#ssvday19

[goldenworldsabound]

ssvday19 prompt - formal wear! Who is better suited to this than Akabayashi? Absolutely no one. He loves to take me out for fancy dinners and the like, and buy me fancy dresses...he’ll even dance a little silly with me (exhibit A lol).

[dearhartselfships]

day 8 of @jocelynships selfshipping event! the theme was “pirates and royalty” au!

[self-indulgence-with-tea]

#SSVDay 19 Prompt 8 - Pirates and Royalty AU (feat. Daisy Fitzroy)

{Back with another fic for @jocelynships self ship Valentine’s Day prompts! Not gonna lie, I had a hard time with this one. Had a basic idea for what I wanted to write, but not really any plot and so few of my F/Os fit the dynamic. But I still think I got something pretty decent from it. Enjoy!}

Given the sort of day they’d had been having, being locked up in the brig of a pirate ship surely wasn’t the worst possible thing to happen to Emile. No, in fact, nothing could have been worse than witnessing the redcoats stretch their father’s neck for treachery and conspiracy over breakfast, but now wasn’t the sort of time to be dwelling on what awful events that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours were worse.

Or maybe now, behind bars and left to rot, they had all the time in the world to dwell on misfortune. Only child of a wealthy and relatively progressive lord in the Americas and they were stuck with pirates, of all things. Pirates who, by the looks of it, barely knew how to pirate. What sort of pirates demanded legal reform in exchange for a kidnapped royal? Not that Emile would be worth that much in ransom, anyway. As stated, their father and local lord was “progressive” and hung for it. The colonies wouldn’t want back his treacherous kin.

No, the demands would not be met for the sake of Emile’s life and freedom, that much was certain. What was uncertain was what these pirates would do with them once they found that out.

“Captain on deck!” The call rang out above them, accompanied by the clamber of shipmates scrambling to salute their captain. A silence followed, broken only by the sound of the ocean outside, the creaking of the wooden ship, and the deliberate footsteps of a single individual. If Emile had to guess by footstep alone, the captain would be a determined and authoritative man, governing his ship with a tight hold and strategy.

The steps slowly got louder, clunking heavily on the stairs to the orlop, where the crew’s quarters were kept. Soon enough, they were right above the entry to the hold and Emile’s breath hitched.

The captain was coming down to the brig. They weren’t prepared in the slightest, but decided to bluff it out, keep a straight face and a stiff upper lip. It couldn’t be too hard. They’d faced down far more fearsome soldiers in their time.

Emile, however, didn’t quite expect who had come down the short steps to the hold. A young woman with dark skin and well-minded dreadlocks in her hair stood before them, dressed head to toe in aged leather and cloth and armed to the teeth with guns and knives, and that was just what they could see in the dark of their cell. Bluffing to a woman so beautiful and intimidating was going to be a fair bit harder than they’d imagined.

“So you’re the young heir we picked up at the last stop in Port Price, eh? I am Daisy Fitzroy, captain of this vessel, the Vox Populi. You will address me as Captain Fitzroy only and by no other name. Am I clear?”

Emile was almost shocked into silence, impacted by her authority. Suddenly remembering their voice, they stammered out, “Y-yes, ma’a- I mean, Captain Fitzroy.”

Captain Fitzroy nodded, not seeming to fault them for the stutter. “Good. Now, let’s talk about what your purpose here on my ship is. Doubt first mate DeWitt filled you in entirely.”

Emile shook their head, biting their lip. “I-I did get some, Captain Fitzroy… Just not all…”

“Then allow me to fill ya in on somethin’ dire. We may be pirates, but we ain’t runnin’ amok, causin’ mayhem for no good reason.”

“Do you mean to tell me you have a good reason for kidnapping me?”

“Ya want the truth, smart mouth?”

Emile flinched, but nodded. They had been rather cheeky with her, hadn’t they.

“We wasn’t kidnappin’ you. We was rescuin’ you.”

They looked to Captain Fitzroy with bewildered disbelief. “R… rescued me? From what, precisely?”

The captain only chuckled. “Ain’t it obvious? Lord Godwin ain’t exactly the only Godwin in town and they had another loop bein’ tied. Just big enough for your pretty little neck.”

Emile stiffened. “I knew what awaited me. Conspirators must hang. The condemned have no place in the colonies.”

“And where do ya think the condemned go when they don’t hang, hm?

Silence thickened the air more than the salt of the sea. “What is it you want from me?”

“Just a Godwin smart enough to join the right side.”

“And what of your legal reform?”

