Mizuki grew up in Catallia City, best known for its Jenny's using Spinarack instead of Growlithe. After being forced out of her house by her mother and step-father at 12, she goes to live with the niece of Ogawa, Kelsey, in Goldenrod City.
Unable to start her pokemon journey until she turns 15, she works at Kelsey's newly opened bakery/cafe in order to not feel like a burden. Finding that baking isn't in her skill set, she learns to apply her drawing skills to cake decoration.
As Kelsey is Ogawa's niece, its common to see the man visit the city. In order to keep Mizuki's mother unaware of her location, he is only able to bring Candy once a year on her birthday. Even so, Mizuki treasures the visits, asking about the people she left behind.
When Mizuki turns 14, she begins the process of applying for a trainers license. As a child, she adored the Cyndaquil line, and has had her heart set on gaining Professor Elm's approval to get one as a starter. Among the patrons of the cake shop is Goldenrod's Gym Leader Whitney, who agreed to write a letter of recommendation after seeing Mizuki interact with her Miltank after it accidentally crashed into the shop's front window.
When Mizuki went 'missing' (aka sent to Hisui), her face was plastered across Goldenrod within the week. While her story didn't make it out of Johto thanks to meddling by her step-father, it was widely understood that Mizuki's disappearance wasn't by choice like her family tried to wave away.
A life of fighting in some stuffy noble's army isn't for Jin. He makes preparations to become a wandering wizard, and learns a little about his family in the process.
----
The young man trails a hand along the wall of the archive, ancient symbols lighting up as they only do for a direct bloodline descendant. There is knowledge here, ancient and vast, carved into every nook and cranny and written in every book.
He's not here for that, though. The knowledge belongs to the entire Clan. What he seeks is specific to his family. The Taan peer both forwards and backwards in their divination rituals, and each family assigns one member a duty of the utmost importance every few generations: tracing their bloodlines back into the past. His family can trace theirs all the way into truly ancient history. Tomes detailing Sanctuary's creation are jealously hoarded, kept secret and hidden in the walls themselves; he knows where his family's tomes are hidden. The oldest was written by an oracle of Fate, Lineia, with more being written by their children, and their children after them. Each precious record details the world before an event called the Purge. All their knowledge that has been lost ever since, held on dangerously fragile, primitive paper.
As interesting as it would be to get his hands on the tomes, Jin isn't here for that either. He comes to a stop in front of a massive tapestry that spans an entire wall. At one end sits their most ancient ancestors' names. Lineia, of course, and their partners. Aronech, a demon of whom little has been found save for the oracle's fervent declarations of adoration, and Caraniss, a succubus noted to be particularly skilled at making jewellery.
At the other end sits his own name, and those of his brothers and sisters, and their children. Between Lineia and him… between them is a span of thousands of years, and hundreds of names and titles.
This is what he's here for.
The young mage takes out a thick journal and begins to write quickly, copying it down roughly. He only has so much time before his family realises where he's gotten to, on the eve of becoming a fully fledged mage of the Clan, and he knows he'll be far too drunk tomorrow after the celebrations to take any accurate notes. Thankfully the archives are guarded more by spells than by guards, and the Viz-Jaq'taar are only called in for events involving other clans. The Taan keep to themselves.
Many of the names are clearly of mortal stock. But every few generations without fail, there are others.
Aranoch, demon - blacksmith.
Liriel, angel - Maiden.
Iscah, angel - seer.
Strixus, demon - messenger.
Zemirah, demon - siren.
Zephaniah, angel - healer.
The list goes on and on, denizens of the Heavens and Hells interspersed throughout his bloodline. It's quite the headache. There's a name that comes and goes throughout, huge spans of time between the appearances, and he can't be sure if they're the same person or just a name being passed down.
Cassa. Nephalem. Seer. Oracle.
