Tallyho Abel's Story

Alone. Alone. Alone. Echoing and spiralling in his mind like an emptiness unable to be filled.

He was going to die alone. Alone, yet surrounded by people.
His own Shadows had turned away from him and they were part of him.
He was turning from himself.

And then the rough texture of another guy's hand grabbing his hand and pulling him upwards.
Not just any guy's, Harper's.
"Sorry I'm late, babe."
Babe. Not the most appropriate of things to call him in public. Especially after the decision to keep what they were doing secret. He hadn't overlooked the whole "Don't Touch My Boyfriend" part.
Still, he felt a surge of affection and something frightfully close to adoration swell in his chest at the sound of those words.
"Thanks." It came out quiet and subdued. He was still shell-shocked at his own dopplëgangers' betrayal.
And then again, a little louder.
"Thank you Harper. I owe you one." Face wet and dirty. Blood and dirt covered his clothes like a blanket. He looked like a shadow of himself...(if you pardon the pun.) And not a particularly good looking shadow at that.

When he let go of his hand there was a moment where Xabier wanted to grab it back. Just to feel the closeness again. The moment passed and he strengthened his resolve. No more of these thoughts. He was a bloody man for Goddess's sake! It was not the time for him to go sappy.
Picking up the Bo staff instead he braced himself to fight a little more.....


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It was over so fast yet the seconds felt like little eternities. The voices of the spectators and the Guardians all melded into one large loud buzz. He struggled to keep himself standing tall. The final push had been spectacular, electric bolts combined with water covering the new wave of Cycopeans leaving the clearing covered in black gems.
Everyone had worked hard.
Kyle and Tallyho had made the final devastating blow while everyone else had chipped away valiantly in one-on-one fights.
It wasn't perfect but it had worked.
It was all thanks to Autumn that dealing with the next few Cyclopeans were manageable.
He'd need to thank her later.

Watching as Tallyho hit the ground, Xabier paused for a split second.
Whatever he did could cause more damage. Moving her the wrong way could be dangerous.
There was no question whether or not he'd help her.
His body moved on its own.

Titling her head back gently to open up airways while readying to turn her on her side in case she vomited, Xabier acted with his usual care.
For the moment no one was around her and he couldn't leave her alone.
Harper's actions had opened up his heart again. No one deserved to be alone.
And when he felt abandoned by everyone including himself there was still someone who helped him up.
Surely he could never leave anyone in pain alone.

He had acted selfishly in the aftermath of the fire and had pushed others away. It would take some time to forgive himself while holding no hope for forgiveness from the others. But he wouldn't give up on the things that made him happy to gain acceptance.

"You did a good job." He told her quietly. There was more he wanted to say, but he knew he would never say it.
"We won because of you."
His fingers pressed on the place between the ear and the neck, trying to get her to wake up.

"Gwen, can you keep an eye on Tallyho, please? If you're not busy." He called over to the Healer.
Maybe he was being stupid but he had recently felt a vibe that Tallyho disliked him for some reason.
It'd probably be for the best if Gwen looked after her instead. That and he knew that Gwen would be far more helpful.
No drama. No problemo.

He never claimed to be all knowing, in fact, people passing out under extreme circumstances were usually directed on to more experienced doctors. The basics were simple: place the patient lying straight, legs slightly elevated and most importantly on their side in case of vomiting. Try to wake them without smacking them or throwing water on them. Ya know, common sense. However, this collapse was triggered by overuse of magical powers and he was completely untrained in this situation.
If she didn't wake up after a minute or two, he would start to worry.
"Tallyho? Are you feeling better?" She needed to regain consciousness herself before he could move her anymore.
Goddess knows what kind of damage is done.

Harper was also caught up in his own private nightmare. But Harper had Ondine. He was being well looked after.
Xabier knew that leaving him made him a bad boyfriend but he'd make it up to him later.

His eyes flicked from Tallyho still lying there, to his boyfriend having a panic attack in his Guardian's arms and then to all the other worn out faces. He wanted to be able to split into multiple people so he could help them all. (The irony wasn't overlooked.)

Waiting until he was certain that she had someone with her to keep an eye on her,
the Spaniard quickly moved across to help Nikita with Kyle.
"Is he alright? Is he breathing? Heart beat? Temperature?" It was followed with a longer series of fast medical questions while he went about checking the face of who he had once considered his best friend. What had changed, he wasn't entirely sure and he would have to find out at a better time. None of that mattered right now. Xabier was in his "Doctor Mode".
All feelings and thoughts other than health were unnecessary.
"Sorry." He smiled weakly, a little of his tiredness showing on his face. He had presumed too much.
"I meant to ask, would you like some help?"

Ryou's suffocating hug lasted only a few moments longer, but it did more to anchor Dorian than any amount of conversation ever could. Ryou had a tendency to invade people's personal space, to crawl under their barriers and weasel his way through minute cracks in their defenses until you couldn't help but accept it. It helped the Guardian keep himself sane, threading fingers through Karma's hair, leaning on any number of his students for the sake of a personal physical connection, and even on those rare occasions when he could be found with a single hand on Haru's shoulder. He was also, Dorian had decided long ago, a damn good hugger.

When Ryou finally released him, it was to watch the magnificent finale of a climactic battle. He could hear Tallyho's thick sobs, Haru's howled commands as the behemoth moved closer, crushing shrieking Cyclopeans beneath its gnarled feet with each heaving step. The electricity was nearly invisible, but he could feel the current crackling through the air, his hair standing on end. There was a breath, then another before the Cyclopean goliath before them seemed to recognize the total system overload, seizing and convulsing like a toy robot shorting out. That was when the cannon ball careened through the air, striking its target dead in the center.

There was silence, an impossible silence that lasted for only a split second before the beast shattered, shards raining down like sleet towards the ground below. It swallowed those that remained, drowning and crushing the creatures unfortunate enough to be caught in the aftermath, onyx glistening in the remaining light. A chorus of shouts grew behind them until the entirety of Ve Marie seemed to come together in a deafening roar. Dorian's eyes stayed forward, blinking sluggishly as his brain feverishly tried to assure him that, yes, this was real and, yes, they'd survived.

Ryou, somewhere behind him, was whooping with joy which turned into pure delight when Kit flung his arms around the golden-eyed man. This was the moment that made it all worth it, the monkey Guardian thought as he twirled Kit around, resisting the urge to do anything more to avoid pushing his boundaries- almost worth it. Almost. The buzz lingered, coursing through his veins, but he'd had enough victories in his life that the addictive rush of adrenaline could only impair him so much. Now was the time to clean up, to lick their wounds until the next battle reared its ugly head.

Only so many of the Month Warriors were left standing, others crumpled on the top of the wall like marionettes whose strings had been cut. For some it was just exhaustion, an overwhelming use of their powers sapping them of their strength. Others, like Xabier, had more pressing issues with blood oozing sluggishly from an open wound. Those that stayed upright were exhausted from the battle, but that wasn't enough to stop them from moving to help.

Left to his own devices, Dorian ran a heavy hand through his own hair, a practiced method to clear his foggy thoughts. Right. Their work here was never done. He took in the group, fallen or being cradled by their Guardians, clinging to consciousness or submitting to exhaustion. Tallyho was being poked and prodded by Xabier who didn't look very well fit for the job with red blood, human blood staining his clothes. But she was okay, for now, and he tottered over to the fallen Autumn, at a complete loss as to what to do. He knelt down with some difficulty, limbs now stiff with overexertion, and checked her pulse. Okay, so she wasn't dead, which was good. Shaking hands searched her head for injuries and finding none from her fall, he drew back awkwardly. She was breathing slowly but steadily, which was also good. He wracked his mind for something, anything he'd learned in the Academy's basics on first aid before grasping onto the idea of fanning someone. Right. That was a thing. He could do that.

It took very little cajoling for the wind to do as he pleased, a constant breeze brushing across Autumn gently but insistently. It was all he could think to do.

"Hey, Kit!" Ryou was shouting now, but not angrily, just to be heard over the loud din. "Go sit with your warrior, alright? Dorian, it'll be fine!"

Hopefully. Dorian retreated, scooting back until he was seated next to Tallyho who, of course, he was equally useless in assisting. Well, nearly. With all of dignity left in his blood soaked body, he retrieved a dark blue handkerchief only mildly speckled with red and black blood that had already dried into a crust, and began to dab at her face, wiping up errant snot and tears as best he could. After effectively taking down the largest Cyclopean anyone had ever seen and helping to save the day, she had the right to at least be unconscious without snot covering her face.

Ryou was moving as well, but to Xabier's side. The boy didn't have a Guardian of his own, Nikita had Kyle to fuss over, and Ryou's own charge was well enough to wander around without constant supervision. So, with all of the patience and expertise of someone who'd seen and treated far too many scraped knees, mangled limbs, and broken bones in his day, he set out to work on the Spaniard.

It was easy enough to say that the battle had taken a toll on everyone. But it was over now, and the citizens were still cheering and chanting—throwing their expensive alcohol over the side of the great wall with red, gleeful faces. Tallyho, though not completely coherent and probably unconscious, could somehow feel the presences about her body. She did not however feel comforted by them until a cloth steaming with a familiar warmth dabbed her face dry.

Haru had not moved from his spot. Instead he sat there on the ground—knees bent and spread on the cobblestone like a child’s in the grass of a meadow. Breath shallow, eyes unblinking. Time seemed to run slowly for him and he did not resume the normal standard of time until callused fingers pressed into his shoulder. He looked up to see a decorated officer, one of a substantial ranking but not nearly as high as General Cress. He did not introduce himself but delved right to the point:

“All of you are to come with us.”

His voice was not authoritative however. It was actually quite accommodating. Almost as if he were saying, “Don’t have a place to sleep? Here we’ll take care of you—hospitality.”
And Haru found this particularly ironic because as his gaze panned back he caught sight of knights in the same uniforms that escorted them off to jail.

But Haru knew that they had nothing to fear this time and gave the blessing. Medics from the group moved in without warning, scooping up warriors who had collapsed from exhaustion or were significantly injured.
The walk they shared was no walk of shame. She knights did not bind the warriors by the arms and march them down the street. But meandered around them like agents of protection, offering a hand if someone stumbled. They were taken to a military occupied house where each party member was given a comfortable bed to share in the presence of about three others. They were fed, allowed to clean themselves up, and redressed (quite simply) before being left to rejuvenate before moving to what the knights assured them was going to be a more fitting location.

But they weren’t to leave until certain agreements where made. Haru was made aware of the required session well into the beginning of their stay and on the third day he was preparing to go to the courthouse.

“So what is this for again?” Tallyho asked flatly as she appraised Haru from the doorway for the main room, her thick hair pulled into swollen twin braids, a partially opened pomegranate clasped in her right hand.

Haru straightened his tie as he plucked at his form in the mirror.
“It’s politics.”

“What?”
“I am going out there to meet with the important people. To ensure the government’s support of the group and our protection.”
“…Okay?”
“All of you should be ready to move on to the next place by the time I get back.”
“And what if this doesn’t work?”
“Trust me, we can’t lose now.”

Haru didn’t leave much time for Tallyho to express her doubt before fleeing the scene. Black coattails slipping out the door.

Haru would be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least a little bit worried. His palms were sweating a bit—why he hadn’t felt this way since he was alive the first time. He guessed over and over in his head which authorities would be at the table: A cardinal from the church and a man from the military perhaps? Members from the king’s council? He tried to plan out what they would say, how he would respond to their questions, try to appeal to their interests.

But when he walked into the room he was a bit surprised to see who he saw. There were about twelve men in the room, all in various uniforms and from varying occupations in the government but towards the end of the table were three noble chairs. The first contained a more familiar body. There sat General Cress, a small scowl on his face but nothing overtly vicious. Across from him was an older man clad in regal apparel. A feather in the hat, puffy sleeves, a grand get up. It was only after a moment of pondering that Haru realized that this was King Rembrandt the Wholesome. The low key but celebrated king of Ve Marie, and unlike General Cress the King offered an expression of genuine welcome. Between them, at the head of the table was none other than the Grand Harbinger himself, his frail, ring clad fingers posed on the table like a mannequin’s.

And so the negotiations were to begin.

Those who stayed behind at the inn before the group was arrested were welcome to reunite with the group the day they prepared to relocate. When Karma caught sight of her adoptive father (Ryou) she clung to him mercilessly. On the day that Haru went to his meeting he came back with little more to say than a firm, “Let’s get out of here everyone.” And so she followed, not entirely sure of the situation at hand. They ended their escorted walk by the time it was sunset on a finely paved path before a grand gate. Before this gate stood a tiny, almost doll-like woman.

The little woman pushed her spectacles up to the bridge of her nose, with round frames that, despite how uncomplimentary they were to her face, long and thin as a grain of white rice, somehow grew to look fashionable the more one looked at her. And it wasn’t hard not to look at her. Her mousy hair was cut into a demure bob with bangs that hung over thin brows in heavy, even layers. Her aging ears peaked out from her locks occasionally, as she bobbed her head this way and that when speaking, revealing lobes that were beginning to grow downwards, and reminisced over heavy earrings worn in her youth. Fine wrinkles made vertical lines on the area above her lips and under her nose. It seemed as though she had pinched too many babies’ cheeks and made too many kissy faces for a normal person’s taste. She was small in stature, substantially shorter than Haru or Tallyho at least, with slender, no, dare I say, ‘twiggy’ limbs that moved with so much expression you might think they’d break by sheer velocity. She was a sharp dresser though despite her unconventional look. Her dress was red, a bold bright red with grand shoulder pads that squared out her frame nicely and long buttoned sleeves that cropped right at the wrist, and a petticoat that was fuller in the back, making her breast-less profile a bit more of a representation of what men in songs say when they mention ‘womanly curves’. As she pulled open the gates and walked them further down the path she did not neglect to mention that she made her own dresses. She hadn’t even introduced herself.