“Same ends, different means. ‘Course, my crew is wary of ya. Says ya can’t teach a white dog new tricks. If you’re willin’ to help me prove them wrong; if you aim for that social ladder to fall; if you believe in the rights of the people, join the Vox.”

“And if I don’t?”

Captain Fitzroy pulled out a pistol and aimed it at the center of Emile’s forehead, right between the bars. “Then there’s no use for ya on board my vessel. You were keen on goin’ before. You keen on it now?”

A pause settled into the air before Emile leaned forward, the cold steel of the pistol’s barrel pressing against their head. A slow grin split their face; tentative, but sure as sin. “Consider this Godwin on your side.”

Captain Fitzroy smirked, flipping the pistol in her hand so that the handle was pointed towards Emile. They took it carefully and checked the rounds. “No bullets?”

“You have the right blood in ya. Knew you couldn’t say no. Really, heir, you’re a pirate, through and through.”

“Em.”

Captain Fitzroy paused. “What?”

They shrugged. “New life, new name. Emile was a passive lord’s heir. Em’s a pirate.”

“Not the most creative type, are ya?”

“Not with names, no, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

Captain Daisy Fitzroy took the keyring off the hook by the stairs, unlocking and opening the cell door. “Then welcome aboard the Vox Populi, Em.”

[self-indulgence-with-tea]

#SSVDay19 Prompt 7 - Candle Light (feat. Robert Lutece)

{Can you guess what this is? You probably can, upon reading the title. That’s right, another self-ship fic for @jocelynships self ship Valentine’s Day prompts! This time, ol’ Robbie-boy takes center stage. Enjoy!}

The door shut with a soft click, a soft sigh escaping the lips of the guest as they hung up their coat. The day had been exhausting by all definitions of the term. Em just wanted to drop onto the bed awaiting them and sleep when a whiff of something came from the kitchen. Something good for once, not like the usual smells of ozone, sulfur, burning metal, or, Heaven forbid, smoke that usually accompanied entry into the house.

“Robert?” Their voice had a touch of trepidation, unsure how to react. It was so rare that an experienced sense was actually pleasant in the proximity of science.

The addressed ginger leaned back far enough from the kitchen to see the front door, a touch of flour dusting his face and hair. “Ah, you’re home early. Give me just a moment to finish preparations.” He returned to his unseen work, Em leaning around to try to catch a glimpse of what, precisely, he was doing. As if reading their mind, he called out, “And no peeking! What awaits is a surprise.”

Em could only chuckle at the subtle enthusiasm to his voice, almost going unnoticed. “I hope it’s not another chance to be a guinea pig like the last ‘surprise’ you had for me.”

“I can assure you, you’ll enjoy this one far more that any experiment.”

“I like experiments,” Em muttered under their breath petulantly. They traced their hands along photo frames, looking over the occupants with a blossoming curiosity as they made their way to the parlor. Sounds of scuffling echoed from the kitchen, raising more and more questions from the individual misplaced in time.

Almost like magic, Robert was already in the parlor just as Em arrived. Of course, there wasn’t any magic involved. Only a quantum superposition letting Robert predict the exact time and place he needed to be. Em smirked, raising an eyebrow that begged the unspoken question, ‘Are you going to show me just what this surprise is?’

“You should look behind you,” he said simply.

They turned and let out a small gasp. “Robert, what…?” The question was left hanging in the air as they looked over the odd scene. The Lutece Device in the original dining room had been moved aside to make room for what appeared to be a dinner fit for two people, candlesticks dotting either side of the centerpiece perfectly symmetrically.

A pair of arms wrapped around Em’s waist from the back in a welcome display of affection. “The ideal date.”

They couldn’t help a chuckle as they turned to face Robert, still held in his arms. “Excuse me?”

“I remember our first date,” Robert recalled, “We had played a sort of game. A version of twenty questions about each other. I had asked you what your ideal date would be and you stated…”

“A candlelit dinner.” Em bit their lip and nodded, trying to recall the night. “And you remembered this whole time.”

“Of course.”

Em turned in his arms, back to the scene. “Or…”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

“You had asked me this morning, hoping my half-asleep delirium would keep me from remembering, feeling guilty because until this morning, you had forgotten it’s the anniversary of our relationship.”

A heavy pause settled into the air, the silence unreadable. “Um… Perhaps you could repeat what today is?”

Em looked behind them with a raised eyebrow, trying to stifle disbelieving laughter. “The one year anniversary of our relationship? The point exactly one year from the very first date you were referencing just moments ago?”

