Tallyho Abel's Story

Tallyho absently yet eagerly huddled onto her knees near Lillian’s feet like a child who was gathering round for a story. She knew it. She absolutely knew it. All of that time she spent staring at Lillian, studying her features, finding familiarity in each involuntary glance and she knew it.

“I had a feeling,” she began, “that something was familiar about you. It wasn’t that I met you before or anything. But we most definitely come from the same… place.”

The blonde reached for a piece of cloth, silently offering her assistance to the September guardian if she had spare needle and thread.

“Did you notice the same about me? Did you know where I was from already?” Tallyho tried her best to follow Lillian’s lyrics in her head. Some of it sounded quite familiar. Words used in her caravan’s halfway dialect. A dialect that, for the most part consisted of common speak (or to the earthlings English).

“How long had it been since you’ve been with the caravan?” Tallyho asked. She knew from experience what a big deal it was to go rouge. The next question could have easily been considered inappropriate and Tallyho would have held her tongue had she been in her right mind but the blonde was so pent up with excitement about meeting another one of her own that she lost all reserve.

“Why… Why did you leave in the first place?”

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.

“Sa' rloaiy dauosaa's...” Lillian twittered, lightly chiding in her humming voice; upon finishing the song for its’ second time. Tallyho had beseeched her with questions, so many questions, and eager conversation. The February warrior hadn’t even stopped talking, even after offering silently her assistance – which Lillian had obliged, quietly grateful, giving her a spare needle and thread to use, and moved the cloth into the middle ground between the two of them.

Lillian was shocked into silence, momentarily, as she gathered her own thoughts and responses in turn. She hadn’t had that sort of contact in years. Of course, between the Guardians, there was talk to be had over the centuries; but it wasn’t the same as the familiarity that came with someone of your own ‘People’. It was nice, but alarming too.

Finally, she mused softly in common speak, “I noticed, suspected perhaps... But I did not pry…” Her assurances clear on her tone. It was the truth at the very least. Yes, Lillian had noticed the young Tallyho’s features, and had suspected what she was – even a halfling, a child born of rape or torture or both (and more, Goddess awful things, sometimes), would not have surprised her. And yet, she respected privacy and given the stigmas against their people; she hadn’t dug through the dirt for answers. If it came, it would come, she had figured. Much like it was doing now of all times, just because of a simple and sad traveling song.

“I have visited the caravan a time or then in this third, ageless, age. Sixty or seventy years ago last, if I remember correctly.” She hummed, softly. Pausing as she put the needle in her mouth for a moment, as she re-adjusted the cloth laying in her lap; before resuming her work and organizing her thoughts before responding again. It was a difficult question to respond to, inappropriate to even be asked of potentially.

“I left them with my death of my first age.” Lillian finally answered, approving it to be the close enough of an answer for the time being. Because she hadn’t ever truly left the caravan, or at the very least on her own terms that would have truly labeled her as a rouge of The People. Mere circumstance likely gave her the lightest sort of polite sentence, she could only assume.

She had died in the first age, captured and tried by simple common folk for her deeds. The same deeds that gave her the ill privilege of being a Guardian in the first place. The second age she was a part of protecting and aiding the original, super powered month warriors, before being killed in battle sometime near the end. The third age, she had an ageless time of waiting for the new month warriors to appear, and sometimes had visited. But she could never stay, always cloaked and hooded forever, and needed to always be ready to go upon their return. Old sentiments were a painful waste of time, she knew, but still put herself through – for the sake of remembering. So, had she ever really left?

“You?”

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

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.

Lillian had always been good at seemingly ignoring things she had happened to have heard accidently, or far more likely she was cautiously eavesdropping purposefully for informational gaining. This time, however, it wasn’t even by accident or frankly wanting to listen to them. They were just awfully loud, and embarrassingly really. Oh, she had quite forgotten when she’d been a mildly alarming puppy in love (all though, never in this manner), and she couldn’t quite blame them both over tripping over their words at one another. However, given their current situation and what had happened the night before; it seemed rather disgusting, the simple careless in turn. Huh, whatever.

She remained calm, cool, and collected; and didn’t allow a stray glance to alert that she too had heard, of what had captured part of Tallyho’s attention for a time – while Lillian had answered her questions. Twisting her fingers with a finishing knot, she completed her second shirt, and after folding it efficiently set it atop the first. As the young sun woman began talking her own about her own past, she paused her busily fingers after re-stringing her needle to rest momentarily.

Tallyho hadn’t gone for a shorter answer, that was certain. Lillian appraised her with a thoughtful, if kind eye in turn. Perhaps the weight of the world, and it always had been, was resting a little too heavily on their shoulders now at this particular moment – especially after the horrible shock the fire had been – after it had been waiting its’ turn to raise its ugly head to bother them, when most of them seemed to be at their lowest. She let the girl's harsh chuckle fall into silence, quite soon after it had even begun.

“Mhmm,” She hummed softly, pausing. As she glanced back down to her work, betraying the sight of a brief, bitter sigh passing her lips in response. “I cannot say that I agree or disagree with you or your reasons. But, perhaps you’ll find your center one day.” Lillian finished, simply, leaving it at that. Clasping the next piece of cloths in hand, fitting the ragged edges together in preparation for sewing yet another seem.

"Go ahead," Lillian mused, as Tallyho departed with the shirt she was working on in hand towards the mess hall for dinner. She was mildly hungry herself, she supposed. But wished to take full advantage of what light was left by the sun, fading slowly into the horizon, and continued her work in silence - until a tune happened to take her fancy in her wandering thoughts, and she began humming, and singing, softly, once again.

If one were to ask Tallyho what her favorite aspect about life on the sea had to be she would simply tell them that she most enjoyed the times when she was on land.

Tallyho had to thank the Goddess that Haru made sure to get Nikita to stop the ship in places where land was within a short distance. Since a lot of the places where they stopped were not official ports it was pretty common for the ship to stop within a suitable swimming/wading/boating distance. Though the cat guardian intentionally meant for these stops to be for power training, Tallyho usually came up short, only being able to harness her lighting powers in storms. On storm nights she would sneak up onto the deck when she felt like everyone was sleeping and claw to any rail, pole or pillar she could. The boat would rock and water would sop the edge of the ship. These nights were both terrifying and invigorating.

The first time she successfully redirected lighting she was almost tossed overboard. But despite this, it wasn’t her last time crawling out onto deck on such daring nights. After storm nights she would wake up buzzing with energy, often showing her enthusiasm to her closer friends but sometimes the others, if they even cared to look, could catch her flashing a genuine smile which, since the journey began, was a rare vision coming from Tallyho.

She would often dance on the deck, swaying forward and back like her fore-mothers, recreating the lyrics Lillian sang with a supple tongue and sure, but very study improvement. To sing in the first language, not common speak, was precious to Tallyho. She never felt more like a sun person. In fact she felt sunnier than many sun people. And she would share this joy by forcing one of her friends to dance with her. Usually it was Falke. Sometimes she’d ask Dorian or Xabier to join her. But she felt like Dorian had too many reservations. He wasn’t the dancing type. And it wasn’t really fun if he didn’t dance willingly. Xabier was more willing but Tallyho began to feel as though he wouldn’t be so interested after a while. Though perhaps she was just thinking crazy? Falke was usually the best option—he couldn’t see how stupid they looked to the outsiders.