“I’m sure many of you have heard of the plaza, the most famous part of Ve Marie’s castle, but most of you might not have ever dreamed of entering. Yes, this has been the living complex of the royal family since its construction in 1300 A.B. Many of the royal family’s cohorts have lived here also, most recently our great Harbinger and now you.”

Tallyho shuffled slowly, taking it all in. The plaza was already supposed to be the most well-manicured thing on the continent and she hadn’t even gotten over the courtyard which was impeccably groomed and full of shrubbery cut into various, visually tantalizing shapes. Tallyho felt quite simple really. How did the flowers grow in perfect square plots according to color? How could nature do that? Grow red roses next to yellow with such a bold transition? Poor girl hadn’t even considered the fact that the gardener’s might have transplanted them. Nonetheless, her attention was taken to the assortments of marble people who posed frivolously around the grounds, heads thrown back, and water spewing from their puckered lips and onto fountains and pavement.

Soon they were entering the building. Two armored soldiers pulled open grand doors that were about as high as three Haru’s put together. As the group filed in, the chatty woman, now identified as Mildred, continued her speech.

“This is the stair room. Giovanni Rembrandt—who was the king in power at the time of the plaza’s construction—had marble imported all the way from the Sea of Milk in order the pave the floor. On the walls there are paintings of some of the Kingdom’s most valuable and legendary knights done by visual masters and national treasures such as Piku, Geoffrey the Red and Fenwick. And of course those two spiral staircases—which is why this is called the stair room—“

Mildred snorted at her own joke.

“The story behind these magnificent pieces of architecture was that when his Royal Highness Giovanni’s wedding anniversary was coming up he asked his wife what she wanted for such an occasion and she told him that she wanted more space. This surely put him in a dilemma because most of the castle’s important buildings such as the great library were already being built around the plaza, so he couldn’t knock those projects down. But she wanted more space. So he contacted a few skilled architects and they found that the only solution was to build upwards and they just never stopped. The plaza is already up to four stories, which is well over the limit if you ask me! Nevertheless, Kings after Giovanni realized this also and expansion on the plaza officially stopped in 1463 A.B, BUT there are still spots at the top of the plaza where fifth floor construction already started and was never attended to. Anyway, later on today I will show you how to get upstairs and how to get to your respective rooms. Did I mention you are living here? We have enough space in here for all of you to have your own spaces if you so choose. The royal family isn’t nearly as expansive as it was in years before. Come, come…”

Mildred made a turn down the hall and began to show the group other facets of the plaza. They stumbled across studies, baths, relaxation areas, most of which Haru found rather indulgent and unnecessary. Nonetheless, he listened when Mildred insisted on talking about what scandals the plaza has kissed and where and why.

Tallyho was the most excited about the dining room which was, in essence, the size of the academy’s dining hall but with one long food ridden table that everyone who lived in the plaza was allowed to sit at and partake in. Her mouth welled with warm saliva as she eyed the food which was continentally diverse and abundant in every way:
Baskets of produce, white corn grilled over the fire ready to be peeled from their husks and slathered with fresh butter. Strawberries and bananas huddled into bowls with peaches whose pits where buried in soft orange flesh, uncooked banya complete with its prickly peel and ready to be cleaved by prying, hungry fingers. Pies, meat and fruit alike, some small enough to warm just the palm of one’s hand, rose jelly of many varieties and colors, breads and puddings drowned in cinnamon and sugar. Fine cuts of tender meat, pork and beef and chicken and fish that wafted delicious aromas down the hall. Large shrimp and salmon wrung from eastward piers. Cabbage and ginger soups and hot cereals. Finger sized cakes accented with coco beans for decoration. Tallyho was extremely hesitant about leaving this room, and wished that the tour had ended there. Not just because she put more thought into foods than her actual peers but because that was probably the most well put together spread she had ever seen and she wanted to experience it before someone messed it up for all of them.

As they left the room Tallyho’s senses were overtaken by a soft, melodious sound. The calming whistle of strings and the ting of the harpsichord and suddenly a voice, a voice that upheld itself with a humble beauty.

“It seems she is practicing,” Mildred hummed quietly.

Just as she said this the voice died down, allowing the harpsichord and violin to dominate the melody, each chord and note vibrating with certainty and precision down the echo of the hall. Fingers bounced on the harpsichord’s keys with a special pep in a solo before the violin bellowed in with sharp, firm strokes of the bow. Mildred led them closer and the voice rang again, not singing actual words but frivolous ‘ah’s’ and ‘lah’s’ that were just enough to convey the chipper tone of the composition.

Tallyho, along with the others lumbered towards the room where two young women chimed away with their instruments and the third, very much like a candid song bird who slipped her way into someone else’s practice twittered away, her back to the door as the strangers entered.

Mildred urged them to be quiet until the young woman finished the piece, her soprano sent calming reverberations that could have urged the baby blue paint on the walls to shudder and melt.
Soon her voice became softer and softer until it was nothing. The young woman on the harpsichord peered at the large audience with curiosity. The violinist turned too. And soon the singer, with a slow grace turned her attention to the new distraction, a host of strangers fumbling through her plaza with saucer eyes.

Tallyho studied the young woman. Honey hair hosted a set of curls and not the kind of curls that Tallyho or Lillian wore. These were curls most likely for fashion if anything else—a purposeful beauty trend. Her heart shaped face and high cheekbones gave way to gray eyes that glimmered with a lust for life. Her lips were tight, as if she were trying to suppress a smile or a laugh, small white hands fidgeted at the skirt of her yellow dress. With a slight tilt of the head, the kind that, instead of for confusion, was used to condemn a rascal in the act while still being polite, the young woman spoke to Mildred.

“Now certainly you weren’t standing there the whole time?”

Her face was becoming pink and it was apparent that she was a bit embarrassed.

Mildred laughed, “Oh, don’t be silly Princess!” She turned to the warriors and gestured towards the girl who she had just referred to as a princess.

“This is Princess Morgan, the only daughter of King Rembrandt and the younger cousin of General Cress.”

Then she turned to Morgan.

“Princess, these are the Month Warriors. The only and true.”

Any grace the young woman had prior to introductions was thrown away in one brief moment. As the musicians behind her exploded into their own chatter of excitement. Morgan hopped slightly, her hands moving from the fabric of her dress towards the group in a gesture of disbelief.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh! You were the ones who did the flock! Oh! How I wish I could have seem that! Oh I heard so much about it though from my cousin! I heard that all of you were Za-ping and pow-ing and the boom and bam!”

As the princess howled relatively unbelievable sound effects she moved with purpose, her tight fists punching the air daintily as she posed like a super hero from a 1950’s comic book.

“Okay, okay that’s enough Princess…”

“Oh do they have plans already? Let me take over the tour huh? I’ll show them their rooms, and take them to the gardens down the way if they really want!”

“Princess… I’m sure they don’t—”

“Ooooh Oh pleeeaaaase Mildred? Please?”

Mildred looked to Haru for approval. The cat guardian glanced around the room, relatively caught off guard. Why were they asking him anything? He thought he was off duty.

“Ah…Whatever is most convenient for you Princess…” he struggled to switch to his diplomatic cap.

“Oh just call me Morgan!”

Nikita smiled gratefully while Ryou took care of Xabier. She had no idea why he collapsed beside her, because the injuries she could see didn't seem that serious, but he did and the weight of the two well-grown boys was too much for her smaller body to support. All she could do herself was keep his head from cracking on the wall. One hand under his head and the other wrapped around Kyle's middle.

She was cautious of the medic that came to carry them away, but when the man told her he was a medic and she saw the badge on his shoulder she let Kyle go. The smaller brunette didn't stray too far behind that same medic though, a tenacious shadow. She stayed with her charge until he woke up. He still seemed somewhat dazed and tense after the fact. "Easy. It's okay now. The soldiers left some clothes for you to change into and---"

"Soldiers!" He jumped out of the bed. "No! We killed it! I'm not being locked up again!"

The boy was frantic, and maybe paranoid. The smaller woman also jumped from her place, and beat him across the room. She reached for his shoulder and blocked his path. "Kyle, listen to me. You aren't locked up. After you passed out at the battle, a medical officer brought you here, where it's safe. It's not a prison but a barracks. Look!" She let go of him, giving him a chance to see for himself, but she stayed close by his side. Lucky for her, he had the sense to pay attention. He lightly held on to her hand as he paused to obey. "See, no bars or locks, just an ordinary door and window." A soldier did stand outside that ordinary door, but he only stayed long enough to see Kyle awake and ask if he needed anything. The April Month Warrior shook his head and retreated back into his borrowed room.

Three days later, he still seemed dazed, but the effect was mostly because he didn't believe this was real. After what he started calling the "Betrayal of Fire," he struggled with the fact that there could be any peace. Technically they were in a more comfortable limbo than they experienced in the jail cell. He heard the talk that they would be moving again and Haru got all dressed up before going away for a few hours, just Haru though. The rest of the guardians and warriors remained behind. Kyle was happy to let him. The political games already experienced were more than enough.

One thing that pulled him out of his daze was the return of their academy companions. For the first time ever, Karma wasn't annoying. She said nothing as she clung to Ryou like a barnacle on a boat, and acted like she didn't even see anyone else. Kyle even gave her a little half-smile. His smile expanded on seeing the older academy members. He didn't even know he missed them until he saw them coming up behind the little pink-haired girl. Before this point, Liam actually scared him, but now he didn't care. He stuffed the last bite of his breakfast in his mouth and nearly charged them with open arms. "Mished oo eyes" He paused and swallowed the bread, before repeating himself. "Man, I missed you guys!" He clapped his arms as far around Dae, Mori, and Liam as possible. "You probably want to see Ryou though." Up until the Betrayal of Fire, these three were his teachers, his memory unpleasantly supplied. He backed off with a slightly red face and tucked his hands in his pockets. They may have been his teachers, but they were Ryou's students and family first. They were also the only other survivors of that betrayal.

As soon as Haru returned, he gave the simple order to leave. Kyle said nothing and followed him. On the walk, he saw Ve Marie was a lot nicer than he remembered, but that may be because the last time they traveled through the city streets they were prisoners. He shuddered and picked up the pace, as if he could run away from the painful memories. To distract himself, he asked, "Where are we going?"

He received his answer when they stopped before a spectacular gate presided over by a tiny frenetic woman in red. Even when simply standing in one place she was never still. Her head bobbed and her fragile hands constantly moved. She was worse than Haru in one of his obsessive moods. The young man raised a brow as she immediately launched into a lengthy monologue about how wonderful the plaza was and the history of the royal family, all the stories and legends about the place. Kyle couldn't keep up with her speech, so he focused on their changing and overelaborate surroundings. Talk about truly being spoiled. If he was a greedy person, he'd never be satisfied with anything in life after this. He caught part of the woman in red's babbling. They would live here?! This is too much! They went from prisoners to princes and princesses. This cannot be real.

The smells of a massive banquet were definitely real though. He caught a glance at Tallyho's face, and probably did something Haru would call foolish, but maybe he wanted to be foolish again. Maybe he wanted a taste of his almost carefree days before the betrayal. He fell back after the rest of the group passed into the music room with the fragile-looking girl singing. He was with them long enough to see where they went. He let them go ahead and drifted back to the banquet room, grasping a fresh banya in each hand. He hid one in his shirt and returned to the group. Before the music stopped, he tapped her shoulder to get her attention and handed the banya fruit to Tallyho, whispering, "This is your favorite food isn't it?"

(Note: This post is meant to move things along plot-wise. This plot-moving portion was suggested by Lauren herself and planned by her as well. I've just written it because God knows why. )

Things were moving now, the awkward but momentarily lull after the battle whisked away as medics hurried onto the scene, collecting the unconscious and wounded and prodding at those still standing as if to make sure that they too wouldn't suddenly collapse. Dorian allowed Tallyho to be carried away, satisfied with his work even if his handkerchief was in dyer need of a wash or two. Or ten. Regardless, he stuffed the piece of fabric back into his pocket- more because his clothes were a lost cause at this point and a little Tallyho-snot and extra blood couldn't ruin anything- and, waved off the ministrations of a nearby medic who retreated with some relief (Dorian liked to pretend it was because he didn't want to drag someone as tall as Dorian off, but deep down he knew with the amount of Cyclopean blood drenching his body wasn't helping his natural resting bitch face).

The walk this time was incredibly dissimilar to what they had endured the first time guards tried to take them anywhere. There were no jeering crowds, no pitying stares, no being sandwiched between two knights apparently intent on keeping you from having personal space. The atmosphere was lighter, loud and joyous, and the jeers had transformed into whoops of joy and shrieks of triumph. It was unnerving to feel like the center of the crowd's attention as one of the few month warriors still walking on his own, and he ducked his head. That didn't take the attention off him per say, but at least he didn't have to see anyone that way.

"Cheer up, Dorian. Wear your victory proudly, Mr. March Warrior," Ryou's hand was on his shoulder, even if his eyes were dancing over the crowd, searching for familiar faces. It occurred to Dorian then and only then how desperate Ryou must be right now having been locked in prison without any contact with his child, his students. The grip on his shoulder suddenly tightened and Dorian followed Ryou's gaze, picking through the crowd until he saw a blotches of pink and white suspended next to each other, waving frantically. Karma was perched on Liam's shoulders, probably shouting something indecipherable and Mori on Dae's, unmistakable tracks of fat tears of relief pouring down his pale cheeks. Ryou's grin was now blinding and Dorian couldn't help but crack a smile of his own.

When they arrived at the safe house, Dorian's destination was clear. He made a bolt for the bathroom practically diving into the heated water to wipe the gore off of his body. God, this was what he missed most- cleanliness and not smelling like he'd taken up volunteering at the local slaughterhouse. The prominent beginnings of a beard were shaved away leaving only one errant knick in his haste. Dressed in new clothes- and damn if they didn't feel better than any Armani suit or Versace shirt ever did (that was an absolute lie, but Dorian felt the occasion called for some exaggeration)- he finally allowed himself to sit down, eat, and to accept the fact that his muscles would never stop feeling sore.

