crow

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The concept was so high-level to Emre, that he spent a few blinking moments carefully taking the sentence apart in his head, then rebuilding it in pieces.

you don’t need to replicate the emotion to replicate the effect

Except Emre did, didn’t he?  Or rather, he had to drum himself up into some sort of panic or anger or hurt or intense emotion, in order to get his water-magic to even surface.  Even then it wasn’t always predictable.  No control, which was what Emre practiced and practiced, with little effect (in his exacting, demanding opinion).

But Emre been thrown into so many unfamiliar, intimidating, unknowable situations before, so Emre did what he always did: faked it till he made it.  Watch, listen, and learn.  Figure out his environment, then copy it. 

And when Gabe inevitably simplified it for Emre, comparing the potential force of water-magic to the same energy gathered for an effective punch,  Emre tilted his head at Gabe.

That analogy, Emre understood.  That analogy was also an interesting choice for Gabe to pick, so easily plucked for comparison.

“Was you a boxer or something, back in merry old?” Emre asked, already guessing that Gabe was not a boxer.  “What year did you get on Meridium anyway?”

The comparison was apt, if a little disappointing in how well Emre related to it.  Emre was never big on gym-life, but he grasped the difference.  Like shooting a rifle on the range, versus shooting it directly at a man begging to be spared.  “Right. So here I’ve been learning water-magic all backwards.  Here I thought it would be…” peaceful.  Emre’s sweat had begun to lightly frost over, and Emre pulled his fingers into fists, cracking the frosty sheen.  “It always comes down to violence in the end, don’t it, Gabe.” 

For men like us.  But Emre wouldn’t dare make that comparison aloud.  He didn’t think Gabe’s ego could handle it.

x.

“1984.  Very Orwellian.”

A slight hike of brow with that.  No clue whether Akbar knew of the book.  No clue whether the book was still relevant in whatever present he had existed in.

“No.  Not a boxer.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he ‘was’ (because that would be more of the close-to-truth fiction that had been spun over the last almost four decades).

It always comes down to violence in the end, don’t it, Gabe.

“No.”

“That was a metaphor.”

A comparison, but not necessarily a literal one.  Something that might relay the notion of actions taken with different intents behind them...  The exact same action that could be taken regardless of emotion...  

“Think of the world in terms of violence, then violence is all you’ll ever see.”

There’s something of a sigh... a slightly dissappointed sound, as though the point had been missed completely.  

“You asked to learn about how I control my attunement.  That is how.  I replicate the effect.  I remember the sensations - I remember the emotion.  Then I practice, one without the other.  For me - it’s possible.  But how you go about controlling yours - and the attempts you make to do so - are entirely up to you.  No one thing works for all people.”

But he’s not done with the boy yet.  Surely the potential was there.  If he could just stop leaping to conclusions, or hyperfixating on specific terms then perhaps that metaphor might become more meaningful than it might at first seem.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Curfew. Can’t be on the island during high tide, can I.  Then I’d just be the same as everyone else.”  Emre wasn’t petulant about this.  He hated the Fisher’s Hut, that biting loneliness.  It was a reminder of his fucking up.  It was embarrassing and it hurt, the way people turned on him. 

But the punishment itself was separate from his sense of betrayal and failure.  It was horrid, but Emre wasn’t going to whinge about it, especially not to Gabe.

Besides, Gabe seemed quite disgusted by everything Seamus did.  The mystery man had no love for the Duo.  And although Emre was ambivalent, he liked seeing others hating the Duo.  He liked to imagine it was on his behalf.  How dare they treat you like this, they’d say to Emre, in his indulgent fantasies.

Emre smiled then, as Gabe asked him a question so similar to Emre’s first encounter with Aurélie.  Holding water in his palms, Aurélie standing waist-deep in the river with him and asking: What do you feel?

Water was emotional; a revelation for Emre.  All his life, he’d been told he was too emotional, too many feelings.  He couldn’t be a pussy with his mates, they’d kill him.  Girls rolled their eyes and laughed at fragile male egos.  His feelings were hemmed in and silenced. By his peers, by the extremism adjacent to his faith, by his grinding, gruesome work.  Men don’t feel, Akbar. It’s embarrassing.

Then, he got to Meridium.  And the first thing a gorgeous, confident, feminine French woman asked Emre about his water-magic: what do you feel.

And now this pinnacle of masculinity, looming over Emre with a booming manliness, asked him about his ice: how does it make you feel.

“It only responds when I’m in a panic, innit,”  Emre said.  “Life or death, right.  Fight of flight.  Adrenalin and fear.  Or…”  Emre searched for the right word, came up short, and offered tentatively:  “…Despair.  I’ve been trying to…use it.” 

Emre had clocked this early on, and spent months trying to harness, hone, control.  Pressurize his frustration and grief, like goat in a pressure cooker, so he was in control.  He knew the cause of his ice, and he knew he had the ability.  It was pairing them together, that was the issue.

He chucked his chin at Gabe.  “What about you?  What do you feel?”  Giving Gabe an insouciant smile, Emre added,  “Can’t learn bollocks if I only chat about myself.  I want to hear about your methods.”  Not to copy; that was simplistic. To extrapolate, dissect, take what he needed from other waterbabies’ experiences.

x.

What do you feel?

“What matters is that regardless of what I feel, I am in control.”

It wouldn’t matter if there was blind rage or complete inner zen.  If there was no control, then there would only be chaos.  Elements running wild and free, searing through his body, coursing across the landscape causing untold damage.  It would emerge when he did not want it to...  It would fail when he needed it most.

“That’s generally how everyone starts.  Something scares the shit out of you and boom - you’re on fire, it’s raining, you’re floating, you’re buried up to the neck in sand...”

“...But you don’t need to replicate the emotion to replicate the effect.”

instinct. In a moment like that, it’s boils down to that reptilian hind brain present in every sentient creature -  FIGHT OR FLIGHT.

   FIGHTERS can be taught to move when their bodies are screaming for battle.  They have the base aggression needed, but sometimes not the wherewithal to asses, to understand, to make the right choice in the moment beyond that red mist.

   RUNNERS can be taught to stand their ground, knowing when they have the upper hand.  More observant and with the advantage of a strong sense of self preservation.

Fighters can either be STUPID or BRAVE. Runners can either be OBSERVANT or COWARDS.                          and Gabriel is not a stupid coward...                           he has at least an inkling that Akbar was not either.

“Your emotional state can affect your attunement.  But your attunement doesn’t have to be affected by your emotional state...  Think about punching someone in the face.  You were probably pissed off.  Now think about hitting a punching bag.  Same fist.  Same muscles.  Same impact.  No emotion.”

homophobia mention tw, f slur tw. (last paragraph)

The man seemed to take some offense at Mik complimenting his vine clump, instead pointed out that this (the threatening snarl, the death glares, the spear at his very nice and unscarred neck) was about  him getting close for comfort. And that it was polite. Mik wasn’t about to wisecrack about manners now, not now the man had turned from threatening him to lecturing him. He could stomach lectures a lot better than a spearhead. Mik nodded at the man’s warning, not to go wandering alone. Anything to lower the spear down from his jugular to anywhere that wasn’t another equally valuable region of Mik’s body.

“Appreciate the advice,” Mik said, taking another small step back. Feeling some of the tension in the air start to lessen. “Not trying to be facetious, then.” Mik winced. “I saw… saw someone’s memories of an attack just before,” Mik said, trying his best to look as genuine as he felt, to stop reverting to his usual tick of beaming a broad, nervous smile. “So I know it’s not shits-and-giggles.” *The island was like proper Lord of the Flies, no, serious stabby man wouldn’t appreciate that reference.

