Tallyho Abel's Story

Had Haru not opened his mouth Tallyho would have taken that free food without wavering. But unfortunately he said something, and it was something that made sense which in turn totally destroyed her appetite for the hour.

“Save that for a dire situation. There is more food coming in two hours.”

And so Tallyho drew back mid-grasp, nodding at Kit in a way that said thanks but no thanks and pushed back into her headboard to stare at the prisoners as they licked their bowls clean.

It was after a moment of silence that footsteps could be heard in the halls. Half of Tallyho wondered if they were the knights on their way back to serve an early lunch, and half of her was right. Yes there were knights but no bread to break. But there was something peculiar about this approach. It was a group of three—two familiar knights flanked on either side of a man in a different uniform, just as close to him as they had been to the warriors when they were preparing to throw them in prison. But something told Tallyho that this guy wasn’t getting arrested… With his dark hair in a soft ducktail, high cheekbones and bowed lips and a shallow cleft in the chin, Tallyho decided that there was a specific musk of regality about him. If his shaven jaw and trimmed hair weren’t big enough giveaways, his attire should have told anyone, be they from earth or Aires, that he was a man of significant importance. If one were to lay his armor next to that of a standard knight’s they would immediately find every flaw and chink and dent in the latter. This man’s shoulder plates were thicker, chest plates embroidered, hints of dark blue complementing gold accents welded into the armor. A fine sword was mounted on his hip, its designer took total artistic liberties in its decoration as told by the highly detailed hilt and thick leather sheath.

Tallyho didn’t know a damned thing about this guy but she could tell this much—the likelihood of him being a product of more than ten generations of governance and selective breeding and wealth was…. pretty solid. A part of her wondered if he was the lord of this prison, a rich and well to do warden who heard about the fight and came down to show his face just to scare the rest straight. So naturally she became uneasy when he pressed his gaze upon the month warriors who were for the most part doubled over in their cots with faces twisted in frowns and remnants of tales of betrayal still fresh on their tongues.

Then he spoke. His words were clean cuts—sharp diction, lots of articulation, a posh twang to his voice with the volume of a seasoned actor.

“So… Those are the month warriors?”

He asked this and the knights on either side of him nodded.

“The church asked that we keep them here till the flock.”

“The flock? What in Goddess’ name are they doing at the flock?”

“Well sire that’s what we brought you to them for. To give them some sort of contact with the military prior to the event.”

“What?”

“This is the Harbinger’s wish sire…Their test is to defeat the flock”

“What in the bloody—why do we need an entire military then? Agh, very well! Okay just let me in.”

“Would you not like to conduct your affairs from the safety of—“

“Oh shut it why don’t you!”

“Yes sire.”

The knights peeled the door open and the man meandered in. Armor clanging softly as he went, his thumbs lodged in the loop of his belt with authority. By now Tallyho was positive that this guy was a somebody because as he moved in the other men in the prison shrank back. They knew who he was and apparently Haru did too.

He did not shrink away but he did not look so surprised either.

“So,” the man hummed as he pointed an accusatory and admittedly random finger at Ryou, “Let me guess, okay? You’re… theeeeee emerald or something right? You look earthy or whatever.”

Without waiting on Ryou’s response he continued on, sizing up the group briefly before speaking again.

“And there are only nine of you? Where are the other three?”

This time he did wait on an answer so Haru chose to speak.

“Hello sire. I take it that you are General Cress?”

The red head went through all of the formalities, a brief bow, and adverted eye contact because in situations like these the wrong moves could land them in hot water.

“With all due respect sire, we actually have all of the warriors and most of the guardians present today…”

“Okay…Well where are the other three? Oh—Wait are you suggesting that these women are your ‘guardians’?” A sly grin formed with an approving nod. “Nice job. Nice job. Though that one over there isn’t that fair,” he said as he made a haphazard gesture towards Kit. “A bit of an ugly wench, yes?” He laughed alone but did it really even matter? “So you must be the fire warrior right? I’ve always heard that redheads are much more aggressive. You people burn easier too! Ironic right?”

Haru wasn’t even sure how to respond to all of that. It was legitimately too much heinousness in one breath for Haru to really sit down and dissect.

“…Actually sire… Some of the females are month warriors...”

“Seriously? I might as well tell the Harbinger to get the gallows ready! If you’re going to lie about being the saviors of Aires at least be a bit more convincing with your actors, eh oldboy?”

As he said this he approached the bowed guardian and ruffled his hair as he would ruffle a boy’s. Haru’s nose wrinkled but he did not comment.


“Is this really necessary?”

The comment was muffled and she really didn’t mean for it to come out of her mouth. And as Cress’ gaze snapped in her direction, Tallyho’s head snapped in the opposite. Massaging the nape of her neck with awkward fingers, she tried to play things off as if she’d said nothing at all, embarrassed with ears red as roma tomatoes.

Three years ago she wanted was a fucking meal…not any of these ridiculous situations.

“Excuse me? Which one of you—“

Haru made it his business to draw the reigns back. And honestly it took every bit of energy and dignity he had left in his tiny body to not shank Cress where he stood.

“Ah—Sire if possible we would very much like to discuss the details of our role in the flock?”
“Well not yet! I’m curious! Which one of you call yourselves the month warriors? Really! Go on, introduce yourselves to me!” Cress’ expression was quite smug but Haru urged the warriors to do what he said anyway.

“Buh!”

Falke muttered, causing the hastily scuffle backward and indignant squeak of a vendor who had been one of the few brave enough to come closer and had been getting a little too close from comfort. She had been waving her hand suspiciously in front of his face even as her voice had died off begging him to by something she was calling a blood-orange sapphire, oddly abruptly, confused as to why he didn’t even blink an eye, or look at her in acknowledgment. The older woman vendor huffed, scowling up her thick nose at him, before hastily taking herself and her false jewels somewhere else down the line that didn’t have those weird, ghosty eyes to distract, or haunt her nightmares later. Not his fault, however, mind you.

The exchange was a distinct difference to Tallyho nearly hitting a vendor and flying off the handle, very much to the ill benefit of Haru's poor laboring heart, Falke wasn't bothered as much from eagerly aggressive jewel vendors coming into his face. Probably more so do to the fact, standing behind his friend, but also could be befitted to his eyes - blind as they were, something very different for a young man especially to have plastered on his features.

...

Finally, Falke's wandering thoughts, purposeful in their intent to keep nervousness at bay, faded as time pressed on, finally stepping through the grand cathedral doors and into the grand room to be judged. He held tightly unto a face of complete confidence, stoic but strong, as Haru spoke and beckoned them to come forward to bow one at a time, before resettling in a line - hunched at their hands and knees in reverence.

Dorian was called forward to demonstrate his powers. A good choice, something simple, but could say more than anything that could be easily dismissed or accidentally hurt someone. The wind twirled playfully for a brief few moments, before fading. Yes, a good show. Thank the Goddess, it seemed to have worked, more or less.

He rose as the Harbinger requested, at Haru's whispered insistence and the rising shuffles of the others beside him and down the line more so technically, careful of his balance on his sore leg. He raised his hand as the brief, familiar shiver of awareness came from his hand as the dark blue glowed bright and light in the presence of the religious man and his crystal coming near. Ahh, the stone test, he could only supposed they'd passed that one test then - there would be more, of course, he was certain.

The Flock. Falke didn't seem to regard the description as fearfully and wearily as some of the others, more so taking the brutally logical thought process that at the very least if they failed this one it would be a quicker way to go then a public hanging would have been. Yes, they had all fought plenty of cyclopeans before, perhaps not a host before and not in an environment that is was due or die. But at the very least, they weren't on the way of the gallows yet and political prison and/or jail was still better than hanging. Thinking on the 'bright' side, or attempting too anyhow even if how unnerving their situation was rapidly becoming.