After days like these she would feel extremely drowsy. It was as if she had a hole in her soul—a leak that drained all of her energy out onto the floor almost as soon as she got it. Though an average medical professional might think her a narcoleptic, the blonde figured that it was because of her lack of experience and excused it, only making sure that someone who she trusted could effectively drag her unconscious body somewhere safe until she woke up. Weeks passed and the drowsiness began to melt away. Tallyho was high on her laurels then, feeling extremely in control of her body, and she learned to retain some of the electrical energy she gathered from prior sea storms better than she had before. But just as she kicked one obstacle to the side, another reared its ugly head. And this one was worse than some case of obsessive napping. This one was painful.

The first time it happened Tallyho was on the deck alone. They started dinner a few minutes prior but Tallyho discreetly left her dining companions because of a nose bleed. When she arrived on deck she was tilting her head back towards the sky, trying the coax the blood into clotting and allowing her to return to her meal while it was still hot. But it would not stop. She brought the hem of her dress up to her nose, a deep red stain soaking and spreading onto the fabric much like the water from the forest of stones. She applied more pressure but it kept spreading.

It was all extremely sudden but he blonde fell into a shaking spell, knees buckling under her as she collapsed onto the deck with the grace of a tranquilized rhino. It felt like a country’s worth of butterflies were thudding their wings against her stomach lining, a buzzing sensation ran through her head in waves, slender legs crossed about one another like domesticated vines that knew not which way to grow. Curled toes, chest heaving, back arching and collapsing like the bombing of a bridge re-winded and replayed on cassette, warmth radiating from cool skin that was dewy with sweat. Tallyho had not known for sure how long this sensation lasted but when she was re-awarded dominion over her body she felt like she had climbed a mountain. Tendons sore from strain and release. She lay on the deck floor until she convinced herself that she was still alive. Checked for blood on her nose. Ignored the blood on her dress. Returned to the others. This sensation must not have lasted very long because her meal was still warm.

In the next two months these attacks have occurred twice and each time Tallyho was alone. And each time she opted to tell no one about them, acting as if she only really left to wipe away a little nosebleed.

It was early one morning when Haru woke the group up claiming that they had reached Port Angels. Tallyho climbed the stairs into the misty morning air. The muggy odors from the stuffiness of the ship racing out of her nostrils, the sea misted her face and the air was cold. The blonde caught her unruly hair in the wind and tied it into a knot away from her face. She would once again opt to pin her hair back in scarves to minimize her heritage in public.

Port Angels was a busy place and that was easy to see a mile away. Ships of various colors shapes and sizes adorned the decks. Some vessels were built for shipping while others seemed to be for battle or leisure. As they came closer to the docking area Tallyho set her eyes a grand ship with deep engravings in the wood. The likenesses of fish people and eastern dragons looped about the wood in a cluttered baroque fashion. The blonde wondered how long such a heavily embellished ship would last at sea and how far? Perhaps it wasn’t actually a ship but an anchored vessel used for dining and parties.

The echo of music filed into earshot, happy lutes, accordions, percussion, lyres, then the laughter of children, men and women talking, the tinging of boat bells, and oh, the smells! Blackened fish, and sugary dough, rose jelly, turtle soup. Merchant’s had their stands set up along the walk way of the dock They were hoping to catch the interest of tourists while they were fresh to the country and a bit more generous with their pence.

Tallyho, despite living in a well-travelled caravan for half of her life hadn’t experienced anything like this before. Most of her travelling was done solemnly and in secrecy with a group of people who, as far as the locals figured, weren’t supposed to be there anyway. They always came through the back end, always in the dark. If caught they were shamed and now…now she was welcomed. Now she was on the façade of it all—the pretty little wall to make up or the other three with artistry and warm welcome and charm—and it felt pretty good to be honest.

Haru called for the warriors attention, taking his place on top of a crate before them. It was comical really, this little man speaking to them as a leader. Haru had such a big voice that Tallyho almost forgot how fragile he really looked, like an adolescent cat living on the brink of life—small and thin but still smart and respectable.

“Welcome to the Rose Kingdom. You all haven’t really gotten the chance to really immerse yourself in Airian culture. You spent most of your time in a more agrarian Aires where social interaction was quite sparse compared to here. You lived within incubated walls at the academy and spent a couple of months on this ship. From this day forward, everything you do and say will carry a lot of weight when it comes to our success. Some of the episodes you were allowed to have before will not be easily forgiven here. People here are always watching and always talking. When we get off of this ship do not say anything about being a month warrior in the presence of strangers. You heard about the recent hanging’s right? If you, and excuse my French, but if you fuck up do I guarantee all of you will be hanging from the gallows in the same day. The Rose Kingdom is one of the most religiously sensitive territories on Aires and doing or saying anything that offends the religion will land you in hot water. So I beg of you, please, please do not be a selfish ass and endanger your peers.”

The cat guardian hopped off of his crate.

“Now… I’ll let you linger about for a few minutes but we really need to get to Ve Marie as soon as possible.”

As the ship prepared to dock Tallyho separated from the group in search of a scarf but was only able to find a random shirt lying around the warriors sleeping quarters. She wasn’t sure whose shirt it was but it would have to do until she was able to buy something more substantial. After winding her hair into braids, twisting and tucking she tied the shirt around her head. When she was moderately pleased she returned to the deck.

Haru eventually directed the group out nodding thanks to the crew for letting the warriors intrude on their living space for such a long period of time.

“Stay close,” Haru called, “the crowd gets pretty dense.”

Tallyho stayed in a very close step to whoever walked before her. Port Angels was all that it looked a mile away and more. She felt like she was a part of a Renoir painting, one of those jolly party time people whose skin ate the sunlight. Once everyone was out of the ship Haru took his place in front of the group, functioning very much like a tour guide.

“Port Angels is one of the busiest ports on the planet. As the only shipping destination in the Rose Kingdom, one of the biggest economic powers in the world, it hosts separate mini ports for each region.”

Tallyho took a gander at the groups of ships. She could certainly see the difference in design and could make out which miniport belonged to which nation. The ships from eastern isle were more ornate with bright colors while the ships from hales were rugged, distressed, yet sturdy-looking.

“Because of its relevance, the military academy, Daniel’s, is nearby. This is where the King’s men train to become “knights” and they patrol the area often.” Haru put air quotes around the word knights just because the definition of the position as it was now was, in Haru’s opinion, very different from what it used to be. “But unlike Solace where the space between towns is comprised of vast expanses of land, the R.K is connected by a series for city streets that run through unmarked towns and neighborhoods. So when we take a carriage up to Ve Marie we will be passing many residential lots
.”
Haru led the group down the path until they spilled into what seemed to be a small, but crowded town square.

“If I were you I might get…cleaner clothes before appearing to the court tomorrow. Nothing too fancy, but something doable, if you can afford it that is.”

Haru stopped dishing out money to the younggins a while ago. Some, while at the academy, got opportunities to make their own money through chores and errands and Haru expected them to supplement their own needs, aside from group inn stays of course.

Tallyho hadn’t really known where to start. She wasn’t, after all, one of the warriors who worked. Even when she went down to the village she still stole drinks from others. But it didn’t bother her so much; she was used to being a scavenger. So without a word she shuffled to a bench and sat, tugging on her shirt scarf and tucking stray hairs beneath the fabric.

