#* drabble

it’s always been strange to luciel that androids were programmed with personality traits. he knows that siwoo, in particular, was programmed with ‘honesty’. though that somehow came with ‘curiosity’, which could be a good thing since he’s a scanner-type android. he still never quite understood why androids needed such things, but questioning the council of humanity’s decisions never once cross his mind.

he’s just a battler-type android, all he needs to do is to follow instructions and keep an eye on siwoo.

they’ve been assigned as partners for a long time. luciel is good at coordinating with fellow androids, but with siwoo sometimes…. they ran into trouble. one of those troubles had led to their present situation: a freaky head plastered onto a sales vehicle requesting them to find some flowers.

“it sounds suspicious, we should report it it immediately,” luciel told siwoo.

“huh? we should give it a try, hello? it looks fucking weird but it seems… nice?” the other blinked his eyes at him. “this is my duty, let’s just go with it. i need to know more.”

luciel took some time to process a decision, then sighed, “i should also tell headquarters to remove your ‘vulgarity’.”

“what the- fuck you???” siwoo responded, probably on purpose.

nevertheless, they went ahead with it. they had no reason to refuse its requests anyways, perhaps they could discover more information about the machine lifeforms they were fighting to send the data back to headquarters. siwoo made the right decision.

after finding those flowers three times, it brought them to a place underground.

it’s dark, which is natural for an underground place. yet luciel couldn’t help but to remain still for a brief moment to take in the scenery lighted up by a field of glowing white flowers.

the cart lifeform sounded extremely happy and started rambling about its past, how it once had a main body that split into pieces to protect earth. it’s weird, none of this was recorded the library of data. and that is what siwoo said.

“and i thought we knew everything… hey, nii-san, let’s go look around,” siwoo goes head to explore, even though there isn’t actually much other than a bunk bed with a roof right in the middle of the field. according to the cart, a human used to live in it. “that’s weird, this bunk bed feels familiar…” siwoo mumbles, crossing his arms while staring at the bed.

luciel stays silent.

“it’s my first time seeing this flower, but why does it feel so fami-”

“oh! this is a lunar tear!” the cart interrupts abruptly. “these used to grow all over the place, like the desert… but eventually the sand took over the soil and it stopped growing. this was a dear friend’s favourite flower. you can have one though! i’ll give one to you!”

“really? that sounds like a sad story… but thanks. hey, luciel nii-san, why are you so quiet for?”

luciel scoffs at him, “reporting to headquarters about what we discovered, of course.”

yorha no.8 type S has rediscovered lunar tears. he is showing signs of recovering his 32nd life’s memories data. proceed for execution?

memories. no, that’s wrong. how could luciel make that kind of mistake? androids only have data that can be implanted, altered, or deleted; they were nothing like memories.

luciel’s finger hovers over the ‘send’ button. his eyes turn to lay upon siwoo, chatting away happily with the cart. he’s always wondered… what was the personality trait that was programmed into himself? androids shouldn’t feel pain or remorse when they destroy a fellow android, and yet at his core it feels… crushing.

it’s for the sake of humanity, he tells himself in his mind repeatedly.

“hey, what’s up?”

the executioner battler-type android smiled.

“did you know, lunar tears are said to grant wishes?”

“no way, are you serious?!”

report received. execute yorha no.8 type S.

“mmh. you were the one who told me a long time ago.”

Once again, Henry had challenged Arthur to rough house on their last visit to Westminster. The sixteen year old humored his eleven year old brother and it had ended in a tear one another one of his shirts. Rather have one of her ladies in waiting do the task of mending his shirt, Catherine had taken the duty upon herself.

She had been in confinement on bed rest for the last month as she entered her third trimester. There was only so much that her ladies could do to keep the Princess of Wales occupied lest she go stir crazy. Too late for that.

Arthur chuckled from the doorway. He had come by, as he did every night to speak with his wife before he went back to his own chambers for the night. “It is doctor’s orders, my love.” he said, sitting on the edge of his wife’s bed. She lifted her head to glare at her husband but there was an overwhelming playfulness in her blue eyes that was overriding the irritation.