The days passed swiftly until a certain nervous energy began plucking at the air. Maybe it was because something awful always happened when Dorian finally had time to put his feet up, but he couldn't find it within himself to simply relax. This feeling was heightened when Haru disappeared for a day with politics on his mind and hopes heightened by their victory. Ryou himself was about as badly off if not worse, lingering near the window during the day and tossing and turning at night. It seemed no matter how pleasant the housing, being separated from his students, his children was now nearly unbearable after catching a glimpse of them.

That was until the day of relocation when Karma burst into the house, rushing into Ryou's arms like a pink blur, Mori not far behind with Dae and Liam, lingering back with the sudden onslaught of affection from Kyle but only for a moment before joining in on the massive group hug. Dorian had to look away, not sure if it was out of his own reservations about PDA when Ryou started peppering their faces with kisses and seemed unwilling to let any of them more than a foot away from him or if it was to give them privacy as Mori quietly sobbed against Ryou's side and Dae and Liam clung to Ryou's hands fiercely. The older two separated after some time and congratulations were apparently in order for the month warriors and didn't it feel damn good to have people who had taught them, who had watched them grow into the people they were today, praising what they'd done?

He followed Haru without any hesitation, taking up his default position by Tallyho's side until they arrived at their destination. A grand gate loomed over them and he took a moment to marvel at it before they were approached by their guide.

Mildred certainly made an impression. Small in stature, she dominated the space she stood in with her bold outfit leaving him suitably impressed by the fact that she'd designed it herself (no one should be that surprised- he knew his designers with all of the expertise of someone who had unlimited access to far too many fashion magazines and who also had to dress a man whose idea of formal wear included a bright yellow shirt and an vivid, polka-dotted orange tie unironically).

She played tour guide with an immense amount of expertise, leading them through Ve Marie's castle with an onslaught of information as if to make sure that they were appropriately amazed and humbled by being able to see within the castle's walls. And it was magnificent, no doubt about it, and for the first time in a long time Dorian let himself simply enjoy the experience. It was clearly the creme de la creme of Airian society, unnecessarily extravagant but serving its purpose of grandeur.

The music was the first thing to distract Dorian from Mildred's monologue. He may have been able to purposefully ignore the delightful scents wafting from the dining hall with all sorts of meats and sweets to tempt and tease the palate coquettishly, but he would never be able to ignore the strains of what was unmistakably a violin dancing with the strains of a harpsichord. There was a third sound as well, a delicate almost fragile melody of not-quite-words intertwining with the music, like a small bird tittering away in a high but pleasing tune. Even if they hadn't stumbled upon the room (or not stumbled- Mildred would never do anything so frivolous as stumble), he would have spotted the singer instantaneously, just as petite and sweet looking as her voice as a blush rose on her cheeks.

He shouldn't have been surprised that she was a princess, but he felt perfectly justified in his shock that she was related to General Cress. The thought was pushed aside for a time as the lady-like impression Princess Morgan so dutifully gave off shattered with her exuberant whoops(although Dorian wasn't exactly sure how good any of them came off if General Cress was the one telling the story) and excited gesticulations. She seemed more a child than anything, but that wasn't bad. In fact, it was rather pleasant and absolutely charming given the people he'd been dealing with up until now. It was, however, completely overwhelming for someone to act as if they were actually heroes, not a ragtag group of often bickering and dramatic young adults who just barely survived everything that ever happened to them.

She was begging now to take them on her own tour, an insider's look at the palace, and who were they to refuse? When her wish was granted, she swept out of the room movements too excited to be graceful as they started on Grand Tour: The Sequel. Except, of course, it wasn't too terribly grand. For all of her enthusiasm, her mind was scattered, jumping from one subject to another in an eternal game of hopscotch. Here she went on about her favorite hiding place as a child, just perfect for hiding from nurses and maids before her mind wandered to a particular vase that she'd nearly broken once. They spent the majority of the tour in the gardens once more, Morgan dancing through the foliage like a particularly distracted fairy, stories trailing off into new ones and points half made. While it wasn't nearly as educational as Mildred's dutiful recounting of the castle, it was infectiously fun.

The tour bled into dinner where they were presented with a meal far grander then they were used to although not as large as one would assume when dining with royalty. Of course, to be fair they shouldn't have been eating with the Princess- she'd simply refused to leave. Morgan plopped down between Mori and Karma seemingly finding kindred spirits in the two children who had only just now agreed to let go of Ryou after clinging to him all day, although her conversation carried over to anyone and everyone who would listen. It was nice, for once, and Dorian found himself speaking slightly more than usual, adding an odd comment every once in a while between carefully cutting up his meal (and wasn't it something to have different spoons for soup and dessert) and idly pushing any and all banya products from his plate to Tallyho's.

The evening came to a close as they were dropped off at what Mildred had dubbed "the stair room", with instructions on how to find their rooms. The rooms were for individuals, a luxury that no one had known to expect, although some chose to stay in their rooms together, like Karma who refused to leave Ryou's side and the Academy Three who were about as likely to sleep alone as Dorian was to, say, have coffee with a Cyclopean. He hated coffee. Then and only then did Princess Morgan leave their side, cheerfully calling out goodnights until she disappeared from sight.

Most retreated to their rooms automatically, drawn by the promise of soft beds and clean sheets. Others lingered, socializing as they pleased even as the night wore on. Soon it was late, the moon high in the sky and the stars twinkling and illuminating the sky.

It was after tucking Karma in and waiting a moment until soft snores began to emanate from her small body that Ryou left his room. He made his way silently down one of the halls housing the guest rooms, rubbing tired eyes as he passed by closed doors. His destination wasn't that much of a surprise as he stopped outside Haru's room, raised hand hesitating for almost a moment before knocking gently against the door. As much as sleep called to him promising him his first restful sleep in ages now that he had his children back, he'd seen the nervous look on Haru's face, the strain pulling at his friend and, as with all things Haru, he wasn't able to resist.

Dorian too had strayed from his rooms, but for something far more pleasant. He'd been with Tallyho, her room illuminated by candlelight and the artificial glow of his cellphone. It was only a quick trip, at first, to check in on how she was settling in and to get a charge for his phone, but he'd quickly been drawn into their art game as they scrolled through the saved images on his phone. But now it was getting late, both already letting out a chorus of yawns until the call of sleep seemed unavoidable.

"Right again. Vincent Van Gogh," he nodded, exiting the screen from the swirling "Starry Night" painting. He sat up from his place on her bed, stretching broadly, fighting against lingering aches and pains. "And that'll be all for tonight. Get some sleep, Tallyho." The advice fell on deaf ears, Tallyho having fallen asleep sometime after giving her last answer. He smiled briefly, pulling the covers of her bed over her before blowing out the candle. The room was still eerily bright from the moon peeking in from the window as he made his way to the door only to hear… Only to hear something outside. He paused, an ear to the door. Was it someone? Yes, it was. It sounded like someone pacing up and down in a tight circle outside the door. What in the world…? Should he wait for them to leave if only to avoid having to talk to someone else?

Nope, he decided as he fought back another yawn. With any luck he'd make it by the person with nothing more than a cursory "hello, goodbye" and be in his room before it. Besides, it was probably just another one of the month warriors or guardians trying to tire themselves out before bed. With that in mind, he moved to the door, opening it slowly, eyes searching for the nighttime pacer if only to better avoid running into them.

/I want you, Autumn, Kyle, and Tallyho to get on a platform and come up for the second wave. Tell the others to hold ground.\
/Yes, sir.\

"Ouff..." Lillian muttered as she was stumbled into by Haru, clenching the wall she leaned on tightly to keep her balance. Her look of absolute calm faded with a sharp glance at the other Guardian in obvious confusion and concern, until she caught the glint of his eyes regaining a sense of self. Humm. She remembered that look and the feeling that came with it well, and not just on anyone (all though, like Haru, they weren't insignificant by any means) - but specifically, herself. That had been a long time that talking verbally was scarce in asking others assistance or announcing plans or anything really. It was good to see Falke seemed to have worked his rather small achieved chunk of September's gifts enough in order to use it in the midst of battle successfully, even though that hit on his head early that she'd caught the end of with an inward sympathetic wince hadn't helped him much she suspected. “Alright let’s lower a platform.” Lillian nodded, moving to aid Haru and other guardians near the cranks to help haul up the warriors that were called up for the second wave.

Falke back-pedaled from his latest kill, blowing a shaky, hot breath, whirling his weapon into a defensive hold, as he collected his bearings to the direction of the platform and the others' scattered mental activity. He took off shortly in a painful, gimping, but ground-covering lope toward the wall, even as he called on his mental powers with a struggle to be heard over the ringing in his head.

/Tallyho, Autumn, Kyle: Get to the platform and come up for the second wave.\
/Everyone else hold ground!\

"FALKE! TALLYHO! AUTUMN! KYLE!"

Falke arrived the last at the platform, struggling against the soapy muck sticking to his boots and water weighing down armor and clothes alike, hauling himself unto it with a grunt of pain and wistful snarl of the sheer effort on his lips. The damped wood of the platform creaked and groaned as it began steadily moving upward, and it wasn't long until they had reached the top of the wall. Uneasily, he swung himself over the lip, with careful emphasis as he landed of not putting any more weight than necessary on his bad left leg with its' tattered and splintered brace and screaming muscles and achingly sore bones. Tilting his head to listen with a painful wince of focusing over his own weariness and exhaustion and others' similar thoughts and emotions weighing heavy on his mind on Haru as he pointed and divided out orders.

“Do exactly what you were doing down there but without the fighting part. Focus more.”

Falke nodded warily in ascent, stalking back to lean against the wall, hands gripping tight the stony lip. He looked for all the world to be resting from the battle, but the reality as he scowled down from above on the battle like a particularly cranky gargoyle, sightless eyes looking bemused as they floated here or there, focusing for a moment before moving on, he was bringing his passive mental powers (what little he had) up to play more, without the added distraction of being killed. Quelching the doubts of his power on the back burner, and focused.

It was much easier than he had imagined, a floating, ethereal short of feeling, of moving around in the minds of those fighting, those trying to eat them, and relaying the viable or worth wild information back to Haru. He'd always had a sharper will and resulting knack for the physical training he supposed, especially with how comfortable he'd become with using his weapon and love of fighting despite his disability. He'd worked hard to be able not to just rely on these supposed mental powers eventually becoming more useful than knowing the latest gossip before everyone else or knowing anyone's else secrets (sometimes before they themselves knew they had one, or more), and just kicking in to save him one day. But now with a couple steadying breaths, not busy worrying about being eaten, and ignoring the slight but growing pressure beating on the instead of temples; his abilities were proving to be a little more useful.

On, and on, and on the battle went, until...
Falke paled, blinking in shocked disbelief as he intently glanced with as much focus as he could toward the dark hills in the distance. He didn't have any words to really describe it for Haru, because all he were the screams of 'little' cyclopean trampled underfoot - it was big and it was coming. Nor did he really need to speak as a growing sense of panic and dread was emitted from those of the city, as the top of this monstrosity head rose above the hills in the distance, coming closer, and visually becoming a larger threat. No one would appreciate a running commentary of what they could see for themselves.

“Call them all back!"
/Fall back! Get to the platform now!\

When the others finally returned to the top of the wall, the behemoth moved closer, crushing its' shrieking brethren beneath its' massive appendages with each heavy, lingering step. He could hear as much as feel Tallyho's thick, snob-covered sobs of anguish of pulling herself and her energy together, but did not dare give her anything more than the presence of mind, in order not to distract her; Kyle's wavering confidence and determination as exhaustion pulled hard at his abilities for his attention, but like Tallyho he did not offer any what he deemed distracting support (not that the April warrior would even bother to listen for some absurd reason); and Haru's howling commands.

In a magnificent finale of a climactic battle: Water roared. Nearly invisible electricity crackled. The bang of the cannon, and wiz of the cannon ball careening through the air, striking its target dead in the center with a thundering thud. Then the shattering of the beast, shards sleeting down in an oddly beautiful crystalline melody. It was over, they had all managed to survive.

A select few of the Month Warrior group was left standing, while others crumpled into unconsciousness via sheer exhaustion of battle fatigue or overwhelming use of their powers sapping them of their strength, and/or more pressing concern like an open, bleeding red, red human blood, wounds causing their falls. Falke was one of those that had remained barely staying upright, exhausted from the battle and strenuous use of his abilities, but had not moved to help like some who were still able could and did. Frankly he did not think he would have been able to if he tried...

His eyes were impossibly wide, glinting in confused, fearful, and silent agony, air in their depths. With the start of the sudden, wild roar of hope and disbelief from the entirety of Ve Marie, followed continuously by joyous cheers and shrieks of triumph, at the battles' conclusion; came the influx of similar to his own emotions and thoughts without a purpose of being use for some rhyme or reason, bashed into his open mind, hard. He supposed he'd opened himself to much, and overextend his abilities. It was hard enough to remember himself as Falke, instead of so-in-so, crammed and pressuring in terrific migraine that would make anyone's sanity run for the hills; but it was bad enough to mask the soreness of his bad leg, and the ringing blow on his head that would no doubt bruise in time he suspected.

In short order, things began moving as medics hurried onto the scene to collect the unconscious and too wounded to walk and prodded at those still standing so see if they too wouldn't suddenly collapse on the walk to a place of rest. Falke as battered as he was physically and felt mentally, waved off the ministrations of a medic, not wanting any contact to inspire anymore of the painful hiccup he was already experiencing due to his powers. He gimped an uneasy, weary gait, between the guards that gave him personal space quite unlike there first time. Head down, and teeth gritted in a snarl hidden under pursed lips, as they made their way through the crowd, trying to collect his scattered mind and ignore the celebration of being a 'hero' of the city folks around them.

