Skylar Grayson's Story

(OOC: i'm putting a TRIGGER WARNING right here, just because I don't want anyone to read something they don't want to. There will be an attempted suicide in the following post involving a knife. For the record, I do not condone this behavior at all. If anyone at any point is ever contemplating suicide, please call a hotline or talk to someone to get help. While Harper's reasonings are his own and unique to him and may make sense in his mind, I personally do not feel that suicide is ever the solution to anything, and that it will always get better. I apologize in advance if Harper's actions upset anyone.)






Tallyho spoke. More salt in the wound. More misunderstandings. He was trying to provoke her. Trying to get her to hit him. To kill him. But it looked like he'd have to take matters into his own hands.

And then Kyle's words. Kyle's goddamn words. Taunting. Jeering. Condescending. Any other day, he'd probably fling himself onto the boy. Fists flying. But today was not any other day. This moment was not any other day.

This moment was the last.

"You see?" He asked Tallyho as she walked off, voice sounding more and more distant to his ears, "You want to talk about a lack of empathy? All of you are stunning, shining examples of it. At least I know I don't understand. All of you think you understand, when you know nothing at all. And when I try to shine some light on my situation, not for pity, not for forgiveness, just so you know an inch of what I'm going through, you just continue to kick shit in my face and refuse to think past your own stupid, hurt feelings. But who am I to have harsh feelings, when clearly all of you are so much more in the right? In fact, you know what?"

He grinned. "You're right." He spun around to face everyone, and roared, "You're all right!"

One laugh. One single, breathless laugh. "And I'm done."

He stormed off, walking the length of the table. He paused at the fruit, grabbing a pear and a small knife, peeling away at the skin as he stalked into the corner of the room farthest away from the others. He sat on the ground, cross-legged, facing the corner, back to the rest of the world.

Empty? They wanted empty? They wanted him to pay the consequences?

Three years. Talk about twenty five.

But no more. As he rolled up his sleeve to his elbow, he had made it up in his mind. He was going to pay all his debts right now.

He would have preferred drowning. But with the exit blocked, he'd need to make his own.

He looked at the knife. Metal shining. He was skilled in wood-craft. Surely human flesh wouldn't be that much different to work with?

He glanced at his arm. Took a breath. Briefly Sadie and Xabi popped in his mind, but he snuffed them out before Dorian and Skylar and more could appear. Now. He needed to do this now. Before he regretted it. Before he thought about it. Before he realized...

Two cuts, he interrupted. Two cuts. Just two....two cuts.

He rested the blade on his arm, near the inside of his elbow. Cold. It was cold.

The faces were coming back. Now. He needed to do it now.

Wordlessly, he stabbed it in. He did his best to keep still, hide the flinch, hide the wince. Bit his tongue. Clenched his jaw. He worked the knife deeper and forward, a cold pain train chugging towards his wrist, screaming silently at its arrival. Red spilled out, dripping down his arms, spilling onto the floor. Even if he was prepared to die, he'd be damned if he got blood on this suit while he was still alive.

First his arm. Then his throat, to make sure.

Then finally, finally...he'd be done.

(Same warnings as Cirrus vaguely apply. All Harper actions and dialogue dictated by Cirrus because for some reason she trusted me to write this. )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An uncomfortable position? It’s like we’re playing monkey in the fucking middle and I’m the monkey!” Skylar snapped, her calm façade crumbling. She really hadn’t meant for her reply to come off so harshly, but at this point she was so frustrated that she was finding it increasingly difficult to try and play nice.

Nobody had bothered to ask her how she felt about all of this (or even Dorian for that matter). No, she was merely a name to throw into an argument, to justify a point being made. Tallyho suddenly found it her business to indirectly defend Skylar’s honor even though the February warrior had barely spoken a word to her the past three years, Harper had ignored her plea for them to stop bickering, and Kyle thought that he could freely insult her best friend and then give her a half-assed apology to make up for it.

So it was no surprise when Harper stormed off after his latest meltdown, the tension obvious in the now dead air. But Skylar never could have prepared herself for what happened next, the sound of Dorian shouting the older male’s name dragging her attention towards the corner where the two of them sat.

"I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm fucking doing! It's my life, I can do what I want with it! Just let me have this one fucking thing!"

The knife Harper had been holding slid across the floor, and it was the sight of the blood staining the blade that led Skylar to put two and two together.

