It’s been over 4 years since CR C1 ended and tumblr culture has shifted for the stupider, so before The Legend of Vox Machina airs, let me make one thing clear:
Not only do I think Percy and Ripley should kiss (bitingly), but I think they should have competitive, rage-fueled Character Foil hatesex full of intellectual oneupmanship and a really excessive number of loaded guns.
And if you’re not at least tolerant of that, you should probably unfollow me now. (If you want to hear more of that, check out this fic I wrote way back when—there’s no hatesex but there ARE Foils.)
Edit for further clarification: I’m not going to be talking about the hatesex at length or anything here—I have more private chats for that. But just so you understand the baseline at which we’re approaching this. Also, the Briarwoods have ALL the rights.
i know this is super old, but for the crit role/lotr crossover you wrote, what was your plan for percy? (my instant thought on who he might be was saruman, but more reasonably i'm guessing he would have been eowyn?)
[the AU in question]
I was going to give Cassandra half a break, actually, and let her be Eowyn.
It’d go a lot like this:
…
It’s difficult to travel incognito across open plains with a bear, so they didn’t try. They stopped before the Riders could get to them and let themselves be circled, and when Vex put her hand on her bow and Vax fingered a dagger hilt, Keyleth put her hands on both their shoulders and stepped forward. “Riders of Rohan! What news?”
The blond young man at the head of the company kept his hand on his sword, and leaned forward over his horse’s neck only warily. “I should ask the same of you. What brings two elves, a bear, and a woman to the Western mark of Rohan?”
“Hunting orcs,” said Keyleth, unflinching despite the warlike stares of the riders. “They’ve taken a couple of our friends. We want them back.”
“And who are you, to hunt orcs on our lands?”
“I am called Minxie,” she said, “and I am from the North. My companions hail from Mirkwood.” Her eyes sharpened upon a brooch on his shoulder, and armor that would be white, were it cleaner. “What brings a warrior of the Paleguard to the Western mark? Should you not be tending upon King Fredrick?”
“Fredrick is dead,” the captain said bluntly. “Percival now sits the throne, and-”
He swallowed some speech, and continued roughly, “I am Kynan. Lady Cassandra bid us here. To hunt orcs, in fact, which we have done.”
…
Whitestone was beautiful in the afternoon light. In the morning, once could suppose the pale stone that gave the city its name would sparkle with dew; in the afternoon, the sun turned them to gold and fire, so that the whole king’s palace of Rohan seemed alight.
The guards at the door held strange weapons, stocks of wood attached to cylinders of dark metal, triggers as though for crossbows where they joined. They were much like the weapons the orcs had carried, which shot pellets of metal and sounded like thunder.
“What are those damn devices of Isengard doing here?” Vex murmured to her friends.
“Maybe they’re allied after all, and we’re all about to die,” Vax murmured back. Keyleth just grimaced.
The guard they were passing, it turned out, had sharp ears. “Percival invented these weapons,” he said sharply, “who is now king. The Lady of Isengard is an ally, but how the orcs began making them, we do not know.”
“Is that the word, in Whitestone,” Gilmore said darkly. The guard blanched, but Gilmore still looked grimmest of all.
…
The Lady Cassandra was pale; the darkest thing about her the dark hair that fell in ringlets around her shoulders, and even that seemed faded, and streaked with white. She did not move upon the bed; she barely seemed to breathe.
“As I said, it was her own foolish fault,” said Percival. He was less frenetic, staring at his sleeping sister rather than the inventions of his laboratory, yet it did nothing to ease the wanness of his own face. “She raced out to the Westfold, even though I bid her stay here, and a Black Rider fell upon them. They brought her home four days ago, and she has not woken since.”
“Another grave loss,” murmured Anders. “All the more reason to keep our forces-”
“Nonsense,” Keyleth said briskly, and pushed him to the side. “Percy - that is, sire, do you have any athelas? Or kingsfoil, or-”
…
“Percival son of Fredrick, esteemed King of Rohan,” called the wizard, and her speech was proud but respectful, melodious and warm. “Why do you attack me? I have only created great works - and you have done the same! In this we are matched, and I consider it with pride, for I have only ever admired and supported the ingenuity of man. The other races, Percival, and you know thisin your heart, they lack your dynamic ability to adapt, to build upon failure so quickly that success becomes an inevitability.”