Arriving at the safe house, Falke had managed to calm himself down enough to have enough presence of mind necessary for a bath to clean him of the blood, sweat, and grime from the battle, and dress himself in fresh, clean clothes. Before passing out in an uneasy slumber, too queasy to attempt to eat anything as of yet...

---

To say things were getting better for every warrior over the three days of rest would have been an understatement. Certainly the better treatment, living conditions, food, and the ability to a much needed bath; definitely helped, no doubts about it. But Falke found himself struggling to remain silent as he hid what felt at times a fading of his sanity.

What could only be truly described as the result of an overextending on his grasp of his mental powers during the battle of the Flock. It was having too many others' reckless thoughts and emotions running rampant, and doubling his own mindset's similar thoughts and emotions with each recurring person. Twelve had already felt like too much rattling around in one head, but then considering the addition of the few Guardians their group contained thus far and the various Cyclopean on top of that, AND then... The crowd, nigh the whole city of Ve Marie in all reality, had roared in exhilaration and disbelief that the battle had been won by beating the monstrosity and the month warriors were officially back. Nor, he supposed, did his battered head with a bruised temple ending with a sweep into a black eye, and likely concussion to match, did not help matters much either.

It was like having PTSD in a matter of speaking plainly. Not that his thoughts and emotions would have normally bothered him so drastically to feel like he was losing himself and his mind. All though he wouldn't have put himself past the stray nightmare or two after the fact, if thinking honestly about what they had all gone through. But the sheer struggle of having so many similar post traumatic thoughts and emotions of everyone from the battle still lingering fresh on his mind, having not petered off like they hopefully would have by now, that felt horrible to have to experience over, and over, and over again. He didn't know what to do to fix himself, except silently suffer through it, riding it out like a bad migraine, and hope it would get better over time. Oh, bloody hell, really, what other disorder would be able to match quite as well to magic power issues from another world suck sometimes on the disorder list other than that.

There was an odd flutter of his shoulders, a repressed jerking spasm of anxiety, and twittering, clasping repeatedly into a fist, fingertips, that wasn't uncommon now in the three days after the battle. It was the only way his roughly PTSD condition came out was by quivering muscles, being that he had had learned quickly to bite his tongue over the shuttering, pitiful moans that had occurred with them at first (right after one of the first haunting nightmares, very difficult to ignore or forget for hours afterword). However, he mostly put it off that he'd stepped off wrong on or hit his bad leg again, or a breeze had just caught him right for some jitters, only if anyone brought it up after noticing it and asked him about it. A white lie or two seemed a higher alternative than saying he felt he was losing himself, during the effort to regain his own mind again. Otherwise, Falke kept to himself, quiet, and avoiding any additional attention.

On the day of relocation, Haru had disappeared out the door with political purpose on his mind, and the Academy three (well, the three Elites that were still with them) and Karma returned shortly after there departure - Falke found himself reluctantly trying to force himself out of the room where he'd hid himself and his shaking issue for most of the day, under the guise of not feeling up to standing on his feet more than need-be at a given time, to give them a warm nod of a greeting from afar and a thankful murmur in return for the praises for what they had done the older two gave. It wasn't long before Haru returned, rounded everyone up for another escorted walk until they arrived at a grand gate.

Mildred certainly made an verbal impression at the very least. She played a smart and well put together tour guide extremely well as she discussed the history of the palace grounds with an astute and studied air. But the talk of unnecessarily extravagant but grand enough for its' purpose to awe and humble of the architecture, especially the two sets of bloody staircases, was wearing thin on him. Or, a better use and precision of language would instead discuss how he knew a shuddering episode would come soon and despite the finer materials used to construct a new splint around his leg to aid his walking (it really got sore after a while, truthfully).

The music was the first thing to distract Falke from Mildred's and his own internal monologue. The sweet sounds of violin stings humming and the harpsichord twinkling, dancing together with a fragile but pretty voice intertwining with the musical instruments in a high but easy on the ears tune. As they appeared at the edge of the room near the song's end, the singer was introduced as Princess Morgan. Her lady-like impression and carefully articulated words fell flat quickly, as she exuberantly whooped and darted into a display of the story of the battle like an comic character.

Then she begged to take them on the tour, and while it wasn't nearly as educational as Mildred's dutiful recounting, he thought it was just as tiring if not more so by her wandering thoughts, and varied stories. Falke found himself slowly but surely gimping further behind than the main group, the lagging tail of the comet as it were. Wordlessly, he would catch up until as they started moving on again to the next distracted lead would take them.

Eventually the tour bled into dinner, with the Princess refusing to leave and offering cheerful continued conversation with anyone who would continue. Falke obliged not to join, and remained silent - as he carefully cut up his meal into bite sized pieces, and enjoying the ability to be able to sit down for a time without being required to move any further. Having finished his meal, he waited for their next destination after everyone else finished their own plates, hands clenching and fingers shaking (thankfully his shoulders didn't feel like joining them, this time) as they were hidden under the table.

The evening ended as they were dropped off at the stair room, with instructions on how to find to find their rooms, rooms for individuals. After a painful, but steady climb, Falke retreated to his own room automatically. The promise of soft beds, clean sheets, getting off his feet, and out of the presence of 'people'; were expressly inciting for him, especially given that any amount of sleep would be nice - knowing full well a handful of nightmares was always a possibility...

By the time they reached earth-level ground, it seemed that Harper had quickly rebounded back to his usual self. Loud. Obnoxious. Cracking jokes inappropriately given the situation they just went through. Laughing. He seemed to be more like himself than he had been in a long time.

Yet he knew, as much as he tried to pretend he didn't, that everything was a little more hollow than before. A bit less soul-filled. Emptier. His personality had always been a front before, but now it felt even more like a mask. Thin plaster that hadn't quite dried yet.

He knew Ondine could see through it. He could see it in her eyes. A knowingness rested there...a "you're being an asshole, but I know why" look...was it pity?

He just hoped his friends wouldn't be as perceptive.

If he still even had friends.

Xabi had been whisked off for medical attention. Selfishly, Harper hadn't worried over him. There was himself he had to take care of. Walls and windows he needed to re-erect. Besides, those medics would be able to take care of him better than he could. Not to mention he remembered their promise to keep 'them' secret. It seemed in the heat of the battle, he had gotten careless.

For all the effort he put on during the day, night left him vulnerable. Dreams haunted him, kept him awake, worse than before. If they didn't feature the gargantuan cyclopean destroying New York City and eating him specifically, or the entire horde coming at him in the middle of a desert, then it was that moment when Xabi had nearly been offed. Except in his dreams, he always got there too late. And sometimes it was Sadie. Or Skylar. Or even Dorian. Once, it had been himself.

And when his brain tired of that, it was falling again. Falling and falling. Sometimes with the twist of falling into a Cyclopean's open mouth.

He woke up with shouts and screams from all of these. He would have apologized to his roommates, but to apologize would mean to acknowledge they had happened. By the second night, he was put in a room with just Ondine.

On tour, he lingered between Xabi and Skylar, making snide comments to whoever would listen. He groaned when he heard the plaza had four floors, and shook his head when the small woman who reminded him of a certain character from a certain Pixar animated film suggest that she could show them how to get to the top.

No sir. No sir indeed.

It wasn't until the music reached their ears that things started to take a turn for the worst.

At the first note of the soprano female voice, Harper's stomach dropped.

As they grew closer, his eyes widened.

And when he saw the singer in question, he nearly fainted on the spot.

Blond hair. Light eyes. High voice, singing operatically. Lilting above, singing something classical no doubt. And then that head tilt, that smile, the tonality of her voice...

He heard the name "Morgan" be said. But all he saw was Alice.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Throughout the rest of the tour, small things stuck out. Differences. Alice's hair was lighter, and not as curly. Morgan's eyes were gray, not blue. Alice's face wasn't as round. Her lips fuller. Morgan's voice sounded just a little higher, and while Harper remembered Alice as playful and airy, she also had a sharpness to her that this princess was missing. There was difference between being footloose and fancy free and flat-out childish. And Alice had always been a bit more...collected of herself. Measured. A handful of hard candy mixed with two toffees. A leather jacket with a pink slip. A packet of strawberry pop rocks with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. One third reckless mixed with two thirds proper.

Morgan, it seemed like, was 100% pure sugar.

But then again, Harper used to think Alice was the spontaneous explosion of contradictions that just happened. This was before he realized just how precise of an equation she was.

He supposed her realizing vice versa about him was what had finally done it. That, and one other thing.

Still, he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Even when she left, his gaze followed, and she was all he could think about as he ate quietly. But now, while earlier Alice and Morgan seemed to blur together, he picked apart all the differences, and told himself that nothing would work out with Morgan because nothing had worked out with Alice. That made sense, didn't it?

Besides. Wasn't he happy with just Xabi?

Just Xabi...just Xabi...

uh oh.

That night he dreamed he was drowning. Seconds before he'd black out, Nella Fantasia would sing out in female soprano, muffled at first, but with each word growing clearer and clearer until it pierced through like a spear to the chest. Eyes open, he would try to reach back to the surface, a pale face surrounded by gold fluttering through the rippling waves, singing and singing, but just as he broke through, the face vanished while the voice continued.

On some iterations of the dream, he was sure it had been Alice singing. On others, Morgan. But for most, he was never quite sure who it was. And that, more than anything, was what made it so frightening.

For all the sleep he didn't get, Harper was back to his usual self the next morning. He spend most of his day split between avoiding the Princess while still trying to get a glance of her, and swimming. The bathtubs were basically swimming pools, and it had been a while since he'd been in freshwater. Swimming was blissful, and helped him clear his mind again.

The night passed without much incident.

The parade was the sort of frivolous spectacle Harper both hated and loved. As they suited him and the others up, he couldn't help but wonder how they could spend money on this when there were no doubt homeless and other issues to attend to. Such was the blessing of the rich. A blessing he himself had, as much as he might try to rid himself of it.

Up on the horses, it was a somewhat bland affair until melodies started to clash. Peering up from his steed, Harper spotted the crowd parting from a smaller group of blondes. It didn't take long for him to realize they were the source of the competing song. Not that he minded. He liked this melody better.

The group was loud, obnoxious, and joyous. And it suddenly hit him why they looked familiar. His eyes flitted to Tallyho, a few horses in front of him. Yep. Exact same hair. Was this her family? He smiled at the thought, but then his eyebrows furrowed. Her family seemed awesome. Why was she such a stick in the ass?

There's always one he thought with a small shrug.

Note: This post is going to be a big skip briefly going over some of the weekend’s events leading to the ceremony thing. Hooray~~~

Tallyho was able to force tears back into her head. But this didn’t stop her mind from wandering in the night. They had found her. And under any circumstances she might have been upset about this, yet she felt happy to know that they found her in this state. Mounted on the kings horses, celebrated by the oppressors. Imagine that—a sun person—a month warrior.
The next couple of days had the same glamor and appeal that the parade day had. But it seemed that as each day zipped past the total luxury of the events and all of the work put into them became more obvious. Tallyho thought that the parade came across as a bit disorganized (and oh, when in Goddess’ name did she start critiquing organized celebration anyway?) but she came to realize the next day that getting the performers in line, their costumes, and the military men out of their drunken stupors from a night of debauchery really had Mildred running. Even though the month warriors did their final measurements for their custom made gowns and suits, Mildred still had to find clothes for them to wear at other events. Saturday before the mass, the king requested a sudden breakfast with the month warriors—a get to know you of sorts. Mildred seemed to come up with clothes for that and had them sent to each warrior and guardian’s door early in the morning.

King Rembrandt wasn’t what a naïve girl like Tallyho would imagine a king to be. To Tallyho, Kings were disgustingly pompous, self-serving, stoic figures of power whose life objectives were to squander and steal land from opposing kingdoms and bend the tax system in the favor of their gold pouches. Rembrandt was almost a horribly done parody of such a figure and Tallyho thought this in the nicest way possible. Every time he started to say something pompous—something that could also be accompanied by an upward pointing pinky—he did something ridiculous: A large crumb of bread hanging very obviously from his rusty beard or a ridiculous belch escaping him. And every time it happened, he recognized how stupid he seemed. And instead of getting mad about it, he laughed it off. Tallyho could certainly see where Morgan got her jolly disposition.

The way that Morgan interacted with her father was also an interesting sight. While most girls might be embarrassed of their father’s gas, Morgan laughed giddily with him. At some point during the breakfast she attempted to make herself burp only to be scolded by a very stressed Mildred. During the meal Morgan and the King spoke fondly of a missing family member. A brother—Tallyho couldn’t quite remember his name off the top of her head—who was the head of the military. The blonde’s thoughts instantly turned to Trent but her speculations were squashed when Morgan clarified.

Trent was the official head of the military while her brother was off on a military campaign. He was her cousin—the first born and only son of King Rembrandt’s younger brother.

Trent came in to eat with them a little bit later but he was unusually detached. It was almost as if he was bored with taunting the month warriors which, knowing him, wouldn’t be that far from the truth. He did however, to Tallyho’s surprise, greet Dorian by name upon sitting down. He didn’t sit next to the March warrior, or even continue a conversation with him, but the fact that he recognized Dorian in a respectful enough way baffled the blonde. She wasn’t sure if Dorian would catch her gaze, but after the fact she turned to him, green eyes full of confusion and interest.

Later they had to change again. For mass, Mildred made sure that everyone wore white. However, she didn’t bother to make that a requirement for party members like Dae, Liam, Mori, and Karma. Tallyho had never done anything like it before, but the mass was exactly what she would expect. It took place in the same great chapel where they tested themselves as month warriors. It was funny to Tallyho, being there again. And what killed her the most was that there was still a sizable amount of people hovering around the building, claiming to be month warriors!