The feelings of anger and frustration she had been feeling mere moments before were quickly replaced by shock and denial, her heart dropping in her chest as she struggled to make sense of the situation.

“Harper?!” The venom had left her voice, replaced by a tone of desperation. Before she could even say anything else, Mildred had entered the room.

“What’s going on here? What are you doing?”

Tallyho replied to the older woman so simply, acting as if her teammate hadn’t just tried to slice himself up like a Christmas ham. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in the blonde’s voice, and while it was obvious that she hated Harper, Skylar couldn't believe that she could be so casual about what had just happened.

If Skylar had thought that things in the room were awkward, nothing could have prepared her for the actual ceremony. Situated between Kyle and Harper, she kept her eyes down, only looking up when it was her turn to drink from the chalice.

By the time the warriors were escorted backstage and it was clear that Harper was okay (physically at least), Skylar’s shock had turned back to anger.

“I want to know the same fucking thing,” Skylar hissed, her voice laced with anger. She cast a glance towards the others, mouth set in a firm line. “You might want to ask Tallyho and Kyle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harper was so withdrawn into himself that Xabi's presence, unfortunately, did little to nothing to alleviate his pain. If anything, it only made him angrier. Why. Why did this guy have to care for him? Why couldn't he just hate him like everyone else? Why did he have to remind him just how stupid he was with what he nearly succeeded in doing?

He clenched his teeth against each other hard to prevent tears.

Stupid. So stupid. He was so, so, incredibly stupid. Mentally he had an image of himself ripping apart the bandage right then and there, digging fingers into the wound, willing the red to return, just to escape this terrible feeling. But he was too tired and physically exhausted to go through with it. The conviction wasn't there. And so he stayed still. Standing and not reciprocating. Eyes on his shoes.

Skylar spoke. Angry. Who was she angry at? Him? Or Tallyho and Kyle? He couldn't be sure.

There was silence. He could have laughed. As if calling those two out would prompt a response.

And then finally, Dorian to the rescue. As was the norm lately. Bare bones. Basic summary. Harper was fine with it. Nothing to argue with. Even if he wasn't fine with it, he still was.

He'd hoped that'd be the last of it, but Haru apparently wasn't done with them. He dismissed everyone BUT the three involved. All three of which were the last people Harper wanted to be around. When Haru told them to sit somewhere, Harper sat as far away from them as possible. Arms crossed. Legs folded in, shoes on top of the upholstery. Eyes staring at a spot on the floor. A direct contradiction to his usual splayed out style of sitting.

But despite his distance, the room was only so big, and he could still hear every word Haru was saying. Like it or not.

Harper tried to stay indifferent. He didn't want to know about these people. All that mattered was that Kyle never liked him, and apparently neither had Tallyho. That was easy. That was simple. Digestable.

But as Haru went on, the June warrior found bits and pieces in all of them that he could relate to. Kyle's difficulties in school. Tallyho's running away and inability to collaborate. The lack of friends prior to this entire shitstorm. And, as Haru mentioned, they apparently all had daddy issues.

Yes, let's just talk about how much we hate our dads why don't we Harper thought sarcastically, I'm sure that'll solve so much. Family bonding time and all that jazz.

And then Haru got to him. And yes, at first, despite the cat's disclaimer, Harper did initially think he was attacking him. Especially with that line, "You want to be noticed."

Why. Why did everyone think he was such an attention whore? Yeah, he got attention, but not because he asked for it! He wasn't some master manipulator scheming of ways to get all the attention to him. He just did what he did and if he got attention, so be it! If people felt like they didn't matter, that wasn't his fault.

But amid the louder, self-righteous mental squalling, a quieter voice nodded slightly. And when Haru mentioned his parents, it suddenly became clear. How much he had tried to please his father, since his own mother was too vapid and caught up in her own issues to be really worth the effort. How he simultaneously did and didn't want the attention they put on him. How upset he had gotten at each missed competition. Each missed assembly. The moment his father had written him off as a lost cause. The year after that Harper had scrambled to make it up to him. To really make a difference. And when that gave no fruit, the subsequent years afterwards when he spiraled backwards. Forced his dad to notice him. Even if, at the time, he had wanted his dad to stay out his business, now he was realizing. What was the point of an action, if not for the reaction? Why put in the effort, after all, if no one was there to notice it in the first place?

It was his first personal epiphany since the jail cell, and considerably less jarring. In fact, the thought was so easily adaptable that Harper realized that perhaps he had always known this, deep down. Which only made it ring truer for him.