Trust. Yes, trust was a fickle thing. Falke obliged willingly, however, as Haru told them to trust him, the bell tolled, a single cardinal believed in them, and another ordered them to line up between the knights. Narrowing his eyes, cautiously, he stepped forward as they went outside, past the hovering crowd of false warriors, Guardians, and newer groups of citizens with downcast eyes and hearts already praying for there lost, wrenched souls. Great. Wonderful welcome party.

It took all of his will power not to physically flinch every time they entered a new room in the dungeon, being so accustomed to using every other sense but sight - it was a nightmare of sound, smell, and horrible feelings, expressions, and remarks amongst the cries of the imprisoned. He ground his back molars, even as his eyes widened a touch, struggling to remain looking calm and keeping his cool.

Finally they resumed an upward trek into part of the castle proper, of court rooms and relative quiet hallways compared to the horror show they'd just been experienced, until being shoved into a large cell, reserved for POWs or other important members of political arrest, of nicer accommodations than that of below - even if sharing with an already large group already there, clustered on the other side watching them curiously.

The girls tended to drift watchfully toward the male members of the team, taking the cue from Haru and other Guardian's that backs would need to watched in such close quarters with a lot of men, solider men, that they didn't know, let alone would want to let them know who they were. Which meant, everyone dispersing to their bunks, left Falke a rather alone. He didn't mind really, except for the fact that he had grown over the three years - and was resting at 6ft and 140-150lbs - you'd think he'd be more intimidating. But, he suspected that the image of a little fluffy kitten in the corner that could mess you up but looked still to innocent to do so was himself, and the comparable image of another, like Dorian, probably a stoic rottweiler that could mess you up and looked like it. Well, yes, that was pretty self explanatory...

Falke dozed for awhile before sleep finally carted him away late into the night into unsettling, whispering dreams, some of which awoke him briefly, until he rolled over unto the next shoulder wordlessly, dozing, only to crash quickly again. Lillian, like Ryou and Haru, stayed up during the night. Unable to sleep, or taking it also upon herself to help watch, and used to having stayed up in her animal form for odd hours and/or situations such as this before. She seemed easy, sitting upright at rest, leaning against a post of her bunk, eyes wide and watchful of their surroundings the whole night.

...

"Is this really necessary?”
/Careful…/

He couldn’t help agreeing with her, of course, and his brief mental warning reflected some of the likewise feelings into her mind. However, this was an uneasy game to play, and accidental dyslexia of the mouth wouldn’t help their situation. He felt briefly the worried press of Haru's mind, something that came easier because of high emotions of stress and the bare aura of tolerance echoing from the cat guardian, as he tried to turn the situation back unto the task at hand - learning more about the flock, their next test - only to be overruled, again, by the demanding of introductions on the month warrior's parts.

“Sire,” Falke wasn’t sure what compelled him to introduce himself first, out of all the warriors, but perhaps the strong feeling he was likely one of the few that could still remain a stoic civility (that would allow them all to keep their heads for a little while longer hopefully, thank you very much) especially the face of the young noble lord, General Cress, with an obviously lacking hospitable attitude and crude language demeaning guardians and month warriors alike. He went with it, however, rising from his bunk to stand on steady limbs, briefly bowing at the waist, and adverting eye contact as best as his blearily unfocused eyes could managed.

“I am Falke of Hales, sire, the warrior of September.” He finished, lightly; cautiously dipping his head once again for good measure. His English had gotten surprising good, enough to full even himself with his faded accent at times (of course, forgetting other times his mood flicked during the day or in the middle of the conversation, his natural German accent came right back, heavy and thick) – he could, being nitpicky on himself, could pick out bare German elements still in it, but in all honesty it could seem a plausible enough rough voice to come from the icy expanse of Hales.

Lillian remained silent, as she had not been called to introduce herself, but watchful, even despite the aura of the potential for shadows appearing soon on pale skin underneath her eyes - especially so as her own warrior stood forward first. It was a known fact Lillian, nor Haru or even Ryou to an extent, didn't bond specifically with her own designated warriors like some of the other Guardian's; her distance was not rebelliousness or a simple lack of care, but had developed from a greater meaning of her purpose - she was a Guardian of all, not just one. All the same, in the controlled, politely reverent clenched grasp of her hands, perhaps one could surmised a faint worried tremor in the tendons and fine bones of her fingers; as her own warrior spoke, one of the weakest physical links of the team relatively. A reminder perhaps again deeply hidden in her inner mind, the Guardian's were cursed with immortality, the warriors... Not so much.

/Okay. Yeah I know… Okay…/

Tallyho brought herself to look back at Trent who billowed with laughter.

“Now that’s the spirit. I heard most men from Hales lost a finger or two before they were eight. But… You don’t look nearly as rugged as some of those brutes over yonder, yeah?”

He was obviously referring to the group of POW’s stuffed on the other side of the room, burying themselves in a circle of foreign speak.

He took a good look at Falke’s face. His strong features were recognized despite his obvious aversion to eye contact. But even so he felt as though something was a bit off… And Trent was never one to leave questions unanswered and so he knelt, eagerly peering into Falke’s downturned eyes which seemed to look right through him.

He’d met many an invalid in his day so it didn’t take him more than a wavering finger in front of the face to figure out that he was blind. And when he did he immediately peeled away from the surface of Falke’s personal bubble, exposing his white Adams apple as he released a guttural laugh.

This made Haru uncomfortable obviously. With someone as taunting as Trent the situation was pretty much out of his control now. The man swayed, drunk from laughter, wheezing incomprehensible words through his upturned nostrils before turning to Haru.

“So….So—ha! You… mean to tell me… That one of your “warriors” is a blind ice brute? What does he do? Listen the cyclopean to death?”

Ice brute. That was a term no Hales native ever wanted to hear ever. And while Haru was sure Falke wouldn’t be as offended by the term than say some of the men across the room, he was positive Falke probably found the overall exchange to be quite offensive period.

Haru wasn’t sure how to answer to that. But thankfully, or perhaps not so thankfully considering who it was, someone took the mic at least for a while.

“Tallyho Abel. February. The Sun People.”

Or maybe not that long of a while.

The blonde, seething with rage for Falke and still very red from her last comment kept her introduction short sweet and to the point. It wasn’t disrespectful per say but she certainly wasn’t going to grant him all of the formalities that Falke had and refer to him as sire, or lord, or any other pompous title. And if she did it wouldn’t make her seem any better considering what she anticipated his opinion of her “nation” to be.

“Ahh perfect…. You’re one of those. I’m sure you’re aware but you people can be so lazy sometimes... Though, you’re great to have around for parties! …I guess.”

/Falke, I’m going to murder him in his sleep.\

“Do a dance for me, huh?”

Tallyho watched Trent with wild eyes. With the slight flare of her nostrils, tight lips and tense muscles it was probably obvious that she was doing everything in her power not to act on her wishes.

“You don’t dance? Well do you sing then?”

“I. don’t. …Sire.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a prostitute?”

Tallyho was cutting it a little close with how snippy her response came to be.

“No. I’m not. Sire.”

Trent merely responded with a dismissive ‘uhuh’ which made Tallyho even angrier because it implied that he hadn’t believed her. (Not that she expected him to think well of her anyway.)

“Okay so what else do we have? An invalid, a prostitute… This team is coming out quite nicely.”

For all of the attention that a man like General Cress seemed to draw with every step and ever cutting word, when he first approached the door Dorian's attention was somewhere else entirely. That is, he was watching their fellow prisoners begin to shift restlessly, anxiety seeming to fill the room in such a way that Dorian's own rational paranoia began to grow and thrive in his mind. What, he wondered as he shifted his position so that he could see more of the room and, more importantly, more of the people in it, was happening? There had hardly been a stir when breakfast had been brought in, barely an exciting moment save for the fight that had broken out earlier. Things had been calm, though, in a way but now… now it felt like the calm that had fallen over the prison populace earlier was just the calm before the storm.