It's known that the Ancients were capable of ridiculously long lifespans, so it could well be that Lineia's less documented child has shown up several times. Or it could be a tribute to them. Who knows or cares, at this point. He's not sticking around to find out and to be drafted into some rich noble's army. There's so much more magic to find and study in the outside world. Ancient tombs protected by long forgotten rune spells, lost rituals, entire dead languages to learn.
The young mage notes with amusement that one of his more powerful sisters seems to have hooked herself an angel, going by the latest additions to the tapestry. Jin's not had the pleasure of meeting them yet; he does a double take as he sees the name and title.
Raziel, reaper - Exarch.
Well. Lin has always been reckless, but this is a new level for her. He'll have to drop by and congratulate her when he leaves. Speaking of leaving… he flips the tome closed, shoves it into the bag at his hip, and makes his way out of the archive with the air of someone who's meant to be there. Jin has what he came for, and now it's time to play the responsible son for a bit until he's given his robes and focus tomorrow.
No one suspects anything, too caught up in preparations. He slips seamlessly back into the bustle of the household.
You all get this early today in hopes that it will get seen before the tunnel vision that is Friday Night New Once is on, y’all. (And so I can watch the episode without having to worry about posting)
As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE. Thanks @whumpreads!
@killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl
All prompts: HERE
Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic
Set in the same universe as The Darling Affair - specifically, pre-fic in the time after the events of chapter 11
“You know, reading without the proper light can do a real number on your eyes.”
Liam Jones looked up from the intelligence report he’d received hours ago on the operation he wasn’t supposed to know about going on in the country that his brother wasn’t supposed to be in.
“Who are you?” he asked warily, standing from behind his desk.
The man smirked, and Liam thought it looked sinister. How did he get in here?
“Who I am isn’t important,” he replied without answering the question. “What is, is I’m here to help you fulfill your dreams.”
Liam’s eyes drifted subconsciously towards the locked drawer in his desk that held his service weapon. “My dreams? How do you know about them?”
“Oh, I know a lot about you, Liam Jones.” The man stood taller before reaching forward and flipping on the lamp on Liam’s desk.
When did it get so dark? Liam thought incredulously before looking at the time. He’d been pouring over the report for hours trying to glean any information as to why his brother had been radio silent with him since going to Somalia.
“There,” the man chuckled, pointing to the lamp, “that’s better.”
“What”—Liam glared—“do you want?”
The man shrugged genially. “To help you. You can call me Hades, surely you’re familiar with aliases?”
Liam nodded mutely.
“I usually get more of a reaction to that. Funny. Anyway,” Hades continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard all about the mess your brother got himself into the other day.”
Hades had his full and undivided attention now. “Killian? What do you know about my brother?”
“More than you, apparently. Pity. Rumor is that your brother had some kind of breakdown in Somalia. Snapped and nearly killed his commanding officer.”
“Commander Teach? Why? Is Killian all right?”
Hades shrugged. “Your brother is in the brig on ship, pending charges of attempted murder among others. He’s looking at the end of his life as he knows it. Which is why I came to offer you a deal.”
“What do you want?” Liam asked again.
“You agree to… do me a favor, let’s say, sometime down the road when I come calling.” Hades sat in the chair across from Liam, as if he had no cares in the world. “You do that, and I promise to use my expertise to ensure that your brother comes home to you, safe and sound. And I’ll even sweeten the deal. You allow me to save your brother from the witch hunt that’s coming for him, and make no mistake that the wrath of the Royal Navy is about to fall square on his shoulders, and I’ll grant you both honorable discharges.”
Liam started. Leave the Navy?
Hades continued. “Make no mistake about it, Liam. There’s no future for you or your brother in Her Majesty’s service any longer, not with how he snapped. They’ll lock him in the brig and throw away the key. And you? The name Jones will be so taboo that you won’t even be able to look at a ship without someone spitting on you.”
Liam sunk into his own chair. “What will you do?”
“Assure that you and your brother are set for the rest of your lives. I’ll find you gainful employment wherever you’d like, set you up to be masters of your own fortune. You name the time and the place, and I’ll make it happen. You’ll never have to worry about someone else dictating your brother’s missions. You’ll make the calls. He’ll be safe with you at the command.”