Steadily, anger flowed out of him as Haru continued speaking, this time on the reason for all the hate. Harper listened, and saw the pattern of it all being that he would do something without realizing its effects and the others would take it personally. Haru mentioned the rift with Kyle being easy to mend, a matter of simply addressing the Xabi issue (which, by now, they should probably just go public with it since private clearly didn't work out). But Harper felt it wouldn't actually be that simple. Kyle had hated him long before he had dated Xabi.

And then with Tallyho it just seemed like the things she was mad at him for he couldn't really change. Even Haru mentioned this. And here Harper was growing frustrated with it all. Yes, perhaps his actions were the root of all this. But even if he changed--which certainly wasn't going to be easy or happen overnight--or at least put in the effort, who was to say that Kyle and Tallyho would reciprocate? What if he really tried to be a better person, and they still hated him? Still saw him as a disgusting person? Still thought he hadn't changed a bit?

It was easier to just stay the way he was. Safer. Less of a gamble. At least here he knew now exactly how they felt about him. And, with Haru's help, why. That was simpler to deal with. Just stay the bad guy. Know your role. Play the part, and shrug off the consequences because they were meant for the act. Not for you personally.

It was what he had planned on doing in the first place, if Tallyho's words hadn't been so on point.

And yes, he had resigned himself to continue this pattern. To keep being the asshole. To suck it up until they all got to go home and then block all memories from his mind forever.

But then...as Haru was finishing his speech...Harper heard words that had rarely been said to him.

"Harper, you have a good heart."

Harper, you have a good heart....you have a good heart...those simple words bounced around in his head. Not only did they insinuate that he had a heart to begin with (in the metaphorical sense of course), but that it was also good. A good heart. A good...heart...

The words that followed seemed to support that statement, and even that last criticism didn't feel like one. He was too wrapped up in those first few words.

Did he really? Did he really have a good heart? Was loving your sister really enough reason for that? He wanted to believe Haru, but he also wanted to demand further explanations. Why did he think he had a good heart? What were the reasonings? What exactly constituted it? What factors went into play that Haru could make a judgement call like that? What was the criteria a heart had to meet in order for it be 'good'? And was his like a C- good heart, one that barely met the standard, or was it above average?

Lying...he's lying to me... he thought bitterly, Just trying to make me feel better. But it was working. If this was a lie, it was the best kind. Something he could choose to believe in, to cheer himself up when he was down. At least Haru said you had a good heart that one time.

But if it was truth, then it was the worst kind of truth. If he was supposed to have a good heart, then why was he so terrible? What excuse did he have anymore for acting the way he did?

A good heart. You have a good heart.

For a moment he desperately wanted to deny it. Throw those words from him. Of course he didn't have a good heart! He was empty. Empty and soulless and...and evil and...and a whole plethora of terrible things. Why, he would laugh at their deaths! Of course he would! He didn't need anyone! Didn't care about anyone!

But those arguments sounded flat in his mind. Lacked foundation. He knew they weren't true. For so long he had deluded himself into believing the act he put on, as well as the layers underneath. He tried not to care what others said, but he did care. To the point where every negative thing ever said to him he just absorbed. Insults hurt less when you own them. Yet he had owned the negative so much that the positive was almost unbelievable. Even if it were true.

Harper, you have a good heart.

Great. He was crying now. Fuck.

He glanced up at the ceiling, trying to force the tears back in. Sentiment. It was always the fucking sentiment. With a shuddering sigh, he brought both palms to his eyes and breathed in through his nose. Exhaled through the mouth. Wiped the tears away in one firm swipe, only to have more return when he blinked. He sniffed. Fixed his red-eyed gaze on Haru.

"Anything else?" he croaked out, stretching his legs out in front of him, arms returning to their crossed position, "Or are we done?"

Lillian held a callous disregard for other people's feeling at face value. What was beneath the skin wasn't a concern in the greater scheme of the world, or their duties quite often. However, she was not ignorant to Nikita's reluctance to change the subject as quickly as she had, nor the old memories lurking in the depths of the other guardian's eyes, and silently took note of it for reference later on. It would do well to have such information in order to arrange a heart to heart if the need ever arouse.

