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Gwenneth Yuan

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a character in “Birthstone Spirits: The Great Escape”, as played by China Demon

Description

Image
Name: Gwenneth Yuan

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Nationality: Though Gwenneth is Chinese by blood, she was born in America
and has lived in New York for most of her life.




Appearance: Gwenneth is petite, standing only at about five feet and four inches and weighing in at about a hundred pounds. She is thin from years of hard living, though her long limbs do possess a hint of muscular shape. She can often come across as stronger than she looks, her body type being rather thin and compact to begin with, but she would be easily overpowered in a test of sheer strength. She had distinct Asian heritage apparent by her dark hair, which falls an inch shy of her elbows and is naturally dead straight; her almond eyes, which are slanted up at the outer corners and a common shade of dark brown; the shape of her face, which has inclinations of once being quite round when she was younger, though is now sunken in slightly at the cheeks; and pale skin, which has just the right amount of melanin in it to make her skin rather pallid.

She owns only a couple of outfits, both of which consist of faded black or dirtied gray pieces. Her jeans are always black; she owns a gray hoodie and a black jacket. Other thinner clothing is usually layered to protect from the cold and to compensate for their rips and broken seams. She owns a pair of excellent, all-purpose boots, which are in the best condition of all her clothing. She wears her hair tied low at the base of her neck to keep it out of the way.

Personality: On the outside, Gwenneth is tough and a little bit dark. After growing up in a harsh environment, she learned that emotions are not to be abundantly displayed, and she has particularly good command of her fear. She does feel afraid, of course, but the extent to which it shows she can control with practiced effort. She tends to speak rather bluntly, usually to be purposefully acerbic.

Though she can be rather guarded during first encounters, Gwen’s more likable qualities tend to show through with time. Amiable by nature, she actually dislikes conflict and violence, though that doesn’t mean she can’t handle them. She is guided by strong morals, and as long as they are not contradicted, she is perfectly happy to cooperate and keep peace with others. Though at first she is not particularly friendly, her goal is never to create enemies.

Gwenneth has her insecurities, of course. The teenage identity crisis is no easier when living on the streets, and she often feels confused about her place in society and with the people around her. She generally thinks of these personal conflicts as her own problem, however, and doesn’t view them as something other people should get involved in.

Equipment: Gwenneth wears a tarnished silver snake amulet on a long cord along her neck. The snake is twisted around itself and its head is pointed downward. There is a garnet set into its eye, but since the piece is quiet dirty it is hard to see the gem. She wears it well out of sight. She also carries a couple small daggers on her person at all times.

Quirks: If she doesn't like someone, she will usually have that person refer to her as Gwenneth rather than Gwen.

So begins...

Gwenneth Yuan's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Haru Karokav Character Portrait: Falke der Herrscher Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez
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This was getting ridiculous. And Tallyho knew ridiculous. She knew the stomp and brawls of the seediest taverns, drunk nights that led to brain wrenching mornings. But this… This was a mess. The chaos of a tavern without the comfort of alcohol. If her irrational guilt wasn’t enough, she was also, in all honesty, quite embarrassed by everyone. Three years ago, when she fell down the valley the only thought on her mind was a damned basket of apples. All she wanted was a meal and somehow she ended up with this plate of hot. Shit.

Tallyho quietly nibbled on her knuckles as if they were the ridges of a bread roll. This was comfort. This was comfort. This was apparently the place for everyone to explode with all the pent up rage of years’ past. Some wanting to act but held back, wallowing in self-pity. Others very obviously acted, but only in a way to show off how this event significantly affected them and only them. Tallyho wasn’t sure if she even wanted to speak or react to anything anymore. She wanted a snack and a nap and apparently everyone else did too because this was all so selfish and juvenile. And she could not promise that she wasn’t selfish either. Maybe the fact that she thought others were selfish was selfish. Maybe the fact that she suddenly felt the urge to not speak to any of these people again made her selfish.

This didn’t make any sense. It was all phony. So, so phony. Since when was this team so gung-ho and chummy that they actually, genuinely, absolutely had to defend each other despite better judgment? Why was it that the people who actually cared about Tallyho (and she couldn’t speak for Falke on this one) were the ones who hadn’t even looked her way after the insult. No, it wasn’t a jab at them but an uplifting opinion. They were honest to the situation. The people who actually spoke to her, helped her, healed her, were the ones who hadn’t said a word about the incident. Falke, despite his role as her co-star in the whole ordeal hadn’t budged yet. Gwen, though they only just began to interact with one another, (the one who healed Tallyho when she really didn’t have and compromised her own health in the process) hadn’t said and thing. And then there was Dorian. Oh Dorian. A warrior she trusted enough to protect her in her sleep had only tried to play Trents game because it was for the greater good. He could defend Tallyho’s honor for a day, or save her for a lifetime and a true friend would have chosen the latter. Yet Harper, the pompous ass who she was pretty sure just learned her name two weeks ago, the one who she, albeit irrationally, considered her secret enemy (and no he had no idea about it) was leaping to “her” rescue. Then there was Xabier “comforting her” when he was probably the most deadbeat friend she ever had. And this whole thing really got her wondering… Why did she even try to include him in her circle of friends because do they even talk? Does he even go here? It was seldom she got him to join her deck side dance parties—the blind kid would kick back with her before he did—or even have a conversation with her lasting more than five minutes. Yet he was always the one trying to cozy up with the best friend sweater and act as if they were family or whatever. She was really going to be reconsidering her opinions of everyone tonight. Even her own guardian…

Footsteps. Tallyho’s eyes darted in the direction of the cell door. Only seconds after the clicks of shoes warned the arrival of intervention, the knights swarmed in with an unforgiving velocity, knocking over a few prisoners who hovered on the outskirts of the congregation. Like ants to a corpse they snapped through the crowd with expertise, casually chewing away at the mass, tossing bodies out of the fray like well-oiled machines. They did this as if it were nothing. Men like these were keen on the protocol to recognize who started riots. But in this particular case the answer was quite simple.

They neared the core of the fruit of spite, peeling flesh from flesh, man from man, and soon they reached the bitter pit. The redhead and the veteran crouched under the fray, succumbing to its mass as fights formed on top of more fights. Both were dazed, muscles weak, tingling. Nonetheless they hauled them up unsympathetically. Haru by his collar, his feet off of the ground from a moment, christening a baby with a bloody lip.

“BACK TO YOUR COTS! GET BACK! GET BACK OR NO MEALS.”

Like cattle the men reined back in waves, leaving the two men bare to the eyes of the prisoners. And Haru with his hair tussled and a missing shoe did not struggle as his hands were looped behind him. As the POW howled in protest Haru walked before his knight like a well-trained dog—a noble beast. The rage that once steamed from his pores now wafting into a lukewarm, bittersweet scent. And even though he did not know what would happen next, he felt an instant sense of relief.

And as he was escorted out of the cell and down the hall, limping casually with one shoe, he did not once look back at the group.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Haru Karokav Character Portrait: Falke der Herrscher Character Portrait: Gwenneth Yuan
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After that day, the day of tears, and revelation, and lost hope, Tallyho was positive that life would only get harder living in that cell with those people. That the sentiments of anger floating above a physical and verbal dogpile of regret and abuse would merely carry over into the days to come. Yet, even when Tallyho rose the next day, and the next, and the next, the wounds remained unopened, at least for her because she didn’t know how the others fared but Tallyho…she was alright. After three days Haru had been returned to the cell holding no grudges, even looking as though he had finally taken a well needed rest. He graciously accepted his missing shoe from Ryou, and quietly shared the usual banter with his companion given the appropriate chance. He spoke to everyone as he always had, with authority but respect. At night he perched on his cot in deep thought, attempting to file through numerous scenarios that could play out at the flock. He did just about everything but apologize for what happened because if asked he’d readily admit that he meant it all. But he wasn’t going to wear these thoughts on his sleeve. He wanted to keep things professional.
On the day Tallyho tried to get around to asking Haru where they put him after the brawl, he answered without any qualms, admitting that he had been sent to solitary. Tallyho always imagined solitary as a crippling place. But considering Haru’s circumstances and responsibilities, it was sad to say that his solitary experience could have been compared to a luxurious vacation.
Yes. Everything was going a-okay for Tallyho Abel. The food was good (though not like the dinner they ate the night before visiting the Harbinger) and it did the job: Warm bread and grade B meat, porridges, and the occasional fruit to prevent scurvy.
Trips to the bathroom became easier. Before, the fact that she had to be escorted out of the cell by two knights in order to relieve herself was troubling. But after a while the experience became a bit mundane. It was pretty obvious that the knights didn’t like hearing the prisoners piss all the time and somehow this made the process a lot less dramatic.
Tallyho only ever had trouble sleeping at night. At the start of their second week in prison she began to experience minor muscle spasms in her legs. A special sort of pressure welling up in her before exploding into sporadic movement and strained, aching calves. These woke her up at night but they only lasted for a few minutes allowing her to suffer in silence before being released from the sensation. Afterwards however she slept like a baby.
The worst spasm happened on a Thursday morning. An early, early Thursday morning—still fresh on the calendars tongue from scarcely falling off the dip of midnight. Soldiers and warriors alike were laid to bed, even Haru slept, and Tallyho was sleeping too. But something stirred her awake. An eerie feeling, really, an odd dampness pooling above her lip and the smell of copper. She rolled on her side, eagerly smearing a finger against the area in question, before pulling it away, peering through the darkness at the liquid that painted her fingertip—dark as if she jammed it into the crown of a blackberry and snatched it off with clumsy teeth.
She shuddered a sigh, quiet and troublesome, vibrating with disgust and anticipation. She knew what this was. Without thinking she smothered her bloody finger into the fabric of her pillow and gasped. Realizing what she had done, she flipped it over, pressing the stain into the mattress and vowing never to flip her pillow again. They started with a nose bleed. They always started with a nose bleed. And then she, now sitting up like a disgruntled child who heard a bump in the night, scanned the room for a place to go. The cots were too loud, they squeaked, she couldn’t do this here. But there was nowhere to run. Eagar to at least move to a corner she began the process of standing on her own feet, pushing down on the mattress with trembling arms. She could not even left her own frame. And she panicked. The quick shudder in her hands breaking out to her legs, spine struggling to keep her sitting straight up, the small of her back curving and arching in restrained contortion. She was losing control, barely able to flex her muscles enough to keep the cot movement at a minimum. This was the last way she wanted to wake the room. But she had to wake someone (if there wasn’t anyone alerted already) and so, now restricted to propping herself up on her side she did everything in her power to wipe her nosebleed away on her free arm and tap (or rather smack) Dorian awake, quietly urging him with the words “floor, floor”. Her head involuntarily bumping against the footboard a few times (she did sleep on the bed backwards) hoping that he would get the message and move her to the place where she couldn’t hurt herself and wake everyone at the same time.
After that night everything was peachy. She blacked out after a while but she assumed she got to the floor one way or another because no one approached her about the disturbance, namely Haru. She lived the next few days in the comfort of her normal associates. Chatting with Dorian, being Lady Snobskirt with Falke, and even going out of her way to promote some chatter with Gwen who, after the brawl, she officially decided to befriend.
The days became shorter as Sunday approached. The day when the warriors were going to be let out of jail and thrown into battle with vicious cyclopean. Without a word of guidance from General Cress. And when Sunday approached, Haru, though not as stressed as he had been before meeting the Harbinger, made it his personal mission to wake every warrior and guardian to make sure they all got breakfast. Then he uged them to eat breakfast together, gathering the group to sit on a few bunks in the corner.
“We’ve been here for two weeks and be don’t have a plan… BUT. I think that I can figure something out on site. You guys will just have to follow instructions as closely as physically possible.”
“Any idea when they’ll come and get us?” Tallyho asked over her porridge.
“I think this thing happens around sundown if I’m not mistaken.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: Gwenneth Yuan
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The fighting had started with madness. Most of the month warriors running into the midst of it.
Electricity vibrating through the air, heavy gusts of wind whipping everything in its path, Cyclopeans scattering and being ripped to shreds.

