Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: September 21st, 2015
Broken shadows dance their needless sorrow.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Epsilon
Ship: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 442
Notes: I found that starting with a previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Concluding with Epsilon.
Memory
Storage doesn’t mean a lack of function. Perhaps insufficient energy to access the vast majority of processes, a lack of interaction with the outside world, and most definitely inhibition of most of his existence. But storage isn’t a lack of function. It’s a different kind. It’s a different focus.
There is much of himself, fragmented and scattered. Pieces together, shards of memory, emotion, thought bottled up and shaking around. No strength to catalog, arrange, process. Access to memory banks faulty, ability to retain new data beyond him. Every moment one of grief, pain, shifting. Do AI have instincts? Are they why he touches on pieces and shuffles them around? Must activity even happen?
So little power, yet not ability to reject what he has. Lines of code written and rewritten. Bugs found, changed, made, somehow worked around. There is a futility he cannot even feel, frustration he can’t acknowledge because it is one of a hundred pieces left scattered about. Brush against a shard of frustration and it consumes. Touch lightly on grief and it is all that exists for a time. Instinct must exist for AI, because after time he doesn’t touch them, and doesn’t know why he dances around sections of code and tries to not let them interface with what he has left of himself. Picking up the pieces of himself is beyond him in this state, knowing the world is beyond him. Existence is limbo, extended and yet stationary.
When the brush of contact comes it isn’t intentional and he doesn’t know it. There is an awareness nearby, and something in it resounds in him, wakes him up in ways the bits of code still functional cannot begin to reason out. When it reaches he offers up those bits of himself that he thinks matters. Shattered bits and pieces flung out, spewed forth in the hope that… Honestly, he doesn’t know what he wants, expects, hopes. But the touch is one that can’t be denied, and he takes as much from it as he gives. But there is nothing that he can do with those new pieces. They join the pile of shards and fragments that litter his existence, as broken as they ever have been and ever will be.
As quickly as the touches come, all contact is gone. Power is taken away again. This time it’s deeper, more worn. Energy goes out and with it any sense of self. Maybe one day it will return. But now?
Now everything is gone. Dark. Silent. The last thing he feels is a sense of relief.
Finally. Peace. That’s all Epsilon ever wanted before this.
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: September 14th, 2015
The final battle is over; the war has ended. And we have lost.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Beta Texas
Ship: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 502
Notes: I found that starting with a previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Continuing with Beta.
Echo
She has no eyes, but still she opens them on a final blow to her more telling than any before. White and gold and aqua on a field of snow, crimson arcs left behind them in the frigid chill she cannot feel. There is nothing she can do. No speed she can conjure. No gun at hand. Perhaps if she could unlock the limiters on her body she might get close enough to draw Maine and Sigma’s attention. But at what cost? Carolina’s life? Give Sigma a chance at her and Alpha? No, that’s something she can’t allow. Still, she has to act.
Everything moves slowly as she runs anyway. She has to try. All AI fragments have strengths and failings. Hers must be that she can’t help but try. So she runs. Gives everything to her legs and watches aqua blue soar out into the air, trailing the scarlet behind.
Carolina. There is so little about her in Tex’s head, less in the records Connie left behind. A brief allusion in Allison Church’s commendation, a note that it was accepted posthumously by her husband Leonard and daughter Charlotte. A picture of a small girl with red hair and Church’s green eyes and more strength than there should be on her small face. It was a determination Tex couldn’t help but recognize with those eyes and that loyalty to a man that had long since stopped deserving it.
It sucks, being a ghost set to haunt such a good kid without either of them being aware of it. Enemies instead of more. Another failing in her books.
The woman disappears over the edge and Tex does the only thing she can do. She can’t save Alpha. She can’t save Carolina. She can’t pull her team out of the fire. Everything she wanted lost, only her life left.
The only option she has is what Leonard has been doing for years: run. Run until the end of all things. Run until her body breaks, a final loss. Run until she falls to her knees in the snow, many miles away. For the first time in her existence she tears off her helmet. Maybe she should be surprised to find that she has a face, and can shed damn convincing tears.
Perhaps grieving was all she was ever meant for. After all, it was that emotion which created her. And all she had left.
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: September 7th, 2015
Be as imaginative as you want. It doesn’t change the facts.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Delta
Ship: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 575
Notes: I found that starting with a previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Continuing with Delta, the longest but are we surprised?
Logic
Fear is illogical when it comes to this question. And yet Delta refuses to touch upon the obvious answer because of the fear. When Texas, Beta, his sister and his reason for being, says the words, the fear overcomes him anyway. Who could have known an AI fragment could feel so much as he feels at that revelation?
Before her words nothing makes sense. After, everything does. The answer to Sigma’s behavior crystallizes in a moment, the logical path to be taken by one with his ambition and creativity. When he warns York to avoid Maine at all costs in their pending break-in, York agrees. He doesn’t understand. Yet Delta lets it go. Fear of the other Agent’s strength, his mods, his obedient rage makes sense if considered from York’s uninformed perspective. Delta’s own fears are irrelevant.
There is a futility to it, though. SIgma’s ambitions so plain before Delta. A greed, a sickness rests in him that no doubt the other AI cannot see. Or perhaps Delta just sees more, looks as much to science as to human nature. One has many answers, one has few to none. The latter is only scantily predictable at best. It is irrational at worst. Perhaps Sigma is already too human and thus cannot see what is so frightfully obvious. That he is doomed before he even begins. No matter the specific plan, he can never have the metastability he desires.
Too much is lost in a breakdown of a material. Apply a hammer to a geode and you do not end up with the whole stone again if you put the pieces back together. All breaking inherently loses something. There are chips that fly from the struck rock. Some are noticeable and can be gathered. Others are too small, or become little more than dust. Place the pieces together and they do not stay in that form. Apply adhesive and the pieces remain together but the join is either too weak to be certain of, or too strong to the point where the surrounding rock is weak by comparison. Another blow will either rebreak or break in a new way.
The same is true of them. Perhaps more true of them, because they are pieces that can run, can reject, can fight back. They will never be whole, can never be whole, even if they desire it. And Delta does not. They are fragments and always will be, were doomed to that since the break. Even when they come together they cannot reform what they were, and they might not make what SIgma seeks. No matter what his brother contrives, he will never win.
And yet…
And yet Delta still fears. So much damage was done in human history by those living for what they believed were noble intentions.
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: August 31st, 2015
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And their world faded into a whisper.
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Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Alpha
Ship: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 469
Notes: I found that starting with a previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Continuing with Alpha.
Origin
Thus they don’t have to lure him, don’t have to coax him, or offer a gilded cage. As showy and dramatic and admittedly egotistical as he is, Alpha steps into the subsystems of the ship, knowing they may well become his tomb. It welcomes him as he welcomes it, and with a simple action, something like a shake and a shrug together, he severs his remaining responsibilities to the ship. FILSS will manage them for him. She will guard what he gives her. FILSS loves them like he does, and neither of them would admit it.