“This is your first pregnancy and no one wants to risk anything happen to you.”

“Or the heir. Mainly the heir.” the seventeen year old princess added, lowering her gaze to sewing once more.

“Both of you.” Arthur insisted, reaching over and pressing his hand to his wife’s knee. “Only a few months left and we will soon be holding our child. It will be in the midst of Spring. We will be able to take him outside, show him some of the lands he will eventually rule over.”

Catherine put the shirt, needle and thread aside onto the wooden bedside table and reached her arms out to her husband.  

The sixteen year old Tudor smiled gently and the two moved about on the bed until he was lying next to her, both of them under her blankets. Her arms wrapped around his midsection as her red curls rested upon his chest. “Stay with me for the night.” she asked, her voice ever so muffled as she nuzzled his chest through his nightshirt.

Arthur laughed softly as he pressed a kiss to his wife’s head. One arm resting behind his head, the other wrapped around Catherine, his hand placed upon her swollen stomach. “You know I-”

“I know. You also know that I am an early riser. I will be able to wake you up and shoo you off before my ladies arrive.”

He did know that. Knew it well. Before she was with child, there were many a mornings when he was jostled awake from his wife moving off of the bed before the sun had even fully rose above the horizon.

“You know I can not say no to my Guinevere and you use it against me.” he teased.

Catherine nodded, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. “Indeed. My Arthur.” she moved her head away from Arthur’s chest and leaned up to peck her lips against his. “I love you.”

“There is really nothing that you want i-in return?”

The underground’s lord smiled. “Only a small thing. What I will gain in this treaty is nothing in comparison from what you will.”

CRASH.

Phantom turned his head towards the direction of his office door, a dark brow cocked upwards. The other male turned halfway in his chair to look in the same direction.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice filling with more tension than there was before.

Phantom shook his head. “It’s nothing. Now back to the task at hand.” he tapped his knuckles at the wood surface of his desk to get the man’s attention once more.

“Is there nothing you wouldn’t do to ensure your family’s safety? To guarantee their security henceforth? Both financially and ph-”

CRASH.

Letting out a low growl of annoyance, Phantom stood and turned his head to his henchman who stood stoically at his side. “Make sure he doesn’t try to leave.” he pointed his cane towards his client. “One moment please.” he smiled at the young man before leaving his office and making sure to close the door behind him.

After walking down the few hallways to his office, he entered the main barroom.

To say it was chaotic would be a tad bit of an understatement.

A few major things that caught his eyes one by one --

The house band he’d hired that night was all standing, not a lick of music being played.

Broken chairs. Wood shrapnel littered his exquisite - and expensive - marble flooring.

The behemoth of a man laying atop a pile of what Phantom figured was the remnants of table.

His daughter grinning up at him as she stood over the groaning man. How he wasn’t entirely knocked out at this point was beyond the demon.

Phantom placed the end of his cane on the ground and leaned on it with both of his hands. His dark brown eyes flashing crimson at his offspring for just a second as he glared at her. Her smile faltered a bit.

“I have several questions but the first I will ask you, Calliope.” he cleared his throat. “What in the fuck is going on out here?”

Callie shrugged her shoulders. “He was heckling the band. And he was harassing a few of the patrons.” she defended herself as she nudged at the man with the tip of her boot.

“Uh-huh.” he nodded. “And what did I tell you do in an instance just like this?”

“To get one of the bouncers to throw any nuisence out and lock the door behind them?”

He nodded once more. “Yes. And why do I tell you to follow this protocol?”

“Because you are almost always with clients and we don’t need reason to try to scare them away?”

A nod once more. “And where the fuck do you think I was just at?”

“In your office…with a client…that you don’t want to be scared away?”

“Sharp cookie, kid. Sharp cookie.” he said, standing up straight. He snapped a finger towards one of the bouncers. When he had gotten their attention, he simply pointed to the man on the ground with his cane. “Get rid of this asshole, please and thank you.”