Mik let out a big breath of air as he was finally let off the pointy end of the spear, oh thank Christ. He could leg it now, but just his luck stabby man would take offence at that too, hunt him down and really live up to his nickname. “I get you, man,” Mik said, not entirely liking the way stabby man was looking him up and down. Felt a lot less like he was being checked out, and a lot more like he was being stripped back, evaluated. Mik cast another look back to his left, reassuring himself with a look over the terrain.

“I keep thinking… Maybe now I won’t have to worry about being jumped,” Mik muttered, yes perhaps a bit glib for stabby man over there, but true. First it had been the boys in his block, chasing Mik down because his new high school made him look like a toff wanker. Then he’d grown big from rugby and too big and fast for them to beat him up. In uni it had been other men in the rugby team, muttering ‘faggot’ as they shoulder checked him in the changing room and failed to block him from a nasty tackle, but he’d shown them by getting rich on being a fucking faggot. And then he’d lost all that, and been a bum on the streets, jumped by some other fucker who wanted his jacket and shoes, but he’d ended up on this island. And here was stabby man, fucking preaching him about paying attention. “Guess I should just expect it, hm?” Mik said, shrugging at the man. 

x.

‘Saw someones memories.’

Another of those decidedly invasive games played by the island.  And some poor fucker had already had a piece of themselves stripped bare and laid out for all to see... Well, maybe not all - but ‘chuckles’ here.  Which was precisely the reason for the spear - to maintain sufficient distance between Gabriel and... Everyone else.  There were things that weren’t negotiable.  Peering into Gabes memories happened to be one of them.

“Seeing it and living it are two entirely different things... Though I suppose it gives you some kind of insight - “

He doesn’t ask which attack.  Doesn’t know if it was one of the islands many, many tricks...  Or if it was the attack on the farm.  Which was absolutely nothing to do with the island... That one was simply the viciousness of people.  Leaning into their own various flavours of righteousness and then attempting to enforce it upon everyone else.  And that was something Gabriel had seen the world over.  Tyrants, dictators, regimes...  A few of whom he’d met on a one-to-one basis...  Briefly.

“Shit can go sideways here very, very quickly.”

“It’s not always trying to kill you outright.  Sometimes - like this one - it plays with your mind.  Plays with other peoples minds.  Rattles whatever pieces of sanity you have left in there to see if anything will come loose.”

Those are the games Gabriel least likes to play.  At least when there’s something to kill, something to defend against, it’s easier to fight back.  But poking around in the mind, in the past in memories, or giving visions of a present or future that aren’t even real... Those - he hates more.  It’s a different kind of fight then... And it’s harder, when you don’t know who your true enemy is.

‘Maybe now I won’t have to worry about being jumped’

Revealing. Inferring that it’s happened before...  At least once. Perhaps that was the reason for the muscles.  Could be a pufferfish - bloating up defensively - bigger was ‘harder’ to defeat... Or so went the theory.  Could be training - learning a true defence... Though the reaction when the spear was brandished was quick, it didn’t lean into anything much further than instinctual reaction.

Mik had already had a shaky morning, an uncertain stand-off at Kaz’s hut. Thankfully he had managed to cool Kaz down a little, so he only occasionally tapped the knife he had strapped to him. After seeing his memory, the other islanders attacking him, taking pleasure in bringing him pain, Mik could understand the knife. Was wondering whether he should get one for himself as he walked back to the beach. The beach, while busy, had nice people. Like Joaquin a hundred year old monk, and Madi let’s just put down the flaming branch. Maybe he couldn’t trust them, but he didn’t have any reason not to yet.

Mik had woven close to the edge of the jungle on his return journey, brushing his hands against vines and plants as he walked past. Trying to feel if this was his attunement, like if he was Poison Ivy from batman, but not a red-head. So far, still a whole lot of nothing. Just a somewhat sticky hand from sap, or dew. It kind of irritated his skin, now that he had noticed it. That wasn’t good. Mik stopped to wipe his hand clean on his trouser leg, shaking his head and looking around for something to remove some of the residual stickiness-

And in that moment there was a rustle from the bushes. Mik didn’t have time to react, didn’t know how he was supposed to react as a man rushed forward and held a spear at his throat. Mik wheeled back a step, eyes flicking rapidly between the spear and the man, barking out a command that Mik was really only too happy to follow.

“Jesus Christ- A-A-Alright now,“ Mik said, slipping into his best, mild-mannered, posh voice as he did just what the man asked for. One step, and then another backwards. "Didn’t know this was your… vine… clump.” Mik winced, hoping that didn’t offend him. He was sure it was a very nice clump of vines. Hopefully not nice enough to kill someone over. “I’m new. Properly washed up on the beach a few days ago.” People seemed to like the fact that Mik had washed ashore. Mik gave the stranger a charming, hopeful smile that said please don’t kill me. Just in case his charm wasn’t enough, he cast a few quick glances behind him, reflexes learnt and drilled into him through years of rugby games. Right was blocked. Left clear.

“Weird buzzing noise, right?” Mik asked, stepping back (and to the left) as he slipped into good old British small talk. Benign and polite. “You get that a lot around here?”

Oh great.  Shit-for-brains seems to think that Gabe is being territorial over the shrubbery.  Another fucking moron to deal with.  He sometimes wonders at the kinds of people to end up here - whether some of them were just fodder for the island to crush and break under the weight of it’s persistence and challenge.  How the fuck far would chuckles here get?

“N-o.”

Gabe speaks slowly ( and with no small amount of condescension to his tone ).

“You didn’t know I was here and you’re getting too close for comfort.  This - is a polite warning.”

Polite?  Could probably be debated.  He could have poked a hole somewhere in the guy for good measure, but that would just make people pissy.  Warning?  Most definitely.  New-fucking-yahoo wandering about - doesn’t even know what the hell his name is but could potentially delve into his brain and steal his memories... Any memories.  And there were more than a few that Gabe had no intention of sharing with anyone.

“Purely for your benefit then.  Don’t go wandering around alone.  The island will eat you alive.  Quite literally.  And when there’s shit going down - like this --”

The spear gestures vaguely to the air around them, something rather all encompassing that included the buzzing.

“-- that’s an even worse idea.  You want to make it through your first month?  Open your eyes.”

Benign and polite doesn’t work on someone dragged up in the 30′s in the East-End of London.  He’s seen charm and guile in the most cunning of forms, and bright-boy here wasn’t quite cutting the mustard with his pearly grin.  An attempt, no doubt, to diffuse and distract.  Unfortunately for him, Gabes fuse hadn’t even been lit - all things considered this is him being ‘polite’.

“And lastly - don’t be facetious.  Because yeah - we do get this a lot.  In various different flavours of terror, attack, harm and invasion.   Not everyone makes it out the other side.”

“That sound like shits-and-giggles to you?” 

There is, however enough distance between them now, thanks to smart-arse backpedalling, that there wouldn’t be much chance of anyone touching anyone else.  So the spear is set to the ground, pointed end just about level with the top of Gabes head when it’s rested.  

And he’s considering... Assessing... Observing.  

