so there's this automaton....

this is my writing sideblog so i don't crowd my regular blog with all that stuff. currently fixated on cloudward ho & torsewell :]

my main blog: @harpieisthecarpie

my ao3: harpiecarpie

Olethra taps her chin. “You said you needed a genius’ help, right? Grandma may not be up for it right now, but luckily…”

Turning to Ludmila, Olethra does sweeping jazz hands around her friend, then uses the index finger and thumb of both hands to make a frame around her face. “We have another genius right here!”

One thing Maxwell has learned since knowing Ludmila as more than the girl in Marya’s cherished photograph, is that she is entirely unable to fake a smile.

When he’d asked Ludmila if she slept well after her first night at the Gotch Manor, her pained grimace convinced him, as nothing else ever had, that he should probably care at least an iota about being a good host. Hence, the repeated attempts to find a bedroom she could stand, ultimately leading to Ludmila and Olethra encroaching upon his childhood hideaway. It wasn’t until he’d commented upon her first protégé’s bluntness that Marya revealed what he’d seen was Ludmila’s version of a reassuring smile.

The expression Olethra’s framing now is marginally more convincing. Ludmila isn’t sallow with sleep deprivation, which lends credibility that what her mouth is doing is meant to be a smile. Caught under the stage light, she makes no attempt to ad lib.

This cannot go on.

He’s been in her position before, dragged around to make introductions in high society gatherings or being called on in university lecture halls. The underlying request was always to prove his worth to a stranger: in five sentences or less, why should anyone give a damn about Maxwell Gotch?

He never had a satisfactory answer, unless he was surrounded by a roaring crowd with blood on his knuckles.

Ludmila Ryczanek isn’t going to have that problem.

“Yes, this is our good friend Ludmila Ryczanek,” Maxwell says, moving to stand at her shoulder. His own smile sits comfortably on his face. “A premier inventor and aeronaut out of Scrapsylvania. Ludmila, here, is the brilliant protégé of Comfrey’s brilliant protégé, and, dare I say, scrappier than both her predecessors put together.”

“I try,” she manages to add. There’s skepticism in her tone, as if her own tenacity is news to her. It shouldn’t be— no one else has ever captured a biangle. Unless Tazzy counts, given its connection to the Obtenebrant, but that then puts her on par with Comfrey.

Maxwell doesn’t pay her scrutiny any mind. Nothing he said was untrue. “Any problem you’d put in front of Comfrey, you can put in front of Ludmila. If she can’t solve it, we’ll at least know enough of the situation to consult with the professor.”

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Dimension 20 (Web Series) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Maxwell Gotch/Torse, Maxwell Gotch & The Zephyr Crew, Torse & The Zephyr Crew (Dimension 20), Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Torse (Dimension 20), Maxwell Gotch, Olethra MacLeod, Ludmila Ryczanek, Original Characters, Marya Junková, The Zephyr Crew (Dimension 20) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Plot, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, no major characters die! just to be clear!!!, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Getting Together, Adventure & Romance, Additional Warnings in Author's Note, Body Horror, Possession, Campaign: Cloudward Ho! (Dimension 20), POV Torse (Dimension 20), POV Maxwell Gotch, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags 

Summary:

The automata of Zern, having been freed from one invading mind, now face countless more. The people of Gath, still unaware of the Braid, face a rash of occult phenomena. Those residing within Zood, having chosen honor and sacrifice, face an unprecedented hardship. Blanketing them all: rain.

Not long after the final battle against Straka, Torse's homeworld is besieged by a torrential downpour and his people begin succumbing to possession by the restless dead. His only solace, as he and his comrades search for the Corrodi remnants they believe to be the culprits, is the crystal telephone gifted to him by Marya before they parted.

He soon learns that crystal telephone is key to protecting himself from possession. Perhaps, with the aid of Maxwell and Marya's beloved protégés, Torse can discover the key to breaking the curse drowning three planets.

OR: Torsewell post-canon mystery adventure, ala campaign after the campaign, with protegays for flavor!

//////////////

This is the nameless sea that stretches between the Saltu and Oda, home to the Gulfaxi. It’s the kind of place that could very well experience rain like this naturally, of its own accord— normal weather.

The screech of metal signals Ludmila’s arrival through a hatch. Her legs are shaky— they need to find a way for her to sit while manning the helm, or adjust the entrance so she doesn’t have to scale a ladder on legs that still aren’t fully recovered. He’ll ask Marya for her advice, the next time he checks in.

Before he can even begin planning a time for that call, his day is ruined. Ludmila proclaims, “The toad has begun caterwauling with the voices of the damned.”

Everyone in earshot groans.

“Of course,” Maxwell mutters, rubbing his knuckles into his forehead to ward away the incoming headache. “Of course it has.”

Olethra and Marya both work in the gift shop, neither knowing how the other is connected to Comfrey. Olethra just knows Marya gets terribly sad about the Wind Rider merch they have stocked.

Daisuke is still following Comfrey's request, and works as the custodian and/or guard while taking out people hunting for Olethra.

Van and Bert run the in-house café. There's a lot of themed aolis, and ofc special event pizookies.

Monty doesn't work there, but he's often a guest speaker for museum events.

Max, having pursued a history degree alongside athletics, works there to be closer to his grandfather's legacy while still "staying on the ground". He spends his breaks practicing his tour talk at the strange suit of armor of unknown origin that fascinates him.

“We—“ Maxwell starts, then shakes his head. He looks up, expression and hold firm, yet unrelentingly gentle. “I missed you. While you were away.”

There is no time to articulate the joy within him. In a tick of Torse’s clockwork heart, Maxwell is upon him once more, pressing a long, painstakingly tender kiss to the center of his faceplate. Torse pushes into the warmth, entranced by Maxwell’s furrowed brow and fluttering lashes.

“Don’t leave again,” Maxwell murmurs as he peppers more kisses across Torse’s helm. “It was awful.”

“I’m sure it was not—“

One of Maxwell’s hand migrates to his back, tracing the edges of his open access panel. “Absolutely unbearable. Everyone else is so frivolous, my friend.”

“I’m sorry, I—“

“You don’t have to be sorry for saving people.” Maxwell pulls back— too far— just enough to meet Torse’s gaze. His wandering hand finds a coolant tube. “Just… promise you’ll stop sacrificing yourself to do it.”

Torse huffs. “That is not always feasible.”

Even on Zood, under a sun that was not Hers, with a golden heart that was not his, this was the compass guiding his decisions. His mind is his own.