Skylar Grayson's Story

Dorian Roberts, for all of the trials and tribulations he'd experienced in the past three years as well as the admittedly difficult cards he'd been dealt in early life, considered himself to be a very lucky young man. He was alive, for one, which was more than he'd expected at the beginning of this journey. On a less broad note, he wasn't too terribly lonely either, even if he still longed for figures that now only existed in his life by virtue of a thin piece of technologically advanced plastic. He was fed well, training was still hard but no longer to the extent where extracurriculars meant trying not to fall into an exhausted sleep on his dinner, and outside of his duties at the Academy, he had free reign so long as he didn't manage to wander off the mountain again(no one had quite believed him when he'd said his sense of direction was bad until he'd ended up in a village some two miles from the mountain the Academy was located on).

That was not to say that bad things didn't happen to him. He might have been attempting to see things in a kinder light, but he was a realist at heart and there was no simply writing off the bad, even when considering the good. He was still on a foreign planet, still trapped into a destiny he still didn't quite believe in, still had no choice but to fight or die. But, still, he had some luck in that everything could be much worse. So maybe it wasn't luck? Maybe it was just the absence of terrible luck that left him alive and relatively well?

It was that luck-not-luck that apparently found him staring at the burning Academy from the tree line, lured back from a nightly stroll to the higher peaks in a fit of insomnia by flames visible even from a great distance, licking at the sky and the overwhelming stench of smoke polluting the clear air. He didn't know what he expected as he hurried back- a bonfire, perhaps, or a stupid mistake by one of the students that would be taken care of in a flash- but it wasn't what he found. The Academy was burning, no building spared by the merciless flames that continued to spread, eating hungrily away at anything that wandered too close. The smoke clogged his lungs, but his reactions were broken and too slow, memories shared not only by himself but millions of other New Yorkers and visitors and volunteers bubbling to the surface. It was never the sight of fire that bothered him, nor the intense heat that it exuded, a threat of pain and more than mild discomfort, but instead the way it invaded the other senses so thoroughly.

The smell- oh, the smell of burning wood wasn't too bad, but the intense stink of burning flesh and hair that intermixed with the fumes invaded his nose and settled on his tongue leaving a macabre taste to cling and coat the inside of his mouth, intermingling with the wood smoke. The noise was the worst, however, the sound of crackling flames promising the collapse of buildings, shrieks of agony, of panic, of fear, of anger from humans and animals alike intermingling into an all too familiar audio that had haunted his childhood dreams for weeks and weeks.

"Move!" Dorian was forcefully jolted from his reverie as a strong hand gripped his shoulder, launching him out of the way as part of the library collapsed on the area he'd just been standing in in a flurry of flickering flames now dancing across the grass and splintering wood slowly transforming to ash beside his feet. His gasp of surprise transformed almost instantaneously into a coughing fit, but the hand never left his shoulder, moving him steadily away from the burning building, never once letting him stop. It was easier to breathe in the courtyard, but being surrounded by the flaming buildings, held in the eye of the storm with sobbing, wounded people trying to comprehend the same shocking sight was no easier mentally. His rescuer- a random male student with thin blonde hair left him there, shoving through the crowd towards a similarly unfamiliar student, a girl clutching her bleeding arm, that he pulled gently into his arms. The girl collapsed almost instantly, clinging almost violently to Dorian's unknown savior.

This was a sea of strangers, strangers he'd lived with for three years but never managed to meet or know apart from the month warriors dotting his surroundings and the few familiar faces, elite or otherwise, moving around. They'd lived here, learned here, eaten here, trained here for longer than Dorian himself in most cases and now it was burning around them when mere hours ago everything had been as calm and tranquil as a night at the Academy could boast. It occurred to Dorian that he was in shock, trying to pay attention to small details instead of the whole picture because there was simply nothing he could do for anyone. The Academy was a lost cause, a thought that hit him with some force, and it would soon be wholly engulfed, eaten away by the ravenous inferno. It wasn't his home, not really- he was a visitor, a guest having long since overstayed his welcome, but grief still welled up within him because he still felt like it was his in some way, shape, or form, or at least close enough that seeing buildings crumble, hearing the shrieks of pain from the ox's stables, seeing tears streak down the faces of people he considered far stronger than himself was like a physical pain.

"March Warrior." Only one person in the Academy still stood by that formality, the magician battling his way through the crowd to appear at his side, a struggling Mori held in a tight grip by the wrist. They were transformed in the trauma and the light of the flames devouring their home. Liam's face held none of its usual amiability, tightlipped, face streaked with ash. Mori was no better, tracks of tears that still flowed as he struggled in his older friend's grip staining his cheeks, white cheeks uncharacteristically red due to the sheer heat surrounding them.

"You will watch him. You will not let him go. He is not to leave your sight." The order was hissed, only barely audible in the commotion as the young genius was thrust into his arms. Dorian grabbed him instinctively and, while Mori was not physically strong, still grimaced as the young man thrashed.

"Liam, no! No, I need to come with you! Dae, Ryou, Ji Na, Ben- they're all still out there! It's not fair, I can-!" The protests were cut off by a sudden flurry of movement and the sharp and distinctive noise of a hand meeting flesh. Mori stopped his struggles, one hand going to his stinging cheek as Liam- polite, cheery Liam- glared down at him, harsh and unrelenting.

"You cannot!" He snarled, each word ferocious and biting. "You will get in the way and get yourself killed, so stop being selfish and stay!" With that, the magician disappeared, throwing himself back into the fray of the few people still struggling to save the Academy, or if not the Academy, at least one more life. Mori started sobbing again, the shock of the sudden blow wearing off, and it occurred to Dorian- horribly and suddenly- that the youngest elite had a photographic memory. This was now burned into his mind, never to leave, never to fade but to stay as vivid as it was right now. He pulled the sobbing child to him, blocking his view as best he could. It was the least he could do, even if all he wanted to do was cry as well.

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Ryou was by no means an overly modest man- he took pride in many of his accomplishments, real and imagined(all real, he'd argue, until someone reminded him that he couldn't really be Lord of the Dance or King of the Jungle, even if he did tend to introduce himself as such when drunk). But if you caught him in an introspective moment and asked him what exactly he was most proud of, it would be his children. He adored all of the students that passed through his Academy, young and old, but he held a special place in his heart for those that he'd raised personally. His beloved Ji Na, as delicate looking as a porcelain doll and twice as beautiful and with a strength and knowledge that made her so endearing. Ben, gruff and tough as a bear on the outside, but, to Ryou, as sweet as honey on the inside. Now Karma with her endless energy and endearing antics. They were flawed- of course they were(if Ji Na ever though he didn't notice the distinct odor of her brand of relaxation in her room, she had another thing coming). Still, they were his children, brought up by him for better or for worse, his pride and joys proving themselves every day to be the greatest things that he'd ever done.

Which is why no one, absolutely no one, could imagine what went through his mind as Ji Na and Ben slowly approached the bastard who'd burned down their home, who'd caused the deaths of their students, friends, classmates, and his cast of monsters, not to kill him, not to attack, but to join him alongside Kat- independent, beautiful, amazing Kat- faces emotionless, without pain. He froze mid run, caught in the shadows of an already toppled building. Their words were lost on him, lost in the hurricane of thoughts flickering through his mind, lost in his own internal screams. He'd lost his home, his students, and now his children, his children in the same night. Where was the Ji Na he knew, who'd scolded him gently every time he leaned over to boop her nose during a meal even as a child? Where was the Ben whose every boo-boo and scrape he'd taken care of as a child with a bandage and a kiss?

'Help!'

That wasn't them. It couldn't be them, that was ridiculous. Ji Na and Ben and, yes, even Kat, would never just… Do this, whatever this was. They were proud individuals, strong and true, they would never- they could never-

'Help!'

This wasn't happening- it was a nightmare, it had to be. Academies don't just burst into flame, super villains didn't just stream out of the woodwork, children don't just betray their parents-

'I need Help!'

It was a trick, wasn't it? Yes, that must be it. Any moment now, Ben would pull the string of his bow, Ji Na would unsheathe some hidden blade and strike, avenge their home and their family.

'Goddess, please!'

But they stayed there, mouths moving in some incomprehensible language, hidden by his shrieking thoughts. His home was gone, his family- his family was gone. Gone, gone, gone- they left him, they weren't dead, they just left him. Was it his own fault? Had he done something? He must have done something, that had to be it because people don't just- They don't just-

"RYOU, HELP!"

That plea wasn't in his own mind, it couldn't be. He turned suddenly to see the last of the Girl's dormitory begin to crumble under its no longer solid framework. Stragglers flooded out of the door, infinitely less secure because a beam had already fallen, flaming like the rest of the structure, and was being held up as the last girl ran to the relative safety the grounds provided, held up by… By Dae. The flames licked at his body, burning cloth and flesh alike, but he was stuck in the trap of his own making while attempting to let them free. It was his bellowed plea that had broken the spell.

He was torn, only for a moment. He could go now, could untangle these lies and confusing revelations by demanding answers from his children, or he could save someone already struggling to save others, who hadn't left their compatriots behind. He hated himself, oh, Goddess, how he hated himself. He turned and ran, to save the person that he still knew, who hadn't just become a stranger.

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Sometimes, the light of day is more of a curse than a blessing. The fire had finally died out, consuming all that it could before vanishing into smoldering ashes and into the ruins of the buildings that they all had once visited, walked through, slept in, lived in. The cruel sun exposed the reality, harsh and unrelenting without the darkness and the pale, more merciful glow of the moon and stars to hide away the worst of it. It was still quiet, however, the natural noises surrounding them all but gone. No birds sang, no animals made their way through the foliage, no pleasant and inconsequential chatter among the students. Prayers rained supreme and quiet, solemn conversations intermingled with sobs from those that still had tears left to shed and still other's tiny sounds of pain, gasps and light whines.

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"Dae, stop."

"Dae, please. You're already injured."

"So?"

"So? So, my dear, you're making it worse by sifting through the rubble."

"No, they're making it worse."

"They?"

"Them. Didn't you see them? Trying to- trying to find bodies and- and take care of everyone. They're making it worse. They don't even know any of their names, and they're acting like-"

"Like they care about them?"

"I know it sounds selfish, I know- Liam, I just… I just want our friends to be found and taken care of by people they know. We owe them that, something personal. They're not corpses to be found- that's Camilla, she was going to marry that baker's son. I found Tai earlier, in the library. All of them deserve to be mourned because the world lost amazing people, not just because they happened to die."

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Dorian, while not medically trained, spent his time trying his best to patch up wounds, wrapping bandages around the least severe of the injuries. Without searching, his immediate fears for his teammates were alleviated simply because none of their bodies were displayed with the others, and their wounds were either mild enough or their pride too powerful so that they never made their way over to the impromptu medical station. Mori had stayed by his side, uncharacteristically quiet, not that Dorian blamed him, apart from occasionally rattling off medical advice absorbed by reading and observation in a dull, hollow sort of voice. It wasn't until the rest of his trio returned did he finally perked up, racing over to Dae and flinging his arms around his middle. Neither of the elites looked themselves, for very different reasons.

Dae was covered in soot and ash, already rough hands covered with streaks of blood and dirt, and although his body was wrapped in Liam's cloak, blistering burns were visible creeping up his neck, otherwise hidden away by the fabric. Liam, on the other hand, finally exposed what had always been beneath the cloak- black pants and a black tank top revealing large, swirling, black rune-like tattoos covering the entirety of his torso, stopping only at his wrists and curling partially up his neck.

"Haru's called for you," Dae croaked, tired green eyes settling firmly on Dorian, already raspy voice gone to Hell in the aftermath of smoke inhalation and screaming. Dorian nodded, not trusting himself to speak, as he followed behind the three. It felt wrong to see them like this, to look upon the picture of a broken family- and, indeed, they were a family if Liam and Dae's interlocked hands and the tender way Dae stroked Mori's hair with his free hand meant anything.

They joined the exhausted group, some holding up quite well and others teetering on the edge of a meltdown. Some were injured, apparently having found medical help elsewhere, and others were fine or as fine as they could be. The solemn gathering was ultimately shattered, however, with Harper's arrival, spitting out angry words that had no place being heard by these people who had just been betrayed. Dorian liked Harper, of course he did, and maybe this was just his way of dealing with trauma or something, but he wasn't stupid, he knew it was without tact.

Dorian's eyes flickered to his three guides, noticed the way Mori scooted further back as if by surrounding himself by the knight and the magician, he'd be safe, how Dae shut his eyes for just a moment too long, how Liam's unblinking gaze set firmly on Haru, unwilling to waver form the man with a plan, as his grip tightened on Dae's hand to the point of appearing painful. Kyle was the only one who moved to do anything and he was stopped by the appearance of his own guardian, a newcomer untainted by the night's events. Dorian couldn't look at her, didn't really want to look at the casually amused way she took them all in as if bodies weren't lined up in the ruins of the dorm, ready to be buried or sent home to their families. Again, no tact, but now without the excuse of an emotional night to chip away at sensibilities and courtesy that Dorian had given Harper's outburst. Dorian coughed and for once he didn't know if it was his own mild attempt to clear away just how awkward he found the situation or if it was form the smoke inhalation.

