever seen in his life and-
And then it starts slowing to a stream. A trickle. And a drip. Cove stays hunched over, on his knees and one hand, the other hand clutching his throat. Slowly, he turns his head to look over his shoulder at Blair. His one golden eye is glowing so bright it's near blinding. He speaks in a strained, wheezy tone.
"Y-you know. Wh-when you only have one sh-shot at something. You really ought t-to make it count."
A conversation lost in the soft chimes of a purple house made store front.
"...The first time you've approached me in nearly three months and it's to ask after some random child, Regent? I wasn't aware your people had such interest in the local sewers."
"Well, of course he is from the sewers! What else could he be? My, is there something you haven't told us? A secret, perhaps? If you doubt my word so, please feel free to meet with Jericho."
"Why, he is already engaged! He looks after signorina Vicario's rather extensive library. It does keep him busy. I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to find a free spot in his schedule..."
"He's a sweet boy. I'm not certain how I feel about these accusations, given how he assisted in pulling our friends out of a literal fire. You should perhaps be more careful..."
Highway is...do you know personal security details, how they're always looking out for danger even when they seem relaxed? I don't think I've ever seen him truly let down his guard, but it's not necessarily...hm. Not closed off either? He's not unfriendly, quite the opposite in my experience - Oh! Have I shown you his puppets? They're delightful little things, it irritates me that he gets made fun of for them sometimes. Do you know how rare it is to find someone with such a serious deportment and past, someone nearly as old as I am, who still has whimsy?? Anyway. I call him Caretaker because that's what he does, he takes care of people. Often, I think, at the expense of letting those people very close to him. It's deeply relatable.
The video starts blurred, slowly focusing on the pale, ghoulish face of Null as they fiddle with the front, muttering to themself and someone off camera about the state of technology and how difficult it is to manage these things. Their face is partially obscured by a black gas mask, hair pulled back into a short ponytail, and their eyes do most of their emoting for them. Once the view is focused there's a monotone voice of confirmation off camera and Null's brows raise, looking and sounding content with an, "Excellent!"
They take a few steps away from the camera, clapping gloved hands together as they begin to speak, a young woman standing towards the back revealed by their movement. "Recording for purposes of scientific study in the event that subject Honey Bonnie Azrael should perish before being able to recall and detail her experience in inbibing my vitae. The purpose of this experiment is to engage in a low level bond with the young..."
They pause to look down at the girl, her hands fidgeting as she looks up at them. The juxtaposition of them side by side is very strange, Null looking almost completely greyscale next to Honey's pastel rainbows and glitter. She raises a hand and whispers something that isn't audible, and they nod in response before returning their attention to the camera.
"This young woman, to provide, to lend, to grant some semblance of my ability in the powers of vicissitude! An honorable desire to follow in the footsteps of my Delilah, to seek out an alternative method of learning the fine and intriguing art of flesh crafting! Ha ha ha. Ms. Azrael," They look back down and she meets their eyes again, "Are you aware of the potential consequences of these actions?"
"Yes."
"And you're a willing participant in this experiment?"
"I am. It was my idea."
"Excellent! That's my part done, no one can yell at me this time! Ha ha ha!"
Null tugs off one of their gloves as they walk off view, Honey left standing politely with her hands folded. She gives a bright, somewhat nervous smile to the camera and raises a hand to wave. After about ten seconds pass, the methuselah walks back onscreen, holding a glass beaker filled with a deep, off-color red. It emits a strange, heavy, orange gas.
"Now would you like to be strapped in for this or would you rather stay standing Ms. Azrael?"
"Oh uhhh I'll go with like, just standing, t'be honest."
Null stares at her for a full couple seconds before laughing once, handing over the beaker. "You are incomprehensible! Ha ha ha!"
Once Honey takes vitae(?)'s container, her host pulls their glove back on, leaning back against a nearby examination table and taking out a small notepad and pen. "Whenever you're ready Ms. Azrael."
Honey nods and gives one last, almost apologetic, smile to the camera before taking a deep breath, steeling herself. She raises the glass to her lips and drinks down the blood quickly, an immediate reaction almost making her choke it back up.
Null begins writing casually, not so much as flinching as Honey stumbles in place, every muscle in her body tensed and flexing as she forces herself to survive this ordeal. It's not as bad as it could be, she'd made sure of it.
She fumbles with the glass as she struggles to set it down without breaking it, falling to her knees and digging her nails against the tiles as she hoarsely gasps. The camera stays focused on her as she shakes, blood droplets misting the ground in front of her when she coughs. She's surviving, though.
The video continues for another five minutes, remaining focused on Honey as she experiences the agony of this exchange. After a full minute of no movement, Null sets down their notepad and walks over to where she's crumpled on the ground, poking her idly with their pen.
After a few seconds examination, Null laughs, standing straight and whirling around to face the camera.
"SHE'S STILL ALIVE! HA!"
They begin raving about being an extremely helpful person as they walk towards the camera, picking it up to turn it off, Honey in the background still in a heap.
The shop is largely quiet save for the occasional chime of memories turning as they hang from the ceiling, or the soft ticking from a few of the memories with still functioning clockwork. The beast lays curled in its nesting spot among various memories that it considers its favourites, as well as a rare few physical items like several intricately woven textiles in bright colors and beautiful designs. Claw-like digits carefully grasp tools as it works on gifts to give in return for that which was given to them.
A plush toy for the strawberry wine, a necklace for the calendar.
The beast closes its eyes as its furred fingers brush over the lockets on the necklace, reliving every memory in a soft cascade of nostalgia, of bittersweet and joy, fulfilled loneliness and soft sadness and warmth and love. A kind gift. It sets the necklace aside and carefully picks up the unfinished plush, tucking a dying pocket watch into the chest cavity and filling it with more fur for padding. It carefully sews closed the assemblage piece with stained thread, its eyes closing once more it remembers the soft, bittersweet joy, the comfort felt in the memories this creation is made of.
In the streets of Domino, a young man walks right past you before doubling back and staring right at you. He is sporting YOUR hair-do and YOUR outfit - at least from Battle City. He gives you a bit of a stink-eye as he adjusts his arm to show off his (fake) Duel Disk. Completing the man's outfit is an inverted gold-painted pyramid around the man's neck, clearly made of something lighter than the actual Puzzle.
He stares at you and perhaps more pointedly the clothes you're currently wearing.
"I score you a 6 out of 10."
"Mutou would never wear what you're wearing right now."
After saying his piece, he walks off.
Yugi has his eyes fixed on his phone screen as he walks home from a lovely afternoon out at the city park, distracted from the world around him by a certain mobile game. He's lining up to toss another Great Ball when he passes something out of the corner of his eye that makes him stop, do a double take.
There might as well be a loading wheel spinning over his head as he blinks blankly at the doppelganger, taking in every one of the uncanny details in absolute bewilderment.
"what...."
Before he can fully process the situation or say another word, he's cut off by the stranger's snide words, leaving him with only more questions and not a single answer. He blinks again, looks down at the Kirby t-shirt he'd thrown on in a drowsy haste before his morning class, a black sweatshirt tied around his skinny hips and ripped black jeans.
"but these are my clothes..." he says with exasperation as the doppelganger walks away.
