Ecliptic Ástron

The afternoon is thick with the quiet hush of falling rain, The car hums softly along the wet asphalt, tires whispering through puddles as Sangre drives with careful ease. Each droplet tapping softly against the windshield is like a secret being whispered through the tap of your shoulder, it makes the glass shimmers under streaks of blurred light, streetlamps bleeding into hazy orbs through the wet barrier. The wiper moves in slow, rhythmic sweeps, clearing just enough to glimpse fogged trees standing tall along the roadside while the vents still puff out warm air, carrying no sound but the comfort of warm air buzzing out with a soft whirring. Sangre reaches over again, but not to touch her face this time, to gently rests his hand on top of hers where it lies on the seat between them, her hand still on her phone. His fingers are smooth, cared for by routines of care and attention to the small details, and they curl softly around her own thin metallic fingers without squeezing too tight, silently celebrating with her that someone finally got something right for once. His focus split gently between the road ahead and the quiet warmth of her hand in his. The rain hasn’t eased yet, but it’s gentler now, a steady hush rather than a downpour. Outside, nature blurs into soft silhouettes—the trees like shadowy sentinels guarding their path.

“D: y:u haVe s:mething in mind that y:u wanna d: when we get there?”

He brings up as his thumb gently rubs circles over her prosthetic hand as he keeps the other hands casually around the bottom half of the steering wheel. Shes usually very hesitant let people holds onto her prosthetics, the metal cold unlike her natural remaining skin on her. But he’s never treated it as anything other than her hands, even if it was rigid and chilled, quiet affection wrapped in a simple touch. Her fingers twitching under his like she wasn’t sure they were allowed to respond, but she gently turns her palm up beneath his and let their fingers interlace with metal against skin and in a rare gesture between them, she didn’t flinch seal like a sting to her hands when there’s physical closeness with someone who cared about her.

"...Im thinking… we just relax in his room…” She swallowed hard before answering. "And... maybe sit outside? If there's a balcony… and it’s not raining anymore…”

“S:unds perfect.”

He whispers back under his breath to her as he keeps a hold on her still. A simply day with the people you wanted around sounded much better to him than any forced party she might be subjected to back at her home. If simplicity she wants that’s what she’ll get, and he wouldn’t let that ever get in his way of making her happy on the day that matters to him the most. Inside feels like its own little world, and his thumb keeps tracing those small circles over her metal fingers, a rhythm so natural he doesn’t even think about it anymore. He felt how stiff she is at first with the tension in her shoulders common but when she had turned her hand up beneath his and let their hands fully interlace? Something inside him glows faintly. Sangre doesn't say anything more after, simply smiling at himself as he lifts their joined hands briefly toward his mouth without taking eyes off roadway, a single kiss landing on top knuckles where skin meets steel.

As they enters the main downtown, the city feels different, hardened by the relentless icy grip of the downpour where the sharp smell of wet asphalt rises from the streets below. Thick streaks of driving rain slice diagonally through the air, hitting the flat gravel rooftops with a rhythmic, deafening roar and sending freezing spray splashing against cold brick walls. The area usually alive with honking taxis and chattering crowds, and down in the canyons of the intersection the low hum of traffic is muffled under a heavy silver-gray veil, and the glossy black pavement reflects the dim, watery glare of headlights. The air itself bites at exposed skin of anyone standing outside, not just from rain slanted in furious sheets driven sideways by gusts howling between buildings, but from that sharp wind slicing through skyscraper alleyways. Each droplet hits pavement with a crisp snap, creating thousands of tiny sound effects across every surface: metal roofs echo like drums; gravel crunches underfoot if anyone dared walk outside; fire escapes rattle their rusted frames like ghosts shaking chains. Streetlights blur into long streaks, yellow halos smeared by water as they cast reflections on slick roads where cars crawl slowly behind each other’s taillights: red glows stretching forward through fogged windshields. No one lingers out for long, not even delivery drivers or street vendors who normally brave weather to sell.

The classic black car sits now parked around the tall rise buildings, its sleek shape timeless with there white-walled tires. The paint shines despite being drenched, polished even under wet the conditions, a relic cared for by a family who appreciates its history. The architecture sits mixed between brick facades with worn but elegant detailing and concrete structures that betray newer additions blending into urban fabric over time, creating and image steeped in the melancholy charm of a city caught mid-storm. A few windows above glow faintly through curtains behind fogged up glass, people inside safe from weather while outside world drowns quietly in the diagonal rain slashing across, each droplet glistening against asphalt and car hoods. There’s nothing cheerful about it because this hasn’t turned into soft spring rain, but a drench of the late fall season, relentless and thick, turning streets into dark rivers.

The tires crunched against the wet curb as Sangre killed the engine, parking just shy of the sidewalk. Before the vehicle even fully settled, he was moving. He slid his hand behind the driver's seat, his fingers wrapping around the familiar grip of a black umbrella. He snapped it open with a sharp click the instant his boots hit the pavement. Heavy rain drummed as he splashed through the growing puddles, heedless of the water swirling around his thick soles. He rounded the hood in a hurry, stepping off the curb to reach the passenger side. Grabbing the handle, he swung the door wide and immediately tilted the umbrella low, creating a tight shield against the weather. He angled it perfectly, ensuring that when she stepped out, not a single drop of rain would touch her dark hoodie or sleeves. It was the absolute least he could do. Seeing her standing out in the storm alone, shivering with nothing but a thin hoodie for protection, had left him feeling a sharp, lingering guilt. This small shield against the elements was his way of making amends for not having arrived sooner to shield her from the elements. Out she pulled herself of the car, and his hands locked in hers, gently guiding her up to the curb. Together, they walked up the front steps of the apartment complex and entered the main lobby. Umbrella open the whole time even as they enter before he feels comfortable enough to close it up. The sharp chill of the air conditioning hit them instantly, contrasting them with a different kind of chill compared to the rain outside, the polished terrazzo floor reflected the soft glow of a dim lights overhead, casting quiet shadows across the empty reception desk. She let out a soft breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her fingers tightening around his as the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing out the noise of the city streets.

Each flight of stairs pressed a dull ache deeper into their thighs and calves as they climbed higher into the concrete stairwell. The apartment complex completely lacked elevators, so this architectural oversight meant anyone visiting was forced to endure a grueling, vertical hike. Complaining would not lower the summit though, so saving their breath, they slowed their pace, placing one heavy foot deliberately in front of the other to get to the floor they wanted to reach.

“…What’s up with… stairs?”

Virada comments as they follows closely behind her boyfriend, his hair partially bouncing with every step they pass.

“What d: y:u mean?”

He interjects, intrigued by the sudden dialogue. Any chance to hear her thoughts was a treat for him.

“Like… why would we keep making stairs… when we’ve made the technology… to bring us up in… other ways?”

Sangre nods back, letting her go on as they continue to scale the complex.

“Wouldn’t this also… make it inconvenient for anyone who doesn’t want… to use the stairs? Like… if I’m taking home groceries, the last thing I wanna do is… scale up to get home… and still have to put everything away still…”

“N:t t: menti:n any:ne wh:’s disabled.”

He points out to Virada as he keeps a pace in front of her, looking over his shoulder to check on her for a quick moment before continuing facing forward. The stairwell echoes with each step, concrete underfoot with metal handrails cool to the touch. The air grows slightly warmer as they ascend through layers of the building, carrying faint traces of cooking smells from apartments: garlic, maybe onions sizzling in a pan somewhere below. Every flight brings another dull throb, Sangre’s calves tightening subtly while Virada focuses on not rushing with breath steady but noticeable now after climbing six flights already.

With every grueling step they took up those concrete stairs, they dragged their exhausted bodies closer to the door they had worked so hard to reach. The muscles in their legs burned like hot ash, and their lungs screamed for fresh air that simply did not exist. Hanging just above the doorbell was a sleek metal label bearing the number 963, signifying the ninth level and the sixty-third unit on this floor. The complex was less of a building and more of a human hive. Hundreds of cramped, identical homes were packed tightly against one another in endless, claustrophobic rows, separated only by thin walls that bled the muffled sounds of whatever every day noises you’d expect from households, televisions, children, talking. It wasn’t a chaotic run down mess of a complex, but one packed with its residents instead. The only way to reach your designated sliver of space was to scale your way up, level by brutal level, through the dim stairwells and the smell of stale metal. They stood frozen in front of the door, their shadows stretching long across the shined wooden floors as Sanger lifted his hand with fingers hovering just inches away from the plastic doorbell before pressing down to let it ring inside of the home.

[S] Ding dong

We’re back to Virada, the girl we were following before, and now she stands out just outside of her bedroom door in the upstairs hallway. In her left hand she holds a hoodie, a plain navy blue one to put on her before she takes herself outside to face the rain, not wanting to get too wet while she’s out there waiting for her ride. Down the other hall is her parent’s bedroom along with the upstairs bathroom and it sits with the light off, shrouding the hall in darkness. She usually used the downstairs bathroom more often since her parents used the one across their room, but she preferred to have that personal space for herself for… multiple reasons. But down the hall she goes, passing through fob webs to make her way to the stairs so that she can scale them down to get to the first floor of the house.