The guy seems young and fit, but a few of the latter arrivals to the Island hadn’t built a physique from hard work, practical actions or anything that would allow then to cope with the strenuous tests of Island living.  It was - apparently - for show.  Useless bulk that was as practical as a fart in a sack.  So which was this guy?  As for instincts, he’d managed to swerve the spear - but Gabe hadn’t actually been attempting to harm him in that moment.  Was he fast enough, smart enough, capable enough... Could he learn...?

...to be seen.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Emre was definitely not expecting encouragement, or whatever this version was that Gabe provided.  Advice, maybe?  Emre wouldn’t allow himself to think it was anything even remotely generous from Gabe; but that didn’t mean Emre wouldn’t take it.  Gabe was an experienced waterbaby, and Emre wanted teachers.  So he gazed sidelong at Gabe, absorbing the ideas of ‘decades’ and ‘determination’; and curiously, Gabe providing a warning or insight about ‘finding yourself’.  Surprisingly touchy-feely.  Emre replied with a soft little “Cheers, mate.”

His exchange with Seamus, in Emre’s eyes, was mild and harmless.  Seamus his usual abrasive self, Gabe becoming more malleable than Emre expected, which in and of itself was interesting to see.  No sneering, none of that didactic sarcasm he’d employed on Emre, to put Emre firmly in his place: neck under boot.  I’m better than you, Gabe’s boot had enforced on Emre in no uncertain terms, which Emre had managed to reply: Mate when did I say you wasn’t.

With Seamus it was all just chat and Seamus hardly seemed like he needed to diffuse Gabe.  Gabe wasn’t the problem here.  Seamus needed to confirm Emre wasn’t fibbing, and Gabe provided. 

Emre looked up, as the rain pattered down on his face.  “Might be the jinn - the ‘mind-beast’ won’t be back for a while.”  He used Gabe’s term, since Gabe was so big-up on terminology, and Seamus looked between Emre and Gabe, giving them each a funny look.

“Right, well-”

But Gabe cut Seamus off, saying they were done here and Seamus waved a hand.  “Right, off you go, Gabe.  Emre, you’re -”

But Gabe cut Seamus off again (Emre tried his best not to smirk in petty glee) and went as far as to make Emre and offer to come along.  To learn even!

Emre hopefully gazed at Seamus, who looked mutinous and red-faced.  Like he wanted to keep Emre under punishment rules…only Emre had just brought important news, that changed everything.  Even under duress and punishment, Emre kept being consistently useful - essential, just as Tomas had gravely dubbed him - to the people of the island.  But Seamus didn’t appreciate somehow getting so blatantly manipulated by this London lad, every time some new Meridium disaster struck. 

Seamus fumed.  “Right son - you got until low tide, under Gabe’s…whatever this is.  Don’t let me catch you mucking about after Gabe beyond that, alright?”

“Yes boss,” Emre replied amiably, his headache suddenly cleared, his exhaustion refreshed.  Whether from the rain, or the relief the jinn as gone, or from this entire little face-off between Gabe and Seamus, or the prospect of learning something new - maybe all of it.  

Before Seamus could change his mind, Emre turned and trotted after Gabe.

x.

Gabe has about faced and is rather determinedly walking ‘away from Seamus.  He doesn’t have anything in particular against him, but the fact he’d made himself some kind of self-proclaimed leader was still laughable.  Gabe is surprised that there hasn’t been some kind of coup yet... Though with Matthew around to be an actual voice of reason, it hadn’t been particularly necessary... However - in the absence of a third... the non quorate, de-facto couple were... rattling apart at the seams.  The attack on the farm.  The dissolution of their joyous ‘order and obedience’... Speaking of obedience...

Once they’re far enough away, Gabriel does turn - speaking this time with slight incredulity and a hint of amusement.

“You have a curfew?”

A snort and a shake of his head at Seamus’ parting words.  Surely Akbar had served his punishment already but - apparently not.  Seamus holding it over his head and keeping him in line like a naughty child, or a dog on a leash.  Gabe hadn’t been around for the advent of the ASBO or being put on tag - but surely if he’d known about it, it would be the most accurate comparison.

He’s heading even further down - down toward the beach.  Plenty of water all around the island.

“Right then - you got a pass out from - whatever that was.  So lets not fuck around and waste it.  Might as well see if we can make some progress before you get called in for cocoa and bedtime.”

Yes, a little facetious, but he’s still amused at the sway Seamus’ so called ‘command’ has over the older brother.  And Gabe has to wonder if at some point Emre had told him to go fuck himself... Or perhaps if that was something to look forward to in the future.

Though he’s mindful that;    1) this is not Kaz. He’s not here to spar with the kid.  Nor has he seen what he might be capable of, so - small steps.    2) he’s not about to reveal too much of what he can do either.  It was handy being something of an unknown quantity.  And Gabe has no idea if that dog on the leash would be loyal to it’s master, running back with wagging tongue instead of tail - spilling to all and sundry.

“First things first - mindset.  You can fling an attunement around as much as you like - but unless you have explicit control - it’s likely to fail you, or not work in the way you want.”

Again he thinks of Kaz - anger... rage... causing that attunement to stutter and stumble in his most desperate of moments.

He’s been watching because - of course he has.  That’s what he does.  He’s watched the chaos ensue after the boom of thunder.  Felt the static in the air - the disruption... 

He’d initially gone to the tree, gazed into the flame ( prepared with his own attunement should the parasite reemerge ), but none seemed forthcoming.  So he had turned his attention to the - people.  Trotting about causing their very own brand of chaos in light of the latest unknown.  And from what he’d managed to overhear, or discern from their scurrying, was that physical contact was - invasive.

And invasion is something he would not allow. ( Or could not afford.  Three decades of that carefully crafted persona, the tale of his past, the truth tailored in such a way, with enough ommissions that it was plausible, believable... As much of a truth as anything on this island could be ).

No one.  NO ONE. Will be invading his memories.  Not now.  Not ever.

So the vigilant remains ever so.  And, as is their way, one of the fuck-knuckles from the group comes wandering.  Blissfully unaware of the dangers of the Island ( blissfully unaware of the danger of Gabriel ) - out for a goddamn stroll. Seriously, how some of them survived beyond a day was dumb luck or a miracle. 

Perhaps he’ll pass.  Gabriel nestled in a raised cove, mostly shrouded by branches and vines.  Perhaps not...

...Apparently not.

So before those footsteps draw ever closer, there’s a single quick movement - a six foot spear suddenly protruding from the shrubbery - at the other end of which was Gabriel, stepping forward with a deceptively calm demeanour and the air of something that might just tear your throat out should you breathe too heavily in his general direction...

...Speaking of throats, that’s exactly where the spear is pointed - a few inches away.  Nothing that the guy would imminently impale himself on.  At least... If he heeded the warning.  Words barked out as a command - not a fucking request.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Fuck me, bruv - I was listing off the things I want to learn!  Special little superman I’d be to graft all that in two years, wouldn’t I. Nah.” Emre scoffed, derisive at himself so that Gabriel didn’t have to be; but Gabe was welcome to be anyway.  Emre hardly minded.  Most people didn’t think much of Emre Akbar, so Gabe would be in good company there.

“So what am I actually good at, right.  Bollocks,” he said with a wry, mirthless smile.  “I make ice.  Useful for the farm innit.”  In truth, Emre’s attunement had developed into something far more complicated than explainable, but Emre was harder on himself than anyone else could be.  Tamyra constantly chided him, for mastering more in a year and a half than she’d accomplished in her decades.  But it wasn’t about self-esteem.  Emre didn’t want gold stars; he had his own personal standards and he felt no need to explain himself like a child begging approval.  People inevitably misunderstood.