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"As long as students wish to learn at my Academy, I see no reason for it to be shut down." The sudden appearance of Ryou was enough to surprise even the most taciturn member of the little meeting. He looked like he'd gone through Hell, body streaked with sweat, blood, and ash, golden eyes without their usual mirthful glint, clothing tattered from a lack of attention as he'd spent every waking hour busying himself with something, anything to help. But he was solid, together as he cradled Karma in his arms like a delicate flower, one hand idly combing tangles from pink tresses.

"Mr. Vo… Kwasi…. I would be honored if you would help to rebuild and restart the Academy. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have here, building our home." His tone was solemn, respectful as if they had just offered him something sacred. He clasped hands with each of them, even pulling Mr. Vo into a tender one-armed hug, careful of the small body in his arms.

"I've already talked to the students- some will be heading home, but most want to stay, so you'll both have more than enough help. And so will we." He glanced at the only remaining elites who nodded their heads. Their home had been burned down, their friends and students killed. Their place wasn't here, not right now, but with their leader to find answers and hopefully revenge.

"Haru, I'm ready to go."

Ondine was restless as she approached. She had taken down many a trading ship such as this in her pirating days. She hadn't seen her own ship in too many years to count. And boarding any ship without being in command of it always left her uneasy.

Harper, while starting the voyage off with his usual grumbling and conversation with Skylar, peppered with the occasional pirate joke in reference to his bad foot (which had required all of Ondine's willpower not to amputate the leg in question on the spot), had dwindled off into uncharacteristic silence. He had also slowed in pace, and indeed, the two were some of the last to board. However, it was clear from his labored breathing and grimacing with each step that Harper's hesitance and silence was from pain, rather than any past nostalgia. Ondine nearly had to carry him the last few rungs of the ladder onto the actual ship, and by then he was looking very pale.

"Who knew...that...tridents..." Harper wheezed out, "would make....such bad...crutches..."

"Why don't you sit?" Ondine suggested, worried that he might pitch over. The way he was holding the trident suggest a possibility that he might accidentally stick himself with the prongs.

"And miss...the grand...tour?" Harper asked through breaths, and somehow managed grin. He stood up straight, stretching his back, "I'll sit...when I find the beds..."

Ondine hovered, making sure he didn't fall and keeping an eye on him while she herself examined the ship with judgmental eyes. Fancy handiwork, but in the heat of battle, she was certain her own ship would crack through without much issue.

When they finally reached the sleeping quarters, Harper was first to claim a bed, hobbling over to the farthest corner, dumping his trident unceremoniously between the wooden trunk and the wall and pulling himself in a most ungracious manner onto the netting and rolling onto his back. There was a brief moment of uncertainty in terms of whether he would fall off or not, as expressed in his very wide eyes and arms clinging either side, but the moment passed and the netting ceased its swinging.

With a shake of her head, Ondine left her ward to his own devices, which no doubt included a nap, and returned to the deck.

In the days to come, the deck would be where most would find Ondine, if she wasn't in the water as a dolphin, jumping and diving in and out of the water and tossing up any fish that she herself didn't want to eat. Occasionally she would also mention any large rocks or boulders to be wary of, though she always did this in an offhand, casual manner. Heaven forbid she report anything to any captain but herself.

Harper spent an equal amount of time above and below, though whenever he was above deck he was always looking out at the water wistfully, his envy of Ondine's ability undisguised. Being on this ship quickly turned into a sort of torture, being surrounded by water, but never able to swim in it. It was only a matter of hours after taking to water, though, that Harper lighted upon a compromise and hurried under as fast as his limp would let him. Pulling out his knife, he sawed away at the wooden trunk under his bed. After about forty minutes, with little progress than several scratch marks that totally marred the wood, he resorted to just jabbing with his trident. After another half hour of stabbing, he managed to slide the prongs under the bottom and, through the use of basic physics, levered the trunk up from the ground after a good fifteen minutes.

"Success!" he exclaimed, hoisting the trunk above his head, slats of wood still connected to the bolts dangling from the overall box.

With a confident, excited hobble up the stairs and onto the deck, he placed the block top down near the front of the ship, the sky a deep orange. With some effort, he raised a water pillar from the sea and hosed the ocean water into the box. He then proceeded to strip off all his clothes, with the exception of his underwear, which was still the same Speedo he had been wearing when he was first brought to this world (meticulously cleaned and maintained, mind you), and with a small splash of water, lounged in his newly-fashioned mini tub. The sight was perfectly ridiculous, the water only coming up to his upper abs, with most of his body out of the tub than in it, and the wood was scratchy and not quite smooth, no thanks to his knife-work, but if there was ever a moment when Harper would start caring, it certainly wasn't now.

In fact, as the sun set, and the melody from Titanic whistled from his lips, the ocean water still cool as a breeze swept through his fire-burnt hair, Harper felt pretty fucking majestic.

What happened next was a flurry of motion and information that Dorian quite frankly failed to comprehend. The lack of sleep from the night before began to dawn over his body, leaving him in a dazed state as the dwindling energy from what was quite possibly the longest adrenaline fueled night of his life finally dissipated. He hardly batted an eye as Falke was shanghaied by the apparent captain in a makeshift stretcher, gave the newest guardian's speeches on how they were a "crew" now (despite the fact that the whole team concept had already been thoroughly drilled into their young minds for the past three years) all of the attention he thought it deserved which was apparently none, and simply gave up on the idea of even pretending to memorize the large ship's layout, resigning himself to getting lost each and every time he left the sleeping rooms or dormitory or berth or whatever they were calling it now. Names only slightly stuck in his mind while titles did a better job of lingering in his thoughts- doctor, first-mate, captain (although, for all of her reassurance that she was in fact in charge, Dorian still held her position firmly under both Haru and Ryou in his mental hierarchy). This may be her ship, but she hadn’t been keeping him alive for the past three years, hadn’t plucked him from the brink from Hell.

She was gone now, leaving them to make sense of what had just happened, to nurse their wounds both visible and hidden away, and Dorian found himself at a loss for just a moment. It only lasted as long as it took for the first person, Harper unsurprisingly, to hoist themselves into the netting before others began following suit, the sleepless night behind them just now sinking in to their weary bodies. Dorian climbed into a hammock of his own, grimacing lightly as the netting dipped with each movement, unnerved by the fact that he was being held aloft high above the floor. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not really, but it was too different, too new to being even close to actually comfortable.

He laid there for a time, eyes shut, body shifting every moment or so as he struggled to find a comfortable position, but he felt like he was trapped in the rope bed as opposed to cradled in it and despite his exhaustion, sleep evaded him. Eyelids fluttering open with a tiny, exasperated sigh, he turned instead to see how everyone else was doing in the room. The beds had been kinder to others, already drifted off from the land of consciousness, but others lingered like him. Only two nets over was Ryou, golden eyes staring blankly at the wooden sky above him, Karma cradled in his arms. One hand was moving in an automatic, unconscious gesture of threading gentle hands through her pink locks, the other wrapped around her body, holding Karma to him like a favorite teddy bear. Dorian could hear if he really listened a lullaby foreign to his own ears but nevertheless recognizable in its soothing tone being hummed only for the child in Ryou’s arms. Some had foregone beds entirely, like the only remaining Academy elites huddled close together on the floor, the nets too small to comfortably fit all three and Dae’s back too damaged to be comfortable pressed against anything. Mori had fallen asleep on Dae’s lap, curled into a tight ball, and the knight’s head rested on Liam’s shoulder as the magician whispered words too quiet to be overheard, a secret just for them. Dorian turned away, feeling suddenly like an intruder on the private moments, and pulled out his phone before he too was lulled to sleep by the rocking of the boat and by the unnatural low cast by the screen in his hands.


It could have been days, hours, even minutes before Dorian woke next, body aching uncomfortably from the unfamiliar bed, a light imprint of ropes on his right cheek from where he’d shifted during his nap. Still, as consciousness returned to him, he didn’t really move, instead choosing to lie still for a time and take in the changes in the room. Some people had left, either to explore the ship or to escape the forced community of the privacy lacking room. Others stayed where they had been already, like Ryou who was exactly as Dorian had last seen him, still staring blankly at the ceiling, still stroking Karma’s hair softly, but the humming had tapered off into nothing. Still others had apparently already ventured out but returned, as evidenced by the way that the three Academy students were now arranged. Liam now held a small jar of what Dorian could only assume was a burnt orange burn cream, most likely scavenged from the ship’s doctor, and was gently spreading it across Dae’s bare back as he laid on his stomach on the floor, Mori clutching tightly to his hand more for the child’s comfort than the knight’s. The damage, now open to curious eyes, was admittedly bad with great blisters and vivid burns decorating his upper back and trailing to the nape of his neck, but they were hardly the most eye-catching things about the scene. No, that honor went to the others scars, small or large, thin or deep, gouged into the knight’s back and arms like a map of tragedies and triumphs etched into the very skin. It occurred to Dorian then how little he knew about the Academy students. What kind of life had Dae lived to gain those marks? What did the black, swirling runes still visible on Liam’s body even mean? How had a small child like Mori managed to be exposed to so much information in his few years? No wonder he’d been surprised when Kat, Ji Na, and Ben had turned traitor only- no. No, that wasn’t right. He’d seen the horror in the eyes of those who knew them best. If even Ryou hadn’t suspected it, there was no way he could have known.

He slid to his feet, unsteady on the moving ship, and simply breathed for a moment before heading out of the room, not wanting to dispel the fragile peace in the room by any unnecessary goodbyes. Suddenly it felt too enclosed, too much like a trap swallowing him whole, in a way that the Academy never had. He had to move, had to find the sun and sky and clouds again so that he could breathe evenly once more. He wandered for a time, losing himself in the bowels of the ship, using the excuse of exploring to hide just how lost he was until he found the stairs leading to the deck.

The sky was a welcome sight, the fresh air, however tinged with salt, even more so. The sun had already started its decline towards the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ship. He could hear more than the creaking of planks and the quiet voices of sailors now- there was some soft tune in a foreign tongue ghosting from some unknown corner of the ship, the gentle sounds of waves lapping against the ship, and… and the Titanic theme? It wasn’t a question of whom then, but of where. He found Harper soon enough, whistling in a tub of his own design.

Apparently Harper's mission of the day had been asinine as opposed to brilliant, Dorian realized as he spotted Harper wallowing in his impromptu little tub looking absolutely ridiculous. It should have been hilarious, but it wasn't. Not really. A month ago it would have been funny. A week ago it would have been laughable. Hell, even yesterday it would have been at the very least chuckle worthy, but not today. Dorian couldn't bring himself to even work up a smile because after last night, after everything, it just wasn't funny. But it wasn't for him to confront Harper on how he ought to feel after traumatic events, wasn't his duty to announce how long everyone should be upset or grieve, and he'd learned long ago that confronting Harper about anything at all was as dangerous as walking into a lion's den at dinner time. And Dorian could play pleasant for a friend's sake, even if the sight made him want to ask how on Earth Harper was so damn cheery right now.

"How's the water?" He asked dryly, eyebrows raised. It was Dorian's own little way of showing that he wasn't sure if he should be envious of Harper's ability to let traumatic events simply roll off of him or if (when, he reminded himself, when) they arrived back in New York he should recommend him to a good therapist to diagnose acute sociopathy.


Inhale, hold, hold… Exhale, hold, hold… Inhale, hold, hold… Exhale, hold, hold…

Ryou was going to go insane.

The room was closing in around him, too small, to impossibly closed in for someone who’d lived for ages in the mountains, breathing in fresh air and always keeping a window open, even in the cold night air. And he wasn’t alone; people, people he had to keep up appearances for, surrounded him. He couldn’t break into hysteria, not now; he couldn’t show that face to those who still clung to him for support.

But he was going to go insane.

He had to get out of here, just for a while. He needed to breathe and suddenly it felt like all of the oxygen in the room was gone, his breaths short and shallow, and, no, no, not here.

His hands stopped their gentle ministrations, removing themselves gently from Karma’s now silky smooth hair, all of the tangles having been removed long ago

“Mori?”

The white-haired child looked up at him with his large, all too knowing red eyes.

“I need you to take my place. I need to-“ Need to what? To scream? To sob? To curse the goddess? To punch something until it shattered beneath his hands. “I don’t want Karma to be alone.”

Maybe desperation had bled into his voice, maybe some of the urgency welling up within him was exposed, but for whatever reason, Mori bobbed his head in a minute nod before swapping places with his teacher, easily climbing up despite his short height. Ryou planted a small kiss on the top of Karma’s head, then Mori’s, before hurrying from the room. The staircase wasn’t long, but it felt like it took hours before he was once again seeing real light, the light of day instead of the artificial flames of lamps below deck. He didn’t stop, however, until he reached the edge of the ship, hands clenching onto the railing for dear life as he stared at the horizon. Oh, Goddess. The sky was on fire as the sunset, the vivid reds and oranges from the night before painting over soothing blue, but what was worse was the promise of still darkness afterwards, of the night that remained after the great flames of the sun had vanished leaving only a disturbing, unpleasant calm.