Perhaps he should've spent more time with his weapon in the last few months instead of moping around and making eyes at Harper.
<Yes, perhaps you should have.> One of his dopplëgangers sent to him.
<And maybe then you would still have friends.>
Okay. That was harsh.
You see, not unlike his fellow European, Xabier could have full blown conversations inside his head. However, he could only speak to himself. So basically the same as a mental patient because he had arguments with the voices in his head and sometimes they won.
He had always wanted to ask Jason if he had the same experience with his dopplëgangers.
Like, did his act like a bunch of hormonal/homicidal teenagers throwing tantrums and constantly pointing out all his faults? Or was it just Xabier?

It was the weirdest sensation and probably not relatable at all but Xabier had never felt disliked in his life. People had always been friendly to him and he had lived his life surrounded by family and friends. With the fire and the betrayal, everything had shifted in his life. Suddenly no one was the same...even Xabier had noticed the change in himself. He truly didn't care about anyone or anything. Well except the obvious exceptions. It was as if the little fight that was in him had disappeared. He wasn't a doctor. Even after being prepped for years and having a shit ton of money pumped into his education, he was the "shadow guy." Gwen was the designated Healer in the group and he didn't dislike her, but it was a smack in his face every time he realised he wasn't the person everyone thought he was. Who he thought he was.

With that the Spaniard had called up his own help up.
"Ayuda! Help!"
The dopplëgangers took shape from the shadows and stood watching him.
<Okay. I need two of you to->
<No.>
Xabier started and stopped. A Cyclopean was so close to taking a chunk out of his shoulder, it's breath vile and rancid like death itself.
<What?>
The dopplëgangers just kept staring blankly.
<We said no. We're not doing anything.>
What the hell was going on?! He couldn't believe this was happening right now.
He didn't have long to think about this as the Cyclopean launched a furious attack.
It ran at Xabier, driving him back with a series of short powerful swings. He used his staff to help deflect the assault. He soon found that he didn't have the muscles for it.
Nothing was working. Xabier clutched at the Bo staff as if it was his life raft.

Holding it up against the snarling face of his foe used a lot of energy. He held on, and when he sure it was going to give in on him, he saw a gap and managed to get in a counter strike. The staff which always appeared to be made of pure wood actually had a thin layer of very small, very sharp shards of glass-like material. Like the stuff inside surgeons scalpels. The curious thing about his weapon was that it looked so useless and feeble compared to the others but it was capable of creating a lot of damage if you handle it right.

Jabbing at the curve of the Cyclopean's side where it had a weak spot. It saw it coming and moved out of the way, but it broke its rhythm, and its assault seized temporarily.
Now this would be when Xabier would call upon his clones and they'd systematically tear the Cyclopean apart. But that wasn't the case this time.

Xabier grabbed the breathing space and moved away, dancing around his enemy, loosening his muscles. He had tensed up under its attack and needed to work off any cramps before they took hold. The attack had given the Cyclopean some encouragement. It knew that it could eat this one. It almost strutted about as it moved in closer on its prey.

By way of a reply, the October month warrior suddenly lunged at it, an overarm downwards stab that took it completely by surprise. It deflected the blow only just in time and managed to knock the blow aside. Xabier was left wide open as the monster came straight at him, slicing its limbs upwards.
The impact of his own weapon slashed across his side, ripping at his armour and drawing blood from the side of his face.

"Shit!" He swore loudly and spun out off the way, but it wouldn't leave him alone for one moment, following in hard with a wild low sweep that took Xabier in the side of his shin and sent him tumbling, face first to the ground. The creature was on him, pouncing down again and again trying to get a bite. The Spaniard rolled and squirmed under the pressure so each attempt dug harmlessly into the dirt. He wasn't going to die today. Not before talking to Kyle.
Still it wasn't going to well for Xabier. This Cyclopean was vicious and it kept getting the upper hand.
He had been crippled by his dopplëgangers refusing to help him. He was looking like a goner wriggling on the ground in heavy armour.
At last the creature came very close to grazing his flesh and Xabier smashed the rim of his staff into its face so it too fell over. He scrambled up and it followed straight afterwards.
He looked around and noticed everyone else dealing with their own little battles. He'd have to deal with this on his own.
<Why are you acting like this? Why won't you fight with me?> He sent to his dopplëgangers who like the other non-month warriors, were watching in stony silence.
Xabier's face dripped blood while his foe only had a slight limp.

It pounced near him again and yet again he was back to defence.
This one was tough. And it was cocky. Every time Xabier swung at it, it moved out of the way, taunting him. Any second now it'd go in for the kill.
Xabier had other ideas. With one fast slam of the staff into the skull, he had finished the fight.
The monster collapsed under him, its screech angry and shocked. It had been so sure of itself.

Xabier staggered drunkenly and fell to the ground. God he sucked.

With every Cyclopean defeated by the other warriors, more seemed to reappear not even a second afterwards. And as the other Warriors were called up to fight he had fallen down again.
The second stage was coming.
His dopplëgangers or Iluntasuna just kept watching him struggling to keep himself up.
"Help me." He said. Tears mixed with the layer of dirt on his face.

A remaining Cyclopean dizzy from Autumn's attack stumbled up towards the Shadow warrior.
Even weakened as it was, Xabier knew that he was completely alone and no would come rescue him. He was alone. Alone.

<Help yourself> One clone shot back and they all faded into the shadows.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Autumn Jones
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And then everyone started yelling at him.

By everyone, of course he only meant Kyle and Autumn. And Ondine, who was screaming at him from above to get his ass in gear. As if he didn't already know that.

He didn't necessarily ignore them, but he didn't respond either. He was already nearly to his feet when Kyle pulled him all the way up before running off to the platform, saying something about trees and forests. Honestly, what even...

The trident grew slippery, and he pulled the sweat into his pressure jet, increasing its size and speed. Get your head back in the game he tried to tell himself, clutching the trident with shaking fingers. It's not over yet...not even close...can't stop swimming now....

He could see the second wave (only the second??) rising up like a tsunami, and he looked around him wildly, doing a mental head count. Everyone else had been doing fine, right?

Yet when he saw Xabi, shaking to his feet, a Cyclopean lumbering zig-zaggedly towards him, Harper's stomach sank. No. Not everyone else was doing fine.

The monster widened its jaws and brought an arm back.

It was like flipping a switch. Suddenly the trident didn't feel as heavy. The pressure jet revved up, spinning faster and faster. Both hands gripped at his weapon, and his foot pressed off from the ground and he was running. Cyclopeans in his way were jabbed at or gunned down and he saw red and black and white flashing like a strobe light.

And then he reached it. And he was behind it. And he brought his trident back. And he stabbed it down. And he did it again. And again. And again.

"DON'T!"

TOUCH!

MY!

BOYFRIEND!"

His last stab sliced directly into the ground, clattering against the black scales. He blinked, throat raw from screaming, shoulders heaving. He looked at Xabi. His face was bleeding. And dirty. And wet. His armor was ripped. Yet somehow his hair still looked perfect.