The house is quiet, too quiet.

Virada’s booted feet press softly against the wooden stairs, each step creaking just a little. The living room below is dark, and she stares down the staircase to scan the, wanting to make sure that no one is down there as she attempts to sneak out. Shes never done this before, and it’s not something she’d like to be caught doing, especially not by who she believes is still home… A floorboard groans under her weight as she reaches halfway down, looking beside herself as she defends. Two posters are hung on the wall just beside the steps, the closest being one for a role-playing community her parents were a part of, the other from a movie her father loved. She wasn’t one to judge people’s interest, thats not her place. At the bottom of the first set of stairs lay some dice on the floor tucked to the corner, a signature breadcrumb of her other prenatal figure in the house. There is no light except for the dim glow of something left on standby, casting a faint blue light across the couch, where a figure sits spread across the sofa.

The figure on the couch shifts slightly, their silhouette half-lit by the faint blue glow from the screen from their cellular device as they adjust on the couch that they take up to relax gainer it. It was her mom, probably on her phone to either doom-scroll through the internet or talking to her friends. She was sprawled out in his usual way with her legs stretched long across the cushions to rest on the armrest on the opposite end of the cough, thick boots hanging casually. She doesn't move right away when Virada steps down, the creak soft enough that she must have dismissed it as settling house noise… or maybe not noticed at all yet. But if she takes another step? Another breath too loud? She’ll turn her head, and they’ll see one another face to face as she stares her down in the dim light of the home, the silence thick enough to choke on. She didn’t want to be noticed, not now, not ever.

The soft blue light flickers slightly as her thumb scrolls down her phone, eyes half-lidded in that lazy, predatory focus she always had, and she doesn’t turn or react— yet. Virada attempts to take another small step, the floorboard softly groaning louder this time, making her freeze in place. The house isn't silent anymore, but it's holding its breath like the rest of them might snap if someone moves wrong, and she watched as he moms head lifts, just a little to the side turning toward the staircase with deliberate calm. Her horns catch the dim glow first, a sharp silhouette against her dark hair as she stares at the stairs for a good moment out of her peripheral vision, her piercing eyes scanning upwards to the top of the steps. Virada is halfway down the kitchen hall as her mother stares up, her hoodie too big for her frame stilling hanging on halfway through her neck as the silence thicker than blood holds between a mother and child after everything they’ve been through together… and apart...

In the kitchen she stands now, having pulled the hoodie over her neck and down to rest on her body. The room is just as dark as the rest of the house, and on the counter sits the cake that her father mentioned he made for her back when he came to check on her upstairs. The cake sits on the counter, pristine and modestly decorated with red velvet icing swirled just right on every little end of the corners for slicing. No candles sit on it yet, probably since there would be no celebration because of her father’s work day, but still left out for her to eat if she’d like. It’s smaller than most regular bakery cakes, but still complete in its production even if it wasn’t professional. It’s clear that he put effort in.

The empty bowl he used to stir the ingredients together is still sitting in the sink beside the table, soapy water sitting where there was once cake mix. Along side by the countertop, a box of cake mix he got to make the birthday treat. It was evidence he actually made this himself instead of buying something cheap last minute like usual. Yeah, he didn’t forge the ingredients from the molecules of the bread of whatever you need to bake, but she still appreciates it anyway. It shows he tried. She knows she’s not gonna be able to finish this all before she goes, so the nicest thing she can think to do for now, is simply put it away so it doesn’t go stale.

Virada hesitates before moving closer, reaching into a cabinet beside the fridge and grabs a clean plastic wrap from its roll. Gently, carefully, she lifts the cake plate and wraps it tightly to seal out air and humidity, her prosthetic fingers moving with practiced precision. There is no clatter or drop of the pastry despite how nervous her hands are beneath all that silence pressing down around her. The plastic wrap sticks slightly to the icing on a tiny corner, but she doesn’t panic, smoothing it down with her thumb, careful not to smudge anything. Everything’s still, no sound from upstairs of footsteps or voice calling out.

She places the wrapped cake carefully onto the middle shelf of the fridge, ensuring it sits in a secure spot where it won’t dry out or get crushed before tomorrow. She shuts the door with practiced quietness, and the warm light inside flickers off on its own automated sensor as the seal meets the frame. She watches the illumination die, leaving her staring at the collection of dull fridge magnets facing her in the dim room.There are no handwritten notes left behind by her dad on the fridge on those magnets. No leftover coffee sits warming in the glass pot by her usual spot near the corner cabinets. The only thing filling the kitchen is a heavy, suffocating silence, masked with the white noise of the rain outside. It feels like an open pathway leading straight through the back door toward the freedom waiting beyond this roof— a roof that, despite the years spent under it, had never felt quite like home anyway.

The last room before she reaches the outside is the laundry room, which holds nothing of interest to her. It is a small space with a washing machine and dryer stacked in one corner. The opposite corner houses a hamper and a detergent cabinet, providing all the basic necessities for washing clothes. The only reason this room matters to her now is its door to the backyard, which allows her to sneak out without using the far more obvious front door. It’s a nice little space for a break, for her and possibly whoever follows. Just as she pushes the glass door to the backyard, she pulls up the hood of her hoodie, making sure her horns easily slide in as the rain starts to hit against her boots.

The cool night air hits her face the second she steps outside: damp, fresh, and carrying the scent of wet grass and pavement. Rain falls in a steady downpour, pattering against her hoodie’s fabric and taps softly on her horns sticking out of the navy blue hood. The backyard is dark except for one flickering porch light near the back door, a small yellow glow fighting through mist. She doesn’t look back at the house, no hesitation now or second-guessing, even if her ride isn’t here yet. She hopes it’ll be sooner than later, because the text said that he left just about ten minutes ago, but her standing out here in there freezing wet isn’t something she would want to have to deal with.

Shes grateful that her hope is answered sooner than later though…

A car glides to a stop just outside her home, being the ride that she expects. The window rolls down a fraction, revealing a pair of dark purple sunglasses cutting through the grey rain to lock eyes with her. Shielding her face with her arms, she breaks into a mad dash through the downpour. She rounds the hood, flings open the passenger door, and ducks inside, quickly hauling her legs into the dry cabin and shutting out the storm. The car door slams shut behind her with a solid thud, sealing the roar of rain outside into muffled pattering against the roof. Inside, it’s warm, blessedly dry, and smells faintly of car air fresheners. The heater is on low, casting soft pulses of warmth across her soaked hoodie, making her sigh back as she leans back against the leather seat.

Her boyfriend sits as the driver, his long dark hair spiky against the green of his jacket feathers. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply adjusting their sunglasses slightly before reaching over to turn up the heat for Virada without comment. His eyes flick toward them briefly through those tinted lenses, assessing and concerned… but not prying yet. He lets her simply sit without the immediate attention brought to her, letting her get comfortable and dry off as she starts his car. Quiet solidarity as they shift gears and pull slowly away from curb, leaving her house, and whatever tension was inside it, increasingly far behind.

“Y:u ready t: talk baby?”

Sangre whispers out to her as she pulls her phone out to her pocket to click it unlocked and check her notifications while sitting beside him in the car. He doesn’t push, he never does. Instead, he let her just exist for a moment, scrolling through her phone with quiet focus while water starts drying out from her damp hoodie sleeves near the vents blasting warm air. The glow of her screen paints faint blue reflections on her reading glasses, the only light in an otherwise dim cabin lit by only its headlights and passing streetlamps outside. He hears a notification pop up but doesn't react much beyond a slight tilt of his head before looking to the road, not pressuring, just waiting.

“Yeah… sorry… I’m just… letting Conall know we’re… on our way…”

Sangre gives a small nod, eyes still on the wet road ahead as streetlights blur past in golden streaks and he reaches over without looking to gently brush a few damp strands of hair from her forehead before returning his hand back to the wheel. No pressure in the touch either, just affection— quiet reassurance that she’s okay, they’re okay. The car rolls steadily forward through rain-slicked streets toward downtown, the trail slightly bumpy as they drive further away from the tense homes and toward natural warmth. And when she finally puts her phone down? Sangre will ask again, but only if she seems ready this time.

“I um… I snuck out for the first time… that was scary.”

She weakly chuckled back to him as she lets her shoulders slightly slump against the seat of the car as she looks back up to the windshield, the drops of rain drumming against the glass. The way she mentioned it told him everything: the exhaustion of tension, the relief of escape, and that tiny spark of pride beneath it all because she did it. She actually snuck out on her own without permission or approval from anyone who normally controlled her movements, and she made it to safety.

“Really?”

He hums back to her again as he keeps his attention to the road, his expression softens for just for a second behind those dark purple lenses. He doesn’t laugh or tease her for being scared, or call it dramatic like some people might’ve, he just listens.

