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Harper Calloway Fields

I heard this great joke from my sister. Ready? What did one ocean say to the other ocean? ..... Give up? Nothing. They just...WAVED! AHAHAHAHA*snorts*HAHAHAHA!

0 · 2,213 views · located in Aires

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

Description

Image Full Name: Harper Calloway Fields
Age: "I'm feeling twenty-twoooo~ See, it's funny because I am 22..."
Birthday: June 22
Living Situation: Currently living in a small apartment in Boston, MA. Originally from Manhattan, NYC.
Appearance: Harper hovers at 5'11 (and a half). He has dark brown, loosely curly hair that "cannot be tamed" (unless gratuitous amounts of hair gel are used) and naturally tanned skin that only gets darker the more it is exposed to the sun, with the exception of his nose, which, oddly enough, is the only part of his body that gets sunburned, which usually leads to him putting an obnoxious amount of sunscreen on said facial appendage. He has large eyes the color of the sea, switching between blue and green or a combination of both depending on the light and whatever color shirt he is wearing. He has a mouth that smiles easily, with playful dimples and eye crinkles that his sister jokes makes him look old, to which he always reply that they simply "add character". His face overall is very expressive, and he isn't afraid to exercise it, often folding and contorting his face into different expressions, sometimes out of pure boredom. His ears stick out from his face more so than most, and are even more prominent when he wiggles them, a feat he is particularly proud of, next to his whistling. Lately he has been trying out facial hair as a part of his image, though he still shaves regularly.

Due to a lifetime of swimming, his upper body is quite built, his shoulders broad. He has large palms, but his fingers are oddly slender, tapering at the fingertips, and his nails are rounded rather than square. His toes are also fairly long, and he has taken to using them as extra hands, opening doors, picking things up from the floor, and even dressing himself with their assistance. Also due to his swimming, Harper shaves his legs and arms, usually once a week. He once tried applying No-Shave November to his entire body, but realized by the end of it that swimming wasn't the same with all that hair, and from then on only participated with facial hair.

Harper usual dressing style is casual with just a hint of "prep", stemming from his well-to-do background. He still shops at Hollister and American Eagle when he can afford it, and almost always wears flip-flops unless there is more than an inch of snow on the ground, in which case he will consider wearing sneakers. He always wears a shark tooth necklace, and is often seen with a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his curly hair.

Personality: Harper is a loud, blunt, often obnoxious, sometimes funny, happy-go-lucky jokester of a guy (or at least he likes to think so). Typically people find him a bit of an asshole, due to his off-the-hand, typically insulting remarks, along with his tendency to speak before thinking, yet he still has a charismatic charm that helps keep him out of too much trouble. He has a penchant for puns and bad jokes, often finding them hilarious and liable to blurt them out whenever he finds opportunity to, regardless of whether he has anyone's approval or not. Whenever he finds a really good one, he finds himself unable to keep the pun or joke to himself and will share it with the world out loud. He is present-minded, having little regard for the future or what it may hold and instead lives in the moment, milking each minute for what it's worth. This has landed him in many sticky situations, often with the local police. He is good at improvising, lying, and telling stories (real and fake, and both with much exaggeration), and talks quickly and expressively, usually with his hands. He curses often, and has a tendency to make up curses, which may or may not always make sense.

Harper doesn't like being told what to do, which has often been problematic in the job department. He enjoys making decisions for himself, good and bad, regardless of the consequences. He is impatient, hates waiting and is very efficiency-based, hating redundancies despite it being protocol. He's always had difficulty with writing and reading in particular, but school overall he found boring. He is a very tactile person, having made several mechanical animals with moving parts that double as music boxes without any prior training. While he has worked a lot with metal, lately he has been delving into wood, creating his own furniture out of scrap pieces he collects off the side of the road. However, much of what he makes he does for his own enjoyment, and hasn't been successful in selling any of his creations because he doesn't market himself. He has a love for motorbikes, often getting arrested for taking them out on joyrides. He also enjoys musicals, having gone to many when he still lived in NYC, and has many of the soundtracks memorized. He also enjoys pop-songs, and is a bit of a pop-culture junky himself. While he doesn't know how to play any musical instruments, he does have a good singing voice if he tries. His dancing isn't half-bad either. And, of course, he is a very strong swimmer, and takes a daily swim in the Boston Harbor every morning. He suffers from a crippling fear of heights, and as such has never traveled by plane, climbed a tree, or ridden any amusement park ride (except for carousels). He also doesn't do any sort of diving from more than 6 feet above the water.

Background: Harper is the oldest of two children born to two very affluent New Yorkers in the heart of Manhattan. His father is a lawyer and his mother inherited her father's business. Born into a socialite party, Harper learned manners and protocols at a very early age. He never had to worry about money, and was typically given whatever he wanted. His parents were rarely home, however, and he spent a large amount of time with his younger sister, Sadie, whom he adores to this day. His prowess for swimming and tinkering was evident ever since he was very young, however his father took the former more seriously and paid for a personal coach in hopes that Harper would compete professionally, perhaps in the Olympics. Harper performed very well in competitive swimming, participating in every year of his schooling and placing well in Regional competitions. However, although his schoolwork was always average, in high school his grades dropped severely, something that his parents were both unhappy about, particularly his father, who punished Harper by refusing to allow him to participate in swimming that year. This only caused his grades to drop more, and after he was rejected by every college he applied to, his father threatened him with military school when he was 17.

Scared, Harper ran away that night and took a train to Boston. He didn't contact his parents for four years, only calling Sadie. He lived in an "unbelievably crappy" studio apartment with cheap rent for most of his time in Boston, only recently upgrading to a "slightly less crappy" single bedroom. His on and off job has been working as a Chinese Take-Out Bicycle Delivery boy (since he has no car), and even though his boss has fired him multiple times, he has also rehired him just as many times because Harper, despite the numerous times he has had to bail him out of jail and his terrible backtalking, is still his fastest delivery boy, even on a bicycle. In the past year, he reconnected with his parents on accident after Sadie purposely steered him towards them during one of her cello concerts. The relationship has still been very shaky, but he now calls them every now and then and will begrudgingly speak with them when Sadie forces him to. Right now he is in New York City for another one of Sadie's concerts.

So begins...

Harper Calloway Fields's Story

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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Surprisingly, Harper found himself initially immobile after Haru left. His original plan was to bolt for the door as soon as it was clear they were over.

In fact, he didn't realize he was still in the room until about a minute after Haru left. He could have sworn he'd already left the room, rather than just imagining it.

With a strong sniff and one final swipe of his hand, he swallowed thickly and stood up, eyes still red and watery, but tears no longer rolling down in streams.

Wordlessly he walked across the room to the door. When he reached the door jamb, he paused. Took a shaky breath, as if he might say something to Kyle and Tallyho. Perhaps an apology was on the cusp of his tongue. But old habits were difficult to break, and after a few seconds of just standing there looking like he might talk, he ended up leaving the room entirely without so much as a spoken farewell.

He didn't think mingling in the ballroom would help much, but he didn't expect it to suffocate him so much. He'd hardly taken a step towards it when he was suddenly overcome with the noise, the sights...everything. Sensory overload. The last thing he wanted to deal with. He felt like he might faint.

Briefly his eyes glazed over and found familiar faces grouped together. Skylar. Xabi. Dorian. Autumn. Falke. Talking.

On normal accounts he wouldn't have thought twice about approaching them. But this was certainly not a normal account.

Taking a shaky breath, he averted his eyes, looking down at the ground as he stuck to the perimeter of the room, rather than cutting straight through the middle as he was typically want to do. A hand trailed against the ornate wall, as if for support, as he briskly made his way towards the exit, avoiding all eye contact, but forcing a smile and a quick nod should someone greet him.