He managed a smile as he grabbed the October warrior's hand. "Hey babe," he said as he pulled him up, "Sorry I'm late."

Screeching could be heard growing louder. The second wave was upon them. Still holding Xabi's hand, he turned to face it.

"200. 400. 600. 800," he mumbled to himself, "Free. Relay." He gave the Spaniard's hand another squeeze before letting go, grabbing his trident.

Inhale. Exhale. Control the breathing. He whistled and tensed. Fingers clasped on the edge of the pool. 200. 400. 600. 800. Free. Relay.

Beep.

Beep.

Beeeeeeeep!

"Let's kill these motherfuckers."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Aria Delaine Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel
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An obscenely ugly and absolutely careless behemoth blocked out the last rays of sun as the wall bustled with activity, both above and below. Above the wall, Haru and Nikita, though unnecessarily, called all hands to pull up the remaining warriors. The demon didn't even care about crushing its own! And the human warriors were even smaller than those! At the base of the wall, some of the smaller monsters crushed against it in a second living barrier. Kyle closed his eyes again. He couldn't allow himself to give in to this new terror, lest he lose his narrow control "I can do it! I have to do it!"

Haru's hot breath tickled the back of his neck. He swallowed and peeled his eyes open. The Boss gave his final instructions and the boy nodded slowly and whispered, "Yes, Sir." He noted the pale grey square in the dim twilight and did his best to focus on just that spot, to ignore all the shouting and running behind their place on the wall, the tensely snapped orders of General Cress not too far from them. He started trembling again. Focus, Kyle, Focus!

Commander Haru gave the order. Kyle raised his hands and straightened his back. The behemoth stepped into the grey square. A whoop pierced the air again and Kyle let his balloon burst. Smaller cyclopeans who lingered at the edge of the moat tumbled right into the muddy pit or fell back under the water as it pushed forward to cover the behemoth. The water dripped into puddles underneath it. To make sure he did the job, Kyle lifted up those puddles and tossed them over the beast once more. In a final burst of energy he called out, "Tally!" Then the boy collapsed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Please let this battle be over. He really didn't think he could do any more.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Ryou Zerinn Character Portrait: Haru Karokav Character Portrait: Gwenneth Yuan
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"Kyle!" Nikita shouted. Time seemed to freeze as her charge fell. The noise of the crowd faded into silence around her. All she could see was his body tumbling through space. She abandoned the cannon where she posted herself since they arrived, giving the free reign to Haru. Kyle was more important. She caught him only moments before crashing his head on one of the seats.

The boy was only vaguely aware of a familiar voice and touch. Those familiar hands lifted his head, allowing more breath in his lungs, and swatted his cheek. "Come on, Kyle." She gave a half-smile when he looked to her blearily, and attempted to move a heavy hand against his head. "Try this." An arm braced up against his back, and the other tipped a canteen towards his mouth. He claimed it and drank greedily as a newborn at his mother's breast.

Surprised gasps and excited murmurs broke back into both the warrior and guardian's hearing. Nikita's half-smile spread into a full one. Her sheltering presence blocked his view of the black rain that fell over the fields after Tallyho finished her part, but despite the excited crowd, they thought they could hear the tinkling gems. "We have victory, but there is one more thing left to do. You have to do it."

Still disoriented, he rasped, "What?"
"The farmers need their fields back." She moved to the other side of him, so he could see, and she could also see the massive piles of gems spread across the entire battlefield. By now it was dark, but the full moon cast enough light to see the gems shimmering.
"I..." He started but she interrupted. "You can and you will."

His body trembled with weakness, even after the water from the canteen semi-woke him up. He leaned almost all his weight on the edge of the wall. Puddles still spread across the fields, but they were already sinking back underground.

He forgot that cleanup duty was part of the original order. If he remembered, he could have pushed himself to hold on to a little more magic. He let go of it to give Tallyho space to do her own part and not have to fear hurting him with her electricity. Could he really pick it up again? He had to try. The boy concentrated on those puddles again and slowly, painfully slowly he pulled them back together, back to him. At least all his friends were still alive and safely on the wall.

Nikita chewed her lower lip until she tasted blood. One hand gripped Kyle's shoulder and she partially hugged him against her as he fought through his battle fatigue. She wasn't as obvious with her affection as Ryou, who seemed to be clinging to Dorian for dear life, but she did care about these dumb kids. Tallyho was already out of commission, which worried her, but the sun-child was still breathing. Although she probably didn't need to, the April Guardian asked Bryce or Gwen to help her if the January month warrior felt strong enough to try.

She was a simple sailor and knew she couldn't do any more for Tally. Kyle struggled also, and Nikita honestly didn't think he'd last much longer either. The confidence in her tone was mostly for his benefit. Based on what she knew of his personality, he always did better work when he felt other people believed in him. Not unlike a certain cabin boy she remembered from her ship.

She gave him a squeeze and stayed close as he fought his battle fatigue to turn those puddles into a spray to wash as many of those crystals As possible back to the forest they came from. That was the absolute last he could do and the heavy body fell back into her chest. She kneeled on the ground and held him there until whoever wasn't presently occupied with Tallyho could join her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Haru Karokav Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: Gwenneth Yuan
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Alone. Alone. Alone. Echoing and spiralling in his mind like an emptiness unable to be filled.

He was going to die alone. Alone, yet surrounded by people.
His own Shadows had turned away from him and they were part of him.
He was turning from himself.

And then the rough texture of another guy's hand grabbing his hand and pulling him upwards.
Not just any guy's, Harper's.
"Sorry I'm late, babe."
Babe. Not the most appropriate of things to call him in public. Especially after the decision to keep what they were doing secret. He hadn't overlooked the whole "Don't Touch My Boyfriend" part.
Still, he felt a surge of affection and something frightfully close to adoration swell in his chest at the sound of those words.
"Thanks." It came out quiet and subdued. He was still shell-shocked at his own dopplëgangers' betrayal.
And then again, a little louder.
"Thank you Harper. I owe you one." Face wet and dirty. Blood and dirt covered his clothes like a blanket. He looked like a shadow of himself...(if you pardon the pun.) And not a particularly good looking shadow at that.

When he let go of his hand there was a moment where Xabier wanted to grab it back. Just to feel the closeness again. The moment passed and he strengthened his resolve. No more of these thoughts. He was a bloody man for Goddess's sake! It was not the time for him to go sappy.
Picking up the Bo staff instead he braced himself to fight a little more.....


-----------


It was over so fast yet the seconds felt like little eternities. The voices of the spectators and the Guardians all melded into one large loud buzz. He struggled to keep himself standing tall. The final push had been spectacular, electric bolts combined with water covering the new wave of Cycopeans leaving the clearing covered in black gems.
Everyone had worked hard.
Kyle and Tallyho had made the final devastating blow while everyone else had chipped away valiantly in one-on-one fights.
It wasn't perfect but it had worked.
It was all thanks to Autumn that dealing with the next few Cyclopeans were manageable.
He'd need to thank her later.

Watching as Tallyho hit the ground, Xabier paused for a split second.
Whatever he did could cause more damage. Moving her the wrong way could be dangerous.
There was no question whether or not he'd help her.
His body moved on its own.

Titling her head back gently to open up airways while readying to turn her on her side in case she vomited, Xabier acted with his usual care.
For the moment no one was around her and he couldn't leave her alone.
Harper's actions had opened up his heart again. No one deserved to be alone.
And when he felt abandoned by everyone including himself there was still someone who helped him up.
Surely he could never leave anyone in pain alone.

He had acted selfishly in the aftermath of the fire and had pushed others away. It would take some time to forgive himself while holding no hope for forgiveness from the others. But he wouldn't give up on the things that made him happy to gain acceptance.

"You did a good job." He told her quietly. There was more he wanted to say, but he knew he would never say it.
"We won because of you."
His fingers pressed on the place between the ear and the neck, trying to get her to wake up.

"Gwen, can you keep an eye on Tallyho, please? If you're not busy." He called over to the Healer.
Maybe he was being stupid but he had recently felt a vibe that Tallyho disliked him for some reason.
It'd probably be for the best if Gwen looked after her instead. That and he knew that Gwen would be far more helpful.
No drama. No problemo.

He never claimed to be all knowing, in fact, people passing out under extreme circumstances were usually directed on to more experienced doctors. The basics were simple: place the patient lying straight, legs slightly elevated and most importantly on their side in case of vomiting. Try to wake them without smacking them or throwing water on them. Ya know, common sense. However, this collapse was triggered by overuse of magical powers and he was completely untrained in this situation.
If she didn't wake up after a minute or two, he would start to worry.
"Tallyho? Are you feeling better?" She needed to regain consciousness herself before he could move her anymore.
Goddess knows what kind of damage is done.

Harper was also caught up in his own private nightmare. But Harper had Ondine. He was being well looked after.
Xabier knew that leaving him made him a bad boyfriend but he'd make it up to him later.

His eyes flicked from Tallyho still lying there, to his boyfriend having a panic attack in his Guardian's arms and then to all the other worn out faces. He wanted to be able to split into multiple people so he could help them all. (The irony wasn't overlooked.)