It wasn’t a hard decision.
Knowing somehow that he was selling his soul to the Devil and not caring a whit if it meant Killian would be safe from whatever mess he’d gotten himself into, Liam made the deal.
>>>
That moment in his office in London had shaped their futures, make no mistake about it. Everything that Liam had built for them since he’d decided to bring Killian to Boston to try and save him from himself stemmed from that moment. It was as if he’d built the foundation of JR Solutions on quicksand, just waiting for the right moment to swallow them all whole.
And now Hades was back.
He couldn’t have come at a worse time, with Killian still healing from that whole mess with Rumplestiltskin and Pan and Emma Swan. Killian was only just now cleared to return to desk duty; Liam couldn’t drop this on him now.
But he had to get them out from under Hades’ thumb. Somehow.
There had been plenty of small favors over the past few years. Cargo that came in under JR Solutions manifestos that Liam hadn’t ordered, nor would he ever see. Missions that would have been vetoed were pushed through, private security gigs that Killian was kept far away from lest he smell something off.
And all the while, Hades loomed.
Liam knew that he could sink their firm in a heartbeat, that Hades could steal his brother away from him - whether by false charges or his name and location leaked to the wrong men. He wasn’t entirely sure that Hades was behind that disastrous mission Killian had only barely made it back from - coming back from the supposed dead to return to Liam.
And now, the Devil wanted his due.
Liam wasn’t sure what he wanted this time, had been avoiding the man all week by attending meetings on the opposite end of the city. But it was only a matter of time.
Liam watched the surveillance video from the parking garage for a third time, wishing he had audio installed and wanting desperately to know what Hades had said to Emma that afternoon when she - quite literally - ran into him on her way up to bring his brother lunch.
He couldn’t ask her. Emma Swan may not have any formal training in how to be an operative, but he knew that she’d see right through him if he brought it up.
Liam Jones prayed to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that Hades wouldn’t come after her or his brother in retaliation for what he was about to do.
I don’t know that I can fit some of these in “’Cause I’m a Taker, ‘Cause I’m a Giver, It’s Only Nature,” so I’m gonna tell you some of the things that happened when Phichit and Yuuri shared their student 2BR/1BA in Detroit!
-Phichit got into Futurama reruns and when Yuuri finally decided to give the show a try, the episode was Jurassic Bark. Yuuri didn’t talk to Phichit for a week.
-Not only did they, when time, money, and their allowed caloric intakes during the season allow, explore restaurants serving Thai and Japanese cuisine, they tried basically every food they had access too. In the end and of all things, Phichit’s favorite was Taco Bell. Yuuri got really into cacio e pepe and crabcakes.
-They were egalitarian about chores but when the season would really ramp up sometimes things would go a day or two before they’d get handled. Yuuri is the neater of the two, but he hates laundry day because their in-building laundromat costs an arm and a leg. Phichit dislikes cleaning the shower.
-Yuuri informs Phichit there’s a cute anime about a group of hamsters who are friends. Phichit acquires an anime with a hamster on the cover, and Yuuri says “Yeah I’m pretty sure Ebi-chu is right.” No. No it most certainly is not. The name Yuuri wanted was Hamtaro. Phichit is traumatized from Ebichu’s first beating and Yuuri changes to the first season of Digimon, where Phichit is immediately appeased because Patomon my as well be a flying hamster.
-A rinkmate introduces them to more American music than their previous exposure. This is how Yuuri got into groups like Paramore. Phichit tends to like happier dancier music. He also gets super into 80s pop because it’s so candy coated.
-Phichit learned within ten days how difficult Yuuri is to get out of bed early. He gets really good at manhandling him into the shower.
-Road trips to Canada happen when they have time and steam to blow off and so they can go to bars. Phichit’s iCloud has a folder that’s simply called “Yuuri Blackmail.” Yuuri can never run for office is what I’m getting at here. They also ended up in Chicago a few times, and Phichit really loves the Bean. Yuuri almost cried at Mitsuwa the first time and spent an exorbitant amount of money. He mostly bought drinks.
