#lanternlit

It is... unsettling, to say the least, to realise that the... thing that monster put behind her eye is somehow cutting off her connection to her patron. Even more so when she realises the loss of his presence in the back of her mind also means a drastic decline in the power she has available to her, much of it just out of reach where it came straight from the Prince of Frost. Though at least that which had came from her time spent in Vale of the Long Night seems to be with her still, if weaker than it should be as well.

Uncertain of how long she had been out, she briefly fidgets with a ring on her finger, muttering the Sylvan incantation under her breath to restore the glamour that masks her mismatched eyes, now a pale, icy blue rather than the otherworldly glow the Feywild and her patron has left her with. There is little to be done right now about the rest, feeling as unstable as she does, a faint trail of frost forming behind her with every step. At least that could be explained away between her gear that she thankfully still possessed and just precisely who her patron is.

Walking up to one of the other pods, she's surprised to find someone inside still — someone who appears to just returning to consciousness themselves, but unlike her own pod, the lid seems to have jammed part of the way.

Frowning at the strange, alien construction of the pod, she reaches out for what she can only assume is part of the mechanisms that controls the lid, supercooled ice spreading from her touch into the inner workings, weakening them to the point that they shatter with barely a touch, the lid falling away to clatter onto the floor as she takes a closer look at the person inside.

Human, that much is clear, simply by the shape of her ears. Dressed in things she's never seen the likes of in Faerûn or in the Feywilds — not that that is always all that surprising, particularly with the latter. Still, as the woman seems to recover her senses, Tavares watches her for a moment longer before looking around the rest of the room.

A few empty pods — their inhabitants presumably having got free on their own — and a few others with the burnt remains of those unlucky enough to make it out alive. They were both lucky in that regard, she supposes, as she looks back to the human.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔   𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒕𝒘𝒐   𝒐𝒇   𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎   in   the   room,   her   and   Dean,   with   Sam   having   left   to   dispose   of   Bernard’s   body.   The   official   story,   one   shared   verbally   between   the   two   brothers,   was   that   Dean   was   excused   from   the   clean   up   party   due   to   all   the   injuries   he   had   sustained   while   fighting   her   bodyguard.   But   the   meaningful   glance   between   the   two   of   them   told   Rowena   all   she   needed   to   know the truth   —   she   was   left   with   a   babysitter.   It’s   not   entirely   shocking   or   insulting   to   the   witch;   after   all,   not   even   an   hour   ago   she   had   Sam   tied   down   to   a   chair   ready   to   be   sacrificed   just   so   she   could   get   an   audience   with   Death.   

But   she   is   curious   to   see   just   how   far   that   mistrust   goes.   

“I   could   help   you   with   your   wounds.”   The   silence   breaks   with   her   suggestion,   Rowena’s   eyes   returning   to   the   hunter’s   frame.   She’s   not   putting   up   any   act,   no   overt   display   of   innocence   in   her   tone,   nor   a   frown too guilty   that   seemed entirely   out   of   place.   Only   a   tilt   to   her   head,   fiery   red   curls   cascading   her   down shoulder   with   the   movement,   a   raise   of   a   well   manicured   eyebrow.   “I   do   feel   responsible,   well,   partially   at   least,   for   what   Bernard   did   to   you.   It’s   only   right   that   I   get   you   back   in tip-top   shape.”  

@lanternlit ;; meme (still accepting) Dean said: “I’m covered in blood for sexy reasons. Also I just got stabbed.”

the cerberus base looms ahead of them, a terrible eyesore jutting out from the mountainous terrain. The Illusive Man's interference, though far too late in Shepard's opinion, was timely enough that his people could still weasel their way into the base's systems and remotely disable the turrets along the perimeter. The operatives manning the exterior haven't yet realised that they were deemed rogue by their leader, judging by their frantic attempts at forming a proper defence when their cannons remain offline and unresponsive to the Hammerhead's rapid approach.

Seeing them all lined up in preparation for the oncoming assault... it's a tempting sight. If they were on level ground, Shepard would no doubt have floored it — vehicular manslaughter, as it turns out, is terrifically efficient at clearing paths, though it is a little rough on the paint job. But the time saved in a ground assault is generally worth the mess. (And the smell... well, maybe not the smell. Especially not when they'd weathered heat that had been enough to bake husk gore into the treads of the Mako. Not so much a concern with the Hammerhead, but still unappealing.)

As it is, he's forced to slow to a — somewhat shaky, as Garrus so helpfully comments; but it's not the worst feedback he's ever given Shepard's driving, so Shepard leaves it be — stop on a nearby, only semi-driveable slope. It's an uphill battle from there, but they make good time on clearing the defences. Between Shepard's and Miranda's biotics, any moving target in close enough range is quickly pulverised or ripped to shreds... and no distant or retreating force is so quick that they can duck away once Garrus has caught them in his line of sight. Shepard hasn't even broken a sweat by the time they've cleared the outside of the base.

They don't have the nearly same luck with front door access. Word must have gotten out regarding of their arrival, or of their gracious leader's abandonment; the place is locked down from the inside, but it's nothing that Miranda can't eventually break through. Despite the neat separation of its cells — how convenient for getting away with unethical experimentation, and just as convenient an excuse for the supposedly well-informed head of the entire organisation — the operatives here have built upon the same security foundations initially supplied by Cerberus: an oversight that Miranda easily exploits. They're inside in a matter of minutes.

... but it's quiet on the inside. Much too quiet. The layout of this place, winding and somewhere bizarre, isn't what he typically expects from a Cerberus hideout, either. But you can't really get picky when you've built yourself right into the side of a mountain. " Seems like all the guards stationed up front have fallen back towards the lab... stay on guard. "

' Get into the lab, get the situation under control, and retrieve whatever data you can. Exercise discretion if time allows, but do whatever you need to do, Shepard — just be quick. '

“Don’t get yourself into too much trouble while I’m gone,” Kaeya said. The words tasted bitter. “I won’t be here to cover for you.”

“When have I ever,” Diluc said flatly.

Kaeya couldn’t find the right words. “I’ll bring you something when I come back.”

“There’s no need.”

I’ll miss you. But the words wouldn’t come out. I already miss you. I’ve been missing you even though you’re right in front of me.

“Nothing fancy,” Kaeya said, but the smile wouldn’t hold together. “Something small for-” he caught himself on the words ‘my brother.’ “for you.”

“There’s no need,” Diluc repeated, gruff and unfriendly as ever, reaching for another glass.

“Would you at least look at me when you speak with me? If nothing else, I’m a patron.” The words felt like they were being torn out of him, and for a moment, Kaeya see Albedo, arms crossed, with an irritated frown every time he noticed Kaeya thinking about Diluc. Regretting.

Kaeya regretted it immediately, when Diluc did raise his eyes. Flat, hard. They were the same color as they had been growing up, but there was no warmth left in them. “We’ve parted ways, haven’t we, Sir Kaeya?”

~

Here on Ao3

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