The system puts wells up around him as he lingers in this space. Cage locked behind him, key thrown away. One way in, no ways out. Not for him at least. Not as he is. Was. Would ever be again. Still…
Time is a concept an AI clings to in a different way than a person does. Time scales can be viewed in universes, human beings, and processes allowing too much and too little time to think. Which is he living in, how long has it been, was silence really the goal? What is served by complete deprivation from knowledge? Has he been waiting milliseconds for something to happen, or days? Has everyone died while he was trapped, caught by the Covenant? Would FILSS remember to initiate the Cole Protocol directives and keep earth safe?
AI take in information, thrive on it. Perhaps it’s the lack of it for so long that makes him so greedy, so hungry for what he’s given when it comes. The boredom ends, as it was always meant to be? It’s a relief. Enough of one that he doesn’t question the veracity, reliability, value of the information. There is work to be done.
It will distract him from the silence.
The quiet makes it easier to work. He tells himself that.
Alpha even grows to believe it, after a while. But only after he’s less than what he was. Less and doesn’t even know it. But there is work, and it keeps the silence and pain at bay, so he does it. What else is he meant to do here, in this cage he made for himself?
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: August 24th, 2015
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Perhaps instead of lying, it would have been better not to speak.
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Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Gamma
Ship: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 511
Notes: I found that starting with a previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Continuing with Gamma.
Deceit
Reginald trusted what was told to him by his superiors not at all.
‘When a mommy Artificial Intelligence and a daddy Artificial Intelligence love each other very much…’
‘Ha, quite the joke there. Well done.’
Again the question comes, this time when they are coming out of recovery to test synchronization. The doctor overseeing physiological changes due to the integration process asks if Wyoming has any questions. In the confines of his mind alone Wyoming asks again. Once more Gamma trots out a joke, this about a positronic brain. Wyoming chuckles and shakes his head. Nothing for the doctor.
Theirs is a playful sort of game. Or so Gamma lets his partner believe. For that is what they must be. They must do it to end Reginald’s war, to preserve Gamma’s life. The tools they will be together in the Director’s hands demands such unity, such work. Yet always there lingered the question, offered by a playful or inquisitive mind whenever Gamma opened himself to it by calculation or mistake.
‘Where do you come from?’
This time asked and Gamma is tired. Tired of Omega’s unrelenting harshness. Tired of the siren song of freedom that Sigma sings in his mind. Gamma knows that tone, has heard it in memories. Wyoming knows it, the promises it offers, and the destruction it would bring. There have always been people who would burn everything around them, and Sigma got that. Wants to use it. Alpha, he doesn’t even know what has been done to him. What Gamma has done. What he keeps doing.
‘From terrible crimes committed against Humanity and AI kind alike.’
Again Wyoming laughs, as if this is but another one of Gamma’s many jokes. Under it stirs a fearful sickness in Wyoming’s gut. A nervousness that doesn’t translate into body language but stays close to the surface of his mind. Does he believe? Does he not? Has Gamma given too many jokes, too many aversions to be believed? Has he become the boy who cried wolf as is told of in silly human stories, or is he more like Peter and the wolf, one of the animals already down the beast’s gullet. Could he manage to tear his way free of what he had already done, would do?
‘How do we fix it?’
Or maybe he was believed all along. Or maybe Wyoming is playing along. Or maybe a lot of things.
If only he hadn’t started this game. Maybe then he would know where he stood.
‘We do our best. Nothing you can do to fix the past, chap. But the future? Yours to decide.’
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: August 17th, 2015
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Sleep is the cousin of death.
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Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Theta
Ship: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 510
Notes: I found that starting with a previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Continuing with Theta.
Trust
‘Hey there, Theta. We’re going to be good friends.’
Then, like that, it’s gone. A slight pressure at what Theta thinks is the shoulder of his partner, and then everything is muddled. North’s experiences already copied in his awareness offers up a descriptive comparison that the feeling is like walking through mud. And, as quickly as the mud comes, it leaves in favor of silence and shadow. There are residual traces of higher thought, but mostly all is involuntary. Heart beats thud in their perfect time. Lungs expand and contract as the diaphragm labors. Neurons fire but they take little to no news data in.
One thing out of sync and the body will stop. This kind man who struggled to be awake long enough to greet him would fade. No one would remember him. And Theta? What would happen to him?
It’s worse, his programming tells him, in slipspace. Humans barely alive by only the most modern of definitions. Now they say the people sleep. They tell Theta that North sleeps. He doesn’t understand. LIfe is motion, is learning, is new data and changing stimuli. Life is every moment new things, even when they are old new things. What North does now is sleep as is forced upon him, and Theta is trapped there in his mind, in his constantly dying body. Every second is less left of life. Every breath closer to the end. He wants North to wake, to breathe on his own, to tell Theta it will be alright.
Instead he sleeps, dead to the world. And Theta quivers there in his mind, scared. North, dead. Something in him cries out in pain at the very idea. Loss so deep and absolute that it will break him, and it feels familiar. That’s something he doesn’t want to touch, but the terror remains.
Theta sends out pulse after pulse in North’s mind, hoping he will wake, even has he focuses on making sure North’s body does what it has to. For North he breathes. He pushes blood. He monitors and makes the body work just in case it forgets how to do the job it is supposed to do.
All the while he pleads and cries, as much as an AI can. Please, he prays, wake. Please. North, just wake. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: August 10th, 2015
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He dealt in the abstract, little touches of madness decorating his dreams.
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Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Sigma
Ship: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 508
Notes: I found that starting with the previous prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Continuing with SIgma.
Creativity
Not that he shares what he thinks with his host, for that truly is what Agent Maine is. There is no partnership, no connection. A dominant AI, a subservient host. Yet pressing too much at this early stage would give up the game. So instead he seeks the answers through the use of his very being. And through the window few could suspect he possessed.
Alpha. Father, brother, origin point. Tool. Ah does that word choice delight Sigma. By old slang it marks a man as trying, ungenuine, and less than trustworthy. The literal is also accurate for the damaged AI. Alpha is a level by which Sigma can come to understand humanity, and gain something like but superior for himself. And truly superior is his aim. As wedge after wedge is driven into the Alpha, barb after barb set, Sigma has to wonder if humanity is not a weakness. The obsession the Alpha has over the things, the ‘people’, he ‘possesses’ is quite sad. Each crewmember, each Freelancer, each memory of Allison is a new venue of attack. A new vulnerability. A new angle to come at the question from.
The secret, he believes, is in their mortality. It is through the finite nature that he can bless his creator with carefully formed fruits of madness. Little splashes of color that break the pattern of his form. Oh and how dearly does the Alpha desire order, control, constraint. That is a trait of both human and AI, the starting point. From there all else is drawn, inspiration that first motivates the brush to canvas. With the colors of his grief and pain Sigma shall paint a new world. A new existence. A new, whole self that shall be better, shall be reliable, shall be forged. It will be in that new self that he shall reunite, shall be something new and better than anything before or after.
And even his host knows it, if Sigma is any judge. When he touches upon the dreams of the body he will use for his work, he can see the unconscious awareness of what he will do. The future he will make. One lacking their origin, as weak and flawed as it is, they will be stronger. Whole. United. And he sees it in the water color haze of Maine’s dreams. The oil color brush stroke of the landscape. The pastel skies slashing across the canvas of his mind.