Even though the event was supposed to be highly spiritual—a candle lit sermon and prayer with all the pews filled armrest to armrest with international royals and diplomats—Tallyho could feel nothing at all. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to worshiping like this (or worshiping at all for that matter) but the entire display just went over her head. But there were some that seemed to genuinely immerse themselves in the experience. Haru—who was very noticeably not sitting next to Ryou—seemed like he would fall to pieces if his attention was taken away from anything the Harbinger had to say. And she couldn’t blame Haru for listening so closely to him. The Harbinger wasn’t a screamer or a preacher but he spoke with such an ethereal presence that it felt like he was telling you the meaning of life and that everything he was saying was indisputably true. It was just too bad that Tallyho couldn’t bring herself to become as involved as Haru. She only hoped that the goddess wouldn’t smite her.

Hours before the party, Tallyho decided that it would be a good idea to bathe before squeezing into yet another dress. She was a little surprised at herself for bathing so frequently considering the fact that the Month Warriors had done without regular bathing for quite some time since the academy was burned down. And even at the academy they only managed to get a bath every few days just because the lake would get a little too crowded or they had training or chores. After a servant woman warmed and filled the tub, she helped unlace Tallyho from her constraining dress. As this went on, Tallyho appraised her body. She wasn’t one to look in mirrors but she couldn’t help but notice a few changes since the last time she observed herself. She always had a more angular face than most children, but these days her jaw and cheekbones seemed to mold into straighter angles, her face more feline like, more womanly. She looked more like Lillian, not that Tallyho particularly minded, but it was…different. Where Tallyho had once developed a tan back in her days at the academy and on the ship, she was now fairly pale from being trapped underground in prison—probably paler than she was when the journey first began.

Her corset was undone and the servant left. With little effort, Tallyho shed the dress like a snake from its old scales, seething and hissing with mild disgust at the contours of her figure. How the outlines of ribs ran so close to the surface of her thin, cold skin. She stepped into the water. Never before had she noticed herself having body issues. So why was it now, after achieving a comfortable living condition and nothing to do but eat and be praised, that she was beginning to swallow these spoonfuls of self-loathing? She had only been living this way for what? A week and a half? So why was it that in the days of struggling in that goddess-forsaken prison, on the boat, at the academy, goddess, even in the days prior to the adventure, that Tallyho hadn’t thought twice about her own quality? She usually resigned to knowing that she was good enough. Period. And on the battlefield, while some quivered about what a liability they were for the team, she threw herself into the fray blindly. Not because she was more capable or more of a hero but because what else was she supposed to do? She felt that she was capable so she did it! And now that she’s here, taking a bath in an actual tub of all things (what a daisy she’s become) she has nothing better to do but suck her teeth at how the shadow of her ribs are superimposed on her much-too-pasty figure? And oh! She was doing it again.

Perhaps people were happier when they had something to work for…

As she pondered, a streak of blood wiggled down and pooled at her mouth’s cupid bow. With a disinterested movement, she swiped it from her face with her thumb.

/Not this again…/

She was tired of these things—whatever they were—that had been plaguing her body since the ship. These wretched, pointless seizures! It was embarrassing enough to have one in a prison bed. But did they really have to follow her everywhere she went? As she moved to step out of the tub, which she had not yet descended into, a gasp escaped her. Her muscles, all at once pulled tight and she lost control and thrust herself onto the floor—chin first—her wet feet slipping under her velocity as she tried to catch herself on hands and toes.

/Not this again. Not this again./

“Miss are you alright? I heard something fall.”
This was the servant through the door, not yet opened.

“I’m fine,” Tallyho hollered. By then she had regained control of her hands which were splayed below her, attempting to push upwards.

The knob turned.
“I SAID I’M FINE!”
“Are…Are you sure miss?”
It was all over now.
“I am… I am…”
“Yes miss…”


By no means was the small gathering a small gathering. The King wasted no time in bringing notable people from the western hemisphere, though a few people from Eastern Isle and Ira managed to make it. Tallyho, now over her instance in the bath, was just happy to find that there was unlimited alcohol being walked around by servers across the dancehall. And best of all, Haru didn’t seem like he was going to limit the amount they drank. They were in now, and they could be fools as long as they weren’t fools to the wrong people.

Haru begrudgingly came to this event. Having had his fair share of international relations when he was alive, he had no interest in the event at hand. He wasn’t even particularly keen on his face being publicly associated with the whole month warrior thing. Not that he was ashamed of the kids (okay maybe a little) but he was more content with being behind the scenes at this point.
Haru sat in the corner of the dancehall at one of the small, sparse tables available and drank idly. He watched as Tallyho downed drink after drink as she spoke to those who made conversation. He wondered if she knew that she was talking to the elderly Duke of Le Fay. Nonetheless, she held her alcohol well so he wasn’t so worried.

There were more pressing things for Haru Karokav to worry over and one of those was fairly obvious. Haru watched Ryou attentively, waiting for a moment when he wasn’t occupied by a diplomat, or his students, or Karma. Karma was probably the most trying obstacle. The young one, who had never heard the classical instruments live before, used all of her pent up energy to engage Ryou in a very intense dance completion. Well at least she considered it a competition. So as Ryou danced with her, Karma danced against him. And even though their motives for dancing were different, they seemed to enjoy themselves all the same.

When the time was right, Haru set his empty glass on the table, dusted his coat, and meandered over. He kept a distance, not sure how startled Ryou would be by his sudden approach from behind. And then he spoke.

“Sorry about the other night.” Well that was cliché. “I didn’t mean to come off so…so cold.”
One thing about Haru was that he rarely apologized.

Meanwhile on the dancefloor, Morgan scoped the crowd. She had no interest in sharing words with the diplomats as she found their company ordinary, tedious, and a little too boring for her attention span. She meandered towards a small group of month warriors (because let’s face it there are bound to be a few of them clustered up together somewhere) and offered a curl of the lips.

“Why, I do hope you lot are enjoying yourselves,” her neck cocked forward, “And if any of you are hungry, we can get them to circulate horsderves! My favorites are the little crab cakes!”

Without any room for silence she pitched in again.

“How about we all dance, huh?” She hummed as she did a little jig with her arms. Her optimism was…endearing.

Since the beginning of the cocktail, Trent gravitated to Dorian. Dorian, he decided, was the least annoying person he’d met thus far. And that was saying a lot considering Trent hated and considered most things extremely annoying.

He made his presence known, tossing Dorian casual conversation:

Attempting friendship through mutual disdain:

“The alcohol here is wretched!”

Attempting suggestive humor:

“The arms on that lady…” [Insert snooty chuckle here]

Attempting to be complimentary:
“I like your shoes… I have five pairs of them.”

And even trying to learn more about Dorian himself:

“So…Are you excited about the ceremony thing tomorrow?”

By the end of it Trent finally resigned to inviting Dorian to join him in what he knew best.
“Listen. Parties aren’t necessarily my thing. Me and a few of my men are going to ah… hit the town. I’d like it if you came. I mean, think of the fun we’d have with an actual month warrior in our crew.”
That was about as nice as Trent was getting. And with a curl of his brow he lifted his glass for a toast, waiting for Dorian’s reply.

Tallyho watched the Trent and Dorian exchange closely, meandering nearby so that she could hear just enough of their conversation to be a little embarrassed at Trent’s attempt at socialization. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of Dorian befriending Trent. Dorian was… well Dorian. A stone-faced sweetheart who gave Tallyho his banya just because he knew she liked it and showed her art on his cellular device. And Trent was… Trent. No explanation needed. Effectively tuning out the elderly Duke of Le Fay she too waited on his answer to Trent’s invitation.

Kyle pulled at his collar probably for the fiftieth time in one day. Because of the very obviously foreign marking on his neck, no longer covered by his hair, he couldn't even loosen his tie. Most of the people working with him, or more like on him because he definitely had no say in all this frivolous exposure, were too polite to ask about it, but constantly breathing down his neck they had to be blind not to notice. The whole time he couldn't enjoy anything, because he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. This all still felt wrong. They barely survived an army of cyclopean, including one ginormous thing, and now all the sudden everyone loves them?

Before even facing the army they were thrown in a dungeon. This couldn't be right. Nobody goes from a filthy prison to a palace. He shuddered violently, scaring his latest handler. "Are you well?" No, no he wasn't but this little boy couldn't do anything about it. "Just a little chill."
"I can stoke the fire, if you wish."
"Let it be. I'm going to be somewhere else soon anyway." he answered sharper than he intended but the boy finished his tasks in silence. For some reason, he found that annoying and frustrating too. No one in this palace challenged them. No one yelled at him for doing something stupid. No one told him to carry one more load of stupid useless rocks, or struggle through one more page or chapter for his homework. Actually he didn't have any homework, just tons of stupid useless parties and meetings.

They might not have all been completely useless, since somewhere behind all the stress involved (or compounded actually since the battle) he did realize that it would probably be a good thing to know who important people were (and know which ones he could avoid when necessary) but there were too many bloody people! Too many people and too much going on!

The only good thing about the parade was Tallyho's family cheering and singing for her. It was obvious those people decorated with flowers were her family, and in his opinion they were the most genuine people out there. He would have asked her about her family, but she tended to avoid everyone when they weren't stuck in some event. He started wanting to avoid people himself in these last crazy days.

The meal with the king was just plain uncomfortable, and he couldn't really concentrate on the church service. Despite the proper fit of his clothes, his collar still felt too tight and he felt too hot. He tried not to squirm though, because they were sitting in the front and everyone was watching them. By the time of this second-to-last party for the week, he was tired of people watching him.

Ironically, while training at the academy he wanted attention, the very honored attention of sitting at the high table with Ryou and his family. He wasn't good enough at any skill or strong enough for that attention. Now that he had the entire Rose Kingdom's attention at least, he didn't want any of it. "Dae, you were exactly right in every way. I didn't deserve it then and I don't deserve it now. Neither does it make me happy."

The entire hunting trip ordeal with General Cress or Trent (as Dorian would probably never call him) went far better than Dorian had ever imagined. This was mostly due to the fact that Dorian had only imagined scenarios that involved in bodily harm (for him) or some Airian, grown-man version of Mean Girls. His taciturn expressions and unique ability to keep anything unsavory to himself served him well throughout the trip as he focused on the hunting aspect as opposed to Trent and his troop of nameless faces (no one had bothered to introduce themselves to him, even if he did slowly begin to learn who was who from the occasional irritated remarks spat at them by Trent). All in all it was a… tolerable outing, even when Trent actually began to speak with him. It started off as long monologues, usually insulting something, but slowly began to morph into things resembling conversations where Dorian actually had to respond and give his opinion, no matter how careful he had to be about it. Honestly, by the end of the trip Dorian was entirely convinced that for all of his prestige and royal blood, Trent was just as painfully socially awkward as he was hateful. Which, of course, made Trent's parting message feel more like Trent had given him a medal (and Dorian totally deserved said medal after the awkwardness he'd dealt with today).

The parade the next day was an entirely different kind of tedious and awkward. Clad in garments far too heavy and flamboyant, he felt like he was attending a costume party. And then there were the crowds, howling and cheering in a way he thought he didn't deserve and knew he didn't desire. His face remained impassive, staring ever forward in the visage of a stern warrior, but the hand clenched in his horse's mane and the splash of color on his cheeks, an embarrassed blush that looked more like he'd seen too much sun recently, showed just how he felt being paraded around like this. Oh, God, should he be waving? Smiling? For a moment he made the mistake of searching the crowd for familiar faces- Ryou having gone "missing" before the parade began partially to spend it with his loved ones and partially, as Dorian was beginning to suspect, to stay out of the other Guardians' ways- and was met instead with a wall of screaming people. Cheeks flared a stronger read and he was staring even more intently ahead now.

He didn't dare look up again until the music began, softly at first before quickly growing in volume and overpowering even the most fervent hollers. When he looked, he didn't notice the source at first but the reaction, the disgust and fear that flickered across some faces. Then he noticed Tallyho, tears prickling stubbornly in her eyes as they attempted to escape. Then he saw the people, proud and raucous with blonde, curly hair and flowers adorning their persons. They were all singing, the words lost on him, but the meaning clear from the joy on their faces and the tears forcing their way down Tallyho's cheeks, even as she attempted to stall their progress. He'd never asked Tallyho about her family knowing full well that she would tell him when she wanted to and not a moment sooner, and here was another piece to the puzzle that was her past. It was one of those obnoxious middle pieces that you couldn't tell really what was on them, but it was a piece nevertheless.

The pageantry of the day before bled into the next day as another new set of clothes was thrust upon them by Mildred, who Dorian was beginning to suspect was the actual ruler of the Rose Kingdom(because, really, Mildred). Their first duty was breakfast with the king which quickly turned from him wondering if he could remember the proper use of a dessert spoon to him realizing where exactly Morgan got her joviality from. The King was big and booming, but so warm and, not that Dorian would ever say it aloud, almost silly that the atmosphere shifted from tense to more relaxed in a heartbeat. It was nice, he thought, to see Morgan and her father interact, all giggles and great beaming grins, the picture of a loving family as they spoke so warmly of the missing Prince.

Trent's arrival was hardly enough to disintegrate the atmosphere, but the mere fact that he greeted Dorian by name was enough to almost give him a heart attack and almost miss replying with his own polite good morning. A few curious eyes flickered in his direction, but he caught Tallyho's gaze first and shrugged. Apparently he'd given a better first impression than he'd first imagined.