Eventually Nikita excepted her subject change and compliments on her fair green dress, passing off her finished drink and answer shrugging her last question, "It's nice, but, I think I would enjoy it more in a previous life." "Would not we all?" Lillian twittered, a higher, amused lit echoing in her tone. Amusement? Yes, an actual jest twittering from her lips! While it wasn't necessarily the whole truth for her in any of the ages she had lived in (except the second, but that was only if September had made it clear that no one would treat her any differently or face his wrath); she could joke on it, all the same.

"Ahh," Lillian paused, musing. As the amusement faded quickly, into a silent flash of determination in a solid line upon her lips and calm yet clever eyes that had spotted a suitable shift in the play of the crowd around them. She could make her escape as it were, easily enough without attracting unwanted attention, to the door and head to her own room for the night. "I've grown weary of the night, m'dear. I apologize Nikita, if you'll excuse me." She spoke gently, patting the other guardian's arm in farewell, before disappearing into the crowd, following her assumed exit path.

...

Falke took the glasses of weak wine from Kyle and passed them to a passing server, as the younger blonde caved and disappeared into the crowd to dance with Skylar. Free from member's of the groups' attention for a time, he spent the time idly surveying the crowd. Making necessary small talk with passing party goers that focused on him immediately knowing who he was as they came and went, and humored Xabier in his talks of odd family traditions (and yes they were odd, but they were very Spanish). It wasn't long before the night was over, and he was able to escape to the quiet and peace of an empty, lonely room.

---

The next day began early. Pins and needles. Tailors poking and pinning extravagant outfits unto the warriors as they were all prepared for their big ceremony. As always, during the past few days, Mildred took personal charge of the event - from the outfits, to decorations and flower arrangements, how they would move and act - she should have been the Queen or Lady in waiting with the amount of respect she owned and duties that were given to her to complete flawlessly.

Falke was dressed in possibly the darkest colors Mildred had put on him to date (especially after the announcement that he was going to be a darling of the city, dressed in whites and silvers and golds), or well, technically really only the bottom half was darker. With knee-high, dark leather boots, without the brace for the first time in ages (because really, she had insisted, it did not make the fashion statement Mildred wanted), and black, needlessly tight, pants with gold and silver stripes down the leg seam; it left the memory of light, golden browns and whites behind. As for the top, it still fit the bill of the original plan, with the doublet being a tint of a brownish gold matching the leg stripes - textured with a speckling of white, reminiscent of a nightly starscape. A two inch silver sash, matching the other leg stripes, wrapped around his left shoulder and right hip; was pinned near the middle of his chest with a large, silver brooch, featuring an extravagant star sapphire in its' center, the only jewel on his person denoting who he was (save the real one, hidden underneath white silk gloves).

He had an apple in hand, tossing it into the air every so often (not quite hungry enough to eat it, and there was really too much food for simply snacks at the table anyway) checking his reflexes idly as they waited. A comfortable perch on the edge of a chair. And a free hand every so often tugging at the golden seams of the high collar presently choking him to slowly but steadily loosen it in the interests of breathing. No one really to talk to, but past the time until the ceremony, or so he thought...

Autumn had approached with a soft hello, and an oddly dim mental presence - that caused a slight narrowing of his eyes, as he glanced away from his game with his apple to regard her evenly. It was curious at once that she'd come to him to talk with, but the dim mental presence was interesting as well. In close proximity, even without contact, people like Autumn and her personality type, he could hear them right away and ignore as necessary. "Hello," Falke replied softly, with a brow raised. He felt it again, the mental presence dim but insistently attempting to be heard. Ahh, she was trying to talk with him, privately. Warily, he focused his abilities in order to listen.

/I'm so sorry to bother you...\

Falke blinked in surprise at the static resistance he felt over everything she was saying. They hadn't communicated in this manner before, other than battle, but he could usually hear loud and clear if he needed to. He figured he just needed to delve deeper into her mind in order to hear her better, but could not shake the awful and uncomfortable situation raising the hairs up on the back of his neck as he did.

/It’s just that I really don’t want to be forced into an uncomfortable situation with Xabier. I know it’s a bit of a burden, but please. I had to dance with Xabier last night and I do not want that to happen again. Save me?\

Now it was his turn to reply, and Falke furrowed his brow further, before idly responding. /Save you? We're already stuck in an uncomfortably confining room already for the next 30 minutes. How would I-...? \ Focused as he was on their conversation, he hadn't quite noticed Xabier coming up until it was entirely too late to really do anything about it. His mental aura spoke strongly for his reasons to come over, trying to forcibly patch the holes in the leaking boat of his relations with everyone else that had fallen relatively flat since him and Harper had been, well, been together more or less. He didn't really dislike anyone to an extent, but he was not going to be faking emotions for anyone either.