When he made it outside, he didn't run. Didn't make a break for the ocean like he had originally planned. His stomach was tied in too many knots, legs too weak. Throat dry. Body shaking in general. Instead he leaned against the outer wall, breathing hard, the muffled noise of the festivities inside wafting out and thudding against his ears.

The night air helped cool him down physically, but he still ended up sitting, feet sliding out from him as his back skidded downwards towards the ground. He pulled his knees in and pressed his forehead against his pants, eyes closed, fingers buried in his curly hair.

Invisible. Harper wished he could be invisible.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Haru Karokav
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What does that mean? Kyle wondered at Haru's departing statement. He squirmed again and glanced at the other two. Harper was still sniffing and blubbering, but the younger blond turned away, thinking it better to let him be. After a few moments, the older male got up and headed for the door, where he stopped. Expecting more than the desperate stare, Kyle looked up from his feet, but before long Harper also left in silence. Only the two younger blonds remained.

For some reason, Tallyho was sucking on her fingers. Kyle was alone with a girl and all he could think about was her sucking her fingers. Awkward and miserable after digging up and scattering in front of them their unpleasant pasts. On the flip side, he did finally have a chance to talk to her, but he still needed to deal with all the mess he made today. He could stay here and talk with her, sorting out their relationship, or he could go out in front of rich fancy-dressed fake people who cared nothing about him or any of them except as living trophies, to deal with the bigger problems.

Alone with Tallyho felt safer right now, and he said so, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I don't know about you, but I don't really want to go out there with all those strange people." He gave a very small smile. "The food back here is probably better anyway. Let me get you something." Then he stood up piled up two plates for them. Hers, he piled up with samples of everything that the July-December group left, including that banya cake. His, he filled with banya cake and mostly fruit, no turkey or whatever other meat was on the table. There was one slice of banya left afterwards, and he handed that to Tallyho as well.

He sat down again and looked at the floor a few more moments. Where should he start? What should he say to her? "It may seem like strange timing, but there are a couple things I really would like to talk to you about. I just never seem to have a chance to talk to you, or..." he paused and pulled on his collar again, actually loosening it in the process and undoing the cravat, "I end up doing something stupid like today. Not just starting a fight, but ignoring you and other people. It was stupid that I never actually attempted to get to know you or Dorian and a few others most likely. Is it too late to start over?" he asked out loud this time.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez
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"There was an argument. I don't know why it started, but Kyle pushed Harper-"
Oh no. This was exactly the type of thing that he was hoping to avoid. One of the reasons why he had avoided his friends initially was because he didn't want any confrontations like this. Didn't want to witness it.

"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."
This didn't sound good. He'd have to talk to them about what happened when everyone had calmed down, including himself. And when he did he'd stand up for himself.

"Then, I don't know, I guess what they were saying hit too hard, Harper reacted badly, and he tried to..."
Tried to? Tried to do what? Xabier was so confused. Did he try to hit them? To fight back? To....?
No.
No.
He didn't. Xabier looked up at Harper in shock.
Since when was it this bad? Was he hurting this bad all this time?
Xabier had thought that everything had been going well for them. Perfect even. Yet all this time...
Shellshocked wasn't strong enough to describe how he felt right now.
Scary thoughts flooded in, unwanted. What if this was his fault? What if he pushed the situation to end up like this?
Even worse he had believed that he was doing the right thing. Xabier had been so sure.
Now, not so much.
Oh god, he caused this.
Harper had tried to....
Xabier couldn't even think the word let alone say it.
All he could feel was shame, shame and some more shame.

"And I stopped him. Three years worth of animosity finally boiled over and this cluster fuck of an evening happened."
He looked at Dorian then. Of course, Dorian would be the one to stop him. He was always the one to fix things.

There were no smiles left inside, just a quiet thrumming sound in the back of his ear.
Xabier just stood still and followed the others out to the ballroom.

ā€œI know we're supposed to socialize and all, but if you don't want to talk to anyone I can keep people busy. The same goes for you, Xabier. I mean, it was rough for everyone. So if there's anything I can do...ā€

"Do what you want." He said, not particularly interested in pretending to be friendly anymore.

Hell, he was busy making small talk while Harper was in so much pain.
This incident had reinforced the widening gap between him and the others, including Harper this time.
The more he thought about it the more he retreated into himself..

He walked straight to Dorian.
"You said you stopped him." He wanted to sound blasƩ, but it came out just sounding grateful. "Thank you."
He said it calmly but inside he was breaking. He understood what happened but it made no sense.
The thoughts didn't flow right in his head. Chunky pieces of a jigsaw all muddled up and impossible to put together.
Harper was alive, that was good but Xabier couldn't help wondering how it could have turned out if he had succeeded.
He needed to know. And he knew that Dorian didn't like him so he'd probably tell him the truth even if it hurt him.
"Was I in any way responsible for what had happened in there?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Haru Karokav
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The party continued to flow around him, voices mixing interchangeably. This was where he had always felt more comfortable, surrounded by people. But he didn't feel happy at all.
Everything stung as if he has been plunged in lemon juice and all the little wounds he never knew had, started to make themselves known.
What next? Getting tripped over and stabbed in the back with cutlery? Poison in his drink?

The truth of the situation had finally hit him. This sort of thing would happen again and again and it would end the exact same way every time until it didn't.

"Calm down Falke, I haven't done anything to you. All I wanted to know was the obvious questions. But if none of you have the common decency to at least tell me the answers, I'll go find it somewhere else."
His voice deepened slightly, getting huskier and heavily accented. Tiredness flooded him. He wanted to go home. Or at the very least lie down and sleep for a long time.

He was tired of them childishly hiding information from him and then scolding him for wanting to know it.
Even if he was quiet and did as he was told (as he always did) there would still be someone glaring at him. It was always lose/ lose for him.

It was like schoolyard bullying, and he wasn't going to bite.

Falke just walked away as if he couldn't hear him.
In fact, he knew that Falke could, but that he was ignoring him the way he always did.
Even when Xabier had tried to be friends with him, it was the same scenario.
He was tired of running after people trying to get them to like him.
And if Falke was like this when Xabier was upset, then he wasn't worth the effort.

None of them were.

Tick

He thought of his family back home. The people who no matter how many fights they had, loved him. That had taught him that he had to pick his fights carefully and right now this fight wasn't worth it.
Xabier had to let go of all the anger he felt for the moment so he could do the right thing.
Go do whatever he could to heal the wounds in the group. Both physical and metaphorical.

Falke, as much as it was unnecessary, was right. They were in public. He would have to hold up his anger (again) and let it out later.
He couldn't pretend that he had responsibility over other people's actions. But he sure as hell had responsibility over his own actions.
And for a while now he had been selfish. His relationship with Harper was selfish. They both did things that caused harm, but Xabier's actions were his own responsibility. It was about time that he stood up and faced them like a man.

Dorian's silence didn't change Xabier's opinion of him, instead it reinforced the differences between them. Xabier, as much as he tried, couldn't stay quiet about these things.

Turning on his heel, he wondered why he even went to the other dark haired guy in the first place. He wouldn't do it again anytime soon.
He spoke with the well dressed noblemen for a few minutes with a fake smile plastered on his face. It was funny because he had never felt the need to pretend to be happy until recently.
It was annoying, but he was put into a corner. If he started to kick off, he wouldn't be able to go to Harper.... Shit. Harper.... He remembered a random fact that you should never leave someone in that situation alone otherwise....
"Bathroom." He excused himself from anyone who cared to enquire where he was going.