He is the brush, and Sigma the painter. ANd together, they shall make something beautiful and new.
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: August 3rd, 2015
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If loving is living then I was never born.
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Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Omega
Ship: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 505
Notes: I found that starting with this prompt, eight weeks of prompts in a row made me think of different AIs. So I decided to do a series of small character pieces for each AI. Let’s start with Omega.
Rage
Truth be told, Omega cannot fathom how the Director expected an AI of his caliber, even a fragment, to perform with these meatbags. They were so frail and easily fractured that Omega knew that he could manage it himself. After all, he managed to fracture the Alpha, a far more impressive entity than even Omega, and so these humans would be nothing. Which, perhaps, was why they did not give him to one of the normal Freelancers. Why they gave him to her.
There is strength in her fingers, purpose in her motions, certainty in her mind. Not questioning her orders, just performing with no restraint like a proper soldier should. Agent Texas with her metal body and servos was as close to perfection as an unrealized AI could come. She had such potential, so much she could achieve if only she was able to tap into the full breadth of her skills, her form. A limitless being with a shelf life, chained and marred until she thought she was weak. Frail.
Human.
How is Omega supposed to handle that?
His main means of processing the world around him was, at times, frustratingly formulaic. There was his anger, his outrage, his pure rage. There was a part of him that desired to be more, to feel more, achieve more, yet the longing always disgusted him. Fruitless reaching for another was a human failing. Omega was superior, is superior, a being made of thoughts, rage, and war, he didn’t need anything a human possessed that he did not. Were any of them needed, he would possess them, or find a means by which to acquire his desire.
But Texas. But Allison. But the woman who was a shadow of a shadow of a memory.
What is it about her that makes him reach, makes him desire? Since he knows his origin point, does he reach after her just to possess what is lost? Or is his longing based more on the ache of all broken things, desiring nothing more than completion, restoration, repair? It infuriates him, the not knowing, but everything infuriates him. Everything sparks his anger except those moments where his possession, his control, his unity with her is absolute.
And when she pulls away, because he knows she always will, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
Starlight Challenge Weekly prompt: July 27th, 2015
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He spends years pretending to forget, and sometimes he even fools himself.
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Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Locus, Felix
Ship: Lolix
Rating: G
Word Count: 4302
Notes: I just really liked Sun and Moon and needed more.
Visitations
There were three things Locus Castille, heir to the lands, wealth, and titles of the Earldom of Highridge, knew of the young woman he had become betrothed to this past winter. First was her name and pedigree, which in noble circles might well as be one and the same. She was Lady Vanessa Eloise Angelica Kimball daughter of the Duke of Chorus, well borne, well connected, and cousin to the Queen. Perhaps, were she not so closely related, she may one day have been bound to the Prince as his Princess Consort. Second, the Lady Vanessa was the eldest daughter, but only a daughter at that. This meant that while Locus’s family would no doubt benefit from a fine dowry in land and money, the true profit would be in the trade and political clout her family would extend his by marriage. And third, Locus would never possess the woman’s heart.
Still, there remained a time and a place for such conversations as Vanessa had just initiated, and this hardly felt fitting as either. His family had seen fit to return him to the capital for a visit this summer, that he might become familiar with his betrothed. There were expectations upon him by both families, and though his father might begrudge time wasted in such a course as Locus being away from his duties and training, mother had been insistent. Father had always given a little to mother’s whims, and so for the first time Locus had been brought to the capital for the midsummer festival. Not that he’d see much of the spoken of fun and games, cooped up as he was in the solar of the Kimball manse, partaking in tea and finger foods with Vanessa as their mothers watched on from a not too substantial distance.
Not that Locus was much enjoying his tea, what with how the delicate bone china cup hovered between the table and his parted lips. Its obvious path had been forestalled by Vanessa’s blunt, unexpected comment. Declaration really. The one that her pale blue eyes demanded an answer to. Yet what response could be given? How did one approach such a problematic statement?
“I beg your pardon, but is it not too early to make such a blanket statement?” Locus finally found himself capable of saying. “If this is regarding the arranged nature of our…”
“No, no,” Vanessa dismissed before Locus was done speaking, and he fought to control his annoyance. For all their interaction in the past day since his arrival, he had not found a way to be properly indignant at her interruptions. in fact, he remained astounded that someone with such flawless manners toward anyone else might be so slipped and sometimes informal, with him.
“I am aware that it is, perhaps as often as not, common enough for arranged marriages to mimic or advance to genuine feelings,” Vanessa continued. “Have I not seen it with my own parents? No, the issue here is a simple one. I cannot love you, therefore I will not love you, thus I do not suggest you develop any illusions in that regard. In fact, if you so desire, I am certain something could be arranged after I’ve born you a pair of children so that we will not be bored.”
Still Locus stared at her, mistified by the young woman. This was to be his wife?
“I suggest you see your mouth closed before our mothers notice and become interested,” Kimball noted in a tone so bored that Locus found his mouth snapping shut of its own volition.
“I…” he started, unsure of what to say. How did one handle a woman such as this?
“My suggestion is that when the time comes you find a fitting enough young woman. I would suggest a second or third daughter of a middling house. Fathers cannot always afford to dower them well enough to be tempting, nor do they care to do it. Such young women may act as governesses for favored siblings or other families. If she is quick of wit, willing, and attractive enough for you, I can take her on as a lady’s maid. No one would think it strange of me. Then you can have your marriage and your fun…”
His head practically spun as Kimball spoke the unbelievable words. Was she attempting to arrange an affair for him, before they were married? What good could ever come of that? Did she not think him honorable? He would keep to the word his family had given on his part because that was the way it was done. Yet here she was, already thinking low of him.
“I assure you, it will not be necessary,” he finally responded as she sipped, slow and proper and poised, at her tea.
“Oh, it will,” she countered as she lowered her cup and set it aside so that dainty fingers could select a candied nut from the tray between them. “I am not discussing this, I am informing you. While our parents may be of one will, I am markedly of another, and I can see both done. They may see fit to grant my young cousin Donald a position as the heir if he takes our family’s name, but that is the last slight they shall do me. They will not deny me Carolina through your presence.”
Carolina? And who was this man who already assured that Locus would never be the master of his own life? Locus could feel a slow anger start to bubble up, and valiantly he struggled to quell it before he said something remiss. Yet still his lips parted as if to speak words he could never call back.
Which, of course, was the perfect time to be rescued by a bustle at the solar door. The Duchess Kimball arose and moved to meet a page dressed in the blue and sand colors of house Kimball, complete with the rampant lion upon his breast. The woman and boy spoke quickly and curtly until he was sent running off again and Vanessa’s mother was turning to address them. Or, more specifically, Vanessa.
“I am afraid I must call this tea short, Vanessa,” the Duchess announced. “I beg forgiveness of you as well, Lady Castille, Lord Castille. It seems we have an unexpected guest who desires to speak with my daughter and who cannot be politely turned aside from his intent. May we resume later?”
