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me when i wanna write wild westies, but i also have a twoshot (is that a thing? its only two chapters anyway) completely planned out, but i also have to work on my fic exchange assignment, but i also have to finally answer the last prompt game i did, but i also have like three prompt lists lined up, but i also-

#i want to write write write write write #write #sjdjskdk #typing away #☄. *. ⋆ vienna.exe #ALSO FOR #POP I DID NOT FORGET ABT UR REQUEST #IT WILL GET DONE I PINKY PROMISE

Got your name!! Got your number!!!

#antisocial fuckers #typing away #what are you smiling about mikey.#mcr #my chemical romance #gerard way #mikey way #frank iero #ray toro

This piece would take place a few months after the RPG and before the deployment of R'tan and the Salamanders on Vitrius Seven.

It was always for these meetings Ostia was most nervous.

She held her hand at the door, poised to knock. There was no reason to be, she had fought with Marcus Crael before. He was a good man. There was no introduction beyond the metal door, just an old comrade and a briefing.

Yet, it’d been nearly five years since they had last met. Ostia could hardly recognize the person Crael had met those years ago. What had become of the unwavering warrior from that deployment? The Flame Warden, Scion, Heiress, resplendent and savage, crossing the field adorned in all her finery to receive accolades and medals at his side. Grim, determined, victorious against all odds.

Certainly, the woman she was would not be quaking outside his door.

Her hand fell upon the metal, and she cursed herself for its faltering.

“Enter.”

The office was cramped, though Marcus Crael seemed swimming in the space. Crates, various dispatches, and data-slates littered every available space. A small cot was pushed against the wall behind the desk, at which was the honorable Praetor himself.

Ostia lowered her bag, the only thing she traveled with aside from WARDEN itself and offered a salute. Marcus had begun tucking a pile of data-slates away that he had been reading on her entering, and nodded in return.

“Haldus. I have to say, I’m…” His introduction was interrupted by a yawn, and it was then the dark circles and uniform creases became all the more apparent. Crael was a young man, only entering his fortieth year when Ostia had last met him. Now, his face was worn, his hair greyed at the roots, and his slim form seemed gaunter than it had even in his younger days. “-Pardon me, It’s been…”

“I can come back, if now isn’t a good time, Crael.” She started, but he shook his head immediately and gestured for her to remain.

“It isn’t, but we don’t have a choice. You’ll be deploying in less than eight hours, and while I know I can give you a slate and have you complete whatever objective I throw at you, there is something I need to discuss.”

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She nodded.

Crael had at this point locked eyes with her and moved to grab one of the slates he’d put away. “I wanted to see what shape you’d be in, given you’re fresh from another siege. But-”

He flipped the slate around, and Ostia caught sight of a nearly entirely redacted block of text. He made a point of scrolling through further, though there was little to be gleaned from the solid color display which greeted them.

“Ah.” That was all she could muster.

“You understand my hesitance. I tried to avoid this meeting by digging in the related files and turned up -” He picked up another pad next to him off a pile, sending a cascade of scrolls to the floor “-the file on your previous Praetor, the honorable Argus Falgar. Which is also now entirely censored. But what I could determine was that he has not been deployed since.”

Crael dropped the slates to the desk with a clatter. “I was good friends with Argus.”

A moment of silence settled on the pair. Ostia stood still, turning over options in her mind quickly. "The records were censored by the Mechanicus. That order came from the Fabricator overseeing the operation himself."

A nod from Crael, and more silence. It was expectant, but the woman hesitated.

“Are you sure about this?”

He shifted, this time his turn to hesitate. “Ostia if I’m being honest, this fight is not going our way at present. I’ve heard there have been talks from up top about getting more help but you’re my weapon right now. I’ve seen what you can do, but-”

“-You need to know I am still pointed the right direction.” She waved him off before he finished. Perhaps his hesitation was from a fear of offending, but the question was sound. How could you trust someone whose entire mission was scrubbed off the records? Whose superior officer was removed? Who might have killed a friend?

Turning to lock the door, she steeled herself before taking a seat on one of Craels many crates.

It always felt like a blur, turning her mind back to the events of Kalixis II. In truth, the past while she had tried to push it from her thoughts as much as possible. She did not wish to remember it at all. From the seemingly endless days of fighting to the whisperings of twisted things to grappling with the knights of traitors. It all seemed a whirlwind, and that did not even begin to touch on the dark things below the earth.

Ostia’s retelling became halting as her thoughts descended to the inner sanctum of the Factorium. She told of the remains scattered through the planet's subterranean chambers, of Adeptus and Chaos alike rent asunder and shattered like glass. She spoke of the foul machine which tried to meld machine and mind, and she spoke of how Argus Falgar, in his quest to become a greater pilot, had accepted the gift which the fallen Astartes had offered and had become their enemy in the final hour of the assault.

Ostia was candid about her own struggles with the forces of the machine, how she had for once, understood why other Scions describe the link with their knights as a feeling of drowning. A sensation of being lost deep within something immense and unknown. But, she did not reveal the visions of her sister.

In truth, no one knew of her sister's death, or the terrible vengeance she had exacted in her name. She trusted Crael with the redacted report, but Lucelles fate was Ostia’s secret to hold.

With the final details laid bare, and Craels few clarifying questions answered, again the room was silent.

“You know, Haldus...” Crael murmured, rubbing his eyes “I’m sorry I asked.”

The woman averted her eyes. In her lap, Ostia had her hands tightly intertwined. Once it would have been nigh impossible to reduce the woman to shake. Kalixis had changed things more drastically than she had thought. “I should not have-”

“No, no, I asked” He grumbled “My fault. You always find yourself in trouble. I should have known.”

Ostia had no response to that.

A few moments later, Crael fished a data-slate out of his many piles.

“You’ll be in an advance team, the information is all there for the planet and objective. For your sake, I hope you left all the trouble at Kalixis.”

Relief washed over Ostia. She was used to feeling too large for spaces, but Craels office felt crushingly small at that moment. “I will get it done, Sir.”

“I know you will. Dismissed.”

She took the slate, bowed, and headed off. Eager to put the events of the past far behind.

Once the door had closed and Haldus had left, Crael returned the three original slates to his desk. One had been the main Kalixis report, which he discarded.

The other two labeled ‘OSTIA HALDUS’ and ‘HALDIA’, he began to read.

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#Ostia #marcus crael #w40k #writing #imperial scion #imperial knight #w40k oc #here i go again #typing away #sorry for the non art spam

welcome back to shay and mel do nothing but enable each other: she's gone and planted the seed in my head for a shinso fic that sounds great to us both and now i'm drafting up scenes for her to wake up to and come back to work from, i love it here

#mel talks #we do be plotting #this is the second? time we've pulled this #and yet here i am #typing away