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It wasn't hard to tell by the time Lysander set foot on the solid Snavian soil; nobody had expected any member of the B'lyth to arrive early. It gave the corvid some freedom to poke around in silence, the branded B'lyth sigil on his forearm carefully tucked inwards to avoid detection. His hands tucked deep into the pockets of his trench-coat, the corvid carved a quiet path down the street with a regal, controlled gait, his path almost inevitably towards the prison. A few creatures on the way, humans mostly, flashed him a dirty look or two — Owlins were not a very well liked species regardless of where you went given their history with the water fae — but he kept his gaze forward. Anger boiled in his gut, instincts urging him to use his gifts and remind them all of what he was capable of, but he didn't. His talons flicked in a restraining gesture as he grasped for patience. No, picking a fight was not what he was here to do. What sort of fae would he be if he lost control at the slightest of glances? He had higher standards. Occasionally, the corvid had to tilt his head in order to maneuver around an obstacle on his blind side; occasionally, he bumped into

The sun bore down on his ebon pelage, bringing with it a wave of burning heat. Scowling slightly, Lysander wove into the shadows to take advantage of the shade. The corvid's orders were simple this time, and for this reason, he insisted on going alone. He had never been one to accommodate for a group setting, and to work with others was to invite trouble and wasted time. Perhaps he was wrong to be so arrogant and dismissive of the others. By virtue of the rugged work any of them did before being trusted on a solo mission, some level of skill and competence was automatically required of them. Unfortunately, the corvid could only take so many snide remarks in a single day before he lost it and lashed out with his talons. Just one of the many reminders of the ways this odd curse seemed to be ruining his life. A single train of thought hummed in his mind, a single name.

Eris Everlast, the human girl. She's the one you want, your target, your prey. Somehow the word human aroused a slight whisper of doubt in his mind — human with magic seemed highly unlikely and with the skill to carve runes? Forget it. She had white hair, so what? You could never quite take rumors for what they were; news passed down along so many mouths lost the element of accuracy fairly quickly, and news spread around was up to the speaker's whims. In short, people shared what they wanted to. Thus, his motives did not lay on torture or sadism, but on the desire for investigation only. If he wanted answers, true answers, and resolve on what to do next, he needed to go to the source.

Sweeping into the dungeon front, his wings dragging on the ground, Lysander tried to hold his breath as he descended inwards. The prison was a pit of mold and rot, and the stench hit him head-on. Worse still, the claustrophobic confines of the cell walls pressed in on his sides, reminding him of the narrowing tunnel. His throat choked up painfully, breathing hitching as unwanted memories swarmed to the surface.

Soft, tittering laughter...a warm hand lazily moving down his shoulders...two brown eyes alight with malice as they surveyed him like a piece of meat. He swallowed it. Not now. This was not the time and place for Cado's memories to come up again.

He reached the cell and stopped short.

Gone.

No, Impossible.

The chains were slack, the door open.

Like she had traipsed out the door under the guard's noses.

They had promised he'd find her here, and she wasn't.

How had the mayor, this stupid mayor, failed to keep even a human child alone in the cell until the B'lyth sent someone? Foolish indeed! Teeth bared and feathers bristling, Lysander hissed sharply in disgust, the cells echoing with the trembling, inhuman reminder of his wrath that soon led to a series of (appropriately derisive) remarks about a people who couldn't contain a human child for even a day. The sound was still in the air when he had turned on his heel to leave, mind calculating. No, a simple human child would not have been able to escape - maybe she was elven after all - so the best course of action, for him at least, would be to start with observation.

About a half-block down the street, all of Lysander's senses went on alert as something pinged his senses. You see, among the few types of benefits for being Owlin, one of them was magical detection. Like a foxhound to the rabbit, magic was his scent, the trail he would follow. And what did he sense, rapidly receding? Daemon magic.

With an increasing sense of urgency, he followed his senses, instincts on full alert.

Hunting for the human girl with a trained methodism. And for answers.