After breakfast, it was time to change into another set of clothes, this time all white in what Dorian had to assume was a symbol of purity instead of a brave fashion statement. More fakes lingered outside, smaller in number but the very fact that they had the audacity to keep trying was a whole other level of depressing. The event took place in the same stifling room as before, but now they sat as honored guests instead of the nervous group waiting for their death sentence to be handed down to them. Dorian was not a particularly religious person, even back on Earth, but he allowed himself to be drawn into the ceremony with the Harbinger's words, spoken with the charisma and eloquence that befitted his situation. Still, on occasion his eyes wandered to others in the room. Ryou seemed politely interested, hands carding through Karma's hair constantly as if to keep her calm with the gesture. He was seated far from Haru, surrounded on all sides by his students. Liam made an effort to look politely interested, but the stillness in his body was hardly from being enraptured with the ceremony. Dae was faring far worse, fiddling with his hands constantly until Mori took hold of one, effectively stilling the knight.

He felt more like a fashion model now as they were guided back to their rooms, specially made clothing thrust into weary arms. He took the time to enjoy his solitude if only for a moment. He rolled over in his bed, pulling out his cellphone and began to scroll. This was easier sometimes, a small but powerful grounding device that reminded him who he really was. He wasn't just the March Warrior, he was Dorian Roberts. The cellist, he reminded himself as the strains of cello music hummed softly from his phone's speaker, the Earthling, he knew as he continued flicking through his pictures, the son of Avery Roberts he felt as the stabbing longing of homesickness twisted in his stomach when a picture of his father, grinning goofily at the screen finally appeared. But the moment was always only a moment as a knocking at the door encouraged him to finally get changed, combing his hair- he really needed to get a haircut- to some semblance of neatness.

The small gathering was predictably far larger than Dorian had been led to believe. The room was full of important looking people milling about, sipping idly at alcohol Dorian couldn't name and some chatting among themselves as others began to filter towards the middle of the room to dance. There was Ryou, twirling Karma and apparently unaware that his daughter had challenged him to a dance off. Then, twirling in the midst of the crowd was Liam, a tall woman in a long, dark green dress held tightly in his arms. Liam whispered something in her ear and the crooked grin could not be mistaken. It wasn't just any woman but Dae Grimm, the Academy knight, short hair finally tamed and hints of makeup painted onto his(her?) features.

"Don't look to surprised," It was Mori by his elbow, carrying his own fine outfit with more ease than a child ever should.

"He- She- But Dae's wearing a dress."

"Well, of course she is. Liam doesn't have the hips for it." And on that mysterious and bizarre note, Mori wandered away, relieving Ryou of his pink-haired dance partner, dragging the only other child off for whatever mischief he had planned (it more than likely involved Princess Morgan who always seemed thrilled when the youngest members of the party indulged her).

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

Ryou watched Karma be guided away with a fond smile before taking a moment to find the rest of his responsibilities scattered across the dance floor. There were Liam and Dae, enjoying an odd moment with themselves as they twirled and sashayed with the best of them, eyes never once leaving each other. Then there was Dorian doing his best impression of a turtle as he hid himself alone at one of the tables. But that was bound to change with General Cress sidling over now to talk with (or at) the March Warrior. He found the General disconcerting and more than a little concerning, even if he knew that him taking an interest in any of the Month Warriors was a particularly good thing. It was just-

Whatever "it was just", Ryou would never know because his train of thought was effectively stopped in its tracks with an achingly familiar voice behind him. He whirled around, golden eyes wide and more than just a little disbelieving because, for one Haru was talking to him and two, of course, Haru was actually apologizing. Haru didn't apologize, it just wasn't his style, but here he was doing just that.

"I… I know you didn't, Haru," Ryou replied voice sincere if a bit sad. He really could never begrudge Haru anything, no matter how much he wanted to. "It was my fault, though. I shouldn't have… Well, no hard feelings, eh?" He reached out to clap Haru on the shoulder, thought better of it, and settled on attempting to smile at the shorter man.

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

Perhaps it wasn't Kyle's intention to be heard in the ballroom, much less by the person he was addressing, but Liam had always had impeccable timing in these situations and that timing spread to Dae simply because they hardly ever separated from one another. The two paused their seemingly endless dance- it was indeed only a pause, neither out of breath or prepared to permanently stop for the evening- to stand behind Kyle, casual despite everything right now being quite topsy-turvy.

"Don't be so gloomy," Dae's raspy voice replied, her- and it was indeed her- tone sympathetic. "Things like this never do. That's why we make the best of things and try to live up to what we're supposed to do." She glanced at Liam whose hand never strayed from hers. "Now, try to smile- have to make good impressions, now don't you?" Her eyes flickered over to Ryou for a moment, then to Dorian as both men tried to make the best of their own situations.

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

Yes, Trent was socially awkward. Dorian had called it during the hunting trip and now he knew for certain as Trent worked admirably hard at his version of casual conversation. It was endearing, the way he kept trying, in a depressing sort of way and he attempted to humor him, his own attempts at conversation steering it towards less… awful topics.

The offer itself surprised him- and somewhat relieved him because both of them were struggling at this moment- and he knew that he didn't really want to go. He didn't like doing the whole running around town sort of thing, especially with what he envisioned Trent and his… crew(because even he could recognize that they were hardly friends, more like lackies than anything) enjoyed doing on a night out. But Haru's words echoed in his head- saying so to royalty most certainly went under the unfavorable label- and something about Trent actually saying that he'd like Dorian to come along struck a chord, and he found himself meeting the toast with a clink of his untouched glass.

"Of course. I'd like that." It wasn't necessarily a lie, even if it did feel a tiny bit like be was whoring himself out for the sake of the group and not embarrassing himself or the other man. Besides, maybe this way he could keep at eye on the General. For the group's sake. That was right. The group's sake.

“The worm? What is the worm,” Morgan inquired as she looked at Autumn and offered a gesture of welcome towards Mori and Karma who were making their way towards her.
“I can teach you lot some classic RK dances if you’d like!”
She stepped back, palms open like some unaware, ethereal saint.
“Won’t one of you demonstrate with me? Anyone! Little ones are also welcome!”
---------
The clink of glass to glass was the only thing needed to set Tallyho’s brow in a confused furrow. Was he really going with him? With Trent? It wasn’t that Tallyho didn’t want Dorian to have other friends (and she hoped to goddess she didn’t feel that way deep down) but the idea of him befriending Trent set her stomach a few planes higher. She distanced herself even farther as Trent clasped Dorian on the shoulder in a manly fashion and led him out of the dance hall. Not a head turned. This was almost normal.
---------

Outside Trent grunted heavily. Fumbling fingers loosened his neck tie as he looked around to make sure no one was following. Most notably Mildred, who would cut her own arm off just to keep people right where they were supposed to be, and Morgan who probably would have just wanted to tag along for fun.

“Tonight we’re meeting the others at a bit of a hole-in-the-wall. Some old tavern where they make the best, strongest liquor I’ve ever tasted…You’re a drink guy right? I was just asking because some of the guys are avid poppy fans.”

As Trent spoke he walked with confidence towards what could be assumed to be the aforementioned tavern. He hardly surveyed his surroundings, suggesting that he was a frequent patron.

“So you never answered my question. About how you feel about this ceremony thing? This warrior business. I have to admit that I’m a bit jealous. Must feel good being so important?”

He made a sharp turn. The architecture became less formal as they ventured away from the affluent part of the city. It seemed that they farther they got away from the dance hall the more informal Trent became.

“I imagine that feeling isn’t too foreign to you. First time I met you in that cell I sort of felt that you were a guy like me! There was a certain… dignity about you. Intelligent, socially wise (yes Trent thinks he’s a social prodigy), generally well groomed if you have the choice. You’re like me just shy. Why don’t you ever talk? Stand up for yourself for once!”

Trent did not give Dorian time to answer before slapping him on the back.

“You’re nothing like those plebeians you’re on a team with… Are they always so base—the ones who thought it wise to verbally challenge me? The guys tried much too hard to make me bat an eye, and some of those girls—even though they technically didn’t say anything stupid—tried to get sarcastic. Which is honestly the basest, most uncreative way of getting back at me. I mean really? How passive… Oh! Over this way!”

Trent made another sharp turn down an alleyway.
“Are you ready my boy?”

Falke had never been one to be overwrought with anxiety at the prospect of being touched. Enough family gatherings of pinched cheeks, cooing words of encouragement from any passerby that happened to notice his disability, and having one of the most protective mother's on planet Earth; should have given him an unconcerned and indifferent air regarding such matters. But still, even with the plausible excuse of his abilities now (seriously how many more people needed to be rattling around in his noggin, he was having enough issues as it was coping after the battle) being the cause of it, he was uneasy just listening to Miss Mildred's 'to do list' speech for them all over the following weekend. He did not like being touched much regardless of powers or not. Period.

The Tailors' were pretty much as bad as anyone could suspect. Poking and prodding, alongside, well, if you called that a measuring tape - Falke could share breathing space at times. Exchanging CO2 for additional CO2, with people who really needed a couple tooth-leaves or less alcohol before ten in the morning, was not what you'd call his highlight of the day. Upon being one of the last finishing with fitting, he was told he was going to be made a 'darling' of the city (whatever that meant) dressed in light, fair colors of blue, silver, and gold.

For the rest of what Falke had begun to deem as particularly lazy, maddeningly lazy days honestly, he surprisingly spent his time in the gardens. Even despite the occasional disruption of the Princess twittering away like an over-excited songbird and /needing/ to smell this new, positively delightful flower, or giving polite conversation until an errant thought took her away again; it was quiet, peaceful. He found an ability to relax, to meditate, and the shakes of his shoulders and hands that brought memories (and thoughts, and feelings) resurfacing did not happen to find their way to him for hours.

All to soon, the day was over and done with, and Falke attended the evening meal. He retired early to practice silently a few swings and imaginary hits with his weapon, exceedingly careful to not knock anything over; after a feeling he wouldn't be getting much time for doing it again between getting dressed between events, and the sheer mental and physical strain of heavy garments and public appearances to come.

---

The parade the following was one part embarrassment, and another terrifying. It was long, tedious, and awkward process getting into their, well, for lack of a better word, costumes. His own looked like a mixture of renaissance with a dash a Rome: A fine, powder blue brocade doublet, light brown leather riding pants and boots, hell even his splint had been decorated to complete the medieval requirement of his get-up; but the silver cape, er-cloak, or really blanket of sorts, that draped 'fashionably' across his arms and one shoulder and spilled across part of the rump of the fine, white horse he was astride, seemed quite frankly from a different era entirely.

Additionally the cheering, howling crowds lined the streets, created another hard pill to swallow. Yes, they had rotted in prison for two weeks, had still managed to defeat the flock and their leader monstrosity with lacking team work and abilities without anyone kicking the bucket thankfully, and the month warriors had 'returned' again, oh whoopie. He understood a little of their perspective somewhat, but... really... all this?

Falke struggled to remain a calm mask , in the onslaught of noise battering his ears and mind alike; biting the inside of his lip, mimicking the look of a thin, but confident line. His eyes wandered blearily in small snapping motions, observing the loudest, most fervent hollers and musicians behind and to the side for a small time, and to the other warriors in their group (all having some emotional rip-roar of one kind or another, to prick his attention now and again). And the blush that rose across his cheeks hardly showed, thanks to Mildred and tailors' insistence at covering his black eye and bruised temple (that had just started to turn a putrid yellow-green, it was not pretty by any means) with powdered make-up.

...

Lillian, like the other Guardians' had disappeared at the start of the parade; finding it to be a rare moment of luck to be free of feather as it were. Instead of being stuck in a jostling crowd, that could meet with unkind consequences should her shawl's hood fall (even with Tallyho's acceptance of being a warrior by TRK and Grand Harbinger); unnoticed, a lithe owl had flown into the soft breeze above the city streets, caressing softer feathers in short bursts from roof top to roof top.

She had kept along with the warriors progress throughout the parade watchfully, but hadn't been able to avoid to side street of the joyous Sun People. She lingered a moment longer there, listening to their singing and celebrations, a song of old of triumph for a village member, even though they'd forgotten much of the original words; it was still... Nice...

---

The 'excitement' of one day bled into the next. Another new set of clothes was thrust upon each of them by Mildred early into the morning, for a breakfast with jolly and warm King. It was clear where Morgan had exactly gotten her silliness from, and their interactions were as sincere as a family without any royal requirements or duties. The event was an odd moment of ease, in their tense and extremely busy schedule.

The all white mass was their next appearance, and despite the 'struggle' of being primped up again, this was something Falke could do, and do well. He had gone to enough church services with his mother, at the small Roman Catholic venue up the road from their family home in the outskirts of Hamburg. He was specialized in sitting still with head bent slightly down, wordlessly vigilant, and poised in thoughtful contemplation for hours on end. Much of the Grand Harbinger's sermon had gone over his head, due to his lack really of truly understanding the Goddess completely (schooling at the Academy had helped, but still he felt at a loss really), but it didn't mean he couldn't remain proper and play the part as needed.

...

Lillian seemed to as intent as Haru, watching the Grand Harbinger with a quiet sort of ferocity most had never seen from her actively. While she had always been openly religious with anyone who had asked about or seen or heard her 'to the One' phrases, she had never been so devout. Or, being more politically correct, trying so hard to be devout. The One above, she was sorry but it still felt wrong, even after so many years of trying so hard, to be sitting here, still as they could be, all attention on the sermon - her cold, bitter heart was not in it.

...

Oh, what a darling! What a pretty young man! That little, blind and broken babe.

Fei. No matter how often the words we're repeat in his presence since the beginning of the "small" yet exceeding extravagant gathering of nobility from all over mostly western Aires (with a small group of Eastern Islanders and those hailing from Ira too as well), Falke did not find himself ever getting used to it.

It was unnerving how quickly news had traveled or had been told in second-person, but the young September warrior found himself known immediately by name or at the very least one of the above statements. Nor was it a surprise really, being the only warrior that happened to be blind and was seen limping occasionally in a decorated walking splint. The inability of being able to disappear to a corner for a brief moment of respite was frustrating as it was alarming.