“Y:u feeling :k after that?” She nods to him back, her eyes behind her glasses grazing from the road to her lap where her phone sits. “G::d.”

Sangre replies quietly with no boastful praise. His fingers glide to turn up the radio slightly, some ambient synth track playing low through his car speakers, something calm and pulsing with bass you could feel more than hear over rain. He doesn’t expect any big conversation right now, just a drive together while she decompresses after stepping away from home.

“I… I saw that my dad actually… made me a cake this year…” She starts up again after a moment of silence stretching on with the bass pulsing softly through the old car as they slide down the wet roads. “I can’t… remember… the last time I… saw a cake for my birthday. I didn’t eat it though… but… I hope it’s there when I get back…”

Sangre’s jaw tightens, just a fraction, but it’s enough. He remembers all the birthdays Virada had missed, all because the people in her house were either too busy too, or didn’t bother to make something. To take a moment to sing her happy birthday or even remember her age changed at all. He knows how much that kind of shit hurts, especially when you’re already used to being invisible in your own home. So when she tells him her father, a man who wasn't always around physically, had made her a cake? He knew that meant something to her.

“Red VelVet?”

He asks softly after a beat, the question simple but intentional, as if confirming what flavor it was without making it about feelings yet. He’s giving her space to keep talking if she wants.

“How’d… you know?”

She peeks over to him out of the corner of her glasses as a weak grin pulls at her cheeks for a flash, the muscles in her jaw making the gold dahlia bites on her lips pull up. The small grin also makes her buck teeth show off a little more, the sharp ends similar to an alligators due to their troll genetics seeping through, but he doesn’t mind it, not at all.

He still finds her so gorgeous, even if she can’t see it.

Sangre’s lips quirk up too, just barely a smile that only shows at the corners, hidden mostly by his dark bangs and the shadow of his sunglasses.

“Because I know y:u, and thats y:ur faV:rite.” A pause, then in a quieter tone “Seems he remembered it as well.”

I’m posting this a bit later than it had happened, but we reached 10 hearts in Msfpa! That might not seem like a lot, but any progress is progress, and I appreciate any sort of support given to my personal project. Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and I hope you continue to stick around!

Much love,

Before him stretched the main floor, the double front doors ahead glistening from recent waxing. And beyond them? Rain-slicked driveways and garden paths leading toward freedom— toward her. He didn't bother announcing himself or saying goodbye to anyone. No one needed to know where he was going, not that they’d dare question him anyway. Yet he still needed to grab the car keys. He didn’t own his own car, not he could t afford one but he just chose not too. He didn’t travel much, and when he had to, his mom’s weren’t ever using them. He assumes they work from home at this point, because he never seems them leave the house either. But, he had to find out where those keys are, and he’d want to get them in his possession as quickly as he can. Sangre pivoted sharply to start and walk toward the side hallway that led to the private family wing. His mother’s study was there, a cozy but elegant room she used for paperwork and quiet time, that’s where he assumes the car keys usually lived.

The living room smelled of old books and vanilla candle wax, but as he passes the couch the thick smell of alcohol hits his nose, and he turns his head to look down at the source— the sight hitting him like a punch to the gut. There was mother, usually so poised and regal, sprawled across the velvet couch in rumpled pajamas and an arm dangling off the side. She wasn’t simply tired, she was out cold, drunk enough that her breathing was slow and uneven, cheeks slightly flushed beneath her pale skin. He froze for half a second, stepping around quietly, careful not to make noise as he grabbed what he came for: the car keys. No anger flared in him yet, not right now anyway. Not with having different priorities now, but yeah… this? This stung more than it should’ve.

Over he reaches to whet she sleeps on the couch to dug around her to see if she potentially had the keys on her, being careful as she looks through her pockets so that she didn’t end up waking her up. But both pockets of her silk robe came up empty on either sides. No keys, no nothing. He exhaled through his nose, low and quiet not frustrated with her in particular, but more disappointed. She was always so organized, usually kept everything in the same place. The fact that she didn’t even have the keys on her meant they had to be somewhere else. He glanced back at his mother one last time, the rise and fall of her chest steady despite how uncharacteristically vulnerable she looked right now. He was about to give up and look somewhere else for the keys to the car, but a subtle light stars to catch his attention as she stands over this mom. The glow was soft, almost ghostly. A pale white light like moonlight given human form shimmered around a figure standing just behind Sangre.

And then, she appeared fully standing behind him, his Mama. Not the woman on the couch, but one that could almost be described as a spiritual counterpart. A being of quiet grace and ancient warmth with eyes full of love older than bloodlines or time itself.She didn’t speak, her gaze landing gently on him as she observed what he’d been doing— searching through his sleeping mother’s pockets for something important.

“Hi Ma.”

He mumbled back to her as he stuffs his hands into his pockets of his jacket at her appetence behind him, not necessarily scared by her arrival, because he saw her coming before she even appeared behind him.

“Have y:u seen the keys?” He watches as she crosses her arms over her chest for, staring at him back as they kept beside his other mom sleeping. “I’m g:ing :ut t: hang :ut with my girlfriend.”

His mom didn’t blink nor frown, just held that quiet, knowing stare. The kind only a spiritual mother could pull off, partially wisdom and judgment coming from a place of love.

“That’s Fine, I Just Wish You Would Have Came To Me First.”

She wasn't trying to stop him from going, she trust him more than enough, but she simply wished to see him before he ran out of the house, feeling more comfortable knowing specifically where he was off to in such a rush. The air in the living room was still and thick with the quiet weight of parental expectations. His mother didn’t move, her long horns casting soft shadows across the wall as she studied him. His shoulders stay slumped, his tone was low and bland, but that nervous energy he thought was subtle. She exhaled through her nose, a quiet sigh, and without breaking eye contact, she reached to one of the ornate pouches on her belt and pulled out the car keys she kept looped around herself, holding it between her two fingers. He took the keys, his fingers brushing hers as cool and smooth as polished stone. His mother never wore her rings on fingers, but her hands carried centuries of quiet strength in their lines.

“Where Are You Going?”

She asks him as she hands the car keys to him without much of a confrontation, simply curious of his endeavors.

“I’m g:ing to pick my girlfriend up t: take her t: a friend’s h:use. We’re g:nna just hang :ut at their h:me.”

She nodded again, slower this time, processing his explanation, keeping her eyes on him as she talks to her son.

"Which Friend's House?"

she asked calmly as a mother documenting details the way a general maps terrain before sending troops into motion. Her ears twitched slightly beneath her hair, a small tell that she was listening carefully now. Not because she doubted him, but because if something happened? She’d need to know exactly where to go first for him. She didn’t ask for names yet, that would come later, but the address? That was non-negotiable intel. Her eyes flickered toward her when wife briefly for a moment, still asleep on the couch where she’d fallen after midnight She wouldn't wake her unless absolutely necessary, but if something happened to their son, all hells would break loose before anyone could blink twice.

“The um… the :nes that friends with that man with the red jacket,”

He stumbled over his words for a good moment, snapping his fingers as he speaks to try and re-spark his memory while talking with his mother. Even for being childhood friends with the family, the friendships spanning nack before even his birth, he still didn’t know their last names by heart at this point, he just never had a reason to care about it so.

“Y:u know C:nall, the d:g hybrid b:y with his m:m side :f the family.”

His mom’s eyes narrowed just slightly at the mention of his mixed species friends, not because she disliked him, quite the opposite, but because Conall was from a much more… eccentrically chaotic family. And she should know, because his parents are technically family to them as well, even without the blood connection. He was the kind of friend that was a reliable person, but also someone who brought chaos around with him wherever he went too. That’s at least her interpretation of him. But she didn’t say that to her son’s face. She exhaled through her nose again as her gaze lifted back to him fully, assessing his readiness to go on this outing and tagging along with his friends as he does so. Her gaze lifted back to him fully now, assessing his readiness for this outing as if it were a tactical deployment.

“H:w’s m:m?”

He suddenly asks her as he looks back down to his other mom sleeping on the couch for however long she has been passed out, knowing she’s still probably wasted and is going to wake up extremely irritable later on. He definitely didn’t what to be around to handle that himself, but then again it is his mother, and he’s still concerned in a small part of him deep down under his built up through dark layers of fabric. His mother’s gaze followed his to the sleeping figure on the couch, curled under a thick blanket that she had draped over her earlier and one arm dangling off the cushion. Her breathing was deep and even, but there was a slight tension in her jaw, the telltale sign of someone who’d been drinking too much again. Her expression softened just a fraction, not from pity or rage, not yet anyway. Shes weary, the kind that came from loving someone, even if unintentionally, that kept breaking their heart.

"She's Fine," Shes carful to avoid giving any details he didn't need right now. "Just… Tired."

She pauses again as she scans I’ve ever swims face, adding one last comment to her answer to him.

“You Don’t Have To Check On Her If You're Leaving."

Her voice held no judgment for him wanting to leave, she understands, it was better to sometimes be away from facing the negative part of the love of her life that she had to handle. But it’s not because she raised someone that was unsympathetic, not at all. She knows her boy is an Angel under his shell. He was still her sun after all.