“I am aware of what an anniversary is, I just…”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

Em could feel the movement of Robert’s nod.

“Don’t worry. So did I, until you mentioned it in your explanation.” They leaned up in time to see Robert grin.

“You cheeky wench,” he muttered.

Em grinned wider, leaning in to kiss him. “I may be, but you’re the dork that prepared the ‘ideal date’ on a non-holiday.”

“I thought it’d be a pleasant surprise,” Robert protested with a laugh. “If you insist on teasing me for a kind gesture, I suppose I’ll have to put away the dinner, save it in the icebox.”

“You know I hate leftovers!”

“Oh, I suppose… Will you be joining me for dinner tonight?”

“It’d be my honor, Monsieur Lutece.”

The two shared one last kiss before parting to either side of the table, enjoying a pleasant evening in the glow of two burning candles.

[self-indulgence-with-tea]

#SSVDay19 Prompt 6 - Dancing in PJs (feat. Rosalind Lutece)

{Here we go! Another fic for @jocelynships self ship Valentine’s Day prompt list! This one, thus far, has been my favorite to write and my beta’s favorite to read. I dunno why, but Rosie just flows so naturally here. It takes place after the Luteces finished their “experiment” with Booker and I’ve been displaced in time and space. Anyway, enjoy!}

The air crackled with sound as the phonograph in the corner of the room spun to life, a hand gently dropping the needle into the outer grooves. A few silent moments passed before the room was brought to life with the sound of music.

“Did you manage to get it working?” Rosalind came in with two mugs of tea, handing one to her partner knelt by the aged instrument.

“Like a charm. I can’t believe it still works.” Em gratefully took the hot drink and blew over the top, rising with the help of Rosalind’s gentle hand in theirs.

The pair settled onto the couch, comfortably close, Rosalind picking up the book she’d been working on reading. They were dressed in their respective nightwear; Rosalind garbed in a lacy nightgown and Em in sweats.

“‘Still’ is yet another casualty of our anachronistic existence,” Rosalind offered.

“I say ‘still’ because you happened to throw your original out the window and it had to be replaced with an antique from my time.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who commanded me to be rid of it with haste in the first place.”

Em shivered dramatically. “Spiders… God, I hate spiders…”

Rosalind chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. She continued her reading, flipping pages lazily and listening to the music paired with the crackle of the fireplace. Soon enough, the music lilted into a pause before starting on the next track. She recognized the tune, the familiar four-count beat bringing back memories of far more eventful times.

Em hummed along, lost in thought. They frowned, biting their lip. “Rosie?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How does one waltz?”

Rosalind looked up from her book with a questioning glance. “Do you truly not know?”

Em shrugged, shaking their head. “Never had to learn. It was never really on my radar.”

It took Rosalind a moment to recognize “radar” as something not from her time. Still, she sighed. “You mean to tell me your educational system never found it necessary to teach such a basic dance?”

“Nope. Not a once.”

Rosalind gently set her book and tea down, standing and profering a hand to her significant other. “Then may I have this dance?”

Em looked between the hand and her face. “You’re… going to teach me to waltz?”

“Of course. If no one else will, then I shall. Will you be joining? Or will the song end before you can make a decision?”

They laughed, taking Rosalind’s hand and standing. “Lead the way.”

“If only to teach. The taller usually takes lead.”

“Good to know, Madame Lutece.”

With a rather smug expression, Rosalind immediately pulled them into a position to better adjust their posture with a few quick movements. “Back straight,” she pushed the small of their back towards her with one hand. “Shoulders back, chest out,” both hands pushed the top of the spine forward and the shoulders backward, earning a rather undignified noise from Em. “Feet here,” she stepped at their inner foot to force their legs apart. “Hands here,” she took their hands and placed them on her body appropriately. “Eyes… here.”

It was that moment both let out a shared breath. They were looking very deeply into each other’s eyes, sharing a gaze they hadn’t shared in a long time. Rosalind’s grey-blue eyes were sharp and cold and calculating by nature, but the ice melted in the warmth of the moment, leaving a sparkling ocean of the unexpected in their wake. Em’s hazel eyes were soft and warm, dazzling in the light of the fireplace and looking into Rosalind’s very being with so much love.

Em was the first to break the reverie, smiling. “The song’s ending. I hope the next one is a waltz, too.”

“A-ah, yes. Of course. You have the proper posture, so let’s begin with the steps.”

Rosalind guided Em through both the lead steps and the following steps, each movement slow and deliberate. She could hear them counting under their breath, averting their gaze to watch their feet and ensure they weren’t stepping on her toes. She smiled and lifted their chin to look at her.