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.

Tallyho perked up to see Dorian approach. Before the man even got to sit down she was reaching for his pocket, only stopping when she realized that she could not play the art game because Arians simply wouldn’t get it what with the moving picture box and all. Without thinking so much she used him as a counter, her elbow jabbing into his leg and upper body slewed over his lap as the side of her face rested in her palm, smushed and painted with a look of utter boredom. She looked like an impossibly spoiled, angry cat as she imagined how long it would take for the others to get what they needed.

“Any reason you’re wearing a scarf?”

“Any reason why you’re not?” she snapped quickly, sporting her most discontent or, “bitchiest face” only to have it melt into a stupid chuckle upon meeting his glance. When she finished her subtle laugher she spoke again, hardly noticing that he was fixing her fashion statement as she spoke.

“No it’s just a thing I do. Sun people aren’t that popular, and my hair is a dead giveaway when it comes to that sort of thing. Keeps me out of trouble.”


An adequate amount of time passed and after rounding the warriors back up Haru paid what many locals referred to as a carriage train to get them into the walls of Ve Marie. Three carriages hitched together with rope and pulled by six horses. It was nothing like Mr. Vo’s Ox cart. In fact the carts themselves, not including the beasts that pulled them, were pretty grand. The carriages weren’t iron cast or anything but the wood was well crafted and, dare I say, quite pretty. The horses weren’t too shabby either. They weren’t bulls but well fed brown pelted beauties who were just fancy enough to be much fancier than the ragtag group at first glance.

Tallyho climbed into the carriage with a bit of anxiety. This felt wrong. This felt so, so wrong. She shouldn’t have been out in the open like this. Instead of indulging in a nice carriage ride she should be ducking from building to building.

The ride didn’t take very long but sure enough they went through a lot of residences. The people they passed didn’t stare nearly as much as Tallyho did. In fact, for them it must have been another facet of everyday life, to have tourists coo and point and stare, and just become plain charmed with the way these people lived—paupers or not. Women wore pain corsets in colors like navy or brown and white and pastel under dresses. Men were no different with their muted trousers and loose vests. A man who was chucking barrels of hay onto the back of a cart, probably a very proud man, wore his vest without a shirt. If the constant flexing and comments towards a group of ladies down the road didn’t say enough, one might think the man was fishing for swoons. Perhaps. Maybe.

Farther down the road someone’s grandmother was milking a cow.
A wife was peeling potatoes.
A brother was kicking a ball on the side of the road.

To Tallyho this was probably the most peaceful stop of their journey. And perhaps that was why it lasted the least amount of time. Before they knew it they were parading through Ve Marie’s walls and the scenery changed drastically. Grass and plaster roofs were replaced by terracotta. Bare chested men in vests were replaced by dapper gentlemen in bright suits, tights and ascots, thicker trousers, shoes with buckles. Women with clean hair dragged petticoats thick as their dowries, and wore the reddest of red lipsticks. Hanging lines dashed across the streets from roof to master-carved roof with tapestries telling of battles won hanging against the will of the wind with pride.

Tallyho’s stupor was broken by the soft blare of trumpets. Not like the musical ones heard at the port. But trumpets that called for authority.

Suddenly the fancies Tallyho had seen on her way in were dashing past their carriage and stopping dead at the end of the street, clotting on the edges of a grander road where uniformed soldiers were marching with their brass instruments. And all of the women and all of the men began to cheer as they marched by. Even their driver, who hadn’t said much to begin with, stepped down from his seat. Haru urged the others to do the same, his movements were too sharp to question and Tallyho moved quickly. He led the group closer to the mob and Tallyho had a better look. From the balconies facing the parade rose petals rained on those marching. She squinted trying to see who was coming up the path but she could not make it out. All she could see was a large golden box being carried by a dozen men, six on each wing, with white curtains blowing from either side.

“Why a man could fit in that box…”

And she could see, down the line that people were, honest to goddess, bowing to this box as it passed. Soon everyone around them knelt to the ground. Mothers were forcing their children’s heads down. The carriage driver bowed, Haru bowed, and so Tallyho did too. But she didn’t neglect to take a peek at who might be behind the white curtains of this golden box. A man in a tall white hat, and long white robes and a noble posture. Taking everything that she had heard about this sort of thing into account she reasoned that this was not the king but the twelfth fantastic, the father of the church, the grand Harbinger.

It seemed like forever that Tallyho was on her knees watching this grand old man as he moved past them. And when he was far enough and the last soldiers finished marching through, the mob dissolved. Some went to kiss the ground while others meandered back into the smaller streets to mind their own business. Haru nodded goodbye to the carriage driver, deciding that they could survive on foot.

The redhead turned to the warriors who were probably wondering what in the world was going on. He could have gone into this whole spew about how the harbinger was equivalent to the Pope on earth, or how they couldn’t risk doing anything to disrespect people like him in the Rose Kingdom, but he didn’t have to say too much to get his point across.

“That is the man who will make us or break us.”

It didn’t take long after that fantastic show for Haru to find them an inn. He was pretty ambitious, he had to admit. His initial plan was to go straight to the Harbinger’s court and file for testing but he imagined that the others were pretty tried.

With a promise of taking them out to dinner and clear instructions on how they should act and where they could go, Haru left the team at a quaint inn called “The Yellow Rose”, deciding that they should, at least, get the process started. And it had to be the easiest part not just because he was getting it done on his own but because it only required simple paper work.

One would be surprised at how many claims the Harbinger’s office gets about Month Warriors each week. Especially with what happened to those shmucks at the gallows some time ago. But usually the majority of claims are upheld as jokes. People make appointments to see the harbinger and they try to sell their stories, he usually rejects them and the next person comes. That was, in fact, his job. But on the chance that a party of imposters is particularly convincing, like those hung last time with their own disciples and following, and they are proven to be frauds in a later meeting, the Harbinger decides that he has no choice but to charge them with civil disobedience, public indecency, treason, fraud, and every other felony under the sun to dispel false rumors that could “disturb the peace.”

So Haru wasn’t so worried about the first round. It was the second round that worried him. The round where, the Harbinger is forced to acknowledge them as threats (simply because no one would ever believe it if the actual warriors showed up) and plan their punishment as they prepared for a test they would never pass because no one was ever the real deal.

He really didn't know what to expect.
So many things seemed to change in the space of a short amount of time. What he had once been so sure of, had dissapeared like mist escaping up a ship's hull into the air, vanished. What he was left with was the hours between dusk and dawn where he opened his arms and allowed the inevitable to happen.
Xabier had found that he was far more selfish than he had ever imagined.
He dressed into his brand new clothes, curtesy of several day's work, and appraised his appearance in the closest mirror.
The cut on his head on his hairline had went away slowly but at last there was only a small trace left behind.
He never considered himself vain, but Xabier was very happy with his looks.
He tried to overlook the fact that they gave him a bit of an advantage in first impressions.
Sometimes, however, he was tempted to dress ugly so he could see if others actually liked him, not who they thought he was. Those thoughts usually led to darker, more sinister thoughts, so he squashed them quickly.