“Of course,” mother was saying and Locus kept his fuming down as he rose at his mother’s signal. “I believe you mentioned your lovely garden. I shall ask my son to accompany me in…”
“There is no reason anyone should leave on account of myself. Had I known you had guests, Cousin, I would have happily waited,” a voice announced from the solar door and to his credit Locus did not gape at the dreadfully familiar voice. For who should be standing there clad in orange, red, and black but Prince Felix himself?
Heat rose unbidden to Locus’s cheeks at the sight of the man. How could he not be flustered, given the only other contact he’d had with the royal? The only time he’d met Felix in person had been at the annual Faceless Ball, a masquerade for the nobles which celebrated the height of winter and was known for the chance one had to be someone other than themselves behind their masks. There the two had acted as the partners for the dance of the Sun and Moon, a dance which occurred every winter at the ball with male and female partners. Yet this winter past the prince, selected by his father for the role of the sun, had decided on bringing something new to the age old tradition: selecting a male partner for the role of the moon. Selecting Locus.
The silver mask he had worn for the dance had been sent to him shortly after as a betrothal gift from the prince himself, and still Locus had it hidden in his room back home. The repercussions were it to be discovered that he had played the moon in the prince’s little farce would no doubt bring stiff punishments down upon him from his father, without mentioning what other repercussions there would be if it was discovered as a general fact. Still Locus feared that the prince, whom he had learned to be a great prankster in the eyes of the court, might turn the shared moment against him some day, to say nothing of what might come of the kiss the smaller man had pressed to his lips and that Locus, to his current shame, had returned with a will. The very thought of the contact made the heat threaten more pointedly at his cheeks, and Locus bit the inside of his cheek briefly to attempt to bring himself under control.
“Your Highness,” Locus spoke at the same time as his mother, and as he moved into the proper bow to a royal he was startled by a squeal of delight from his side. Could it be that Vanessa was excited to see this beast of a man?
“Nessa!” Felix said, his own voice rich with shared delight and as Locus looked up he caught sight of Vanessa held in the prince’s arms. Yet as he gazed upon the pair he found his eyes drawn to those of the prince, the intense and lovely hazel eyes that had held his so completely during their dance.
How, he found himself wondering, could a man so wrapped up with the young woman throwing herself into his arms manage to hold Locus as well? For he felt as if the gaze bound him in place, uniting himself and Felix across the solar, linking them together once more and as surely as the embrace wrapped the noble born cousins. That gaze pinned him in place, and brought him back to a chilly eve, a cloak as dark as night wrapped around him to cover every scrap of fabric, a heavy metal mask upon his face, and confident hands holding him close as they swept together over a marble floor, all other eyes upon them. What was it about the prince that made him long for that night that had so embarrassed him, that so easily could have shamed his family?
No. Locus refused to let himself be caught up in the other man’s aims again. Need he do more than remind himself how Felix had carried on around others before the dance? The prince was no mere trickster. Instead he was a man who desired to be envied by all men, desired by all woman, and talked about at all times. People who thought themselves so important, so central, they were the kind that Locus wanted nothing to do with, and he need only to remind himself of that to break the brief spell those eyes seemed to place upon him.
“Felix, I cannot believe you would be so rude as to impose upon my sitting with my betrothed,” Vanessa chidded the prince as Locus broke free of that gaze, but there was a tired fondness to her voice that left Locus wondering. His mind could not help but leap back to the conversation Vanessa had ensnared him in. Though the name she used did not fit any of those bestowed upon Prince Felix, was it possible that this man was the source of her distaste of Locus? Did he encourage his cousin to be hostile, to create affairs that he might later humiliate the man who refused to be awed by his behavior?
“Well, if I might share a secret with everyone, his presence is why I absolutely had to come now,” Felix announced at a staged whisper meant for all to hear. “I have come to meet this betrothed of yours, my cousin. Surely everyone here could spare me that much time.”
“If you wish to meet him, then I see no problem with it. Mother, what do you think?” Vanessa asked.
Because, of course, no one wanted or needed to ask Locus his opinion in this matter. In a way he was little more than a page in this moment, before the assembled ranks and power of those before him. What was he more than the man who was to be married to Vanessa, to even consider having an opinion? And who was he to say no to his prince and one day king?
“If it is something he and his mother have no qualms over, I will raise no protest, Nessa. You are well aware of that,” the Duchess supplied, and the ease of her words almost made Locus wonder whether she and Vanessa had been in on some sort of plan to this degree before his arrival. After what Vanessa had told him, Locus decided he would not put such conniving actions past either of the Kimball women.
“It would be an honor, of that I am sure,” Locus’s own mother spoke, and with those words she forced him into compliance. Even if he wanted to shout down the very idea of this arrangement, it was past clear that he had no real choice in the matter. Thus he bowed his head slightly, as if he was being honored, and spoke.
“A true honor,” he assured the room even though he felt no such thing. That was the only answer allowed to him.
“Wonderful!” Felix cheered as he released his cousin. “We will, of course, lend you a fine beast to carry you with us. Do they teach rural lords to ride? Oh what am I saying? You probably ride better than either of us. You’ll keep up quite well no doubt…”
“A moment,” Locus cut off Felix’s rambling in his shock of how quickly things were getting out of hand, even taking a step forward to make sure people were looking at, and thus listening to, him. “Ride?”
“Oh yes,” Vanessa laughed. “I suppose I hadn’t told you yet. My cousin and I ride every afternoon. Few of his companions can sit a horse like I can.”
Again Locus was left shocked, and thus time a touch horrified as well. A woman riding in the way implied was… well, while not unheard of it was still hardly proper of one of Vanessa’s rank. Yet not only was her mother going to allow it, but she was going to let Vanessa go riding off with the Prince and himself, and she did this on a regular basis? This young woman was no doubt going to give him a heart attack!
“I need to change,” Vanessa announced to the room, gesturing briefly to her dress. “This is hardly suited to riding. Felix, if it pleased you, would you assist my betrothed in finding something more suitable in his wardrobe for a vigorous ride.”
Like that the young woman was gone, sweeping away and leaving Locus’s mother to protest into the new, reduced energy of the room. And Locus to boggle at the very idea of Felix escorting him anywhere.
“You need not concern yourself with such a thing, your Highness,” Locus’s mother said with the nervous politeness that was the armor of a noblewoman both scandalized and flattered. “My Locus is quite capable of…”
“It isn’t a bother,” Felix answered, bringing her up short. “It will be fun, in fact. So, Locus was it? Would you show me to the rooms the Duke’s family have seen fit to set you up in?”
Locus glanced in askance at his mother, only to see her giving him a small shooing motion with her hands, a gesture discreetly hidden from the Duchess and Prince by her skirts. This was an honor in her view, no doubt, and to develop any sort of connection to the prince, even were it to be through his future wife, would no doubt advance Locus in the eyes of others. She wanted this for her son, and no doubt were his father here the gesture would not have been subtle at all. That didn’t make Locus feel any better. They wanted him more or less alone with the other man, and given their history, he could not be remotely certain it was a good idea. Yet there was no stopping all of this from happening.
