#fangsjustice

   Today was the first day Lloyd could move again, after the death he’d nearly died on Leonie’s kitchen table. Not content to sit still, even after nearly leaving this world, he’d gone to stand in the chilling evening with Alexei, look out over their farmland. Maybe he’d just wanted a few moments to clear his head, but hadn’t been able to escape Alexei’s friendly chatter — a problem Leonie all too frequently dealt with ( not that she’d ever, of course, minded ). 

  As her son and the love of her life spoke in the fields, she rode out to do her perimeter checks, and that is where she found them. Long, dark hair, curled around snow — long clothes that still seemed thin for this weather — a pallid feature to their face. Her heart had caught in her throat, and she’d only been relieved when she thought she saw the flutter of eyes beneath eyelids. 

   They awoke some time on the ride. Leonie only noticed when she’d gone to dismount, and they stared at her, laid over her saddle. “Come on, now, darling,” she’d soothed, helping them down — and, questionless, silent, they followed her into her home. 

   A blanket was draped at their back, a cup of tea set out for them. They stared at it like it was a foreign thing, unmoving. It was then, fortune should have it, that the door opened, and in walked— 

Distressed raven noises.

“I have not an inkling who you are, beorc, or how I’ve wronged you! Now, put that axe down, or --- AAAAACK!”

   ... What?

   He’s talking to himself, walking down the hallway, so brusquely and focused that he doesn’t even notice she’s also standing there. Eyes narrow. Hunched shoulders. Skin clammy and pale. Whispered nonsense. 

   Oooh, finally. Something exciting. 

“Survival of the fittest, huh? Well, I can’t say I’m unfamiliar with it.” It was how the Hawks picked their leaders, after all--the strongest of them all was deemed the most fit to lead.

   At any moment, one could be spirited away. 

   At least -- that is what all the tales into which she’d ever dove told her. 

   At any moment, one could anger Kami, and disappear. It did not matter what one may be in the process of doing -- Kami would call you, pull you, and you’d sink into the spirit world. 

   But, of course, Aella did not believe in terran folklore, nor terran gods. So this must be... a dream? 

   It had been moments before Aella had turned in for the evening. Her hair hung about her, she was wearing long, rather thin civilian wear -- in absolutely no condition to be seen by anyone. But here she was, in what felt like an entirely different world. There was a sharp, dank smell in the air -- and she realized she could hardly see, except for a torch flickering in a grasp above her. There, in the glow of the light, stood what appeared to be a human -- red hair, tied back in a long ponytail, beaming widely and somewhat mischievously. She was dressed in unfamiliar clothing -- adorned with heavy metal that glittered in the low light, a cape on her shoulders. Armor. Armor, as though Aella were... 

   ... In a pre-warp civilization? Perhaps in the past of one of the civilizations of which she had already known?  

   Thoughts of perhaps dreaming of a medieval world died when the redhead before her frowned down at a rifle in her hand -- eyes widening as it glowed, and slowly, her gaze came to rest on Aella. 

   “Oh, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

   Aella’s lips parted -- but before she could speak, there broke commotion. Shouts. Harsh voices. The walls of stone around her reverberated with the noise, and the person before her nearly threw her rifle into her hands. 

   There was a flash of light. Everything disorienting, and loud, and Aella had hardly been oriented in the first place, and thus, she collapsed onto the ground, released the weapon, sat on the ground with fingers shielding her eyes for a moment until the light condensed, and faded, and... 

   Aella dropped her hand, and her throat dropped into her stomach. The world, which had just felt oppressive, and small, and tight, went liquid with her shock. 

*intense boss music starts up*

Unfazed by the whirlwind of Linus’ emotions - a small gust compared to his own, and much smaller than the earfuls he’d taken from his uncle. It reminded him of his laguz adolescent years - that was an interesting time. “If you’re wondering about who ratted you out, Nino came to me and Mordecai while we were at the dining hall - said she hadn’t seen you in a while and started feeling worried about you, but wasn’t sure how to approach. After Kiran told us what was going on, it reached bro-talk tier. And for the record, I do have places to be - but if my little bro has a problem, I’m dealing with it with him, and that’s that.” 

Speaking of Mordecai... “Initially Mord was gonna be here too, but Kiran deployed him to the training tower for some extra orbs for that contraption he's calling the “Bread-A-Bricker” now, whatever that name’s supposed to mean.” the lion said, hunching over a bit with his arms onto the top of his knees. Looking straight at his mopeful beorc brother, he glowered. “And don’t you dare try hiding things from me. I can see right. Through. You.” If partially because he acted almost exactly like this at his equivalent age to Linus.

“You’re sick at yourself for getting fat, thinking that somehow makes you weak - DON’T. HIDE IT.” he chastised Linus’ playing with his shirt, almost going to his outdoor voice and scaring the birds a bit. 

“That gut you got is because you have access to more food than you used to, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it. Yet. From a Gallian perspective, That’s a good thing. You have energy to burn, weight to keep you grounded, and a natural padding for your organs. You lose those, and you’re dead.”