Xabier had to buy a new shirt because he had worn the others so often that he was tempted to wear a sack about the place. They were going to a court tomorrow so that meant he'd have to look half decent. He'd also have to hide the fact from the others that he had been miraculously healed of most of his wounds. Xabier still doubted his sanity at times.
It really didn't help how ridiculous he acted sometimes after... Well now wasn't the right time to think about that. For an advocate of honesty, Xabi had become quite adapt at skirting around any conversations that would lead to awkward questions. Rolling his eyes slightly and changing the subject worked well. It made his chest ache softly. He wasn't proud of lying but it was best for everyone involved that he didn't reveal anything.

He wore a plain white shirt that showed just the top of his chest with a few thin layered jackets (tudor style) hiding his Abuela's Brooch from sight and black trousers that were slightly tighter than his usual style. The vendor had told him that it would suit him, but he wasn't so sure. He felt like a male flamenco dancer. Still it was apparently fashion in these parts.

He practiced with his powers.

Spiralling lufts of wispy shadows formed from their humble hiding spots on the ground and objects. With a little bit of concentation he could summon out a dopplegänger from the smallest of shadows and bring it to life in his own likeness. The problem remained that he found it more challenging when moving about, so he had adopted a stillness that left his body aching afterwards.
The concentation hadn't come easy, Xabier had been forced to sit remarkably still for hours on end staring at the minute movements of different shadows passing over one another.

By the end of the three years he had been pleased that he could finally tell apart his shadows from the pure darkness that is nighttime. There was a catch to his strange power, he felt it in his bones.
He had noticed something peculiar in the creations of his shadowy children. Slowly they had developed his personality and started to look more and more like him. He often felt uneasy and named them the Iluntasuna or darkness in English.

Those worries weren't shared. The others had their Guardians to tell their worries and fear.

Xabier had to fend for himself on that front. He had no Guardian. If he did, surely they would've come for him? His substitute Guardian had been Ji Na. It was left unspoken, but he had chosen her.

She obviously hadn't chosen him.

He had suffered the atrocity of sunsets, his nerves were frazzled and scorched to the root. Whatever distractions he had gained on the ship had just as quickly disappeared into the howling mist of the ocean. The fact remained that their home had been destroyed and it was fire that wrecked everything.

No amount of kisses could fully distract him from thinking about it.

Ever since Harper confessed that he liked him, Xabier had become far more wary around the other guys. He had always hugged Kyle randomly and patted Falke on the back whenever he walked past. It was just the way it was back home. Close friendships between boys were more common and accepted. There wasn't really any stigma of anything romantic about it. You could kiss your best friend's cheek and mess about, and no one would think anything of it.
Now that he was aware of how it could be interpreted here, it was increasingly difficult for him to act as he normally would.

When they made it to "the Yellow Rose" inn, Xabier headed to find a free bed. Looking in on the first room he saw someone had occupied one of the beds. It seemed like Autumn was sleeping and he wasn't going to try share the room with her. He tried not to share with the girls generally because well...he's a man. He could fart in the middle of the night and wouldn't be able to blame it on the others.
Which wasn't fair since he was sure girls farted too.... That was besides the point. He had planned on rooming with Kyle if possible. He needed to tell him something and it was eating him alive. Kyle was his best friend for the past 3 years, surely he'd understand. He knew he'd understand.

Wouldn't he?

Walking towards the next room, he saw a bow on the first bed.
Aha! Kyle's here!
Xabier went to go in when he saw Kyle talking with Kit. The Guardian looked tense and was shaking.
What had happened here? Xabier liked Kit, he was the most understanding person to talk to after he saw Xabier's back all that time ago.
All he had gathered was that Kit was a good person.

This was none of his business.
Xabier knew it.
He would have to find somewhere else for the moment.
Flashing a sympathetic look across he wandered back down.

He'd ask Tallyho if she'd like to room together. He didn't think she'd throw a fit if he made a small mess. Maybe he could bribe her with food he had bought at the market earlier on.

The next room however was identical to Kyle's but was empty. He claimed the bed furthest from the door, lying on it briefly for a little siesta. He would sleep a little while. He wasn't too bothered if anyone walked in on him. It was stupid of him because he got constantly robbed and conned in these places. As much as he was book-smart, his street smarts were laughable.

He felt his eyes close softly and he heard Haru's voice echo in his head.

"That is the man who could make us or break us."

The Harbringer.

Suddenly he didn't feel so tired.

Over the months at sea, Falke's time was rather uneventfully spent, and to be fair, having a broken leg left you without many options from the get go. Through the first week and a half, he was stuck in the infirmary (often hastily tied down to the swinging hammock bed, in case of a unpredictable storm occurring) and was often left to his own devices and thoughts - of which mostly included staring at the wooden ceiling and twiddling his thumbs.

The only exceptions being for the daily visits of the 'Doctor's on board the ship, crew or group members needing various aid for their ailments, and the oddly constant gargoyle like presences of the silent and ever judging fellow warrior Gwen and Kit the November Guardian. Food and water was brought to him, and hell, someone even helped his sorry ass stumble back and forth from the restroom.

Every. Single. Day.

Falke was sick of it, or frankly, was just going out of his mind… He escaped in the middle of that night, somehow managing to drag himself up a flight of slick ship stairs up unto the starlit deck. Where he sat, er, collapsed technically, and neatly dragged himself into sitting, cursing the pain shooting from his crippled leg, but beyond grateful for the bout of fresh (if sort of unpleasantly salty) air. No one found him until the following morning.

This first escape from the infirmary room wasn't the last of his nightly activity (and only done then because most who would nag him were often well asleep by then), soon leading to mid-day 'adventures, and eventually gimping his way around without a 'care'. Okay, there was some care. It still hurt even on the best of days, a slow, torturous ache that wouldn't go away, but he could make it through the better part of the day without a limp most of the time - aided by a walking cast that had been reluctantly constructed some time before in response to his wanderings. On the not so great days, well, it wasn't so great we’ll leave it at that.

Still, Falke found exasperated enjoyment in the freedom of movement itself, again. Frustrating as the pain was, of course; but, eh... Dancing was fun. Even being dragged around in a stupid, flowy, wood-stock esque movement; with Tallyho singing that weird but beautiful musical inspired language she'd eagerly (or hungrily would probably be a better term to describe it, as this was Tallyho he was talking about) learned from Lillian. He didn't seem to mind how stupid they, no doubt, looked to everyone else, or how his muscles tended to seize making the limp seem worse for hours following.

Training, with his weapon and meditation, was almost nearly 'regular' routine. Especially during the stops given to allow them some time on dry land, just lacking an secluded Academy. It was only a little different given the rolling sea and a wooden deck at times, even the sailors were exceedingly skeptical about an obviously blind fellow hobbling about with a healing, however still broken, leg could do much of anything

And powers? Well, they seemed frizzed out ever since the attack on the Academy. Sometimes they worked or they didn't work at all, and other times it was pick and choose - with a definite migraine sure to be on the way. However...

During the last month of the journey, he'd woken up in a startled panic from the storm battering the ship or a simple night terror, and found blood leaking out the corner of his mouth. He'd thought of it as nothing more than biting his tongue or cheek (all though he found no marks later and figured he'd imagined it, even when he thought he could still taste iron days later whenever he coughed), and went back to sleep warily with an uncomfortable, completely unreasonable feeling something else had happened - but what? Who bloody knew...