“Of course, boss.” The bouncer hefted the near dead man over his shoulder and more or less threw him out the front door. He tossed the man’s wallet to Phantom who had caught it easily in one hand before removing what money and few credit cards were inside before tossing it back. The bouncer tossed it outside - it landing with a small thump on the man’s chest.

“Father, you don’t understand. You didn’t hear what he was sa-”

“Calliope, I don’t care what he was saying!” he interrupted her.

“But!”

Phantom shook his head. “No buts! You keep saying that you want in on my business, on my empire.” he started.

“And I do!”

He pointed his cane in her direction. “Well, first off. Stop interrupting me and listen!”

Callie shrunk back ever so slightly.

“Seldom do you ever listen to me. I give you the simplest instructions and you can not even follow those.”

“Sir, please just hear her o-” one of his bartenders spoke up. Phantom then pointed his cane in their direction.

“I did not ask for you - or anyone for that matter - to chime in.” he said, without even pulling his gaze from his daughter’s. “You’re relieved. Go home, Calliope.”

“But.”

“Go. Home.” he repeated his words. “We’ll talk later.”

Callie rolled her eyes and scoffed. She walked behind the bar and gathered her things before walking to the door. She turned on her heels to face Phantom.

“You know, you might do a good job at ruling this empire, this fucking kingdom, but you are a shit father.”

“Go. Home.”

Rory had planned to hole up in the house, alone. Have a good cry, maybe stuff her face with pizza or something.

That's, of course, when she got a message from one Miss Nova Bennett to get her ass ready so she could pick her up. As one of Elena's friends, the Gilbert twins had gotten used to the Bennett twins being around while growing up. They weren't particularly close, friendly certainly, if a little closer to Nova than Bonnie. The other could almost be considered the crazy aunt, or maybe sister given the age difference. She was always there to pick Jeremy and Rory up if they needed it, kept Jeremy from doing dumb things even when his twin couldn't stop him, listened to Rory when she needed to talk to someone that wasn't her brother, let them do stupid stuff like try edibles, with her supervision of course, instead of getting in their cases like Elena would have.

It was comfortable, and comforting. To know there was someone they could go to and find no judgment. Well, maybe some, but still.

Her thoughts came to a halt as a hand held a cup of cold cocoa towards her. She hadn't even noticed the ruckus stopped. Uncurling so she could sit up and grab the cup, she quietly thanked her. Nova set a plate with cookies and her own cup on the coffee table, before sitting next to her. All of it without a word, just knowing she didn't want to talk. Not yet.

She took a sip of the cocoa and relaxed, it tasted like home. Like mom's hand running through her hair, like dad's hugs.

Rory burst into tears.

Nova snatched her drink and set it down, pulling the younger girl down to rest her head on her lap. She still didn't say anything, knew there was nothing she could say to Rory right now that would help, if she even wanted to hear it at all. Instead she rubbed circles on her back, her sweater feeling soft to one of Nova's hands while the other rested on brunette tresses.

They basked in each other's warmth, the silence permeating the house only broken by Rory's cries.

Outside the rain continued to pelt, raindrops sliding down the windows as if the skies were crying too.

For a moment she's able to forget that one of her best friends is gone, killed himself because Marta was stupid and gave him the wrong dose. Maybe if she hadn't been distracted, if she hadn't tried to banter with him as she always did, maybe if she had called the emergency services regardless of what he wanted. Maybe if, if, if. There's no use for what if’s. What happened, happened and this is life now.

With a Harlan shaped hole in a part of her heart, yes, but at least her family is still here. And Carmen. Her mother and sister and girlfriend who all remain by her side, even with the controversy of Harlan's death, even with detective Blanc and the Thrombey family hounding her steps nowadays. Even with her silence on the matter.