Waiting until he was certain that she had someone with her to keep an eye on her,
the Spaniard quickly moved across to help Nikita with Kyle.
"Is he alright? Is he breathing? Heart beat? Temperature?" It was followed with a longer series of fast medical questions while he went about checking the face of who he had once considered his best friend. What had changed, he wasn't entirely sure and he would have to find out at a better time. None of that mattered right now. Xabier was in his "Doctor Mode".
All feelings and thoughts other than health were unnecessary.
"Sorry." He smiled weakly, a little of his tiredness showing on his face. He had presumed too much.
"I meant to ask, would you like some help?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Ryou Zerinn
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(Note: This post is meant to move things along plot-wise. This plot-moving portion was suggested by Lauren herself and planned by her as well. I've just written it because God knows why. )

Things were moving now, the awkward but momentarily lull after the battle whisked away as medics hurried onto the scene, collecting the unconscious and wounded and prodding at those still standing as if to make sure that they too wouldn't suddenly collapse. Dorian allowed Tallyho to be carried away, satisfied with his work even if his handkerchief was in dyer need of a wash or two. Or ten. Regardless, he stuffed the piece of fabric back into his pocket- more because his clothes were a lost cause at this point and a little Tallyho-snot and extra blood couldn't ruin anything- and, waved off the ministrations of a nearby medic who retreated with some relief (Dorian liked to pretend it was because he didn't want to drag someone as tall as Dorian off, but deep down he knew with the amount of Cyclopean blood drenching his body wasn't helping his natural resting bitch face).

The walk this time was incredibly dissimilar to what they had endured the first time guards tried to take them anywhere. There were no jeering crowds, no pitying stares, no being sandwiched between two knights apparently intent on keeping you from having personal space. The atmosphere was lighter, loud and joyous, and the jeers had transformed into whoops of joy and shrieks of triumph. It was unnerving to feel like the center of the crowd's attention as one of the few month warriors still walking on his own, and he ducked his head. That didn't take the attention off him per say, but at least he didn't have to see anyone that way.

"Cheer up, Dorian. Wear your victory proudly, Mr. March Warrior," Ryou's hand was on his shoulder, even if his eyes were dancing over the crowd, searching for familiar faces. It occurred to Dorian then and only then how desperate Ryou must be right now having been locked in prison without any contact with his child, his students. The grip on his shoulder suddenly tightened and Dorian followed Ryou's gaze, picking through the crowd until he saw a blotches of pink and white suspended next to each other, waving frantically. Karma was perched on Liam's shoulders, probably shouting something indecipherable and Mori on Dae's, unmistakable tracks of fat tears of relief pouring down his pale cheeks. Ryou's grin was now blinding and Dorian couldn't help but crack a smile of his own.

When they arrived at the safe house, Dorian's destination was clear. He made a bolt for the bathroom practically diving into the heated water to wipe the gore off of his body. God, this was what he missed most- cleanliness and not smelling like he'd taken up volunteering at the local slaughterhouse. The prominent beginnings of a beard were shaved away leaving only one errant knick in his haste. Dressed in new clothes- and damn if they didn't feel better than any Armani suit or Versace shirt ever did (that was an absolute lie, but Dorian felt the occasion called for some exaggeration)- he finally allowed himself to sit down, eat, and to accept the fact that his muscles would never stop feeling sore.

The days passed swiftly until a certain nervous energy began plucking at the air. Maybe it was because something awful always happened when Dorian finally had time to put his feet up, but he couldn't find it within himself to simply relax. This feeling was heightened when Haru disappeared for a day with politics on his mind and hopes heightened by their victory. Ryou himself was about as badly off if not worse, lingering near the window during the day and tossing and turning at night. It seemed no matter how pleasant the housing, being separated from his students, his children was now nearly unbearable after catching a glimpse of them.

That was until the day of relocation when Karma burst into the house, rushing into Ryou's arms like a pink blur, Mori not far behind with Dae and Liam, lingering back with the sudden onslaught of affection from Kyle but only for a moment before joining in on the massive group hug. Dorian had to look away, not sure if it was out of his own reservations about PDA when Ryou started peppering their faces with kisses and seemed unwilling to let any of them more than a foot away from him or if it was to give them privacy as Mori quietly sobbed against Ryou's side and Dae and Liam clung to Ryou's hands fiercely. The older two separated after some time and congratulations were apparently in order for the month warriors and didn't it feel damn good to have people who had taught them, who had watched them grow into the people they were today, praising what they'd done?

He followed Haru without any hesitation, taking up his default position by Tallyho's side until they arrived at their destination. A grand gate loomed over them and he took a moment to marvel at it before they were approached by their guide.

Mildred certainly made an impression. Small in stature, she dominated the space she stood in with her bold outfit leaving him suitably impressed by the fact that she'd designed it herself (no one should be that surprised- he knew his designers with all of the expertise of someone who had unlimited access to far too many fashion magazines and who also had to dress a man whose idea of formal wear included a bright yellow shirt and an vivid, polka-dotted orange tie unironically).

She played tour guide with an immense amount of expertise, leading them through Ve Marie's castle with an onslaught of information as if to make sure that they were appropriately amazed and humbled by being able to see within the castle's walls. And it was magnificent, no doubt about it, and for the first time in a long time Dorian let himself simply enjoy the experience. It was clearly the creme de la creme of Airian society, unnecessarily extravagant but serving its purpose of grandeur.

The music was the first thing to distract Dorian from Mildred's monologue. He may have been able to purposefully ignore the delightful scents wafting from the dining hall with all sorts of meats and sweets to tempt and tease the palate coquettishly, but he would never be able to ignore the strains of what was unmistakably a violin dancing with the strains of a harpsichord. There was a third sound as well, a delicate almost fragile melody of not-quite-words intertwining with the music, like a small bird tittering away in a high but pleasing tune. Even if they hadn't stumbled upon the room (or not stumbled- Mildred would never do anything so frivolous as stumble), he would have spotted the singer instantaneously, just as petite and sweet looking as her voice as a blush rose on her cheeks.

He shouldn't have been surprised that she was a princess, but he felt perfectly justified in his shock that she was related to General Cress. The thought was pushed aside for a time as the lady-like impression Princess Morgan so dutifully gave off shattered with her exuberant whoops(although Dorian wasn't exactly sure how good any of them came off if General Cress was the one telling the story) and excited gesticulations. She seemed more a child than anything, but that wasn't bad. In fact, it was rather pleasant and absolutely charming given the people he'd been dealing with up until now. It was, however, completely overwhelming for someone to act as if they were actually heroes, not a ragtag group of often bickering and dramatic young adults who just barely survived everything that ever happened to them.

She was begging now to take them on her own tour, an insider's look at the palace, and who were they to refuse? When her wish was granted, she swept out of the room movements too excited to be graceful as they started on Grand Tour: The Sequel. Except, of course, it wasn't too terribly grand. For all of her enthusiasm, her mind was scattered, jumping from one subject to another in an eternal game of hopscotch. Here she went on about her favorite hiding place as a child, just perfect for hiding from nurses and maids before her mind wandered to a particular vase that she'd nearly broken once. They spent the majority of the tour in the gardens once more, Morgan dancing through the foliage like a particularly distracted fairy, stories trailing off into new ones and points half made. While it wasn't nearly as educational as Mildred's dutiful recounting of the castle, it was infectiously fun.

The tour bled into dinner where they were presented with a meal far grander then they were used to although not as large as one would assume when dining with royalty. Of course, to be fair they shouldn't have been eating with the Princess- she'd simply refused to leave. Morgan plopped down between Mori and Karma seemingly finding kindred spirits in the two children who had only just now agreed to let go of Ryou after clinging to him all day, although her conversation carried over to anyone and everyone who would listen. It was nice, for once, and Dorian found himself speaking slightly more than usual, adding an odd comment every once in a while between carefully cutting up his meal (and wasn't it something to have different spoons for soup and dessert) and idly pushing any and all banya products from his plate to Tallyho's.

The evening came to a close as they were dropped off at what Mildred had dubbed "the stair room", with instructions on how to find their rooms. The rooms were for individuals, a luxury that no one had known to expect, although some chose to stay in their rooms together, like Karma who refused to leave Ryou's side and the Academy Three who were about as likely to sleep alone as Dorian was to, say, have coffee with a Cyclopean. He hated coffee. Then and only then did Princess Morgan leave their side, cheerfully calling out goodnights until she disappeared from sight.

Most retreated to their rooms automatically, drawn by the promise of soft beds and clean sheets. Others lingered, socializing as they pleased even as the night wore on. Soon it was late, the moon high in the sky and the stars twinkling and illuminating the sky.

It was after tucking Karma in and waiting a moment until soft snores began to emanate from her small body that Ryou left his room. He made his way silently down one of the halls housing the guest rooms, rubbing tired eyes as he passed by closed doors. His destination wasn't that much of a surprise as he stopped outside Haru's room, raised hand hesitating for almost a moment before knocking gently against the door. As much as sleep called to him promising him his first restful sleep in ages now that he had his children back, he'd seen the nervous look on Haru's face, the strain pulling at his friend and, as with all things Haru, he wasn't able to resist.

Dorian too had strayed from his rooms, but for something far more pleasant. He'd been with Tallyho, her room illuminated by candlelight and the artificial glow of his cellphone. It was only a quick trip, at first, to check in on how she was settling in and to get a charge for his phone, but he'd quickly been drawn into their art game as they scrolled through the saved images on his phone. But now it was getting late, both already letting out a chorus of yawns until the call of sleep seemed unavoidable.