“I want more. I want to compare methods, mindsets, focus, strategy.  You do it different from Tam, who does it different from Aurélie, who’s different from Lily.  You all got your own methods innit.  I want my own. I want everything I got in me, I love being a waterbaby.  Best of all the magic, innit. I want it.  And I’ll get it, eventually.” Emre had forever to practice after all.  So he was content to keep learning from experienced waterbabies, and the island would keep challenging him to innovate. 

Innovate, or die.

Emre fell complacent, bemused as Gabe and Seamus faced-off.  There was a stupidly familiar comfort, being sandwiched between two UK-adjacent blokes.  Like the old days, where Emre was just a tool, a pawn, a wardog poised between the actual game players.   Big cocks out, waving about.  Emre loved it. Particularly because on Meridium the danger wasn’t from the people anyway. 

“His truth?” Seamus repeated in scoffing disbelief.  He looked at Emre.  “You’re here to tell the truth and you got Gabriel as your testimony now?”

Emre gave a sultry shrug.  “Upgrade from the last testimony, innit.”

Seamus sighed, as Gabe prompted Emre to share.  “Go on then.  Share for the class.”

Some arrogance slipped out of Emre’s posture as he reported the jinn’s disappearance into the heat tree.  He was factual, the plain-spoken equivalent of a sitrep.   The jinn’s damage was grim; there was little reason to lie or exaggerate, when people had already been mind-wiped and immolated, and entire population of South Beach destroyed, if Thulani was to be believed.

Seamus looked at Gabe.  “You really reckon it’s gone? It’s over?” Seamus addressed Gabe. “For now.”

Seamus would verify for himself of course, but he found he did want a confirmation from Gabe, before he reassured the frightened population.

x.

Emre mentions methods, mindsets, focus, strategy - and Gabe is silently impressed.  A lot of people ( particularly some of the newer arrivals ) didn’t look at their attunements as something to learn, to practice, to hone like any other skill - they just flung themselves and their attunements around in frantic ( and sometimes dangerous ) desperation for the most part.  Allowing ‘it’ to control ‘them’, rather than the other way around.  

‘I’ll get it, eventually.’

“If you stick with that mindset...”

Perhaps Emre expected some chargrin, some further critique, but none was forthcoming.

“...I’m sure you will.  It’s not easy to hold that determination for years... Decades.  But those who do, survive.  Perhaps find out more about themselves than just how to wield an element.”

Though the conversation trails off as they commence the discussion with Seamus.

‘you got Gabriel as your testimony now‘

Gabriel is even more tempted than ever to smack Seamus around the back of his head, the obnoxious little prick.  Because that sounds very much like he’s  casting ‘doubt’ on Gabriels honesty, as well as Emre’s.  Even though he’s never actually been proven to be false in all of the time he’s been here.

‘Share for the class.‘

Gabriel might be gruff.  Abrasive.  But he wasn’t condescending.  Just about every other word from Seamus’ mouth pricks his skin like needles.  Taunting, daring him to let loose those reins that hang on so very tightly to the facade he’s created and demonstrate exactly what he can do...

     ( thicken the fluid in Seamus’ veins while his heart struggles to pump against the sudden shift in viscosity and pressure, watch him turn red, gasping, clutching at his chest, grabbing at his skull as his body and brain slowly starves of oxygen...  Maybe he could encourage blood from his eyes, mouth, nose, ears and goddamn arsehole, life bringing crimson spilling in fountains... Or perhaps leech out the water from his skin, summoning it forward and out in sweat and piss and vomit - all in one go - turning him into a mummified husk... )

...Emre would sure as hell learn a new trick then.

But he doesn’t.  That staunch, stolid composure remains.  Gabriel appearing entirely neutral, something of a blank in Seamus presence, listening as Emre give a quick, concise, accurate report of what they’d witnessed.  Perhaps Emre could sense that shift.  Where he’d been somewhat conversational ( in his own unique way ) with the younger man.  Now it was simply as needs must.  The diplomat.

“It’s exactly as he described.  I couldn’t say whether it’s over or gone, but there seems to be something of an abatement.  For now.”

“If it isn’t gone, then at least Emre has identified a way of fending the creature off should it return in the future.  It doesn’t like water.”

Appropriate for a creature that seemed to be borne of and fed by fire and destruction... But then no one seemed to have any particular clue as to where it had come from in the first place, at least, until now.  So - perhaps it was Gabriel’s turn to be smug ( though it barely shows ).  Given that both he and Emre were graced with the same attunement - albeit in rather different manifestations.

Given that Seamus was likely a fan of neither of the men in front of him right now, Gabriel doesn’t wait for a second dismissal.

“We’re done here.”

A statement.  Not a question.  Nor a request.

“Emre - you wanted to compare methods.  You can come with me if you wish.”

.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god - Kir - Lib -”  Jupiter’s eyes widened her mouth dropped open in surprise as the lagoon started to mist up.  Super-freaky-ghosty shit.  Any thoughts of hermit fell away as swiftly as her air-powers dropped; or rather air coalesced around her into a rebuff shell.  She’d learned the trick pretty quickly in the jungle from survival instinct, and then plenty of practice.  

She’d almost called her husband’s name - instinct when seeing anything spooky; but of course he wasn’t here.  She’d also almost called out Libby’s name - only Jupiter remembered she was alone.  What was rule #1 of exploring haunted nooks, crannies, basements, and hallways?  Don’t go alone!  Or at least bring a damn camera.   And what was rule #5 of the Labyrinth? Don’t go alone, dumbass!

When a voice piped up, hidden in the mist, Jupiter meeped and jumped in fright.  Fortunately, the words were nothing ominous like ‘LEAVE THIS PLACE’ or ‘ANCIENT LATIN CHANT THAT JUPITER DIDN’T UNDERSTAND’.  

It was bitchy, and slangy, and altogether very human.

A man’s voice even.  A bit whiny - at least the way he got all precious; not his actual voice.  Which was hella growly and…British-ish?

“Sorry!  I wasn’t screwing with you, god forbid. Hell, I didn’t know if anyone else was there,”  Jupiter sang out.  If he couldn’t figure out her precaution, on this island, that was on him.   She dropped her wind-shield, but stayed wary.  Strangers be strangers, as she told her kids.  “Just exploring, you know how it is.  I’m kinda new and everything’s mysterious and unpredictable, can’t be too careful.  Um. Sooo.”

Hold up. Wasn’t the ‘South Beach criminal’ a British-dude and water-powered?  She could gush air to dispel the mist and snatch a glimpse of him, but she didn’t know what the ‘South Beach criminal’ looked like.  Plus, it might hurt his sensitive feelings again; he’d obviously set up the mist to hide himself, she wouldn’t spoil his efforts.  “Sooooo, this mist is all yours? Pretty cool trick, eh.”

x.

He is literally doing it to screw with her.  Because if you go poking in places where you shouldn’t then - yeah - sometimes you get an unpleasant surprise.  

‘Hell, I didn’t know if anyone else was there,’

Lie.

At least Gabe is pretty sure it is.  Because while he’d observed the ‘performance’ from afar, he’d someone approaching.  Someone taking a pretty fucking direct route toward his location - rather determinedly so... For someone who was supposedly just ‘exploring’.

‘Um. Sooo.’