He didn't glance towards the doors until the first words were spoken, all sharp edges and a natural projection that filled the room. Dorian turned then and fought not to stare. The man standing between the two more plainly clothed guards looked like he'd stepped out of the lead role of either "The Tudors" or a fantasy series like "Game of Thrones". Visually, he was flawless, neat as a pin and perfectly coiffed, dressed in what Dorian could only assume was the finest material money or influence could buy. Even his sword looked too theatrical to be true, all elaborate decorations enveloping the hilt and a fine leather sheath that made Dae's look decrepit in comparison. The man oozed an "old money" vibe, radiating all of the pride and class that came from a fine lineage. He'd seen if before in the wealthy citizens of New York, those that still had permanent balcony seats at the opera and who looked down their nose at anyone who deigned to take the Subway.

Soon, the man came sauntering in and the prison population seemed to move as one as they shrunk back, eager to move away from this single man with an apparent bad temper and enough power to order the prison's guards around without batting an eye. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he whirled on Ryou, leveling a finger at him in a near accusatory manner.

Emerald? What…? Oh. Dorian blinked in a mild confusion, more of a shock because this had come out of almost nowhere, while Ryou opened his mouth to reply. However, the golden-haired man's mouth shut with a snap the moment the man turned from them, bored already or just eager to hear himself speak even more. It didn't take long for his identity to be revealed, although to Dorian it simply served to be even more confusing.

General Cress? Sire? His eyes flickered over to Haru, seeking the February Guardian out automatically as if he could find an in-depth explanation as to who this man was and why exactly they were calling him "sire". But there were no answer to find in Haru's gaze as their fearless leader focused all of his diplomatic efforts on delicately dealing with General Cress. It was a wonder, Dorian thought, that Haru put up with half the disrespect that the world seemed bound and determined to fling at him. Haru was a Saint, especially when he managed to keep a straight face while their military visitor went off. He managed to insult all of the women in the room in one fell swoop, saving a special insult for Kit, before turning on anyone who spoke in turn. He mocked Falke with such callousness that it took Dorian a moment to even comprehend what he'd just heard, paired with a barbed remark about Hales. Admittedly Dorian knew little to nothing about Aires, even after spending the past three years there, but he knew when something sounded racist and that… That sounded awfully racist. Or region-ist. Either way it was damn offensive, but not nearly as offensive as the way he nearly doubled over in laughter when he realized that Falke was blind.

Then Tallyho moved to speak, eyes blazing with fury but keeping herself as calm and poised as she could. It didn't help, however, against her verbal opponent who promptly started treating her like a trained monkey (a slur, Dorian figured out with disturbing ease, probably more based on her home than her gender) demanding that she dance or sing and, when she would do neither, called her a prostitute. An actual prostitute. That was- Dorian didn't even know what that was. Then, as if to put the cherry on top of the shit sundae, he had the absolute gall to just go ahead and recap all of the insults from the past minute.

If this had been anyone else (meaning, of course, someone who didn't hold their collective fates in their hands), Dorian would have punched him on principle. He didn't think of himself as a violent person, but men like General Cress didn't back off if you started a verbal fight with them. No, they fed on it like parasites feasting on negative words and emotions. However, the man before them did have some influence on if they lived or died and Dorian had survived this long without getting them all killed by showing simple restraint. Said restraint was going into overdrive at the moment to keep anything unkind from slipping past his lips. Well, there was only one thing to do.

"Dorian, also of Hales, sire. I am the March Warrior." His words were crisp and as cold as an Arctic chill. He bowed slightly before moving back to his own ramrod straight posture, but did not look downwards, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He could take, he knew, anything that General Cress chose to throw at him. After all he did grow up in New York- you didn't last long around there if you didn't get used to random creeps shouting obscenities at you for no other reason than because they liked the attention it got them. That was not to say that he was worried about someone else snapping (okay, yes, he was distinctly worried about that because General Cress had not just crossed the line, he'd crossed it, jumped back, and crossed it again with a gusto). No, he just preferred not to see someone in power harass his teammates and in particular his friends with none of them really being able to do anything about it. He'd take a thousand insults, no matter how hurtful (again, New Yorker here, he'd be fine) over watching him speak to Tallyho and Falke like that.

There were very few people that Harper immediately disliked upon meeting, in his history of meeting people. His usual reaction involved curiosity, coupled with an initial judgment. For example, this guy seems boring. Let's rile him up. Or, this girl is cute. I wonder if she's flirtatious. Or even, this person looks mean. I wonder if he's secretly a My Little Pony enthusiast. Let's find out. It was only after acting on these first impulses that Harper would make a final judgment on the person and how he felt about them, if he deemed them significant enough to have an opinion on in the first place. Which was also infrequent.

However, when General Trent Cress walked into the room, it took all of two seconds for Harper to form a very, very strong opinion of distaste towards him. His eyes narrowed as he looked him top down, and back. He had seen his type before many a time at dinner parties. Sons and daughters of even more pompous rich snobs that his father worked with. Parents who looked down on his father for not being born into success, who looked down on his mother for being a woman. Children who either expected him to assimilate or treated him lower for refusing. Harper had never been very competitive outside of swimming, but whenever these snotty brats were concerned, he always did his best to beat them at everything. Even if he himself wasn't the biggest fan of his parents, that didn't mean others could treat them like crap. And if they dared say or do anything remotely unpleasant to Sadie...suffice to say all hell broke loose.

"Where am I supposed to be from again?" Harper whispered to Ondine, who was white-knuckled and doing her best to restrain herself.

"Trading Isles," she hissed back, voice strained, and added hastily, "Don't do anything stupid!"

Yet the words fell on deaf ears. Like Dorian, Harper had grown up in the Big Apple, and was accustomed to handling insults. He had thrown some out of his own. And, like Dorian, he felt protective of the group. Even if he teased and prodded and insulted--both accidentally and intentionally--all of them at some point. Even if he wasn't exactly "friends" with Tallyho or Falke. No one else was allowed to shit-talk them.

However, unlike Dorian, Harper didn't think through what he was about to say. He didn't consider how he should go about this, or plan for any consequences. He certainly didn't pause to wonder if perhaps, maybe, he should amend, or at least filter, the words that were about to come out of his mouth. He didn't even quite realize the implications that insulting the General could have on him and everyone else. The single thought train in his head was going full speed, and nothing was going to stop it.

"Heyyy, Mr. General, sir," Harper greeted as he stood up, waving a little, "The name's Harper. June warrior, from the Trading Isles. Nice to meet ya. How ya doin'?" He took a couple steps forward, but was still a safe distance away from a punch. "I'm actually also the Officially Designated Asshole of the group, and I gotta say, you're kinda cramping my style. I mean, you know what they say about assholes..."

Harper narrowed his eyes. "You only need one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Become the father, protect the family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harper's careless words were paralyzing, and it took Ondine several minutes to realize he had actually said it. That those words really had been spoken. That it was this that Trent was reacting to.

She would have slit her ward's throat, if that was what it took to take back those damning words. In fact, she would have shouted Harper's name herself if Dorian hadn't done so. It was probably better that it had been Dorian, rather than her. Even though Harper had glared at Dorian with a look that was equal parts wounded, offended, and "how dare you interrupt me!", it did shut him up.

But of course, it was too late. The flame had already been lit. Even if the other warriors had already wanted to speak darkly, Harper had opened the floodgates in making it acceptable. It just spiraled on, growing worse and worse, wave upon wave of snarky tones and comments, to the point where even the genuinely respectful introductions would be automatically misjudged.