“Y:u d:n’t have t: lie to me m:m I’m :ld en:ugh t: kn:w what’s g:ing :n.”

He exhales gently back with his arms crossing arms over his chest slightly, the keys sitting in between his fingers and holding the fob in between his disgusts to rub gently against the metal of the car key.

“I’m just making sure you d:n’t have t: deal with her al:ne bef:re I head :ut…”

His mom really looks at him for a long moment, not just in a way to study him but to see him now that he was in front of her, past as a strategist or a mother, but as a person. She had to remind herself that he isn’t a little boy anymore, and that’s a hard thing to do when she gets used to taking for such a long time. He wasn’t putting any layers up to be defensive to her at all, even despite the crossed arms he bore over his chest. Her face didn’t harden, but tightened, just slightly. The subtle flex of jaw muscles that meant she was swallowing something bitter.

"You're Right, I Shouldn’t Lie To You." she quietly admitted to her son. "She's Been Drinking Since Last Night. Didn't Eat Much Yesterday Either."

She kept her voice low so as not to wake her on the couch, but there was no hiding the exhaustion in it now, thinly veiled beneath calm authority. She reached out without thinking and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, a small gesture from someone usually so reserved with physical affection. Her hand lingered for just a second, warm and calloused from years of work with all kinds of forms of work you could imagine before she let it fall back to her side. She studied him again, dark circles under blacked out purple shades on his eyes that matched hers now as if he walked on in hesitation around the two of them in his entire life, it wasn’t a dramatic expression, but it was shown how it wore him down.

"You Don’t Have To Stay," she repeated gently, not as a way of pushing him out but in making sure he knew that she had all the strength she needed to handle everything. “Go See Your Girlfriend."

There was no resentment in her tone, no anger at Sangre or her wife for being unreliable yet again, just a dull quiet acceptance. Because she has spent lifetimes loving imperfect people, because they still deserved it.

“Ok m:m… I’ll be back s::n.”

Out into the pouring rain he stepped, leaving the shelter of his house behind. He would rarely brave such a severe storm for anyone else, but his girl needed him. No tempest would serve as an excuse to stay inside. There it sat in the driveway, framed by the house fence, as beautiful as ever: a black 1960s Chevrolet. It was the only piece of shelter he would have as he drove for miles to rescue his darling. So in the car he slides himself in, adjusting as best he can his hair and his coat to get comfortable in the thick leather seats to slide the smooth seatbelt over his chest and waist and stab the car with its key and get the engine of this old beauty roaring up as he approaches the fence of his home. He uses a remote opener in the car, slit just above his head on the shader mirrors to allow the fence to slowly open up to the road once more, adjusting the radio in real time to an alternate station as he patiently watches each metal bar on the fence slowly slide behind the marble pillars that posted on each end of the road.

The little 24-hour corner store had a decent snack selection along with a tiny party aisle, and on top of that, was only about ten minutes away on foot. Which is very nice to have when he was stuck in the butt middle of the city unlike his friends who lived more up and out of the town. He walked briskly, mask covering over his mouth and nose and his hands keeping tucked in pockets of his puffy vest. Cake first? Perhaps, but Virada liked simple things, nothing flashy or overly sweet. A small vanilla cake with fresh berries would be perfect, but for a gift… that was trickier. A book? She loved poetry. Maybe he could find one that wasn’t too old. Handmade jewelry? Yeah that’s nice, but he wasn’t super well with having the patience to sit down and work on something that fast and make it come out looking good. Or maybe the vet thing he could do was something soft, like a scarf she could always wear when it got cold? He’d figure it eventually.

— QuesyBunny [QB] started pestering IceBlood [IB] at 11:25 —

[QB] I’m… super scared…

[QB] …Mortified…

[QB] If I go through with it… like really go through with it… I don’t know what will happen to me…

[QB] I wanna go… I really do…

[QB] but… Jesus…

A knot twists in his stomach as his eyes quickly graze the message, keeping his hands fast over the keyboard like a bat out of hell to instantly respond to her.

[IB] You deserve it, you absolutely do.

[IB] don’t let some degenerate like her hold you back.

[IB] you deserve to spend the day specially made for you however the hell you want.

Another answer quickly come through to his phone screen from her.

[QB] No one ever really… wanted me to be happy. Not my mom… not her friends... no one.

[QB] She always wanted something from me…being “stronger”… so they could show me off...

A pause. The typing indicator bounced for a solid minute before her message came in slower, like she was choosing each word with care.

[QB] …You’re the only person who actually seems like… you mean it…

[IB] Of course I do, Cara Mia.

[IB] I always have, and always will.

[IB] You don’t worry about a thing, I’ll be there shortly and I’ll let you know when I arrive.

[IB] I’ll see you in a short moment, my dear.

With that he slides his phone immediately back onto the charger on his nightstand, setting his phone down to start getting himself started on leaving.

He moved quickly as if he stopped, the moment would shatter. First things first, his clothes. He was sitting in his sleepwear and he had to quickly change into his usual attire to be able to go and see his precious. Most would find his incredibly complex routine to get his special aesthetic to a tea to be unnecessary, maybe even a waste of time, but not to him, absolutely not. It was his everything. Off his tshirt goes to make way for his dark moss green dress shirt. He pulls it over his head and down onto his body, buttoning up his neck collar along with the pens around his wrists. Then comes dress pants, pulled up and zipped as his boots are carefully wrapped and tied around his calves, leaving the house without the proper footwear to him should be accounted as a crime, because god damnit— he’s fucking tired of seeing these stupid sacks of meat walking around with socks and sandals and the worst kinds of kicks you could possibly imagine.

Last but not least, his jacket, draped gently over his shoulders and every wrinkle that could have been possible ironed out of the smooth fabric against his back, the kind of smoothness with contrast and color that always made his eyes look darker, more intense. This was his magnum opus of all his jacket, he smooths the feathers against his shoulders out so they sit evenly and he chains the front of his chest closed so that it would fly open when he’s out in the heavy weather.

He glanced at himself in the mirror for half a second, the slid over to lean against the small desk he kept by his door and dug out a specific tube of dark void-like lipstick, taking the tube open and gently glazing the dark color over his lips that was surrounded by the well grinned facial stubble he had over his upper lip and along his chin all the way up to his cheeks. That was the lads part he needed of his look, taking his sunglasses finally off of his coats pocket and sliding them smoothly over his stare and girding his eyes from the world before him. Now he’s ready to go, almost.

Over back on his nightstand he rushes back, grabbing his phone that was charging despite it’s almost full battery and sliding into the inside pocket of his jacket along with the thin wallet tucked into the drawer of his nightstand. Now, last of all, the cherry on top of it all, he slides a single silver ring over his third finger on his main four top digits. His ring finger right on his left hand. Then, without another word, he dashed into the hall of his mansion, his boots clanking softly as he moves pat the massive paintings adorned on the walls of his home.

Oh yes, that is right, he was such in a rush that he’d made no proper room for any sort of formal introductions. You are Sangre, and he are navigating the halls of your parents mansion, which stayed still and silent with the only sound that interrupted them being the echoing of each soft thud of Sangres boots against the marble floors as he moved with purpose down the grand corridor.

The rain storms down against tall arched windows and ceilings of the home, echoing the sound of tapping on glass and roof tiles along with the sound of his boots as he speed walks his way through the house. The darkness was stifled by the light of the candles against the hall walls, glistening light off against the frames of old antique paintings: decorating the ling stretches of space. Most were ancestors, but others were battles, or portraits in gold. He didn’t glance at any of them, knowing every face portrayed through every brush stroke by heart, but he does pause at a single photograph hanging right at the end of the hall, one depriving a gentle and soft scene compared to the images of the family he passed.

It was a wedding photograph, one of his mothers up at the alter together in gorgeous attired appropriate for their marriage. It was framed in polished silver, a rare warmth amidst the cold elegance of the hall. And there she was, his mother, younger and radiant, dressed in a flowing ivory gown with delicate lace. Her smile was soft, nowhere close to perfect or posed for cameras, but completely authentic and full of quiet joy. Beside her stood her bride, his other mother with gentle eyes, her face smooth and holding one of his mother’s hands like they were something sacred, her other hand waved up in the air and holding above the bith of them, greeting to whoever was taking the photo of them on their special day.

They looked at each other like nothing else existed. No politics, no expectations from either of their societies or family legacies pressing down on them that day. Just love, the kind that made people sigh when they saw it because it felt so pure and simple despite how complicated life usually is.

Sangre stopped walking entirely now, the urgency momentarily gone as he stared at that picture frame, not simply just looking but seeing everything encoded into one frozen moment. Love stronger than bloodlines, devotion written across their faces without words needed. The photo always stuck with him every time he saw it, because it made him smile even if just a smidge. It reminded him exactly why he wore that ring on his finger to this day.