“Rosie?”

“Focus on me. The waltz is about trust; trusting your partner to know the steps and know the tempo. We’ll keep time together.”

Em nodded, looking into her eyes all through the next song. As they danced, their form became more fluid and improper, bodies closer, hands grasping more naturally. Every once in a while, there’d be a misstep and they’d both laugh, continuing their messy waltz. It was good fun, leaving their drinks to cool as Rosalind introduced Em to the sorts of improvisation the form could allow.

“You’re terrible at this! Your feet are going too wide!”

“It’s not as awful as your stiff spine! It’s like waltzing with a tree!”

There was no aggression, no ire to their bickering. Just good-humoured teasing and laughing.

Soon, one dance turned into three turned into seven. The pair began to tire, Rosalind laying her head on Em’s chest as they swayed in a vague four-count time. Both hummed along with the last song on the record as it dwindled out, leaving only silence for the two to linger in. They stayed in each other’s arms like that for goodness knows how long. The clock struck twelve and the duo parted only subtly.

“We should sleep,” chimed Em lazily.

“Indeed. I enjoyed our night.”

“So did I, Rosie. I love you…”

“I love you, as well…”

[self-indulgence-with-tea]

#SSVDay19 Prompt 3 - Soulmate AU (feat. Elizabeth Comstock)

{For @jocelynships prompt list, I decided to go with an F/O that’s a little more in my age group. The AU? Soulmates can write, draw, or do anything to their skin and it’ll appear on the other. Enjoy!}

In the quiet of morning, Elizabeth Comstock couldn’t help but feel, of all things, lonely. Of course, she’s felt this way before. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize all her pleading with Songbird only granted her warning stares in return. Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t long for a life outside her tower. The books were a nice escape, but there were only so many books in her library and only so long she could spend reading.

Elizabeth sighed, staring out her window at the cityscape below her, watching the morning bustle along the streets. So many people she had never met and would never know her. The young girl stood, smoothing out her dress and descending the stairs to the main library. Just as there was only so long she could read, there was also only so long she could sit, staring out windows, before it grew tiring.

Perusing the shelves, she found a book of poetry she hadn’t yet read. It looked to be good for a bit of light idling before studies for the day. Perhaps a poem or two would help her take her mind off things.

She flipped to a random page and started to read.

The house was still – the room was still

‘Twas eventide in June

A caged canary to the sun

Then setting – trilled a tune

A free bird on that lilac bush

Outside the lattice heard

He listened long – there came a hush

He dropped an answering word –

The prisoner to the free replied

Elizabeth smiled, raising an eyebrow. What was the reply, she thought. Taking a pen, she noted the poem’s name and author on her arm, having no free paper on which to write. Just a little note, barely noticeable. At the very least, she hoped Madame Lutece wouldn’t notice it when she came in for tutoring. She shut the book and tucked it away, leaving to the dressing room to prepare for studies.

~~~

An hour later found Elizabeth nodding off while Madame Lutece went on about geometry and pythagorean theorem. Her tutor was like this often, barely noticing when her ward wasn’t paying attention as she continued the lecture.

She looked down at the note scrawled on her arm and was shocked to find another bit of writing underneath. Even more shocking; the note wasn’t in her handwriting.

Looking up to ensure Madame Lutece still wasn’t aware she wasn’t listening, Elizabeth pulled back her sleeve and read the note. It was a question she, herself, had asked.

*How did the prisoner reply?*

Elizabeth glanced up before taking her pen and writing her own answer.

~Who are you?~

Throughout the lesson, she kept glancing down to her arm, trying to see if the mysterious writer would return. Eventually, she got a response.

*Nobody. You?*

She had to stifle a giggle before writing again.

~Apparently, a cyclops, Mr. Odysseus.~

Elizabeth could barely sit still, anticipating the next reply. This time, it came far faster.

*You must be well read. None of my friends know Homer.*

~I was led to believe Homer was very common?~

*Not among my peers, it would seem.*

“Miss Comstock.” The accented voice cut through her reverie like sheers through paper. “I would find it surprising, if you found the area of a circle so enjoyable.”

“My apologies, Madame Lutece. I was just writing…”

Elizabeth’s tutor raised an eyebrow, her eyes seeming to catch sight of her arm and the ink scrawled across it. A moment’s hesitation made Elizabeth curious.

“Madame Lutece?”

Rosalind seemed to shake herself of the moment. “We must be on with our lesson plan. You may resume the conversation at a later time.”

Elizabeth nodded, but hummed in confusion. Conversation? Did she know? Or was she simply referring to their conversation? And just who was this person? How were they writing on her skin like that? So many questions and every attempt to answer them just brought up more.