Ryou was a carefully constructed but ultimately fragile structure of emotions barely being held together. All it would take was the slightest push before he broke, crumbling into so many pieces, dissolving like charred wood into ash. He wasn’t breathing easier and the heaviness from below hadn’t let up until he felt a hand grip his shoulder, fingers squeezing almost painfully tight, although any contact felt painful at the moment. He knew who it was instantly, a familiarity and intimacy built between two friends of the dearest sort giving him no option but to recognize the man behind him with only a simple touch. With that touch, he broke.

Rivulets of fat tears raced down his face, streaking his cheeks with water that only deviated slightly as they dipped slightly into the scar on his face, barely hesitating at his stubble covered cheeks before dripping off his chin. He was sobbing violently, shaking with a great force, and he was speaking, but not with words. No, they were sounds strung together that expressed the sorrow he felt, the sadness that no words could adequately express. Despite their height difference, he clung onto Haru, face buried in his shoulder in a last ditch attempt to not expose himself to the world he had to stay strong for, but unable to stop now that the dam had broken. It was all he could do not to collapse on shaky legs, to stand hunched and trembling as he was.

Some time later, the tears ran dry and the sobs stopped only because exhaustion didn’t allow him to tremble quite to violently. His breathing was deeper, less shallow and less frequent, but he didn’t look up. Control had come back to his tongue and finally, real verbalizations of known words appeared tumbling from his lips.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” He gasped, never saying what he was sorry for. Was it for wasting Haru’s time? For failing his students that had died, that he’d left behind, that he’d seen breaking just as he was now? For failing his children and friends, for not being able to see what they were doing, what they were going through?

“Nice job, Gwen.” Bryce murmured from his spot behind Falke, his intrigue with her powers overpowering any bitter feelings that she was able to heal so easily while he could have never stopped the swelling in Falke’s leg so quickly.

Bryce was not easily impressed by any means, yet the January warrior’s powers fascinated him to no end. While Gwen’s method of acquiring them differed greatly from his many years of conventional study, he couldn’t help but be impressed with her growing skill. It made him almost wish that he was her guardian- or at the very least that Skylar’s powers were something a little more than glorified rock throwing.

He trailed after Lillian and Nikita as they carried Falke to the ship via a makeshift stretcher (Bryce help them by doing any kind of physical labor? Please, Bryce was a man of brainpower and would not stoop to such levels.) Once they arrived on board and Falke was set up in the infirmary, Bryce was able to fashion a splint for the younger male that would stabilize his leg enough so that it would be able to heal on its own. While he might not have been able to heal the break in a way similar to Gwen’s healing, his methods were just as effective even if they were time consuming.

Once he finished, he turned to find Kit sitting on one of the cots, his injuries looking no better. “I can make you a better splint if you’d like.” He said, gesturing to the guardian’s previous attempt to patch himself up.

-

Between everything that had happened earlier and the dull throbbing sensation in her ankle, Skylar could barely pay attention to Harper’s grumbling and pirate jokes, let alone the tour of the ship. Despite Nikita’s offer to let those who were injured stay in the infirmary, Skylar didn’t like the idea of so openly asking for help (although Kyle had helped her onto the ship earlier and while she appreciated the offer, she hated the feeling of vulnerability it left her with). She made a mental note of where the infirmary was as they passed through it, planning on heading down afterwards to get a better bandage for her ankle.

After they’d been dismissed, she made her way to the infirmary where Bryce was able to wrap her ankle enough so the throbbing didn’t bother her as much. Ignoring her guardian’s advice to rest, the thought of even trying to get any sleep repulsed her. She hated sitting still and suddenly felt a pang of nostalgia for the clearing in the forest where she used to go when she was feeling overwhelmed. They were on a ship though; a ship way out in the middle of the ocean- there was no escaping now.

She stopped in her tracks as she walked out onto the deck, gaze locked on Harper sitting in a dinky little wooden crate filled with water. It shouldn’t have been funny in the slightest, considering that he’d basically vandalized the ship and especially in the aftermath of the fire, but she couldn’t stop the laughter that was beginning to bubble out of her throat at the sight. She sank down to the ground, laughing until her face was red and tears started streaming down her face. Her shoulders shook as she sat there, the events of the previous day hitting her like a ton of bricks until soon enough the tears weren’t from laughing anymore.

It was horrifying. She couldn’t get the image of the flames out of her head, the flames that had not only engulfed the buildings where she’d lived for three years, but that had taken all those innocent lives far too soon. She wanted to throw up.

Bryce chose that particular moment to stroll onto the deck, Skylar’s mental breakdown making him once again question his guardian-ship. While the older male could handle gore like a pro, he was at a loss when it came down to such public displays of emotion.

“Skylar?” He questioned, narrowing his eyes. “Are you… Is everything alright?”

Skylar looked up, her face red and tear stained. “I’m fine,” She started, furiously rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” She shook her head, pulling herself up off the floor and taking a deep breath before turning to Harper. “You, I…. I don’t think I actually have anything to say to you for once because you look more ridiculous than you normally do- which I didn't think was possible.”

Autumn gave a slow nod to Skylar. The gesture was appreciated, but it didn’t help much. There probably wasn’t anything that could help the current situation. There wasn’t anything that could give her what she needed.

The mix of living and dead voices swirled in her mind. Pleas for help combined with murmurs from the survivors. It was nauseating and headache inducing.

Other warriors and guardians arrived, erasing the thoughts of their possible demise. It was a relief. Even if they were fighting already, she was glad that they weren’t dead. She wasn’t sure if she could handle a dead warrior.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to handle the test from the Harbinger, but she would find a way. For the time being, however, she was preoccupied with the images of the dead. She tried to think of other things such as kittens or flowers, but her mind kept wandering to the burnt corpses. Her stomach churned, though there was no food left in it. It took all of her strength not to dry heave. The only comfort she had was that the further she got from the Academy, the quieter the voices became. By the time they reached the ship, all she could hear was the voices of the living and the sound of the sea.

The blonde listened half heartedly as Nikita explained the rules of the ship. They seemed simple enough to follow.

Autumn wasn’t sure why, but the little room felt heavy. Heavy and dark. Voices of unknown origin whispered in the back of her mind in languages she didn’t understand. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, but they refused to go away. They were persistent, but not desperate. It was as if they had plenty of time to convey their message, whatever it might be. Autumn let out a quiet whisper, a plea.

“Please just leave.”

They obliged, but she had a feeling they would return. For the time being, however, her mind was cleared of them. She let out a slow sigh, trying to focus on the rocking of the ship. For what felt like the first time, she wanted to be alone. Completely and utterly alone.

It gave her time to think of her own faults. She really was weak, wasn’t she? What good was she if her powers controlled her more than she controlled them? How could she call herself a warrior if her actions were that of a diplomat?

If there was a way to be more useful, she didn’t know of it. It seemed like her destiny was to simply trade energy back and forth. How pathetic. Here she was given the challenge of a lifetime and she chose commerce to deal with it.

Autumn rummaged through her satchel, trying to distract herself from the quiet voices of Dae and Liam. Oh, she had noticed. She wasn't sure if her suspicion was correct, but she had a bad feeling. Liam would never choose her. She knew from the beginning that it was futile. Still, it hurt.

Her fingers brushed against the bottom of the bag, touching some unknown material. She removed her hand to find dried herbs caught in her fingernails. Autumn furrowed her brow, trying to find out their origin. She dug again, now focused on figuring out the source of the mess. It was soon revealed as she brushed against a small leather pouch. Of course, the medicine bag.

It had been years since she so much as thought of it. Over time it ripped, contents spilling out onto the bottom of the bag. What a shame. It was such a nice thing, though she had long since debunked her sudden bursts of energy from it as a mere placebo effect. The words the medicine man said to her, what were they again? She couldn’t recall.

The room felt dark again. Autumn tried to sleep.

Kit was never a fan of ships. He detested them, really. They always made him feel queasy. This ship was no different. He spent all day in the infirmary trying to remain still, but his stomach still fought him. If his arm wasn’t hurting him, it was the feeling of throwing up that got to him. Seasickness, who knew he would be plagued by it?

“Sure, why not.” Kit let Bryce tend to his wounds as he did his best to ignore the pain. Even with the medicine that Dr. Rose had given him, it still hurt. Luckily, it dulled the pain enough for his shirt to be removed and his wounds examined.

Though the crusted blood was cleaned off and the splint and sling made, Kit still felt uneasy. He had to change into a shirt that didn’t even cover his neck. It was clean, yes, but it was far too revealing for his tastes. Anything that didn’t cover the neck was revealing.

Autumn had bought the shirt a couple of years back when she found out when Kit’s birthday was. It was a nice thought, but the shirt didn’t cover the neck and was quickly abandoned and left in Kit’s bag. However, he had no choice but to wear it now.

The redhead rubbed his neck uneasily, fingers brushing over the centuries old scar. He silently prayed that no one would notice. Maybe they would all be too busy with their own issues to notice his.

Harper tilted his head back to look at Dorian, the world turning upside down. "Eh. It is what it is," he said in response to his question, "And what it is is all right. Enough for my daily soak. Gotta keep up with my routine, you know?"

It was hard to ignore the doom and gloom atmosphere. It was everywhere, in the air, in the floor boards, in the damn water. It was frustrating, in a way...how it wanted to suffocate you and force you into despairing as well. But Harper had some immunity. For much of his life, there was only one person he'd ever cared about. Only one person he made any effort into ensuring their happiness, whose state of being could define his own.

That person, of course, was his sister.

It was a defensive maneuver...a way to protect himself. Just as he'd reached the highest high, he'd sunk to the lowest low, and a person as intense as he was fell hard. Plummeted. And the climb out was near impossible. On more than one occasion, in his past, he had considered taking the easy way out. Save everyone else the trouble and hassle that was Harper Calloway Fields. He'd gotten close once, too. More than five years ago, he realized. That second year alone in Boston...after Alice had broken up with him. He'd thought he'd had everything under control, thought he had a routine down, thought he had it all figured out. But of course, he hadn't. Alice's family had thought he was a bum. They had no idea his upbringing had been more lavish than what they had. And of course, lashing out and correcting their assumptions only burned the rotten bridge.

He'd talked to himself. God, he remembered now, how lonely he was. Even before he'd dated his ex, he talked to the things he made, argued with mechanical fish and told stories to tin princesses. It was all in his head, he knew. But at the time it felt so real. And after, during the fallout, when literally everything went to shit, not just Alice...somehow the fish had persuaded him to do it.

He'd told everyone after the fact that he'd only wanted to sleep in the bathtub. That the water was warm enough not to freeze him, and besides, he was closed. For a while, he'd even convinced himself of it. But, deep down he knew what he had really wanted. And even now, it still scared him shit-less.

But that was so long ago. And he'd changed. He didn't take rejection as hard anymore, mainly because he didn't care as much. Not caring made things easier. Focusing on only one person simplified things. He only need to keep tabs on one, not many, and with someone as happy and secure as Sadie, he'd also stay happy and secure. She was the only one that mattered.

Not that he thought those who did care were weaker than him. It was the opposite. It was because he knew he wasn't strong that he put all his mental sanity on one person.

Yet...now...as Dorian stood by him, and Skylar's laughs and cries mingled together, Harper wasn't sure anymore...if it had been Dorian, or Skylar, or Xabi that had died or betrayed the group, would he too be upset? Too sad to speak? Choked up on grief? Sobbing himself to sleep?

In the three years that had passed, these three people...at least these three people...did he depend on them too for his happiness?

He was scared of the answer. It was too blatant for him to avoid.

He was silent after Skylar spoke to him, her voice still ragged from her laugh/crying. And for a moment, he too was speechless. And actionless. He didn't know what to do. He'd never had friends close enough to require comforting or reassurance. Didn't know how to handle awkward situations like a normal person. Anyone else, and maybe he would have cracked a joke, tried a smile. But with these circumstances, and Skylar clearly upset, no matter how hard she tried to hide it...

Skylar...ever since the beginning, she'd always reminded him of Sadie. If he replaced the two, if it had been Sadie sobbing on the ground, would he really be so inactive?

Finally he stood up, muscles aching from the jagged wood, and pulled his clothes on. He turned to face both Skylar and Dorian, an uncharacteristically mellowed half-smile on his face.

"I guess I've been a real dick today, huh?" he said, "Well...more of a dick than I usually am, anyways. I wasn't close to Ji Na or the others, or anyone that was lost...hell, I was only conscious for part of the actual fire...I didn't have to wake up to that. But everyone else was, and I'm just here...splashing in a splintery wooden box...bitching about stupid shit...feeling like top shit...being a little shit overall..." he looked down, snorting softly, before raising his eyes again, "That's really not cool. Sorry, guys."

