jesus. Pone. uh. look. yknow I really don't wanna be the one to tell ya this. but. yknow curlys been like. dealin. for a while now. right? n I don't mean to like. say more then I ought ta. but. it ain't like. dime bags or nothin. I've been hearin bout him pushin some serious shit. n. well. there's a reason they tell ya never to smoke your product man.
"Curly's dealin'?"
Pony looks down at Curly, his lips pressing into a thin line. There's a long moment of stillness before he shakes his head and keeps writing.
"That ain't right. Curly ain't a dealer. I dunno where you'd get that idea from, or nothin'-- I dunno where he would even get the stuff to deal. He's just 15, how the hell would get his hands on anythin' more than marijane?"
"He'd tell me if he was doin' somethin' like that. I know he would. Stop messin' around."
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Having packed all my personal belongings, at least, the ones that matter most, I follow a cobbled road to the docks.
Looking out, the Roran Sea greets me calm and reflective, mirroring the sapphire hue of the cloudless sky. I reach the ship intended to ferry me to the island and find the captain waiting.
“Hey, Shiny!” He waves, a wide grin spreading across his sun-worn, tanned face. “You must be Captain Tor, right? Pleasure to meet ya, pleasure to meet ya.” He places the end of a smoking pipe in his mouth and grabs one of my armored hands with a vice grip. I nod, unsure what to say. I wince as he releases me from his grasp. “Well, no time to waste. This way!” He grabs my bags and hauls them aboard.
I follow, forcing my legs to ascend the ramp into the vessel.
The ship itself seems sturdy, and well-maintained. That comforts me. At least I will not die on the way to the island. Hopefully.
Judging by rumors, though, a death at sea might be a kinder fate.
Once aboard, the captain keeps to himself. He runs through his rounds with an inspiring dedication and thoroughness. I quash the part of me that asks him to spare me. The man is busy and I must prepare.
I am not a particularly religious man, but I pray to the light of the Highest Mother, the Sun. I beg her for protection, and guidance. More than a few tears are shed. I wipe them quickly. The captain politely leaves me to my own devices, although I do notice a few piteous glances cast my way. My fear does not shame me. What would shame me, however, would be fleeing my duty. I would be a disgrace to my lineage.
Tekyev City demands my greatest courage now.
We reach the island the next morning. The salt-tinged air fills my lungs, almost burning with the intensity of its freshness. The motion of the water lulled me to a soft slumber last night, so I am as well-rested as possible for the grueling task ahead.
An ill omen swiftly arrives in the form of two previous guards, Acolytes of the Foundation, sprinting to the ship and sobbing with relief. I carry my belongings and some supplies off the ship. I set them just inside the cottage I will inhabit for the next month. I return to the vessel for a final time. I retrieve the last of the supplies, this box intended for Da’Ren, and disembark.
The path to their tower winds and curves without any obvious cause. I wonder why anyone would construct a trail so labyrinthine, but then again, I guess I cannot be expected to understand the machinations of the wretched.
I approach closer and closer to the mahogany door, sucking in shallow breaths. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Gods be damned, I walk straight into the maw of the unholy.
I can only pray that their ire will not be solely directed at me. The hope seems infantile. I sigh. I must be civil, and gather information about the enemy. That will be my path to salvation.
Once the door stands within ten paces, the only thing buzzing throughout my frenzied head is the only advice I received from an Acolyte before my departure to the docks. Do not give Da’Ren your name. It will be used against you. If only I could know the specifics of the threat I stand against. The more terrifying thought is that they, themselves, do not know.
Before I can properly comprehend it, I stand at the door. I take a cycle of deep inhales. I must present a composed front to my charge. Then I knock. Three times.
Knock, knock, knock.
I strain my ears for any sign of life.
Slowly, surely, I hear soft, deliberate footsteps patter down what must be stone stairs.
And then, the knob turns, and the door swings open.
The figure before me stands tall, imposing, despite the worn state of their ill-fitting navy robe. Deep, midnight, pitch overtakes their eyes, besides the irises, which shine a brilliant crimson in the dim light. I spit out some generic sentence. I utter silent praise to the City for giving me an internal script to follow. Their form slender, and their hands careful and deft, they accept my parcel. They bear no horns, nor fangs, nor any kind of tail. Their hair, long and silver, wraps around their shoulder in a complicated braid. A short stubble peppers their jawline. Every line about them is too angular, just a bit too sharp.
“They sent you here alone?” They inquire, a sly grin creeping across their expression. I nod. They look down at the parcel and mutter something unintelligible, shaking their head.
“Farewell,” I turn, intent upon fleeing.
“Wait,” They add. I pause. “My name is Lysar Da’Ren, you must know that much. I would like to know yours. We will, after all, be staying together for quite some time. I blink, trying to remain composed.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, to be honest.” I shrug. “I’m just doing my job.” I turn and continue my descent back toward the coast. To safety.
Once I hear the door shut behind me, I exhale a sigh of pure relief, letting the lingering tension dissipate as I walk further and further from the tower.
I return to the cottage, shut the door behind me, and slide onto the floor.
I need a cup of tea.
It’s also posted on Booksie, if you would prefer to read it there:Â
Its Quasar again but on anon cause I cant login in right now but my website doesnt exist anymore and Im not the turnip anon, even though Im on anon Im not that anon, this is confusing
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will ted come along with the current group one day? owo also now i'm curious - do the other kids that aren't the current investigation team know of the missing children? what are their feelings on it?
???: Hmm… Ted... you know, I don’t think i remember… not clearly enough to... ...it’s been a long time.
???: As for the kids - I suppose you mean the one involving those animatronics, yes? I think they knew. Many were worried. Some didn’t care much.
???: None of them did anything about it.
???: Just the few of us were brave enough to act - and sometimes I wonder if things had been… different... if we were different.
for every ask i receive asking about my newest AU, i’ll reveal a detail from it !!
alright, i promised to reveal (some of) lucas’ tragic backstory in the tags of the last ask.
so, lucas is travelling to the southeast of france to take a break from grad school.
however, he’s doing so because he has a lot of unaddressed emotions, toward both of his parents. anger for one, and grief for the other.
rather than acknowledge either of those things, he threw himself into finishing the latter part of his undergrad. unfortunately, at the point he’s at in his graduate research, he’s neglecting himself far too much to research effectively— these feelings are beginning to eat away at him, no matter how adamantly he tries to shove them down.
so his advisor forces him to take a break, much to his chagrin.
Checking out Vault 22 for its mission and oh my god I'm in love, where has this green been my whole life. Mysterious growth, spooky voices, and lil bugs, hell yeah
