The only time they can stand to be themself anymore is in the rare, quiet moments in between. In private, truly in private, with only their sibling to hear.

Here, he's a young boy. He's Phoebus. He can only bear to hear the name his father gave him coming from Elpis.

TAGGED: self thread

SETTING: Infirmary

MUSIC: {x}

TRIGGERS: Death

NOTES: None of this was a lyric. ALSO, technically this happened in the morning 7 days after the attack, even if it's nighttime and it's been 3 OOC/9 IC days. I'm just a time bender.

Morning rays of sunlight flitted through the infirmary, bringing light to a rather devastating scene. It was as if the golden shadows did not fit in with everything they illuminated; rushing healers, people growing sicker by the hour, and a small Scottish lady with bloodstained bandages draped all across her torso and lower abdomen.

TAGGED: self thread, Pagans

SETTING: Spanish Wing

MUSIC: {x}

TRIGGERS: violence

NOTES: I love you (hug) Technically this would take place later in the night when everyone was asleep, but I'm posting it now because no one is usually online then.

Evening had faded into night the way that one goes from awake to asleep. Slowly, but unnoticed until it happens. Madeleine stood dutifully at a post outside the royal baby King of Spain, Victor-Gabriel's, nursery. It was a secret to no one that his mum, Lucrezia, had been having a tough time lately. Anyone would if they were handed the misfortune of their significant other dying. It was because of this that the petite redhead stood unmoved in front of the child's chamber. The last thing she wanted was for Lu to worry about something else, like the safety and protection of her child. No one else was lingering around the nearby halls, making it silent other than the echoing sounds of Maddie's slow breaths. She surveyed the scene for a moment before allowing her head to lean back against the wall, a sigh falling from her lips.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry it?”

“No, no. I can manage,” she replied, leaning forward in her seat and giving a lazy wave. A large pot, full to the brim, sat abandoned in front of her; Eira had made a mere ten paces before ditching it and collapsing into the nearest chair. How could water, pure liquid, become so heavy – and with so little, too? It was too much for her frail frame to handle and she did not want to shift it. Her eyes formed into slits as she stared it down, trying to will it to move; the brass chamber pot remained in its place. It was as if it was mocking her.

It was times like these she wished she was gifted. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could move things with her mind, or any ability (she wasn’t picky). Eira didn’t see why not, considering she already carried and unusual appearance. She was fifteen years old, a third or so through her lifespan, and she had yet to see another human without colour. Even those with the fairest of hair and palest of skin couldn’t compare against her.

Eira knew, though, that she’d only use any unhuman skills to cut corners around the house. Whenever she joked about this to her father, his face would harden, the corners of his mouth twitching more than once. It always seemed as if something was troubling him and it rubbed her the wrong way, so in recent months she had learned to drop the subject.

God and His priests and His kings All were waiting All will wait As they go over

Water splashed onto the face of a worried young woman as she hunched over the bathtub beneath her torso. Her hands gripped to its rounded top, willing herself to get up, but after a few attempts she found it pointless. Her body was weak, breath drawn sharp, and a splitting headache repeatedly beat through her head to an irregular rhythm. None of this made sense-- she had only had a minor cold the past few days. Surely the sniffles and a sore throat could not escalate to such a state of ailment so hastily. A wave of nausea filled the pit of Madeleine's stomach as she used all of her remaining strength to pull her upper half further over the tub.

A disgusting pile of mush splat the bottom, the smell causing her to scrunch her nose in revulsion. The Lady turned to once again try and stand on her feet when she caught the sight of blood in her peripheral. A gasp echoed throughout the room. "What--" is all that Madeleine could say before her hands clamped over her mouth in utter shock. What had changed within the last hour?

The Scot thought back to the events of the evening, replaying preparations for the engagement feast as well as the feast itself in her mind. All had been well until after she had eaten, but it couldn't possibly be that the food was bad, for it would take longer for it to settle in her stomach. Puzzling confusion bubbled in Madeleine's mind until one moment paused in her thoughts-- the moment she was handed a pretty little golden goblet. Everyone had been given one at the very beginning, except for her. She recalled looking around questionably until someone approached her seat, set a cup down in front of her, and apologized; it seemed as though the kitchen had not prepared enough beforehand. Madeleine had not doubted such reasoning, not until this point. Now the answer to her rapid questions all boiled down to one thing--

Poison.