He turned to Skylar, and after a slight hesitation, wrapped his arms around her for a hug. "If you still have to cry, you can go ahead," he told her, "My shirts already wet, so no one will tell. And if anyone asks, we'll pretend we're playing hide and seek, and you're counting and I'm moderating or something." Harper looked at Dorian, "If you see people approaching, run off and hide somewhere, so they won't get suspicious. And once Skylar's done, we can rotate, if you need."

As ridiculous and cheesy and childish as it was, Harper didn't know what else to do. It was in this manner that he had comforted Sadie before, and it was only in this manner that he knew how to comfort his friends. Or die trying.

After finishing all the necessary work for the ship to cast off, Nikita came back down belowdecks to check on her passengers. She let Haru convince her of the situation, but she couldn't help worrying about them. They were a bunch of kids pulled into this situation and called month warriors. The only place they knew just went up in flames. Their friends were either killed or severely injured. Children were usually more resilient than adults and easier to train. At the same time they could be fragile.

These children's ages mattered naught to her. Among her crew, she defined adulthood by attitude and experience. These month warriors had no experience outside the safe haven of Ryou's Academy and she already knew the childish attitudes of two of them. She would probably never be able to see them as adults, but she refused to baby them. Children always needed to grow up.

She came to their berth and found a splintered gap on the floor. Showing her own control, she glanced over the room identifying who was there and who wasn't without a word. All of Ryou's students remained and had painful expressions on their faces. Some of the month warriors were dead asleep, while the others apparently left to explore on their own. There was no sign of the missing trunk among the sleepers, therefore she had to find the wanderers. Before leaving though, she whispered to the students, "I'm sorry."

Kyle sat in the infirmary without a shirt and his dirty blond hair tossed over his face. He leaned forward and hid his scars while Dr. Rose tended the burns on his back. The youngest warrior had no scars or marks anywhere close to Dae's, but he didn't see the knight to compare. Liam came in earlier asking for some burn creme and Dr. Rose gave it to him but asked a number of questions making sure the magician knew how to use it. Satisfied with the answers, the good doctor resumed working on anyone else who needed help and filling out all those forms on heavy paper.

One person to check off her list. Nikita headed back on deck. Tallyho was sitting by Lillian who worked on some clothing and Nikita smiled. It was a peaceful scene. Another check mark. She didn't even suspect Haru and Ryou who were watching the sunset. She caught a little bit of Haru's speech too. "Good people who do bad things. hmm..."

Last but not least, she came to the small huddle of Bryce, Skylar, Dorian, and Harper. This would not be pleasant. She wrinkled up her nose and hardened her face and stance. Bryce was the May guardian so he would definitely know better than to tear up her ship. It's called respect of property. All four of them were guests here. Nothing aboard belonged to them as individuals except for whatever they came with. She would know better not to damage their things and her crew, though younger than they, would know just as well. "Which of you tore up my ship?" She regretted her cold, harsh tone, seeing Skylar's red face, but she absolutely could not back down. "Who tore up my ship?" she repeated and glared at all three of them until she got her answer.

Skylar's emotional needs were being taken care of, which meant that Bryce didn’t have to pretend to know what he was doing and force out any awkwardly comforting words. Tending to patients and having a calming bedside manner was one thing, but trying to help those he cared about in the slightest was much more complicated. Letting out a short sigh of relief, he turned and quickly made his way back to the infirmary before the girl decided to burst into tears again.

He stepped into the darkened room, slowly circling the infirmary as he checked on the other members of their team. Kit appeared to be doing much better, although it was probably due to the fact that his arm was nicely fixed up in a sling and his bloodstained shirt had been replaced by a clean one.

“How are you holding up?” Bryce asked, walking over to the other guardian. His eyes narrowed as he watched the redhead rub his neck, gaze fixating on the faded scar that was apparent- rope burn? It occurred to him that he didn’t think he had ever seen the other male with his neck uncovered, his discomfort noticeable on Kit’s face.

It was almost an unspoken rule among the guardians not to talk about their pasts- or at least, it was in Bryce’s case. Aside from making it known that he had been a doctor, he didn’t talk about his life before guardianship at all.

-

Harper actually being genuine? Skylar almost couldn’t believe it- she may have known him for three years, but she would be the first to admit that sometimes she couldn’t even tell whether he was being serious or not. But this was a nice change, as different from his usual cheerful, snarky personality as it was. It was then that she realized that it was true what they said- tragedy changes people, allowing for them to show their true selves.

For so long she had been told that showing emotion was a sign of weakness, told that she needed to “suck it up” if she was going to survive in the world. She oozed a false sense of confidence as she kept her feelings bottled up, holding in the tears through everything from scraped knees at age five to countless failed relationships in her teens as she pretended that everything was great and awesome and life was perfect.

She was pathetic. Three years later and a completely different universe later and she still couldn’t get her father’s nagging voice out of her mind.

Skylar was done caring though, and it was at that moment that she let her shoulders slump, wordlessly pressing her face into Harper’s chest as she let him wrap his arms around her.

“Thanks, Harper.”

The sound of Nikita's sharp voice jolted her from her thoughts, and the petite brunette quickly pulled away from Harper to see the ship's captain looking particularly angry as she accused one of them of destroying her ship. What was she talking about? Skylar knew better than to comeback with a witty remark though, choosing instead to shrug and silently shake her head.

Stripped naked and dripping wet, Xabier appraised his arms with concern.

After the layers of grime from the smoke and blood were washed into the drain, his skin seemed to have retained nearly the exact same appearance as before the fire.
And it worried him.
He clearly remembered the sharp pain of fire burning at his flesh. The obvious burn marks on his arms that so resembled his back all those years ago. The gash on his left forehead had bled so much that he had been knocked out.
Studying his reflection intently, he noted that the majority of what were the worst of his injuries had disappeared with only light scratches and bruising.
There hadn't been enough time for the laceration on his head to heal like that without any treatment. That and the
fact that the burns had been deep red with an outbreak of painful blisters- such burns of superficial partial thickness usually took 2-3 weeks to heal.
This had made Xabier stop and take notice.
His arms were near perfectly healed and he hadn't needed any painkillers to get through it.

It wasn't possible if his initial observation of the wounds had been correct.
It occurred to him that he might have imagined the severity of the wounds.
Oh God, he thought, I really am going crazy.

His head had been so wrapped up in her leaving that he had slipped onto the ship under the gentle cover of the shadows.
It probably said something about his personality but the events of the night of the fire had almost... crippled him.

He wanted nothing to do with anyone else's suffering. He had tried to help out with the initial damage control, but every time he got around to the "doctor" part he froze and shut down. How was he so sure that he wouldn't turn around and hurt these people? Ji Na had seemed to help people but ended up burning them instead.
Why was he given the power of shadows and not something helpful like healing?
The thought began to niggle in the back of his mind like a parasite. He pushed it away.

Using the musky smelling soap that he had borrowed from the men's quarters back in the training centre he washed his hair and
began to dry his body off with an old towel. His thoughts flicked back to his mysteriously healed arms. How on earth did that happen? Pulling on his boxers, he paced up and down thoughtfully. Had he only imagined getting hurt? Surely that couldn't be true! The pain he had felt was real.
"Maybe it was just your mind mimicking the past." One of the shadow doppelgängers that he had placed on guard while he was bathing, surmised in Basque. "There have been studies on the theory."

As much as Xabier resented his shadows at times, they occasionally contributed well to any thought train he was on. They were parts of his own mind of course. It was a shame that the shadow doppelgängers who he usually conjured up were more interested in fighting and ...dirty things,than intellectual discussion.

"It felt real, I'm sure it was real." He replied back in Basque. If anyone was listening outside the door they would hear Xabier having a conversation with himself. It was one of the many reasons why he usually communicated in his head and spoke to them in Spanish or Basque to save from embarrassing situations.

He saw the doppelgänger nod his head in agreement. Whatever Xabier felt passed on to his shadows and they were acutely aware of whatever he felt, whenever he felt it. It got pretty annoying after a while.
"Ah!" another clone exclaimed.
Xabier turned around in panic. He wasn't too worried of others seeing him in the nude, the fear had passed once his shirt had been ripped off while helping Harper all those years ago. He was more anxious of another event happening while he was only in his underwear.
"What is it? What do you see?" Xabier gasped.
"Musu me eta zuk erakutsi dut." The first clone teased.
He ignored the first clone and looked straight at the one that had yelped.
"What is it?"
The second clone sent the idea of comparing wounds via images.
"Maybe you should ask Harper, his wounds were similar to yours. Maybe he'll have had the same recovery as you."
The image of Harper lying unconscious in his shadow's arms flooded to his head as if he had actually been there.
In a quick sequence of images he saw his own memory of his wounds and his shadow's memory of Harper's wounds.
It was true that they were similar. The clones were being surprisingly helpful today. Maybe they just pitied him but it always made him suspicious when they did things like this.
Still it wouldn't hurt to check on Harper and maybe see if the others were doing all right too. He had seen Tallyho's leg but left her alone since she had Gwen to help her.
His hair dripping on the floor, he nearly walked out in only his boxers.
"Ah leave your clothes off, give them something to look at." the clone that insisted on being called Cenon called out.

"Next time." He winked and released them back into their original forms on the walls and floors.
Pulling on the clean shirt and trousers he exited the restroom that he had been using as a make-shift shower. Slipping quietly passed the resting warriors, he made it to where the helpful clone had said Harper was.
He noted Dorian was there too but he brushed passed him with purpose. This was important that he got some new insight on what was going on. He tried to fool himself into thinking that he wasn't using it as an excuse to try and forget Ji Na.

His eyes locked on Harper and then he understood immediately why his clones had insisted on him seeing Harper at this very moment. Right in front of him was Harper and Skylar in a tight embrace. She seemed to be crying and he was comforting her.
He was interrupting a tender moment and it was painfully reminiscent of when he'd hug Inke whenever she didn't want to get up because she was afraid that she'd die and leave him lonely. She did die and he still felt lonely.

All of a sudden Xabier felt something clench in his chest and then it released him. He couldn't remember why he thought it was a good idea to come in here. His face grew cold and he walked back out, ignoring Nikita's arrival.


*kiss me and I'll show you

It was just before Skylar pulled away that Harper caught a glimpse of Xabi, turning to leave the deck.

The reaction was almost instant...palms growing clammy, knees weak, stomach churning. Symptoms that, three years prior, he would have blamed on improperly cooked chicken.

Nikita's questions, as forceful as they were, bounced off his head, a new focus in sight that barred intervention.

For a moment, he hesitated. This hardly seemed like the time or the place for a confession. But...he had promised to do so yesterday. And then look at what happened. What if something happened tomorrow? Or tonight? What if he'd never have another chance?

Ondine's words from the beach echoed in his mind. No. He had to do it now. He'd waited three years. And even though he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be, he still needed to hear it for himself.

"Erm...can you excuse me for like...fifty seconds? Or minutes? Or hours?" he asked, voice growing higher with each adjustment. He only managed a glance at the captain before untangling himself from the group and speed-walking while trying not to speed-walk over to Xabi just as he disappeared back under into the ship.

Harper caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs, almost falling down them. "Hey! Xabi!" he said loudly, catching himself at the last second and leaning against the railing as if nothing had happened. "Um, I mean...uh...hi!...Fancy meeting you here...on this ship...that we're all on..." he coughed, trying to look casual, "How...h-how are you doing?"

Shit. This was going terribly.

"I mean...erm...I'm...I'm glad you made it out of the fire all right..." he restarted with a nervous smile, "I mean, I know you have a thing against fire, which is fine, you know, 'cuz I have a thing against heights, so, you know, it's cool, like...I mean, everyone has a thing against something, amirite?"

Shit. Shit. He was rambling. He's rambling.

"I mean..." he took a breath and exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling himself flush, "What...what I meant to say was...I was really worried about you and...and uh...and I'm glad you're okay."

His ears were burning and his throat was dry, heart beating a million miles an hour. Could Xabi tell? Was he freaked out? Did he even care? Maybe this confession thing wasn't the best idea...he couldn't even remember the last time he had confessed to someone. Usually it was the other way around.

"Um...welll...actually...what I really meant to say...or ask, really, was...um..." his eyes stared up at the ceiling, avoiding Xabi's. Not that he didn't want to see the guy's eyes. On the contrary...but if he knew if he looked at them for too long he'd completely melt and lose all his resolve.

Moreso than he already was, anyways.

"Ughhh," He moaned, clapping his hands over his face and sliding them down as he walked in a tight circle, "I'm being so stupid right now...I mean, more...more than I usually am...oh man. Shit."

"Can...can we talk?" he finally stammered out, hands moved to the sides of his face, "Like...I know we're technically talking right now, but I mean...can we talk, you know? Like, like in private or something...like, we can talk now or maybe later tonight or tomorrow? Just so, we, you know, talk...cuz like..."