So... He’s pretty sure that it was less of the exploring and more of the ‘snooping.  New people to the island found out, sooner or later about the weird hermit, who lingered fairly close but never truly integrated with the rest of the islanders.  Who wasn’t badged with ‘good’ or ‘bad’... Usually just something ‘other’.  And for the most part - the social nature of people as animals meant that they didn’t deal so well with ‘other’.

She says neat trick - he dismisses the mist.  Letting that condensed water snap back into it’s disparate state, causing a very gentle soft dew to settle on the ground.

“I could say the same about you.”

He could.  But he won’t.

There’s a small ‘tchh’ as his tongue clicks over his front teeth, now entirely visible at the edge of the clearing ( and also, if you happened to notice this type of thing - entirely dry compared to just about everything else within the vicinity ).

“Can’t be too careful - and yet you’re wandering around alone?  ‘Mysterious’ and ‘unpredictable’ is one way to put it.  ‘Dangerous’ is another.”

Looking her over, Gabriel gives only the slightest shake of his head.  New to the island didn’t mean dumb or necessarily inexperienced - people tended to carry different things with them when they arrived here.  But anything known before would be tested... To the limit... At some point.  And the new arrivals quite often didn’t know just how -- testing -- this place could be.

He almost feels sorry for her.

...Almost.

“You should go back to the others.”

It’s not exactly a command.  Phrased very much as a suggestion, though that gravel tone didn’t exactly carry it across as such.  Pretty much every word out of his mouth spoken with clarity and certainty and very little room for argument ( though there were still those who liked to try on occasion ).

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Emre had little interest in ingratiating anything; he’d aggressively played all his angles and cards the moment he got on this island, and then it all went to pot anyway. The time for showing his worth and promise was now invalid, null, void; and even Emre wouldn’t kowtow like a disgraced beggar at the gates of the kingdom.

What was interesting to Emre though was that Gabe wanted to advise him at all, with some perception that Emre wanted to get back into people’s good-graces.  And on top of that, as if the farm was like a golden kingdom.  Was that how Gabe saw the community, how he saw dear Tomas?  Some sort of stupid, banal, promised land no one else could realize was a fallacy, except Gabe?

What a glorious position to take, Emre marveled. How pleasing Gabe’s outlook must feel for him.

“Cheers, bruv,” Emre said warmly, happy to pretend this was about Gabe giving a damn about his welfare on fake!farm.  Emre would keep doing things his way of course, because Gabe knew nothing about Emre; but it felt truly lovely to be on the receiving end of Gabe’s consideration. Emre felt flattered.

Emre added hopefully,  “Might be you can learn me, yeah? How to control the water and that for the rice paddy, like.  Learn from the best, wouldn’t I.”  He anticipated mockery, sneering rejection, the usual; but at least it was amusing to ask. Learning waterbaby - waterman - skills was one of Emre’s favourite things.

As Gabe gave the ‘island purpose’ question some deliberate thought, Emre took that time to study Gabe.  A pinnacle of manhood: he was well-built, he was both mysterious and charismatic, he was clearly intelligent.  His face betrayed nothing except a sense of superiority, which didn’t bother Emre.  The clarity in his eyes seemed like a machine in perpetual motion.

“How much have you endured? More than most even here, I’d imagine. Thrive and survive innit.”

Bloody hell, Gabe reminded him so palpably of his world back in London.  This bleakness, but the conviction that a bigger picture was so simple to grasp, if one was just clever enough to figure it out.  

“Some hunters work in herds,” Emre murmured.  “Some hunters innt out to prove anything to the herd, innit.”

He smiled though, at Gabe’s conclusion. They were at the farm’s edge; and beyond that, Esther’s home.   “That’s what’s funny, yeah. Living on Meridium’s not much different from out there. Who the fuck knows innt some new concept.” Emre kissed his teeth.  “Right: toilets, though. If only Meridium had proper toilets.   You had loos from whenever you’re from bruv? Or was it, erm, them chamber pots like.”

x.

There’s a soft hmph of dismissal.  Not of Emre himself, but of the notion of wading around in a rice paddy -- on the farm...  Perhaps Gabe could help with the water, but he was about as inclined to spend time on the farm as he was to poke out his own eye with a sharp stick.

“Not really my kinda gig - farming.”

And the only ‘teaching’ he’d done since he’d been here had been with Kaz - though he’d learned a few things himself during that time.  And even that was to hone a different set of skills - make sure things didn’t get... rusty.

He had noticed the light frost... The slight shift in Emre when the rain fell.  He’d seen him throw it around during the farm fight too - with the dumb hippy kid.  

“What have you learned so far?  Or I suppose, more to the point - what do you want to learn?  You can irrigate a field with a bucket.  You don’t need any powers for that...”

Emre uses the word ‘herd’ and while Gabe knows what he’s getting at, he feels as though the younger man had somewhat missed the point.  Perhaps Emre isn’t out to prove anything.  Or perhaps that’s just something he’s convinced himself of.  The need to run and tell Seamus and Esther of the monsters retreat into the flame sure as hell sounded like someone who wanted to curry favour - who craved acceptance more than he may wish to admit.  He’s pretty fucking sure the golden duo could get off their shiny arses and find that out for themselves.

“Some hunters work in - packs.  To strategise their kill.  Or bring down bigger prey.”

“A hunter in a herd is like a fox in a hen house... Usually a lot of blood and a lot of screaming.  That, or it’s there to keep the herd in line.  A flash of sharp teeth and they scuttle back into place...”

Of course the other option was that the hunter was a wolf in sheeps clothing.  Which was probably a little too close to the truth in Gabriels case.  The islanders tended to see him as something of a weird hermit.  Someone who appeared now and then.  Truth was they’d likely be appalled... Repulsed... Possibly terrified if they knew the stark and clear truth of his life before.  Bodies piled high and the reputation and reward that followed...  A reputation that only stood the test within circles and societies where the capacity for violence and swift death were desirable.  And that - was not - here.

But - he doesn’t know what Emre wants.  To  be part of a herd... or part of a pack... or someone with original fucking thinking who didn’t buy the bullshit... That’d be a refreshing change.  He seemed eager, but at the same time, still trying to play it cool and distance himself... So which was it...?

Now it’s Gabes turn to look amused at Emre’s query.  Sure Gabe had been here for a long ass time, but... 

“We had toilets... Yeah.  Though there were still some places in the world where they weren’t quite up to speed with indoor plumbing - you still gotta shit in a hole.”

Boots kick up dust as he treads through the farm, not entirely pleased about being here in the first place, even less pleased to be visiting the arsehole duo, leading the way right up to the door, before stepping to one side because h’d be damned if he was knocking upon that door.  A motion with one arm - inviting Emre to take the lead now... He was, after all, only here for back up.  That aside, he’s not requesting entry to the shack.  They either invite him inside, or they bloody well don’t.

Though he can’t help but wonder what the reaction would be.  After all, the last time he was here, he was bringing the body of a murdered man to their door - and now, here he is again - with that self proclaimed murderer.  

Location: the lagoon

@solocrow​

There was only one moment of distraction during Tamyra’s epic performance.  Jupiter felt the back of her neck prickling and she knew this feeling well.  She never considered herself a medium or psychic, but since her 5-second death, felt was some indefinable connection to the spirit world.  The cold, staticky feeling when a ghost was near, like a spidey-sense.

She’d turned, only to see a dark figure disappear into the trees.  Later on, some Labyrinth pals mentioned a hermit who used to live on the outskirts of North Beach and travelled with them en masse to South Beach, and then…disappeared.  Did the hermit die?  Was he still alive?  None of the Labyrinth pals knew.