~~~

Emily Tomlinson looked over her arm with trepidation. The penmanship was very definitely unfamiliar and very neat, formal, even. Was it a ghost writing to her? Was she haunted?

She suddenly felt a presence over her shoulder and jumped back when it spoke.

“Woah, Emi, you got your soulmate already?”

She blinked, her friend looking very enthusiastic.

“Soulmate?”

“Yup! Your soulmate! Or, at least, that’s the legend. That the person on the other side of the writing is the person you’re destined to be with. Your perfect match.”

Emily looked down at the writing again, biting her lip. Soulmates… “It’s a pretty tale, but I don’t much buy into folklore. Most people never meet the person on the other side, right?”

Her friend nodded. “Yup. It’s pretty sad, to know and talk with someone your whole life and never meet them.”

Emily just shrugged and carried on. But now the thought couldn’t escape her head. What if this person was her soulmate? And what if they never met? Could she really maintain contact with someone so far?

She looked down at the writing just in time to see a new line appear.

~My name is Elizabeth. What is yours?~

She bit her lip and wrote back.

*Emily. It is very nice to meet you, Elizabeth.*

She smiled and covered the letterings again. Elizabeth, huh? Even if she wasn’t her soulmate, Emily had a feeling this would become a beautiful friendship.

~~~

A few years had passed since their initial correspondence and the two girls had become fast friends. They told each other everything, from happenings at home to facts they learned to literature they shared. Currently, though, Emily’s friend was taking up her arm with doodling while she read.

Lately, she’d found interest in the Bronte sisters, particularly the works of Anne Bronte. At least she had some taste in men.

“So, has your soulmate written you lately?”

Emily didn’t look up. “Firstly, we’re not soulmates. Simply friends. Secondly, yes, in fact. Though, I had warned her you would be watching for some time.”

Her friend groaned. “Not fair! I had wanted to meet her!”

Emily laughed. “Perhaps you will, one day.”

A silence settled into the air, tense and palpable. “Have you told her?”

“No. Not yet. But I will.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Her friend hummed, then stood from her seat. “I best be going. So long, Emi!”

Emily smiled and waved her off. “So long.”

“And don’t forget to write!”

“I won’t!”

Emily looked down at her arm, seemingly random lines connecting her freckles. She giggled and turned it over to write.

*She’s away.*

The reply didn’t take long at all.

~What constellation is that? I can’t find it on my star maps.~

*The freckle constellation. She was connecting the dots.*

~I see! So, you have freckles?~

*I do! My whole family has them. Do you have freckles?*

~No, sadly, but my tutors do. It always made me wonder how I would look.~

Emily sighed, her friend’s words echoing in her head. She had to tell Elizabeth about it. Why was she having such trouble doing so? It wasn’t as if they would cease contact. Elizabeth wouldn’t even know unless Emily told her.

*I have news.*

~Is it good news?~

*Neutral, at most. My father is moving us to a new city.*

~Oh, that sounds wonderful! Perhaps you would be closer?~

*Perhaps. But this city is very difficult to move from. I’m afraid the possibility of our meeting would dwindle.*

And there it was. The kicker. Emily braced herself to face Elizabeth’s reaction.

~That’s quite alright. To where will you be moving?~

That was… relatively painless. Honestly, the fear had been warping Emily’s perception a tad, but the calm reaction was still a shock.

*To Columbia.*

~~~

Columbia. Emily was moving to Columbia. That fact alone was startling, in and of itself. Elizabeth wrote quickly.

~When will you be moving?~

Her leg bounced, waiting with baited breath for the answer.

*Within a fortnight.*

Two weeks. She was moving even closer in two weeks!? Should she tell her? But if they don’t meet, she’ll start asking questions and there was no way Elizabeth could tell her how she couldn’t go anywhere or that her guardian was large and made of leather and Heaven knows she couldn’t tell her about tears! None of the girls in her books lived like that, so it couldn’t be normal at all. Oh, this was a disaster… What could she possibly say?

*Are you okay, Elizabeth? You’ve gone silent.*

~Yes, I’m just fine. I simply have news of my own I wish to share.~

Please let this be the right choice. Of course, she wouldn’t tell her everything. Just of a strict parent? Songbird could be overprotective and governing at times, Elizabeth could make it believable.