His shoulders hiked up as his hands dropped, and he started speaking with them, moving them in combination with the emphasis of his voice, which grew higher and louder as the words quickened in pace until they were just falling out,

"I have something that I really want to tell you, but I also really don't want to tell you but actually I really do but I'm scared to because of what I think you're going to say and if you say what I think you're going to say than it's going to suck, like it's going to suck so bad but I need to know so that's why I need to tell you this thing and I've been waiting for three years to ask and tell you this thing but I don't even know how to tell you this thing even though I really want to tell you this thing but no matter how many times I run the scene through my head and rehearse and practice and psych myself up I just...I can't..."

The hands were now on top of his head, forearms masking his face. Harper felt like he was about to cry. Or throw up. This was all going so, so wrong.

He sank into a squat, trying to breathe regularly. At this moment, he would have preferred jumping off a cliff.

After a pause, he finally jumped up. "Fuck it. I'm going to say it," he declared, tone almost angry. He needed to stop this...stop being a baby over this. He was 25 years old for crying out loud! That was almost 30!

He forced himself to look at Xabi's eyes. Could he hear his heartbeat over there?

Seconds before he opened his mouth, his tongue seemed to grow bigger, heavier.

Why did this always look so much easier in the movies? He had half a mind to just avoid words, grab Xabi by the shoulders and kiss him smack on the mouth...let that do all the talking. But he restrained himself. He couldn't do that...not when he was so unsure...not when he was certain Xabi didn't return the feelings.

"Te..." he finally breathed out, cheeks heating up to match his ears. He cleared his throat and tried again, stumbling over the pronunciation, "Te quiero."

There. It was out. He had said it. All those years of Sesame Street and Googling lyrics to foreign songs finally paid off.

He felt his voice hitch in his throat, eyes threatening to tear up in anticipation of what he knew was going to come.

"Te quiero, Xabi..." he repeated, voice shaky, and he lowered his eyes, "Te quiero a lot."

"Hey! Xabi!"
Xabier turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Harper had magically appeared and was leaning nonchalantly against the stairs railing as if he hadn't been cuddling someone seconds prior. Xabier looked at him confused. A lot of strange things were happening today.
He wanted to mention that he hadn't meant to interrupt their little moment. It suddenly occurred to him that they might be dating. The clenching feeling returned to his chest and he had no clue why. Skylar was a beautiful girl, he had almost considered her at one stage. Still he had got the impression that Kyle liked her so she was a no-go. It's bro code and Xabier cared more about his best friend than flirting with a girl. He wondered if he should tell Kyle what he saw. Maybe he could help set them up or something... He focused back on Harper who was making strange small talk.

"Um,I mean....uh hi!.... Fancy meeting you here...on this ship...that we're all on.."
Xabier wondered if he was on drugs or something. Why did he look so nervous? He had never given Harper reason to be nervous around him. Still it never hurt to be kind.
He smiled at him gently encouraging him on. Harper started to ramble about fire and it being okay to be afraid of things.

Xabier stared at him. Something was up. It was probably because he had walked on such an intimate moment and Harper was trying to explain himself. There was something going on behind his eyes. But when Xabier tried to see what it was, Harper looked away desperately avoiding his gaze.

"What...what I meant to say was...I was really worried about you and...and uh...and I'm glad you're okay."
He was worried?!
Xabier wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He remembered the sheer panic when he realised that Harper was not at the water after sending his clones to find him. The desperation of having three shadows dragging Harper's unconscious body out of the burning building. He had been so relieved when the lone surviving shadow reported that Harper was safe and ordered it to watch over him until Ondine arrived. Hearing Harper saying that he was worried was bittersweet.

Xabier opened his mouth to say something when Harper began to walk in a circle and clapped his hands over his face:
"I'm being so stupid right now... I mean,more than I usually am,oh man. Shit."
He wished that he'd say what he wanted to say.

Harper was getting agitated pretty fast and he mentioned that he wanted to tell Xabier something for three years and was really afraid of how Xabier would react.

Harper slumped to the ground, his face all red and cute... -No! Not cute! It was endearing that's all.

Before Xabier could get closer to see if he was alright, Harper jumped up, his eyes ablaze.

It all clicked.

"Fuck it. I'm going to say it,"

No.

Don't say it, Xabier thought, don't say it.

He didn't want to acknowledge it. He didn't want to consider it. He didn't want to know it existed.

An explosion. The world had frozen then shifted.

"Te... Te Quiero."

Somehow Xabier couldn't breathe. It was as if the air was sucked out of his lungs. What the hell was Harper doing to him?

His eyes got caught in Harper's ocean ones.

In that moment, he realised that what he was feeling wasn't as platonic as he had believed it was. And he knew that it wasn't the way he should be feeling.

"Te quiero,Xabi..." Harper's voice shook and he broke the stare to look down.

"Te quiero a lot."

He saw Harper tearing up and he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Harper..." He had to be sure that Harper actually understood what he had just said.
"You do realise that you just told me that you wanted me, right?"

He was so overwhelmed that his eyes had widened and he stood in front of Harper like an idiot.

Karma never liked ships. And if she had the option she would totally stay asleep for however long the trip took. There was something about not being able to swing from a tree that bothered her. Nonetheless her internal clock was ticking. It was time to feed. And she wanted real food. She only hoped that the ship offered a lot of pork and candy.
The pink-haired terror, bed-headed and clumsy stumbled away from the spot where Ryou had once brushed her hair to sleep. She could hear voiced in the stairwell leading to the deck. High, exasperated, squeaky voices and she followed them to the tail end of a conversation between Xabier and Harper.
She stood there for a moment in the shadows. Wrinkles under her eyes, matted hair, dried slobber adorning her little white cheek. And just as Harper fell into an awkward, approval seeking silence the child snorted, loudly.
“Ha! You month warriors are so weird.”
She wondered if anyone knew anything about this. Nonetheless, Karma had potential blackmail material to work with.
Without another word she climbed up the stairs to find Ryou.
Tallyho heard a bit of the commotion too. After all, Harper’s voice was kind of loud and the two sun people weren’t so far away. She was stuck between trying to listen to their conversation and Lillian’s talking and though she wasn’t completely sure what was going on, she caught enough of what Harper had to say to sort of, kind of put the pieces together. His behavior wasn’t that discreet after all and if they were talking about what she thought they were talking about she found yet another reason to think ill of Harper. But this time it wasn’t about what he did to her—and trust that she had an entire record of everything he’s done to harm her over the past three years—but this time he was playing with a certain someone’s heart and Tallyho couldn’t decide if she should’ve made a point of spitting on him the next time she caught him.
She felt kind of bad about not giving the guardian her full attention after all she was answering her questions… But then the spotlight fell on her.
“You?”
You, and in what did YOU do to end up all by your lonesome.
Tallyho thought about it but she couldn’t come up with a quick answer.
“I’m just… not built for people. Not even for a people born to uproot constantly. My movement supersedes theirs and I just got up and left one day. Never went back.”
She tapped her chin with slender fingers.
“This experience is the first time I’ve really had official friends I guess? Most of the warriors don’t talk to me as much. But I have two friends. Falke of course, and Dorian. Xabier could count in there also but there are others I could call my friends maybe but sometimes their interaction with me seems superficial and forced. That… Because we are of the same situation we are automatically friends. I guess that’s how the sun people are sometimes… All of that love thy brother and thy sister crap… Maybe I’m a realist. Or just a hateful person. Maybe they are the same thing. Maybe that’s why I left the caravan. I can’t say I’ll want to stay with this group for too long either… Besides. I suspect that people like Harper, if they got the chance, would kick me down if I were hanging for dear life from the edge of a cliff. ” She laughed but it wasn’t funny, her chuckle dwindled into a slow silence.
She bit the thread from her needle.
“I am very hungry… I should probably go find the mess hall… With a ship this big they are bound to have one.”
Though it might not have been as big as the dining hall at the academy.
“If you want I can take this shirt and finish it up between bites.”
She didn’t give Lillian much time to answer before swaddling the cloth in her arms and heading down the stairwell lower into the ship, ducking her head down at any warriors she passed.

“Aside from the ever present desire to vomit uncontrollably, I’m just peachy.” Kit spat, though his malice was directed more at the situation itself than Bryce. Honestly, he was happy that someone came to see him. It had been a while since he had been hurt this badly. Having someone there was nice.

However, having someone there to see his scars made him rather uncomfortable. For a moment, he had almost forgot that it was visible. His gaze fell to the floor. “Don’t worry about it. Old scar.”

White robes, ropes, someone screaming. Memories bubbled up to the surface. Kit bit his lip, trying as hard as he could to push them back. It still hurt. It hurt more than his arm ever would.

“As a doctor, I’m sure you can tell where it’s from.” He said bitterly, turning his head to avoid looking at Bryce. This accusation was shaky at best, Kit knew this. How was Bryce to know the specifics? As far as anyone would be able to tell, they were just old rope burns. Still, there was the ever present fear that the doctor would put two and two together.

A guardian became a guardian because of their crimes. For criminals, especially those in the Rose Kingdom, rope meant only one thing.

Kit went silent for a moment.