---

The sheer noise was the first thing Falke latched unto upon being told they had finally arrived to their destination. The smells and sounds were abruptly overwhelming, in more ways than one. But all of it seemed oddly reminiscence to his home town of Hamburg, give or take a few centuries or more of course, and he felt oddly at ease - even in the hustle and bustle of the crowd with the fishy smells of the port's seawater, the calls of merchants and sailors of varying nationalities and ships.

Falke listened intently to Haru’s every world. It was simply common sense as far as he was concerned, from the very beginning being an alien in a strange world, you listened to any advice or news that the actual people of Aires provided, especially one so long lived as a Guardian, to help one be able to survive – especially now with the stacks as high as they were. He was quite fond of his head, and wouldn’t mind keeping it, thank you.

He wouldn’t have minded cleaner clothes, but he wasn’t one of the warriors who worked, or well, there hadn’t been many opportunities made available for him to earn his own money through chores and errands. The most he had on him at any given time, and it wasn’t anything exciting, was more likely due to what amounted to little more than he seemed like a charity case. It was perhaps enough for a shirt, at least somewhat nicer than his own saltly, weather-beaten, sweat-stained one? He would question Lillian about it.

“Perhaps,” She’d hummed softly in response, after Falke had handed her his coin sack - weighing the leather lightly with her gentle touch, before slipping it out of site underneath her faded but well covering cloak. Her tone and accent especially guarded that he couldn’t quite tell if she was being skeptical about his amount of cash or not. “I’ll go get something, stay with the others.” Lillian offered, which he followed with a thankful nod. She disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the crowd with a wary glint of her eyes, of a fox that knew the hounds were too close for comfort, hidden mostly in the offered dark covering of a hood.

Everyone soon returned to the group, finishing the brief shopping trip with fuller bags and hopefully newer clothing. Falke managed to get into the carriage under his own power, but winced in minor annoyance at the dull ache rearing its’ ugly head again from the brief time being on land again and walking the ridiculously short distance from port to town to the awaiting carriage train.

The carriages stopped as a parade began in a near, far grander side street. Lillian stepped down without hesitation; with quick and sure movements made sure (much like a shadow of Haru) everyone was coming to witness the rain of rose pedals, the passing of armed but decorative escort, and the golden box itself – also, more importantly, kneel or bow. It wouldn’t due to make a mistake of religious punishment or consequences, of course. Falke followed suit, cued to bow but listened to others shuffling around him to know when to stand back up.

It didn't take long after the passing of the parade, that they left the carriage train driver, and Haru had found them an inn. Falke figured it was a pretty good idea to give everyone a time to rest, hopefully collecting their thoughts, preparing themselves, and most importantly keeping their mouths shut until the following day when one could suppose the testing would begin. He listened again to another round of clear instructions of how they should act and where they could go without any frustration, before Haru then disappeared to do something important before promised dinner later.

Shortly he found himself in a small room, being in such a large city the larger multiple bedding rooms were not as widespread he supposed, sitting down wearily with a soft sigh. Hauling his splinted leg into his lap with a muffled growl whistling past his lips, as he wriggled his pant legs over the construction, idly pulling and picky at the wraps to loosen it where it seemed to be attempting to swell after the extended walking they had done. Oh, that was better. Hopefully the prickling twinges would go away before he had to re-wrap and tighten it before they went to dinner, even then, a small time without the 'suffocating' material wrapped around was never the less a relief.

“Make sure their names are legible… Don’t forget nations of origin. Do you have a passport book? Okay. Do they have passport books? Thank you. Alright… Yes… What strange names. I see. Okay. Sign here. And here. Okay. Now you do understand the consequences of this test? Are you sure you don’t want me to explain them? ...Wow you seem a bit overly confident about your little act. Well… yes… act…performers… actors. The likelihood of getting the real deals… Well let’s say the chances are twelve in a million! Okay well whatever you say… Have them in line 8:00 am sharp. Oh? You look so surprised! Trust me, it takes no time at all for the Harbinger to make his decisions. Yes. Yes. Okay. Well, here is your proof of registration… Yes present this before your groups’ entrance. Yes okay see you tomorrow.

I would wish you the best of luck but I already offered the best of warnings…”

Haru briskly walked away from the clerk’s booth. It was a shame really… That there had to be a clerk’s office expounding out of the side of a cathedral. Things certainly changed since Haru’s first life. Nonetheless, he had to play by this time’s rules and he had to play the game and win it. On the walk back he planned the next sixteen hours of their lives. He wondered how he got to be this way—walking ten steps ahead of his feet everywhere he went. When had he abandoned the cliché notion of living in the moment? Had he ever embraced it? At this moment he could think of a million different ways he could have responded to Amber back on the mountain. But because he was always living within the lines of instruction he was too choked up to do anything of purpose—asking questions that probably would have been answered without any prompting by the end of the night.

The going was getting tough now. In the next sixteen hours Haru’s job would have truly begun. He might have looked the part with his flustered hair, snapped suspenders, and muddy shirt but he hadn’t done a thing. No. Not yet.

It is a common understanding that dogs are the most loyal creatures. They are slobbery and sweet and love their humans no matter how awful they might be. Cats, on the other hand, are not supposed to be so interactive. Cats are supposed to be coarse and untouchable, even more so as they get older, and if they get close to humans it is to be assumed that they are only doing it for their own benefit. But Haru couldn’t afford to not care.

The real journey was going to begin when he had to start mental juggling—strategically planning to please the politics while keeping the kid’s integrity intact. And yes—they were still kids. Outwardly it might seem like he referred to them as such for purely condescending purposes but inwardly… he was pretty genuine about it. They were kids—children—who were entitled to his protection until the very end.

Unlike many of the others Tallyho did not begin her stay at the inn by choosing a room or taking a nap or… well any of the other things the rest of the warriors opted to do. No, Tallyho was going to find a way to do what she always preferred to do—eat. The blonde spent her evening around the complimentary dining area downstairs. When she tried to access the area when they first got there the inn keeper quickly—rudely if you asked Tallyho—informed her that the food was not prepared yet and that dinner would be served within another few hours. Tallyho took this as a challenge naturally, and paced around the lobby until the smells of stew compelled her to settle into one place. In her mind she was simply waiting in line, but in the minds of the staff Tallyho was just being a solicitor. Yes she knew that Haru promised to take them out to dinner but she was so hungry…. She told herself that this was simply… a pre-dinner. There were moments where her hunger subsided and she felt self-conscious in her dirty dress and the orphaned shirt wrapped tightly around her head. In most situations she wouldn’t really care but there was a certain poshness in the air of the Rose Kingdom that had her wishing that she looked a little more polished. Nonetheless it couldn’t be helped. She was broke and banking on the chance that once they are recognized officially as month warriors she would eventually be dolled up at their expense.

“Are they open yet?”

“No.”

“Ugghhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Tallyho’s groan was so loud her comrades and other innocent patrons could probably hear her muffled frustration from the cracks in the floorboards.

Oi, double post.