Collapsing on the ground, everything within sight became a blur. Every minuscule fiber in Madeleine's delicate frame became numb. It was oddly comforting in comparison to the ache and agony that had been coursing through her veins. If this is what dying felt like, she welcomed it with open arms.

The nearby voice of another young woman caused Madeleine to wonder if she were entering Heaven; perhaps this were an angel. "I do hope I am to be welcomed into His kingdom. The highest of all kingdoms," she voiced aloud lucidly. But instead of the soft reply she was expecting, she was responded to with an alarming yell. "Help! Get help! The Lady is in dire condition!"

Words about this little evil prompt right here (x)

The Equinox had lost. The Project so many people risked everything for, in hopes to rid the galaxy of the Covenant, had lost. Along with all hope for humankind. We lost everything. No word had come from the Director in days, but we knew the Project was over. We were done for, abandoned.  We all knew we would always be disposable, that's how agents and soldiers were everywhere. If one dies, they're forgotten and replaced. That's why I joined the Project after all, to replace a dead agent, a dead leader. But to be abandoned like this, in a barren planet with no communication whatsoever to our so-called "leader", it was sad, to say the least. But there was nothing we could do, the Equinox had been reduced to mere debris after the crash, and there was no trace of our presence on this forsaken planet. There was nothing to do, but wither away.  I remember that night as if it was yesterday - was it yesterday? I don't know, I've kind of lost track, there's no sun light in this planet. But I still remember it quite clearly. The Covenant attacked the ship again, only this time in such numbers that it was impossible to fight back. They destroyed our engines and killed our power, and it didn't take long before they killed other things. How many agents and A.I. fell as soon as the Covenant hit? That I don't remember, maybe because I've tried not to think about it. Some of those agents had become my friends, family.. For what seemed like hours we tried to fight the Covenant off our ship. They, too, suffered casualties, but did the Covenant even care about their fallen brethren? It didn't seem like they did, but we did. Every time one of ours fell, Agent or A.I, I could feel the pain of every single person in the Equinox, I could hear their cries even if no tears were shed. Even though they continued to fight, I could feel their fragile hearts shattering beneath their impenetrable armor. It's funny how fragile we can be, even with armor built to protect us from nearly anything. But it could never protect us from death. From the pain brought by the sight of our fallen comrades. No, not comrades, family.  And no, it actually isn't funny.  Just the thought of that battle now brought tears to my eyes, even those I didn't know very well, they didn't deserve deaths like that. But then again, who deserved death? Other than the Covenant. After all they did, they deserved death more than anything.  Some of the Covenant died along with our ship when it crashed on this planet, but most had escaped just in time. They had gotten their deed done, after all. They damaged our ship enough to make it crash into an inhabited planet, and left us for dead. Seeing some of the dead Covenant's remains scattered throughout the debris of the crash pleased me, though I wished I could have killed them myself. Slow and painfully. We gave our own dead proper burials, but the Covenant corpses deserved nothing. They were lucky I didn't just burn them, or dump them into the black ocean that stood nearby. Were we in an island? None of us had ventured out enough to find out.  There was roughly forty of us left, down from the fifty-five agents and A.I. that charged into battle to protect the Equinox once again. And even after the hours, or days, that we've been in this planet, we still haven't moved very far. No one cares anymore, I guess. Being abandoned by the Director like this, and all of the deaths we experienced, it was difficult for everyone to become motivated to do anything. We were lucky to even have a fire. I don't know who made the fire, but they were smart, and possibly less hurt than the rest of us.  From where I was sitting, I could see every single agent and A.I, all wounded physically, but near death mentally. Some A.I. were missing limbs, but even without arms of legs some still proved themselves useful, helping Helena care for the fatally wounded. Other A.I, however, might have as well been shut down, they hadn't moved since we crashed. They only stared at the ground, silent. If they had hearts, they were definitely shattered beyond repair. It was sad, honestly, to see A.I. reduced to nothing but this, just shallow shells left after their dead agents.  I still didn't fully understand how strong the connection between the agents and A.I. was, but seeing them now.. it was scary to think about.  I was happy to see that Nashville was still alive after the battle, and the crash, but even he wasn't himself right now. It was painful to see. He had suffered some incredible wounds, and for a second I thought I was going to lose the only true family I had left. Helena, however, reassured me that if he was willing to fight, he would definitely make it. I always knew my brother was a fighter, so I knew he would make it. But what would he make it for, anyways? There was no future for any of us, were were abandoned, and the moment the supplies we scavenged from the wreckage were finished, we would begin to drop like flies. And even if we managed to survive off whatever resources this planet might hold, I hardly thought that would be a suitable life for any of us. We would die eventually, this I was sure of. I didn't want to think about it, but in our current condition, did we really have any hopes of survival in this planet?  Unless the Director or the UNSC sent someone to rescue us, we would surely die, sooner or later. Some of us would surely die soon. I managed to get on my feet, and walked over to several of the survivors, their mental health worrying me more than their physical wounds. Agents Cheyenne, Hartford, Phoenix and Concord were some of the agents I was most worried about, both because of their past files and the latest events. In a situation like this, we couldn't afford any of them being unstable or snapping at anyone. Of course, none of them said much, but I knew that any support would help. I would give them time, even though time was not something that was on our side.  I felt responsible for every living agent at the moment, and I wanted to do everything in my power to help, but there really wasn't much I could do, was there? Maybe if I could find more supplies around this planet.. Some fresh water, fruit or maybe some game, anything might improve the morale of the group.  I needed to do something, so I wandered into the vegetation that stood behind us. No one even noticed where I was going, which was a good thing. I didn't want anyone following me, I didn't want to put anyone else's well being in danger. We had no information on this planet or the dangers that it held, so it was better if I wandered the depths of this 'jungle' on my own. I don't know exactly how long I walked, really, but there seemed to be nothing in this planet. No edible fruit, and not even animals or creatures we could potentially use for food. There were no streams of fresh water, just.. nothing. The hunt wasn't completely useless, however, for I found one thing of interest. A message from the Director left in a holographic pod, addressed to no one in specific. I didn't see any pods landing any time after the crash, so had it been inside the ship all along? I played the message, but the damage to the hologram made it difficult to understand.