He could always feel the radiation of love coming from the image of his mothers in their younger years, the closeness of their physical and emotional sectors connecting in a single monent of connection. It is inspiring, it is exactly what he strives for in his own personal relationship with the love of his life. And he didn’t need any sort of suspension from anyone, because he knew, he already knew in his gut of guts.

As mentioned before, you are Conall, and he is now standing in his bedroom with his phone closely in his hands, one leg bouncing beside him as he looks over the half written text message he was starting but never sent. With a sigh, he tossed the phone onto his bed. He had deleted the massage he had sitting in the text box quickly after a moment of silence with himself, deciding that he’ll keep his device nearby if she needs him for anything. But in the meantime, he should find something to do while he waits for his friend to show up, because even if she doesn’t like attention on her birthday, she still deserve to have an actual proper party.

His eyes darted around the room thinking of party setups he could do. Balloons, he could tie them to doorknobs that had her favorite color. He could gather snacks perhaps and arrange them arranged neatly. And if she really wanted to, he could possibly run down and get a tiny cake for her, because he’s nowhere close to a culinary expert when it comes to bakery items. The ideas made a soft smile tug at him lips.m, and with that set in mind, he checks around his bedroom to see if there was anything else he could use to set up a little party for her before she arrived. They could figure out some indoor activity to do, because just like him she was a hermit as well, both for kind of the same reason. Conall pushed off the bed and started scanning his room—cabinet drawers, desk clutter, under the bed.

Ah, Score! He yanked out a dusty deck of cards against humanity deck from the forgotten shoebox still in perfect condition. Next, he rummaged through his closet and pulled out two blankets, ones he kept near the furthest back to the closet that he had whenever the weather god really cool in the later seasons of the year. Next up was the music setup, scrolling along through his phone to find a nice playlist to que up with indie bands and rock like she liked. Like they all liked honestly. The soft hum of indie rock begins to fill the cozy apartment, warm guitar riffs weaving through the air. The deck of cars sits neatly on the desk of his, ready for games.

For now? Peaceful prep time.

Out into the hallway he goes to go and grab the snacks that he needed for the hangout, including those infamous brownies that his mom always made. He didn’t personally like the taste of chocolate that much, it always made him feel nauseous, but she always made them anyway, so he would at least give them for his friend. He’s careful not to bother anyone as he walks down tbe hall, slowly making his way into the kitchen like he had needed to.

The hallway is pretty thin, but that’s the price you pay for living in an apartment instead of a house. Not that he cared much really, is he had a roof over his head he could give shit. His room is the at the end of the hall, so he has to pass his parents room to get to the kitchen. Between their rooms sits a simple hall table, holding a lamp and some Squiddles. Your mom’s been crazy about those things, and apparently she’d had them since childhood— He gives props to the dedication. Above the table hangs photos that have been hung up, one of them contains your uncle, but you’re pretty sure that he’s not biologically so, just a haunch though, maybe it’s the complete difference in species. After that is a baby photo of himself, sitting and drinking his bottle.

Guess he was chill back then too.

Just beside that smaller frame sits a photo of a special day for your parents, where they’re legally seen as a unit. He’s never really scared for wedding, he sees them as a waste of money, but you do you. And lastly, beside the other side of the wall after his parents room is a fresh new photo of his little sister. He thinks Shes a pretty cute baby, and it’s crazy to him that shes already 2 years old— he remembers her still as a lil blob out of the hospital.

Conall quietly enters the kitchen and takes note of the brownies that he had expected to find sitting right there on the counter, still warm from being reheated earlier. They smell rich and sweet, despite Conall wrinkling his nose at them. He grabs a Tupperware container and gently scoops in six perfect squares of fudgy brownie goodness, the kind that would make anyone light up when they see them. His mom’s recipe was legendary, even as a non-chocolate lover like him could appreciate. Balancing snacks in one arm he starts to attempt to head back down the hall toward his room.

However, before he’s able to turn back, he gets surprised by his mom, jumping a little and almost dropping the snacks he had grabbed, but thankfully still keeping them balanced.

“Mom— stop doing that you scare me,”

He stammered back out to her as she looks down to him with a smile, her tail softly wagging back and forth against her legs. She noticed the Tupperware in his hands, the brownies. A small smile curled on her lips. She knew he never touched them unless it was for someone else. Conall’s mom chuckled softly, a warm, rumbling sound that filled the kitchen. Her dog-like ears twitched as she tilted her head at him full of affection and quiet amusement.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she apologizes gently, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Without a word, she reached out and gave him a light kiss on the forehead, then glanced at the container again.

“You having a friend over?”

He nods to her back unphased much by the kiss on his forehead. As he rearranged his hold on everything to not drop it on the floor as he talks to his mom.

“Yeah, I’m just having a little hangout,”

He grumbled back to her, not wanting to go into further detail about why he was grabbing so many snacks in the first place. His mom studied him for a quiet second, the way he shifted his weight, the careful grip he kept, how his ears flicked slightly down while under his cap. She had a feeling it was for something larger than a hangout, because he usually didn’t prep beforehand whenever a friend simply came over to spend time with him. Snacks from her kitchen? Music playing in his room in advance? Ohhh yeah, someone had gone all out. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face, the kind that said she’d figured everything out and was already emotionally invested.

“A little hangout… huh?” She repeated softly, teasing laced into her tone. “Must be someone special then.”

A heavy sighs exits her sons nose as he looks back to her with his eras further back than usual. He knows there’s not much of a point in lying, because she always somehow figured it out one way or another, so he just tells her the truth, so that there’s no issues looming over him later on today.

“I am having a little bit of a special hangout— but I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it ok? I know you do that a lot when there’s surprises and stuff.”

His mom blinks before her face lights up like a firework. Her tail shot straight, fluffing out in pure joy, and she clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle the squeal threatening to burst out. A party? A surprise hangout?! Her heart practically exploded with motherly pride. Conall was such a good friend, always thoughtful, always going above and beyond for his people, and this? This was so sweet. She really had a great son. But, he said not to make a big deal, so she exhaled through her nose dramatically, in an attempt to suppress the giddy bounce in her step.

“Okay… okay,” she whispered, “I won’t say anything.”

But of course, on the inside she would absolutely still be celebrating, her tail unable to stay still as it wags behind her.

“Seriously, please don’t come on too strong.”

He comments to her in a desperate little plea, even though the comment he made could be seen as a little mean spirited to his mom. But he didn’t mean for it to be nasty, he just knows that is mom is an incredibly extroverted woman, and that the birthday girl that was coming over was a very skittish person. The last thing he wants is for her to he scared away because of his mother, even though she’s seen her a bunch of times before.

“It’s just a little party, and I don’t want you to scare her too much.”

His mom softened instantly at the tone in his voice, her tail lowering a little down her hips. He’s not angry, he’s just pleading in the kind of way that came from a place of genuine worry, and she understood. Virada was a quiet, soft-spoken, and easily overwhelmed by loud energy or sudden affection. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

“I know, I won’t smother her. Promise.”

She would give no overbearing welcoming speeches which were her default with guest. No sudden bursts of song or dance— nothing to spook the poor girl. Instead, like she promises, she’ll be calm. Low-key happy vibes only. But just maybe she’ll bring out lemonade later if things went well.

“Thanks mom…”

A wiggle of his ears shift his cap on his head a little bit, and he looks back at her through his sunglasses he kept on with a small frown on his face pulling was he looks back to his mother.

“I didn’t mean to be mean, I just want her to have a good time.” He adjust his grips on the snacks once again. “Things have just been hard on her end, so I want her birthday to be nice.”

His mother’s expression melted completely, her heart practically squeezing in her chest. This wasn’t just a party, this was showing love. She saw it, the effort behind every choice: the playlist, the blankets, stealing her brownies which she knew he hated, making sure everything felt safe and warm. Conall knew vaguely what was going on with Virada, but not from gossip or drama, but because she trusted him enough to tell him some bits and pieces here and there. And so here he was, planning a whole little sanctuary of comfort for her birthday.

Without thinking she reached out again, pulling him into a gentle hug while being careful not to crush the snacks between them. The hug was soft, warm, and motherly in the gentlest way. Conall stiffened for half a second, but he didn’t pull away, simply standing there awkwardly while balancing the snacks he had in his arms, letting his mom squeeze him for a quiet moment. Her cheek rested against the top of his head, and the smell of wet grass and chocolate filled his nose as she keeps herself rested on him, which was just his moms usual scent. Then she kissed his temple, keeping on him a little more this time before finally letting go.

“I’m so proud of you,”

She whispered, eyes shimmering slightly with no intention of teasing. No jokes about him being a softie or anything of the sorts, just pure warmth in her response to him, being proud of rising a son so kind and considerate to his friends. After a moment from her, she eventually releases him from her hold, but not without a few more small pecks on her little boys head, then and only then she left him alone, letting him continue on with what he had been planning for this whole time.

Into his room he returns and places the snacks onto his desk, letting his hands go free finally once again and clapping the dust off of his hands to mentally see what else he had to do. He needed the cake, or the balloons, or most of all this idiot needs to go and get her a birthday gift! It’s her freaking birthday after all! so out once again he goes, ready to go and get whatever else he needed from the store a little up the road from their apartment.