Vex and Vax rolled their eyes in mirrored motions; Keyleth pursed her lips; Kima shifted her axe with a growl and might have drawn it were it not for Allura’s hand on her shoulder. All seemed to wait on Percival, who did not speak.
Ripley continued, a hand outstretched. “If you leave this place in peace - or better, if you will come and discuss your plans with me, your thoughts for the future - I have faith that you will all succeed in your mission. And I am glad - for I have no interest in the tyranny of Mordor.”
Her words were reasonable - a mentor to a promising but wayward student, a queen to a beloved ally. Forgiving of the past and burning with passion for the future. To those who fell under its spell, it seemed inevitable that Percival would nod and ascend the steps of the tower; to those who hadn’t, it seemed equally inevitable. Gilmore watched without a word.
Percival scoffed, and looked past Ripley to where Anders crouched on the roof. “You really follow her? Are you an idiot?”
…
Get up, Vex whispered to herself, in the silence of her own mind. Quiet seemed to have fallen over the battlefield as well, or at least her small corner of it. The terrible black beast and its dark Rider demanded it. Get up, daughter of Mirkwood. Daughter of Imladris. Get up, or the idiot king you promised to protect is going to die, and so will everyone else. Vax is in that city somewhere; get up.
But it was not her hand that drew a ringing sword; it was not her voice that declared, “Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, queen of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!”
A voice as cold as a night on Weathertop hissed back, “Come not between the Nazgûl and her prey! No mortal man may hinder me, and any who try shall be borne away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”
And then Vex did look up, for what answered the Nazgûl was a laugh, bright and clear and nearly as cold, and yet bearing in it the echo of sunlight. What she saw was a young woman, standing between the Witch-Queen and the fallen steed and body of the young king of Rohan, and her sword was steady as she removed her helm to reveal dark hair streaked with white.
“But I am no man! I am Cassandra, de Rolo and shieldmaiden. I have looked on your kind before and I fear you not - but I do swear, you shall not touch my brother, for living or dark undead, I shall smite you where you stand!”
the Divine Tramels have specifications and functions in at least five dimensions, including ones not usually comprehensible to mortals. It’s not healthy for them. When Ioun said it required a madman and Percy said, “I’m not meant to know that,” neither of them was exaggerating.
somewhere, somehow, Anna Ripley’s soul Knows, and is screaming with jealous rage
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Words:1504
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Keyleth/Anna Ripley
Characters: Keyleth (Critical Role), Anna Ripley
Additional Tags: Gun Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Espionage, rarepair
Summary: To save a teammate, Keyleth must attend a fancy party and infiltrate a Chroma Conclave stronghold. Unfortunately, she has a partner for the mission.
(I posted that thing! tfw you have to team up with your moirail’s awful kismesis to save said moirail from your should-probably-be-ash-but-no-one’s-brave-enough-to-commit-to-middle-leaf)
(I literally had a moment, about two hours ago, where I was like, “the responsible thing to do would be shower and go to sleep, and write the cracky idea in the morning.” Thank god I’m not that mature yet.)
Keyleth hated this mission. The fact that she had self-assigned it did nothing to diminish her hatred. It just left her with only herself to blame.
“Stop pinching your lips like that. It blows your cover as an empty-headed chit.”
Oh, wait, there was definitely someone else to blame.
Keyleth tightened her grip on Ripley’s arm—Anna Ripley, international arms dealer, perennial pain in the Department’s ass, and just this once her partner—and wished Vex was here instead. But the Conclave had caught Vax on camera stealing the Whisper Codex, which meant they’d make Vex as well, and no one else knew Percy’s codes well enough to…coordinate if something went interestingly. (Or to communicate if he was too badly hurt. Or to counter him if—no, Keyleth didn’t believe Raishan’s bullshit message for a second. Percy would never betray them. She just prayed the Deceiver and her cronies hadn’t done anything too horrible to him when they found that out.)