The trauma at the academy had a much more subtle effect on Gwen than it had on some of the others, at least outwardly. She had not witnessed all the reactions, but some seemed to take some time to get back on their feet. It was understandable. She had seen the crying and breaking-down, the emotions running high and vulnerable. The fire reflected in their eyes sometimes, the shadowy figure of Amber silhouetted in the smoky light. All in all, Gwen tried to stay away from it. The boat had seemed large until she needed time to herself.

She spent the first few days of the trip in the infirmary, merely watching rather than moving to help. A couple times she left to eat, presumably, but always returned within the hour to resume her vigilance. Only after everyone appeared to be improved and on their way to recovery did she finally leave. She didn’t set foot in the infirmary for the rest of the journey.

Her mind was so confused. Everything had jumbled together and refused to order itself. She couldn’t tell how she felt or what she was thinking. Sadness and shock had taken root somewhere deep, but she could not pinpoint where they came from or how she could face them. She kept seeing the flames and rows of dead and injured in her mind’s eye.

Other feelings haunted her, somewhere in the chaos that was her mind. She could not rid herself of the ice-cold deadness that had filled her body upon touching the girl’s dead heart. A body so broken, so out of order, seemed a violation of the order of life. Since gaining her ability, she had become increasingly aware of how incredible the functional systems of life were, whether they be bodies or entire ecosystems. Her place in that system was to help it heal and set back in order what had fallen out of place. But she could do nothing about the dead. The feeling of a broken body she could not fix was torturous. She could touch and sense, but she was entirely powerless to manipulate the system.

She also couldn’t help reminiscing over the strange experience of healing Falke. Something had happened when their minds touched; perhaps they had undergone some sort of exchange. All she knew for certain was that there was knowledge in her head that hadn’t been there before. The entire experience made her very uncomfortable in hindsight. She had no way of knowing whether their exchange had been two-way or not; who knew what knowledge of her he now possessed? For that reason, she avoided him for the duration of their journey. Sometimes she would catch sight of him limping across the deck. Obviously his leg was still paining him. She had seen when it was set. On some level she felt bad, as though she ought to continue to heal him. Often her power was more effective in sessions, but she couldn’t bring herself to approach him again.

Even when she wasn’t able to heal other people, it was possible for her to manipulate her own bodily systems, to practice on herself. But her body had weakened from healing Tallyho and Falke, and she knew she could not ask any more of her strained system to accelerate her own healing. Additionally, she was slow to recover due to a constant mild sea-sickness. She never quite felt right onboard the ship, and too often she would end up rejecting what food she did consume.

Gwen took to ship life as some of the others did, by trying to avoid others as much as she could. Her poor health and solitary demeanor often found her sitting somewhere above deck, pale-faced and watching the constant churning of the ocean. She pushed herself to physically train as much as she could; it sometimes made her feel better and distracted her from the cold sweat and nausea. Even so, her body seemed to be withering before her own eyes. It would be difficult for others to tell through her clothes, which were, as normal, black and loosely fitted, but her waning physical abilities were more apparent.

None of this was to say that she was unaware of what the others were doing onboard. She made her way around for sure and saw plenty. She felt bad for Harper and was worried for Autumn. She monitored the injuries of those onboard, particularly Falke, and witnessed some of his and Tallyho’s dancing. She noticed Kyle’s absences during practices and his eventual reappearance. Xabier changed his appearance. She for one had never been attracted to him, but she respected him for his scars--whatever they were from.

___________________________________________________________________________

Gwen hated chaos, and chaos was exactly what Port Angels looked like as they drew into port. All the noise and color was a shock after the (frankly) monotonous sameness of the ship. Gwen still had a certain amount of wariness about going into public places where she wasn’t sure how the population would respond to her race. Before they docked, she proceeded below decks and retrieved a cloak from her bag that she often reserved for such situations. She braided her dark hair back and out of the way. At a glance, she might be mistaken for a mildly-featured prepubescent boy.

The city smelled like blood to her. Not like death or destruction, though; far from that. Perhaps it was just her imagination.

Gwen spent what little money she did have on a new gown. No one had to tell her that her over-sized shift, which had served as her nightgown previously, would not be considered presentable. When she donned her new clothing, it was, surprisingly, probably the first time in the past three years that anyone had seen her wear color. The dress was a pastel blue-gray, hemmed a few inches above her ankles. She hadn’t realized that it would reveal her earth-native combat boots; she wasn’t good at clothes. A strand of ribbon was tied around her torso beneath her breasts and above her hips, pulling the otherwise flowy fabric to her body and roughly defining her waist. The outfit soon vanished beneath her dark cloak.

The carriage ride once more aggravated the seasickness Gwen had been suffering from on the ship, but she was hardly glad about their reason for dismounting. Given her past issues with authority figures, it took all her willpower and perhaps a shove from someone else to make her bow to this “Harbringer.” She coldly surveyed the silhouette in the box as it passed.

By the time they reached the inn, Gwen was feeling much better than she had since leaving the academy. Often the sickness would leave her feeling weak, shaking, and sweating, but that feeling had finally passed, hopefully for good. She would have to be dragged back onto a boat before she ever tried seafaring again.

Surprisingly, when she saw Falke sitting in one of the bedrooms at the inn, Gwen made the decision to join him. She wasn’t sure why; perhaps his unbound leg, the exposed injury, was what drew her. She sat lightly down on the bed next to his. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, but she didn’t make any move to leave. After a moment:

“How’s the leg?” she asked quietly.

Static, white noise; the sound similar to turning the radio dial to far, echoed abruptly in his thoughts. Falke winced faintly at the suffocating effect it felt like having in his own mind, even as he thought bemused that his powers finally decided to work now of all times. It took an effort of will and force, and it went away more or less relatively. He could still feel Tallyho whirling mind, or more specifically her stomach thinking it was withering away in absolute hunger, and the others’ mental presences vaguely if he focused harder; but the great, roaring wave of the city and inhabitants of it around him, had faded, thankfully. Before he could assume that his powers were only hiccuping, like they’d tended to do ever since the fire, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone anymore in the bedroom he’d chosen. It was a sudden awareness even before she spoke, not quite as similar as the connection he felt with Tallyho, but stronger than most of the others even when their minds hadn’t been connected by any physical touch. Gwen.

“How’s the leg?”

Falke glanced up, warily surprised at her presence, let alone speaking to him, but evenly regarded her. She’d healed him right before they’d left for their voyage at sea, aiding his comfort enough that he’d passed out on the walk down the mountain to the ship; and then for the duration of the journey had avoided him. In retrospect, he respected her distance and whatever reasons she was doing it for; and obliged in keeping himself away, or purposefully limping another direction from his original intended path. Because, he could only assume, it had to do about the accidental exchange of knowledge and memories, which had occurred between the two of them; it was a fairly uncomfortable reality of his powers. She seemed clearly uncomfortable, perhaps just as warily surprised as he was; but wasn’t make any move to leave, and offered a quiet conversion. He could do that.

“Sore,” Falke hummed, softly. Pausing, as he glanced down at the limb in question, thoughtfully. There was little more to it, than that really. Of course, he could have gone on that he was an idiot to have walked on it before it was ready (all though, given their short time period before their coming make it or off with their heads moment that was coming; he couldn’t be completely blamed for that), or had gone into the dealings of how tight wrappings tended to get over the day – which lead to additional swelling, that made it sorer than usual. He looked up sharply, blearily focusing on her general direction with a kind eye (not sympathetic or apologetic, but kind). “It isn’t bothering, you?” He questioned.