After removing some of the packaging on the inside she finally is able to see some resemblance of an item inside the bag, and she tugs up the look of something that seems to be a resemblance of a bunny. It was a small stuffed bunny with a blue ribbon wrapped over one of its plush ears. Its fluffy soft fur had a creamy grey color to it, along with large black button eyes and a cute embroidered little tiny nose on its face. Her father watched her reaction closely, hoping she would like his gift. He knew how much she loved bunnies, ever since she was a little girl. Some other girls her age might find something of this nature too “childish” for their standards. Some would ask for cars or fancy parties, but this was exactly what she had wanted out of a gift. Small, ordinary, and… special.

Her eyes glow softly under her lashes as he looks over her shoulder once again to see her dad waiting patiently for her reaction, not knowing how much his simple little gift meant to someone like… her. She shuffled under her feet, sliding against the carpet of her room and waddling over to her dad, approaching him slolwy as she holds his gift closely to her. Her father, out of mainly instinct, started to go and lean in forward to hug her, brining his arms out in the process, but he pauses himself once again at remembering how his daughter would go stiff every time he tried to hug her. His arms go down a little, and he allows her to come over to him if she wanted to… instead of forcing her to hug him.

Hesitantly, she manages to bring herself to lead forward towards her dads embrace, wrapping the blanket a little move over her arms as she uses her head to press against his shoulder, her arms not coming up from under the blanket. He took it as a sign anyway, and closed his embrace on her and gently hug her for a small moment before letting her slide out with no pushback on his part. He knew that his daughter was… skittish… so he never made any effort to push her with her comfort. He believed it was the right thing to do as a father.

“Thank you… dad…” She mumbled out extremely quietly to him, her soft blue and yellows eyes resting on her face with similarly colored eyelashes connected. “Thank you… for the gift…”

A wave of emotion washed over him at her response to him giving her the space to make her choices with herself in their interaction.

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," he replied, his voice full of tenderness. "I'm just glad you like it."

“I’ll… take good care of it…”

She answers him back with a very weak smile that pulled up on her face a she keeps her gaze down at the bunny plush once again. She places it gently on the desk by where he dad was sitting and she watches him smile gently back to her as he works himself off of her stool and slowly out of her room.

“I’ll be downstairs for a while pumpkin.” Dad mumbled out to her as he makes it back to the door of her room and gently twists the door handle to it. “Don’t forget to come for cake later…”

With one last affectionate glance at his daughter, he turned and gently closed the door behind him as he exited her room, leaving her with her thoughts and her new little gift. She watches as he gently closes the door behind him as he exits her room, leaving only her standing alone finally able to pull the blanket off of her shoulders as the rain pounds down on the roof of the house.

A sigh of relief exists her as shes left once once again, physically, and… mentally exhausted. She lest the blanket finally slide off of her shoulders, letting her stand normally without having to cover herself, and the small buzz of her phone sitting by her nightstand grabs her attention. She shuffled over like she had done earlier on whole getting out of bed to check on what specifically she had gotten the notifications from, seeing that it was indeed actually a message that she was sent. Not only that, but a message from one of her friends no less. She takes a moment to sit back down on the mattress of her bed, her sweats pressing against the sheets covering below. The phone screen flickers to life as she carefully unlocks it, the task being rather difficult when having metallic fingertips, so, she pulls out the small pen that the phone comes with to use for maximization. It’s a simple message from a personal friend of her, the text is simple but carries an odd weight. The message reads:

— QueasyBunny [QB] began pestering WolfThing [WT] at 11:00 —

[WT] hey virada

[WT] ur dad still working or what?

Outside, the rain drums harder against your window like impatient fingers tapping glass, and her prosthetic arm whirs faintly as you adjust its grip on the phone.

[QB] He should be…

[QB] He never takes any days off… Not that I can remember… at least…

She gently types back with the assistance of her stylist. Her typing was a little slow from having to only use one hand to work the pen across the screen of her device, but she attempts to do her best as he answers back to her friend checking in on her. The reply comes faster than expected.

[WT] goddamn. that’s like.

[WT] fuck

[WT] do u wanna come over? my mom made those shitty brownies u always actually eat all of

[QB] I’d very much appreciate it…

[QB] But I am not positive if I’d be able to make it… considering this weather we have out here…

She answered back after a small moment of struggling with the phones keyboard on her end of things. She looks up from her window again to take a small glance as the storm brewing up outside, only protected from the elements by the walls surround her on all sides. The rain still clashes down hard, and she can see that the grass outside in the front of the lawn was starting to form small puddles of mud from the continues moisture of the rain.

[QB] Also… I doubt that…

[QB] My mother would be too keen on letting me go out… as… much as I would like to…

A string of silence falls on deaf ears once again as she looks over to the door of her room after staring out the window— a long pull of dread leaking through her spine. However, another pause returns, and she assumes that maybe her friend was debating over his response... before, however, it comes through.

[WT] goddamn, right. forgot abt that.

[WT] u sure you can’t sneak out or anything?

[WT] or would she hunt u down if u did? lmao

Another ding from her phone as the rain keeps falling with an almost hypnotic rhythm. Another line of text flashing on the screen. The message was sudden, but she could tell that her friend on the other end, didn’t mean any distaste for her at all. Some backsliding is done quickly in response to his comment, not even allowing her the chance to retaliate back.

[WT] sorry. sorry.

[WT] either way, u doing okay?

The question is a simple one, but the answer is much more complex. How are you doing? Are you okay? Despite the storm and the knowledge of her mother's oppressive presence? She paused once more, attempting to think about her response back to them about her predicament. It takes her a moment to think about her response.

[QB] Right now… yes.

[WT] just "rn"???”

Another ding. Conall's responses are swift, so he must be sending his responses almost as fast as he thinks them.

[WT] wtf is ur mom doing this time? is she bothering u?

[QB] No, I meant… that I’m not,

[QB] In any trouble...

[QB] I’m gonna try and… find a way to get to your place… soon.

She types back just as quickly as he is through the other side of the screen as well, but when Conall's typing bubbles pop up, it then disappears, as if he's changing his mind about what he wants to say. Then the next message comes.

[WT] alright u know i'll be here if you need anything, literally. ill kick ur mom in the shins if i gotta lol

[WT] oh and u can like… vent to me abot stuff if u wanna?

It’s really cold out today… But she usually liked it when it was cold out. She can hear it outside of her window as it taps away at the glass. Can you guess what it is? Maybe. Maybe not. But she definitely knows what it is. It’s her one thing she loves more than anything. It’s raining pretty hard outside today.

She doesn’t really like getting up during rainy days, even when rainy days are her favorite weather. it’s not because she doesn’t want to get up, but it’s because the rain is one of the few things that lets her brain finally go… quiet. She doesn’t understand how, but everything is able to… stop… when surrounded by those warm blankets crushing her above, and the rattle of the roof tiles being hit from the tears of the sky. Maybe that’s too wordy… But perhaps it is not time for us to sit around contemplating the structure of our writing when it comes to the story telling. If there is even a story to tell.

You know you can’t stay in bed forever.

But god she wishes she could.

A knock at the door was heard, interrupting the thoughts that were running through her head. She froze out of instinct, staying silent before she shuffles herself out of the covers as best as she can, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand to slide onto her face.

She wears her old Pjs shes had for a very… long time… hand me downs and thrifted gifts from many holidays. Shes so thin that she still fit into the ones she’s had since a little girl, though… it’s more or less faded by now. She pondered what to do for a few seconds, externally… anxious… at what could be behind that door, before carefully walking her way slowly to her bedroom door to answer it. It was best to check who could be at the door and not keep them waiting. She knew how upset some people could get…

The knocks at the door continued, the person outside seemingly growing impatient. She didn’t like that sound, knowing that if it’s who she thinks it is behind the door, she can’t waste time answering it. In a quiet moment, she twists the handle of the door gently with her hand before pushing it shut quickly once reminded of her metallic replacements in front of her once again. She… always forgot she had them when waking up… The door creeks softly as she pulls it towards her, looking through the small crack she opened with hazy vision from how dark the halls outside were. Though, to her slight… relief… it’s only her dad, knocking to come and check on her.

Her father stands in the doorway with a concerned look on his face. He could see the slight hesitation in her eyes and the way she stood there through the crack of her bedroom door. Her bright blue eyes stare back at him in anxiousness, and he always feels his heart fall in his chest when he sees them.

"Hey, pumpkin,"

He whisper to her in a low and gentle tone, the way you would a scared cat.

“Good morning…”

“… morning… dad…”

His eyebrows twinges on his face in worry, before continuing on with talking to her.

"I just wanted to check on you. Can I come in for a minute?"

She doesn’t replay back to him instantly, looking down to herself behind the privacy of her door. She can feel a wave a dread wash over her, and her already droopy eyes fall lower.