Most encounters were quick, brutal things, that Falke managed relatively well. Which usually meant he could flash a small, reluctant smile, a soft rumbling chuckle (that was obviously decisively false to the extreme few that had been able to get a geniue, deep, rolling belly laugh out of him twice, he couldn't be soft if he tried), and idle, empty conversation. Thankfully no one discussed the palace's artwork or fine Airian literature, because accurately enough how would he have seen any of it.

He'd only recently escaped from a group from Hales. The men had called him tiny brother, or something about an icicle in terms of his slim figure maybe, he hadn't been quite sure. Especially given that half of the conversation was in-between drunken laughter and bashing his shoulders and arms good naturedly with meaty fists. The one woman in the party had been more subdued, and had only left him with a soft kiss of farewell as they parted - leaving him now standing in a corner, with Skylar and Autumn chatting nearby about a turkey tossing competition or reality show or something, as he gently rubbed the red lipstick stain from his cheek in quick, determined movements from a small cloth a passing servant had handed him.

He glanced up as the Princess approached, still bounding with energy even after the long day at large as she urged them all to join her, dance with her, she would teach them. Autumn and Skylar answered quickly enough, that Falke believed he was safe enough from answering verbally. He tilted his head gently in the negative in response.

It wasn't that he wouldn't enjoy it, because really he loved dancing - whether, well, years ago now, learning the waltz from his mother; or the times on the ship, Tallyho hauling him into an elegant but rather silly and wildly swinging display. Nor his leg's fault, while still sore, it was getting better he kept telling himself day to day. But in all honesty the swirling crowd around them was the main problem... He had enough people recognizing him, just walking out of the blue into him. He did not feel the need to go in the middle where everyone could go 'oh look, the darling, that pretty young man, the little, blind and broken babe - he can dance too!'

...

Lillian moved quickly, departing from a conversation gone sour. An older noblewoman had been admiring her delicate coiled up-do, but had accidentally bumped a clip in her inspection and caused a chunk to fall out long, it's golden hues coiling naturally down. Her husband had taken the offensive, and had assumed correctly 'what' she was - using a drunken, heavy-handed slap to send her on her way when she'd declined a song, or dance, or the implied threesome later on in the night. Luckily enough, the hand hadn't been remotely close, due to too many under his belt; and she had been on her way, before anything additional could occur.

A thin fingered hand escaped the confining folds of her long-sleeved flowing dress, reaching up to pull the hair back with sure motions to clip back the errant dark golden lock into place. Pausing at the edge of the gathering, weariness clear in the depths of her washed-out, gray-blue eyes. Her already lean and angular face seemed rather pinched as she scowled, as her eyes narrowed as they made an idle attempt of locating the exit. It would likely be wise for her to depart sooner rather than later.

Nothing more than expected, she said and didn't elaborate before changing the subject. Something involving fear, anger, disgust and disrespect most likely. Nikita sighed. She also had her share of those experiences before, but Lillian didn't want to talk about it obviously, just like Haru and Ryou didn't want to talk about why they weren't talking to each other. Was it really nosy to want to know why people she liked were upset? Of course, she never told any of them why she was upset before arriving in Rose Kingdom or why she couldn't sleep the weeks they spent in jail. She turned her face away and squeezed her eyes shut to force the memories back. Eventually she submitted to Lillian's subject change and accepted the compliments on her light green dress. She smiled lightly and finished her drink, passing it off to a server. Nikita shrugged a little in response to Lillian asking if she enjoyed herself. "It's nice but I think I would enjoy it more in a previous life."

Falke offered to take the drinks off his hands and let him dance, and Kyle flushed a little. Of course the guy who could read minds would know more than anyone else. At the same time, he knew he hadn't been paying much attention to Falke lately and they were supposed to be friends. Falke probably wasn't enjoying himself much either. Attention was never something he seemed to want.

The younger blond turned back to Skylar. He flushed slightly more pink and met her light blue eyes with a soft, cherishing smile. In that moment he caved, passing off the glasses of alcohol to either Falke or a passing server. Once his hands freed, he reached out to stroke her face just under her ear. Uncertainly he curled his fingers back at the last minute. Then he bent slightly and grasped her hand instead, lifting it to kiss the top. All the while, he never turned from her face. When would he have another chance like this?

The moment didn't last long enough. Xabier's voice broke through his mind and he gripped Skylar's hand tighter, looking up to the Spaniard with a glare. The interruption was not appreciated.

In some ways he was still angry with his prior friend, but he did open the door for him to act like a friend again and talk. Efforts had been made to restore the relationship, but Kyle still didn't think he could trust him, because he still avoided the subject of why they separated in the first place. That was the most important step forward. Only by knowing the why can he understand what to do in the future.

Still, his anger didn't linger as he watched Xabier and Autumn drift away with Morgan for an impromptu dance class. He gave a chuckle. Morgan's absolute joy in being around people infected him too. Despite the Spaniard's awkward presence, he really wanted to join them, but he couldn't force Skylar into something she wouldn't enjoy. His flush deepened a little more and he swallowed, but managed to say, "Are you sure you don't want to dance? Will you dance with me?"

If she wanted to dance, Kyle would be an eager dance partner, but if not, they could take a walk in the gardens outside and Falke would also be invited, if he wanted to get away. Either way, at the end of the night, he could honestly say he enjoyed himself. He had a chance to spend time with Skylar he didn't before.

Unfortunately, the next day left his brief happy memories of the party in the dust. It felt like the day they were locked up, but worse. Instead of just Haru and Nikita poking at him, a host of strangers were doing it. This time he couldn't hide or shrug off the panic. Trembling and sweating, he shook off the latest set of prodding hands. "Need air," he gasped and fled to the gardens. Once outside he nearly collapsed against one of the fountains, clinging for dear life. "Safe. not prison." There he remained, trying to get himself back together.

He had to change his shirt before submitting to the final touches on his ceremonial uniform. Because of that, he arrived a little late to the rehearsal, getting a glare from Mildred. He flushed and pulled his collar, but made extra effort in paying attention to the frenetic little woman's directions. His tasks seemed easy enough, but he also flinched at the order not to sneak away. A gilded cage. Could he really keep from freaking out? He didn't have pleasant memories of this Harbringer either. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. It's almost over. Almost over.

After that trial, they dispersed to two separate rooms. That went by fairly well, even though Kyle ended up stuck in a room with Harper for an hour. He hadn't been acting the fool as much lately, but he still was a selfish bastard who can't be trusted. Skylar, Tallyho, and Dorian were pleasanter company. Because of the selfish bastard's earlier snubbing of Skylar,-He would never forgive Harper for that- Kyle remained protectively close and offered her anything she asked for from the table. He personally was disappointed in the lack of fish, which seemed ridiculous considering it was more like a buffet than the snack table Mildred called it.

While things were calm, he looked over to Tallyho and Dorian and caught part of the conversation. He unfortunately wasn't paying enough attention to know that Dorian went anywhere last night, but Tallyho did and asked the March Warrior about it. Dorian answered that he saw a new part of the Rose Kingdom. When and how did he do that? Kyle wished he could find a way to get out of this gilded cage and look around. "Where did you go?"

The dance was probably the most fun he'd had in a long time.

Gregarious setting where he could still flit from person to person and get his own space if need be? No politics to worry about? Drinks all around?

Harper reveled in it.

At some point he sauntered over to Xabi and the others, (the fact that Morgan was with them certainly not playing into his reasoning) and danced first with Skylar, very briefly with Morgan, and then not long enough with Xabi.

And he got drunk. Oh so drunk. It took every ounce of will-power not to make-out with every person present.

Flirting, however, was a free for all, and he did so with everyone in his drunken, blurry sight.

The next day brought a hangover like a hammer. The kind only coffee could control. Or the closest thing they had to it. A bitter drink that was more tea than anything, but Harper downed it and drank water like a fish as people ferreted around him, sticking him with pins other sharp things as they fitted his suit.

It was a nice suit. A tailcoat. Greens and blues like the ocean, a gradient from top to bottom growing darker and darker with a shiny, pearl-ish fabric for the foam on the waves that sprayed up against his shoulders, which greatly resembled a certain Japanese woodblock print. The buttons were of actual pearl, and smaller grains of them dotted the shirt underneath in vertical columns. His hair was parted and tamed with a sap stronger than any hair-gel he'd ever used back home. Each curl and wave perfectly situated.

He felt like an art piece. He wanted to walk right into the MoMA and present himself for gallery viewing. Even his shoes were snappy, so dark a blue they were almost black, with even smaller pearls across the tongue. After the outfit had been complete, he'd immediately bee-lined for Xabi, showing off the coat, and dropping compliments with not so subtle innuendos to the younger boy.

Edna Mode ruined the mood with instructions. Sip don't gulp. Raise your hands in the air like you just don't care. But actually care this time. Don't run away and don't ruin your clothes.

And then they were divided. And whatever euphoria Harper had felt at the snappy clothes and Xabi were immediately dashed as he was shuffled off into a room with the kid who's only wish seemed to be for his demise.

I don't like you but since we're stuck with each other we have to work together Harper thought in his head sarcastically, Kyle's voice distorted into an exaggerated mimic, My name's Kyle and I hate your guts and would kill you but I won't. Try to be more like me.

Skylar and Dorian should have made this better, but Dorian was off with Tallyho and his diamond majesty was hovering around his other friend for whatever reason, which only left Gwen, who through all these years he still hardly knew. He was surprised he remembered her name. For the longest time she was just The Asian Girl with the Knife.

If he could switch her out for Xabi this would be perfect.

But perfection rarely comes to those who ask for it, and right now Harper was painfully aware of how excluded he was. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd been spending so much time with Xabi, or if maybe this was how it always was.

But then his eyes focused on Kyle and Skylar. No. This hadn't always been this way. It used to be Harper and Skylar. For three goddamn years it had been Harper and Skylar. And he'd be damned if he let this blond kid with anger problems butt his way in between.

Besides, Kyle probably wouldn't punch him or anything now. That would ruin his clothes. The kid wouldn't want people yelling at him. Or so Harper hoped.

Grin starting on his face, he made up his mind and walked over to Skylar. "I don't want to alarm you," he said, hand on his hip, "But you happen to be in the presence of a great masterpiece. Behold!" He struck a pose, flaunting the jacket, "The Great Wave off Canandaigua! By the brilliant artist Hawkseye!"

Tallyho wasn’t so upset with Dorian after he brought up that hilarious memory. Tallyho was always very nonchalant after drinking, a quiet, somber, rather calm drunk. But Dorian…. Well it was a wonder he could hold his alcohol long enough for it to slither down his throat.
She smirked slightly, her eyes squeezing in the shape of sliced melons, squinted and joyful.
This expression fell however when Kyle joined the conversation. She didn’t particularly mind his entrance but she tended to be a lot happier when exclusively dealing those who she considered to be her good friends. Besides he could have very well spoken to Skylar who he had been obsessively attached to as of late. And perhaps that might have been the best thing to do as Harper began to butt in.
She rolled her eyes. Since the academy it had been increasingly obvious to Tallyho that Skylar liked Harper and that Harper only dealt with Skylar when he had nothing better to do, i.e. mess around with Xabier. And perhaps the reason Tallyho didn’t think much of Skylar was because all this time it seemed like she continually opened herself up to Harper and let him back into her life only to be tossed aside again and again like a piece of trash. At least that’s how Tallyho saw it, especially as someone who considered herself to be in the same (though not nearly as detrimental) situation with Xabier.
In the beginning she was under the impression that they were friends. But of course as time went on he would decline her invitations to dance with her and Falke, or refuse to eat with them. Not to mention his inexplicable distaste for Dorian. But whenever something major happened he wanted to insert himself into her life full-force only to drift away without a warning. It was artificial and Tallyho wouldn’t let herself play that game as long as Skylar had with Harper. She mentally separated herself from that relationship long ago.
And as Harper went on she couldn’t hide the way her brows furrowed, the way she cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips in disbelief.
“Harper,” she began, “what’s wrong with you? You and Xabier?”
That was the most she’d probably ever said to him in one sitting. And though it wasn’t a conversation she was a part of, as a woman she was getting pretty fed up watching this cycle.

If only she had just stopped after the first question.

But she hadn't, and whatever smart-ass response he would have pulled out died in his throat when he heard Xabi's name.

"Wr-wrong? With us?" he repeated, stammering, and laughed. Fake. Defensive. Walls up. Did she know? "There's nothing wrong with us." If anything, it was only the best with them, but he didn't say that.

He leaned as casually as he could against the table of food. "We're just bros...best...best bros."

Of course, with the lack of context that was Tallyho's mind, Harper had no real way of knowing what exactly she was referring to. Even thinking over the question again only brought up their supposedly secret relationship.

"I mean, there's tons of stuff wrong with me," he continued, plucking out some grapes with his tanned fingers, "I think we can all attest to that. He could probably write a book on it," he pointed a finger at Kyle. "But me and Xabi? Nah." He popped a handful of the small fruit into his mouth, shaking his head vigorously, curls dangerously close to coming loose again.

"Nothing wrong there."

He swallowed, and asked, voice still a bit high, but eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. "Why? Do you think something's wrong?"