To top it all off was Trent and his very, very, very annoying mannerisms. If this was any other situation, Ondine would have killed everyone right on the spot, starting with the general and ending with Harper, just so he could see what he had wrought. That damn boy!

Trent's retreating footsteps were not even out of earshot when Ondine moved. In two angry stomps she grabbed Harper by the shoulder, whirled him around, and backhanded him as hard as she could across the face. She didn't even wait for him to recover before slapping him again on the rebound, this time with even more intensity.

"You idiot!" she hissed into his face, voice so venomous she could taste the poison in her mouth. It took every ounce of restraint to keep herself from screaming and/or spitting at him. "I would ask if you didn't think before speaking, but I already know the bloody answer! Now the only question to ask is whether you think at all, but I'm certain the answer would still be the same!"

"What, I should have just let that guy treat us all like shit?!" Harper demanded loudly, eyes watering and voice quivering slightly from the pain, cheeks red and swelling. Small bubbles of blood dewed out from five trails her nails had blazed on his left cheek, stretching from his jawline to the bridge of his nose, the skin breaking across the softer flesh. A handprint was clearly visible on his right side, and a scratch running tangent to his lower eyelid was reddening.

Yet Ondine still felt like she hadn't hit him hard enough.

"Yes, that is exactly what you should have done!" Ondine snapped, her black eyes flashing against the stormy seas that were his. "You talked top shit about knowing how to play the game, but clearly that's all that was. Top bull shit."

"He called her a prostitute!" He shouted back, gesturing forcefully at Tallyho. "He didn't even listen to her!" His hand moved to point at Skylar. "He pretty much pretended you and everyone else without a Y chromosome didn't exist!"

"Words are only words if you don't react to them," Ondine argued icily, "Especially his words. If you knew anything about politics--"

"Don't even talk to me about politics!" Harper yelled, "You were a fucking pirate! No rules, nothing! I had to live that shit every day, every hour, every fucking second. Assholes like him were part of my life, and I fucking hated it!"

Ondine couldn't help herself. She lunged forward, grabbed him by his collar and dragged him away from the others before slamming him against the stone walls of an empty corner.

"I don't care whether you fucking hated it or if you fucking loved it," Ondine spat, voice as sharp as a knife and low, "This isn't about you or your bloody soap opera of a life, and it never has been. You're not the fucking main character, you're not the tragic hero, and you are not the victim."

"I never said--"

Ondine slapped him again.

"Would you--"

Slap.

"HEY--"

Slap.

Finally he shut up, left cheek smeared with blood and right so red it practically radiated heat.

"Now I want you to understand something," Ondine continued, her fury spiking her words, "I want you to realize exactly what your stupid words did. You know how important first impressions are? Well you've given us one hell of a bad one. And because of your oh so favorite politics, we are going to stay in bad favor, so that even if we do succeed with the flock, those who hold all of our fates will still doubt and suspect the worst. You have jeopardized all of our lives for a petty insult. You have made our journey a thousand times harder. You have ensured that from now on, all those who meet us will already have a sour taste in their mouth from rumors and hearsay of this event."

"It wasn't just me!" Harper blurted out indignantly.

The slap that followed was louder than all the others that preceded it.

"You were the instigator," Ondine finished bitterly, her own hand stinging. "Just as you always have been. And if after three years you still haven't realized that, then you are truly the stupidest man to have ever stumbled upon Aires."

"I AM NOT STUPID!" Harper roared, but any possible indication of a lunge or attack was quickly halted as Ondine slammed an elbow into his shoulder before kneeing him in the gut.

She left him as he crumpled to the ground, dress whipping as she made her way to Haru. She sat on the cot across him, arms crossed, as if she hadn't just assaulted her own warrior. She shut her eyes, and kept her mouth likewise. A plan. They needed a plan.

Back at the corner, Harper had pulled his legs in, face buried against his knees, muttering over and over, "I'm not stupid. I'm not stupid."

Tallyho wasn’t so positive how to feel about all of this. It all started with one comment from Harper and suddenly all of the other month warrior boys piled into the fray, taking jabs at the general in the most obvious of ways. All except Dorian, who had attempted to approach the situation with the same safe submission that Haru endorsed, and Falke, who probably felt just as dazed and confused and guilty as she did.

And she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Sure she hadn’t asked to be called out of name but the entire incident revolved around that very exchange. And as all of the warriors threw themselves into the pit of the situation, Tallyho found herself physically recoiling. She honestly wanted to walk away too, right through the fray and through the cell doors and into the nearest eatery. But like a child born of a struggling relationship, she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her wrists latched into each parent’s fist and yanked raw as she justly blamed herself for absolutely nothing.

And then it all ended with Trent calling them inbred and Harper in the corner wincing with his face red. As if Trent’s discounting the group wasn’t enough, it sucked to say but part of Tallyho really felt bad for Harper who was now in the corner wincing. She knew it wasn’t really her fault but at the same time she really felt like it was.

And her stomach dropped.

Usually she couldn’t give the right side of a rat’s ass about Harper’s feelings and she still assumed the sentiment was likewise on his part, but today she was surprised not only that he actually acknowledged her existence but that, at the very least, he didn’t think she was a prostitute. Which was comforting for the moment but certainly not enough to erase a long history consisting of every ignored statement, thoughtless shoulder shove, stomped toe, or any other general lack of acknowledgement of Tallyho by Harper. But to see him there reacting to being called out on his bull, well in this particular instance, it wasn’t as pleasurable as Tallyho had imagined it would be.

And then there was Haru…

Haru was pretty much done with it all. As Ondine wailed on Harper in a way she had once wailed on him a lifetime ago, Haru tried time and time again to figure something out. And every time he came up short. And every time he failed he confirmed that having that conversation with Trent would have made planning for the flock so much easier. But who says they were even going to make it to the flock. Who—

“…Hey, are you sure that she isn’t also part cat because she really clawed your face up.”

Was that a joke? Was that a fucking joke?! No. No he was not offended that someone just pretty much compared his ex-girlfriend to his fucking spirit animal. He didn’t care about that. No, he was pissed by the principle of the thing. The fact that someone was making light of a mistake like this. He looked up, from his hands, peering through with hard eyes to find the comedian. And lo and behold it was Skylar smiling and attempting to comfort Harper. And he didn’t have a damned thing against friendship, and he had nothing against the girl personally, and maybe he was just testy—actually yes he was very, very testy—but that fucking pushed him off the edge.

Haru’s cot shuddered violently as he literally vaulted himself off of his butt and onto his feet, so abruptly that the mattress clung to him on his way up, hopping once on the springboard with a loud clang before staying put, the force in his movement ringing through the metal frame.
And then he was standing again, face cold, fists clenched and hot. His jaw skewed to the side casually as he drug his top teeth across his bottom lip grating flesh, not thinking twice about blood.

“You fucking idiots!”

And oh he meant every word of it. And it was meant for all of them. Every. Last. One. Of them. Because even if some didn’t have a direct hand in this episode, each one of them were bound to have had a hand in another. Because that’s just the way it was. This job was never easy.