Unfortunately, there was one other person who knew Percy that well, and this was a two-man job. Or two-woman, as the case may be.
They reached the hotel door before Keyleth was ready. Ripley just extended one cool hand to the doorman, with a heavily embossed invitation.
“Dr. Anna Ripley, and guest.” A smirk played on her lips like she knew a joke he didn’t get. Keyleth held still, and tried to smile at him.
The guard scanned the invitation with his phone, waiting until it beeped a confirmation to look back up at them. Keyleth didn’t let herself relax an inch—falsifying the invite had definitely been the easy part of the job.
“I’m afraid I need to get your guest’s name, ma’am,” he said. He was dressed like he worked for the Palazzo he stood in front of, but a discreet five-colored pin on his collar announced the hosts of the party within.
“This is my assistant, Kiki Dawson.” Ripley spoke before Keyleth could open her mouth, and pulled their twined arms a little closer, as if to claim her.
Keyleth smiled at the guard, trying to make her expression fit her dress. It was a low-cut, sleeveless, lime green thing, meant to draw attention to her curving figure and the tattoos swirling over her dark skin. Normally those were just for her, but tonight they had to be part of the costume.
The guard waved them in with only the hint of a lecherous smirk. As soon as they were through the doors), out of sight, Keyleth aimed a heel at her “partner’s” foot. Ripley pulled away just in time.
“Whatever happened to us both being incognito?” Keyleth hissed.
Ripley kept towing her across the lobby, speaking softly but without a hint of doubt. “Wouldn’t have worked. I’ve dealt with the Conclave before, and they don’t like me much. Umbrasyl probably remembers my face, and Raishan certainly does.”
“Then how did we just walk into her party?”
Again, that goddamn smirk. “I phoned ahead and offered to sell her my new missile shield.”
Cabal’s Ruin? Keyleth wanted to say, just to prove that they had broken her security enough to know—but it was too late. They were already at the ballroom doors, and thank god it wasn’t like a ball in fairy tales, where they would be announced at the door, or Keyleth would just about have died.
It was awful enough. There were so many people, milling around in clothing that cost enough to feed a small country, and Keyleth recognized enough of them at a glance to know that they had probably collectively starved several small countries, or would within the year, and wouldn’t care. They were all drinking champagne and making small talk, and around them were a dozen glittering chandeliers and enough gold to bankrupt another, medium-sized country. Not, Keyleth knew, Raishan’s taste—fuck, did that mean Thordak was here, too?
Then again, they did have quite a prize in the vaults below.
She didn’t need Ripley’s nudge to trip against the first waiter she saw, and spill champagne down her very cloth-free front. It was barely even an act.
“Honestly, dear,” said Ripley, sounding more like an irritated schoolmarm than someone who would ever call someone else ‘dear.’ “Do you have the faintest sense of the dignity of an occasion?”
“I am so sorry, ma’ams,” said the waiter. He pointed back towards the lobby door, his own shirt stained gold as well. “There’s a bathroom right out there and to the right, if you need it. Please, let me get you a finer drink as an apology. A rosé? Or we have a fine old Chanteau, put down in 1927.”
“Thank you,” Keyleth said before Ripley could say something snide.
Ripley saved it until they were back in the hallway. “Well, they certainly know we’re here, now.”
“Like we needed them to,” Keyleth snapped back. “Or did you want them wondering why you appeared at the front door and never in the party?”
Ripley just rolled her eyes, and took the lead as they walked—not crept; never look like you don’t want to be caught—down the opulent hallway.
“If you didn’t want to come,” Keyleth hissed, hopping a step to keep up with her, “you didn’t have to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to let someone else kill—quiet.” Ripley caught her by the arm and pulled her flat against the wall just before a T-intersection.
Keyleth fumbled a compact mirror, very quietly, from her pocket, and angled it stealthily at her side. She caught a glimpse of the same uniform the guard at the door wore—black; Security. Two of them were coming down the intersecting hall.