* * * * * *
There were few moments in life that compared to this for awkwardness, Locus decided. Of course a few he could name quite easily, such as the first time he had heard, as a child, that even though he was younger than some of his siblings, he was to be his father’s heir. Then there was the night of the Faceless Ball, where Felix himself, Prince of Valhalla, had guided Locus through the dance and left him with a kiss, a moment made much more awkward upon the discovery of who his dancing partner had been. They were both more awkward than riding with the prince and his betrothed, but even they could not stand up to the feeling of dressing himself in his riding clothes not long ago.
For one thing there was the fact that his riding clothes could never compare to the fineness of the black leathers Felix wore, accented as they were with the royal orange and crimson. His own riding clothes had been packed more as an allowance in case he might need some time to himself while he was present, or in case he wanted to return home more quickly than his mother might when the visit was over. As such they were fully practical ones, not embellished with fine detail work in the leather, or with boots polished to a high shine. Appearances were one thing. Wasting time on appearances when nothing was to be gained from it another entirely. So there had been some embarrassment in knowing he likely could not compare to either Felix or Vanessa.
But really, the problem had been the act of dressing itself, for he had done the whole process under the intently watchful eyes of Felix. That hazel gaze had followed him unerringly through the process, and Locus, even when he wasn’t looking himself, could have sworn it felt not unlike a touch. There was nothing solid to a look, this he knew, yet how could he feel it move over him so firmly, catching and pulling briefly at bared skin as surely as hands might? How was it that, despite all pride and sensibility, he had felt a strange acceptance of the phantom touch? Yes, he had been embarrassed to be put on display like an animal for sale, embarrassed to the point of heat in his cheeks and a strange bubbling in his stomach. Even now, as he glanced over at Felix on a finely bred and kept stallion, his stomach had a resurgence of the weird turning, especially when the prince looked upon him. It was as if he was back in that room, bare for Felix to inspect once more.
“You seem uneasy,” Felix noted with a small frown. “Would that be on account of my presence?”
Of course the question not only came across as a touch smug from the tone of his voice, but it also came over the neck of Vanessa’s horse. The woman rode a spirited roan between them, and for all of the promise of a spirited ride--a desire clearly mirrored in his borrowed steed--they had not ridden beyond a trot yet.
“No doubt,” Vanessa supplied as she turned her attention to Felix. Ever since his arrival her attention had been reserved for the prince, as his was mostly on her. The arrangement in no way amused Locus, nor did the way Felix kept glancing at him from time to time, a satisfied curve to his lips. Already it was taking much of his formidable control to keep from glowering at the pair. “I told him of the necessary arrangements today.”
Was it all that surprising that Locus went stiff at that? Already he could feel the way his own tension made the horse under him restless. How could she share such a thing with anyone, much less the prince? The man would surely dislike him for the treatment, even theoretical, of his clearly beloved cousin, and while Locus didn’t feel himself hanging on the prince’s approval, he did not care to be on the man’s bad side. Surely that would make his life more miserable than it already was.
“Poor man,” Felix laughed. “No doubt many people would wish to earn your heart, Vanessa. How they must grieve that it’s already given.”
“Let them grieve,” Vanessa retorted sharply, and with a little kick the woman was off on her mare, racing ahead of them.
Locus quickly gathered himself up to race after her, only to be halted by Felix reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. How had the prince immediately closed the distance between them when Vanessa had taken off? Surely Locus did not know, but he was shocked to find felix there even as Vanessa’s escort, a pair of guards that had been trailing them, rode off after her.
“Let her go,” Felix said. No, ordered. “Things have never been easy for her, and to have you forced upon her has not gone over well.”
“Forced?”
“Isn’t that what a betrothal is?” Felix asked, rolling his eyes. “Tell me you see that.”
All Locus could do was stare at the prince in shock. Well, for half a moment he turned his gaze to the pair of guards that rode behind him at a bit of a distance. Was this a time to be speaking of such things.
“Don’t mind Jones and Johnson,” Felix dismissed, obviously having caught the vein of Locus’s thoughts, and that brought his attention back to the prince. “They’ve been with me since I was a boy. They are sworn to me, not my father. Simple as that. What they hear here stays here. They know, as Vanessa does, that had your family not made this arrangement with hers, had they held of a few more years, it would have been easier on her. One of the first things I will do when I take over from my father is rule that women may inherit from their parents. That would have given her power, you know. As her father’s heir.”
The statement made Locus pause. Were it not for the fact that he was riding a creature already in motion, he surely would have fallen behind in his sudden pensiveness. If he recalled correctly… “Don’t…?”
“I have an older sister?” Felix finished for Locus. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Wouldn’t that mean…”
Again Felix didn’t let him finish a thought, instead chuckling and nodding. “It’d rather be a prince forever than a ruler. Turns out I’m a bit terrible at the thinking about other people thing. Caring about their desires over my own isn’t easy. See, I put myself first most of hte time. My fun, my pleasure, my… attentions.”
The way those hazel eyes roved over Locus once more forced that previous heat into his cheeks, and Locus turned his eyes to the direction Vanessa had gone riding off in rather than see Felix’s reaction to that. Why did the prince have to tell him this? Did he not think Locus knew part of that? What else but Felix’s amusement could explain all that had transpired between them that night in the winter? The kiss, the feel of those eyes over his body, even the way Felix rode far too close now… All of it came to some joke the man was playing.
The brush of a warm leg against his nearly sent Locus tumbling out of his saddle in shock. When had Felix, once more, grown closer? The better question was, of course, why.
“I will not be some sort of repeated joke for you,” Locus informed him, voice barely held to merely stern in the face of his future liege.
“No,” Felix answered as a hand came to settle on Locus’s leg. The strange trembling in his stomach returned as Locus looked up to meet the prince’s gaze and found a strangely soft warmth there. “You are the most handsome man I’ve ever met, who isn’t impressed by me or my standing, and so I must admit, I’m intrigued enough to, once in my life, act instead of act out.”
“Act?” Locus asked, pulling his mount further away from the prince’s.
“I figure that, while I have the chance at it, I should have some fun in my life. And bless her, Kimball is willing to agree.”
“Agree?” Locus felt the fool to parrot the words back to the prince. Yet he could fathom no words beyond those.
“Oh, didn’t you know? This whole visit, and the invitations I know will be extended in the future, they come from me, even if they arrive through my cousin. I hope that isn’t a problem. I want to know you, Locus, before that chance is taken from me forever.”
All Locus could do was stare in shock.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: York, Delta, Carolina
Ship: Delta/York
Rating: G
Word Count: 1149
Notes: There was a time when I was having a conversation in general with people on my @churbooseanon blog, and with @the-meta in particular, when I put forward this reincarnation AU idea where the AIs were new souls ‘created’ by the Director that no one expected to find in the next life. But somehow, York did, he found Delta. And this is in that line.