“I’m fine.”

~~~~~~~~

Something made the net move. Something heavy.

Good god, were they taking physical form now? Autumn had always been concerned about spirits moving objects but this was beyond what she had imagined. She cringed, not sure if she could handle whatever had come to trade with her. If they were powerful enough to have weight, who was to say that they couldn’t suck her dry?

Whatever this was, it had arrived when she was at her lowest. The room was dark. There were no whispers, but that somehow made it worse.

It patted her head. Oh god, it was touching her. She inhaled sharply, trying to muster up all of the courage she had to tell the thing to go away.

Then is spoke. She knew this voice. The blonde exhaled slowly, relaxing. So there was nothing to fear after all. The patting was now comforting.

Autumn honestly didn’t expect anyone to come see her, no less comfort her. After all, she was the one who tried to do most of the comforting. It seemed a little out of balance for it to be the other way around. It was nice, though. Somehow, the room seemed a little brighter.

The faces of the dead could not be so easily forgotten, nor could their screams. However, it was a start.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” Autumn said, opening her eyes.

When most people, particularly as children, imagine life on a boat, certain thoughts and ideas tend to interlock to create a vivid, imaginary experience. Among these common themes are the salty sea breeze wafting gently over your face, dolphins and/or whales swimming companionably by, Disney approved pirates who would whisk you away on some adventure or another, and the not a word “Arr” and the most likely a word “Matey” being spoken in excess. As a child, Dorian had been subject to these same delusions, drinking in stories of sailing adventures with gusto. Sailing, he’d convinced himself, was the ideal sort of life.

However, that little boy had grown up and now that a “sailing life” was being temporarily inflicted on him, he couldn’t help but realize that his childhood dreams had been more myth than reality because, simply put, being stuck on this ship was less like a pirate enthusiast’s wet dream and more and more like being on a New York subway. The quarters were cramped and personal space was an illusion granted only every once in a while, the boat, much like the Subway, was in a constant motion that was either calm enough to lull you into a state of security or rickety enough to make you think that you’d die in the next five minutes, and there was the constant stink of the unwashed masses who either did not believe in bathing or did not have the opportunity to do so (although, to the crew’s credit, at least they didn’t try to wash themselves in Axe body spray). Perhaps the worst part of the comparison, however, was the fact that you could not leave. No, you were stuck in the same space with the same nearly overwhelming amount of people who you had to deal with whether those be street performers on the Subway demanding payment from their captive audience or the ever judgmental eyes of Nikita and her crew every time he got wrangled into actually helping with something (which wasn’t that often because he was pretty damn good at making himself busy enough to avoid just about every non-essential chore), there was little to no privacy to keep you sane.

There were, however, little things to be done to keep what Dorian had privately dubbed “Ocean Madness” at bay (an affliction he’d diagnosed in several people so far including Harper who had a new tendency to disappear somewhere and alternatively was around too often with a far too gleeful smile on his face for the situation). Taking advantage of each and every single stop they made, for one, if only to stand somewhere that wasn’t constantly rocking, keeping a rather large personal bubble for once, and taking a dip in waters that he could see the bottom of. Another was finding his own refuge in the form of the ship’s crow’s nest, which doubled as a good hiding spot when everyone became far too, well, present.

It wasn’t the height that he found soothing because God knows climbing to the uppermost point of the ship with nothing to catch him if he fell was a less than comforting experience. No, it was the feeling he got when he reached the top, more or less secured in his perch, where even on the most mild days he could feel at least a strong breeze to wash over him or, during one memorable storm, the feeling of a gale pressing over him, which should have been terrifying but instead lulled him to sleep where he was perched. His control of his powers was spotty at best in the beginning, but here with long days filled with little distractions apart from menial chores and the occasional social interaction, and he was able to focus on the mellow or harsh winds of the day, could feel the air swirling around his body. It was there that his powers began to take shape, starting with little things, little gusts of wind on a still day to keep the heat off until he no longer feared the strong winds when he climbed up to the crow’s nest, instead felt an almost cocooning affect as they twisted around him. On days when the wind picked up, truly blowing against the sails, you could find Dorian on his perch, glowering down at the ship below him like a particularly disgruntled gargoyle. It was, as Mori saw fit to inform him, severely disturbing to look up and find Dorian glaring at you with his sharp, soulless eyes (Dorian had simply replied that Mori didn’t get a say in the matter after he and/or Karma had tried to spread a rumor that Dorian had literally sold his soul to Oblivion among the more superstitious sailors).

Those were the things that Dorian filled his otherwise tedious days with- evenings and the occasional nights spent in the company of nothing but gusts of wind and the visual splendor that was the sea unfolding before him like one of the paintings hoarded away on his phone (to be fair, that same sight was also captured via his camera much like the many places on Aires he’d managed to capture without arousing suspicion about the sleek, black device), mornings spent doing whatever menial chores he was assigned without grumblings but also without any pleasure, days of trying to enjoy other’s company, which was becoming more difficult as the days moved on for the most part. On one hand, spirits had risen since they were first whisked about by Nikita; Ryou no longer appeared to be ripping at the seams and could even be found laughing, if you caught him at the right moment, or simply existing as he listened to Haru spell out plans and throw around ideas, only occasionally offering his own suggestions or gently pointing out the rare flaw. Mori ultimately played babysitter to Karma and was far more resilient than any child should be with the events of that night etched forever into his memory- although that did raise the disturbing idea that he’d already learned to deal with horrendous images being part of him forever even at his young age. Dae healed after a time and took to the distractions of seafaring life like a fish to water, fitting fluidly into the crew with all of the charm and enthusiasm that he could muster. Liam was the only one who didn’t seem to enjoy the experience, and Dorian only thought that because he frequently spotted him in Dr. Rose’s quarters, politely asking for and receiving seasickness medicine. However, at least he had finally gotten his cloak back because the bold runes now hidden away had unnerved many a crewmember.

The other Month Warriors, however, were in varying states of normal. He still enjoyed the company of Tallyho and Falke, forever the pillars of sanity to his mind. On some stormy days he’d join Tallyho on deck, a time when their respective elements intertwined in a chaotic way that only a rare few could enjoy (the rest, he assumed, were trying not to vomit below deck), and others he’d find his own little hiding place to listen to the gales wailing outside the ship’s walls. Some of the Warriors rallied magnificently, like the aforementioned Harper who Dorian was still relatively sure should be diagnosed with Ocean Madness, but others seemed to have a constant drag on their emotions, like Autumn whose smiles never seemed quite as bright and her energy was forever dragged down.

It was after one of those nights spent high above the deck, safely ensconced in his wooden nest that he awoke to a view vastly different than any of the ports they’d stumbled upon before. There had been ships in other beaches and towns, of course there had been, but nothing could compare to the spectacle that lay before his eyes, a veritable feast to the senses. Here were bold strokes of color painting the horizon in the forms of sails and boats of all different sizes, shapes, and occupations. Music, real honest to God music, filled the air as well as the chatter and laughter and shouting only a short while away, exposing the port to be teeming with life, like how he’d imagined New York’s harbor ages ago or, and he was beginning to get this impression even before setting foot on land, more like the Italian ports during the Renaissance era or the harbors in China back when spices were the most important commodity. Even smells, almost none that he could identify, rang true setting his mouth to water for something other than the plain provisions of the ship. It was glorious.

He shimmied down his makeshift ladder to the deck, less groggy than most of the others who’d just now escaped from the confines of the ship, to hear Haru speak. The words held a weight that dampened his excitement that their time on the sea was finally, finally over. They’d gotten away with what Ryou had once politely dubbed “Earthy shenanigans” at the Academy and the town below the mountain, but now with the fact that even mentioning what they were could send them to the gallows… He could only hope that the others would heed Haru’s words as well.

He followed along as the group was let off the ship, still clinging to Haru’s every word. As a stranger in a strange land, it had occurred to him early on that any advice that actual Airians provided, every scrap of knowledge, was to be cherished and remembered if he was to survive on his own. He took a moment to stare openly at his surroundings, looking for glimpses of what Haru mentioned, like the military academy that apparently made knights? He looked over at Dae, standing peacefully among the port’s controlled chaos.

“Did you go to Daniel’s?” He asked because for as long as they’d known the elite, he’d gone by that title.

“What? Oh, no, not me. I’m a, uh, whatchamacallit, a discount knight. Home grown and whatnot, yeah? No fancy education, just good old fashioned training at the Academy,” Dae replied quickly, grinning almost sheepishly. Liam tapped his shoulder kindly (and, really, the two were acting far closer than they had at the Academy, or perhaps it was just that neither were nearly as busy without lessons to teach).

“A freelance knight, dear,” Liam corrected gently to which Dae nodded helplessly.

“Yeah, that’s it. Freelance. S’not like they’d let me in anyways, yeah? I’m not exactly what they want.” Dorian, who couldn’t see any good reason to not let someone who’d openly bested Ryou at swordplay before, let it slide if only because Dae seemed so distraught about it and Liam was giving his own version of the evil eye (very similar to his normal expression, but the smile was a little creepier).

The advice to get new clothes sounded excellent to Dorian who had started to hate his few pieces of clothing with a passion simply because they all reeked of salt and were permanently marred from spills, sweat, and, on one memorable occasion, blood. However, even as he started to follow the three Academy students, who quite understandably seemed eager to part from their company if only for a short while, Ryou pulled him to a stop.

“Here, Dorian, I need to go into town anyways. Let me pick you up some new clothes. The fashion here is kind of, ah, weird for outsiders.” Dorian agreed readily because Ryou had acted as his informal fashion guide for the entirety of his stay on Aires and he wasn’t about to change that now and gave him some of the money he’d saved up from his stay at the Academy. With nothing else to do but wait, he settled down next to Tallyho, content to play his usual role of observer until he noticed Tallyho’s new fashion statement.

He blinked for a moment, trying to figure out what she’d tried to do with that unlucky shirt, before it sort of clicked.

“Any reason you’re wearing a scarf?” He asked mildly, tucking a part of the fabric sticking up at an odd angle back into place to give at least some credence to the this-shirt-is-now-a-scar illusion.

Slowly but surely, things returned to normal.

Well. As normal as things could get in their particular situation.

Skylar hated life on the ship. She hated the constant uneasiness in her stomach, the crowded quarters, the lack of privacy. But most of all she hated the feeling of being stuck, of being trapped on a cramped ship out in the middle of the ocean. Not only that, but her powers were rooted in the earth- she was worthless on the ship.

Their occasional stops at various ports were her saving grace, allowing for her to slip away to gather her thoughts and get some practice in. Never did she think that using her powers would provide her with such a release, especially considering how long it had taken her to finally get them under control. She finally had something that was hers, something that no one else could do. She wasn’t in her older brothers’ shadows anymore.

To say that she was ecstatic when the ship finally arrived in the Rose Kingdom was an understatement. The feeling of having solid ground under her shaky legs felt incredible, and if Haru hadn’t already been giving them instructions on what they had to do next she would have made a run for it.

Things were different here, and Skylar could feel that everything was about to change.

-

Skylar stood in line, watching as Haru made his rounds to each of the warriors. She smoothed out the new dress that she had purchased when they had first docked at the port. It was a dark green, with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was fairly simple, with only a little detailing at the collar and around the waist. She had brushed her hair out, her dark tresses falling in loose waves around her shoulders instead of its usual messy braid.

Swallowing, she absentmindedly rubbed the silver pendant that hung around her neck as she waited for their turn to come.

This was perhaps the first time on Aires that Dorian felt as if he had the advantage, which was an entirely depressing thought because who wanted to be an expert at standing in lines and warding off people trying to sell him things? Still, a life lived in New York had prepared him for this, all of those collective hours spent waiting to see movie premieres of just trying to buy a cup of tea from the local coffee house, all of the far too numerous people on the streets trying to force their wares one him, shouting excitedly or being quietly insistent. He was ready…. Ready to ignore everyone around him who wasn’t an immediate threat and/or Haru who was walking down the ranks of Guardians and Warriors like a military sergeant examining his men and finding them particularly lacking.

Time wore on slowly, even if the line was moving at a relatively fast pace for a line of people marching to their possible deaths. The imposters, and they had to know they were imposters which made all of this the more ridiculous, ranged from the commonplace to the bizarre, some dressed like mighty heroes and heroines from grand fairytales, others in outfits coordinated around their particular gemstone, glittering brightly even indoors. He couldn’t understand what would drive a person to do this, to attempt a lie that had never been successfully told, and he didn’t know whether he should feel pity for them or disgust.

Suddenly there was Haru again, stopped behind Dorian so suddenly that Dorian stumbled in surprise. The following conversation and the vendor hurrying away was all very confusing until, somewhere in Tallyho’s indignant sputtering shed some light on the situation. Oh. OH. He grimaced slightly, searching the perpetrator out in the crowd for future reference just in case he wandered this way again.

But his attention was drawn back to Haru who looked as close to a mental breakdown as Dorian had ever seen the man, sweaty, stressed, and like he was going to snap in two with all of the tension pulling on his body. While he’d been assured that the Guardians were immortal, that didn’t stop him from watching Haru as he walked away with some worry in his gaze because, with the way the day had been going, he was more sure than ever that Haru was either going to kill someone or his heart was going to give out. Ryou seemed concerned as well, from what Dorian could see, golden eyes never once leaving the pacing redhead as he continued walking his lap up and down the line.

Things settled back down with Haru gone and it was all Dorian could do to pat Tallyho’s shoulder reassuringly and then they were waiting again.


The trepidation grew with each movement forward, anxiety welling up in Dorian in a way he both hoped wasn’t happening for anyone else, for their own sanity, and wished upon ever single damn one of them because he didn’t want to feel alone in all this. Things would change, after this meeting, in ways that he knew could never be described as “good”. They could be executed like that group they’d heard about some months ago, or they could be accepted which could only mean more trials and tribulations ahead. Not that he would be complaining because, you know, he would be alive and this much closer to not only saving two planets but also to going home.