Departing from the well-spoken company he headed towards the room where Harper, Tallyho and Kyle had been with Haru.
"Leave the past in the past? QuƩ? Vete a la mierda." He spat out the words fast and loud. It wasn't fair. He couldn't see anything fair about this whole thing.
However docile he was in English, his Spanish was always more passionate which usually meant more angry. He missed being able to just speak his mind without having to constantly translate.
All alone in the hallway with no one around to hear him, he swore and swore. Words that he didn't even knew he knew came pouring out.
He knew if he went into the room at that moment he would probably just blow up at the first person. Best to let some out now.
He paused at the door handle wondering if he could interrupt what was going on. It was of course, Haru's surprisingly calm order to leave that had driven him away. He wouldn't mess with Haru out of both self preservation and respect for his efforts looking after them.

Haru, who was always so blatantly in charge, was still in charge yet seemed more tired and deflated than usual. Something was wrong. A little warning sign popped up but he brushed it aside.
Harper, first. Then finish this issue with Kyle and Tallyho. After that he could figure things out.

He walked into the room where Harper had been, the door closing neatly behind him. He had no shadows by his side.
There was only the two blonde month warriors in the room with him. Harper missing.
Maybe Haru was talking to him alone.
They seemed to be talking amicably between themselves.

A million ways for him to open up the floor for conversation.

He walked past them looking around for a third figure. There was someone he had to make sure was alright before trying anything else.
Walking past them again he went outside and found a lone figure sitting in the shadows.

Lillian was there too. She was telling someone about hiding in the shadows. Xabier wouldn't be deterred by the dark though. In fact it was the most comforting sensation all night.

A jolt of fear and then relief. He sat down beside the figure, eyes quickly appraising for injuries.

Noticing it.
Looking away.

Xabier paused. He was so bloody angry, but his relief took over.
"It's just me."
He reached over and ran his fingers through Harper's hair softly in an attempt to soothe.
"It's going to be alright."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kyle Keaton Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Haru Karokav Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez
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Tallyho sat there unflinchingly as Haru left, then Harper, and soon Kyle spoke. She did not show a sign of life until food was placed into arms reach and though she ate and grasped the food feverishly, remnants of fodder staining the area around her mouth and tumbling down the front of her dress, her eyes did not move from the door and her lips did not flinch.
Xabier came in and left as quickly, typical behavior. Kyle kept talking. Friendship this, new start that. She did not pause to pick out the food that slipped down the collar of the dress. Didnā€™t he know that it was far too late for all of this ā€œpeace makingā€? Even if he wasnā€™t the one who really bothered her? Didnā€™t Haru know? What did Haru know?
ā€œI will never forget,ā€ she said, voice hushed and barred between her teeth. Smothered. Her voice was the people and her teeth the government. ā€œI wonā€™t!ā€
Her outburst was punctuated by the curt noise of a dish smashing to the floor. Her small body posed forward on the sofa. Mid-lunge and the hand that involuntarily destroyed a dish clenched into a fist of shame. Green eyes twin planets quaking in the whites of her eyes. And when they glazed she blinked herself free.
ā€œI apologize,ā€ she said to Kyle. From the sofa she slumped to her knees like an unattended blanket at the edge of the bed. Pathetic and cotton-soft, and worn. She gathered the pieces of plate with cusped hands and held them. She found no place to dispose of them so dropped them again. And then the shuffled forward on her knees like a toddler or an ape until she could stand up right by the miracle of some evolution of psyche. And she stumbled out of the door. Winded and weathered, not nearly as pretty as she began. And as she trudged down the hall, she worried about having another seizure. And the shaking... Then she stumbled over Haruā€™s words. Be alone and die alone. Be alone and die alone.
Since becoming a month warriors Tallyho never experienced so much emotional distress in her entire life. After the untimely death of her mother she learned to suppress her disappointment and troubles. This was the case of many orphaned. There was no consistent person to confide in so she confided in self-reliance. She was the baby who learned to yearn for pure sustenance instead of sustenance and the comfort of touch. And something about this situation (or perhaps these people) had broken her walls for worse.
And she had already made it out the door to the main ballroom when she realized that she wasnā€™t storming off to confide in herself for once.
Whether he saw it or not Tallyho wordlessly burrowed her head into Dorianā€™s shoulder with force, a time bomb ready to explode with scarlet face and ugly tears. And she really didnā€™t want to cry in front of everyone else but she didnā€™t want to be alone and die alone. And suddenly she felt bad for dismissing Kyleā€™s invitation to friendship, or any other personā€™s legitimate invitation to friendship. But a minute ago she wasnā€™t ready for it because a minute ago she had trouble distinguishing who was the enemy and who feverishly loved her for all of her brashness and alienating nature. And she believed that Dorian practiced this from the beginning and so she had to begin with him.
Haru had taken a beating today. Between the ceremony and the warriors and Mildred it felt like his day was spiraling at 100 miles per hour. And it felt like every time he was about to fall into the ocean the wind pushed him closer to the face of a cliff full of hard, red rock. And the final gust of wind, one that would finally end his day with rock to the face was the sight of a familiar figure up in the darkness of a balcony, tucked (in an almost insultingly casual way) out of the sight of some of the most vigilant. To be quite honest Haru would not have caught this face had a drunk lady nearby not jumped and sent the wine from her glass flying inches above her with some of the spirit draping a damp curtain over Haruā€™s shoulder pad. And that glob of red liquid, which was suspended against gravity for less than a second happened to highlight the figure of Amber in the balcony, wrist rotating a glass of whiskey casually. And Amber caught his eye and he smiled. And they found a mutual understanding. And Haru left the ballroom discretely to confront the arsonist without causing much attention.
ā€œI see you didnā€™t heed my warning,ā€ Amber sang through a sip, ā€œabout staying out of our way?ā€
ā€œI see I didnā€™t either,ā€ Haru said coldly from the chair adjacent to the one eyed man.
ā€œListen. You and your warriorsā€¦ Youā€™re nothing but pawns in this whole fiascoā€”ā€œ
ā€œWith the government? Oh I know. But we need numbers to protect ourselves from arsonists and traitorsā€¦ā€
ā€œYou are trapped in the cycle. You know not what you do.ā€
ā€œWhat cycle? Enlighten me.ā€
ā€œI am cursed, I cannot. But I warn you, stay back. Or Shepard, we will not hesitate to slaughter your herd.ā€
ā€œThen we will not hesitate to slaughter you.ā€
ā€œThen let us save you.ā€
ā€œSave us?ā€
ā€œSave you.ā€

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Skylar Grayson Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Ryou Zerinn Character Portrait: Autumn Jones
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Dorian left the room without any further prompting, only the tightly coiled ball of tension that was currently his body keeping him from flat-out fleeing. He felt like he need to punch something, except his dominant hand was currently weeping blood at a gradually slowing pace. He felt like he needed to go to his room and hide under the covers like a distressed child except this night had been a disaster already without the March warrior vanishing to selfishly lick his mental and physical wounds. What he knew, however, was that he didn't need anyone to talk to him right now. Everything was just so... so normal with the other month warriors. And, okay, yes, he absolutely knew that he didn't exactly look three seconds away from a mental breakdown, but he was Dorian- that was his modus operandi for dealing with stressful situations; standing perfectly still and tucking any particularly violent emotions away until he could deal with them. Everyone else, though, well, it was grating.

He could probably deal with a stranger right now- someone completely unaware of what just happened. Or someone who wouldn't ask questions, who would natter on about this and that so that Dorian didn't feel like he was on a team of... of hormonal and angsty teenagers. They weren't teenager anymore, but, oh, God, did it feel like they were, stuck in that awkward stage but without the excuses of hormones and puberty.