*Go ahead, Lizbet. I’m all ears.*

~I live in Columbia currently.~

The reply came instantly.

*Spectacular! We can finally meet!*

~Not exactly, Emily.~

*Whyever not?*

~It’s my guardian. He’s very strict. He doesn’t let me leave my home. Perhaps, someday…~

*I understand entirely. But at least we know we’re closer and that’s well enough for me.*

Elizabeth felt she could almost cry from both frustration and happiness. Just one step closer. A step closer to a real, true friendship with another person. Songbird and her tutors were well enough, but she still felt lonely at times. But Emily… she seemed to drive it all away. She didn’t feel lonely, writing to her. It just felt like having a real connection with someone for once.

~Thank you. You’re a true friend.~

*I can only hope that, one day, we’ll finally get the chance.*

~I agree. Yet still, I do hope you enjoy Columbia! Tell me all about it once you move, will you?~

*Of course! I wouldn’t dream of anything else!*

Elizabeth smiled and moved her sleeve to cover her arm again. One step closer.

~~~

The years passed by and both young girls grew up. Elizabeth whiled the days away, reading and listening to the phonograph and dreaming of Paris. Em experimented, made friends, dated, questioned the nature of humanity, and came to some very interesting conclusions about themselves. Neither met and both were fine with waiting, with spending their lives as they were, with very little change.

One day, without warning, Elizabeth’s tutors stopped showing up. That was just how things were.

One day, Emily tried on trousers and chopped off their hair and got rid of the “ily”, never going back. That was just how things were.

One day, Elizabeth and Em both tried and failed to write “I love you.” That was just how things were.

One day, Elizabeth drew a flower on her hand and Em filled it in with colored ink. That was just how things were.

One day, Em’s mom left and they struggled to make ends meet in Finkton for a year and a half before finally making it back to live on the mainland. That was just how things were.

One day, Em saw a man eating garbage, much to the disgust of a couple of oddly familiar gingers nearby, and laughed about it with Elizabeth. That was just how things were.

One day, Elizabeth stopped writing. That was not how things were.

One day, Em stopped writing. That was not how things were.

One day, Elizabeth said she was being taken somewhere and disappeared. That was not how things were.

One day, Em witnessed the razing of Finkton and disappeared. That was not how things were.

One day, neither felt like they were allowed to die, despite feeling the pain of the other dying. That was not how things were.

One day, Elizabeth wrote that she felt she was being watched. Thus began a new day.

~~~

An electric storm circled Emporia like an omen, bombs and gunfire ringing in the distance. Em looked upon the carnage surrounding the floating island. Red banners waved in the distance, a symbol of a righteous rebellion turned bloodthirsty. Something had happened. Something awful. Something that would drive the usually patient and willing Vox Populi to become vicious.

Was it just? Was it righteous? Was it necessary? Em wasn’t sure, but they were scared. If something had happened, it likely wouldn’t be long before the Vox gave into mob mentality. Had the innocent blood anything to say about it, they already had. But it wasn’t Em Tomlinson’s war, they knew that much. They understood where they lied on the rank of humanity. They were poor and a confirmed bachelor, but that didn’t change that their white skin got them a free pass out of Finkton and all the privilege another man of a darker tone or different accent couldn’t afford. This was not their war to fight, however much they wanted to help.

Em checked their arm, looking at the conversation written in long dried ink along the length.

~The Vox Populi are razing Finkton.~

*I can hear the gunfire. Are you okay?*

~I’ve done something awful.~

*It’ll be okay. We can fix this.*

~You don’t understand. I have to go.~

*Go? Go where? I know you’re scared, but can’t we make it together?*

~I’m sorry.~

*Wait. I have to tell you something. Before you go.*

~I’m so, so sorry.~

*I love you.*

Since then, it’s been blank. The ink would get smudged or chipped every now and again, but what ink didn’t? Em couldn’t stop reading it, over and over, questions churning in their mind. What had Elizabeth done? Why was she sorry? Where was she going? Was she okay?

They shoved their sleeve back over the writing, forcing themselves not to read it any longer. It would only cause doubts. Instead, they looked to the freight craft. It was taking Emporia refugees. With some stolen clothes, Em was trying to pose as one of Columbia’s elite.

“Sir, we have to depart!”

“Please, just one more minute. I’m certain she’s coming.”

“We don’t have much time!”

Other, similar pleas rang out around them, begging for more time or for the craft to go on without those who couldn’t or wouldn’t climb aboard.

Em turned back to face the stairs. Just one more minute.