"Right again. Vincent Van Gogh," he nodded, exiting the screen from the swirling "Starry Night" painting. He sat up from his place on her bed, stretching broadly, fighting against lingering aches and pains. "And that'll be all for tonight. Get some sleep, Tallyho." The advice fell on deaf ears, Tallyho having fallen asleep sometime after giving her last answer. He smiled briefly, pulling the covers of her bed over her before blowing out the candle. The room was still eerily bright from the moon peeking in from the window as he made his way to the door only to hear… Only to hear something outside. He paused, an ear to the door. Was it someone? Yes, it was. It sounded like someone pacing up and down in a tight circle outside the door. What in the world…? Should he wait for them to leave if only to avoid having to talk to someone else?

Nope, he decided as he fought back another yawn. With any luck he'd make it by the person with nothing more than a cursory "hello, goodbye" and be in his room before it. Besides, it was probably just another one of the month warriors or guardians trying to tire themselves out before bed. With that in mind, he moved to the door, opening it slowly, eyes searching for the nighttime pacer if only to better avoid running into them.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Aria Delaine Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel
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/I want you, Autumn, Kyle, and Tallyho to get on a platform and come up for the second wave. Tell the others to hold ground.\
/Yes, sir.\

"Ouff..." Lillian muttered as she was stumbled into by Haru, clenching the wall she leaned on tightly to keep her balance. Her look of absolute calm faded with a sharp glance at the other Guardian in obvious confusion and concern, until she caught the glint of his eyes regaining a sense of self. Humm. She remembered that look and the feeling that came with it well, and not just on anyone (all though, like Haru, they weren't insignificant by any means) - but specifically, herself. That had been a long time that talking verbally was scarce in asking others assistance or announcing plans or anything really. It was good to see Falke seemed to have worked his rather small achieved chunk of September's gifts enough in order to use it in the midst of battle successfully, even though that hit on his head early that she'd caught the end of with an inward sympathetic wince hadn't helped him much she suspected. “Alright let’s lower a platform.” Lillian nodded, moving to aid Haru and other guardians near the cranks to help haul up the warriors that were called up for the second wave.

Falke back-pedaled from his latest kill, blowing a shaky, hot breath, whirling his weapon into a defensive hold, as he collected his bearings to the direction of the platform and the others' scattered mental activity. He took off shortly in a painful, gimping, but ground-covering lope toward the wall, even as he called on his mental powers with a struggle to be heard over the ringing in his head.

/Tallyho, Autumn, Kyle: Get to the platform and come up for the second wave.\
/Everyone else hold ground!\

"FALKE! TALLYHO! AUTUMN! KYLE!"

Falke arrived the last at the platform, struggling against the soapy muck sticking to his boots and water weighing down armor and clothes alike, hauling himself unto it with a grunt of pain and wistful snarl of the sheer effort on his lips. The damped wood of the platform creaked and groaned as it began steadily moving upward, and it wasn't long until they had reached the top of the wall. Uneasily, he swung himself over the lip, with careful emphasis as he landed of not putting any more weight than necessary on his bad left leg with its' tattered and splintered brace and screaming muscles and achingly sore bones. Tilting his head to listen with a painful wince of focusing over his own weariness and exhaustion and others' similar thoughts and emotions weighing heavy on his mind on Haru as he pointed and divided out orders.

“Do exactly what you were doing down there but without the fighting part. Focus more.”

Falke nodded warily in ascent, stalking back to lean against the wall, hands gripping tight the stony lip. He looked for all the world to be resting from the battle, but the reality as he scowled down from above on the battle like a particularly cranky gargoyle, sightless eyes looking bemused as they floated here or there, focusing for a moment before moving on, he was bringing his passive mental powers (what little he had) up to play more, without the added distraction of being killed. Quelching the doubts of his power on the back burner, and focused.

It was much easier than he had imagined, a floating, ethereal short of feeling, of moving around in the minds of those fighting, those trying to eat them, and relaying the viable or worth wild information back to Haru. He'd always had a sharper will and resulting knack for the physical training he supposed, especially with how comfortable he'd become with using his weapon and love of fighting despite his disability. He'd worked hard to be able not to just rely on these supposed mental powers eventually becoming more useful than knowing the latest gossip before everyone else or knowing anyone's else secrets (sometimes before they themselves knew they had one, or more), and just kicking in to save him one day. But now with a couple steadying breaths, not busy worrying about being eaten, and ignoring the slight but growing pressure beating on the instead of temples; his abilities were proving to be a little more useful.

On, and on, and on the battle went, until...
Falke paled, blinking in shocked disbelief as he intently glanced with as much focus as he could toward the dark hills in the distance. He didn't have any words to really describe it for Haru, because all he were the screams of 'little' cyclopean trampled underfoot - it was big and it was coming. Nor did he really need to speak as a growing sense of panic and dread was emitted from those of the city, as the top of this monstrosity head rose above the hills in the distance, coming closer, and visually becoming a larger threat. No one would appreciate a running commentary of what they could see for themselves.

“Call them all back!"
/Fall back! Get to the platform now!\

When the others finally returned to the top of the wall, the behemoth moved closer, crushing its' shrieking brethren beneath its' massive appendages with each heavy, lingering step. He could hear as much as feel Tallyho's thick, snob-covered sobs of anguish of pulling herself and her energy together, but did not dare give her anything more than the presence of mind, in order not to distract her; Kyle's wavering confidence and determination as exhaustion pulled hard at his abilities for his attention, but like Tallyho he did not offer any what he deemed distracting support (not that the April warrior would even bother to listen for some absurd reason); and Haru's howling commands.

In a magnificent finale of a climactic battle: Water roared. Nearly invisible electricity crackled. The bang of the cannon, and wiz of the cannon ball careening through the air, striking its target dead in the center with a thundering thud. Then the shattering of the beast, shards sleeting down in an oddly beautiful crystalline melody. It was over, they had all managed to survive.

A select few of the Month Warrior group was left standing, while others crumpled into unconsciousness via sheer exhaustion of battle fatigue or overwhelming use of their powers sapping them of their strength, and/or more pressing concern like an open, bleeding red, red human blood, wounds causing their falls. Falke was one of those that had remained barely staying upright, exhausted from the battle and strenuous use of his abilities, but had not moved to help like some who were still able could and did. Frankly he did not think he would have been able to if he tried...

His eyes were impossibly wide, glinting in confused, fearful, and silent agony, air in their depths. With the start of the sudden, wild roar of hope and disbelief from the entirety of Ve Marie, followed continuously by joyous cheers and shrieks of triumph, at the battles' conclusion; came the influx of similar to his own emotions and thoughts without a purpose of being use for some rhyme or reason, bashed into his open mind, hard. He supposed he'd opened himself to much, and overextend his abilities. It was hard enough to remember himself as Falke, instead of so-in-so, crammed and pressuring in terrific migraine that would make anyone's sanity run for the hills; but it was bad enough to mask the soreness of his bad leg, and the ringing blow on his head that would no doubt bruise in time he suspected.

In short order, things began moving as medics hurried onto the scene to collect the unconscious and too wounded to walk and prodded at those still standing so see if they too wouldn't suddenly collapse on the walk to a place of rest. Falke as battered as he was physically and felt mentally, waved off the ministrations of a medic, not wanting any contact to inspire anymore of the painful hiccup he was already experiencing due to his powers. He gimped an uneasy, weary gait, between the guards that gave him personal space quite unlike there first time. Head down, and teeth gritted in a snarl hidden under pursed lips, as they made their way through the crowd, trying to collect his scattered mind and ignore the celebration of being a 'hero' of the city folks around them.

Arriving at the safe house, Falke had managed to calm himself down enough to have enough presence of mind necessary for a bath to clean him of the blood, sweat, and grime from the battle, and dress himself in fresh, clean clothes. Before passing out in an uneasy slumber, too queasy to attempt to eat anything as of yet...

---

To say things were getting better for every warrior over the three days of rest would have been an understatement. Certainly the better treatment, living conditions, food, and the ability to a much needed bath; definitely helped, no doubts about it. But Falke found himself struggling to remain silent as he hid what felt at times a fading of his sanity.

What could only be truly described as the result of an overextending on his grasp of his mental powers during the battle of the Flock. It was having too many others' reckless thoughts and emotions running rampant, and doubling his own mindset's similar thoughts and emotions with each recurring person. Twelve had already felt like too much rattling around in one head, but then considering the addition of the few Guardians their group contained thus far and the various Cyclopean on top of that, AND then... The crowd, nigh the whole city of Ve Marie in all reality, had roared in exhilaration and disbelief that the battle had been won by beating the monstrosity and the month warriors were officially back. Nor, he supposed, did his battered head with a bruised temple ending with a sweep into a black eye, and likely concussion to match, did not help matters much either.

It was like having PTSD in a matter of speaking plainly. Not that his thoughts and emotions would have normally bothered him so drastically to feel like he was losing himself and his mind. All though he wouldn't have put himself past the stray nightmare or two after the fact, if thinking honestly about what they had all gone through. But the sheer struggle of having so many similar post traumatic thoughts and emotions of everyone from the battle still lingering fresh on his mind, having not petered off like they hopefully would have by now, that felt horrible to have to experience over, and over, and over again. He didn't know what to do to fix himself, except silently suffer through it, riding it out like a bad migraine, and hope it would get better over time. Oh, bloody hell, really, what other disorder would be able to match quite as well to magic power issues from another world suck sometimes on the disorder list other than that.