Freelanc-- Agents, Th-- ship has bee-- --- Cov--ant, I will se-- --ver I ca--, Rescu- -ips will arriv-- --oon bu-- w- wil-- onl--, be abl-- to rescu-- fo-- a- a time, Also be--are the Co--nant have devel--ped techn-- to posses-- hum-- bodies, do not tru-- tho-- tha-- hol-- th-- mark, Kill mark--d age--ts

I felt like there should be more to the message, but it all went to black. So the Director was sending help.. but he could only rescue us four at a time? How long would it take for others to be rescued? And what was he talking about marked agents? The Covenant couldn't really possess human bodies, could they? Then I remembered. The images of our wounded brethren flashed before my eyes, and suddenly the idea didn't seem so far-fetched. Some of the wounded agents didn't seem like themselves, and their wounds almost made a pattern on their skin.. could they really have been possessed by the aliens they had been fighting? It that was the case, there were several people I remember seeing with those "marks", but could I really bring myself to kill them? Charleston, Providence, Dover, Augusta, Austin.. they all had unique wounds, and even if they truly were possessed by the Covenant, I honestly didn't think I could bring myself to kill any of them.  Maybe I would joke about killing Providence so I could take her spot on the leader board, but this wasn't really the time for jokes. Nor did the leader board matter anymore. We were all on even ground now, and the ground wasn't exactly nice.  With the Director's words in mind, I made my way back to the crash site. Not only did I now have to choose what four people would get on that first rescue ship.. I had to investigate this Covenant possession nonsense. I had to speak with everyone, investigate their wounds and behavior, and get to the bottom of this. I held my knife tightly in my hand. I didn't know if the Director's words were true, but if they were, I had to be safe. 