But now here was Autumn asking if he and Skylar were okay (absolutely not) and giving him a hug. It wasn't that Dorian didn't like hugs, it was just that he wasn't always the best with sudden physical contact, especially since the last time he'd touched someone in the last few hours had been holding onto a writhing mess of a man. He stiffened at the contact, but absently patted her shoulder with his uninjured hand. He knew that she meant well, even if the way she was acting so calmly motherly was nearly painful to endure. It was like she wanted to help but didn't really understand why they needed help or what help they needed. That was Autumn, though- entirely too obsessed with being an important member of the team without actually realizing that she already was.

Skylar spoke next, all of the bitterness she'd been near-silently suffering through dripping from her words like acid. But then even she was acting painfully casual or maybe she was just internalizing like he was? He took the thanks in stride, nodding his head in a short, stiff motion, a finger idly tracing the edge of his bandage. The bloody red was already starting to morph into a dried, rust color at the edges away from the cut. Just a few more hours to endure.

Then Xabier was by his side, a thank you tumbling from his lips that Dorian didn't feel like he deserved (it was the decent thing to do, he would have shrugged at any other moment, but he wasn't completely sure that if he hadn't done something, someone else would have).

"Was I in any way responsible for what had happened in there?"

What? Dorian blinked owlishly for a moment before realizing that, yes, Xabier was absolutely serious. He wasn't sure what that question meant- that Xabier thought they were all homophobes or that they were just really unable to accept his relationship with Harper, that Xabier was self-absorbed or self-hating and blamed everything that was bad in his life and others' on himself, or that something said about him had been the straw to break the Harper-camel's back. The answer was so painfully and obviously, in Dorian's mind, no. Yes, Xabier was brought up and maybe that had been a minor part of Tallyho and Kyle's list of grievances, but the problem had been with Harper and all the growing animosity between the Month Warriors for the past few years.

"I-" he began until Falke swooped in with sharp words and more situational awareness than anyone else was showing before wandering off to practice what he preached. What Dorian didn't except was Xabier's reaction. Towards Falke, yes. Towards him? No.

It was true that Dorian had never been fond of Xabier. At best he was neutral towards him and at worst, well, bitterly neutral. Xabier had never liked him, had made that evident back at the Academy and had generally spent their last few years together either ignoring him or generally looking irritated with him. Dorian had responded, of course, by ignoring and avoiding him because he didn't have the time or energy for stupid quarrels with no real basis in reality. And now, oh, now that Dorian had saved his boyfriend or fuckbuddy or whatever they were to each other, now that he hadn't spoken quickly enough for the Spaniard's liking since, Dorian was very sorry, Falke had cut him off, Xabier was acting like Dorian had done something terribly, terribly cruel, like he'd just ridiculed him or bitched at him or... or.... that Dorian, who had literally never done anything to him, had been to one to scold him and overtly dislike him instead of the other way around. It tipped the balance of Dorian's so carefully maintained self-control when Xabier shot him a withering look before marching off in a huff, an honest-to-God huff.

"Fucking plebian," He hissed, eyes narrowed and lips pulled back into a scowl.

And maybe he didn't mean it and maybe Xabier was just being extraordinarily pissy because of his nasty shock a few moments ago, but Dorian felt pretty damn good about it. The only thing he regretted was the last word- not because it was particularly rude and elitist, which it totally was, but because he sounded exactly like... like... A hand shot to his mouth. He sounded exactly like Trent. The word was one of the General's favorites, used to describe everything from bad booze to one or all of the month warriors. And Dorian had just said it. Good God. Maybe he was spending too much time with him?

Well, no. Trent may have been a legitimately terrible and anti-social human being, but, and Dorian hated to admit this, the man had grown on him in their time together. Maybe it was his lack of censorship, the fact that he ignored the other month warriors, or, more likely than not, because he was vaguely fond of Dorian. He never caused Dorian too much drama, he was entirely blunt and painfully honest, he always acted in the same way, his fits of pique didn't seem to lead to suicide attempts...

Before he had time for any more introspection that might have taken him to a very dark place, he was faced with a new situation entirely. He'd seen Tallyho's approach, all flushed cheeks and fat, rolling tears coating her face before she'd buried her face in his shoulder. His arms reached around her automatically, pulling her closer partially to hold her up and partially because this was a hug he didn't mind giving in the slightest.

Eyes were being drawn to their little scene, darted then overtly staring. Dorian, with his solid grip on propriety and, right now, Tallyho, knew what to do. He ushered her out of the room, a half-hearted promise of fixing Tallyho's make-up and re-bandaging his hand murmured towards Mildred as they hurried past. He didn't stop outside the doors, however- no, he pulled her into the building's depths, past this hallway here, down that corridor there until they were in a small, enclosed room, just as grand as the rest and, most likely thank not, used purely as decoration as opposed to a real function. He never let go, even as he led her to a well-placed chaise-lounge and sat down beside her.

He didn't ask her what was wrong- their relationship had never been like that. Problems were given on a voluntary basis with only concerned gestures and eyes allowed as prompts. The uninjured hand was rubbing gentle circles on her back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is to be noted that, despite everything that had just happened, no one else really knew what was going on. Princess Morgan continued to play with Karma and Mori (who both decided to humor her in return), dignitaries remained indignant and far less dignified with a little alcohol in them, and the Guardians, well... The Guardians were left out of the loop and it was driving Ryou up the wall.

He stood near the back wall, sipping his wine instead of gulping because, yes, he did quite like the idea of alcohol right now, but it was also rose wine and he was about as sick of anything rose-themed as a particularly grumpy child was sick of Mickey Mouse after staying at Disney World for a week. He'd seen the mixed emotions bogging down the month warriors during the ceremony, had caught sight of Mildred looking murderous, and had even caught a glimpse of Haru's furious face some time ago before all of the month warriors had vanished to parts unknown.

Another sip. The taste was like the essence of a dozen rose-themed perfumes, but the alcohol provided a sharp aftertaste.

Not that he ever really knew what was going on anymore. He, and, really, the rest of the Guardians had once been part of a team, one leader-like person but eleven generals to provide advice and assistance at all times. Now, after they'd left the Academy, it was the Haru show with the rest of the Guardians retreating until they were personal cheerleaders for their warriors and occasionally dabbled in slapping metaphorical bandages onto the emotional, mental, and physical wounds of the other warriors. That would have been obnoxious all on its own if Haru was actually handling it well. But he wasn't. He looked like death warmed over, like the weight of the world that he'd placed on his shoulders was about to break him into a thousand pieces. And yet...

Another sip. God, this was awful. The situation and the wine.

And yet he refused to ask for help and kept the burden on himself. That wasn't fine per say, but it felt like he was resenting them for it. It was like he hadn't realized that he'd created a self-fulfilling prophecy of martyrdom, shrugging off any attempts to get involved. It was something that Ryou had grown to hate about Haru, but at the same time lo...

"Cat got your tongue?" A sudden voice amidst the crowd caused him to nearly jump, eyes darting towards the interloper with the unmistakable rasp.

"I...What?"

"Cat got your tongue. That's an expression you people use, yeah?" It was Dae, today dressed in a plain but well made forest green outfit. Anonymity might mean no recognition, but the knight seemed to revel in choosing their outfit of the day without any minding the shift.

"Yes, yes," Ryou bobbed his head, sipped his wine, grimaced, and noticed something quite odd. "Where's Liam?"

"Back in the rooms," Dae replied, plucking the glass of what was basically pink-colored flower juice from his hand and taking a sniff. She sneezed and Ryou failed to fight the smile that wormed its way onto his face when she hastily dumped the contents into a nearby potted plant. "Did you a favor there."

"That you did. But that still doesn't explain why he's not here."

"Said he didn't want to go if I wouldn't dance with him. Can't really help that they gave me a men's outfit, can I? Didn't want to cause a stir," Dae shrugged. "He's okay now. We talked it out and everything. Wants me to steal him something sweet."