There wasn’t enough cover here, and they had gone in the opposite direction as the bathrooms. Keyleth glanced at her “partner.”
Ripley already had a pistol in her hand, from where, Keyleth didn’t know. How, she didn’t know. There had been an X-ray weapons scanner carefully concealed in the front door. Keyleth only had a couple shocks stored up in her tazer-bracelets.
Keyleth tugged Ripley’s arm to get her attention, and pointed at the gun. Too much, she mouthed silently.
Silencer, Ripley mouthed back, raising one eyebrow like she was genuinely surprised Keyleth was this stupid.
Bodies, Keyleth replied, because I don’t want to kill random guards just because they get a half-decent paycheck here would be ignored, and was too long, and probably wouldn’t work out anyway.
Then she gave up and, as Security’s footsteps approached, pushed herself over Ripley’s front (hiding the gun) and kissed her on the lips.
She caught the older woman by surprise. Ripley’s mouth was open to retort something else. Keyleth leaned into it with what she hoped was a convincing moan. Her fists bunched in the fabric of Ripley’s dress—much more modest than her own, but it felt just like it looked, like fabric made of midnight.
Ripley’s arms came up around Keyleth’s shoulders and there were two soft thumps behind her. One of the gods stopped halfway through clearing their throat.
Keyleth pulled away, wiping her mouth, and looked behind her. Both guards were on the ground, a woman with a neat hole in her head and a man gurgling and choking as blood spilled out of his throat. He was trying to reach for the radio on his hip, but his arm twitched uncontrollably.
Ripley stepped around Keyleth and him a second time, a would to match his partner’s. Her gun was perfectly silent.
“That wasn’t necessary.” Keyleth felt the bile rising in her throat, and the tears in her eyes, and hated them both. Hated field missions in general and this one in particular, hated every reason that she had to be on it, and hated that she couldn’t handle any of it.
“You are utterly naïve,” Ripley sneered. She peered around the corner for more guards, gun still in her hand. Her carefully coifed bun was mussed from where Keyleth had pushed her against the wall. “The elevator shaft is this way.”
“You—”
Before Keyleth could finish her insult, the supposedly solid ground shook beneath their feet. Of course, both women knew full-well there was a complete Chroma Conclave facility beneath this building.
It shook again, harder this time, as if the source was moving closer to the surface. A little more to the south, though. There was the faintest echo of an explosion.
“Percival,” Ripley said with a snake-like smile, as Keyleth breathed a relieved, “Percy.”
*stares into space* by the precept that all evil lady scientists are, for the purposes of AU, interchangeable, and all other characters ought to be placed in according relation, in the Critical Role AU of Wolf 359 - or the Wolf 359 AU of Critical Role? - Percy is obviously the station AI. PFVMK3, nicknamed “Percival” and then he made up the rest. Evil subroutine called “Orthax”? I’m free-wheeling, here
Though there’s really no Cutter to Ripley’s Pryce, and we all know that the real AU would have those two being Sylas and Delilah, Ripley takes Rachel Young’s place as head of all the secret things, and ooh, maybe Cass could be the AI? Or it could still be Percy, I guess. But. Cassandra. Let Cassandra be an AI with crippling self-esteem. I love her.
can i has more cr sense8 au percy pls? (if your up for it of course)
*slams 2,000 words on your desk five months later* MY HOBBIES INCLUDE PROCRASTINATING FOR FINALS BY WRITING SCENES FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE HYPOTHETICAL PLOT OF NICHE CROSSOVERS WITHOUT GIVING YOU ANY CONTEXT SAVE A COUPLE OLD POSTS OF BULLET POINTS (posts here. Take this fic as the inter-seasons holiday special, basically.)
“I’mstill not certain we should be doing this.“
Itwas a meaningless statement even before he said it. With her arm in his, withthe warmth of her against his side and the tinkle of her laugh fading in theair, Percy thought he would trust Vex to lead him down any icy path through thewoods, with any blindfold on or off, even if he had never known her moreintimately than he knew himself. Even if they had just met, somehow, one day,and she had smiled and beckoned, he would have followed.