-They almost destroyed their friendship assembling a bookcase from IKEA. (This may seem extreme, but I assure you these kind of arguments happen all the time with IKEA furniture.)
-Phichit’s picked up cursing and other vulgarities from Yuuri in Japanese. He can understand more of the language than he can speak. Yuuri has a better language acumen and has picked up some...choicer Italian from Ciao Ciao in addition to conversational Thai.
-Yuuri took pole dancing for core strength/exercise. Phichit dabbled in trapeze.
-Yuuri doesn’t care much about fashion or wine but when he found out about Menswear Dog and Shiba Sommelier they were instant follows. Poodles are his favorites, but Shibas are a national treasure in Japan (LITERALLY) and he felt fairly compelled.
-Phichit follows fashion bloggers and famous American celebs in addition to skaters and friends back in Bangkok. He is morbidly fascinated with the Kardashians. He is happily fascinated with Jason Momoa, Anna Kendrick (she’s in SO MANY GOOD MUSICALS), and Billy Eichner.
I’m trying to write Daxter snarking the Precursors, but this silly thing that happens before young Jak/Mar is taken from Spargus won’t leave me alone. Maybe if I write it down it will leave me in peace. SO HERE. It somewhat edited, but you never catch everything when you edit, you just hope to catch most of everything. Published books have errors. I have seen them.
Leave it to me to say I’m gonna focus on writing and then not do anything for...what...a week....
There’s more stuff in my drafts.
~
Damas ordered lunch brought to the throne room, claiming he was too busy to go down to dining. It left him alone with Mar and three Hora-Quan. Two were the kind specifically designed and created for bodyguards of the House of Mar, which took after the unfortunately near-extinct crocadogs in appearance, which had been domesticated by his ancestor’s family as beasts of burden, hunting companions, and protectors. The third was a small flying Hora-Quan, resembling a large scarabel, used by the Wastelanders instead of man-made radios.
Kor had sent Mar’s bodyguard just a few days ago. Like Damas’ own Mosslake and every Hora-Quan bodyguard of his line, his son’s Hora-Quan had been specially programmed by Kor personally. Mar had finally picked out a nickname for his new friend, who was playing gently with Mar in the pools and making sure the toddler didn’t topple in a way which could lead to swallowing water.
“Comli,” Damas held up a hand. The flying Hora-Quan descended from its preferred perch at the windows. “Open a channel to Chipset, please.”
Comli trilled and the yellow glow of its skull gem developed a pink shade.
“Pavora?” he called.
“Seem said you’re too busy to come down for lunch today,” the woman on the other end replied. Damas winced. "I suppose Mar’s staying with you, hmm?”
“I’m sorry about that, but I need you to come up to the throne room and have a word with your son about stealing ceramic bottles from the kitchen,” Damas requested.
“He’s your son too Damas,” Pavora growled at him.
“Not when I’m sitting down on the throne, he’s not,” Damas muttered in undertone.
"So get off your royal rear, it can’t be that hard,” Pavora said, “But is that where the jar of lungfruit syrup is? Recana was complaining about not finding any this morning.”
“Yes, the syrup,” Damas frowned, glancing around his chair where the jar was tucked out of sight, a sticky line of translucent white running down the side. “There’s not much left in it....”
"What? Did Mar feed it to his new friend?” Pavora asked, tone tinging in disbelief. Hora-Quan could, but usually did not, consume human foods.
“Get up here and you’ll find out,” Damas suggested.
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll come up to you,” Pavora sighed. Comli’s gem went back to yellow. Damas bounced his hand and Comli zipped back to his overhead perch.
Next to him, Mosslake let out a raspy choking sound which represented laughter. Damas glowered at his guardian, reaching out with his staff to give the creature a light wallop to the shoulder. Mosslake crooned at him; then stood, limping over to join Mar and the new Hora-Quan in the water. Mosslake was thrice the size of Mar’s new friend, but the smaller one would grow quickly.