It had always amazed Ryou that two of the most bizarre students that he'd ever taken on in his time as a teacher ended up being the healthiest couples that he'd ever seen. Who would have thought that a dark-magic obsessed sociopath and a gender-fluid fighter from one of the more mysterious tribes would do what so many so-called "normal" people could not?

"Saw Haru going out to the balcony in a hurry. Did you ever figure out what happened?"

"No." Ryou said and for a moment hesitated. No, no it had to be done. If the Month Warriors were going to cause an international incident tonight, he had to know why. "But I will soon. Excuse me." With that he left the knight who had already helped themselves to what may or may not have been non-alchoholic cider (with a hint of rose) and marched towards the balcony.

It was easy to find, extremely so even with all of the people meandering around discussing irrelevant and most likely obnoxious things. Now, he thought with liquid courage running hot in his veins, was the time to speak up, to ask, to... to... the line of thought was lost because Haru wasn't alone. No, Haru was with someone very, painfully familiar. He'd know that face anywhere, that voice, those eyes. The man who'd let his Academy burn to the ground, who'd murdered his students in cold blood, who'd ruined the only home some had ever known to get to the Month Warriors. And here he was, chatting up Haru and if Ryou had heard correctly, offering to save him. To save him, Haru.

It took him a split second to decide what to do.

He slid back inside, out of sight and perhaps out of mind, pressed up against the wall like there was a physical force keeping him in place. He wanted to wring the man's neck, to break every bone one by one until he begged for death. To watch him burn, burn until there were nothing but a pathetic pile of ashes left. But he would not because Haru... Because Haru was talking to him and as much as Ryou hated himself for it, even if Haru stabbed him in the chest or let the slurs fly, Ryou would follow him to Hell if he so wished it. He was a fool, but a fool for things that did not involve attempting to murder someone who could be used. But he wouldn't go too far, no, no. He would stay like a loyal lap dog turned guard dog, vigilant and waiting for their master's command.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: AlatƔriƫl OronrƔ
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Harper had wanted to be alone. To be invisible. To disappear. Yet it was evident that he couldn't even accomplish that.

Typical.

He had ignored the advice of Lillian, surprised she had even spoken to him. In the three years he'd seen her, he'd only ever referred to her as Galadriel to Skylar, and it wasn't like that was a commn occurence either.

But Xabi he couldn't ignore. He stiffened at his voice, briefly wondering if he should run away, but when the Spaniard's fingers tangled into his hair, his shoulders dropped, and his breath heaved out audibly. Tears pricked at his eyes again. No. No no no. No more crying. He'd done enough of that.

But his tear ducts ignored him, and he could feel the wet trails rolling down again. His hands moved from his hair to his face, covering it. The bandage scratched at his skin like sandpaper, and images of chisels and wood lit up behind his eyelids. He could almost smell the shavings.

"Is it really though?" Harper heard himself ask, voice muffled behind his palms. With a sigh he pulled his hands away, finding Xabi's, trembling when they circled around his slender fingers, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch or not. "I've been fucking up so badly. For three years I've been fucking everything up without even knowing it. And now I've fucked up even more shit and just..."

He took a breath. His last word rang in the air, echoing in his mind. High. Desperate. Rushed. Just like his breathing, he realized.

He wanted to stop talking. Wanted to just shut up. Believe Xabi for a moment, that it really was going to be all right. Or at least pretend that it would be. That was all he really did anyways. Pretend. Life was a stage after all, right? Just pretend.

But he couldn't. Not anymore. Words continued to roll out. "They hate me," Harper continued to choke out, "They fucking hate me, Xabi. Most of them anyways. They've hated me for years, and I can't say I blame them. But now I have to play nice, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? Even if I try, they'll probably just think I'm some fake fucking phony and hate me even more. I could...I could be the most genuinely nicest person I can be, and they'd fucking think I was doing it for the attention. They think I'm some goddamn attention whore. What am I supposed to do then? Disappear? Not do anything?"

He sniffed hard, angrily wiping tears from his face in frustration. "I'm so fucked, Xabi," he snapped, "I'm so fucked and I'm so sorry you have to deal with me, the fuck up that is Harper Calloway Fields!"

He paused, heavy, wet breathing filling the air. His eyes continued to sting and water. "You shouldn't..." his voice cracked, softer, threatening to break completely. He swallowed and tried again, "You shouldn't have to deal with this..."

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Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: Nikita Machari Character Portrait: AlatƔriƫl OronrƔ
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Xabier sat quietly listening to Harper pouring his heart out, moving his hands away from him when necessary.

"They fucking hate me, Xabi. Most of them anyways. They've hated me for years, and I can't say I blame them. But now I have to play nice, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? Even if I try, they'll probably just think I'm some fake fucking phony and hate me even more. I could...I could be the most genuinely nicest person I can be, and they'd fucking think I was doing it for the attention. They think I'm some goddamn attention whore. What am I supposed to do then? Disappear? Not do anything?"
The sadness emanating from Harper was almost unbearable. It shouldn't be this way, he thought, it should be the two of us laughing about something stupid.
"You shouldn't have to deal with this..."
Xabier leaned in slowly and interrupted him, the shadows covering their faces from prying eyes.

"Harper, babe..." He murmured pulling away slightly. "I'm sorry that you feel that way. I'm so sorry."
Watching someone he cared about crying always left him like stone, frozen and stoic.
Harper was a mess, all teary and static. The way he had been increasingly sad and erratic lately and Xabier hadn't noticed/put it together. He had been too obsessed with himself.
The night was a deep navy and the shadows subtly twisted around him. Things were changing, he could feel it in the air. But whether it was for the best he wasn't sure.

"You're not a fuck up, you are considerate and funny and I never feel lonely when you're around. So don't think that way... And if they don't see you for who you are, then they aren't worth hurting over..."
He sensed that this wasn't a good enough solution though. It was easier said than done. Xabier understood that already.
Harper was trying his best to cover his wet face with his hands. He didn't need to, Xabi wouldn't hurt him.
"It's okay, cry as much as you need."
He pulled him gently into a hug letting him rest there.
He read somewhere that crying isn't necessarily about only sadness, it also signifies that a person is alive. And he was so relieved to see Harper alive. He interlocked their fingers together.
"Trust me, it's going to be alright. So you can cry. We'll deal with everything else tomorrow."

He looked about and noticed the several Guardians about the place.... Something was wrong. Well, apart from the obvious. But it was probably best not to get involved. There was enough upset for tonight and Xabier just wanted to make sure that Harper wasn't left alone tonight. Whatever was going on he'd have to leave to the Guardians to sort out by themselves, even though he barely trusted any of them.
He felt the urge to leave this place. Something really wasn't sitting well and he didn't know why.

"Do you think you'd be able to go back inside?" His eyes widening in realisation of how that sounded, so heartless. He squeezed the other guy's hand lightly, feeling suddenly hesitant. "I..I mean like stay with me.... because I hate being alone...."
Translation: he didn't want Harper alone and he wouldn't be able to sleep thinking about a possible second attempt anyway.
Also he wanted some privacy.

He waited patiently and looked everywhere but Harper, purposely avoiding looking at the wound.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Falke der Herrscher Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: Nikita Machari Character Portrait: Princess Morgan the Graceful
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[EDITED 07/09/15]

The ballroom of Ve Marie's castle was one of the most beautiful places they had ever been in. Certainly Mildred's decorating skills had not put to shame the rocky grotto of fine, shining marble, but had enhanced the natural beauty of the stonework with the graceful streams of delicate ribbons, the addition of excessive amounts of the freshest cut flowers, and candles and lamps casting luminous color over tables and the ballroom floor alike, and the colors constantly, slowly seemed to shift and changed from hue to hue. Soft, instrumental music supported the welcoming, celebratory atmosphere, drifting through the crowd with no evident source.