Exaggeratedgagging noises broke into his thoughts—Vax, visiting as almost always, makingVex laugh in the cold Northern darkness. The drugs all but gone from his veins,Percy could feel him again, that knife’s edge of sarcasm prickling overdevotion deep enough to fill the sea.
Two(one? three?) months of isolation was turning him poetic. It was horrifying.
“It’llbe fine,” said Vex, tugging him forward. “Turn right—”
Percyfollowed her instructions obediently. “I don’t know where you get theconfidence that she won’t be looking, just this one night. It’s not like theholidays have stopped them before.”
“Becauseshe’s loony, Freddie,” Vax said with overwhelming fondness.
“BecauseI don’t care!” Vex proclaimed, and Percy felt her toss her hair within herselfbefore it smacked him on the cheek. “We’re taking Christmas back. What they didto your family was horrible, yes, and we willkill them for it, I promise—”
Theothers nodded in agreement, the heroin finally losing its grip.
Vexput her hands to his face—cold, calloused, but the kindest Percy had felt—andpushed up his blindfold.
“Buttonight,” she whispered, wild and soft and fey in the moonlight, “let’s justnot be afraid.”
Theplace she’d led him was beautiful. Vex was beautiful, already shrugging off herbag and dropping down to swap her boots for skates, lithesome and lively as theswaying trees and stars above. They shone down on the iced-over pond, in the centerof the ancient forest, just as they must have in Jerusalem two thousand yearsago. There wasn’t another human being for miles, Percy knew without asking.
“Doyou even know how to skate?” he asked, amused, watching her fumble with thestraps.
“No.”She grinned up at him, entirely impish. “But you do. And Scanlan, I think.”
“Ido,” the man himself confirmed with a smile, making hot chocolate in his LosAngeles apartment.
“Ifyou’re getting gross, I’m leaving,” Vax announced, and vanished—as if thatmeant anything, as if they couldn’t all feel him and see him as well in hiscell in Osaka, or Los Angeles or the Outback or wherever Percy and Vex were.(He didn’t know and she wasn’t telling, and that was how they were safe.)
“Allright!” Pike chirped to her choir straggling into line in her little woodenchurch at the eaves of the Amazon, so newly rebuilt it still dripped tar. “Youready?”
“Let’sdo this!” said Scanlan, bringing two frothing mugs into the living room, whereKaylee was doing her best to scowl at the bright tree and heap of presents.Tary echoed it, squaring his shoulders for a much less amicable familybreakfast, and Grog smashed a beer bottle as he shouted, because it was aChristian holiday but fuck it, it was a holiday, and the peace was still goingand the dirty thugs and criminals of Ankara were going to have a fuckin’ party.
Asfar as possible from any gritty urban party, and more importantly any evilbrain surgeon, Keyleth sat by her campfire and took out her guitar, andlaunched into an offkey rendition of “Jingle Bells” on the warm Australianevening. Across the fire, Kashaw stared at her like she had to be kidding, butwithin a verse she’d smiled enough to draw out his surprisingly rich tenor.
Scanlanblew them both out of the water, of course, and Kaylee didn’t blink as she toreinto a box that she would soon find contained mostly just increasingly smallerboxes, because Scanlan singing was like the sun shining. It just happened. Halfwayaround the world, Turkish pop music blasted out of the bar and down the street,and Grog jumped up and down with Zanror and Worra, mostly on the beat.Tremulous voices strengthening as the sun slipped through the high window andthe rest of Puentamáre’s congregation filed in, swelled by all those coming tovisit the “little angel,” Pike’s choir sang the day in, and Vox Machina stoodand sang with them.
Theydanced in the bar in Turkey, bright lights and pop music pounding against theancient sandstone walls. They laughed over brunch in New York, until Lydiaasked if something was the matter and Mary-Anne kicked Tary under the table,and both his parents shot him dirty looks. They clambered over rocks in theOutback and Tary squealed in fear at a giant spider as Vax laughed and held itup to his face.