“You fucking, fucking idiots. You fuckers! Do you really know what just happened? Do you really? Why in the world do you think I stopped you every chance I got to give you a warning I really shouldn’t have had to repeat more than once? ‘Don’t be stupid,’ that is absolutely ALL you had to do for me. I didn’t tell you to kiss these people’s feet. I didn’t even tell you that you had to LIKE any of these people. Yet every time I ask you to act civilized, every time I try to teach you people how to be a bigger person, you still find something to gripe with. You still feel like you have to break the rules somehow because you’re big kids, you can take care of yourselves, and never mind the fact that your asses would be dead in a ditch somewhere without any form of guidance. But alas, you can’t even color within the fucking lines! Do you think we actually like telling you people what to do? Because I don’t know about the rest of these poor shmucks but I don’t! In fact, every morning when I wake up, if I ever even sleep, I dread the sight of your smug little faces because they are constant reminders of the fact that I’m not dead yet and that my ass is stuck on this forsaken planet and bound into immortality until you get a grip and do your jobs! At least if we get hung your mortal souls are off the hook! But hey! The guardians are no better. Some of us,” Haru’s gaze whipped to Kit who readily contributed his own sly remark towards Trent, “absolutely LOVE to complain about our guardianship and bitch and moan over how the warriors aren’t getting this shit right when they don’t even have the decency and restraint to do their jobs and be an example. But you know, whatever! Who cares if we completely sabotage our chances of getting the support we need, huh? Make the job harder it’s okay! Haru will fix it! There’s no fight because we can joke and smile about it right? It’s all okay because all of these boneheaded mistakes are made out of the pure goodness of our itty, bitty, witty little hearts!”

He looked dead at Skylar, too flustered to really feel bad about calling her out.

“Make another joke, huh? Please!”


“HEY SHUT UP!”

It was a voice from the other side of the room. One of the POW’s from Hales in fact. He was hunched over in his cot, shamelessly claiming the outcry as his own.

“Shut up little man or I’ll give you something to really complain about!”

Haru stood there in silence. But oh, it wasn’t a silence of utter stupor or embarrassment it was an eerie silence. A frightening silence. And Haru was quite frightening with his head cocked so slightly to the side, his eyes so wide that his forehead wrinkled.

And in a brief moment he was off. Dashing all the way to the other side of the room. He was actually running to the other side of the room, bunks he ran into shuffling about his shins. Men in his path parted like the red sea, beholding to some wrathful Moses. And the soldier who yelled at Haru did not move. In fact as the guardian ran towards him he stood up as fast as he could and lunged forward.

With one more row of cots between Haru and the veteran the cat guardian, in the midst of his run, planted a firm foot onto the mattress, vaulting over the headboard and plummeting into the larger man. And as graceful and clean as one might have wished this scene to be, it was quite the opposite, the image littered with small imperfections: the cot slid slightly when Haru pivoted forward. As the man fell to Haru’s mass he landed shoulder first on another man’s cot, smashing the poor guy’s finger.

Tallyho shifted back onto her headboard. She had never seen Haru actually fight, fight. She was confident that he could but she never…

Haru straddled the man, as he punched. The thud of fist to cheek drowned out by the howls of the other soldiers, many of which who were egging it on, making a dense circle around the fray blocking the warriors’ view. A few other POW’s however, probably from the same nation as the one assaulted, made it their business to jump into the event, pulling at Haru’s jacket as he went.

It was like a morbid game of follow the leader, Dorian thought numbly as he stared on at his teammates with a muted sort of horror. It was as if he'd never spoken up to verbally halt Harper's sneering insults because the moment after Harper shot Dorian a withering, almost pouting glare, the next person was already off on their own thinly veiled insult. It was, he thought with mounting terror intertwined with a rush of anger, as if they thought they were being so clever, so sneaky that the man before them wouldn't be able to pick out their snide tones and not so brilliant insults. They thought they were immune to any repercussions and, yes, he deserved them- he deserved a whole lot worse- but here was a man who held a distinct power over them, vital information stored in his mind that they needed. Only a select few (Bless Skylar and even Xabier's attempts at keeping themselves out of the fray) followed his own example, the others following Harper in various stages of insult like lemmings jumping off a cliff one by one.

They want to die, Dorian decided, as Jason sidled forward with a mockingly respectful tone, as Kit, who was supposed to be protecting them, added his own two cents followed by Autumn with venom dripping form her words and Kyle and his saccharinely sweet but obviously (at least to Dorian) fake respect. They want all of us to die. They were willing to put their lives in danger because someone had insulted their friends and, yes, the words had been clearly awful, but words were words. They hurt, of course they did, when they were flung at you, but they weren't worth risking everything you've worked for over.

And then General Cress was gone with nothing but a smirk, stinging pride, and unanswered questions desperate for survival in his wake. They'd blown it, and he really could say they because they were a team and whatever happened to one of them impacted them all, and now their smarmy and smug but only resource was gone with a swagger in his step and maniacal giggles echoing as he made his exit.

In that moment, Dorian hated them, ever last person who'd deigned to try to be smug and clever in the face of a pompous jackass. He hated all of them because they hadn't kept their damn mouths shut. This was bigger than hurt feelings and horrible men with too much who took pleasure in picking at his prisoners. This was the fate of Aires, of Earth, of all of their lives and the lives of their loved ones. If they died here and now, facing down a herd of Cyclopeans and a monstrous one larger than they'd ever seen, they'd damned everyone. Every last person. But hate he could deal with, could compartmentalize and shove deep, deep inside the depths of his mind so that he could function and survive and interact with these people. He'd save it for a wild storm where the wind would be his outlet or, in the case of certain traumas that kept him up at night, woke him with a scream caught in his throat and sweat drenching his skin, he saved it for the therapist he knew he was going to need when he returned to New York. Wrong.

Haru was staggering away, desperation and loss clear on his features as if he'd been dealt a deadly blow and was waiting to bleed out, to die. He was in shock, barely making it to his cot before he crumpled onto the thin mattress, doubling over in grief. There were no words Dorian could offer, no hopeful bits of information, because he'd done all he could for Haru moments ago when he'd followed his example with aching politeness despite the fury that had bubbled up within himself with each insult dealt.

His gaze -sympathetic and more than a little bit fearful because if Haru didn't know what to do, if he thought this was bad, then they were all fucked- was drawn from the mournful Guardian by the loud, echoing sound of flesh meeting flesh. He whirled just in time to see Ondine launch herself at Harper leaving him with a throbbing, glowing red cheek and nail marks cutting into the flesh of his face on both sides. They were shouting at each other and it was so, so stupid because the damage had already been done and here they were arguing about what had just happened. And then she was beating him again, another slap so loud that Dorian flinched where he stood. Harper was right, he knew, loathe as he was to admit it- she shouldn't be taking this out on him because of course Harper had been a stupid, selfish bastard when he'd broken the unspoken promise to Haru that they wouldn't mess this up for everyone, he hadn't been the only one. The fight finished with a flurry of movement leaving Harper crumpled on the floor, his repeated words near hysterical as Ondine sauntered away as if nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Wrong.

He didn't know what to do after that display of aggressive violence, didn't know if he should be horrified or offended or perhaps even traumatized. And then came Skylar, walking over to Harper like nothing had happened, her tone blasé and a tiny attempt at a smile on her face. Wrong.

And then Haru exploded.

Dorian wasn't sure if he was awestruck or terrified, but the moment Haru's rant began, he was frozen to his spot, staring at Haru with impossibly wide eyes. Haru had never yelled at them before, hadn't sworn at them even all those years ago when they still tended to burst into hysterics at the drop of a hat. Logically, Dorian should have known that Haru had felt that way, had felt as used and abused by a thankless group whose assistance in his work was basically limited to trying not to mess up. But hearing it flung back at them, words piercing and full of righteous fury, Dorian's didn't feel defensive or understanding- he felt like he might cry. Like he was a child again and a trusted authority figure (his Aunt, his teacher, possibly his mother if he could bring himself to remember her) had turned on him, had emptied the darkest depths of their hearts with words aimed to hurt, to sting, to wound in a deep, deep way.

“Shut up little man or I’ll give you something to really complain about!”

Everything froze, an icy chill settling over the room's inhabitants. It was, Dorian knew instinctually, the eye of the storm that they'd fallen into, hit once by Haru's words, now to be bombarded by whatever happened next. In that moment, frozen and contemplative, Haru looked terrifying.