And... Falke couldn't bring himself to enjoy it much at all. Not to sound cliche, of course. As he knew that most of the group wasn't thrilled with the amount of attention they were gathering, or keeping the faces and situation awareness (by a thread, if that at times, from a few certain individuals) they needed to uphold in front of highly important public figures to keep their heads attached to their necks, literally and figuratively as it were. Nor did it help that almost half of the month warriors had vanished from the ballroom proper, leaving the few still left (which included himself) with double or triple the attention to receive and react with.

He'd long since lost any sense of Autumn (or the others, for that matter) after they'd split in the crowd. However, Autumn's occasional power created cold-spots could be accidentally wandered through-out the ballroom floor, leaving him in the mix of all the sheer mental pressure of the swirling crowd having an uncomfortable shiver up his spine and the distasteful remembrance of the constant hissing indeterminable voices surrounding the other warrior's mental aura. It left him weary to even attempt to connect to her again, just to have someone more familiar to talk with, if only briefly. Even though a respite as it would be, especially over the static, white noise rattling around his noggin, being in such a cramped environment of mental activity, Falke doubted she would ever hear his minor, chipped complaints of her ghostly 'baggage' leaving too many cold-spots around. Seriously, though... Couldn't they give her, or anyone for that matter, a rest, for the night?

It was then to his genuine surprise, if not relief per say, to run into a trio of people he really /knew/ - Princess Morgan, Mori, and Karma. His entire sense of Morgan was filled with brimming excitement and mirth that he'd felt in her since... Falke drew in a sharp breath. Since the start of this week. Crows. It had already felt like ages since the battle of the flock, another near week of separation as they healed and political arrangements had been made, and then being forced into the show-and-tell poster child game of this parade, or mass, or that party or this celebration for another almost week after that. They hadn't known the Princess very long, but as far as he could reckon, she'd always been brimming excitement and mirth over something, no matter how small. Mori and Karma, however had their own interesting ups and downs that were more relatable to a common childish mischief, and had been busily indulging the Princess with their presence and company.

A thin genuine smile rested easily on his lips, as Falke dipped his head slightly in greeting, musing softly, "Good evening."

---

Lillian did not seem to mind that Harper had ignored her advice. Or, for that matter, she had not even pretended to notice the appearance of Xabier as if on cue. Nor was her feather's ruffled that both boy's readily ignored her nearby presence in the wake of emotional and physical turmoil with - louder than whispers, half-sobbed, and mild attempts of comforting - conversation. She remained silent, watchful, and pensive at the window overlooking the dusky lit sky. Looking as she always did - distant, golden, and difficult to read. She had the fair, paled honey skin characteristic of the folk of the People's caravan, and her curly, thick hair was a deep shade of gold (tied in an delicate up-do for the moment), giving her, in stillness, the appearance of a statue, some work dedicated to a huntress figure, lean and intense and dangerous. This, however, was only part of the September guardian's personality. As her true beauty could best be seen in motion, as she walked or flew. And the rest of her personality was well polished and hidden on a high shelf, or well, more or less...

Nikita's quick appearance out one of the nearby ballroom door's, in a great movement of rustling cloth, brought the attention of a watchful peripheral glance, and the chance of the beginnings of a perched lip upon Lillian's own thin mouth. The poor dame, rushing about, likely looking for her young'ling Kyle or the annoyed Haru, needed to take a breather sometimes. Things happened, it would be best to wait for a calmer time to get information. Not everyone needed to bear the headache, or heart-attack, if it was already, mostly, properly managed. Too many hands, would be pointless... She did not need to be worried, however, as Nikita's attention seemed to have caught something else further down the passageway, towards the balcony, in deeper shadows and off-placed torches. With a slow blink, Lillian returned to her peaceful gazing.

It was not much longer until another disturbance of the door, caught her reluctant attention, this time being yet another Guardian (apparently the ceremony party-goers, and hopefully most of the warriors, except the two nearby obviously; where still 'enjoying' themselves in the ball-room proper) wandered drearily away from the festivities. This time it was Kit, who had been for the most part rather obnoxiously cheery lately due to apparently being "home", and was looking more like, well himself, his regular self she'd come to know in oh, the One be bothered, far longer than any of them had hoped. Tired, grumpy, and potentially drunkenly depressed of course. This seemed the proper time to garner more than the glance of an eye or pursed lip.

"Love," Lilian sighed; softly but sharply enough to be heard, or listened to at the very least one could hope. Tossing her head like a indignant horse, a good natured, but coyish eye-roll, as she half-turned her body towards the red-head walking almost dejectedly towards her. She continued with a snort, "You look like you're about to fall over..."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorian Roberts Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Falke der Herrscher Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez
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#, as written by Linnea
ā€œDo what you want.ā€

The words were a welcome invitation.

ā€œIf you say so.ā€ She replied, almost as if she was pleased with his response. Maybe, in a way, she was. Though she was grateful that Falke had said something, she feared it would only make things worse. So far, talking hadn't helped anyone.

Unfortunately, things went just as predicted. Xabier left and Dorian spoke too much like Trent for Autumn's comfort. Before she could question it, though, Tallyho flung herself into his arms. Autumn would have to ask Dorian about his new speech quirk later. Eventually, she and Falke were the only ones left in the room. Following the plan from earlier, though it didn't really serve a purpose now, Autumn took right.

She quickly found that the crowd wasn't nearly as interested as her as they were the possibility of drama. It was only the natural response, she supposed. Thankfully, though, her offers of ghostly party tricks was enough to keep them at bay. While some of the spirits begrudgingly moved objects and created cold spots for the guests to feel, Autumn instructed the others to look over the party. Every inch of it had at least one spirit seeing what was going on and another to report back to her. The chill was greatest outside, where Xabier and Falke had run off to.

Kit wrinkled his nose at the sudden spots of cold air. It was most likely Autumn's work, though he had no idea why she would bother. Nor did he care at the moment. He had socialized more in the past week than he had in an entire year before that. To put it mildly, he was exhausted.

He stopped at the sound of a voice, not particularly eager to talk with another guest, only to realize it was Lillian speaking. At that moment, her voice sounded like that of an angel. An angel of sweet relief from acting proper and civilized. Stuffy as he was, even he got tired of it from time to time. There was no need to act like the rest of the crowd among another guardian. They already knew he could be less than civil.

ā€œYes, well, I certainly feel like Iā€™m about to fall over. Considering how hard this wave of depression hit, it's a miracle Iā€™m still standing.ā€ He replied sleepily as he walked over to Lillian. His eyes darted to the side, as they often did, catching a glimpse of the two warriors huddled together.

ā€œAt least they seem to be having fun.ā€ Kit said sarcastically, though not without a hint of empathy.

ā€œSeems everything turns to ruin so quickly these days, huh? For every accomplishment there must be a hundred steps back.ā€

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Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez
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Xabi's words fell on him like rain, but Harper was an umbrella. As much as he wanted to let them soak in, the drops rolled off.

He planted his face in Xabi's shoulders, but despite the encouragement to cry, Harper's tears were few. He could feel himself emptying out. Shelling. The sounds of merriment behind them faded out, and all he focused on was the sound of his breathing. Easy. His brain latched onto it, all his mental energy concentrating on smoothing out his exhales and inhales, rubbing out the bumps.

Slowly, other feelings entered. The wind on the back of his neck. The throbbing in his wrist. A dull pain behind his eyes. Xabi's shoulder bone hard against his forehead. Sweat rolling down his hands. How tight his belt really was. The fabric of his pants, which really were high-quality. He'd liked his first outfit better though. A shame he had ruined it.

