#ravenshadow

- The party was Ranjit Singh (the future Hexmaster), Elliot Kelly (the future Steward of Respect), Matthew Hinks (the future Steward of Understanding), Elliot Allan (Edgar's Dad), and Logan "Titch" Castle (iykyk). The group called the Elliots by their last name.

- Ranjit once stole one of Elliot's books and put stickie note/post-it notes on many of the pages with his thoughts and opinions on the happenings of the book. Elliot still has that book and all its notes to this day. No Allan besides Elliot has seen the contents of that book.

- The Raven considers Elliot safe when he's with Ranjit, he tries to drag Elliot to him if he isn't.

Persimmon bumps his head against Elliott's shoulder twice, before cawing and flying out of the bar. The man in question shuts his book, having not read any of the words the past ten pages. He didn't bother to check what his father was doing. Not like he ever needed to, not when he could hear the 2 women and masc person wearing an non-binary bracelet cooing over every raspy word Elias says. A deep sigh leaves his throat, as he makes his way to the door.

Despite his and his father's reputation as the travelling, bad boy librarians may tell, this part sucked. Not the catching up on his reading or the latest word-of-mouth stories he could flirt his way into gathering, or the motorbike. (Once his boy, Edgar, went to school, Elliott went and got his out of storage. He just prefered to drive, race Persimmon as if only the wind could could stop them now, and forget about his regrets. He could laugh again.) It was the picking up people, sleeping with random people, and what the fuck else. Don't get him wrong, it's not like he doesn't do that from time to time but he wishes he didn't have to.

The fresh air finally hits Elliott in the face, blowing away his thoughts. With a lose hand, he wades it through his fringe all the way to his fade, resting it on his neck. His long legs follow his bird, trusting him to lead. Tonight… just isn't his night. His brain felt more like a map, not taking in anymore information beyond what path led it back to a certain man, who crowded his thoughts more than Elliott had ever admitted. Probably will ever admit. Another sigh left his lips before Elliott noticed the ground under his feet turned from pavement to gravel to grass.

Persimmon sits, patiently, on the ground. He tilts his head as he stared up at Elliott. His human catches on and lays down on grass and some dead leaves, Persimmon hops onto his chest. He pushes himself under a side of the leather jacket and rest, knowing full well that Elliott won't be moving for a long while, not while Persimmon’s third favorite person rocks around in Elliott's head.

For fuck's sake, Elliott cursed. Every time he looks up at the night sky, filled with stars, all he sees are Ranjit’s eyes. Ranjit Singh, the Hexmaster of St. Churnleys, the 6’0 man with the tanned skin, black eyes that sparkle with light reflection, and the man who continuously holds guard over Elliott Allan’s heart, whether or not he remembers having it. Said organ begun thumping in his chest, forcing Elliott to lift his head up to ensure his raven is still resting which he is.

Eyes drifted back up, to the sky. Elliott squints his eyes to recognize a plane was flying overhead, immediately imagining the “Airplanes” song from however long ago. Said song forcing him to now think about how he went about this all wrong, about how he'd go back and “switch” his flight. If a tear fell past his temple, then that's only for him and the universe to know.

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky

Are like shooting stars?

I could really use a wish right now

Wish right now, wish right now”

As the odd black flying creature flew on overhead, Ranjit released the smoke from his mouth. Maybe silently hoping the smoke will obscure his vision, obscure the music in his head, obscure the mental image of a 6’6 tall, dark haired, dark eyes man. The very man who obviously moved on, long ago, if the bird cursed kid had anything to say about it.

What's done is done. That, however, doesn't make Ranjit wish for something different. That he chose something different, or that Elliott did, but they both chose this fate. He has to help the boys like him, he can't imagine himself doing anything different. No matter how much he wishes he could, if nothing else to just see a certain Allan again.

Sitting on the ground at the base of the stairs, an open bottle, half drank in one hand, the be-patched redhead peered up with a singular fel-green eye and smiled, a weary, woeful smile. "Hey D... we... need to talk." Long ears perked, and he moved to kneel beside his fiancé, wincing slightly, one hand moving to rest on. "What happened? Are you injured?" He tried looking over the man, scantily clad as he ever was, in leather harness and trousers, boots... his gear... but couldn't find any injuries. Normally, however, he knew he didn't drink. Leastwise, not like this. "No.. No it ain't like that.. There's somethin I have to get off my chest." The rogue sat up a little straighter, his features locked on the gentle priest's own. "You think you know the real me... You don't." Jaredian blinked. Well, That was... odd. "Honey I know all about your work. I know the job was hard and you probably have to do some.. rather unfortunate things but I told you it doesn't bother m-" "That's not what I mean D." He sighed, cutting off Jaredian before he could continue. "I found him.. I found the bastard that did this to me... I never thought I would but I did and... and this changes everything." Running a hand through messy crimson tresses, he waited for a moment before continuing. "Jaredian, I've.. never been quite... truthful with you about something, and it's something that's been eating at me and If I had never found the guy then this wouldn't have ever come up but now... Now I have a way to fix it and I really hope this isn't going to be a big fuck up on my end to admit but here goes... "

Jaredian tossed in his sleep, curling up around the pillow that smelled so heavily of his lover's favorite soaps, alone, at the moment, as Beledar had shifted to shadow. Whispers clouding his mind, echoing lies from years past... a deep, terrifying ache setting into his very bones as he slumbered on, helplessly reliving his memories.