And Jupiter became curious.  With her affinity for haunted places, manifestations, poltergeists…the works.  Like a hermit who died, quietly and alone, only to be pulled from eternal rest and forced to haunt Meridium.

She found herself at the lagoon though, pausing by it to contemplate these supposed ‘portals’ to other locations.  Apparently all it took to teleport there was to fall into the water and bloop! - just like waking up on the island from Newfoundland, she’d appear in some new location.  

“Is it really so easy?  Can it -”  she cut herself off.  There it was:  the prickles at the back of her neck.  Standing slowly, Jupiter looked through the trees, searching.  She didn’t call out; this wasn’t an episode of her show.  And in the Labyrinth, if you called out, you were dead.  Gusts of air swirled around her, pushed outwards, seeking for some shape that felt different from a tree trunk or a rock.  Something soft, fleshy.

x.

One of the things about being on an island for decades is that you tend to get used to the ‘natural state’ of things.  No less that Gabe paid attention to the way the air stirred, it’s direction and strength, especially when hunting.  Making sure to stay downwind of any potential target.  Making the most of the natural cover and advantages it brought.  Which meant that when there was a sudden change in direction and intensity - quick, light pressure even, it brought a soft hiss through gritted teeth.  

He had seen the woman approaching - and as was usual for him, had removed himself from the immediate vicinity.  Choosing to keep himself to himself and avoid any unnecessary ‘involvement’.  Apparently walking away wasn’t enough of a hint for some of these damn muppets to get them to leave him alone.

However - being... Probed.  Was fucking rude.

Which is probably why - out of sheer irritation - the thing that emerges from the trees bordering the lagoon is... Not clear.  A mist rising quickly out of the water, rapid condensation of any water lingering in the air, light and cooling and substantial enough to obscure vision significantly.  She might well have ‘found him’, but he might not get to ‘see him’ after all.

Propping himself against a nearby tree, there’s something of a casual tone to the voice that emerges, deep and booming through the haze.

“Bit of a dick move when someone uses their attunement to screw with you, ain’t it?  Invasive even.  So if you don’t mind.  Don’t fucking do that again.”

“You want my attention, you have it.  But just FYI, there are easier and better ways of getting it than that.”

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Rice?” Emre posited.  According to Tomas, Meridium hadn’t managed rice before this year.  According to Tomas.  Whose blood now fertilized the rice-paddy, when he’d been shot square in the head, right in front of his child.  According to Tomas, who plodded persistently through the mud and Emre followed him, clearing the paddy of weeds, pests, sickness as Tomas instructed.

Emre couldn’t wait to taste this rice.  He was excited for success, even if it meant failure first and improvement next time.  Who didn’t love rice.  He couldn’t wait to feel the beady roll and bouncy chew of each grain between his teeth.  But according to Tomas, everything was for distribution, to anyone who wanted it.  Including any yield of precious experimental rice. “It’ll be a premium, innit.”  

And if Gabe believed anything - anything - on Tomas’ farm was neglected until purposeless, that was a rather curious if harmless fib that Tomas told Gabe to help the loner feel justified in taking and repurposing it.  Tomas didn’t idle shit.  Literally, even the shit had its uses on Tomas’ farm.  

Emre wasn’t going to start saying ‘my water-elemental-force’ like a twat, when short-handing to ‘magic’ suited him fine.  Gabe seemed to have a whole manifesto about it, and Emre was content to hear him out.  It wasn’t new; if anything it suddenly reminded Emre of the preaching of a slightly-fundamental-leaning imam from his abu’s mundir.  Abu hadn’t cared for imam’s didactics; a small Emre had soaked up that stern righteousness. 

So Emre absorbed Gabe’s profundity - about belief, and the island, and survival - as he speculated how old the big man was.  Decades, certainly.  He’d had that time - a lot of time, in solitude, Emre imagined - to carefully weave these immense beliefs and theories.  

And maybe it was satisfying for Gabe to share them, like this: a sudden and random outpouring of Gabe’s opinions like a flash storm.  It felt special, even if it wasn’t.

“The fuck do I know about magic, boss.  Magic’s haram innit.  Proper shirk, bruv,” Emre shrugged, his smile crooked and smoky. “Right - so island’s trials is real, and magic don’t exist.  And ‘trials’ is what; that’s like…like experiments innit.  What you reckon these trials is meant to accomplish?”

Maybe Gabe had more theories.  Emre had none; he didn’t bother trying.  Leave that to the long-lived Gabes and clever Kazzys and insightful Lilys of the island to spin through the intricately-spun webs of their own minds.  Emre would duly absorb whatever people told him was right or wrong, what to believe, what not to believe, what rules to follow.  And then he’d just keep carving and grafting his own life (and Iyaz’s) regardless, a weed between the cracks.

Gabe scolded him, and contentment washed over Emre.  The first peace he’d felt this whole, harrowing day.  “This twat owes you, mate.” 

x.

“Rice?”

Well now, wasn’t that the thing.  The dirt farmer was branching out.  But Gabe might just do this kid a favour...

“And who do they have to control the water?  Dirt isn’t the big thing for rice... Water is.  Needs to be the right depth... The right temperature...  If you want to ingratiate yourself back into the fold, waterbaby, that’s your open door.”

“Get yourself one of the fire people to help you with heat.  And you’ll earn a little kudos.  Maybe.”

If they could pull it off.  If they didn’t manage to flood the farm or burn it down.  Gabe wasn’t entirely keen on the fire types.  Too damn unpredictable.

What you reckon these trials is meant to accomplish?

Well - the first profound words to come out of Akbars mouth.  Perhaps just an idle question.  Perhaps seeking whether Gabe had found an answer... Or even whether he’d speculated on one.  And he had - speculated.

Trials and tests. Throwing out the improbable and the impossible.  But each and every one seemed to be some kind of test of survival.  At least - on the surface.  Make it through the trial and live another day... But Gabe thought it more than simply that.  Why keep testing?  Why push and push?  Why these strange presences... Not just threatening physically, but testing the mind to the limit.  Causing crazed moments of joy or grief.  

And - combining that with the fact that no one seemed to age here - that death was never through the simple, natural progression of age here - it had to be either an accident or... A voluntary ending...  ( or the third option - murder, but that was a man made concept, not manifestation of the island ).

“Personally?  I think it’s a test of self.  Of the human spirit.  How much - and for how long, can one person endure.”

It’s a somber thought.  

“Pluck different people from different places, times - different lives.  So yeah - like some kind of fucked up experiment... It’s a petri dish of microbes.  Who thrives.  Who survives.  Who... Quits.”

“Probably not just the who, either.  But also the how.  You touched on it before.  Some of us are hunters... Prefer, separation.  Some of us need the herd... comfort in proximity.”

“In truth - who the fuck knows - never found a concrete answer yet.”

Which did somewhat imply that he was still looking.  

“Maybe we just dropped through a hole in the fuckin’ universe into the twilight zone.”

At the ‘this twat owes you one’ comment, there’s just a hmm, from Gabe.  Not entirely sure if it was simply lip service to his comment or whether Akbar actually meant it.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Emre’s offhand quip was met with a pointed snipe about the word ‘job’. Curious what Gabe seemed to take personally, or offense to, or something that prickled the large man.  Emre didn’t know Gabe and wouldn’t guess what Gabe took so seriously about a meaningless joshing.  He watched as Gabe had to first correct Emre, and then also clarify.  