The event seemed so long ago...a blurry picture at the end of an unfocused telescope. Yet...simultaneously it felt like it had just happened. Just a clashing of everything. Time was meaningless anyways. Reality an illusion. What even was real.

Maybe he had died. Maybe he had died three years ago, and this was the shitty afterlife. It definitely wasn't a new thought. And the more he considered it, the more it made sense.

Dante he thought to himself I am Dante. Paradise fucking found.

For whatever reason, he found the thought funny. Not rip-roaring hilarious, but almost an instinctual, hollow funny. Cold and empty. Desperate. A smile spread on his face, and he snorted through his nose, hoping that Xabi would mistake it for something else.

Hoping that Beatrice would mistake it for something else.

He sat up when Xabi suggested going inside, smile sliding off. He nodded. "Sure," he said, voice still weird, and he stood up, breathing deep. He glanced back at the dance hall. Sniffed hard. Watery eyes narrowing slightly, but no tears threatening.

So...was this hell? Or purgatory? Was he traveling upwards, or down? Or both?

9th circle he decided. He didn't remember what was in the 9th circle, but it seemed to make the most sense. After what he'd just been through, the only way had to be up, right?

After a few more seconds, he looked back at Xabi, holding out a hand and trying a hand. "After you, my dear."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Falke der Herrscher Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: Princess Morgan the Graceful Character Portrait: AlatƔriƫl OronrƔ
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ā€Yes, well, I certainly feel like Iā€™m about to fall over. Considering how hard this wave of depression hit, itā€™s a miracle Iā€™m still standingā€¦ At least they seem to be having funā€¦ Seems everything turns to ruin so quickly these days, huh? For every accomplishment there must be a hundred steps backā€¦ā€

Lillian eyed him cautiously as he sleepily drew nearer, making snarky, after snarkier remarks as he went - watching in the corners Xabier and Harper making amends of sorts, she could only assume. When he finally came to stand beside her, she softly rolled her eyes, as a light sigh whistled through her teeth, and she turned her head to look at the star speckled sky above with a faint air of wistfulness. This was hardly her forteā€¦ ā€œOh, Kitā€¦ā€ She hummed, pausing, glancing up at him with a callous snort. As she eased her weight back on her heels, the top of her head brushed the tips of his sharp, angular shoulders, as she leaned close against the other guardian. ā€œJust shut up, and hold meā€¦ā€

It was not a gesture of intended comfort or intent, and she did not intended it to be so. Or rather, Lillian would never admit it, despite how she could read people (and a person sheā€™d known for ages now with his depression and tendencies). The gesture was merely for the companionship of quiet, shut-up and hold her, and that was that. If asked why, as the November warrior could guess as he knew her well enough, sheā€™d likely merely blame it on his warriorā€™s silly obsession with having her ghostā€™s watching everything going on and leaving blasted cold-spots around.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ā€Hello Falke, how are you? Would you like to dance?ā€

Falke could feel the infectious excitement radiating from her mind, and most obviously her shaking voice. However, it wasnā€™t infectious enough for him, and his conscience of the situation (and his own, for that matter) at hand. ā€œI am well,ā€ He mused, pausing. Noting that in the presence of really the ā€˜hostessā€™ of the country that was holding all these parties and parades and ceremony in the month warriors honor, the attention or random strangers walking up to talk to him had faded significantly ā€“ at least the hordes seemed to respect something! It was hard not to let the glimmer of relief rest on his face, and to be honest he did not really try. He continued, lightly, almost apologetically, ā€œIā€™m afraid I shouldnā€™t, Iā€™d only trip over my own feet.ā€ Falke loved to dance, really. From learning the waltz balancing on his motherā€™s toes, or from the recent adventures of Tallyho dragging him and his bummed leg around in elegantly silly, swirling dances of her culture, singing the new words but old songs Lillian had given her. But now, was not the time nor the place, and frankly if he tried to extend his powers to ā€˜seeā€™ his surrounds enough to try and dance ā€“ his head would probably explode, especially after that earlier fiasco. ā€œItā€™s the eyes, always a bother at parties or dances, sorryā€¦ā€

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Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Ryou Zerinn Character Portrait: Haru Karokav Character Portrait: Ondine Azur
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Ondine was just about done.

With Harper. With these guardians. With this world. Everything.

She hadn't heard all the details about Harper's attempt until the next day. Oh yes, she had known there was some sort of scuffle, but not that he had tried to off himself! As soon as she was aware of that detail, her immediate instinct was to grab him and scream at how stupid he was being. Sabotaging them again. Sabotaging himself. Especially after he had just proven himself on the battlefield! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

But for whatever reason she couldn't pull through. Maybe it was because she was tired of it. Exhausted. Screaming at a wall that wasn't listening. Preaching to the wrong religion. Maybe it was because when she saw him, he was laughing. Loud. Hysterically. The same sound, but shockingly empty. And when he turned to look at her, her stomach dropped. Because even though the glint was present, his cheeks pressing up so that his smile was present, there was no one behind. Like glass eyes. Deadened. Empty. Soul less, like a shark's. They might as well be black.

The eyes of someone who didn't care anymore. Of someone who had given up. Which didn't make any sense because she thought now, now after everything he'd been through, every tantrum he'd thrown, every slap he'd received, every obstacle he'd been forced to fight through. NOW should be the time for change.

But instead it looked like he'd taken a turn for the worse. And Ondine couldn't handle it. Not after she'd put in so much work.

She tried everything. She tried to talk to him about it. Tried to see if there was anything she could salvage. But when she asked if there was anything he needed to tell her, he had just laughed and said "Not at all!" in a tone that was simultaneously mocking and sincere. Later that night, she had anticipated that he might come down to the water. Surely he'd need to release all that pent up frustration as usual. But she had waited the entire night, without a wink of sleep, alone.

Blind hope forced her to continue waiting in the water for him. She scowled at how pathetic she was becoming. The parent, begging the child to talk.

It's happening again she realized with sinking stomach one night My warrior...the weakest link...we will fail because of me again...

All week she continued to try and get through to him. But nothing. She'd yelled at him. Coddled up to him. Pulled him away from the group to talk. She felt like a fool, trying all of this with nothing to show for it. Just his stupid, horrible, empty laugh. The words he normally spoke, but so different this time.

And then of course, there were the other guardians. She envied them and their more "normal" wards. At least none of them had tried to kill themselves! She couldn't take any of their problems seriously. How could she, when her own was a walking time bomb, just waiting to explode himself? How could they not see that he was going to ruin everything?

Their talk of whether to get the book or not was frustrating. Ondine couldn't care less. Books, politics, lies...what difference would they make if Harper one day decided to drown himself in the tub? Or just simply chose not to perform? They were losing one of the 12, and trying to act like it wasn't happening. She couldn't believe it.

And then, of course, the Ryou/Haru drama. She rolled her eyes. Just get on with it! she nearly shouted, Everyone knows you two are hard for each other. They were honestly about as discrete as Harper and Xabi were.

She stayed in the room after the others departed, arms crossed, fingernails scratching at her skin. A nervous habit. Finally, after a few minutes, she left in search of Harper.

Pathetic she thought to herself, You're absolutely pathetic.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields Character Portrait: Autumn Jones Character Portrait: Xabier Sanchez Character Portrait: Zelda Paremon
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There was a blue balloon floating straight in front of him.

The string wavered slightly in the breeze. He was in a field somewhere hot. The yellow grass moved softly to the beat of a distant drum.
It didn't make any sense, but he felt at ease here.
He reached forwards to grab the string, to feel something underneath his fingers.
However, just as he nearly touched it, the wind pulled it sharply out of his reach. He leaned in again to give it another go, but the same thing happened.
Frustrated he moved faster. He would grab it this time and never let it go.
But then he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
He immediately forgot the balloon.
As his back turned to find the source of the sound, the wind picked up the balloon and stole it forever from his reach.
The scenery shifted around him. This didn't feel normal...