Haru didn't disappoint, darting across the room to meet his opponent midway in the beginning of a magnificent brawl as a thick circle surrounded him, swallowing the Guardian and his opponent in a sea of cheering and crowing ex-soldiers, eager for blood to be spilled.

"Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," That chant of swears was the only warning Dorian had before a splash of gold flashed by his eyes. It was Ryou who'd been frozen during the onslaught of anger and hate, now running hot on Haru's heels and launching himself into the fray the moment the first soldier's friends or allies or fellow cellmates just looking for a fight joined in. It wasn't anger that fueled him, but concern and fear and panic like he knew that Haru would be fine if left alone, but he didn't want it to come to that, couldn't let him do this by himself. It was unnerving, really, to see Ryou and Haru fight or to watch the swarming mass of humanity around them and knowing that Haru and Ryou were buried beneath actually throwing punches and kicks and putting their finely honed skills to work. This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"You guys okay?" He asked Tallyho and Falke quietly.
"Forget what that guy said, he knows nothing." His accent grew stronger with his disgust.
Xabier had wanted it say something further when Haru started ranting and raving.
His words harsh and biting.
Apparently they were only fuck ups with no brains.
That hurt.
"Shut up little man or I'll give you something to complain about."
A POW from Hales called Haru out and it was if the world froze.
Within moments it was full scale brawl between the POWs and the angry Guardians.
Their skills were terrifying to say the least. Haru alone looked like he'd destroy them all with ease, let alone the others.
Why? Why did it have to turn out like this?

From the corner of his eye he noticed more movement. This time it was Harper.
Harper had become a tornado, flinging his arms about destructively.

"Harper?" He held his hands up in defense.
Xabier walked cautiously over to the crib. The older lad had stripped down and flung everything he had on across the room. Now Xabier wouldn't mind this usually but this was hardly the time and place.
Scooting around the rush of people fighting, he picked up the clothes, still slightly warm.
"Qué haces ahora Harper?" He muttered.
He was aware that he shouldn't speak any Spanish for fear of having someone overhear, thus further dooming their team.
But he was furious and little reminders of home kept him focused.
Xabier tried his best to ignore the full on brawl. He wanted to yell and punch something, but didn't. There was enough anger in the Guardians to fill his appetite for a while. That, and he had his heart set on harnessing whatever he felt in this moment and letting his Iluntasuna have it. They seemed to thrive on anger. All the better for possible revenge.

Xabier went past Skylar.
"Don't worry about the joke, it was funny. Everyone is a bit on edge, yes?" No smile. He couldn't.
He hadn't laughed at the joke, but he didn't want her to feel bad. There was enough bad feeling in this godforsaken place.
Xabier turned to the half naked guy.
He was curled up and emotional.
"Harper, you're not stupid." He crouched down by the crib, clothes in one hand.
"What you did was reckless but I think you already get that."
Xabier had wanted to say something softer, more gentle, but stopped.
Was it okay to comfort him? Would he just make a bigger mess?
Scrunched up face like a crying child, his necklace gone, Harper looked a mess.
Screw it, he thought. It wasn't the time to worry about what the others may think.
He leaned over and touched his hair gently.
"Now can you please put your clothes back on."
God, he never thought he'd ever say that.
Removing his hand from the hair, he patted his shoulder in a friendly, you're-my-bro way.
He was worried about Harper but didn't say any more. His face showed it all.

He appraised the slapped, red cheek. It was bleeding a little and really did look a cat had swiped at him.

Whatever annoyance at Harper had disappeared the moment Ondine had slapped him.
She made his blood boil.
It was clear that if the roles were reversed with Ondine being smacked about by Harper, all hell would break lose.
Instead they all watched in silence.
Maybe this type of punishment was okay here, but Xabier couldn't stand it.
They already had to put up with a bully. One slap was justified.
Shit, even he wanted to punch him at one stage.
But the amount of slaps by Ondine was excessive.

He also felt a sense of shame at Haru's words. Xabier had tried his best, given the circumstances.
It became increasingly clear that these Guardians were not who he thought they were.
Who he had waited for, for over three fucking years.
No.
If his guardian was a person who'd beat him or make him feel like shit for a mistake, then maybe he didn't need a guardian.

Sure, he respected the Guardians. He knew that they worked hard for the group.
But it had become difficult to admire them the way he had before.


*what are you doing now, Harper?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now that’s the spirit. I heard most men from Hales lost a finger or two before they were eight. But… You don’t look nearly as rugged as some of those brutes over yonder, yeah?”

Falke barely inclined his head in agreement, but remained silent, even as the General obviously began referring to certain members of the group of POWs on the other side of the room, burying themselves of idle chatter even as they attempted to ignore the present of the young (if not awful persona, is what he ought to be labeled as) noble-man. It was the truth, he guessed, anyhow. Save for the nasty scar that decorated just under his left ear and a chunk of his throat line, well hidden by that damn confining collar of the doublet, Falke was relatively unmarred - and yes, all his fingers were accounted for.

It seemed to have gone easy enough, but Falke was hardly surprised upon following his own polite, rather unassuming introduction, that the General, Cress, immediately invaded his person space with a finger flashing in front of, calling names, and laughed hard, a deep belly laugh, in his face. To be entirely truthful, it was something he suspected had been a long time coming; and certainly he was infuriated and flustered at the same time about it, nothing could be done for him - an invalid, ice-brute.

Being named an invalid was a common enough hurt, an old wound to his soul. And while he wasn't certain the direct meaning behind 'ice-brute', except that it sounded like a region-st slur, or close enough to one that it was definitely not anything nice to say at the very least. He was offended by the overall exchange, but remained lock-jawed and indifferent, silently continuing to avoid eye-contact. Playing the game, so that the others and himself could hopefully survive until another sunrise, and/or the next test.

Lillian breathed an uneasy sigh of relief with a brief flare of her nostrils in relative silence, before returning to a thin, neutral lip. Calming her minutely trembling fingers with a gentle squeeze. No, the situation wasn't as in control as it could be, but with a man like the General there wasn't much telling that anyone (let alone Haru, even) on their side would be able to rein in control; but Falke had handled himself well enough, keeping his thoughts on the situation in check and the overall success of the group as a whole on his mind.

“Tallyho Abel. February. The Sun People.”

Tallyho had moved to speak. Taking the mic and laughing spot-light off himself, if for a brief moment. He could feel her, much like a second mind underneath his skin; a seething rage for his own recent treatment, the redness still prickling her cheeks from her last comment, and emotions of anticipation of what the General's opinion of her "nation" was going to be. She kept herself as calm and poised as she could, and Falke gave her all of the silent mental support that he could in the against a verbal opponent that could care less about any one person - much less not too trodden on physical disabilities, ethnic/cultural groups, emotions, etc. No, he delighted in it, seemingly.

/Falke, I’m going to murder him in his sleep.\
/I know, I know the dirty pig deserves it, and I vould help, but... Figuratively, only...\

Goddess above! Was it almost over? Falke didn't know how long Tallyho would last much longer holding herself together with slightly flared nostrils, tight lips, and tense muscles, or frankly... How even he, with his surprising lengthy patience and forced/falsified good will attempts, would be able to last another 10 introductions of everyone else without potentially losing a screw, or two, in the process. Especially as the General went right ahead, recapping all of the insults from the past minute - Falke the invalid, and Tallyho the prostitute (dancer, singer, performing 'monkey'); daring another to step forward and amuse him even more.

"Dorian, also of Hales, sire. I am the March Warrior."
"Heyyy, Mr. General, sir. The name's Harper. June warrior, from the Trading Isles. Nice to meet ya. How ya doin'? I'm actually also the Officially Designated Asshole of the group, and I gotta say, you're kinda cramping my style. I mean, you know what they say about assholes... You only need one."
"Harper!"