Tallyho hissed softly, a heavy breath escaping her, mouth pressed tightly and eyes glaring at the ceiling. Was he really doing that? It should hardly be a secret that the two men had at some point rolled in bed with one another. After so much time it was too obvious and honestly it would be trivial for Tallyho to address him about that of all things. In fact she felt her intelligence insulted that he thought she hadn’t a clue.
“I’m not asking what’s wrong with your… personal tastes.” she paused, making eye contact and saying the phrase loudly and clearly to let him know that she obviously picked up on the relationship too. “I’m asking what’s wrong with the both of you as people. Socially. As people who—“
And there went Kyle. Tallyho was interrupted by his outburst. And as the stalky blonde moved with every intention of attacking Harper Tallyho moved too. But between them. Jutting her shoulder backwards at Kyle as to push him back.
“Sit down Kyle,” she said, voice flat and steely. She glared at the couch. She didn’t care what kind of beef they had at that point. Tallyho was just about to say something that she’d harbored within her ever since they walked through the core. Kyle always had his chance to talk. It was her turn. It was her turn.
She refocused on Harper. Dipping her face towards him—the shadows swallowed her cheeks—an ethereal rigidity about it.
“I’m asking what’s so wrong that the both of you can disregard other lives so easily. I’m asking why you’re so bull headed. I’m asking why you treat her (she gestured towards Skylar) like a side dish you only want to acknowledge when you’re deprived of your main course. Why you live your life so blindly to the troubles of others. Why you’re so ready to call Dorian a friend but you hardly care to take the time to learn about what’s going on in his life. Why you always have to absorb situations and twist them to be about its effect on you and you alone. You don’t have the capacity for empathy and I sensed this about you from the first day I met you. From every instance where you’ve stepped on my toe, or trudged into me without acknowledging it, like I’m a piece of dirt! In my culture we believe that evil is in the ordinary. It is not a grand creature with claws and fiery breath, it is prosaic. It is man. It is forgetfulness. Neglect. A lack of empathy. A lack of consideration. Evil is accidental but it is still evil. Evil is you.”
Tallyho silenced. Smoothing the festering blaze within her.
“I would say that you act so soulless sometimes… But it seems you do that <i>all</i> of the time. And from what I can tell you wouldn’t care if every last one of us were murdered right before you. Because everything is perfect for Harper if he has his current preoccupation. And that preoccupation is safe in Harper’s world… at least until Harper gets bored with it and throws it away with the rest of the trash.”
Tallyho did not storm off or stand there festering. Instead she turned, making a slow, dignified walk to the food table. Almost as if her outburst had never occurred silencing herself with a grape to the lips.

Skylar couldn’t remember the last time she had actually been this happy. Between the months spent at sea followed by their prison stay before the flock, she’d felt trapped. Even in the aftermath of their victory, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but empty.

But as the days passed, she found herself starting to act like her old self again. Her laughter became more genuine, smiles less fake. And while it would take a while before things were back to normal, she felt like she could finally live again.

Skylar watched with a bemused expression as Autumn happily pranced out onto the dance floor with Morgan. She could tell that the November warrior seemed a lot happier too, the thought bringing a smile to her face. Autumn’s positivity was one of the things she loved the most about her friend, and to see her back to her cheerful self only made Skylar happier.

It was Kyle who drew her attention away from the others, the younger blonde taking her hand and kissing it. She felt her cheeks flush at the unexpectedly blunt gesture.

"Are you sure you don't want to dance? Will you dance with me?"

A shrug rolled off of her shoulders as she nodded. “Sure, why not? I’m not very good to begin with, try not to laugh too hard!”

She considered the evening a victory, having danced with both Kyle and Harper without tripping over the skirt of her gown.
Things really were starting to look up.

-

If Skylar had thought that the previous night’s ball was extravagant, nothing could have ever prepared her for the next day.
Mildred seemed to have taken her already neurotic tendencies to a whole new level, doing everything in her power to make sure than things were perfected to her liking before the festivities were to begin.

Skylar shifted in her gown as she listened to the older woman’s instructions. She had never been one to play pretend growing up, yet all the fuss seemed to make up for the lack of sparkly princess costumes and tacky plastic crowns in her childhood.
The dress was beautiful, and she had to hand it to Mildred- she didn’t know how the woman came up with such gorgeous creations in such a seemingly short amount of time. The dress was an emerald green with a sweetheart neckline and a beaded empire waist, the skirt loose and flowing. The sleeves were capped and covered in the same silver beading, leaving her shoulders bare. It seemed to hit her in all the right places, accentuating her slight curves and fitting her perfectly (which she was incredibly grateful for- her hours spent as a human pin cushion didn’t seem to have been in vain). Her hair was fairly simple in contrast to the elaborate dress. Her hair had been braided to create a crown around the top of her head, a sparkly silver and emerald clip holding it together while the rest of her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back, smaller sparkly clips scattered throughout.

Skylar followed the others off to the waiting room, wishing that Autumn was with them as well. At least the separating of the warriors would finally give her some alone time with Harper. She barely saw him anymore, the older warrior always with Xabier.

In the midst of everything that had happened the night before, Skylar hadn’t even noticed that Dorian had left the ball. Catching the tail-end of his conversation with Tallyho (was it really eavesdropping if they were all stuck in the same small room together?), she gathered that he had managed to escape the festivities.

Kyle had been hovering around near her since they had arrived, offering to get her anything she wanted from the table of food. It was very sweet, and his behavior paired with his blonde hair reminded her a lot of a Golden Retriever puppy.

Skylar turned at the sound of Harper’s voice, lips turning up into a smirk. She did have to admit, he looked incredible- they all did, actually. Before she could open her mouth, Tallyho spoke up.

“Harper, what’s wrong with you? You and Xabier?”

It was surprising to hear the February warrior speak up, especially to Harper. In fact, it was probably the most she had ever heard her say to him.

Harper’s voice lacked the usual confidence as he stuttered out a reply, and Skylar tilted her head slightly. Before she could add anything to the conversation, Kyle was shoving Harper and Skylar was suddenly caught in the middle of the two water warriors.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t agree with Tallyho to an extent, especially when the slender blonde nodded in her own direction as she was addressing Harper. Skylar had never really considered the two of them friends, they had different social circles and remained civil towards each other, but it seemed almost as if she was standing up for her, saying the things that Skylar couldn’t bring herself to say out loud. Unlike Kyle, who was quick to show emotion in his voice, Tallyho’s voice remained flat and steely as she confronted the older male. She finished, simply walking off as if nothing had happened.

Skylar wasn't quite sure what to do or say next, biting down on her lip.

His change of topics had apparently worked, Dorian thought victoriously as Tallyho awarded him with a slight smile, her eyes crinkling with contained mirth (he really would have to ask her what in the Hell he'd done that night, even if he was relatively sure it was a secret she'd take to the grave). And in that moment, everything was alright. Not perfect, of course not perfect, with his too-tight pants, the upcoming ceremony, and the fact that there was a palpable tension settling over the room, but sitting here with Tallyho and reminiscing, he felt content. This content feeling lasted all of ten seconds as Kyle's voice interrupted their temporary lull in conversation.

It occurred to Dorian then and only a handful of people wouldn't be particularly surprised that he'd left with Trent last night. Tallyho wouldn't, even if she disapproved, and Haru and Ryou were well aware of the fact that the General preferred Dorian to the rest of the group. There was something sad about the fact that his teammates had no idea what he was up to on a regular basis, and he wasn't sure if that was his fault for not advertising it or theirs for not noticing. Tallyho knew at least, even if he hadn't told her about the first hunting expedition with General Cress. She'd caught his eye at the shocking "hello" he'd given him at breakfast with the royal family, had attempted to do the same again when Trent had chatted him up at the ball for some time before whisking him away to a land of bar fights and booze. He stuffed the thought away, as he did with most of the many unpleasant thoughts involving the group these days, and turned to Kyle to reply.

Or, rather, to try to reply because before he could do much more than open his mouth to speak, Kyle had quite suddenly pushed Harper bodily away from Skylar and Tallyho was grasped onto the moment to say what he knew she'd wanted to say for a long, long time. It was like an intervention had begun in the time it was going to take for the ceremony to start.

Harper's response had Dorian staring at him in disbelief. There was something inherently insulting about Harper's quick and fumbled excuses. This was partially because Dorian considered himself a rather modern thinker who couldn't care less about preferences- and that was even before he'd spent such a long time with Ryou who didn't care to keep his fondness of the male sex any big secret- and also because he wasn't stupid. Did he really think that he and Xabier were that good at keeping it secret? That no one had noticed their little flirtations or that fact that they almost always ran off together? It was about as secret as the fact that Dae and Liam were probably already married or that Haru was constantly on the verge of actually exploding from a combination of anger and stress. Or, you know, maybe it wasn't that obvious if the way Kyle whirled on Harper meant anything. Dorian pulled himself to his feet, not moving towards anyone, but instead poised to react. Also, he realized as he tugged idly at one pant leg, standing was a whole Hell of a lot more comfortable at the moment.

Were they really going to start a fight right before the big ceremony? Really? Couldn't they at least wait until afterwards? No one would give two shits if they did it afterwards- or, you know, Dorian wouldn't give two shits at least-, but someone was sure to start asking questions if two of the month warriors came in with bloody noses or black eyes, and worse if Mildred caught wind of it.

But Tallyho was not to be deterred from her mission to finally tell Harper like-it-was, silencing Kyle with a steely voice and a sharp glare before advancing on Harper herself, her weapons words not fists. She wielded them with all the elegance and practice of one who's been keeping it all in for far too long. Two stabs were for the two people in the room frozen where they stood, Dorian watching in a stunned silence and Skylar biting her lip uncertainly. The rest were for Tallyho and others who had dealt with his antics in the past, a flurry of painful truths and burning hate tumbling from her lips. At last there was silence as Tallyho moved to the snack table, popping a grape absently into her mouth.

Dorian, who'd dealt with all of them long enough to realize that there were approximately three ways Harper could react to Tallyho's accusations if his past records meant anything, smoothly moved to stand in front of the door, leaning against the heavy wood with an elegance that came more from the way his outfit forced his body to move as opposed to any natural grace. The door was their only exit and as much as he'd like the situation to diffuse itself, he couldn't really have anyone storming off in a huff.

Harper was wrong.

Clearly it was Tallyho who could write a book on shit that was wrong with him.

His face was a mask as the blonde hurled flaw after flaw at him. Why this? Why that? Why why why why why.

For a change, he listened. Really listened to each word. Each black mark against him. He wanted to know what exactly he had done to the February warrior that had her so pissed off at him. Because as far as he knew, there really shouldn't be any bad blood between them at all.

And there it was. He'd stepped on her toe apparently. Or bumped into her. Apparently it was evil to be a basic human being. Or, in this case, to be him. Clearly the cyclopeans were nothing compared to him. He was the true evil here.

He'd been called worse things.

But it was the last few sentences that really pissed him off. How sure she sounded. If it was Dorian or Skylar, maybe he'd take them seriously. But this was from a girl he was hardly friends with, talking like she knew him.

Well, what the hell did she know?

His first instinct was to drop a one-liner and then make a break for it. But he heard footsteps, and his eyes slid over to Dorian, blocking their only exit. Eliminating that plan.

Harper hated confrontation. But he hated strangers who acted like they knew him even more. And while Tallyho wasn't exactly a stranger, she was certainly no friend of his. And in no position to act like she knew the first thing about him.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenching. He glanced at Skylar first. "Is that how you feel?" he asked, "Like a side dish?"

"And you?" he turned to face Dorian, "I can't call you friend because I don't push my nose into your business?"

He whipped back to Tallyho. Standing by the food. Eating. Like she hadn't said anything. God, what a bitch.

"That's a pretty in-depth analysis for someone who's said a maximum of twenty words to me over the past three years," he snarled, "I'm evil, huh? Is that it? I'm evil because I accidentally don't pay attention to you or where I'm walking? I'm evil for making mistakes? How about the time I taught you to swim, huh? Was that a 'lack of consideration'?"

He spat those words out, voice high in mockery. "You know," he continued, shaking a finger as he stepped towards her, "You talk about a 'lack of empathy', but who was it that called a fucking ambulance for your sorry ass after you fell out of that tree in the first place? Me, princess. And in case you still don't know, an ambulance is a vehicle with medics. And who was it that was telling everyone else to not crowd you? To give you space? Yeah, that was also me. But you probably forgot. How convenient. Wasn't that one of your evils? Forgetfulness? Oh, I guess that means you're evil too, now."

He rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. He took a breath. He was a fast-talker to begin with, and anger added a heavier dimension to his words. Like he was stomping through the earth with his voice.

"And on that note, I didn't exactly see any empathy being thrown my way when I was having a panic attack up the mountain. You think I was freaking out because I wanted to? I have acrophobia! You know what that means? You know how he is in closed places?" he jabbed a finger at Kyle, "That's me with heights. I still have fucking nightmares about that, and it was three years ago. But I guess it's okay to not care about the guy who doesn't care about anyone else, right?"

"You want to call me evil?" he asked, throwing out his arms, voice back to a reasonable volume, "Fine. Soulless? I'll add that to the ever-growing list of shit I've been called in the past. Which, oh by the way, has a lot worse stuff. But don't you ever..."

And here his voice took a turn for the dark. The serious. No high tones. No laughter. No mirth. A finger pointed at her, the muscles arcing from his wrist to his cheek tight as a guitar string.

"Don't you ever fucking say I wouldn't care if you guys were killed in front of me! Because if that had even an ounce of truth to it, I would not be here. In this room. With you!"

He swallowed, throat raw from shouting. He felt like his skin was on fire. Red with heat. Red with anger. For a few seconds he let those words echo out, chest heaving up and down as he breathed.

"So here's a piece of friendly advice," he finally concluded, "Next time you want to read a bitch, do your fucking research and tell me something I don't already know!"

Like flicking a switch, he moved from Tallyho to Kyle. "As for you," he said, and he took a defiant step next to Skylar, "Don't forget that we were bff's before you even considered entering the picture. I've taken a lot of shit from you, but if you think I'm going to just let you boss me around where my bestie's concerned, you're clearly delusional. If I'm going to be a bad friend, I do it on my own terms. Not because some short blond with a hard-on for punching me in the face told me to."

He considered putting an arm around Skylar's shoulder, but refrained. Sheepishly. He knew those words from Tallyho had some truth in them.

"Oh, and for the record," he continued, winding down from the summit of furiousness to the valley of sarcasm, "Xabi is a nickname for Xabier. It's not that hard to figure out."

At this point, he didn't even care if he got punched. This time, he was going to return it. He'd already clenched his fist.