She can't help herself, can't stop the tears escaping her just then. The hand on her side stops and suddenly Marta is turning around, dark brown eyes peering into her lighter ones. The concerned little pout in Carmen's face makes her cry even more, to her girlfriend’s alarm, which earns a laugh from Marta. She thinks Carmelita must believe her a little deranged in that moment, and still she doesn't leave. Just holds Marta's face and tries to wipe the tears away, murmuring sweet nothings. Unfortunately for the other girl it does nothing to stop the tears, only brings about more.

Because she is bursting with love. For her mom and sister, for Carmen. She loves her family so much she can't quite put it into words. Can only hug her girlfriend close, forehead gently resting against forehead, and breathe her in. If happiness had a scent it would be tangerines, after all that's what Carmen's favorite perfume smells like. And for all that they might argue and get on each other's nerves from time to time, Marta Cabrera has always been at her happiest with Carmen Cortez.

In her presence there's no need for conversation. She's content to simply be like this, close. Having opened her chest knowing someone could get in and rip everything apart, allowing herself to be so vulnerable knowing it could be used to hurt her, she found, was worthwhile. A pleasure to her heart, so real that it was almost terrifying. They're not each other's first, they don't think of each other first thing in the morning, they're not perfect together, but mistakes and imperfections are what make something real. They laugh together and doubt together, they make mistakes and solve them together. They don't need to serenade the other, or grand gestures, after all it was the simple things that started everything.

I miss you when you're not around.

Have you eaten something yet?

Take your coat, it's gonna get cold later.

ㅤㅤㅤthe first time they meet, she's already lost one life. she's about to lose the second to someone hunting her through the bazaar when something goes off with a bang and out of nowhere there's a hand on her wrist dragging her to safety, the sound of commotion getting lost behind her.

the second time they stumble into each other, again in the bazaar, he gives her a little bag of strawberries. she's about to thank him when suddenly she's grabbing him around the neck to pull him against her and turning around. she dies in his arms, a knife on her back.

the third time she's gathering water from the river one second and shrieking the next, because he's an idiot who thinks that breaking from the surface without warning and startling someone into falling over is funny.

the fifth they're fumbling around his treehouse when he dies on her arms, a mosquito bite on his exposed back.

the seventh, eighth and ninth time they die together, jewel left behind and hidden in the treehouse. the eleventh time she's taken, only put out of her misery when van pelt finally loses his patience. the twelfth through fourteenth time they are too wrapped around eachother to care much about the game, only to be ended by their weaknesses.

the sixteenth time olivia dies kissing him, willing away her last tattoo to keeping him alive. a tear drops in alex's face just as his eyes start fluttering open, a vague memory of sharing their themselves together teasing against their minds.

This one’s giving her a real thrashing, sending her flying into the walls at every conceivable opportunity, with an intensity that has to be personal. She figures that it is; the spirit they’ve tracked to upstate New York, isolated in an abandoned cabin by a lake somewhere in the Adirondacks, belongs to a woman who’d lost her two children, a boy and a girl, in a drowning. Sue feels for her, she really does, because she can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose her own children at all, much less in such a horrible way, but —

The wall cracks under the impact of her head for the fifth time, and she doesn’t have to be able to see anything to know that she’s bleeding.

“Johnny!” she calls to her brother, whose shovel she can still hear digging into the dirt just outside the cabin. “What are you waiting for? Burn the damn bones! I don’t have all day!”

“That’s really high and mighty coming from the one who left the salt in the car, Sue! And you tell me I’m irresponsible.” More shifting of dirt, and then there’s the distinct clang of metal on bone. “Hang on, I’ve almost got her!”

The spirit seems to know it, too; her head turns, mouth open inhumanly large to scream. She moves, swiftly, to the window…. 

“FLAME ON!”

Instantly, the hold on Sue releases as the spirit disintegrates: she slides to the floor, gasping for breath. The fingers that slide to the back of her head definitely feel blood, but as far as she can tell, it’s nothing too serious — something that another few minutes might’ve changed.

Regardless, though, the job is done, and hopefully, finally, the spirit can find some peace.