Falke felt like one of the accidental times that Tallyho had shocked him good. Good as in not so great feeling, not at all quite like a mild static shock you could just shake off. Making it feel like his blood was hardly moving at all, chugging at an impossibly slow pace, and filled with ice-cubes - running cold. Was Harper trying to get them all killed? It was getting hard keeping an indifferent posture and blank face, but he remained outwardly calm. Let the General laugh it off, again, hopefully keeping moving forward, please...

"I am Jason of Solace, the warrior of August. I humbly ask you excuse my friend, Sire. However, with all due respect, Sire, making assumptions and judging one's ability and value based by appearances and nationality tends towards a poor judgment, no?"
"Xabier Sanchez of Constance, Sire. October Warrior."
“I am Autumn Jones, sire. I am the November Warrior and I am also from Solace.”
"Excuse my friends, most excellent general, it's been a rough couple days and many of us aren't quite used to the... Environment of your fair city. Oh, you want me to introduce myself? Kyle Keaton, April Month warrior at your service."
"Actually, Sire, I’m emerald. Skylar Grayson of Constance, May month warrior.”

Could it get worse? Yes, yes it could. Even with the helpfully polite, calm, and solid introductions of a few others. Most seemed more than willing to throw their lives away, less than helpful to their cause, and apparently wanting to die wholeheartedly - rotting with sarcasm and venom oozing in their tones.

Shocked silent, he didn't move, Falke stared. Not in a way designed to be particularly rude, but in an unabashed, piercing, inquisitive way that made you wonder if you have food on your face or your skirt is tucked into your underpants. He couldn't believe he was even here with these, these... Whatever, and stuck in this mess, and... Goddess above, they wanted everyone to die. They were willing to put their lives on the line because of simply insulting words. Yes, they hurt, of course they did, when it was directed at you or someone you cared about, but it wasn't worth dieing for.

“Actually I seem to have forgotten. Oops... Alright I’m done here!”
“Ah, with all due respect. I must know the details about the flock… ”
“Oh, oh, oh right… Yeah… I don’t really feel like telling you inbreeds anything really. You’ll see when you get there. After all, it’ll end the same way.”

General Cress just laughed, giggling maniacally as he kicked up his heels like an idle school girl, and left with nothing but a smirk on his lips. Haru was at a staggering loss, with no knowledge of the future to come, or anything they remotely needed to know in order to survive the next few weeks until facing an army of cyclopean with 12 warriors, and half the number of Guardians. Ondine launched herself at Harper, leaving the latter a pathetic slobbering mess and the former strolling away like nothing had happened. Skylar attempting to tell a joke to lighten the situation. Then Xabier attempting to comfort his 'friends', in varying amounts of emotional intent and meaning behind his words. And Tallyho...

Through their mental link, he felt her guilt, despite it not being her or his own fault of being called names, but by lighting the match of situation at hand that had been started from that very exchange. He could assume he would have felt it himself, even if a ridiculous notion in the long run if however somewhat reasonable to think at first, but he was overwhelmed and mentally incapacitated by the raging cerebral crackle from everyone in the room.

It was painful work, separating himself from the panicked thoughts, stupid ideas and ideals, and chaotic anger and fury, and it only got worse after Haru exploded into a rant. Feelings of anger or hopelessness or sadness or pity, others stress and stressors rolled across his inner circuits like a live wire and puddle of water unfortunately having the opportunity to mix together. It took all his energy not to wince at the onsault, calming his own mind steadily - silent, lock-jawed, and wordless.

“Shut up little man or I’ll give you something to really complain about!”

Falke blinked, a moment of clarity in the storming sea of mental activity, as everything froze. The echo of Haru's biting words finally catching up to him, understanding them, and only now feeling the traces of guilt butterflying deep in his gut. And then, Haru darted across the room into a magnificent brawl with the ex-solider who had made the latest quip, joined by fellow guardians, Ryou and Ondine, and other POW soldiers, the pressure returned for a brief moment - slowly becoming background noise again as he focused to ignore everyone else's chattering minds wanting to be heard and calm himself.

...(wip)

-x-x-x-

Two weeks later...
(WIP)

The flock of cyclopeans were fast. They always had been during training, but instead of waiting for the swarm to close the distance, Falke darted forward in a blink of an eye at Haru's bellow "Go!". Having enough presence of mind to bolt far to the side of Tallyho's screaming, lightning-inducing fit of rage and terror, before crashing into the first wave himself - meeting beasts with his dual-bladed weapon whirling out in front of him – a rapid series of slashes broken by the occasional lightning thrust.

Colored sparks showered out every time the blades met talons, and black gold spilled and sprayed as flesh was parted. It felt as if they were fighting in a blizzard of miniature stars and oily blood. His assault was unrelenting, aggressive, and precise. Even after months on the ship and two weeks stuck in prison, the cuts and parries came so swiftly from muscle memory and properly useful fear aiding him on. Monstrous alien screams and heavy appendages slammed hard into his upraised weapon, so that he felt the shock all the way to his bitingly sore leg when they hit. Ghastly wails accompanied by shattering onyx shards signaled the collapsing fall of a cyclopean. And on, and on, and on it went...

Falke wasn't sure what sparked a sudden sense of intuition, much less something that would have came from the mindless gargles and growls, hisses and spits. But he glanced upward at a spare moment, drawing a brief ragged breath, before being sucked back into the hard pressed melee of the frontal lines forces bashing. Minute rays of sunlight flashed across his grime and sweat-stained cheeks, barely alluding to the touch of a gentle warmth, quite unlike the raging battle-ground around him stifling heat. It had faded in strength since they'd been brought out first, near the point of time that the sun began its fall below the horizon, to now a time he could only guess at being dusk falling ever closer to night.

Yes, that was it. The bigger ones would be coming when they lost light, and probably focus their efforts on the gates, walls, and month warriors who's powers perchance gave off a little more light and energy than the next. Which would be soon then, one could only hope or assume. Effectively putting them even more in the dark, and while Falke had dim memories of being able to see a faded light once when he was young than continued to fade into nothing - he still well understood the basic human fear of the dark, and how well (or unwell for them technically) it could be used against them or to another's advantage.

Falke's limited powers had felt as if they were useless and/or petering out by the roaring thoughts of the others running on the back-burner as white incomprehensible background noise, even as they had ramped themselves up for the battle, and during it thoughts and emotions and feelings were likely abundant and loud; but they were to quiet to feel or tell about whatever was going on, so he'd ignored it, focusing on the task at hand - fighting, and trying to not die namely.

But now, he focused with a agonized wince at the familiarly painful experience as Haru's frantic, nearly excited, and focused aura of mental activity crashed into his mind eagerly. Putting his own slowly growing weariness in his braced and wrapped leg, and his anticipating emotions of rage and useful fear on the back burner of his own mind - in order to not distract from the task in hand. At least not anymore than keeping his weapon and himself moving in the midst of the fray, multi-tasking for now apparently; he hadn't figured it was possible, but whatever, it seemed to be working.

Idly he transferred his own thoughts and intuition about the coming events and potential figures, sometimes snagging something possibly useful to Haru's knowledge from one of the other month warriors or cyclopean he grappled with that had been loud enough enough that he'd even 'heard it, and keeping a mind's eye out to the others situations - he wasn't a healer by any means like Gwen, who's word he'd definitely trust over his own, but he still could give vague information to the fiery haired guardian when asked of it, mostly, more or less.