“Right…”  Emre drawled gently, with an echo of Gabe’s shrug on his own slim shoulders.  “What might you take in trade?”

‘Magic?’ Gabe said. The last of Emre’s adrenalin faded, as exhaustion exacerbated.  He felt his headache crawling from a jawline he’d been clenching all day, up to the back of his head.  

‘Magic?’  Gabe had even looked slightly amused. Emre’s eyes turned opaque, recalling those last school-month when, stricken by grief and anger, he’d stopped giving a fuck about education.  One particular teacher enjoyed nitpicking every single mis-step in Akbar’s deteriorating grammar, every shoddy essay and flattened answer, picking Emre’s English apart in some effort to humiliate the boy in front of the class.  

‘Magic?’  Gabe had repeated Emre, shining a spotlight on a limited vocabulary.

“Yeah magic, what. The atta- the tattooinement-ting innit. Whatever it’s called. That word for it,”  Emre’s hushed smile was rueful. Nothing deeper than a rudeboy’s inability to pronounce an unfamiliar, multi-syllabic word.  Emre looked away, his insides freezing to a numbing point.  His breath eventually exhaled in white puffs, frost lacing over his skin.

“Search me.”  He couldn’t predict the Duo’s decisions about jinn protocol (obviously none; this was unprecedented) and had little interest in speculating.  But maybe this was simply another test, or putting Emre in his place.  Of which Emre was more than familiar, so he fell back on his old, calming instincts. 

“If you say so, mate.  Aren’t you a dear, looking out for us unfortunates,”  Emre was amused now, like freshly fallen snow - soft and placating. It seemed Gabe had his own very definite way of seeing things, brought about by decades of living here. Which made sense. Gabe’s opinions seemed interesting, but Emre had gathered by now that inquiring meant being excoriated for it.

Whatever issue Gabe took with the Duo, it didn’t technically have to do with Emre.  Gabe seemed to be using Emre’s situation as an example for some grander philosophical point against the Duo.  Sure, why not, Emre supposed. Emre had a great many uses, for other’s agendas.

At that point, Gabe decided he’d come along but only if this and might be if that and with conditions and caveats here and there.

“Right,”  Emre murmured again, as he headed back towards the farm, the icy grass blooming under his feet crunching with each step.  He couldn’t resist adding,  “Any other advice for me, boss?”

x.

“Depends what’s on offer.  Or what I might have need of at the time.”

Gabe isn’t particularly prickled at Emre - it’s more the thought of Tomas that has him raising hackles like a snarling dog.  It was never overtly vicious between them - but even trading a few items felt like some kind of battle.  Tomas was organised, planned, resolute - ( all admirable traits, granted ) - Gabe just refused to toe that fucking line.

“Grains, fruits - or maybe something scavenged that could be more useful to me - out here - than left to idle and rot, purposeless, on the farm.”

He’s not actually picking holes in Emre’s vocab.  He’s more picking up on the association of attunement with something ‘magical’.

“Elemental force, if you prefer.”

“Magic is for fairytales and bedtime stories.  It’s a word people like to use when they have no other explanation for something.  Some weird shit happens - must be magic.  Someone discovers something new and revolutionary - must be magic.  Scientific breakthrough without understanding of the cause - magic.”

“I don’t believe in magic.  I do believe that there are things that we have no definitive explanation for, that are just beyond our current capacity to understand.”

“Take the island... If you think you’re up against magic - there’s no way you can face it’s trials.  No way you can reasonably stand up to something ethereal or ephemeral.  But if it isn’t magic... then it’s real.  It something you can withstand.  Something you can stand against.  Something you can learn to survive.”

Aren’t you a dear, looking out for us unfortunates.

That does cause Gabes head to swivel, muscles on that broad neck bunching up as he turned, eyes narrowing ever so fractionally.

He could give an actual flying fuck about scuttling off to Esther and Seamus to ‘report’ in.  Fuck them if they didn’t believe Emre - that was their own pig headed stubbornness.  And - as he’d already said - if Emre was truly a ‘free man’ once again, then there shouldn’t be anything that would cause them to doubt his word.  Especially - if what the crazy monk had said was true.  That the boy hadn’t offered any defence for his ‘crime’ - simply admitted the deed.  

“Y’know - when you ask someone to do you a favour, and they agree to help - it’s probably a good idea not to be a twat about it.”

.

An elite verbal athlete sat across from him. Able to sprint through whatever obstacle course of questions Kaz provided without breaking a sweat. Professional, clinical words, like implement. But sound advice. Because no, there was no way to equip (this word a tactical one) for what the island threw their way. Kaz nodded in understanding. ”I know not everything on the island can be handled.”

It never stopped him before from wanting to be as prepared as possible. Kaz had plenty of close calls in over ten years to know as much. Sometimes impulse took over– out of frustration, boredom, anger. “I know why I tend to get into trouble. The times I have.” 

He digs into the coconut again for another bite. “Caught me off guard in a different way. I’ve never had a connection to anyone on the island before, not in all this time.” What a shitty connection too. “I don’t see it happening again, at least. Being surprised like that.” Hard to top the person who kidnapped and killed your sister turning up. Kaz had no more to say about it. It wasn’t over yet, if he went into the jungle to help find Kotka and the rest, he could have another shot… 

There’s more to success than flinging fireballs, or summoning rocks… “Or being a human water cannon.” Kaz smiled as he finished the sentence. “Yeah, it’s not everything. But if we’ve got these powers, may as well use them. Another tool we’re equipped with, to protect ourselves, hm?” 

Kaz did not mention he used to wish he was water attuned. He looked at the elemental of air differently then. “There’s a lot of water attuned, yeah? Not as many attuned to air, or that I know of anyway.” 

A pause, longer than any Kaz had made during the conversation. “We’ve never sparred and used our attunements, have we? Why not?” He expected a host of reasons why, but they didn’t so much matter. “Let’s do it. Once I’m healed up. Test how well I can ‘implement’ all of my skills together, yeah?” 

.x

As Kaz mused, Gabriel could see the honesty in the words.  The connection was the issue.  The sudden surprise.  The anger.  The distraction.  It was entirely as Gabe suspected but it wasn’t for him to say.  It was for Kaz to come to his own conclusions as to why that particular battle had been -- different.  Gabe could suggest things until he was blue in the face but it was only for the other man to realise that - to find his own flaw, his own weakness in that moment.

Pointing out another persons weakness just caused them to jump to the defensive.  To deny and ignore.  Helping someone identify their own - was infinitely different... It was acceptance and realisation...  Like an addict needing to admit they have a problem before they can even begin to change their life.  It was something concrete.  Something tangible...  Something that could be worked on.  Maybe even resolved.  No, not the events that happened to Kaz’s sister... That was something that would likely remain without resolution - but Kaz’s reaction to anything that brought the rawness of those emotions to the surface - that was something that could - possibly - change.

Kaz was also smart enough not to live in any kind of dim witted fucking denial about his true self.  Weakness was something everyone possessed.  Even Gabe.  Having the courage to face it was smarter - and braver than living in blissful ignorance.

“It might.  Happen again.  Maybe not in the way it did back on the farm, but those people have that knowledge about you now.  There’s nothing stopping them sharing it with others.  Others who might want to cause you harm.  To use it as a weapon against you.  Because... People are bastards, mate.”

Or being a human water cannon

“Or full of hot air...”