There was an odd flutter of his shoulders, a repressed jerking spasm of anxiety, and twittering, clasping repeatedly into a fist, fingertips, that wasn't uncommon now in the three days after the battle. It was the only way his roughly PTSD condition came out was by quivering muscles, being that he had had learned quickly to bite his tongue over the shuttering, pitiful moans that had occurred with them at first (right after one of the first haunting nightmares, very difficult to ignore or forget for hours afterword). However, he mostly put it off that he'd stepped off wrong on or hit his bad leg again, or a breeze had just caught him right for some jitters, only if anyone brought it up after noticing it and asked him about it. A white lie or two seemed a higher alternative than saying he felt he was losing himself, during the effort to regain his own mind again. Otherwise, Falke kept to himself, quiet, and avoiding any additional attention.

On the day of relocation, Haru had disappeared out the door with political purpose on his mind, and the Academy three (well, the three Elites that were still with them) and Karma returned shortly after there departure - Falke found himself reluctantly trying to force himself out of the room where he'd hid himself and his shaking issue for most of the day, under the guise of not feeling up to standing on his feet more than need-be at a given time, to give them a warm nod of a greeting from afar and a thankful murmur in return for the praises for what they had done the older two gave. It wasn't long before Haru returned, rounded everyone up for another escorted walk until they arrived at a grand gate.

Mildred certainly made an verbal impression at the very least. She played a smart and well put together tour guide extremely well as she discussed the history of the palace grounds with an astute and studied air. But the talk of unnecessarily extravagant but grand enough for its' purpose to awe and humble of the architecture, especially the two sets of bloody staircases, was wearing thin on him. Or, a better use and precision of language would instead discuss how he knew a shuddering episode would come soon and despite the finer materials used to construct a new splint around his leg to aid his walking (it really got sore after a while, truthfully).

The music was the first thing to distract Falke from Mildred's and his own internal monologue. The sweet sounds of violin stings humming and the harpsichord twinkling, dancing together with a fragile but pretty voice intertwining with the musical instruments in a high but easy on the ears tune. As they appeared at the edge of the room near the song's end, the singer was introduced as Princess Morgan. Her lady-like impression and carefully articulated words fell flat quickly, as she exuberantly whooped and darted into a display of the story of the battle like an comic character.

Then she begged to take them on the tour, and while it wasn't nearly as educational as Mildred's dutiful recounting, he thought it was just as tiring if not more so by her wandering thoughts, and varied stories. Falke found himself slowly but surely gimping further behind than the main group, the lagging tail of the comet as it were. Wordlessly, he would catch up until as they started moving on again to the next distracted lead would take them.

Eventually the tour bled into dinner, with the Princess refusing to leave and offering cheerful continued conversation with anyone who would continue. Falke obliged not to join, and remained silent - as he carefully cut up his meal into bite sized pieces, and enjoying the ability to be able to sit down for a time without being required to move any further. Having finished his meal, he waited for their next destination after everyone else finished their own plates, hands clenching and fingers shaking (thankfully his shoulders didn't feel like joining them, this time) as they were hidden under the table.

The evening ended as they were dropped off at the stair room, with instructions on how to find to find their rooms, rooms for individuals. After a painful, but steady climb, Falke retreated to his own room automatically. The promise of soft beds, clean sheets, getting off his feet, and out of the presence of 'people'; were expressly inciting for him, especially given that any amount of sleep would be nice - knowing full well a handful of nightmares was always a possibility...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Autumn Jones
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Nothing more than expected, she said and didn't elaborate before changing the subject. Something involving fear, anger, disgust and disrespect most likely. Nikita sighed. She also had her share of those experiences before, but Lillian didn't want to talk about it obviously, just like Haru and Ryou didn't want to talk about why they weren't talking to each other. Was it really nosy to want to know why people she liked were upset? Of course, she never told any of them why she was upset before arriving in Rose Kingdom or why she couldn't sleep the weeks they spent in jail. She turned her face away and squeezed her eyes shut to force the memories back. Eventually she submitted to Lillian's subject change and accepted the compliments on her light green dress. She smiled lightly and finished her drink, passing it off to a server. Nikita shrugged a little in response to Lillian asking if she enjoyed herself. "It's nice but I think I would enjoy it more in a previous life."

Falke offered to take the drinks off his hands and let him dance, and Kyle flushed a little. Of course the guy who could read minds would know more than anyone else. At the same time, he knew he hadn't been paying much attention to Falke lately and they were supposed to be friends. Falke probably wasn't enjoying himself much either. Attention was never something he seemed to want.

The younger blond turned back to Skylar. He flushed slightly more pink and met her light blue eyes with a soft, cherishing smile. In that moment he caved, passing off the glasses of alcohol to either Falke or a passing server. Once his hands freed, he reached out to stroke her face just under her ear. Uncertainly he curled his fingers back at the last minute. Then he bent slightly and grasped her hand instead, lifting it to kiss the top. All the while, he never turned from her face. When would he have another chance like this?

The moment didn't last long enough. Xabier's voice broke through his mind and he gripped Skylar's hand tighter, looking up to the Spaniard with a glare. The interruption was not appreciated.

In some ways he was still angry with his prior friend, but he did open the door for him to act like a friend again and talk. Efforts had been made to restore the relationship, but Kyle still didn't think he could trust him, because he still avoided the subject of why they separated in the first place. That was the most important step forward. Only by knowing the why can he understand what to do in the future.

Still, his anger didn't linger as he watched Xabier and Autumn drift away with Morgan for an impromptu dance class. He gave a chuckle. Morgan's absolute joy in being around people infected him too. Despite the Spaniard's awkward presence, he really wanted to join them, but he couldn't force Skylar into something she wouldn't enjoy. His flush deepened a little more and he swallowed, but managed to say, "Are you sure you don't want to dance? Will you dance with me?"

If she wanted to dance, Kyle would be an eager dance partner, but if not, they could take a walk in the gardens outside and Falke would also be invited, if he wanted to get away. Either way, at the end of the night, he could honestly say he enjoyed himself. He had a chance to spend time with Skylar he didn't before.

Unfortunately, the next day left his brief happy memories of the party in the dust. It felt like the day they were locked up, but worse. Instead of just Haru and Nikita poking at him, a host of strangers were doing it. This time he couldn't hide or shrug off the panic. Trembling and sweating, he shook off the latest set of prodding hands. "Need air," he gasped and fled to the gardens. Once outside he nearly collapsed against one of the fountains, clinging for dear life. "Safe. not prison." There he remained, trying to get himself back together.

He had to change his shirt before submitting to the final touches on his ceremonial uniform. Because of that, he arrived a little late to the rehearsal, getting a glare from Mildred. He flushed and pulled his collar, but made extra effort in paying attention to the frenetic little woman's directions. His tasks seemed easy enough, but he also flinched at the order not to sneak away. A gilded cage. Could he really keep from freaking out? He didn't have pleasant memories of this Harbringer either. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. It's almost over. Almost over.

After that trial, they dispersed to two separate rooms. That went by fairly well, even though Kyle ended up stuck in a room with Harper for an hour. He hadn't been acting the fool as much lately, but he still was a selfish bastard who can't be trusted. Skylar, Tallyho, and Dorian were pleasanter company. Because of the selfish bastard's earlier snubbing of Skylar,-He would never forgive Harper for that- Kyle remained protectively close and offered her anything she asked for from the table. He personally was disappointed in the lack of fish, which seemed ridiculous considering it was more like a buffet than the snack table Mildred called it.

While things were calm, he looked over to Tallyho and Dorian and caught part of the conversation. He unfortunately wasn't paying enough attention to know that Dorian went anywhere last night, but Tallyho did and asked the March Warrior about it. Dorian answered that he saw a new part of the Rose Kingdom. When and how did he do that? Kyle wished he could find a way to get out of this gilded cage and look around. "Where did you go?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez
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The dance was probably the most fun he'd had in a long time.

Gregarious setting where he could still flit from person to person and get his own space if need be? No politics to worry about? Drinks all around?

Harper reveled in it.

At some point he sauntered over to Xabi and the others, (the fact that Morgan was with them certainly not playing into his reasoning) and danced first with Skylar, very briefly with Morgan, and then not long enough with Xabi.

And he got drunk. Oh so drunk. It took every ounce of will-power not to make-out with every person present.

Flirting, however, was a free for all, and he did so with everyone in his drunken, blurry sight.

The next day brought a hangover like a hammer. The kind only coffee could control. Or the closest thing they had to it. A bitter drink that was more tea than anything, but Harper downed it and drank water like a fish as people ferreted around him, sticking him with pins other sharp things as they fitted his suit.

It was a nice suit. A tailcoat. Greens and blues like the ocean, a gradient from top to bottom growing darker and darker with a shiny, pearl-ish fabric for the foam on the waves that sprayed up against his shoulders, which greatly resembled a certain Japanese woodblock print. The buttons were of actual pearl, and smaller grains of them dotted the shirt underneath in vertical columns. His hair was parted and tamed with a sap stronger than any hair-gel he'd ever used back home. Each curl and wave perfectly situated.

He felt like an art piece. He wanted to walk right into the MoMA and present himself for gallery viewing. Even his shoes were snappy, so dark a blue they were almost black, with even smaller pearls across the tongue. After the outfit had been complete, he'd immediately bee-lined for Xabi, showing off the coat, and dropping compliments with not so subtle innuendos to the younger boy.

Edna Mode ruined the mood with instructions. Sip don't gulp. Raise your hands in the air like you just don't care. But actually care this time. Don't run away and don't ruin your clothes.

And then they were divided. And whatever euphoria Harper had felt at the snappy clothes and Xabi were immediately dashed as he was shuffled off into a room with the kid who's only wish seemed to be for his demise.