/The bigger ones should start arriving soon, what do you wanxdrctfgvybhuji...\

The mental connection abruptly shorted as the arm he had been dodging around, lashed out in another direction he hadn't intended on it going - namely, in the direction of his head. Falke gasped between gritted teeth, staggering dazed look in his eyes, even as he ducked again, swinging the stave up with deliberate perhaps orthodox method of getting rid of that dammed arm with a haphazard slice. Before his brain finally caught up his sixes and sevens, and he finally dispatched the beast - giving himself a momentary breath to collect himself.

/What do you want me to tell the others to do?\

Falke finished, shortly. Oi, so much for multi-tasking with his powers and fighting at the same time. Goddess above, that had rattled his noggin good. He shook his head with an odd twitching movement, as if that would make anything run faster upstairs, to try and rid himself of the lingering disorientation - before jumping back into the fore-line in continued silent, exhausted rage.

...

On the top of the wall, Lillian had placed herself to Haru's immediate left. As other Guardian's seemed more than intent to man the cannon when the time came or haul up a warrior or two whenever extraction would be needed. Ryou as his right handed man already had likely claimed the other side. And for the fact that she simply had sharp eyesight; while an extra set wouldn't necessarily be needed, but more than appreciated if need be.

Her dark eyes, narrowed in the limiting light, danced from one warrior to the next to the cyclopeans still coming, on and on. Calculating and silent, measuring everything with equal interest and purpose. They were doing well enough, for now...

Three more cyclopeans reduced to black dust with the zing of three more arrows and it still wasn't enough. It seemed so hopeless, but if this is really what they were born for, he'd never give up until his last breath. A faint nudge in his mind, and he froze temporarily. Then, deep breath. Falke. Falke was trying to tell him something. His friend's mental powers still unnerved him even after three years, but he did trust the German boy with his life. Kyle hesitated nonetheless. Hesitation could be attributed to being unable to hear him, but Haru's bellowing his name left no room for misunderstanding. He jumped but quickly controlled himself to pick Harper up from the ground and follow Autumn who apparently had also been called. Harper was left behind.

"A single tree falls to the storm, but the forest will prevail." He said as he left and hopped on the lift. Once on the wall, Kyle saw how much progress the group actually made and he smiled. They really were winning! Except, he swallowed tightly on seeing the next wave coming over the rise.

The shorter blond didn't feel any more confident when Haru gave the orders. He didn't even know how he managed the first wave attack, and now the cat-guardian expected and relied on him to do it again. What if he can't? What if he wasn't good enough? Would they all die here in their first battle? He sat down, trembling. "If you don't try, you've already failed." Haru made it plain in his previous order to Tallyho that he would hear no excuses. You WILL do what I say, no matter what! Haru in a nutshell.

He continued shaking as fear and anger warred within him. His nostrils flared, but something else pushed back his emotional stalemate. Haru trusted him to do this. The Boss was confident he actually could follow the difficult order. A half-smile touched his lips and unknown to him, a gentle spray of water splashed out of the moat, spattering whomever stood closest to it. Even so, he hadn't stopped shaking, but he closed his eyes and attempted to stand. "Goddess, give me strength. Bring Your chosen children victory," he prayed and tried to concentrate.

He knew how to gather up smaller amounts of water successfully. Now he needed to expand that reach, despite being tired from the energy he already used.I can do this. We can do this. Gather the water and hold it until the big cyclopean comes. What was he thinking? What was he feeling that first time? There must be a clue in there somewhere. Anger, fear, stress, promise of freedom... Gather it together, pull it in, wrap it up, fill it, seal it... "Arggh! Too tight! Let go." He opened his eyes. Was he sweating? He felt like a balloon ready to burst. It was hard to breathe. Come on, Kyle. You ARE the April Month Warrior. You were born to be a hero. Haru and your friends are relying on you. You can do it. You MUST do it.

The fighting had started with madness. Most of the month warriors running into the midst of it.
Electricity vibrating through the air, heavy gusts of wind whipping everything in its path, Cyclopeans scattering and being ripped to shreds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then everyone started yelling at him.

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

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

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

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

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

The monster widened its jaws and brought an arm back.

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

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

"DON'T!"

TOUCH!

MY!

BOYFRIEND!"

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

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

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

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

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

Beep.

Beep.

Beeeeeeeep!

"Let's kill these motherfuckers."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the platforms lowered and the giant black monstrosity grew closer and closer in focus, Harper struggled to keep everything together, including his bladder.

"Welp. I'm not sleeping tonight. Or ever," he quipped in a strained voice, everything tight.

Yet, as terrible and horrific as the scene was, his fear of heights almost won out. He hesitated for a full ten seconds, and only clambered onto the platform with Xabi and the others after Ondine screamed at him "HARPER I SWEAR TO GODDESS IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS UP HERE--"

This is ridiculous he told himself as the platform raised up, With all those cyclopeans down there, you almost wanted to say rather than go up to safety? Even if it is hundreds of feet high. And there's a possibility you might fall off. Or that the pulley might get stuck. Or that he stepped off wrong. Or the wall came crashing down anyways. Or that the cyclopeans got them mid-rise...

"Not helping. Not helping," he mumbled to himself.

When the platform surpassed 6 feet in height, he tried to sit, but was too scared of tilting the platform. So he stood, frozen like a statue, silent as granite, willing his feet to stay superglued to the wood and gripping his trident with one hand and Xabi with the other, tight as death. His were clamped shut, and as silent as he appeared on the outside, internally he was anything but.

When they reached the top, he had blindly stumbled off, still holding onto Xabi. But, for a second, he felt himself mis-step, Xabi slipping out of grasp, foot not landing where it should have. Panic rose from his stomach up to his throat and suddenly he was back to three years prior, when they had thrown him off the cliff and he was falling, falling, fall--

"Harper! Harper!" Shaking. "Snap out of it!"

Falling. He was still falling, right? Mentally he could feel himself plummeting downwards. Externally, he was on the wall, safe, curled up tight, knees to him, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut, trident clattered next to him. Ondine was shaking him and trying to get through. He had just fought a dozen or more cyclopeans. It was absolutely ridiculous that he would lose all composure on the retreat up.

She wanted to smack him. To yell at him. To shake him harder, force him to stop. But she didn't...she restrained herself. In their three years, she had never had to deal directly with his fear of heights, particularly in this extreme, but they had discussed it. She knew that he knew what he was feeling was irrational. She knew that he probably wanted himself to stop more than she did. She knew he hated feeling like this, and that it was hard for him to stop once it started.

"How then, do you expect me to deal with this if it ever happens?" Ondine had asked him one night, during his swim, "I only have so much patience for you when you're normal as it is."

"Just...talk to me," Harper had told her with a shrug, "Doesn't have to be anything substantial. As long as you're talking to me, like, non-stop, eventually I'll focus more on that. Just don't talk to me about heights or anything. Like, normal conversation. Rubbing my back or shoulders helps too, if you do it while you're talking." Ondine had scoffed at that.

"I'm serious!" Harper had laughed. He then ducked under briefly, before shooting back up, "Oh. And don't make a big scene. I hate it when that happens."

And so, hesitantly, Ondine reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, kneading it softly with her fingers, and talked to him as Haru relegated the next orders.

It was a children's tale, a sea-song for the urchins who called both land and sea home. She did not sing it, but did speak with a lighter voice, of the young whale who traveled the waters and fell in love with a princess. The story had two different endings; the original was sadder and ended with the whale's heroic death, as it dragged the attacking pirate ship--which had harpooned the whale-- to the bottom of the ocean. The second was more child-friendly, ending with the pirates having a change of heart for recognizing the power of love, and everyone got married. Ondine decided on the second one. Just as she finished uttering the last word, Haru launched the cannon.

In the second of dead silence between the bang and the crowd, Harper lifted his face, eyes red and watery, but open. And with the way it had timed out, it was almost as if the audience had been cheering his recovery, rather than the destruction of the cyclopean horde and its gargantuan leader.