I. Hate. Mornings.

When his alarm clock went off, the display reading 7:00, the cacophonous din enveloping the peaceful morning, it brought the blonde haired male nothing but irritation. It took him the full minute to wake up after that. The quilt on his bed were tangled around his legs, a chill snaking up his calves where the exposed wintry air bit into his skin. Sara winced internally, and tucking his long legs back under the grateful warmth of his comforter, he turned his alarm clock off - and embraced the silence that enveloped his quarters.

The house in which the Crawfords resided in at first glance seemed too large, too extravagant for a four person family. In fact, it seemed to be hardly lively. There were many open rooms, both upstairs and downstairs, most of which had simply been repurposed. A music room there, a game room here. If anything, the two rambunctious children who had once lived here had filled the house with the warm familial aura. It was no question that Sara and Soleil were two kids who got into more trouble than a flock of wild staravia. But for one inhabitant, the large house was … quiet. Hollow. A ghostly shell of what it had once been. Sara’s hand brushed the edge of the upstairs balcony, a heavy feeling sinking into his heart. Team Rocket had taken his family away from him in one fell swoop nine years ago. His parents pokémon, items, any memory of them had been buried. Only the many too-empty rooms inside the house gave any indication that someone else other than he had lived here once. The house had become a tomb.

“There will be no resistance.”

In some ways, Sara was grateful. It made mourning his family easier. The seven year old laid their bodies to rest in the forest next to their house, dug their graves, and that was that.

The morning blurred past Sara as he went through his morning routine. For the most part, it was because he wasn’t really paying attention, and really he didn’t need to. He combed his blonde locks, made a swift yet delicious breakfast, and spruced up his appearance in front of a mirror. The patrols didn’t care to look much towards the Crawford household, not since the execution of Sara’s parents and younger sister, and as such, Sara was confident that he could slip around the corner without being caught. As a child, Sara was one to test the curfew line, to see exactly how late he could stay up and out of trouble. And he’d gotten closer than ever to a great many public instances, and people didn’t tend to look twice at the slight-built male. To his benefit. Team Rocket would be hard pressed to keep the male in line, especially when his entire existence had been built around testing rules.

The early morning chill had condensed around the mirror, leaving a fine cover of mist upon the glassy surface. Sara scrubbed dutifully at the pale grey surface, bit by bit, until the mirror was clear. He stared quietly at his reflection; a male with weary jade-green eyes, a face surrounded by locks of eternally messy orange-gold. Sara plucked a brush that he kept inside the cabinet, and put it to work, gritting his teeth at each rough tug sent a jolt of discomfort through him. While most would have deemed his hair a lost cause, Sara wasn’t one to be daunted by the task. However, despite his efforts, the golden locks simply fell out of order. As if he hadn’t just wasted twenty minutes of his time. His reflection smirked back at him sardonically as he set his comb back on the dresser, scuffed it back with one hand. Sara arched his back in a luxurious stretch, a massive yawn forced his jaws open wide. Better get on the road…i’m going to be late now, aren’t I?

A brisk morning chill greeted Sara’s form as he poked his head outside his residence, checking both sides quickly for any of the pompous Rocket grunts who often sauntered through the neighborhood. He listened for the growls of their pokémon and their drawling tones. It wasn’t that Sara was scared; it would take a lot more to intimidate him. But given his propensity for accidents, it was better to double check. Not to mention that his town was still under curfew. Affirming that it was a coast clear, the tall, wiry male emerged from his home, hit the streets at a brisk walk, headed for the…general direction of the laboratory. He had forgotten his map, of course.

And Sara Adalia Crawford was terrible at directions.

Dawn broke with the usual brazen display of salmon-pink, periwinkle blue, and russet, which only brightened as the sun slowly crept up the hill. The display was only faintly obscured by navy-blue clouds, allowing most onlookers a broadly unobstructed view of a grand sunrise.