Night Haven. He barely remembered it. The buildings looked like ancient ruins held together by threads that threatened to snap at any second. The hinges on doors flapped, rocking eerily through the thick fog that blanketed the street. The signs of businesses etched on planks of wood hung ajar on their posts. Everything seemed topsy turvy, spun around and pulled inside out. It just didn't look the same and Michael wasn't sure if he could attribute this to having not seen it in a month or so, or because something much more devastating had passed through. Maybe madness had surfaced here as well. Maybe the battle waging in his head had somehow manifested itself here in such ugly disarray. The Vampire frowned at the ideas that may have birthed this unsettling image. The careful footing of heavy boots went silently across the ground. He was subconsciously cautious of his steps, as though the faint snap of a twig would ignite the awakening of unwanted beasts. Creatures he wouldn't be able to shake off or avoid. Draugr chain mail moved with the tall man's body as he wandered slowly through the village he once knew.

Through pained eyes, it was as if seeing it all for the first time again; the charred side of the crumbling library where a riot had occurred ten years prior, the rose bushes outside the clothing shop he had helped a mortal create before their untimely 'death'. Between every home, every shop, was a secret -- a history bathed with his presence. He could smell himself against every brick, every piece of wood and metal that belonged to these buildings. He could feel himself in their roots; a lifetime of dealing with their many generations of owners, and longtime buyers for what seemed like a millennium. 

His footing turned from caution to ease as the memories faded through his head and lulled him into a beautiful wave of reminiscing. The past he belonged to, the life he had left behind only awhile ago. He missed it, and in the quiet moments alone he longed to be that simple bartender behind the counter in Thirst again. Thirst. His eyes darted to the left, hastily finding his established business just down the road. As usual, picking up speed towards it as he went, dim flickering candle light could be seen beyond the fogged windows to make it known that those inside never slept in the darkness. Michael's ears perked, twitching at the noticeable sound of chatter coming from within, a sound he had once loved. Now, however, he felt undeserving. The boyish smile on his face from being reunited with his home faded out along his features, turning into a small frown. The Vampire turned his back, imagining how content everyone inside to pub must have been, and how his presence only put a stark damper on that contentment. His brain rationalized that if they knew he was out there, watching and listening, they'd surely snub him. Why would they not after abandoning them? 

Michael's back turned to Thirst, and he carried on through the street. His shoulders slouched as his head hung low. These feelings were awful. And he was feeling them because of Emery. Because of the possibility of losing the only good thing he had ever created to the throws of a blood sport. Yet still, Michael couldn't shake the realization that that was his fault anyway. He had so stubbornly left and joined a cult, and it had amounted to nothing but another ill attempt at finding something to hold onto. When all the while there was Emery to hold on to. His time away could have been spent with his family. With Rose and Emery, enjoying their love and seeing the happiness so widespread across his child's face in the presence of his companion. He could have helped Rose around the house, been fascinated with her magick, or learn about who she really was. Could have built a proper relationship with her. He could have laughed with both of them about adventures he had as a young man going through Europe, or when Babanel had taken him up into the mountains and he was chased by a goat. He could have had that, instead of this. Something far better than this.

And of course, somehow he found himself outside the Frost residence -- the home Michael had had built tailor made for the newly weds. His dull eyes looked up at it in awe, but that was when the guilt really set in for him. Red liquid pooled against his green eyes as he imagined what it would feel like to know for certain his son would never return to this place again. To know that the bed inside would lay one person short of full... The Elder forced those hideous thoughts at bay. He had already felt terrible, no sense in making it worse. Michael knew, just a sliver, the responsibility he played in Emery being at the tournament. Of course, he wasn't entirely at fault, but he played a significant role enough to know that his son's blood would have been on his hands too. And yet... Ugh.

Heavy boots lingered around the entrance, but after a few minutes he found the nerve to venture forth. Vines had grown along the house's edge, and the trees' branches along the short pathway dipped towards the ground. From what he could see there were no lights in any windows, nothing that indicated anyone was home. Good, he thought to himself as his legs took him towards the side of the house. Just as he wandered up along the small flowers in the yard, he stopped. Mid-stride. It smelled... Off. Michael looked around himself, eyeing curiously at thin air.

Where is that coming from? Pale skin wrinkled along the Vampire's nose as he scrunched his face slightly. Shaking his head to rid himself of the bothersome scents -- was it more than one? -- he could only assume they had had guests of all sorts coming by.