Suddenly they were there, standing before the double doors that opened with a blast of stale air, too warm, too still for anything good to be happening in the room. The woman who ushered them in was so blasé about it all, joking like she hadn’t sent plenty of imposters to their deaths before and held no qualms in sending a few more. Well at least she seemed to be having fun in her job. That was more than anyone else could say lately. And then, quite suddenly, they were inside, the doors closing forcefully behind them.

The room was stuffy, the still air only moved by the occasional inhale and exhale of the room’s occupants, but it was beautiful in that reverent, powerful way that all churches held. This room in particular reminded him of cathedrals he’d visited with the gorgeous stained glass windows surrounding them. He looked around, looked at the others, looked at the floor, looked anywhere but ahead until a great booming voice called them forward. Gray eyes rose from their last line of sight- Ryou’s tense face- to the men before him, staring at them like a jury who’d already made up their minds about the defendant and the verdict would not be pleasant. The Harbinger himself sat before them, position so casual that Dorian was filled with an unsettling wrongness. That was the last glimpse he took before his head snapped down quickly in a bow so as to mimic Haru like a child playing a game. A life or death game of follow the leader, if you will.

Haru was calling them up now and Dorian moved forward quickly before slowing his pace, trying not to look too nervous, too eager as he fell into a bow that he’d never done before, pausing there only a moment too long before retreating back into the relative safety of the line. A hand pressed softly against his back, a reminder that Ryou was here and looking out for them- perhaps even for him especially. Then they all fell into a bow again, marionettes moving as their nervous puppet master guided them.


‘Little man?’ Ryou eyes flickered upwards, a deep frown fighting to squirm its way onto lips more accustomed to grins and smiles. He could see Dorian fidget in front of him before stilling again- good boy- because those words rang sour notes through the room. Haru didn’t deserve this, not after everything he’d done, after all that he’d been through. If the world had any decency about giving people their due, Haru should be the one judging them, snorting at old fools whose holiness even a man as sinful as Ryou could call into question. He wanted to stand up, to set them straight because none of them would have their jobs without Haru, without the original month warriors Haru had assisted to many victories. But he didn’t, staying frozen in his bow, because that was the kind of leader Haru was, the kind of friend, the kind of person Ryou would follow to the depths of Hell and back. Then again, a trek into Hell might seem like a picnic in comparison to this.


”Show me something first.” The words echoed throughout the room with all the weight and heaviness they deserved, settling like a physical object over Dorian. What was going to happen now? He glanced around carefully, waiting to see who Haru chose, which is why it took him a minute to realize that Haru was looking right at him. Oh fuck.

He stood up stiffly, shuffling slightly as he inched forward before realizing that, even if he moved as slowly as a snail he’d still have to do this at some point, which was when he decided to pick up the pace, stopping directly next to Haru. The hand on his shoulder seemed to hold all of the weight of the situation in a single touch even without the whispered warning.

He was alone now standing before the Harbinger and his Cardinals, all eyes more or less on him. It was like the was the only other person in the room because he wasn’t going to get any help from anyone. Oh, God, what was he supposed to do? He wasn’t sitting on mountain peaks, wasn’t playing gargoyle in the crow’s nest where the wind was abundant, whipping and swirling around him like a puppy begging to be played with. This room was dead, the air stale and still to the point where it was stifling him. He forced his eyes not to glance backwards, not to make it appear like this was a ruse or like he was signaling anyone. No, his back faced the real Month Warriors and Guardians behind him, helpless to do anything for him. He closed his eyes and then inhaled.

Meditation, he’d learned three years ago, was a nice thing and relatively simple once you found your own method to do so. So, as he had done since the day he realized mediation was real and not a bunch of mystic nonsense that involved belief and a oneness with nature, he delved into memories. He recalled the days when he’d first even realized that his powers existed, the way that a gust of wind had nearly knocked him off his feet when he’d thrown his hands up in the air in disgust. The way it had coiled around him in the crow’s nest before trailing away to press against the sails. This was that same air that same wind, just still and ready to be guided.

The air was moving in the room now, first tiny breezes to cure the painful stillness and to breath life back into the coffin-like room. Then it morphed, elegant gusts flowing through the room. Hair fluttered in the wind, robes were moved as if tugged gently by intently by invisible hands, and it all concentrated around the boy in the center, his black clothes billowing, short strands of hair dancing ecstatically as if the air was rejoicing to have something to do, something to play with. It held for a moment, then two, then three, before it vanished suddenly, the room still and but still somehow more fresh from the air’s movement. Dorian’s eyes fluttered open as his body collapsed into a bow for lack of anything better to do, unwilling to make eye contact as he singlehandedly managed to save or, more likely than not, damn those behind him.

Harper, for one, quite enjoyed life on the ship.

In fact, he quite enjoyed life in general. Especially considering how life in general was going at the moment.

Oh yeah. Things were going great.

Of course, it had taken a while. There'd been three days of confusion, hurt feelings, uncertainty...three days where smiling was hard, where everything was hard. It didn't help that he had still hoped. That almost made it worse...trying to tell himself to let go, but refusing to because what if, just in case...

Not to mention his ass still hurt from the beating Ondine had distributed. For someone who was supposed to be looking out for him, she certainly didn't hold back with the paddle.

Dorian had been one of the few to notice and care about his funk. In fact, the third day, Dorian had actually tried to tell him jokes to cheer him up. Very stupid jokes...popsicle stick jokes. But Harper had laughed at each one, especially the last one. Just the thought of Dorian trying to be funny was funny. He had mentally approved his friendship with Sadie for the umpteenth time afterwards.

And then, lo and behold. On the fourth day, He emerged. And after that day, Harper had a difficult time NOT grinning like a stupid idiot.

Not that he'd tell anyone why. They had both agreed that this thing between them had to stay secret. Besides, they both had very different circles of friends...Harper didn't even want to know what Kyle might do to him if he found out...he definitely knew the blond would hit him. At the very least.

Still, Harper was happy, even with the arrangement. In fact, it was kind of exciting. Trying to find pockets of time and space to be together, the adrenaline rush whenever they kissed in a location that wasn't entirely hidden away, the tightening in his stomach whenever he stole away to their secret room. And then whenever they were in public...the glances he'd slide to him, small innocent inside remarks that were actually inside jokes to something racier...the semi-flirtatious jests, which he had always done before, to everyone, but were now more prominent than ever, and masked the deeper implications whenever these were targeted at Xabi...yes, it was like a delicious game of tension. Of pushing boundaries. Trying to see what he could get away with before anyone caught on. And then doing something else to completely confuse everyone.

Yes, life on the ship had grown interesting indeed.

Whenever he wasn't teasing Xabi or chatting up his friends, he'd practice his abilities. Already fairly advanced in them, at least compared to some of the other warriors, his practice sessions were less about getting actual results and more on refining the results he did get, as well as amping up the scale. Besides the usual drills that Ondine would put him through, he'd experiment, working on waves, and then shaping the waves. On one stop, about a week after his leg had healed, he'd managed to successfully surf a few of his own creation. In the latter days of their travel, he'd been able to keep up with the ship, the waves rippling and pushing beneath his feet as he skipped and ran across the surface, Ondine diving in and out next to him. His newfound transport usually resulted in rocking the ship more, an unwelcome thing to the seasick.

The storms, when they happened, still proved too much for him to control. One night he had tried to tame the waves, but had nearly fallen off the ship instead. Ondine had grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back from the angry sea and dragging him back under. She had thrown him into a spare room and screamed at him, the angriest he had ever seen her. He hadn't tried it again.

~

When they finally reached land, Harper for one wished he could still stay on the boat. Well, maybe not this boat. But another boat. Just to stay on the ocean...away from other people, free to swim every day. Just him and Xabi on a yacht. Or a little house boat. In the middle of the ocean. A man could dream.

During Haru's "welcome" speech, Harper couldn't help but feel that the guardian was specifically talking to him, especially during the "please do not be a selfish ass" bit. Harper could have snorted. He'd lived in big cities his entire life. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that people tended not to care if it didn't affect them specifically. If this was New York, he could announce to everyone that they were month warriors, and the worst he'd receive would be a few judgmental glares.

Still, he wasn't very keen on hanging. And after Ondine had pulled him aside to reiterate everything Haru had said (something that the other guardians didn't do with their wards...at least that he noticed) he decided to behave...for now.

Harper actually had been one of the few guardians who had taken on jobs. Granted, they were odd jobs, that never really lasted long, and the whole working thing was mostly Ondine's idea, but he had enjoyed them. Mostly delivery things...a few metalworking gigs...blacksmith assisting and such. Being thrust below the poverty line of his own accord years ago had given him a rude awakening to just how much a dollar was worth, and he was actually quite frugal with his money. For the most part.

As such, he was able to buy his own clothes, and with some guidance from Ondine, settled on an ensemble that looked a cross between Mozart and a New World colonist..

"Aren't you getting something for yourself?" he asked Ondine as they returned to the others. She shook her head.

"Eventually," she allowed, but added under her breath, "The fashion of the Rose Kingdom has never been one I fancied, to say it politely."

Travelling to the city was a bit like travelling through time. He felt like he had somehow blue-skidoo-ed into an art history textbook...with the chapters melded together. Sadie, he knew, would love it. She actually knew the different styles. He could see her now, pointing out the Renaissance, Tudor, Rococo...

Ve Marie would have blown her mind for sure.

When they reached the inn, Harper had immediately changed into his new clothes. "I look like I belong in the Met!" he exclaimed to Ondine as he strutted about in his new garb, jacket and all. She didn't look too impressed, but he repeated the joke to everyone at dinner, particularly Dorian, who he knew would appreciate it. At the table he'd channel his inner Amadeus, acting the ever-pompous sort, and whistling small bits of Mozart's various works intermittently throughout dinner. Every so often he'd interrupt people's conversations, an urgent look on his face, only to say that the British were coming.

Although, if you asked him, he would prefer if it were the Spanish who came that night...

~

Surprisingly or not, depending on who you were and what you thought of the curly-haired ruffian, Harper was very well-behaved the next day. Haru had stressed so much on maintaining the best appearances, and Harper knew that he in particular was cause for worry. So, in an act of seeming goodwill (although, in all honesty, it was more out of spite to prove naysayers that he just chose to act like an uncivilized bum) Harper drew from his roots and acted the perfect upper-class youngun...old enough to be noticed, but too young to actually be taken seriously. When you grew up in Upper Manhattan with a corporate lawyer for a father and an heiress for a mother, with a party every weekend at least, old habits were hard to forget.

As they reached the cathedral, Harper was no longer just Harper. He was Harper C. Fields, who could tell the difference between Armani and Vuitton and took his coffee black, thank you very much. Even Ondine seemed surprised.

Harper couldn't help smirking as he stood in line next to her. "Betcha thought I'd have screwed everything up by now," he whispered to her out of the corner of his mouth.

"It had crossed my mind," she replied quietly, hands folded in front of her dress, loosely fitted and flowing, barely appropriate, but not obnoxious, like some of the other dresses he'd seen in the audience and in line. While her voice was soft, her tone was still sharp as ever.

"Hey now," he murmured with a smile, "When Harper C. Fields needs to clean up, he stands and delivers."

"Careful now," Ondine warned, "You might have spoken too soon."

"Please," Harper said with a shrug, lifting his chin and straightening his shoulders, "I know more about this game than you think."

That was all it was, really. A game. A game of appearances, invisible walls and lines, of dos and do nots, and endless rules. He hated the game, but he knew how to play, and play it well. Haru's advice the previous night? He had lived it. For seventeen years.

When he stepped inside the large structure, it almost felt like home. The home he had run away from.

~

Harper would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little nervous during the ordeal. His nerves, he would say, were mostly attributed to the fact that everyone else seemed so damned nervous. He could feel it in the air. When Dorian was called to perform, he held his breath the entire time.

There was also the matter of staying focused. More than once he had found himself zoning out, or zoning in too much on a distant pillar. Much as his cool outward demeanor came easily, so to did his old tricks of not being bored out of his mind during the endless and dull dinner parties.

He snapped back to attention when Tallyho stood up. He followed suit. His eyes widened when he watched the Harbinger walk by, holding a small crystal. As the man passed by, Harper couldn't help realizing just how mundane his own stone was. Everyone had had such personal connections and stories with theirs...family heirlooms, prized gifts, personal treasures. Whereas he...he had found the ring in a public pool, the day he'd been whisked away.

To think he'd wanted Sadie to have it...

He tried not to imagine her in his place, standing before an old man with a glowing stone, surrounded by strangers. Well, except for Dorian.

It would have been better if he hadn't kept the ring at all. If he'd dropped it back into the pool, dramatically reenacting the last scene in Titanic...or perhaps Lord of the Rings.

Even if it meant he'd never get to know Dorian, or SKylar, or Xabi.

Well, Dorian he was certain he'd meet eventually regardless. And Skylar too, maybe. But Xabi? He hadn't been with them in the beginning...

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Talk of the flock brought him back. As collected as he seemed, though, the more he heard of what the flock entailed, the more worried he grew. Yes, he had fought cyclopeans before, but only singularly. And in a contained environment. This was true for all of them. How the hell...

And then this talk of wards of the state? He thought they believed them! What with the glowing stone and...had he missed something while he was zoning out?

His face stayed a mask, albeit a cracking one, as they were ushered outside, Haru assuring everyone to trust him. Right.

If they were going to end up hanged, Harper was going to sue.

Skylar wasn’t one to get nervous, and if there ever was a time when her confidence faltered she generally knew how to cover up.
How could they fail? They were the true Month Warriors, they had to pass. How could you fake powers, or even the glow of the birthstones? The Harbinger had to pass them- at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Still, Haru’s nerves were contagious, and Skylar found herself biting the inside of her cheek until it was raw.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, they were finally called forward. Skylar trudged after the others, using all her concentration to keep from tripping over the long gown she’d been put into. The fabric felt too heavy and constricting for her liking, and she longed for her old dress that was currently tucked away at the bottom of her bag.

Skylar had never seen anything quite like the cathedral, with its rich, dark colors and stained glass windows. It was beautiful, like something straight out of a book.

Pale eyes trained towards the ground, she followed Haru’s suit and bowed before the Harbinger. She kept her eyes on the ground as she listened to the guardian speak, bowing again as he introduced her as Skylar of Constance.

Skylar was surprised that the Harbinger asked to be shown something first. Wouldn’t their stones be enough to validate their month warrior status? Still, she was glad that Haru chose Dorian. Dorian was serious and reliable and responsible and surely would be able to please the Harbinger.