“One moment…”

She answered him back, gently closing the door back again as she makes sure to lock it while it’s shut. She feels nauseous.

Quickly running over to her messy bed, she digs into it to pull out one of the blankets she has layered inside of the covers yanking it out from its original placement and brining it up to sway over her shoulders, covering the majority of her arms… and torso.

"Are you alright in there, sweetheart...?"

She heard her dad mumble through the door as she quickly walked herself back to unlock the door now that she was… properly covered. She can’t imagine what would happen if she ever forgot one day… The door is unlocked once she is comfortable enough to feel she can stay concealed, allowing her father to come and step inside to see her after just waking up. She looks exhausted, and she can tell that her father can see it too.

“A little birdie told me today was very important day.”

Her dad started out as he made his way to sit down on her desks stool, using it to keep himself steady as he stayed seated. He knew today was special, and from the way she was acting, he could tell she had completely forgotten.

"You have no idea what day it is, do you?…"

He said, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and concern. It took her a moment to process to understand what he was referring to, but the grift he held in his hands gave it away to her on what today was specifically about. It was her birthday…. She had completely forgotten. She was now a year older thanks to the rising of the sun and moon through every day on this planet she called a home. Her father watched the gears turning in her head as she pieced together what the gift was for, as the realization slowly dawned on her face. He chuckled softly, his voice full of fondness.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

He held out the present to her, offering it with a warm smile. For the moment she had, she finally lets the corners of her face tug upwards to give her a soft smile, the same buck teeth she had as her father sliding over her bottom lip as she grinned. She gently takes the gift from him, turning around to look at the box close sky without her arms showing through her blanket.

Dad watched quietly as she took the gift, the blanket wrapped around her like a protective shield.

"Go on, open it,"

he encouraged gently, his voice warm and inviting.

"I think you'll like what's inside."

“But, when he eventually put iit on hiimself, iit diidn’t work.”

“So, iin some overblown rage for not having it work on him the way he expected, he decided to let hiis anger out onto the now powerless queen.”

“IIt’s an outburst II see as an unnecessary one at that, but the detaiils are fuzzy from there. All iis known now siince the queen spoke with the derseiires, iis that I his absolute RAGE he destroyed the moon and the kiingdom on iit.

“~You’re~… not the best ~storyteller~.”

Navala comments back to Dalwy after he finally finishes his somewhat confusing story to her.

“Yeah, II know.”

“Well that’s… [[oddly familiar]]”

The two had been explained about what happen on the Derse moon by the black queen similarly to how the others on Prospit where. Someone had destroyed the kingdom on purpose, and Queizy offers to try and give support with helping to find whoever did this, but Harkon is apprehensive.

“But is there [[something]] we can do?… you…[[shouldn’t]] have to be in this kind of a [[position]].”

Harkon crosses his arms, sunglasses flickering with suspicion as he studies Queizy's face. The wind howls through the broken palace spires, carrying ash from below.

"You want to chase some ghosts? IIf someone diid thiis on purpose then iit’s someone strong enough to destroy the Derse's moon."

Queizy bounces a foot slightly on her boots, hands already moving to speak once more.

"But [[if]] we [[find]] them, then [[maybe]] we can [[stop]] them before anything [[worse]] happens.”

She looks almost hopeful beneath all that clown makeup and piercings.

"[[Maybe]] it might even give us a [[reason]] on why we're [[stuck]] here.”

She continues over to Harkon as she looks between him and the queen standing in rags behind her with her arms crossed.

"It's a [[better]] lead than [[anything]] else we got.”

Harkon exhales through his nose, a quiet huff of annoyance. He doesn't like recklessness. Especially not from someone dressed like a joke at a funeral.

Behind them, the Queen remains still, a broken figure of power now in chains and belts instead of the regal robes of her people. She remains silent, her face is pale with exhaustion and her dark eyes hollow as she stares ahead at them. She hasn't spoken since signing her explanation on Derses state, that her place on the throne no longer exists to protect anyone. Harkon speak slowly, deliberately.

"We have nothiing but ashes and suspiiciion. No weapons, no army... just us."

He eyes Queizy, the wild glitter in her gold piercings catching moonlight from where they stand. He then glances back at the queen, waiting for either approval or protest. Yet, she gives no sign to stop or encourage them… but she also doesn't forbid it.

"We got us [[three]], and I don't think we'd [[need]] to take an [[army]] down right now. We're just [[picking up]] the [[pieces]] so that we can get some kind of [[closure]], or even a way to [[get out]] of here."

Harkon's jaw tightens. He doesn't like the idea of wandering blindly through ruins with no plan, no weapons. They can’t simply survive on hope and reckless optimism. But. He does consider that she has a point, they have nothing else. Harkon finally sighs again, a single sharp gesture— resigned acceptance.

“Fiine. But we move fast. No dawdliing iin wreckage liike some sentiimental fools."

But before the two start moving again, the queen grabs Queizys hand, holding it to stop her in her tracks as she uses her free hand to sign to her back. She freezes, surprised by the queen's sudden grip. The queens presence has been icy and detached since the tragedy. But now, her long fingers are warm against Queizy's palm, guiding rather than commanding.

"Follow.”

Is what she signs, waiting for her to start following her through the temple that bursted open earlier. Harkon watches with narrowed eyes as the queen turns without a word and begins walking toward a collapsed archway, the part of the temple that he had split open like broken bone.

The air grows colder the building, cracks spiderwebbing through ancient stone mosaics depicting Derse's history: kings crowned, battles won, then silence. A blank space where an explosion once erased memory itself. Without looking back to see if they follow the black Queen leads them deeper into the shadows. Up through the halls and stairs she leads, taking them in a slow stride all the way to a room she test the doorknob to before opening up to them.

It's a simple room, small but cozy, and two beds sit on either side of the room quiet and untouched by the destruction around it.

"Sleep." The queen instructs through her sign language to them. "It's needed."

The room is untouched, miraculously preserved amid the ruin. Dust floats in soft beams of light filtering through a high, barred window. The two narrow beds are neatly made with dark violet linens, untouched by ash or fire. Queizy blinks, surprised. This isn't a storage chamber or forgotten archive, it's someone's bedroom, a private space that survived the devastation whole.

Harkon steps inside cautiously, scanning every corner for traps or signs of life, but there are none. Just silence and peace that feels wrong after so much destruction.

The queen doesn't enter fully, she lingers along in the doorway like a ghost refusing to cross her own threshold. And once again, she signs to them

“Sleep."

A gentle but firm command.

Both the trolls are apprehensive, but Queizy is the first one to walk forward into the bedroom. She looks over at the beds provided, not really sure what to do, but she takes a gentle seat on the covers, letting the mattress dip. She looks over to Harkon, not saying much, but knowing that this couldn't possibly hurt them, right? Everything was chaotic right now, and she knew that she definitely needed it. She needed it after the nightmare she just experienced. She can still feel the stinging in her wrists and neck from before. Harkon hesitates a moment longer, his sharp eyes darting from the bed to the queen, still standing like a sentinel in the hall. She doesn't move, doesn't speak, she just waits. But Queizy's quiet acceptance eases something in him, because If she trusts it... maybe it's safe.

The massive marble chair slides back against the tile of the floor, making a screech as she gets herself seated. Dalwy stays still as she brings herself beside him, the silence incredibly thick between all of them at this massive table, the only noise breaking through being Navalas heavy breathing after having climbed for so long without a break, and the whirring of his headgear on him.

“Fiirst off, how are you doiing?”

Dalwy starts off to her before she can even start any sort of topic or conversation with him. But the bluntness is much preferred over the meaningless small talk to try and pretend that things are ok between them and the situation find themselves in.

“I’m… not ~sure.~”

She answers him honestly through her exhaustion as she breathes to get herself steady once again.

“Reasonable. II was confused when II woke up here too.”

He answered in a quick nod as a huff escaped, matching his breath to her to let her take a moment to compose. He brings himself to sit up slightly more and continues to console her.

“But what iis iimportant to know iis that we aren’t iin any danger. Thiis enviironment iisn’t hostiile.”

“You’re ~stiffer~ than usual…”

She interrupts him as she gazed him over through her thin red glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose.

“Are ~you~ ok?…”

Dalwy pauses again, forcing himself to relax his shoulders slightly as he continues on with his explanation.

“II’m ok… IIt’s just a lot for me too…”

“You seem to be ~handling~ things pretty well compared to ~me~.”

She points out to him as he sighs to himself as his response.

“II wouldn’t have expected you to.”

He brings his finger to press up to the goggles he wears over his eyes, tapping against the glass on his face that he wears to see properly with his finger nails.

“My eyes were barely able to piick up the diifference iin our status here than iin the real world.”

“~What?~ Can you ~clarify~ please?”

“Of course.”

He chatters back as his fangs show through now that he keeps his lips open as he speaks to her.

“We aren’t iin the real world— not liike thiis iis fake, because we’re not in a state of consciiousness like we would in the real world. We, our bodiies, are stiill iin a state of REM sleep.”