...

Lillian appeared from the washroom, having changed into something nicer, but just as plain, easy to blend into the crowd as before. Her hair had been lightly washed, but had been bound tightly into a braided bun, and was still covered by a well concealing hood of a cloak (even though indoors). On one arm she carried the still faintly damp cloth of a fair dress she’d worn previously during the two month’s voyage by sea, but had just taken the time to wash and freshen the fabric up, and a new-ish pair of a basic shirt and trouser pair that was respectable enough for the time and place they were in but still easy to be lost in the crowd (if necessary to do so) wearing it she’d yet to give to Falke was clasped in the crook of her other arm.

Her pale eyes under her hood glinted sharply as she locked unto the warrior bemoaning that the complimentary dining area of the inn had yet to open yet, frustrating and scaring their hosts, and other patrons staying at the inn alike. Dear the One above! Everyone up stairs ought to hear that groaning, somehow, and no one had gone and shooed her off yet? Humm.

“Tallyho, here.” Lillian began softly, so that her words guarded so that her odd accent didn’t attract any unwanted attention. As she eased forward and closer on dainty, dancer like steps. “Something for tonight, n’ every other day – if you want it. We’re near the same size, and I just washed it… Go on up, change, Haru will be back soon for dinner, and would you mind giving this to Falke on your way?” She hummed, lightly; her chiding was little to nonexistent in her tone, but she had a solidity to her bearing in turn. As she offered the bundles of clothing, hopefully to the relief of the innkeeper and staff that the young sun child accepted, and quit being such a bother.

Gwen hadn’t expect Falke to go into much detail, but she didn’t need him to. The bandages had left patterns on his swollen skin, and the flesh itself looked angry even from a distance. His body language also betrayed that he probably felt a little more than “sore.” But the answer had been, in its own way, realistic enough.

As she began to reply, Tallyho’s approach silenced her voice in her throat. Tallyho and Falke were closer to one another than Gwen had been with anyone in recent memory. She watched their exchange with a mixture of interest and familiarity; she felt like she had a front-row seat to this moment of their relationship, as odd as it seemed. She hadn’t been witness of many of Tallho’s theatrics before.

Tallyho stopped and fixed her gaze upon Gwen, to which Gwen met her gaze evenly. They looked at one another for a moment. Then, Gwen gave a small smile, more in her eyes than her mouth, in response to Tallyho’s thanks.

“I’m glad to see it,” she said. Her gaze followed the yellow-haired Arian as she sauntered away. Inwardly, Gwen chuckled, wondering if the young woman would have flashed her thigh even if Falke had his sight. Gwen wouldn’t put it past her.

She and Tallyho had far fewer tense interactions than Gwen had with some of the other warriors. She had a strange feeling like there was some unsaid understanding between them, though for what reason she was unable to comprehend. Perhaps it was stronger now because she had healed the February warrior, though she hadn’t experienced that in particular with anyone else she’d healed.

Gwen turned her attention back to Falke before he could move toward dinner. “You know,” she said, “I can give it another go. You’ve healed quite a bit on your own; it would only take a little more to have you almost completely recovered.” And it was probably best that he was in top form for tomorrow, if possible...

Before Gwen could answer, another joined them in the room, causing Falke to snort, harshly, eyes rolling at Tallyho’s well, ‘Tallyho’ entrance into the room. He was more than used to the cat-calling nickname ‘Duke Sassypants the Third’, entertained her butchering of accents and rudimentary acting skills on more than one occasion, and snarled back and forth verbally and mentally obscenities and general snark on a daily basis. But their usual theatrics hadn’t ever been quite so obviously broadcasted in front of someone before, however, it wasn’t like he was going to let her get away with it so bluntly either. What the hell.

“Thank you so much, Lady Snobskirt the Fifth. Your deliveries are ever delightful when lacking rapid screel (squirrel) attacks.” Falke mused, a warning growl flavoring his tone. His accent hardly tweaked to become more posh, but simply allowed more of his original, rough German accent to rumble louder than he usually deemed necessary the last few years (given the fact that it rather stood out a bit here). Noting verbally that he well knew that she’d originally intended to tackle him, and had paused in good sense and opted a ‘normal’ greeting for Gwen’s benefit.

The folded garments hit his chest hard, before landing on his lap and propped up leg. Falke blinked bemused, and surprised by the weight they seemed to have. It seemed the TRK seemed to be into the heavy fabric that was common in the medieval, middle, and Tudor-esque ages. Great, he could already tell now, frowning suspiciously at the clothing as he eased the creases out and set it off to the side near his pillow, he’d look like a walking postcard. His moment of distraction from the conversation allowed Tallyho and Gwen to continue on, his lasp gone unnoticed.

“Anyway, Haru said that it’s time for dinner. I don’t know about you guys but I think I’m going to die.”

/Food, und Fluffy bunnies… Is that all you ever think about?/

Please. He knew what she thought about, and it truthfully wasn’t that farfetched of a guess as you might think, but still, it was his job to tease her about it. He eyed her departure, before solemnly regarding the wrappings that he needed to rewrap to head out the door for dinner. No rest for the wicked, right?

Falke glanced up, evenly regarding Gwen, as she finally able to answer, if however not in regards to the original question he had asked. He knew his memories or knowledge she’d accidentally received had bothered her, as had the potential that it was a two-way street – which it was, but he attempted to stay out of those ‘extras’ with a respectful, burning passion. “The gesture is one I would be grateful for, but… I understand the connection the first time for you was, rough.” An understatement, he was certain of; but he hadn’t been completely aware the extent her mental reach of her own powers had gone that his own hiccupping powers hadn’t been as ‘gentle’ as it could have been.

“It shouldn’t happen again, quite as drastically feeling if it does… “ He said, truthfully. Tallyho was different, casually crashing into his thoughts, intermingling, and confusion plenty. Everyone else, they hadn’t even noticed a thing the first time, or any other time a ‘physical’ touch had occurred; only his head felt like it had been run over every now and again. And Gwen, he wasn’t all that sure about. “If you’re willing to give it another go, you can, and… Thank you.” Falke finished, softly.

He eased the limb supported on his lap, offering it to her. All though any attempt at additional healing if she agreed and was willing to do it was likely rather short lived before they were hustled out to dinner, and the wraps were re-tightened quickly, if not efficiently. Limping, perhaps not as bad as before.

---

Lillian looked remarkably unfrazzled by the nervous energy in the air, or was simply better at hiding it. She moved quietly, with quick, graceful motions aiding other guardians and specifically warriors in getting ready. But her eyes seemed to show faintly a touch of wariness in their depths, or simple weariness given sleep had been lacking.

“Do something with that.”

Lillian's fingers twisted gently as she was able to into Tallyho's impossibly tangled golden wheat mane, detangling it with sure, experienced movements - having had to work with her own extremely similar hair style, every moment of all her lives, she well ought to know what she was doing by now. Upon getting the pesky unruly curls to behave without knotting up again, she began braiding it, apologizing whenever it got too tight for a moment during the process. The finished product was something simple and elegant, but something a well put together lady of citizenry may wear their hair like at any time. It wasn't concealing as an infamous shirt scarf, or shawl, but it would do the job and conceal her heritage well enough.