And please the Harbinger it did (or at the very least, he didn’t immediately dismiss them which was a pretty good sign in Skylar’s book). She stood up a little straighter, chin up and shoulders back as he made his way down the line to appraise their stones.
He stopped in front of her, and suddenly she was glad that the long fabric of her dress concealed her shaking legs. The emerald that hung around her neck glowed for the first time in years, the burning sensation she had expected absent.

“That group who was hung sometime back… they passed the stone test also.”

Skylar could feel her eyes widen at the cardinal’s words. If that was true, what else would they have to do to prove themselves?
She did her best to follow what the Harbinger was saying, her mind stopping at his last words. Wards of the nation? They were being arrested? But….

“Trust me. I have everything under control. All you have to do is trust me.”

She shouldn’t have doubted Haru, after all he had done for them. Still, there was a small voice in the back of her mind that had doubts.

-

Skylar wasn’t sure how to feel.

She stared straight ahead as they walked through the prison, her stomach dropping with each chamber they passed through. These men looked like they could snap her in half with the flick of a wrist- granted, if given the opportunity, Skylar could probably crush them with a boulder. Still. She wanted her spot in the forest back at the Academy, not this.

Scanning the room where they would be staying, she settled on a bed near Harper’s and plopped down.

Skylar had always been a big believer in sleep solving everything. Well she had slept that night (barely) and woken up feeling even more uneasy than she had the night before. They were still being kept as wards of the nation, they were still in jail, they were still waiting to face the Cyclopeans, and they were still doubted by almost the entire Rose Kingdom.

Holding back a sigh, she pulled herself out of bed and went to go find some breakfast.

Travelling on a boat was definitely something Jason was not used to, but after what had happened at the academy, he really didn't care that simply walking across the deck tended to feel like he was walking drunk.

In only a few seconds, the entirety of his time at the academy and the event that devastated their group would occasionally flash through his mind. It started all the way from when he received his twin daggers with black hilts and long curved blades. They seemed to match his ring as they somehow reminded him of scorpions, though that didn't make sense to him because the last time he checked, Jason was a Leo... not a Scorpio. Letting that little fact pass without much thought, his mind would drift to their journey to the academy. Well, to Harper screaming bloody murder during their cart ride. Personally, he thought it had been hilarious, worrying, and annoying all at the same time. From there his mind would skim through meeting Ji Na, Karma, Kat, and everyone else at the academy. He remembered the first time he "trained" with a Cyclopean during a cage fight, gaining a smidge of understanding regarding Harper's panicked reaction to the cart ride.

The flashes continued until the night of the event. That night he'd been woken up by screaming, opening stinging eyes to a black cloud of smoke. With a sense of urgency, he and his two doppelgangers tried to get as many people safely out of the flames as possible. He arrived at the field where his fellow warriors and the rest of the survivors were gathering just as Amber revealed himself. Then his comrades, some of the friends he'd come to trust during his time at the academy, betrayed them. Chaos. Everything had been chaos, and he could almost hear the 'switch' in his mind that signaled him disconnecting and distancing himself from the situation and general reality.

For a while afterwards, the warrior didn't know how to respond to the others; With the apparent mental and emotional shock of the event. The academy being destroyed, being betrayed by people he'd thought of as comrades and friends, the physical wounds and death, seeing the other warriors and guardians distraught... This wasn't something he could brush off as nothing. He couldn't tell everyone not to worry, not to take everything so seriously, that things weren't really that bad, because they really were that bad. He couldn't ignore the reality of the situation this time. Worse, he couldn't help but feel he could have done more, should have done more, to prevent some of the injuries. Some of the deaths. His way of coping with life, however, was never taking serious things very seriously. Emotionally disconnecting from heavy situations, and sometimes people. He was simply confused about how he should react and respond to the others and to the situation as a whole.

With that in mind, training with his doppelgangers and with his long twin daggers became somewhat of an obsession throughout their voyage. It wasn't a secret to anyone that Jason wasn't the strongest or most aggressive guy in the group. He'd never been too keen on any of the training they'd done back at the academy, so his sudden obsession would appear extremely radical and out of character to anyone. It helped him put his thoughts into order, though, and after the event it's an understandable change. Balance, control, speed, fluidity, stealth, aggression, agility, coordination; He wanted to improve on everything so that maybe next time, he wouldn't turn out to be so useless. Maybe next time, the sufferings and the deaths... they wouldn't be so great.

At the same time, though, the past was the past. What happened happened and that would never change, no matter how much one dwelt on it. Life had taught him that when you can't control particular events, all that's left is to move past them as best you can. With his way of thinking, Jason opted to stay optimistic in front of the other warriors in an effort to lighten the mood on the ship. His efforts didn't seem to have much effect, though. Other than training, he'd spend the days doing anything he could to keep himself occupied and to keep the despairing atmosphere from affecting him too much. Conversing with whoever would give him time became a normal part of his day where he would bring up any random subject that came to mind. When no one would talk to him he'd simply talk to one of his two doppelgangers or play his own little games that more times than not got him into trouble. Apparently, using the ship's railing as a tightrope hadn't turned out to be his best idea. Watching Tallyho and some of the guys dance, however, turned out to be a "safe" distraction where he wasn't bothering anyone or doing something stupid.
---

Listening to Haru's spiel about the Rose Kingdom and how they all needed to behave, Jason shrugged, interested in whatever cultural aspects came up, but otherwise not caring. He could avoid causing trouble. He thought he could at least. His eyes slid to the loudest of his companions. Harper, however, he supposed could and maybe would land them on the chopping block.

Jason felt himself becoming almost giddy at the eccentric styles some of the people adorned themselves in. It was, to him, a comical sight, really. He had enough money for clothes, since he tended to help with chores and such at the academy, but definitely didn't have enough for anything too fancy or eccentric. He honestly didn't see what was wrong with what he was wearing, ya know, other than a few tears and stains, but he did as Haru suggested anyways. He ended up with an outfit he thought to be clown-like, but that seemed to fit in with what he saw others wearing.

Afterwards, on their walk to the inn, things were quite uneventful. Seeing the Harbinger's entourage, though, was quite an event. In his mind, quite an exaggerated event. Wasn't the guy supposed to be the religious leader or something? With how they carried themselves and with how the people responded, it seemed more like he was an emperor-king dude. Jason had in his mind to give an exaggerated flourish of a bow when they passed, but restrained himself with the thought that the others, mainly Haru, the other guardians, and Kyle, would more likely than not pummel him for stupidity. Plus he had an obvious feeling that being sarcastic towards the Harbinger would land him and the others in deep trouble.

"Nah, dip, Sherlock," he said to himself when the carriage was up and moving again. It wasn't too much longer before they arrived at the Yellow Rose, the inn they apparently were to stay at. Jason lingered in the commons area for a while, aiming to try and approach Tallyho to talk about Airian culture and such, but finding that task impossible after a loud groan escaped the girl. It probably wasn't the best response, but Jason couldn't keep a small laugh from escaping him before Lillian appeared, saying something to Tallyho, followed up by Haru. Apparently everyone was to come down for dinner. Because he was already down, Jason opted to simply join the cat guardian in waiting for the others.

Dinner was nice. Though, Jason couldn't help feeling that Haru had an ulterior motive behind the finer-than-usual dining, but shrugged it off as the cat guardian briefly said something about how tomorrow would go.

Then came the oh-so-dreaded-test-day. It didn't seem to start out too well in Jason's mind with all of Haru's picking and such. He even flinched from the cat guardian a few times. Jason really wanted to get this test over with, despite whether they passed or failed. He hated the tense and jumpy atmosphere. Haru needed to loosen up. Seriously.

Putting his hands behind his head, Jason glanced around at the ridiculous amount of people standing in line, adorned with jewels that imitated his and the rest of the month warriors'. What was even more bizarre were the vendors selling fake stones, and people actually buying them! Jason usually thinks 'to each his own" but these people were crazy. None besides his crew were true warriors, so he imagined they would all end up dead. Hundreds of people, simply for trying to imitate them. Of course, if they somehow failed, they'd be joining the fakes.

Finally, it was their turn. Jason automatically gravitated close to Kyle, who he viewed as one of his best friends since arriving in this other world. The August warrior's relaxed, somewhat annoyed demeanor shifted to something uncomfortable and bothered in the presence of the Harbinger. He felt something... off here, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He glanced around quickly before following Haru's example of bowing his head. Jason found himself becoming fidgety in this place. As the others hurried forward, Jason followed suit. He could feel scrutinizing eyes, and it took everything not to glance up at them again. Before he could entertain the thoughts of Haru choosing him to do anything, Dorian stepped forward, his powers activating as gusts filled the room. Jason held his breath until the show ended. He stood as the others stood, and kept his eyes on his ring as it glowed, apparently passing the stone test.

The August warrior felt relief, his relaxed demeanor returning, only for a moment though. He stiffened as the flock was mentioned and explained. Woah, woah, woah. Hold on, partner. Sure training had become an obsession for him in recent months, and he wasn't bad at fighting those monsters, but they were talking about, what? An army of Cyclopeans?

Yeah, pretty much. Ha! We won't have to worry about a hangman's noose if we failed this one. I'm sure the Cyclopeans will take care of that, though I don't plan on failing. If we do fail, however, there's nothing we can do about it. But we haven't failed yet, so we can do something, right? Unless the something turnsout to be the wrong something rather than the right something and we ended up failing anyways, or maybe... Wait...

Jason shook his head, clearing away his advancingly confusing thoughts. He decided to go with his usual stance of 'whatever happens will happen.' Still feeling uncomfortable, he fell in line between two knights just as the rest of the warriors had.

The journey to their holding cell was unsettling to say the least, walking through the rows of dirty, pathetic prisoners. Arriving at their temporary home-away-from-home wasn't much better. The POW cell, from what he could tell was in much better condition than the ones below. However, he realized very readily that their group seemed alien compared to the rest. Especially in the sense that half of their group were the only females present. This wasn't a safe place, but there wasn't really anything they could do about it beside being careful.

Jason didn't really sleep much, but the little sleep he got was more than enough. He was quieter than normal, watchful rather than engaging once he awoke. He pretty much sat on his cot, observing things and making notes in his head until a person he automatically noted he didn't like appeared with two knights.

The man stepped into the cell confidently, the rest of the prisoners besides the month warriors shrinking back. His dislike for the man increased as soon as his mouth opened in speaking to Haru... Then Falk... Then Tallyho...

What the hell!? Jason was beyond annoyed. Mocking his companions... Calling Tallyho a prostitute! Jason wasn't one to be very serious about things, but he wasn't passive either. If you did it right, it was fairly easy to annoy him, and this guy was pushing it. Jason didn't have a guardian to advise him like some of the others, and was about to do something stupid, but Harper beat him to the punch. Now Jason didn't particularly like or dislike the guy, but right now, he definitely loved the annoying guy. Jason frankly didn't care about any possible consequences, and was even going to step forward to join Harper in his show, but wasn't given a chance to with Dorian's harshly barked, "Harper!"

Jason cleared his throat, not sure how to go about anything, so figured he'd introduce himself as if the Harper thing was no big deal. May as well. With a shrug, and a kind of small grin, Jason somewhat exaggerated a flourish of a bow (mostly to turn attention from Harper), kind of like what he'd been tempted to do two days ago on the streets when the Harbinger's entourage had passed them. This time he obviously didn't suppress the urge, though his voice he made contrastingly pleasant, even, and respectful, something none of the warriors or even the guardians had heard come from him. The tone sounded strange coming from Jason, especially with his slightly grinning expression.

"I am Jason of Solace, the warrior of August. I humbly ask you excuse my friend, Sire," and then he may possibly have ruined it by adding, "However, with all due respect, Sire, making assumptions and judging one's ability and value based by appearances and nationality tends towards a poor judgment, no?" With that, the unnaturally even and respectful tone could easily be identified only by those who knew him as being something purely mocking, highlighting his distaste for the arrogant jerk of a dude.

An invalid and a prostitute.
Prostitute? It finally triggered what the word meant.

Prostituta. That cabrón of a general had called Tallyho a prostitute.
Xabier was a mild person most days, he wouldn't pick fights or get involved in childish squabbles.
However he had an ingrained sense of honour and loyalty from growing up in a large, close-knit, stereotypically spanish family.

There were many things he would put up with, if the General had insulted him instead, there would have been no problem.
Xabier wasn't as bravado macho as the other men but he would willingly fight for his family.
The one thing he could not stand was someone dishonouring family.
There was a line and General Cress had crossed it.
Tallyho and Falke were like family.
He had the right mind to snap right there and then. Call out the hijo de puta with dramatic hand movements and puffed out chest.

Become the father, protect the family.

But it was obvious from the painful silence that if he said anything out of place, it'd end up hurting them instead.
This was what was keeping him from doing anything.

Dorian didn't comment and just introduced himself coldly.
Good. Good. Let's just get through this without screwing up.
It was like building a house of cards, one wrong move and the whole thing comes crashing down.
Up came Harper for his turn.
Don't say something reckless Harper, he tried to magically communicate across, keep it polite and short.
Alas he wasn't Falke, so Harper didn't get the message.
His introduction was rude and insulting and completely blunt.
It was so stupidly reckless, Xabier could've killed him. Or kissed him.
One or the other depending on what condition they were in in the end of all this. If they weren't dead, that is.

He watched in silence as Dorian once again held the peace. It was getting increasingly harder to dislike the guy. Xabier had started to waver a little. He had started to be a little nicer to him and it wasn't just because he was Harper's friend.
Dorian had done a good job keeping the team safe in the first test, Xabier would remember that.

Jason was next and he added a little more pressure to the house of cards. Any more movement and they'd crash.

He decided to go next to get it out of the way. Pretending he hadn't noticed any of the others he took one step forward.

"Xabier Sanchez of Constance, Sire. October Warrior."
He knew that his accent was still pretty strong so he kept it brief. While it was popular with pretty girls, he knew there'd be trouble if this General noticed it. As proficient in English or the common tongue as he was, Xabier still thought in Spanish. He still talked to his Iluntasuna in Basque.
It was as clear as anything that he wasn't from around here.
He could only hope that after the other more obvious personalities, it wouldn't be noticed.
General Cress was a proud man, that was easily noticeable.
Hopefully he'd ignore Xabier's presence and concentrate on his wounded pride.