Theyjust managed to hold onto the iPhone to film Kaylee furiously flinging sevenlayers of boxes and wrapping paper at their heads, in retaliation for spendingten minutes unwrapping a single guitar shop gift card. But she was laughing,too, so it was okay. Turning state’s witness earned Vax a couple extraprivileges; he spent one on a phone call to Zahra, left bear-sitting, and Vexcried on Percy’s shoulder while they all made kissy noises at the phone andassured a confusedly lowing Trinket that his mama would be home as soon as shecould, and she loved him very much. Percy hadn’t ice-skated since he wassixteen, years before That Night, but they did waltz steps and figure-eights ona moonlit frozen pond somewhere in Siberia, and held each other tight. It wasChristmas and Vox Machina laughed and sang and cried, and held each othertight.
“Whata lovely way to spend the holiday.”
Percyslipped before she finished speaking, eyes clenched shut; he didn’t know whenthe ice was coming until his hands hit, hard, and the spray his face.
“Percy?”Vex.
“Really,Percival,” Ripley said, “You don’t have to so childish about this. I’m not hereto hunt you down, tonight.”
“She’shere,” he gasped, pulling himself across the ice. Eyes shut, don’t even look.Don’t even think. “Vex, she’s here,you have to– get the–”
“Shit!”Vex fumbled for her bag, still on the shore. “Fuck, fuck! Fuck her!”
Ripleyclicked her tongue in disapproval. She stalked silently across the ice, inlight boots rather than heavy winter skates—but then, she wasn’t really there.
“Ithought you might like to go on a trip, actually.”
Andthen they were standing in a corridor, and Percy was the one mis-dressed forthe occasion, bundled up for the frigid wilderness. He had half a foot inheight on Ripley, and he’d worked to keep his machine shop muscles while pentup in…wherever he and Vex were. None of it did anything to ease the way hisstomach turned as Ripley eyed him up and down, judging him for the failedscience experiment he didn’t need to be in her head to know she deemed him. Shelooked almost identical to how she’d been that week starting eight years agotoday, staring down at him. A few more streaks of grey in her bun, but the sameslim glasses, the same purse to her lips, the same damn style of lab coat,sleeves stained red at the end of each day as she peeled him apart. He knew whyshe’d done it, now. It didn’t help.
Thebarest hint of a smile curled up her lips as they both remembered. Then sheturned and strode down the corridor, calling over her shoulder, “Come along.”
Percyfollowed, scanning the hallway for clues as to Ripley’s location. He wasn’tsurprised to find none. The walls were stainless steel and the white-and-blacktile floors were sanitation-clean. It was another Vecna facility, but god onlyknew where in the world.
“Ireally thought you’d be doing better at this, Percival,” Ripley chided, withoutgiving him so much as a backwards glance. “I’ve gotten so much informationabout you and your little group, and you’re just lagging behind.”
“Whatdo you want, Anna.”
Hewas lagging behind, as they walked, but not so far that she’d think he wasn’tplaying along. Every extra second here bought more time for Vex to get theneedle and knock him out.
“I’mgoing to share a secret with you,” she said, with a much younger woman’s senseof mischief. “Just to liven up this little game.”
Theyreached a door at the end of the hallway, steel and locked with a keypad.Ripley smiled at him as she entered the number, sickly sweet. “After all, it’sthe holidays—it’s only right that you be with family.”
Fora long, horrible moment as she swung open the heavy door, Percy thought he wasgoing to see corpses, or worse. A freezer of strung-out piles of tissue andorgans. Eight brains in tanks, still with electrodes attached. He’d seen, onthe opposite side of the laboratory, what they’d been starting to do to hisfamily.
Itwas a teenage girl’s room. The walls were unpainted, but they were decoratedwith posters, of scientific infographics and famous historical women and acouple people Percy vaguely recognized as famous actors. There was a carpet, anelegant shag thing, and a pair of stuffed bookcases, a desk with a very nicecomputer, and a bed with at least two dozen stuffed animals, all of which Percycould name. At least one of them had been his. The girl on the bed, lying onher stomach and reading a book with her legs kicked in the air, was even morefamiliar.
“Cassandra.”