Cognac eyes scanned the barren wasteland of a city with unnatural hunger as a beast and its keeper crept forward, every step poised and purposeful. Ebony paws, with the unmistakable shape of a canid creature, scuffed lightly over dust with painstaking care, as if it was afraid of making a sound. White claws glinted like miniscule blades. The air tasted heavy and moist, faint threads of petrichor lacing the air like morning mist. The beast's eyes were not focused on the wan display above as the sun slowly trudged up to its peak, warming the colors with a mother's fond grace. Nor did the hulking brute glance once at the human female, dressed in colors as dark as its pelt, cold sage-green narrowed with intense focus as she examined footprints on the ground. Each breath was exhaled carefully and quietly, held in tenuous anticipation as she probed the dirt. She was clearly looking for something, something specific, though to an outsider, what it was did not seem obvious. A noir nose poked close to her hand as the beast sniffed the dirt, clearly tracking a scent. One scent, one meaning, one purpose. One person. The large shadow sniffed the dirt around and ahead, proceeding a few paces ahead of his human. But only just. Two noir ears perked up. Ivory incisors that looked like the swords of some ancient time bared as the wolf loosed a faint sigh of satisfaction. It's keepers head snapped up at almost the exact same response, eyes widening, pupils dilating like an aggravated lioness. There she seemed to say. Our prey went this way.

They were stalking prey, as a cat might stalk a mouse or a wolf might stalk elk. Their prey's fear-scent - as viscous and sweet as fresh honey - clung to the dirt like moss. And judging from the shallow indentation, the appearance of disturbance on the soil besides it...they were afraid. They were running away, fear spurring them on brandishing a whip that promised certain doom. Good. They should be afraid. Even if all their fear was going to do was allow them to die tired. As the duo prowled forward, the footsteps grew closer. The fear scent grew stronger, drowning out the more relaxing taste of the rain on the horizon, beckoning within both woman and beast an unholy lust for blood as old as time itself. This was predator and prey. One runs, the other chases. One feasts when the other dies. And the woman intended to feed good and long upon Death itself.

The valley and forest was mostly barren by now, but nonetheless, it still offered a fair amount of hiding spots. The woman paused, the rising sun - and fading morning display - casting a unnervingly long shadow before her. The fear was strongest here, fear and anxiety rippling off in waves. It served her prey right to be afraid, because this was not the first time the woman had made a kill, and it was unlikely to be her last. The woman was feared and hated because of the blood on her hands. When she wanted you caught, you were caught. When she wanted you dead, you were dead. No question. The hour was early and her skills were finely honed, but the assassin had no intention of playing whack-a-mole. She wanted her kill done quickly and efficiently. This … ramshackle hut, if you could even call it that, had only one exit. There was no way of escape. Briefly, she contemplated the possibilities of escape, the odds. The duo had been tracking this particular man for a little over four days, which was only a testament to his skills. But the beast's patience was beginning to wane - he had none of the woman's control - and she knew he would surely go mad if they lost their prey now. So, the black huntress took her time, circling the house with a practical look in her eye. To an outsider, she looked almost as if she was toying with her prey, each paw fall reminding them of her horrid presence. In some ways she was.

One word, a name, a summoning. "Daedra." The woman's voice was as unearthly as her visage, a low empty whisper fading almost instantaneously into the dead air. The black hound fixed her with a gaze of gravity and intense focus, no doubt a look which would have sent men of weaker will running in the opposite direction. A command. "Wait at the door." To trap him - three words that did not need to be added. The two were so finely in tune that verbal communication was almost nearly useless. Her will was his will, her thoughts his thoughts. He was a physical extension of herself, dark and predatory and kingly. A conqueror borne from the depths of hell.

In she crept, the diseased and rotting wood creaking beneath her feet. The overwhelming and nauseating aura of fear and various other smells assaulted her senses in a noxious wave. 'You're here somewhere.' Aelin hummed silently to herself as she examined her surroundings. A pile of dirty clothes there, broken bottles here underfoot; she swept the glass shards aside disgustedly with a foot, their tinkling fading quickly as she dismissed it from attention. Her prey was hiding well, she thought - but not well enough. Daedra's senses brushed up against hers, sharp with excitement and adrenaline. Turning around, she saw why. A cry! Her prey had bolted right to the entrance, and yanked open the battered door expecting to find freedom. Instead, they found a furiously snarling direwolf, cognac eyes filled with malice and a lust for death, ivory incisors on full display. Her prey cried out in consternation and dismay as the black canid tackled them to the ground, fangs sinking into flesh and tearing. Blood gushed from new wounds to the floor, glowing like rubies.