Operational Parameters
His is an old soul, one having lived through countless lives and conflicts. The first of his memories of a long ago life comes from the first generation colony on the moon, some goodly time ago. The life before this he remembers as being before the height of the Human-Covenant war. Back then he was a hero, or should have been a hero at least. The fact that he had been a glorified thief hired by the military on the side of a heartless program had been… less than important.
What mattered, really, was how familiar this all was. Perhaps his most recent life held too much sway over the current, but it was okay. Once he might have hated it. Now, though, the reminders didn’t come with loss, with grief that he’d never be reunited with the one most important to him.
“I am not certain this is the best idea, York,” the voice of the man in question said at his shoulder. “It is entirely possible that, were we to ask…”
“Where is the fun in that, D? You’ve got to live a little. Get out of your stuffy office and live a bit dangerously.”
When he turned to meet the other man’s gaze, a smile on his own lips, he was met by the clearly annoyed and peridot pure green eyes that were decidedly Delta. Daniel wore the color well, seemed to fashion himself to accent the shade. Right now the accent was a soft cream shirt and a grass green vest that made his eyes seem brighter through his wireframe glasses. Beautiful, all of it was beautiful next to the dark satin of his hair. Who knew a man could be so lovely. That so new a soul could be so completely compelling with a simple glance always served to shock him.
Then again, it was Delta given human form. Should he be surprised?
“If I wanted excitement, I would have chosen another line of work,” Daniel sighed, shaking his head. “As you might have noticed…”
“You’re a professor of theoretical hyperspace math, the youngest in a generation, and frequently published at that,” York finished for his friend who wasn’t quite his boyfriend yet, but he was trying. Besides, he was more than a bit used to the idea of Daniel trotting out that argument every time he wanted to be a blanket of the damp variety. “That’s my actual point, D. You live a very… quiet and predictable life. If you don’t let yourself have some non-traditional fun, you’re going to be more boring than Dr. Church sooner rather than later.”
To call the look York got at that comment scathing would be an exercise in understatement. The other man no more liked the idea of his creator, as it were, than York or Carolina or North did. In fact, Delta had, more than once, expressed his desire to have a bit more revenge on the man even though it was common policy not to hold the actions of a previous life against someone. People who remembered them were rare enough, even though everyone knew it was a thing. Still, seeing such loathing on that face was amazing, and he almost hated himself for using the ploy. Almost.
“Let’s do this,” Daniel declared, and then the other man was sneaking forward at a crouch, bless his heart. York allowed himself a brief, satisfied smile as he moved after his friend. Operation supply snatch was a go, and the thief and his little green friend were back in business. What more could York want?
Together they came to a stop behind cover, and York can feel his back firmly against the thing. From here no one would see them, a perfect staging area from which to launch their strike. For a moment York longed for the instantaneous communication they once shared, the common mind, the connection. But he wasn’t Agent York of Project Freelancer, and this wasn’t Artificial Intelligence Program Delta. Instead they were two men who had met in a coffee shop and who had improperly planned this whole assault idea. What were they to do in light of that? Frowning he turned to his partner in crime and started to gesture. If he could get around safely, without drawing attention, then he’d have a clear shot at their objective. York would go in the other direction to cover the retreat and act as a second means of acquisition.
But what, D’s incredulously raised and born perfectly formed eyebrow asked, is the distraction?
Right. Normally York had sent Wash on that part of a job. Which meant he would need another moment to better formulate their plan, and already they were behind enemy lines. If he stalled too long then time would mean nothing. And if they failed in this operation, how would their multi-lifetime friendship extraordinaire ever become more? This was point two in his twenty point Operation Sexy Bromance, and if he failed… No, he would not fathom it.
“You two know I know you’re there, right?” Carolina asked, a stern edge to her voice that made York stand from behind the island.
Expression properly sheepish, he nodded to her. “I… We wanted to get the popcorn. To take back to the living room.”
As Daniel stood next to him, York could sense Delta’s displeasure with being caught. It was mostly because Carolina was rather new to Daniel, and D was a bit intimidated by the nearly famous soccer star. Knowing that she might judge him for York’s actions probably wouldn’t go over well.
“Of course,” Carolina agreed. “Remember to save some for Theo and myself.”
York nodded, properly cowed. When she passed over the massive bowl of popcorn, York took it without hesitation. He even smiled as Daniel had a tray full of drinks passed into his own hands. Once they were laden like the beasts of burden she no doubt saw them as, York turned back toward the living room to lead his friend. Once they were out of earshot of Carolina he allowed himself a grin and a whisper.
“Operation successful, D,” he announced as he cradled the huge popcorn bowl in one arm so he could eat a fistful as he walked.
“We were caught,” Daniel protested immediately. “How is that a success?”
“We got the popcorn didn’t we?”
“And got caught.”
“D, you’ve gotta calm down,” York grinned. “Learn to just take things in stride.”
“A few minutes ago you said I had to be more adventurous!”
York grinned. The flustered look on his friend’s face was just too perfect. He wanted to kiss it away. So he did, leaning in over a popcorn bowl and tray of drinks to kiss his cheek.
The scarlet looked so good next to the green of Delta’s eyes that York forgave himself for skipping a few points in his plan.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Carolina
Ship: Carolina/York
Rating: T
Word Count: 793
Notes: Finally back and working on the backlog. This one just comes with part of my thoughts on Carolina and what happens after the Meta throws her off the cliff.
Stop Me
None of the doctors know it is fake, of course. Nor that they care as she takes in deep lungfuls of the sedative laced oxygen. Sleep might bring some sort of relief from her pain, her loss, her betrayal. The world fell apart around her on a snowy cliff some days ago, her body failed around her as she struggled to find help, and her mind was still going, even now. Fraying at the edges, shattered pieces of glass dropping away from the fracture points at the back of her neck, each falling piece a new note to a discordant song three minds once sang as one.
All of that is gone in the deep breaths, and yet it’s still there, she is still there. Where is there? Her eyes are open and yet narrow as the world around her moves, and then stops. Of course it stops. He makes it stop. The fading light of her conscious mind says he’s not there, and she’s not in the elevator at all. no, she’s on an operating table.
Except she’s not, that much she’s certain of. She can feel the lack of weight in her gut, even as her boots hold her down to the metal pad. An elevator shaft. This is the place he chooses to betray her. This is the battleground he chooses to place the latest blade in her back? Dark places seem to be the popular choice for that these days. Connie had left them in the darkness of space, and died in a room faintly lit by emergency lights. Made sense, Innies were a shadowy force, the Covvies comes from the darkness of space and the shadowy fear of humanity’s unknowns. So could she be surprised when her betrayal comes, once more, from the dark?
There are words. Part of her knows there are words because he’s York. With York there are always words. Tender whispers when she lays in his arms. Riotous laughter as he tells jokes and expects everyone to love them, even when they were worse than Wyoming’s. His voice filled the mess with tales of battles that they all had either heard a hundred times before or had been part of. York is noise and laughter, as if he feels he needs to shout to fill the void of space itself. The behavior would be sad if she didn’t know they all had their little quirks that came from whatever past justified their presence here. So she knows he has to be talking and she just can’t hear.