/Wow I am so sorry Falke. I hoped I could avoid stuff. I didn't mean to get you caught in it.\
/Too late...\
"Ah hey guys, last night was quite fun, huh?"
"Delightful."

"Fei..." He responded with a shrug. It wasn't fun, nor really delightful. Eye opening per say, certainly. But 'eh' for him in all reality, for one that clearly did not like the attention nor the social scene that everyone knew who the little blind boy that was the most likely to kick the bucket by the end (or before) of this journey was from the start.

The rest of the time before the ceremony was spent making idle small talk between both Xabier and Autumn about the night before, and desperately ignoring what was happening in the other room as best as he was able too. What came in his head, stayed in his head as far as he was concerned. And he happened to agree with Autumn's assumption that it would be more of a blessing than a curse to keep their room vaguely sane comparably. If she wasn't going to tell him, then he sure as hell wasn't going to either.

...

(WIP CEREMONY)

...

“What happened?”

Falke flinched, and his cheek-line visibly paled. It should not have been a surprise, if technically a rare occurrence of his to let such an obviously guilty conscience display so readily across his facial features, considering he was emotional comprised; just being in the general vicinity of the volatile thoughts and emotions of the group it was a surprise he wasn't breaking down and shaking in panic, and/or pain. Nor was it a surprise to have Haru waiting to meet the group as they walked off from the ceremony stage, and quickly directed them into the room July-December (the more sane half of the group one could say, at the current time anyhow) had resided in for the 45 minutes with little more than forced, awkward conversation, forcing himself to ignore as best as he was able too with what was happening in the other room, and no bloodshed.

“What the fuck happened, I said?!”

Haru was now blocking the door, demanding an answer, pairing the harshness of his tongue with an intense glare searing them all. Falke gave a soft but funny little gasp, and had enough presence of mind left to sit down quickly in an open chair. Fingers curled into his hair absently, endearingly displacing whatever sort of hairstyle Mildred had been going for, hands covering his face, and elbows rested on his kneecaps. Barely managing not to faint, as he strove to simply focus on anything and everything his mind could grasp unto as a distraction from the people around him; shutting down (mostly) his abilities as quickly as he could.

Falke did not bother to answer Haru waiting for an explanation. Even when it would have been easy for him to give a long or short answer regarding the situation that happened. He had not been apart of that room or its' issues in the first place. Secondly, by the minor mental confirmation earlier between Autumn and himself in regards to keeping the fine, poison laced civility in their room afloat without conflict (ie. if you're not going to tell Xabier, I'm sure as hell not). And lastly, well... It hurt. After nearly three and half years he'd spent with the various group members - ranging from the warriors themselves, to the guardians, their teachers, other students, etc - his powers had developed, connections became stronger. The people around him were drowning in tension, deep, under the skin, befuddling his mind enough already. He did not feel the need to relive it in high definition.

Harper, surprisingly or not, exhausted as he; was the first to offer an answer to Haru's demand. While true to an extent, it was so piss-poor basic it didn't accurately give the red haired guardian a true summary of the event that had occurred. But given his mental condition, exhausted of course but not 'okay' by any means, one could not really expect anymore from him. Xabier quickly rushing to his side, as if they were the only two in the room, ignoring Haru, the question he'd asked, and the uneasy cloud that had fallen across them all in the room. Skylar was next, not truly answering either, as she hissed hot, angry air through her teeth as she called about Tallyho and Kyle to answer (or really, confess technically) their parts in it all as well. Dorian, at last, spoke up evenly persistent as he summarized the stupid situation as it had occurred, with parts left out of course but the gist was there.

“Wait what? You have got to be kidding me. Okay you people, everyone but those three: Harper, Tallyho, Kyle. Get out. Go on the dance floor. Don’t get into any trouble. Don’t ask questions. You’re not in trouble. Just go. Bye.”

Falke did honestly try not to look like he was too eager or rushing to get out of the room. And unsteady legs and glazed eyes certainly would help an argument. But it was a relief to be out of the confining walls and closed quarters of a group that was often so close to the boiling over point it was frankly ridiculous. And of course being able to stop his repetitive and stupid German rendition of counting sheep, as he focused away from the thoughts and emotions of the others and the whole situation.