"W-What do you mean.. Rhys? Haven't I tried? I've tried everything! I -do- love you... staying with you after you... Don't you see how much I want to make this work? For both of us?" His hands slid down her arms from her shoulders, staring into that singular fel-green eye as he caught her hands in his own. "I've stayed, haven't I?" "You aren't the man I met, D. You're withdrawn, skittish. We barely touch, Ever since the ritual. It's like you don't want me anymore." Jaredian swallowed, hard, his ears pinning back slightly. He -had- tried. He loved her..... he kept telling himself that, over, and over again, but each day was harder than the next, knowing the depth of the lies that he had been told. She'd been cursed. She explained. She'd been afraid to tell him, knowing his preference, as they fell in love. She'd been resigned to her fate, as long as she could have him.. but then she'd found the warlock who's fucked her life over. She'd taken her revenge and in his desperate attempt to hold on to the love he felt for the man he had intended to marry, he agreed to help her. To do anything to make her happy, if it meant he would have a wife instead of a husband? So be it. He was hurt by the lies, a full year's worth of lies, one piled up on top of another, weaving a story so strong that he had believed, nay, hung on every word. They had completed the ritual to revert the curse, and for a while, he had made himself believe that it was just that he had been lied to, that he wasn't comfortable with her anymore, that - that love ached, more than warmed him. Attraction was near non-existent, something forced with medicine his friend acquired for him, even allowing him to 'perform' enough to bring a child into this world... it was false... and they both knew it. The words were out before he could stop them, as his hands fell to his sides. "I could say the same. Rhys.." He peered at her as he took a step back. "You aren't the man I met, either. The man I fell in love with. The man who promised a world he could never give... because he never existed."

In the waking world, the priest was shifting again, lashing out, only to curl back into a ball as familiar shadows curled around him, comforting him in their embrace, glowing eyes gazing at each other before looking back down to their master while, as per usual, S'jach and S'ren did their best to console him in his nightmares.

Rhys's face fell at that, anger quirking the corner of her lips, as she shouldered the pack that had been sitting at her feet. He flicked his ears, listening for the infant sleeping in the next room. The argument had started near silently over the fact that she was leaving again, mere weeks after giving birth. Another mission, and leaving him alone, with their newborn son. "I'll be back, or I won't. You know how to take care of him. You can get formula from the nursemaids over at the orphanage. It's for the best. we both know you can't stand the sight of me." "That isn't true!" He hissed out, though he questioned his own motivation. Was he trying to keep her here for himself, or was it the desperate desire for his son to have his mother? The question teased in the whispers that echoed in his mind, shadows lacing together around a heart that was growing colder by the day. At the soft whimpering that could be heard from the next room, he hissed out. "Fine... Travel safely, and come back home. Your son needs you." "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't... But do you?"

It was the last time he'd seen her. News had made it's way back to the cove that she'd been killed on that mission, rival assassins. He wasn't certain, with their parting, if that was actually the case, and for the life of him he'd known he was supposed to grieve, to be forlorn that a woman he had been married to, sired a son with, should be mourned accordingly, should be missed. He should be devastated. Doubt, however, had twisted the knife all the deeper. Had she lied, to run off? Abandon what he himself had sacrificed so damned much to keep alive? It ached, it burned within him, these doubts, these pains, as he continued to raise their, No.. HIS son... but that hadn't been what hurt.. No..

It had been several years later, when his son began to learn to speak, to learn his letters... when the young redhead asked, eyes wide and doe-like up at his father. "Did minda hate me? Is that why she left?" And to this doe-eyed lad, his heir, his only joy in the past few years, who he had raised primarily on his own, with the help of his familiars, could only say one thing, despite the very real feeling of uncertainty, and a lie to the taste on his tongue. "No, My little sun. A mother's love is eternal. If she could have come back, she would, in a heartbeat. Bad men took her away, and there was nothing she could do. Somewhere, she watches over you, and loves you, still. I promise."

Beledar shifted to light once more, and the memories faded in the warmth of familiar shadow's embrace, finally allowing the priest to dream once more of his heart's desire, and the future he hoped to build...leaving the past to once more rot there, in the twisting coils of broken memory.