Please! They screamed, hoping for mercy that Daedra's fangs wouldn't give.

Please! They howled as Daedra lunged for their jugular, only impeded by the stick that was roughly jammed into his jaws. The black brute choked, shaking his head back and forth as he tried to free the debacle from his maw.

PLE- Their next scream was abruptly silenced as Aelin drew her blade of steel and ended her prey's life. Her posture was tense with rage, eyes alight with the frenzy of the kill. It was her, again, that had driven the direwolf to kill with three days worth of rage and fire. Now, it was done.

It was done. Aelin exited, stepping over the body and coming to stand on the unkempt lawn with the grace of a panther.

Distantly, thunder rumbled ominously on the horizon.

Anarchy reigned.

Ash and darkness coated the “camp” in a dark grey shroud, smothering even the smallest wails of the kits that were in the nursery; the detritus of what the dark tabby molly had formerly called home crunched under-paw as she swept forward to examine the ruin. The smoky odor of burning wood, the tongues of flames, wafted from the fallen brambles that could’ve once held the warriors den, singing Pythonshade’s senses and lungs, making her gag inwardly. It took her an even longer moment to simply…process what had happened, and that she wasn’t blinded. It was as if the heavenly beings of starclan above had suddenly tired of their presence, and decided to smite them from this earth. The entirety of the camp had been carved away in a mosaic of purposeful ruin; the sheer depth of the devastation was absolutely unfathomable. Thankfully, it didn’t appear that anyone was hurt, or injured; most were shaken by how easy it was to rip away all that they had known. Pythonshade’s fur prickled along her spine, the blast of lightning that had ripped away their home as they knew it only making the dreary shadows around her feel more intrusive. It wormed its way into her mind, pressing upon her pelt with phantom fingers. In fact, she would’ve felt less confined within the warriors den, or even inside her nest, where there was little space to begin with. The warriors were a large group, as is.

The blackness had turned her to a creature of the night. She shook out her pelt; the darkness stayed like a second pelt; an inky expanse across her entire being. She might as well have been sucked into the dreary vortex above.

indent‘Deep breaths.’ Pythonshade felt her entire frame shaking with fretful unease as she tried to force air into her lungs. Reality, as she knew it, had been turned upside down, all of her cells that were screaming for order were on absolute overdrive. Because there was no order to be found here. She could see the faint silhouette of crows circling around the camp, their harsh caw-caws only casting a more sinister light aura over the camp. Crows could only indicate one thing; death. Death, or an omen of the already dying. She could’ve sneezed on their cold scent even from down here. They roosted upon the very rims of the crater, mere shadows against the even darker planes of the night. What was darker than a crow’s wing? In the haze, kits cried for their mothers, and the once resolute moonclan shifted and murmured like a group of frightened mice. Anything could be lurking out there, with fangs ready to rip and tear into their prey. Foxes, badgers, hawks…need she continue?

indentWhere was Tigerstar? Or their deputy, Thunderheart, for that matter? Pythonshade’s anxiety only increased, as she dared her first steps into the center of the crater. There was no moon to illuminate the camp now, and the miasmic blackness that enveloped her senses made her feel as if she was in a terrible claustrophobic nightmare.

A nightmare! A nightmare! Was this all a terrible dream?

Had she simply gone blind by a curse from Starclan? She wanted to disregard blindness, with the explosions, the dust, the flames, as if the very earth had tried to swallow them up, to erase their presence. The tabby was vaguely aware that the other cats were in a similar state of confusion. But, as her eyes scanned through them, she realized their numbers were greatly diminished. There used to be so much more of them, and their voices drifted over her like a lake. In fact, they all seemed to be very far away from her. Every breath, Pythonshade monitored this.

indentPythonshade had never been quite fazed by nightmares; or the horrific visions that oftentimes plagued her during the black hours of the night. They visited her often; breaking her mind away in chips while they assaulted her senses. While it did send her into fretful disdain, night after night, Pythonshade had learned to meet them head on with dull, dreary diligence. The fact remained that the only sign that she even had nightmares was the disdainful lingering air that pervaded all her actions, and her speech.