The rattle of the elevator alerted Damas to Pavora’s impending arrival. Chipset fluttered up to join Comli just as the dark brown locks of the woman’s hair rose into view, shortly followed the rest of her. Her her face was set into a slanted frown.
She brightened a little at the sight of Mar, who came sloshing over to the edge of the pool at the sight of his mother. The woman went over to ruffle his fluff of green hair, “And just what did you do, Mar?”
Mar pointed at his chest with left forefinger; lifted up his hands, curling his thumbs, ring fingers, and pinkies to his palm, holding the middle and index fingers pointed outwards and pressed together, tapping left middle finger to right index finger twice; then curled his middle fingers in, hooking his index fingers together, left palm upwards and right downwards only to unhook his index fingers, switch which palm faced up and which faced down, and re-hook them together.
“Oh really? What did you choose?” Pavora asked, a pitying look on her face. Dear old Mosslake and little Comli barely had proper nicknames at all. Granted, Mosslake had been named by Damas when the codger had been Mar’s age. But poor Communications Link....
Of course, she’d been silly enough to think his poor naming skills only extended to the Hora-Quan. Fool her once...but she wasn’t giving Damas naming rights again if they had another kid.
Mar held both hands palm upwards, fingers splayed, rubbing thumbs and middle fingers together, stroked his chin twice with left index and middle fingers; then while both hands were palm down, he splayed out the fingers of his right hand and curled the index, ring, and index fingers to his palm with thumb and pinky extended, stroking the air from over his right hand in a downwards slope twice.
“I see...Syrup is a cute name, Mar,” Pavora ruffled her kid’s hair again. “Is that why you took the jar? Recana was miffed she couldn’t find it this morning.”
Mar’s mouth formed a soundless, ‘oh.’
“Yeah, and you shouldn’t have taken the jar! You could have hurt yourself if it broke,” Pavora poked the child’s forehead, scowling. “Or fed it to Syrup.”
“He didn’t feed it to Syrup,” Damas interjected.
“Did he waste it?” Pavora’s voice pitched dangerously. Wasting food was a major taboo in any city, but in Spargus, it was a violation - you could loose a week’s food rations and maybe have to go a round in the arena (if you were an adult). The wastelands had no arable ground for traditional crops, scavenging and having their spies purchase from what cities were willing to sell (at high prices) only went so far. Mar shrunk down and Syrup whined, stepping up behind its charge. Pavora glared the Hora-Quan into cowering too.
“I get the impression it was an accident,” Damas said.
“Wasting is wasting,” Pavora stood straight, hands on her hips. “Where’s the mess, Mar?”
Mar pointed towards his father, whose expression was unimpressed. Pavora went behind the throne and found the jar. “...That doesn’t look so bad.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t,” Damas muttered. Pavora heard Mar’s feet slap wetly against the ground as he toddled over to her, jumped for her hand (she stooped so he would catch it and not fall) and submitted to his ‘pulling’ her to the front.
Mar pointed again to the throne, then held his left hand so the palm faced to the right, thumb against his forehead while his fingers waggled, then brought the underside of his left index and middle fingers onto the tops of the other ones, the remaining fingers and thumbs loosely curled.
Pavora turned a blank look on the King, “...Well...that explains why you can’t come down for lunch.”
“That it would,” Damas replied.
“...Don’t get glued to the seat, Damas,” Pavora said. “It’ll be a bit difficult for you to live up to your promise for tonight if that syrup puddle grafts you into the chair.”
“Just...send Sig up at the end of the day,” Damas sighed. “He’ll have more mercy on me than you.”
“Mmmhmmm...c’mon, Mar, let’s leave your old man, Mister Sticky Buns, alone,” Pavora said. “He’s got lots of work to do, and its lunch time. You hungry?”
Mar was giggling silently in response to her pun, but nodded. Pavora scooped him up into her arms, ignoring the slight dampness of his clothing. It’d finish drying out soon enough.