“Please, Elizabeth. I know you’re out there. Come find me…”

The pilot spoke with booming voice, “Last call to board! Leave all possessions behind!”

Em stiffened and turned, preparing to climb aboard, when they heard a voice.

“Booker, we should help them.”

“We don’t have time to spread pity. Let’s move on.”

“Booker, please.”

They turned to spy two people. The first noticeable was a grizzled man, about middle aged, with the overall aura of an alcoholic who hadn’t had a proper drink in days. He was relatively stylish, but not in any conventional way. Probably a confirmed bachelor. The second, however, caught Em’s eye. Following him was a beautiful young woman with raven hair and brilliantly blue eyes, made only brighter by the deep navy dress she wore. She looked kind, if not tired and aged far beyond her years. In that aspect, the man and the woman resembled each other quite a bit.

Em screwed their courage to the sticking place and approached. Maybe one of them had seen Elizabeth. “Excuse me!”

Both looked to them, the man with a tired groan and the woman with a sympathetic expression. She must have seen the blood on their stolen clothes.

“Please, can you help me? It won’t take but a moment, I promise.”

The woman seemed to give the man a pointed look and he sighed, backing off. “What is it you need help with?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Em explained. “A young woman with dark hair past her shoulders, blue eyes, fair complexion. You probably haven’t seen her, but she means everything to me and I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

The woman nodded in understanding. “Do you know her name at all?”

They sighed, shaking their head. “Just her first, but it’s a very common name. Elizabeth? Does that ring any bells?”

As soon as Em said the name, the woman’s face fell. “That’s… my name.”

“As I said, common name. Now, have you- ...What are you doing?”

The woman was rolling up her left sleeve quickly, as fast as she could without completely tearing it. When she turned it over, though, Em immediately recognized the penmanship scrawled on her arm. With far less care, they ripped their own sleeve up to show a matching set of ink marks.

“Elizabeth…?” Em breathed out, tears pricking at the corners of their eyes.

Elizabeth slowly smiled, looking so tired. “I love you, too.”

They immediately tackled her into a hug, both parties laughing and crying simultaneously.

“You’re alive! You’re okay! Oh, Lizbet, I was so worried!”

“You were worried!? I was traversing Hell itself and I couldn’t stop thinking about you!”

The man from before cleared his throat behind Elizabeth. “Are ya done now? Can we get a move on? We got a schedule to keep.”

“Oh, right. Really quick, Booker? This is Em Tomlinson. They’re the one from the writing I showed you. Em, this is Booker DeWitt. He’s the one that helped me escape my tower.”

Em looked between them. “Oh, your dad?”

“Wha--”

“Nevermind. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. DeWitt.” They stuck out their hand in greeting and Booker shook it firmly.

“Charmed and it’s just Booker. Now, if we’re done here…”

“What are you both doing? If you’re headed to Emporia, it’s already been ransacked by the Vox.”

Booker groaned at the delay while Elizabeth answered. “We know. We’re going to put a stop to it, one way or another.”

“Only if that’s what it takes to get the Hell out of dodge, to Paris or New York or literally anywhere but here,” Booker clarified.

Em nodded. “Then I want to help.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “But you were just about to--”

“That was before I knew you were definitely alive and doing what I didn’t have the courage to do alone. But if you’re wanting to end all of this, I’m willing to help.”

Elizabeth took their hands. “I won’t put you in harm’s way,” she said firmly.

Em looked to Booker. “Do you have a gun?”

“If you can fire one, I’m sure we can pick up something on our way through Emporia. If you plan on doing any fighting, you’ll need vigors.”

“Like you said, plenty in Emporia. I refuse to lose you again, Lizbet. I promise, we’ll make it through together.” Em lifted a hand to cup Elizabeth’s cheek and she leaned into the touch.

“Then that’s also a promise you’ll be safe?”

“Of course.”

Elizabeth nodded and pulled back, a stoney determination setting into her very being. “Then let’s find Comstock.”

[self-indulgence-with-tea]

#SSVDay19 Prompt 2 - Ice Cream (feat. Booker DeWitt)

{I’ve been meaning to get back into my writing muse and so this starts off a series of short stories for @jocelynships Self-Ship Valentine’s Day prompts. I had originally intended to do every other prompt as writing and the others as drawings, but I’ve lately lost my drawing muse. But at least I can still write! Enjoy!}

Booker may have been a stoic man, not fond of letting emotions get the better of him, but when a young and arguably decent-looking person nervously asked him out for ice cream… Well, one can’t say no to an invitation of free food, let alone free food with alright company.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before, stranger. Can I ask your name?” The person was a good five inches shorter than him, having to look up as they walked.