Dull colored eyes, like matted and unfocused shades of green pooling against a blackhole, met the light of the blossoming moon as it rested among a sky of sparkling diamonds on ebony silk. The monster's form branched out like a tree, dazzled by the fresh smell of the night that filled his nostrils. A gentle wind passed his features, as if caressing him in a sentimental gesture. A 'good morning' of sorts that seemed to stem from the earth herself. As warm as the welcoming was, it felt out of place against the stoic cheeks of the giant. It had felt far longer than it had been since the universe and he convened in any way that resembled a bond between the two. A valley had been forged, separating one another until they greeted each other as strangers and not the intimate partners they had been in centuries past. The monster's eyes narrowed, a low growl releasing from the pit of his throat as he turned away from the glow of the Moon -- in more ways than one. As the glowing deity watched her child reject her calls, her rays touched his back and shoulders in an effort gone unnoticed to pull him back. She would weep for him in the coming days a mountain of rain that would seem to drench the world.

He did not mirror himself anymore. A stranger in his own skin, the Michael he once was laid like a dormant outsider somewhere inside of him. An alien. Every so often he could feel that part of him pull through, but every time he simply resisted. He resisted everything that had to do with the life he wanted to leave behind, even all the elements he wished he could take. Or rather, had taken with him to begin with.

The creature's body was clad in war gear that would have weighed a lesser man down. Thin sheets of chain mail clung to his otherwise bare torso, leaving more than enough room to move in. Unorthodox armor from another land adorned his legs in the form of thick leathers. The attire was odd, indeed, on a child of the Moon, but the complex of things were strange now, no?  

As he walked along the indented path made within the mangled and overgrown forestry of Hallowed Oaks, "patrolling" for the Draugr Queen, as he called it, he could only harp on the sole thing that seemed to haunt him most now. Though, hadn't the child always haunted him? Seeing his progeny at the tournament, watching him fight for what could have been his last few moments on Earth, shook Michael to his core. It caused him pain, an immense and overwhelming grief that he let out on Calvin when the two were away from all the worry of the Draugr. Even now, as the soldier took stride through the brush far away from the walls of the Draugr Hall, the images preyed upon him. Things between all that surrounded Olia Meadows, felt different about it after that. He no longer looked at the great castle like building with a feeling of pride, or accomplishment. Instead, he looked at it as if it could only be used for whatever gain he had already obtained from it; his haughtiness, his new found god complex. It no longer served its purpose, but the fundamentals behind it... He was torn. Torn, as usual, between right and wrong. The path he longed for seemed muddled all over again. The ever allusive guide he needed, he never seemed to find. Not in Babanel, not in Mother Moon, not in Wisteria, not in Asa. In whom could he entrust himself with anymore? In whom could he find a home? Himself? Ha.

Michael stopped his wandering, falling back against the bark of a tree lining the pathway and slid to the ground. A gentle, somber sound tumbled from his pale lips as he ran anxiety filled fingers through his messy dark hair. He closed his dull eyes and curled his legs til his knees were up to his chest; long arms reached around them, his forehead pressing against them. The weight of whatever armor he wore was no match for the weight of this. This feeling of being lost, of floating in space without something to ground him. In that very moment all Michael wanted to do was see the smile on Emery's face and share even a fraction of a second pulling him close. Anything to smell his scent, to know he was close by. He had left for the Draugr to become a better Maker, a better father, to that boy. And for what? Just for them to put him up on the slaughtering block? That wasn't the point to this. He wasn't turning his back his progeny, but trying to take the time to... just be better. 

Frustrated limbs squeezed around his legs. "Fuck..." His eyes closed tightly, scrunching up his face in pain at the idea. What if he died? What if he had left Emery to do something good, and all he had received was his son in a casket? What then? 

Michael blinked back bloodied tears, hardening up his exterior. He wanted so strongly believe that his actions were done with good intentions, and that he would reap the bounty he longed to sow. He ached to find himself, to get the footing he needed to be who he felt he needed to be -- this unobtainable ideal of "Babanel's son", "Mother Moon's favorite". He just wanted to fill the gaps inside of him, for once. The Elder stood up and began to wander the forest again, in no real direction. For hours he was a vagabond, aimlessly searching through the forest and through his head, taking the time to consider himself and the actions he was taking.