He stepped forward from the dark hall into the glittering dance floor world of the rich and powerful that had come to witness their ceremony, hesitantly taking it all in before necessarily diving into cheap but required talk with all the dignitaries. He felt a presence come out behind him next, instantly knowing it was Autumn, due to her being the last one to have a true mental conversation with him. It was obvious he hadn't quite turned off the slightly leaky faucet (wondering briefly what she had thought if she had potentially heard his sheep counting), but more obvious that it hadn't been his lack of focus causing his inability to hear her mind early - she simply had static chatter, all the time, riding across her mental plane demanding and tugging attention from her.

/Are they always so loud?\

Falke mentally questioned, as he tilted his head to glance blearily back at her in curiosity - before a group of noble women or men sprang upon the reasons for the grandeur and party around them. Clearly assuming it was the feeling of the spirits she used at the disposal of her powers, because he could not actually understand anything they were potentially saying. But it felt wrong, too much death and decay on a young women's mind, a hair raising experience to say the very least.

Both groups were brought out to attend the ceremony, almost as if nothing had happened. Autumn smiled for the crowd, happy to see the princess and the guardians. Even Mori and Karma were there, which made the situation seem light. Such an air of cheerfulness, it must have been creepy to the others. It certainly felt out of place to Autumn.

Kit, too, had dressed up and even braided his hair. It came as a bit of a surprise to Autumn, who always thought such things to be too feminine for his tastes. Apparently, it wasn't a problem. It looked nice, though, so she could see why he would go with it.

As expected, standing close to Xabier was awkward. Though, compared to how the others must have felt, it wasn't too bad. They had to stand on a stage as if nothing had happened right after such a traumatic event unfolded before their eyes. Autumn wasn't sure what the details involved. She only know the basics. It was like listening to the news. One might have a basic understanding of the situation but could never fully understand every bit and piece. It was incredibly frustrating.

She sipped the wine and continued on with the ceremony, not surprised to find Haru back stage and fuming. That man needed a vacation. Or a hug. Maybe both.

How could they be heralded as the saviors of humanity when their infighting alone could destroy them? They didn't deserve the title of warriors. They didn't deserve to be wearing such nice clothes and living in such nice rooms. But wasn't that how government worked? As long as they knew the right people they could act like fools and still be trusted and loved. It left a bitter taste in Autumn's mouth to think of this.

Even some of the more noteworthy spirits mentioned it to her as she proceeded. One dead Duchess in particular chuckled at the similarity. Autumn ignored her.

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?”

Autumn wanted to ask that as well, though it was more of a “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THAT HAPPEN?”. The distance that everyone had had always upset her. Everyone always split off into their own little friend groups and even then it felt forced at times. As if they were fellow students in a classroom that one only put up with for the sake of socialization. Not that Autumn herself wasn't guilty of that. After a while, she even gave up on trying to bring them together. Was that why she liked Liam and Xabier? Out of necessity? To feel as if she had some control over her life and could still make it her own? She wasn't nearly introspective enough to linger on these thoughts or even grasp them for more than a second.

Skylar was obviously upset. No wonder, she was smack dab in the middle of it. The same went for Dorian, who gave a rather cut and dry explanation.

Just what went on in there?

To think that it was all over with so quickly felt weird. It seemed a bit otherworldly. Well, that and Falke was still mentally connected with Autumn and he sounded like he was summoning a demon out of hell. He probably wouldn't be doing anything like that, though. Otherwise, she might get a bit jealous. The occult was her territory. It would be sad to have someone else take over for her.

/Pretty much. It's like, um, a bunch of people who couldn't talk to anyone until now. So, they're really noisy. I don't blame them though. It must have been really lonely having no one to talk to. So, they can be as loud as they want. I don't mind./

Honestly, it was nice to talk (think?) about it. No one had ever really asked how her powers worked. Explaining things was exciting, even though she wasn't that good at it.

/What about you? I never really thought about it, but does it ever bug you? Reading minds and all? Because i'm pretty sure I heard some strange stuff going on in your head or however it works and you sounded kinda annoyed. Not that I blame you. I would be. Speaking of that... I wonder how everyone else is doing.../

“Hey... are you guys alright?” Autumn looked at Skylar and Dorian, the ones caught in the middle during that hellish time. Dorian still smelled a bit of blood. It wasn't as if she was ignoring Falke at this point, she was simply multitasking. Talking to him and trying to comfort her friends were both important.