A quip back at the quick jibe, Gabe sharing the quiet humour.

He does nod - ‘Another tool’ - Kaz concludes and he is in complete agreement.  

“Yep.  Use them.  A tool like a fist or a quick, sharp word.  Another part of the whole.  You know what you’re capable of.  What you can do and control.  Maybe it’s time to see if there’s anything in that repertoire that you don’t know you’re capable of.”

Kaz asks why they have never sparred with their elemental attunements and it’s Gabe’s turn to tease now.

“Because you’d lose.”

It’s said with enough of a hint of humour, but there’s still enough conviction behind it that he might not be joking.

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR AURA?

You are -- VIVID VIOLET --

--  You’re not easily swayed by what other people say and stay true to yourself. This doesn’t mean that you force your ideas on others, though; you’re rather the opposite. -- You don’t have any preconceptions or biases, thinking it’s stupid to jump to conclusions before actually getting to know anything or anyone. -- You have a logical brain. You don’t accept anything if it doesn’t make sense to you, so you constantly ask “why?” until it does. -- You don’t want to do anything you don’t like. You’re generally a very realistic person, but you’re sometimes prone to impulsive decisions. -- While you’re very strong-willed and decisive, it doesn’t quite show just by looking at you.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Have I,” Emre replied, mulling over this ‘heavy chip’, that Gabe pointed out.  He had made sure to sound embittered by his exile, as any punished person might; so Gabe was probably perceiving that. 

But Emre wasn’t truly resentful, especially not here.  Meridium was far better than his world in London, even with the tests, and his lies, and his broken hopes.  For now, he kept playing the part of the only bad apple on the island (Emre knew he wasn’t, but it was convenient for good people to believe he was the sole monster here); so he sighed and nodded.  “Reckon it is heavy, yeah.”

Emre’s nerves were indeed frayed. He’d been fighting an unprecedented monster all day, as had everyone (not Gabe).  The jinn might just be regrouping to return more bloodthirsty than before.  Forcing live sacrifices to the heart fire.  Destroying people’s minds. The things Emre had seen it become and do today, the memories it gobbled up from his mind, and Emre had let it… 

Right up until ten minutes ago, his entire concentration entirely focused on: ‘keep people alive, do not look it in the eye, don’t let it trick you, try not to die, you are Emre Akbar, live, survive, fight, live’.  He was only now coming down from the state of high-alert survival.

Emre had asked where had Gabe been since the beast showed up, not where he’d been since arrival on the island (which would’ve been a dumbass question).  He’d seen Gabe roving around previously to the beast, he knew Gabe existed since North Beach.  Tomas had told Emre what Gabe provided, when Emre had learned the hunting roster.  

After all, Gabe wasn’t the sole source of meat - not on North Beach, or South Beach. So Gabe’s odd snark about Tomas farming flesh made Emre return, “And put you out of a job? Nah. Tomas is all about fair work and fair wages innit.”  

So Gabe got to hunt, and Emre got to hunt.  Okay then, Tomas.

Another small whicker of amusement when Gabe said ‘make it rain’, because Emre’s tired mind absurdly envisioned Gabe making it rain over undulating strippers; but Emre was distracted by Gabe’s demonstration.   Emre did appreciate waterbaby shows. The more creative the better.  The way some could just summon their abilities at will…Emre yearned to be able to do that, one day.

“That’d be proper useful.  Waterbabies - and watermen - combining magic….”  …like that bloodthirsty rain monster that his and Aurélie’s combined water-magic had birthed in the last rainy season?  A chill ran down Emre’s spine as he wondered suddenly, if the rain-monster had also been a jinn.  Two jinns - one fire and one water.  One on South Beach, the other on North Beach.

“Right. Better I leave the big decisions to them in charge innit.  I should - we should tell them what just happened, yeah?”  One more inspection of the heart tree, but it seemed like it had done enough carnage today.  “I’d go alone, but my word’s a little stretched thin these days, know what I mean.”

x.

It wasn’t the bitter tone that caused Gabriel to comment, rather the bounce in his step when jumping to conclusions.  Not once had Gabriel mentioned the ‘murder’ but Emres rapid bounding to point it out.  To use it as a point of leverage for any opinion that Gabriel may - or may not hold about him.

He does, however, take a long, slow breath when Emre quips about ‘putting him out of a job’.  And that’s the problem.  Where everyone dragged the values of the old world into this new one.  Held to some manner of ethical belief that if you weren’t working your fingers bloody and raw every given hour of the day, that you weren’t a ‘contributing member of society’.  Values perpetuated by those who liked to hold some kind of ‘control’.  An invisible power imbalance between those who ‘said’ and those who ‘did’.  More bullshit.

And he certainly didn’t work for that pompous prat, Tomas... Though their moments together were always... Enlightening.  Friction enough to start a blaze more heated than any fire wielder.

“I don’t have a job.”

There’s a shrug.  Barely noticeable, though Gabe’s broad shoulders do shift ever so slightly.   

“If I have something to spare then maybe I’ll trade.”

Maybe not. He wasn’t exactly dependent on his ‘arrangement’ with Tomas for survival.  It just happened to make things marginally more... Convenient.  ( And that’s certainly how Gabe sees it - would refuse to ever admit that he has any dependency whatsoever )...  Though Gabe didn’t ‘get to’ hunt.  He hunted because he chose to.  Didn’t exactly need, nor ask for permission of anyone else... And no one had been dumb enough to try to dissuade him yet either.  Given that he was just the ‘quiet stranger’ for the most part.  Someone separate... Keeping himself to himself.  Handy to have around at times - nice to not have ‘too around’ for the most part.

‘combining magic….’  Emre says - 

“Magic?”

Now it’s Gabe’s turn to look slightly amused. Magic. What a term to use.  Power.  Maybe.  Elemental force.  More accurate. Attunement.  Seemed to be the most common... And likely the closest to the truth.  

Gabriel doesn’t believe in ‘magic’.  He does, however believe that things exist here... And likely in the world beyond... That didn’t have a definition or explanation.  That didn’t make it fucking ‘magic’.  Perhaps that’s why the monster, beast... parasite... was more believable as a ‘jinn’.  If it could invade peoples minds as easily as it had seemed to, what was to stop it plucking out a name for itself that inspired the most fear...

...You couldn’t defeat a ‘magical entity’. But you could purge, kill or banish a ‘parasite’.

“What decision would that be?”

Gabriel honestly doesn’t have a clue.  But he references ‘them in charge’ and Gabe is still left wondering who the fuck handed them the reins.  He just about manages to keep his eyes from rolling - from a small blue cussing of vapid, yet poignant profanities.

‘my word’s a little stretched thin these days, know what I mean’.

“I don’t know why it would be.  You did as they demanded of you.  Served your ‘punishment’ and ‘penance’ or... Whatever, yes?  They can’t hold you in contempt forever.”

“Either you’re free and trusted.  Or you’re still in shackles bound by mistrust.  But...”

He takes one last look at the tree, nothing seemed to be slithering or smoking or creeping it’s way out of the flames.  Turning to make his way back down the path, following the footsteps of the recently fleeing ‘Guy’.

“...If you think it would help.  To lend a little ‘weight’ to your words, then.  Sure.”

Why wouldn’t it.  Gabriel had never ( demonstrably ) lied.  Had never fallen afoul of the bollocks and meddling and ‘laws’ of the duo ( that they were aware of ).  He was nothing other than the trustworthy, stalwart, if slightly distant loner.