I don't like you but since we're stuck with each other we have to work together Harper thought in his head sarcastically, Kyle's voice distorted into an exaggerated mimic, My name's Kyle and I hate your guts and would kill you but I won't. Try to be more like me.

Skylar and Dorian should have made this better, but Dorian was off with Tallyho and his diamond majesty was hovering around his other friend for whatever reason, which only left Gwen, who through all these years he still hardly knew. He was surprised he remembered her name. For the longest time she was just The Asian Girl with the Knife.

If he could switch her out for Xabi this would be perfect.

But perfection rarely comes to those who ask for it, and right now Harper was painfully aware of how excluded he was. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd been spending so much time with Xabi, or if maybe this was how it always was.

But then his eyes focused on Kyle and Skylar. No. This hadn't always been this way. It used to be Harper and Skylar. For three goddamn years it had been Harper and Skylar. And he'd be damned if he let this blond kid with anger problems butt his way in between.

Besides, Kyle probably wouldn't punch him or anything now. That would ruin his clothes. The kid wouldn't want people yelling at him. Or so Harper hoped.

Grin starting on his face, he made up his mind and walked over to Skylar. "I don't want to alarm you," he said, hand on his hip, "But you happen to be in the presence of a great masterpiece. Behold!" He struck a pose, flaunting the jacket, "The Great Wave off Canandaigua! By the brilliant artist Hawkseye!"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Gwenneth Yuan
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If only she had just stopped after the first question.

But she hadn't, and whatever smart-ass response he would have pulled out died in his throat when he heard Xabi's name.

"Wr-wrong? With us?" he repeated, stammering, and laughed. Fake. Defensive. Walls up. Did she know? "There's nothing wrong with us." If anything, it was only the best with them, but he didn't say that.

He leaned as casually as he could against the table of food. "We're just bros...best...best bros."

Of course, with the lack of context that was Tallyho's mind, Harper had no real way of knowing what exactly she was referring to. Even thinking over the question again only brought up their supposedly secret relationship.

"I mean, there's tons of stuff wrong with me," he continued, plucking out some grapes with his tanned fingers, "I think we can all attest to that. He could probably write a book on it," he pointed a finger at Kyle. "But me and Xabi? Nah." He popped a handful of the small fruit into his mouth, shaking his head vigorously, curls dangerously close to coming loose again.

"Nothing wrong there."

He swallowed, and asked, voice still a bit high, but eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. "Why? Do you think something's wrong?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Ryou Zerinn
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His change of topics had apparently worked, Dorian thought victoriously as Tallyho awarded him with a slight smile, her eyes crinkling with contained mirth (he really would have to ask her what in the Hell he'd done that night, even if he was relatively sure it was a secret she'd take to the grave). And in that moment, everything was alright. Not perfect, of course not perfect, with his too-tight pants, the upcoming ceremony, and the fact that there was a palpable tension settling over the room, but sitting here with Tallyho and reminiscing, he felt content. This content feeling lasted all of ten seconds as Kyle's voice interrupted their temporary lull in conversation.

It occurred to Dorian then and only a handful of people wouldn't be particularly surprised that he'd left with Trent last night. Tallyho wouldn't, even if she disapproved, and Haru and Ryou were well aware of the fact that the General preferred Dorian to the rest of the group. There was something sad about the fact that his teammates had no idea what he was up to on a regular basis, and he wasn't sure if that was his fault for not advertising it or theirs for not noticing. Tallyho knew at least, even if he hadn't told her about the first hunting expedition with General Cress. She'd caught his eye at the shocking "hello" he'd given him at breakfast with the royal family, had attempted to do the same again when Trent had chatted him up at the ball for some time before whisking him away to a land of bar fights and booze. He stuffed the thought away, as he did with most of the many unpleasant thoughts involving the group these days, and turned to Kyle to reply.

Or, rather, to try to reply because before he could do much more than open his mouth to speak, Kyle had quite suddenly pushed Harper bodily away from Skylar and Tallyho was grasped onto the moment to say what he knew she'd wanted to say for a long, long time. It was like an intervention had begun in the time it was going to take for the ceremony to start.

Harper's response had Dorian staring at him in disbelief. There was something inherently insulting about Harper's quick and fumbled excuses. This was partially because Dorian considered himself a rather modern thinker who couldn't care less about preferences- and that was even before he'd spent such a long time with Ryou who didn't care to keep his fondness of the male sex any big secret- and also because he wasn't stupid. Did he really think that he and Xabier were that good at keeping it secret? That no one had noticed their little flirtations or that fact that they almost always ran off together? It was about as secret as the fact that Dae and Liam were probably already married or that Haru was constantly on the verge of actually exploding from a combination of anger and stress. Or, you know, maybe it wasn't that obvious if the way Kyle whirled on Harper meant anything. Dorian pulled himself to his feet, not moving towards anyone, but instead poised to react. Also, he realized as he tugged idly at one pant leg, standing was a whole Hell of a lot more comfortable at the moment.

Were they really going to start a fight right before the big ceremony? Really? Couldn't they at least wait until afterwards? No one would give two shits if they did it afterwards- or, you know, Dorian wouldn't give two shits at least-, but someone was sure to start asking questions if two of the month warriors came in with bloody noses or black eyes, and worse if Mildred caught wind of it.

But Tallyho was not to be deterred from her mission to finally tell Harper like-it-was, silencing Kyle with a steely voice and a sharp glare before advancing on Harper herself, her weapons words not fists. She wielded them with all the elegance and practice of one who's been keeping it all in for far too long. Two stabs were for the two people in the room frozen where they stood, Dorian watching in a stunned silence and Skylar biting her lip uncertainly. The rest were for Tallyho and others who had dealt with his antics in the past, a flurry of painful truths and burning hate tumbling from her lips. At last there was silence as Tallyho moved to the snack table, popping a grape absently into her mouth.

Dorian, who'd dealt with all of them long enough to realize that there were approximately three ways Harper could react to Tallyho's accusations if his past records meant anything, smoothly moved to stand in front of the door, leaning against the heavy wood with an elegance that came more from the way his outfit forced his body to move as opposed to any natural grace. The door was their only exit and as much as he'd like the situation to diffuse itself, he couldn't really have anyone storming off in a huff.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Gwenneth Yuan
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(Same warnings as Cirrus vaguely apply. All Harper actions and dialogue dictated by Cirrus because for some reason she trusted me to write this. )

At the moment, Dorian, and he assumed Skylar as well, felt something like a child caught in the midst of a nasty divorce hearing (something he'd never experienced, of course. His own parents' divorce had been done with a clinical detachment and neatness that had probably left more mental scars than a heated custody battle ever could). It was like a disturbingly violent tennis match (or like those poo-flinging monkeys at the zoo) of Harper throwing past situations at Tallyho that Dorian didn't quite imagine as relevant and turning on everyone in the room individually. Well, he was more arguing with Kyle and Tallyho and using Skylar and Dorian as props in his rant.

"I can't call you friend because I don't push my nose into your business?"

Dorian stared at Harper's back as he turned, not giving the March Warrior a chance to answer what he was beginning to suspect was a rhetorical question. It wasn't that he so much objected to Harper not "nosing into his business". That was all well and good, it was the whole having no idea what he was up to that was a bit concerning. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd talked, not even just one-on-one but in a group. Dorian wasn't an expert on friendship or anything, but Harper's Dorian-retort fell flat for him, much like it did for Skylar whose reaction to the "side dish" comment went unnoticed by Harper as well. And then it continued on, a barrage of words and sneered insults. Dorian was beginning to eye the door himself, wondering how far he could make it before Mildred caught him. He paused before deciding that he'd rather face whatever was happening in here.

Skylar, at least, seemed to be on the same wave-length as him, and he really did feel bad for her. Here she was, thrust in the middle of everything without anyone really listening to her leaving her between a rock and a hard place.

Tallyho barely acknowledged her as she rallied again, hurling more barbed insults and bitter truths at the June Month Warrior as the month warrior tradition of never letting anyone else get the last word in continued along. Something electric was in the air, something dangerous that had nothing to do with Tallyho's own powers. He knew what was coming as Tallyho's words continued to slam into their mark, brutalizing the other month warrior. He braced for it like a sailor in an unavoidable storm. Then it struck.

Dorian had always wished that Harper applied trigger warning to the start of his speeches, the ones where he tended to reveal something awful about himself. It didn't have to be much- just a little "Those of you with issues with X, please cover your ears" or more specifically "I'm about to mention awful things that make Dorian uncomfortable like excessively bad parenting and self-hatred- please, leave the room if you are Dorian". But he didn't, which left Dorian feeling a bit sick to his stomach and more than a little upset.

Dorian would be the first to admit that he had issues of his own, even if they weren't as glaringly obvious as, say, Kyle's or Harper's. His abandonment issues would be(and were) a psychiatrist's wet dream(Stephen, as he insisted Dorian call him, often objected to that phrasing but his father thought it was funny so he kept it), he still had vivid nightmares after the two or so months he'd spent wandering Aires when the magic portal had messed up that no one had bothered talking to him about, and his dependency on his phone was becoming incredibly concerning. He just hid it a bit better, but the way Harper was going on made his own level of discomfort rise to the point that it actually became visible. It wasn't pity on his face or sympathy, just pure, distilled discomfort for your viewing pleasure. Dorian's left hand began trailing up the doorknob, groping for it blindly in case he needed to make a quick exit.