Without asking, she took the time to hug both of them. They looked like they needed it.

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

The desire to help was almost desperate. Would Falke pick up on that? Autumn didn't know. She didn't care. A passing spirit said something about how to dance in a dress without falling over.

Skylar was secretly slightly relieved that Dorian had intervened before the others got a chance to. Never the one to add to any of the drama, he calmly gave Haru a very basic and unbiased recap. Short, sweet, and simple- that was Dorian for you.

“You have got to be kidding me. Okay you people, everyone but those three: Harper, Tallyho, Kyle. Get out. Go on the dance floor. Don’t get into any trouble. Don’t ask questions. You’re not in trouble. Just go. Bye.”

Thankful that she wouldn’t be forced to sit through another rehashing of the events, Skylar wordlessly spun on her heel, eager to put as much distance between herself and the trio as possible.

The party should have been a welcome distraction, yet she couldn’t bring herself to focus her attention on anything but what had happened. She paused in the doorway, taking a moment to breathe before throwing herself among the guests. She would rather be anywhere else at that moment, but she knew better than to disobey both Mildred and Haru- they didn’t need a runaway month warrior on their hands as well.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes again and plastered a smile on her face before following the others inside. It was disgusting how easy it was to deceive everyone, how a simple wave and smile had the entire kingdom falling to their knees.

“If they only knew what had just happened,” Skylar muttered to the remaining warriors, glancing over at her teammates.

“Hey... are you guys alright?”

Oh, was Skylar ever happy to see Autumn. She let the perky blonde wrap her in a hug, desperately aching for the comfort of at least someone.

“Forget Raggedy Anne, they should make a Raggedy Skylar doll. Shit, I was so pissed- I still am, but you know, what’s done is done…” She replied with a tired smile before turning to face Dorian. “You did great with Harper. Sorry about your hand though,” She said, gesturing to his bandaged palm. “And thank you for explaining to Haru, snapping at Tallyho and Kyle to do it probably wasn’t the best idea, but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Invisible. Harper wished he could be invisible.

"There was an argument. I don't know why it started, but Kyle pushed Harper-"
Oh no. This was exactly the type of thing that he was hoping to avoid. One of the reasons why he had avoided his friends initially was because he didn't want any confrontations like this. Didn't want to witness it.

"Then Tallyho suddenly told Harper exactly what she thought of him and then the three of them started arguing with Kyle threatening Harper and Harper and Tallyho monologuing at each other until because all of them wanted to have the last word."
This didn't sound good. He'd have to talk to them about what happened when everyone had calmed down, including himself. And when he did he'd stand up for himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Autumn was like a butterfly. That is a butterfly that had already sipped too many flowers that day already, and still, eagerly, went after the glass of young, sweet-smelling wine sitting on a distant window-sill. Her thoughts were loud and chaotic, bright and colorful, absent minded yet demanding attention; even though the intelligible whispers of the dead kept making their presence known. Falke was reminded rather abruptly in this small stretch of time of the reason why the two of them never held very much active conversation with one another. Goddess above, he was just trying to be more or less friendly not complete a mental exercise!

/Pretty much. It's like, um, a bunch of people who couldn't talk to anyone until now. So, they're really noisy. I don't blame them though. It must have been really lonely having no one to talk to. So, they can be as loud as they want. I don't mind.\ Falke responded with a silent presence of affirmation that he had heard what she had said. He personally didn't agree to the mindset of allowing them to be as loud as they wanted, because if it was in her power to use them as necessary and silence them when not. Well, he would love a 5 minuete nap without someone else's daydreams or nightmares wandering in. It would be lovely...

/What about you? I never really thought about it, but does it ever bug you? Reading minds and all? Because i'm pretty sure I heard some strange stuff going on in your head or however it works and you sounded kinda annoyed. Not that I blame you. I would be. Speaking of that... I wonder how everyone else is doing...\ Falke visibly frowned. Not entirely about the fact that she had gone off on a tangent again, thoughts as tangled as a Nomansland jungle to navigate over the hisses of voices creeping and crawling and drowning everything he wasn't trying to focus on; but also, she'd heard something strange stuff? He must have not shut off the connection when they'd gone out to the ceremony, or when Haru had cornered them to get an explanation from the other group of 'what the hell had happened', or now talking with her. But what would have been strange - oh, oh...