She’dlooked up when the door opened, polite coolness chasing annoyance chasingwariness from her eyes.
“Dr.Ripley. What do you want?”
“Iwas in this wing and I thought I would check on you, my dear.” Despite theendearment, Ripley’s tone had reverted to the crisp professionalism she seemedto show everyone but Percy.
Cassandraclearly didn’t buy either façade. But she rolled to a sitting position withonly a faint sigh, and held out her left arm. There was something attached toit, a cuff with a small screen that flashed first her blood pressure then, asRipley pressed the buttons on the side, several other measurements—BPM, neuralconductivity, and things Percy didn’t recognize. A slim wire ran up from it toa handful of electrodes attached, clearly permanently, to the side of hertemple.
“I’llkill you. I’ll kill you.” His voiceshook.
“Ihaven’t noticed anything unusual,” Cassandra said as Ripley checked thereadings. A bored patient answering unasked questions by rote. “The new anxiety meds are doing fine.”
Ripleymade a non-committal noise. “Look at me.”
Cassandramet her eyes obediently.
“Leaveher alone. What are you doing?” Percytried to put himself between them, but there wasn’t room. And he couldn’t touchhis sister, couldn’t touch either of them—couldn’t drag Ripley away andcouldn’t take Cass in his arms and just run.(Like that had worked so well, last time.)
“Doyou feel anything unusual right now?” Ripley asked, still holding Cassandra’sgaze. “Physically or emotionally. Really search.”
Awrinkle appeared between Cassandra’s eyes as she frowned. There was a widestreak of white in her hair, family to Percy’s complete bleach. That hadn’tbeen there before. When he’d last seen her, when she was bleeding in the snowfrom bullet wounds as he ran— She was 23 now, the spitting image of Vesper whenshe’d died, except for that streak. The room was still decorated for a teenagerbut Percy’s youngest sister was an exasperated 23.
“Cass.”
Ripley’seyes sparkled at his anguish, but Cassandra remained impartial.
“Nothing.Should I?”
“Youknow better than to ask questions that could influence an experiment,” Ripleysaid. But she stepped back, letting Cassandra’s gaze fall. It returned to herbook.
“Don’tforget,” Ripley added as she re-opened the door, which had automatically lockedbehind them. “The Briarwoods will be expecting you for Christmas dinner.”
IfPercy had thought Cassandra’s expression polite before, when she looked up asecond time it was utterly impassive.
“Ilook forward to it. Was there anything else?”
“Oh,no.” Ripley smiled thinly at them both. “I think everything I need will bearriving soon enough—”
AndPercy was back on the bank, in the snow, in the woods, and everything but Vexfaded as she thrust the needle into his arm and released, the familiar,dizzying haze of cheap heroin washing him clean. Ripley disappeared. Cassandradisappeared. Keyleth, Vax, Grog, Pike, Tary, Scanlan disappeared. Safe. Percystayed as freezing and alone as eight years ago, running from his sisterbleeding out in the snow, assuming she was dead.
“Percy?Percy, are you alright? Is she gone?”
Vex’swarm hands tugged at him and he rolled over obediently, and opened his eyes.She was still beautiful, bright and concerned and fierce. The moon above wasalmost as lovely. Percy lifted a hand to her cheek and caught his breath whenshe held it—no, choked on a sob. That was what his body was doing, now.
“Cass.She– they– I don’t know. She’s alive.” His whole body shook, drugs and cold and every ounce of adrenaline racing through his veins. “They have mysister.”
minor but very Real CR pet peeve: people writing Percy calling Ripley “Anna” while she’s torturing him in his backstory. no??? it’s a power play, do you not understand, every time he drawls, “Anna” at her he’s seizing back his power in this relationship, calling her an equal or even inferior (hello, potential class politics!) Same as when she purrs back, “Percival” like he’s a wayward but brilliant student. He only ever refers to her as “Ripley” to others, first name is deliberate and for confrontation only. I bet she made him call her “Dr. Ripley” while she sliced him open for answers he didn’t have about his city’s stone. Why do you think she would ever allow him to be so familiar as to use her given name??