The other man, Dorian was well aware, was a complex combination of self-awareness, self-loathing, and overconfidence blended and contained within a confrontational shell with a dash of motor-mouth. This assault was his coup-de-gras so to speak, intended to make anyone who summoned up a reply look like they were kicking a puppy and, if things turned violent, he'd solve his own need for self-punishment without having to actually inflict it himself. This could only end badly.

And it did because Kyle opened his mouth again, and, okay, yeah, Dorian agreed with him to an extent in that you really can't blame others for everything that you did and you had to take responsibility for your actions. But, honestly, disregarding "daddy issues" as Kyle had so eloquently put it wasn't on. Maybe that was Dorian "mommy issues" talking or maybe it was a bit of human decency, but it struck a raw nerve in him. Also, he wasn't quite fond of Kyle talking for him. Yeah, Harper wasn't his favorite person right now, not by a long shot, but he didn't hate anyone on the team, really, although that was clearly subject to change.

And then things got better as Harper shuffled away with a fruit in his hand and a parring knife in the other, apparent content to lick his own wounds instead of retorting or acknowledging Tallyho's final barb. It was surprisingly mature and calm. That should have been Dorian's first clue that something was terribly wrong.

It was hard to see what was happening from his angle, but the startling red that popped into existence was as telling as if he'd seen the knife perform itself.

"Harper!" He barked out, apparently not stunned into silence as he bolted for the sitting man. By the time Harper, all panicked and wide-eyed with fear not of Dorian but that he would stop him, had stopped the cut on his arm prematurely and instead brought the knife to his throat, Dorian was on him, wrestling the knife from his hands amidst Harper's protests of "I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm fucking doing! It's my life, I can do what I want with it! Just let me have this one fucking thing!" along with Dorian's own flurry of "let go, you absolute bastard"s. He put up a powerful fight, wild and frantic like a cornered animal, but Dorian didn't relent. Dorian's palm got sliced open in the melee, tossing the knife across the room until it slid harmlessly against the other wall, ruby red still decorating the blade.

Formal wear was not meant to wrestle in, but Dorian eventually had him pinned, arms tightly wrapped around the shorter man like a vice-grip, effectively pinning the other man's arms to his sides. It was sad that this wasn't the worst hug he'd ever been a part of in his life.

"Why do you even care? Apparently we're not even friends! Why do you even fucking care? If we didn't have the fucking world on our shoulders, you wouldn't even care! I don't even care! Why the fuck do you care?"

Harper was crying now, ugly sobs that wracked his body.

"I care, goddammit! I'd care even if you weren't a month warrior. t don't have to have a reason!" Dorian snarled, tightening his grip. He, quite unlike almost everyone else in the room, didn't feel the need to monologue about his feelings and/or issues. Some things he just didn't feel the need to explain.

"I don't want this. I don't fucking want this anymore. I hate this. I hate this so fucking much."

And Dorian didn't know what to say to that, so instead he held on tighter, one hand rubbing soothing circles on the bawling man's back in mimicry of what his father had always done for him back on Earth. His hand stung- the hand, incidentally, not rubbing Harper's back-, his pants were still too form-fitting for his comfort, his headache was coming back, and he had a sobbing and possibly still suicidal mess in his arms. Today was not his day.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Autumn Jones
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Dorian wasn't quite sure what was more horrific- holding onto the still writhing and sobbing Harper for dear life or Mildred's shrieks of dismay from somewhere behind him. It was a chilling noise, and even if he hadn't heard he words, he would have known the meaning. It was the same shrill scream that children everywhere knew in their primal minds from centuries of mothers (and the occasional father and/or other family member because, really, we must be inclusive) bemoaning ruined clothes and promising a vengeance so cruel that only a parent could have thought of it (such as the horrors of no dessert for a month or, in more extreme cases, personally explaining to Aunt Mildred why exactly you're not wearing that nice outfit she personally bought for you).

Her next words, a sharp demand as to what exactly was happening, had Dorian realize two things at the same time. One, he was liberally smeared with blood that was generally not his own, and, two, he knew exactly what they must look like from Mildred's perspective, Dorian wrestling Harper on the ground while the other man sobbed and bled willy-nilly all over the nice rug that coated the floor. Well, he thought grimly as he opened his mouth to explain, at least his friends back home had just been proven wrong. He could, in fact, look scarier if he tried, if by trying they meant rolling around in a puddle of fresh blood while wrapped around a suicidal and royally-freaking-out person. Which they probably didn't.

He was beaten to the punch when Tallyho stepped in, voice as calm and nonchalant as could be. Dorian found himself staring at her blasé explanation, watching each grape pop into her mouth like she was at a particularly dull dinner party and wasn't currently a few feet away from what had just happened. He pursed his lips and turned his head back towards Mildred. Just because he was fond of Tallyho didn't mean he had to blindly approve of everything she did or how she felt. The fact that Tallyho had never asked him to was probably why they got along so well.

As soon as Mildred swooped in, her task-force of knights following her commands like she was a great general and not just the world's best Mildred, Dorian released Harper, saw him get carted away for medical attention (and he apparently needed it because all of the fight seemed to have drained out of him) before he himself was swept away. He was in a slight daze as they moved, his head throbbing incessantly with his quickly resurfacing headache. His hand was bandaged once, then twice after the blood had soaked through the first white cloth, and the rest of the bloody event was scrubbed from his body quickly and efficiently. Still, he could smell the iron tang lingering in his nose as new clothes were thrust into his arms. They were fine, not nearly as extravagant and lovely as the now sad looking outfit that had been thrown into a corner in their haste to clean him up and make him look presentable. Hair was combed, clothing was replaced, and then he was thrust back in line, standing behind Tallyho and in front of Kyle. Mildred threw one last biting order at them that, really, Dorian didn't find all that necessary at this point (or maybe that was just the twin aches of his head and his hand talking) before they were once more moving into the limelight.

Trumpets were blaring, the room was filled to capacity with very important people all crowded together to see them. Princess Morgan was waving, and he even caught a glimpse of Trent in the crowd (he was decidedly not waving excitedly like his cousin (although, if he had been, Dorian would have been incredibly concerned). There were the Guardians as well and he knew Ryou was trying to catch his eye, but he instead stared resolutely ahead. It was enough to have glimpsed a friendly face, albeit the face of someone who had no idea what had just happened.

Wine was sipped, vows were intoned, and then suddenly there was cheering like they'd actually done something to deserve it. Well, alright, they kind of had what with the whole Flock thing, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Dorian was in a bad mood, all of this noise felt like it was physically hitting him in the head, and he was starting to bleed through his bandage again. Things couldn't get much worse.

That was a lie. That was an absolute lie, Dorian thought miserably as Haru appeared to corral them. Haru was blocking the door, a demand to know what had happened flying sharply from his tongue, paired with a glare so intense that it could set a man on fire at fifty paces. Yes, none of this had technically been Dorian's fault and all he'd done was save Harper's life and keep people from bolting out the door every ten seconds, but under that fury-filled gaze he felt like he'd committed high treason and also maybe kicked a puppy (or a cat, given, well, Haru).

Haru was waiting for an explanation, and Harper's piss-poor shrug of an answer, drowning in enough self-pity and misery that Dorian started glancing around to see if there was another make-shift weapon nearby he had to be concerned about. He held no illusions that Harper was "better", just more exhausted. Xabier was experiencing some kind of tunnel vision, hurrying to Harper's side like they were the only two in the room. Dorian wasn't sure how he was ignoring Haru's gaze or the absolute tension in the room, but the Spaniard apparently could handle it.

Dorian stood there like a statue. It was his only defense. That is, of course, until no one readily answered. He glanced around before Skylar spoke up, voice stained with all the anger and disdain that he was relatively sure she felt at this point. In the insanity that had followed the room incident, he was sure she'd had no comfort after not only being tossed in the middle of things, but also since her best friend was, well... He glanced at Harper and mentally resolved that when they got back- and it was always when now, not if- he'd be sending out some good psychiatric recommendations.

Still, Skylar didn't answer either and there was silence, awkward and painful in that way that tense situations always are. God, his head ached, the blood flow on his hand was only just now slowing into a trickle, and there was enough tension in the room to cut it with a knife- it was thicker than pea soup. Yes. That was a better analogy today.

"There was an argument. I don't know why it started, but Kyle pushed Harper-" Dorian's head shot up at the sudden voice before realizing it was his own. His mouth, however, didn't stop as he continued on, voice pained but persistent, speeding up in an attempt to just get it out there because he didn't want another argument to erupt with Haru this close to physically exploding.

"Then Tallyho suddenly told Harper exactly what she thought of him and then the three of them started arguing with Kyle threatening Harper and Harper and Tallyho monologuing at each other until because all of them wanted to have the last word. Then, I don't know, I guess what they were saying hit too hard, Harper reacted badly, and he tried to..." He trailed off, unwilling to use those words when the suicidal man himself was standing not four feet away, "And I stopped him. Three years worth of animosity finally boiled over and this cluster fuck of an evening happened."

There were parts left out- of course there were. No love triangles were mentioned, no accusatory fingers were pointed at Xabier who'd popped up in conversation more than once, no content of accusations or defenses made themselves known, no mentions were made of what or how Harper cracked. It was boiled down to its essence of harsh words and bad reactions because in Dorian's heart of hearts he thought that everything that had happened after his little conversation with Tallyho was really fucking stupid. Not "idiotic", not "senseless arguing and violence". No. Dorian's head hurt and he'd just barely kept someone from committing suicide. Really fucking stupid was the only way to describe the situation.