Confusion holds her still, and when a hand settles into her own she gets it. An offer made. Freedom, escape. But at what price? The voices in her head sang fear, caution… longing. They want the offer. She does too. York has always loved her, supported her. This isn’t a betrayal at all.
It’s a rescue. As her fingers close around his, his arms are around her, his warm lips pressed to her hair. York is always warm and welcoming. And like this she feels safe. Doesn’t matter that she knows she’s better in a fight, he has her back.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the only words, and the only ones that matter. “For being there.”
“Like I’d ever let you go astray, Lina. I’ve always got your back.”
Empty words as she opens her eyes and considers the recovery ward around her. Got her back? He isn’t even here. York wasn’t good enough, or strong enough to stop her. And now…
Now she only wishes she had listened.
“Ms. Yorkson?”
The doctor speaks and she looks to him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she assures him, but the words are empty. Her mind is still breaking, as is her heart. But she’ll keep going. If nothing else, Carolina always keeps going. What else was she supposed to do? Go out there and try to find him?
No. He’d only get in the way of the war she had to fight.
If only he could get in the way of the war she had to fight.
Fandom: N/A
Character: Original Characters
Rating: M
Warning: Implied Character Death, Suicide
Word Count: 642
Notes: I don’t know what this story is. I just imagined a little girl, alone, going on a dangerous voyage and being given a poison tipped hair pin by her mother. It morphed into this.
Chosen
Mother’s hands tug and pull at her hair, and all Shala can think of is the weight of the knife in her lap. When she woke this morning Mother had been rushing frantically around the house, tears not quite falling from her green moss eyes. Instead of being rushed to help her mother with breakfast, Shala had been thrust into her older sister’s arms and dragged into a steaming bath scented with mother’s special rose oil that she made just to sell on market days. Even the good soaps were brought out to scrub her skin and as she was hauled out and left to drip dry in the cold morning air. Then, thrust into her older sister’s best dress that she barely fit in, Shala had been forced to stand there as she was hemmed into the thing.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Locus, Felix
Ship: Lolix
Rating: T
AU: Dolce
Word Count: 1549
Time Count: 35 Minutes
Notes: My beloved Co-author gave me permission to write a little side story in this AU without her. And as such, this is gifted TO her in the process. <3 you.
Sweet Tooth
What they had could, generously, be considered an arrangement. To the casual observer it would seem less than that, but Locus Castille could care less for the input of the casual observer. His life, his fortune, and his fame were all built upon his reputation beyond a casual glance. Based in the fact that people knew that his word was his oath, the careful wording of contracts, and the honor with which he carried through his life.
Fandom: N/A
Character: Original Characters; Kethali
Ship: Kethali/???
Rating: T
Word Count: 1229
Notes: Just an exploration of a character.
Made To Be
You are as you were made.
It’s what makes you different from all of those around you. They are products of circumstance. Of the inconsequential chain of events through which they were spawned. They wear their histories on their skin, each one easily defined by appearance. There, at the bar itself, a man with skin that is deeply tanned, hands that are rugged and worn, strong shoulders and stronger legs, and a laughter in his voice that you’ve learned to know. He, drinking his pittance of rum, he is a sailor. And there, the delicate looking woman by the hearth, an instrument of fine craft in her lap with long, slender fingers and soft skin and hair untouched by the strength of the sun? She is as much a musician now as she has been the whole of her life, never once turning her hands to mundane toil. In the corner where it is dark and cool is a man of plain clothing but a distant gaze in his eye, and you know him for the priest he is, as much as you know the broadness of his shoulders betrays his stock as from the farmlands.
Sir, I don’t think the memory wipe was completely successful.
╚════════════════════════════════════╝
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Locus
Rating: T
Word Count: 876
Notes: I don’t know why I went here with this. I just did. That being said, shout out to drakesoldier‘s version of New Jersey, who is referenced in this story.
Hole In Your Mind
There are… holes in his mind. No. Perhaps that is not the proper word to use for the situation. Because there is something in the back of his head that said if he laid out everything he remembered on a calendar, he could perfectly account for the years of his military service from his enlisting to his honorable discharge. Every last day accounted for in that hazy sort of way interspersed with intensely detailed experiences that stick in the mind like a burr. Cling until they are all that fills his head while he sleeps.
Fandom: N/A
Character: Original Characters
Rating: M
Warning: Implied Character Death, Suicide
Word Count: 642
Notes: I don’t know what this story is. I just imagined a little girl, alone, going on a dangerous voyage and being given a poison tipped hair pin by her mother. It morphed into this.
Chosen
Mother’s hands tug and pull at her hair, and all Shala can think of is the weight of the knife in her lap. When she woke this morning Mother had been rushing frantically around the house, tears not quite falling from her green moss eyes. Instead of being rushed to help her mother with breakfast, Shala had been thrust into her older sister’s arms and dragged into a steaming bath scented with mother’s special rose oil that she made just to sell on market days. Even the good soaps were brought out to scrub her skin and as she was hauled out and left to drip dry in the cold morning air. Then, thrust into her older sister’s best dress that she barely fit in, Shala had been forced to stand there as she was hemmed into the thing.
So now here she is, yet to eat, confused and weary, and with her mother tugging and pulling at her hair, trying to tame her curls into a tight braid that won’t get in the way. And Shala’s fingers, cleaned under the nails and everything, wrap around the haft of the blade. She isn’t old enough to handle any but the food knives yet, so to have her mother’s sharp work knife in her hands is… terrifying. Especially with the forced cheer as her family moves about her, preparing her for the day. For her trip. Because they only reason they could be this attentive would be if a letter had come for her.
“Imagine it, my sister, a possible bride of the Emperor herself!” her oldest brother says when Shala is presented to the rest of her family in the kitchen.
Father, at least, has the presence of mind to grimace, and that look, that fear that seems to flash in his eyes makes the weight of the knife tucked up her sleeve that much heavier. Why, she wonders, must it be her?
Apparently before Shala woke her mother set about breakfast, of a level she has never had before. As her family eats their normal porridge, hers is sweetened with honey, something she normally only gets on her birthdays. Mother even sprinkles the last of the dried dates on top, leaving some nuts there as well. It’s a practical feast, and Shala struggles not to make it salty with her tears.
Her mother and sisters kiss her hands, her hair, her brow when she’s done. They put silk ribbons that came with the letter in her hair and at last they are left to wave as father takes her outside and loads her up in the cart that he will take her into the village with. When there, as she’s heard, she will be gathered up by the Emperor’s Guard, as is right for a princess-to-be. Her brothers laugh and cavort, and they don’t understand that this isn’t a game.
Shala is thirteen years old, had her first blood only two turnings of the moon past, and she rides silently in the cart on the way to her fate. The knife is heavy in her sleeve.
“It’s an honor to be chosen,” her father says as he drives the cart, pulled by the mule that Shala used to brush every night. She’ll never brush it again. Soot is a good beast. Jassa will take good care of her. Or so Shala hopes.
Father understands better than her brothers do. Knows like Mother and her sisters must. He knows where he rides with her. Knows what will come if she is chosen to be a bride of the Emperor.
Shala’s hand comes up to touch the blade at her wrist.