Something was wrong. This wasn't real. He was dreaming this.


The dark haired guy lurched into a sitting position on his bed. His usually immaculate hair like a nest, his eyes dark. Surrounding the bed, roughly ten figures loomed over him. Their faces unreadable.
What were they up to? He looked from left to right in a comical matter.
He was too tired to ask.
Xabier swayed from side to side and collapsed back asleep. The doppelgƤngers fading from vision.

And he was falling down now, the sheets transformed into water engulfing him completely.
He was drowning in an ocean and he couldn't swim upwards again. But the sensation was soothing and distracting. What doppelgƤngers? What problem? He gave in to the pull of the waters and continued to sink down until there was no more water to hold him.
He fell out of the water back down onto his bed. Above his resting place was the ocean as if he had been turned upside down.
The closet in the corner of his room shook and rumbled. It begged him to open it, to reveal its contents. But then a hooded figure walked out of the shadows. It was dragging a body towards the bed as an offering. A fluffy, golden dog howled in the background. It was running in circles, yipping in fear. He looked down at the body and recognised its face. He covered his mouth trying to contain the vomit spewing out. The condition of the corpse was in such bad condition that he couldn't stop gagging.
The cloaked figure bowed at the foot of the bed.
We will bring you more. It promised. A warning.

"What do you want from me?" Xabier begged.

The figure just smirked and in a flash the room was filled with the bodies of all he held dear.

"I think you know what we want."
And then everything disappeared except him and the bed. He was finally alone.

Well almost.
There was someone climbing into bed with him. A stranger in the form of a lady. She smiled at him reassuringly.
He thought she was pretty so when she leaned in, he didn't pull away.
When he finally did, he noticed that his partner was now a more familiar face. Blue eyes (or were they green? He wasn't sure), stared into his soul. A surge of affection. He much preferred this situation to the one earlier on.
His lover whispered something in his ear. It was the same voice that he heard in the field.
"Do you love me?"
"Of course" He didn't even pause before replying.
His vision refocused and the face in front of him was now his own.

The Xabier in front of him leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.
"Liar." It whispered.
All at once his surroundings caught fire. He struggled to breathe as the flames lapped around him. Books were falling from the air, a library shelf hitting the floor with a loud thud. He was back in that library.
This bed was a funeral pyre, and all around stood cloaked figures watching him burn.
The faces in the cloaks, every tribute and guardian.
And as one by one they walked away, he felt a drop of water hit his cheek. It trailed down into his mouth and he could taste salt. Like the ocean or a tear drop. He didn't deserve it, the slight release.


He woke up with wet cheeks. The Spaniard had been crying in his sleep. The pent up tension of the past few weeks had taken its toll on his subconscious. And though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he was utterly exhausted. It was as if someone was drinking all of his energy and leaving him for dead.
He rubbed his jaw and blinked a few times.
He had been having stupid nightmares for a while now. But this one took the cake.
What was up with the closet, he thought, was it implying that something was hiding in his closet.
How very original.
On that train of thought, he was reminded about Harper. He was also having nightmares at the moment. Ones that were probably much worse than his.
He would go and see if he wanted to have a date today if he was up for it. They needed to do something positive with all this angst going on. He was very worried and it had gotten to the point where the majority of his thoughts were of him.

His room stank of not being aired for days. His curtains were almost permanently draped closed. The October Warrior had created a reputation of spending all of his spare time in a dark room.
If anyone asked what he was doing he would lie and say he was reading. The truth was too embarrassing. How could he explain that he spent only a few hours a day awake.

But today was different. Today he would pry himself awake and go into the local market. There were things he needed to buy and he was going to the temple afterwards. It had been Inke's anniversary a week ago and Mikuel and Jakome's birthday in two days time.
He wanted to do something to mark the occasions in his mind. To have a quiet moment for a reason not because he had no one to go to.
He tried to picture his siblings in his mind but only saw the twins as 14. By now they'd be his age when he arrived in Aires. The thought scared him.

With the thought of actually leaving his quarters, he opened up the drapes and the window to let some air in. From now on he would have to try harder to get rid of his self pity. There was no way he could do anything if he stayed like this. But he was so tired....

He listened to the sound of a songbird singing on the windowsill. For a plain looking creature, it could sing pretty well.

He heard a light knock at his door.

He opened the door and raised his eyebrows at the sight. The person was not who he was expecting.
"Ah Autumn. Good Morning." Don't say his mama never taught him any manners.
He took in her shivering appearance and furious expression.
"What can I do for you?" He was frowning now. She should wear a cloak or something if she was cold.

His thoughts were led back to his closet for some reason.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Harper Calloway Fields
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It was growing dark.

The sound of rain bounced off the roof, echoing into the great halls below in wide bells of sound, while underneath an ostenato of plinks from the window accompanied. Every so often, a large tree would unload its heavy water burden, and sharp thacks would hit against the walls or ceiling, like large sticks clattering to the ground.

Harper glanced out one of the large picture windows in the darkened hallway, nose just barely pressed up against the glass. He was cross-eyed, staring at his own breath fog up the glass.

After an impressive circumference of misted glass had been made, he pulled away, and with his pinkie, dotted in a pair of eyes. He paused, debating on the mouth. With a small smirk, he decided on a grin, curling the ends up so high they almost met the eyes. It resembled more of an umlaut than a smile.

He'd spent the majority of the day avoiding people, and he thought he had done a fantastic job at it. He had only seen perhaps five people, none of them warriors or guardians, and none of them in a talkative mood, which only made it all the better.

Still. There was dinner to attend to. He hadn't eaten today, having skipped breakfast and lunch, and his stomach was not to be argued with. With a sigh he stared into the dark courtyard, clouds bringing the night prematurely.

It would be difficult to describe how exactly he was feeling. On most days, Harper felt as if he felt nothing at all. He was never really a man of thought, but lately it seemed that he didn't think of anything. Not their mission. Not his friends, if he could still call them that. Not Ondine. Not Xabi. Even Sadie eluded his brain.

Yet even though his mind was blank, he was still driven forward by some insatiable force. He wasn't lying in bed all day. He wasn't moping about. He still talked to people when he needed to. Still laughed. Still smiled. Still told stupid jokes and still teased nearly everyone. He felt like a motor with no off switch. An engine with no driver. He didn't think he'd ever walked so much in his life as he had been the past week. But everyday he either walked about the building or out in the city, at a brisk speed, as if he was going somewhere very important. But he was never going somewhere. And it was never important.

A dream. It all felt like he was dreaming. Sometimes he had to remind himself that things were actually happening. That this was all "real". Whatever "real" was.

Ironically, it was in his dreams that all the thoughts came. All the images. All the horrible things that used to haunt him 24/7, but now only came out at night. When he couldn't do anything about it. And even then, they were never actual thoughts. No internal monologue. Rather, it was like he was being forced to watch some horrible movie. A clockwork orange he couldn't escape from. He couldn't even scream himself awake like before. He was forced to endure the entirety.

He glanced up at the molding atop the window. With squinted eyes, he asked, "Have any idea what's for dinner?"

The molding was silent at first. As most moldings are want to do. Then, in a Chicago accent, it replied, The fuck would I know, kid. I'm just a molding.

Harper grinned up at it. Even snickered. "Of course. What was I thinking."

After another protest from his stomach, he finally headed to the dining hall. Eyes lowered, his grin slipped into a frown. It was happening again. Just like last time.

Things were talking to him again.