Navala continues to stare at him as he speaks to her with his explanation, still trying to process what he even is saying to her now that she’s listening to him.

“So we’re ~asleep~?”

“Yes, physiically, we’re stiill out iin our bodies. But mentally, we are iin another layer of exiistence iin a sense. So thiis world, thiis realiity iis a dream liike one. One where we exiist only duriing the REM cycle.”

“We experiience all of the same patterns our braiins experiience duriing the wakiing world, emotiions, sensatiions, and all, but we’re not actually talkiing in the real world.”

“So we’re ~dreaming~… are we’re speaking ~telepathically~ to each other?”

She asks in between him and the explanation he’s giving her.

“Yes, kiind of.”

“Most everythiing else II diidn’t fiigure out, I got from her.”

Navala looks between the two as she waits for a follow up from Dalwy on why exactly the woman at the end of the dining table was.

“~Her~… as in?…”

“The queen of Prospiit, the moon we are on.”

“The ~moon~…”

She rubbed her temples as she blinked to try and keep up with his cautiously casual tone about the situation they find themselves in.

“Let me giive you a rundown.”

With that Dalwy shifted in his seat, turning it to talk straight to her.

“II’m not gonna giive you some land before tiime type of story because that’s way too much bullshiit you don’t really need to know, but thiis iis what you do. There’s two moons, Prospiit and Derse.”

“Prospiit iis by Skiia—“

“~Skia~?”

“—Let me continue.” He pause for a moment after he realizes what he said. “Please.”

“No ~offense~ taken…”

With that he continues.

“Skiia is is the planet we’re orbiitiing, because again, prospiit is a moon. Derse, the second moon, iis way back past that veiil of meteors and whatnot. And on those moon are kingdom’s which are ruled by, obviiously, it’s Kiing and Queen.”

He leans down for a moment and shakes his hands in circles.

“Also liike, these planets that were on don’t exiist anywhere outside of thiis “game” that she keeps talkiing about but that II’m not exactly to sure what she means.”

He turns his head to look over at the Queen before returning his attention back to Navala again.

“Now, II’m not posiitiive about here were we are, but what the Queen told me iis that there were these sort of “players” on the Derse moon.”

“Agaiin, No clue what they are, but iit was a thiing for a while and she said for the tiime beiing, they were peaceful.”

He looks back again to the Queen as he gives her the story. She simply nods in response to let him continue to talk.

“Well, anyway,”

“One of oldest “players” of the group had apparently approached the Queen of Derse, attempting to challenge her in a spar between the two of them. II assume iit’s a cultural thiing of that moon, but iin the process—“

“—The Queen lost the duel with them, leaviing her defeated against the other troll— player thing— whatever.”

It’s so bright….

“-.-. --- -- . --..-- ....... -.-. --- -- . ....... .- -. -.. ....... ... .. - .-.-.- ....... - .- -.- . ....... .- ....... ... - . .- -.- ....... -.. --- .-- -. --..-- ....... ..-. ..- .-. - .... . .-. ....... -.. --- .-- -. ....... -... . ... .. -.. . ....... .. .-.-.- ....... .-- . ....... .... .- ...- . ....... -- ..- -.-. .... ....... - --- ....... -.. .. ... -.-. ..- ... ... --..-- ....... -- ..- -.-. .... ....... - --- ....... --. --- ....... --- ...- . .-. .-.-.-“

“.. ....... -.- -. --- .-- ....... -.-- --- ..- ....... -- ..- ... - ....... -... . ....... ... --- ....... -.-. --- -. ..-. ..- ... . -.. --..-- ....... -... ..- - ....... -... . ....... -. --- - ....... .- ..-. .-. .- .. -.. .-.-.- ....... .-- . ....... -.-. --- -- . ....... .. -. ....... .--. . .- -.-. . --..-- ....... .- -. -.. ....... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ....... -... ..- - ....... .--. . .- -.-. . .-.-.- ....... .--. . .- -.-. . ....... .. ... ....... .-- .... .- - ....... .-- . ....... -. . . -.. ....... -- --- ... - ....... -. --- .-- --..-- ....... .- -. -.. ....... -- -.-- ....... .-- .. ... .... --..-- ....... -- -.-- ....... -.. . .- .-. . ... - ....... .-- .. ... .... --..-- ....... .. ... ....... ..-. --- .-. ....... -.-- --- ..- ....... - --- ....... .... . .-.. .--. ....... ..- ... ....... -.-. .-. . .- - . ....... .. - ... ....... -- --- .-. . --..-- ....... -- ..- -.-. .... ....... -- --- .-. . .-.-.- .......”

“.-- . ....... -. . . -.. ....... - .... .. ... ....... -.-. --- -. ..-. .-.. .. -.-. - ....... - --- ....... . -. -.. --..-- ....... - .... .. ... ....... -.-. .... .- --- ... ....... - --- ....... -. --- ....... .-.. --- -. --. . .-. ....... -... .-.. . . -.. ....... .. -. - --- ....... --- ..- .-. ....... .-- .- .-. ... --..-- ....... --- ..- .-. ....... -... .- - - .-.. . ... --..-- ....... --- ..- .-. ....... .... --- -- . ... .-.-.- ....... .-- . ....... .- .-. . ....... -. --- ....... ... - .-. .- -. --. . .-. ....... - --- ....... - .... . ....... .- --. --. .-. . ... ... .. --- -. --..-- ....... - .... . ....... .... .. ... - --- .-. -.-- --..-- ....... -... ..- - ....... - .... .. ... ....... .. ... ....... --. --- .. -. --. ....... -... . -.-- --- -. -.. ....... - .... . ....... ... -.-. --- .--. . ....... --- ..-. ....... .-- .... .- - ....... .-- . ....... -.- -. --- .-- --..-- ....... .-- .... .- - ....... .-- . ....... .--. .-.. .- -. -. . -.. .-.-.- ....... .-- . .-. . ....... -- . -. - ....... - --- ....... ..-. --- .-.. .-.. --- .-- ....... - .... . ....... ... .- -- . ....... -.-. -.-- -.-. .-.. . ....... .-. . .--. . .- - . -.. .-.. -.-- --..-- ....... -... ..- - ....... - .... .. ... ....... .. ... ....... -. --- ....... --- .-. -.. .. -. .- .-. -.-- ....... .-.. --- --- .--. --..-- ....... -. --- ....... --- .-. -.. .. -. .- .-. -.-- ....... ... . ... ... .. --- -. --..-- ....... .- -. -.. ....... - .... .. -. --. ... ....... .- .-. . ....... -... .-.. . . -.. .. -. --. ....... --- ...- . .-. ....... ..-. --- .-. ....... - .... . ....... .-- --- .-. ... - .-.-.-“

In the distance, there seems to be a braver one among the bunch, sliding out from behind the wall that they were hidden to wave over at the woman holding her by the hand. They wear a satchel over their back, stuffed to the brim with many different form of letters and boxes. This seems to be perhaps a mailman. The small girl holding her palms lifts her hand back up to wave, tugging her once again to follow along as they approach this new being.

The smaller woman takes her over to the one who had waved them down, taking her free hand over to his and looking back up at her while doing so, it seems that perhaps, through her own guess over it, that she was trying to show that they have a connection, and weren’t meant to be seen as a threat to her.

“~You know him?~”

She inquired, just to make sure that her interpretation was correct and she wasn’t misreading her. The smaller woman nods back, amd tugs at both of their hands again as the taller individual takes off their hat on their head and tilts it up to her, letting it place back down on his head before releasing his grip on her palm and turning to the door behind him instead.

Behind the door someone slides a window open to see who is knocking, gazing over to the individual who had just pounded to see what they needed. They make eye contact for a goofy moment, and it could seem like they were communicating, but only in a way that made sense to the two of them. Part of her wonders, is there any logic to these things? Or are they just some odd manifestation or hallucination. Everything still feels very odd. But things didn’t seem to get any clearer for her the further she went.

She was shoved through the door after it was unlocked, the small creatures waving her off to follow up the massive staircase that lay in front of her, and with no other options left for her to choose from, she reluctantly took herself up one step at a time in this massive building. It looked way smaller from the outside of things, just an ordinary building, but now, she was navigating through long halls and towering stairs that challenge her every step.

A grueling hike was an understatement of the century for these god forsaken stairs. They seemed never ending, and every time she thinks she finds a door to try and tug open, she met with the ridged frames keeping them locked. They never told her or even made a gesture for where to go, so she just keeps climbing and climbing, her legs starting to burn under every step she took.

And eventually, when she does find a door that will release form it’s frame to allow her to enter it’s pitched black behind it. She leans in and looks around to try and see a little and when she takes a step inside the door slams shut behind her loudly in a catastrophic boom— echoing into the darkness ahead. She attempts to try and tug the door back open behind her to leave, but just like the thousands of ones before, it doesn’t budge. Fantastic. Now She is without any form or illumination, left to figure things out in the darkness with no sense of direction for her to follow along and proceed.

For a short moment that is…