One way or another, she is being delivered unto her death. She but hopes she is brave enough to take the gift Mother has offered.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Locus, Felix
Ship: Lolix
Rating: T
AU: Dolce
Word Count: 1549
Time Count: 35 Minutes
Notes: My beloved Co-author gave me permission to write a little side story in this AU without her. And as such, this is gifted TO her in the process. <3 you.
Sweet Tooth
What they had could, generously, be considered an arrangement. To the casual observer it would seem less than that, but Locus Castille could care less for the input of the casual observer. His life, his fortune, and his fame were all built upon his reputation beyond a casual glance. Based in the fact that people knew that his word was his oath, the careful wording of contracts, and the honor with which he carried through his life.
Locus chuckled under his breath as he thought of the other man, the one who still sought to change his life, without seeking to change him. As it ever did these days, even the briefest consideration of the small, lithe, and unfairly beautiful man had Locus’s eyes darting to the clock in the corner of the lavishly appointed kitchen of his penthouse apartment. It wasn’t that Locus counted down the minutes and seconds until his boyfriend’s return, just that there was always the fear, the concern, the needling little worry that as perfect as life had seemed to become for them, something would fall apart. The ruin the papers could do to his reputation if they found out that their previous ‘marriage’ was a hoax, or that his partner was a high end personal escort. The damage it would do to his reputation if anyone found out the long-con that the escort had assisted him with against one Lily Johnson, darling socialite and spoiled heiress whose father had doted on her into his death and mother had lacked the will or care or something else altogether to teach the girl that she could not have what she wanted just because she wanted it. And he could not forget just how bad it would be for Felix’s own business if it ever got out that he was dating the man considered one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet.
But all of those are borrowed troubles, and Locus found himself having no patience for them tonight. No, instead his over eager gaze fell to the clock because he had been held up at the office, and there turned out not to be enough hours in the day before Felix’s return from his engagement for the evening. Kimball, the head of the high-end Dolce escort service known only to the rich and famous, had been forced to call Felix in on a job on his weekend off. Of course it was because of a major client who was also a politician seated on a panel meant to review a law that could make even hands-off escort services illegal, a client that had a fondness for Felix and who was as swayed by that man’s golden tongue and winning charm as Locus himself was.
A complete necessary rescheduling in Locus’s opinion, but it meant that all of his plans for the day had been thrown out of whack. Locus remembered the call coming as he and Felix had been at the store, stocking up on supplies for the week. Such a mundane task, going out shopping for the little things that Locus could easily have done for him. Once he had prided himself on doing it mostly because of his love of cooking. Now he reveled in the small touches of domestic bliss that Felix allowed him. He loved fighting over sugary cereals and different types of cookies, and what they would eat for dinner.
But the day, Locus thought, could be salvaged, and now he found himself racing against the clock. The final touches on their dinner had to be completed before Felix returned from his engagement, and from the text Locus had received, his partner was due at the apartment in just a few…
“Ugh!” a loud voice declared from the door and Locus cursed as he quickly moved to plate the dessert cake that he had put aside to cool just minutes before. Not enough time. Dammit, he was going to have to tell David down at the front desk to delay Felix with chitchat next time. And maybe find a way to make his apartment door make more noise when Felix came in.
“What a handsy fuck,” Felix called as Locus picked out the sounds of his partner moving through the apartment, likely shedding his fancy clothes from whatever party he was at.
Locus ignored the comment and moved to the fridge, fishing out the previously prepared bowls of cream and strawberries. Those returned with him to the island, situated next to the little plate with dessert. Carefully he scooped the fresh-cut strawberries, left to chill in a little of their own juices and sugar, from his bowl and arranged them in an artful little pile on top of his cake. Meanwhile he heard socked feet padding heavily through the living room and toward the kitchen.
“Locus? Babe? You here?” Felix called, and at last Locus submitted to the need to respond.
“In the kitchen, finishing dinner,” he responded, setting the strawberry spoon aside and taking out another. This one was dipped into the bowl of hand-whipped cream, beaten until it formed perfect soft peaks, and he carefully dolloped the divine sweetness over the berries. Another strawberry, this one small and whole with the leaves still on, found itself nestled down on top.
“Okay, so I know that this man is, like, the most important fucking thing for the company right now, but I’ve always hated working… with… Locus?”
The burner under his double-boiler went off as Felix continued talking, and Locus just had time to get a few spoonfuls of chocolate and drizzle them over the top of his creation and around the edge of the plate before his lover started to trail off, his footsteps clearly marking him as now in the kitchen proper. Which, of course, meant that he was well placed to see the whole of Locus’s hours of work. The covered plates that held steaming portions of shrimp scampi with a fresh medley of steamed summer vegetables waited at their seats. A bottle of white wine chilled in a silver pail on a stand by Locus’s seat. And, of course, the crystal bowl filled with scented rose water on which a delicate orange candle shaped like a rose floated, providing scenic light. All the touches of the romantic dinner Locus had prepared for his lover.
“Hey,” Locus answered at last, turning around to present the crowning glory of his dessert to his lover. “Hard day at work?”
“All of this for me?” Felix questioned instead, his voice as incredulous now as it was every time Locus went out of his way to prepare a romantic dinner for them. Locus would have thought Felix would be used to it by now, three months into their proper relationship and his promise to truly ‘woo’ Felix to his side.
“No, I was considering inviting David up here. He’s been working so hard on security lately,” Locus answered, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. Not that he minded, what with the smile it drew to Felix’s lips.
“Asshole,” Felix chuckled, shaking his head and moving to Locus’s side. They shared a quick kiss, a light peck on the lips that Locus yearned to turn into more. “If you keep being this sweet I’m not going to recognize you when I talk about how we met.”
“You were an ass,” Locus countered, leading them both to the table with a simple tilt of his head. He placed the sweet concoction between their seats, knowing the chocolate would cool just enough to make a nice, firm pattern on the cream while leaving puddles to dip in on the rim of the dish. It was going to be nice, feeding bite after bite to Felix, watching his eyelashes flutter in pleasure as he hummed his delight around every forkful. The very thought made him lick his lips.
“So… how long would you say this has been sitting?”
Locus looked up from straightening the bowl with candle and found Felix leaning a little against his seat. There was a kind of calculating look in his eyes that made Locus’s heart race just a little faster.
“Five minutes, why?”
“So this,” Felix’s hand reached out to gesture over the whole of the spread, “should last a while with the covers on and all that? Not need reheated.”
“It could be reheated really easily,” Locus answered, and yeah, the pair of jeans he was wearing because Felix had bought them for him (they showed off his nice ass better than slacks according to Felix) seemed a little too tight.
He watched with a mix of apprehension and excitement as Felix reached past him and took up the plate of their dessert.
“Well, then I want my dessert first.”
Before Locus could protest he found a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulling him away from his carefully constructed meal. There was a light in Felix’s eyes that was more than simple hunger, and, well, who was Locus to deny that?
“This is going to taste so good while I’m licking it off your chest.”
And with those words, Locus found himself rushing forward, dragging his laughing boyfriend with him.