/I was counting sheep, in Deutsch, something to keep myself, myself, instead of reliving that experience over again in my head. I apologize for still having the connection open. It can be disconcerting... My abilities are a experience.\ He acknowledged to Autumn. It was simple and straight to the point. If only because of her wandering attention and desperate desire to help the nearby Dorian and Skylar, and by an extent Xabier too, allowed him a moment of respite from the chitterlings of her mind and her ghostly baggage.

Falke glanced wearily over the crowd, feeling that their moment of peace was only the calm of the storm. The party wasn't going to wait for them to it, very shortly it would be coming to them - regardless of Autumn's good intentions to be a fence and keep those adoring 'fans' that wanted to talk with the warriors busy. In his distraction, he never quite listened to the entirety of what Skylar had to say in response so much more than feeling it tickling the edge of his mental range he was limiting to the November warrior mostly. It was enough to make him aware that the situation was hardly out of the woods yet, especially if people kept bringing it up further...

"Do what you want, Autumn... You said you stopped him, Dorian. Was I in any way responsible for what had happened in there?"

Falke flashed an uncomfortable grimace as he bit his own tongue in spite and his cheek-line paled again. Bloody hell. Could anyone leave it alone! Seriously... Autumn had been trying to be helpful. Skylar wasn't exactly helping, by poking the bear with a stick. Xabier had simply slapped the bear upside the head. And Dorian hadn't respond as of yet, but Falke didn't give him the chance.

His silence had worn out.
And his head hurt.

"Xabier, honestly?" Falke rumbled, casting a heated glare over his shoulder directed at the group hovering right behind him, a hand unconsciously raised to rub in irritation at his temple. "Maybe you were mentioned, maybe you weren't. But why would you think you were responsible for another persons' actions? Could we just-..." He paused, short of saying what he really wanted to tell them all off. Which mostly consisted asking them to please exit off the ass-hat train, because we've all derailed at fuck with Falke's head today enough already. He had quickly guarded his mind against Autumn's accidentally listening in on his true thoughts about his mind-reading powers today. Annoyed and being an 'experience', hah, no, that was not enough to describe the issues of being the emotion and thought trashcan of the group.

It only took a moment to find a more appropriate statement, before he spoke up again. "Leave the past in the past, and focus on the present. Talking about all this now in such a (public) setting doesn't help us right now for Goddess' sake." Falke finished with a ill-favored hiss of warning at the end, as his voice grew purposefully softer as the crowd's drifting potentially brought someone into eavesdropping distance. It was abundantly clear that he was getting tired of their games, and that he honestly wanted to keep his head on his shoulders, literally if not figuratively as well, and wished everyone else would have the same quiet sensibilities (what a wish) with their situation.

With a thin pensive line resuming its' place on his lips, he turned away without further words on the matter and eagerly (cough, not really, but lets' go with eagerly) stepped forward into the swirl of grandeur - /Autumn, left? I will take right.\ - and was immediately snatched into idle, more uncomfortable than not, conversation with some worldly nobleman or noblewoman.

...

Upon the completion of the presentation ceremony of the month warriors, Lillian had disappeared from her place in the Guardian line between Ondine and Kit. Despite the delicate up-do Mildred had assured her wouldn't fall free this time like at the gathering the night before, she had opted to leave the festivities before anything could have the slightest provocation of getting out of hand. With murmured farewells to those closest to her, she moved quickly, efficiently, and most of all unnoticed. Escaping outside into a nearby corridor, leaning against an open window sill, to view the open air above the city gradually slowing down for the night in quiet solitude.

The peace didn't last long, however, as her wash-out, gray-blue eyes focused intently on a new companion that had stumbled out of the festivities, to cool off physically and mentally in the cool night air - recognizing it as Harper even in the dim lightning of rising moonlight and distant torches. Lillian had figured an uncomfortable hunch when a scattered Mildred had dragged Haru off, talking with her hands flapping and pitched whispers of agitation; and the appearance of the crumbled June warrior leaning against an outer wall told the rest of the story well enough. Oh children, she silently cursed...

"If you're looking to hide, it would be best to pull deeper into the shadows." Lillian hummed softly in simple advice. Her accent twittering breezily and unguarded in the empty space between the two of them. Wordlessly turning away again with a rustle of heavy cloth of the loose fitting pale gold drapery that hung from a high metal choker and her lean shoulders, to watch the world silently go by once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I...What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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