"There, finished... Chin up now, you're good."

---

Falke felt stuffy, confined, and frankly ridiculous; garbed in the elegant, well manufactured, but heavy brocade-esque fabric that his doublet and trousers that sported a Renaissance lives again vibe, that Lillian had purchased for him the day before. He couldn't quite put it on anything directly like the weight of the clothing itself, or the obviously antique decorative buttons, or that damn collar, or the simple nervousness he was feeling that everyone was feeling being trapped in this exaggerated lengthy line to await their fate to be decided...

No. It had to be that collar. It felt like it had been tightened to much earlier this morning. He reached up, in the interest of breathing, to spread the fabric a little. Oh, yes, that was better. He already missed regular shirts, or well something more well worn and comfortable, even if probably holey or sweating or blood-stained, but still... Like that shirt Tallyho had stolen, and then just had been tossed away this morning during their reviews getting ready. That poor, poor shirt. Amen.

Falke knew his brain's jumping was only due to keeping his mind off of well, other things that would be happening shortly. But it wasn't like he minded the distractions, really. At least for the time being...

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.

There are certain images that no modern man or woman is prepared to face. These are glimmers and glimpses of the past, ghastly images and scenes found only in the darkest annals of history and briefly glossed over in television and film. Now, however, the images had been brought to life in a traumatic assault on the senses; howling and catcalling, some words lewd and crude while others just barely recognizable as the common sounds of language, howled shrieks echoing in the enclosed rooms accompanied by an orchestra of rattling chains and the metallic ringing of bare hands, feet, bodies crashing against iron bars, emaciated prisoners with the light snuffed from their eyes leaving only hollow gazes embedded in their skulls. The smell, perhaps, was the worst, all musty and unidentifiable odors that one could never have imagined when faced with the opulence of the gated city, and the air was dead, hanging lifelessly around them as if the environment had sucked out its will to live, to dance and move like the wind outside the prison.

Dorian kept his gaze forward, always forward, as he strode onwards in the dark. He'd seen the interior of a prison before, a school trip many years ago, but the Earth jail had been Shangri-La in comparison. His eyes began to adjust, and he sorely regretted it as shapes became men made near bestial from their confinement. His little breaths of the dead, dead air were small and short, fear thrumming through his veins because he knew he couldn't survive here, not for long. This was a world of confinement, where life and love and all good feelings were vanished away leaving a darkness and desperation so heavy, so thick that even hope seemed to shrivel up and die.

And then it was gone.

It was amazing how different the world became with walls of stone and a long stairwell leading them out of what Dorian, in a flight of imagination, had mentally dubbed the depths of Hell and up, up into the light. Each step upwards was rejuvenating, ridiculous though that may be. They were in the same situation, still in governmental custody, still surrounded by unknown knights, still without freedom. However, the air was lighter now, clearer and had begun to move again. The light began to shine again, gradually brightening with each step, each movements upwards. The path didn't lead to Heaven, far from it, but he could at least feel grateful with an idea of where they could have been kept to compare their current holding cell with.

The room was large and relatively crowded, but it felt less like a cage now, less like they were trapped animals with no hope for escape. They were led into the room, moved from one pair of knights to the next until they were all in, the door slamming shut behind them with only a few words about meals as a goodbye. Dorian shifted, eying the men around them, and indeed they were all men, wearily as they gazed unabashedly at the new group. Haru was already moving, striding forward and taking control of the situation with ease as Ryou followed behind, moving to the opposite end of the row without so much as a quizzical glance towards their fearless leader; he knew what Haru wanted from him and he knew whatever Haru wanted was a good idea.

Dorian was dragged back into the present situation as sharp nails dug into the flesh of his arm. Tallyho was pressed to his side, eyes as wide as dinner plates, and even Autumn was hovering closer than usual. It made sense in a way that truly disturbed Dorian in the same way that he always offered to walk Sadie or other female members of the orchestra to their cars at night. A sad reality, of course, but not one that you could simply sniff at.

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

That night, sleep was hard to come by. Dorian felt exposed, facing the rest of the room in the same sort of justified paranoia as the rest. Ryou was still awake as well, seated with crossed legs on his bed and, while his eyes were shut, even at the distance that separated their beds Dorian could see an eyelid occasionally flutter open to stare at the rest of the rooms occupants before closing again. He didn't mind when Tallyho scooted her cot over at some unknown hour as the night wore on. He patted her hair, now messy and wild as opposed to its pinned perfection from earlier in the day, absentmindedly until she fell asleep once more. If anything, the warm presence by his side, the way that Tallyho was wordlessly trusting him to offer some form of protection, even if that had more to do with his threatening features if Autumn's nearby presence meant anything, was a comfort. He dozed for awhile before sleep carted him away to unsettling dreams, none of which actually awoke him, a fact that he was grateful for.

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

He awoke some time before breakfast arrived and was tempted to linger in his bed for awhile longer, to cling to the fleeting tendrils of sleep, but he could see the others, the prisoners, already up and moving and any chances of him feeling safe or relaxed enough to sleep were instantly dashed. He rolled silently out of bed, careful not to wake Tallyho , and stretched.

"Have a nice sleep?" It was Ryou, voice soft but still carrying over to him. It was a very teacher-like quality, Dorian decided as he turned towards him, being able to capture people's attention without having to raise your voice. Ryou had moved since Dorian had last seen him, a piece of paper and a quill coated in a swirling black ink poised in his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, writing a letter," Ryou hummed, beckoning Dorian over. He slipped his shoes back on and made his way towards the golden-eyed man. They were an admittedly odd pair when compared to the other Guardians and their young charges. With the exception of Haru and perhaps Lillian, the Guardians tended to stick to their Month Warriors like glue, offering support and discipline in equal measure. Ryou, however, treated Dorian as he had at the Academy- one of many students who, while all special to him, were never the most special. Oh, he offered support when he could, but not in that attentive way that bonded, say, Nikita and Kyle. Dorian didn't blame him, couldn't really. Ryou had a lot of people to look out for; the remaining students who watched him with unwavering loyalty, his pink-haired child who he doted on constantly, and even, Dorian had noticed, Haru who he'd seen Ryou's eyes follow with a gaze of loyalty and devotion and more than a hint of concern.

When Dorian had finally arrived, Ryou patted the bed next to him and Dorian sat obediently, peering over his shoulder to read the neatly written words.

"I convinced one of the guards to find me paper and ink. I didn't want everyone to worry or, you know, try to stage a prison break," Ryou said, answering the unasked question, "Now, what do you think sounds better? 'We're going to be well looked after for the time being' or 'the Rose Kingdom has been incredibly hospitable towards us and our hosts have been taking good care of us'?"

"Well, the second one's a lie," Dorian pointed out dryly, sending Ryou into a giggling fit that felt highly inappropriate while technically imprisoned.

"No, no, you're right. Good call."

They sat together for awhile until the small amount of ink provided to Ryou ran dry. By then breakfast had already come and gone, a fight had broken out and already been quickly shut down by their guards. And, really, it all felt dreadfully mundane, even if they were locked up in prison. Harper was making light of the situation, Tallyho was most likely on the hunt for food, Autumn was shrinking into herself in that depressing habit she'd picked up some time after they started their journey on the ship… New scenery, new circumstances, but same old team members.