“Booker DeWitt.”

“Well, Mister DeWitt--”

“Just call me Booker.”

The person seemed to hesitate at the casual tone. “Alright, Booker, welcome to Columbia. The people here can be a little closed off, but I’m sure you’ll make it just fine.”

Booker couldn’t help the chuckle he let out. “Closed off, you say? Guess I’ll fit right in.”

This seemed to cause an odd panic in the young person. “Ah, wait! I didn’t mean- Well, I meant- It’s just-”

He laughed. “Relax, kid. I get it. Already had a few run-ins with the ‘average folk’. I take it you’re of a different sort?”

They nodded. “Ah, yeah. I just… Don’t think it’s right, the way they’re treated…”

“It ain’t, but what can ya do? It’s just the way it is.” Their responding look seemed like they wanted to say something in argument, but thought better than to start a debate with a near-perfect stranger. “So, you have my name now. Hardly seems fair I don’t have yours.”

They seemed to perk up. “Oh! I’m…” That was the distinct look of someone trying hard to make up a name. “Um, Em. Call me Em.”

“Alright, Em. Odd name… Where are we headed?”

“There’s an ice cream shop just ahead here with some of the best cream you’ve ever had! Best cream in Columbia, if I have any say.”

“That right? Guess I’ll just have to try it myself, see how good it really is.”

“What, you don’t trust my judgement?”

Booker laughed. “I wouldn’t trust you with my life, much less ice cream.”

Em laughed in turn. “Good to know ice cream matters more than your life.”

Soon enough, the two were inside the little shop, having ordered their ice creams and sat down. They got to talking and it became very clear to Booker just how much energy Em had when talking with him now, as opposed to earlier, when they’d asked him out. Their voice had been barely above a whisper and stammering every other word. Both sides, however, were uncommonly endearing. Now, as they talked, they could match him blow for blow, as if they were a completely different person.

“So, what brings you to Columbia, anyway? It’s been years since we’ve had any newcomers, since we seceded.”

Booker hummed, spoon twirling around the last dredges of his frozen treat. “A debt. One that’s worth the effort, I hope. Nothing much to say beyond that.”

Em nodded, as if understanding. “Good luck with that.”

“Alright, that’s my story for being here. What about you? You hardly fit with these other folk.”

They chuckled. “It’s… a long story. To cut it short, my parents split up and mother and I came up with family. She left, I stayed… It’s a rough city, but it’s all I know and there’s potential for it to be better. I hope…”

Booker sighed. “People don’t change like that.”

“If they can’t, what hope is there for people like us?”

That caught him off guard. “What was that ‘us’ about?”

Em flinched. “Ah, it’s just-! The way you were talking… And that scar on the back of your hand… I just thought… I’m sorry.”

Booker scowled. “This scar is none of your business. Got it? It doesn’t matter.” They nodded. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t worry about it.”

“One thing, though. You may want to cover it up. People around here don’t much care for scars like yours. It’ll get you killed, if you’re not careful.”

He looked down at his hand before pulling his ascot from around his neck and tying it over the main part of his hand. He raised it up, as if making sure he couldn’t see the scar through the thick, red cloth. He couldn’t quite understand why he needed to hide it, but the cloth was effective at doing so. “Thanks.”

Em gave a small smile and nodded. “I’m not sure how long it’ll be until someone gets curious, but it should last you a while. At least until the raffle.”

Booker raised an eyebrow. “A raffle?”

“Yessum. It’s… not fun. But, if you need to pay off a debt, I’d start asking around there. There’s some influential people there every year.”

He nodded and stood. “Not that kind of debt, but thanks. You’ve been great.”

Em smiled kindly. “You, too, Booker! I’ll have them put the ice cream on your tab.”

“I recede all previous niceties.”

They barked out a laugh. “Alright, alright, I’ll cover it. But you’ll need to pay me back at some point.” Em took up a napkin and scribbled something on it before tucking it into Booker’s hand. “I’ll be with them. Find them, find me, we’ll negotiate your price.” They winked and headed out, not allowing Booker a word in edgewise.

He looked down at the note in his hand.

The Vox Populi.

The People’s Voice.

Booker chuckled, tucking it into his pocket before heading out. He now had two debts to repay. Not that he minded. It may just be worth the effort.

[self-indulgence-with-tea]

Made for Self-Ship Valentine's Day 2019! Day 1 was decade clothing, so here's Rosalind and I enjoying a pleasant stroll in 1912.