From what she could tell so far, after taking more of a take on her “surroundings”, she had entered a sort of limbo. Or a void, with the small pinpricks of light - stars - above glittering coldly above her head. The celestial display was neatly complemented by the round, full moon in the center of the pool. It was the sole source of light, yet it did nothing to dispel the darkness around them.

Pythonshade wasn’t even asleep, nor was she dead, but her paws were not suffused with the energy of life.

A glow emerged at last-effulgent and cutting-as if it could stand the darkness no longer. It drove the darkness back with a passion, burning with such brazen conviction that Pythonshade’s very eyes felt like they were burning along with them; a sensation that led to pinpricks of pain behind her eyes. The pain and … awe only grew as the moon in the center of the pool began to shift and change shape; yielding the ethereal cat - no deity that stepped from the mirage with almost unnaturally seamless movement. Moonlight incarnate.

They were beyond beautiful.

“Listen to me. Hear me, hear me clearly.” They commanded. Their voice was neither old and young, sweet and dreadful, soft and harsh all at once. It was not a voice of this universe. In fact, Pythonshade knew that even her most fevered dreams could not have conjured such a tenor. The ethereal white eyes, all-seeing and brilliant, passed over them all; Pythonshade had never felt so stripped bare when they landed on her, despite passing quickly. Could one say they were commanding? All eyes of the summoned cats were on their ethereal visitor; silence hung over them all like a shroud.
“Perhaps this is merely a dream, perhaps it isn’t.” They continued, beseeching, patient and yet calling to them, ”You’re now alone regardless and you all are stuck here. Whether this is real or not, you cannot escape from your destiny. Your quest. You’ve all been spared of the destruction of your clan, though the reasons of the cause of this I cannot begin to explain.”

And this was where the real shock set in for her — and those gathered. Shock, and something bordering on anxiety coaxed Pythonshade’s pelt till it bristled on her spine in what she could only describe as … hostility? Or survivor’s guilt? How had her clan been left to waste when she was here? The unease and confusion of her clanmates at the cryptic allusion to their clanmates’ fate gradually crescendoed like a tide. What have you done? What have you done? What have you done? Pythonshade’s pelt rose in rhythm with the hostile tidings of this incandescent being.

indent“Silence!” It shrieked, and the world ignited. Pythonshade was jolted; the whole clearing shook as blinding light struck the earth with such fury it silenced them all at one blow. “You ignorant souls!” raged the spirit, “Listen to me if you even wish to see your clan again. Your clan has not seen its last day yet, but if you wish to see them again you must fulfil this quest: Find the twelve which have the power to save your beloved clan. The Twelve Zodiacs are your only hope to save your clan. You will face a long journey and many challenges you will face. You’ll see and hear things worse and better than you could have ever imagined, but do not fall for the traps that lie in wait for you. Do not merely trust anything, yet do not run from anything either. I must warn you that one mistake could cost you…” The … wait what? Zodiacs? Pythonshade tucked that detail away later to speak with Cinderfrost, who had more experience with celestial related jargon than anyone in the clan. “You have no choice but to accept this quest. And you should not be wasting time, as you have exactly until the next full moon to complete it.” The glow was fading now; the darkness that replaced its absence only more opaque and ominous than before. “Do not fear. Fear is the worst thing you can bring into this realm.” The feline sighed, a gentle, mournful sound that echoed across the grove. Tendrils of incandescent moonlight reached for them, a joyous and comely sight if the circumstances had been better. Where they touched her, the darkness withdrew, and a powerful burning sensation exploded upon contact; as if a wildfire had swept through her. The flames brought her light and pain, opening her jaws wide. The pain disappeared as quick as it came, with the ground fluidly sweeping under her feet as the brown tabby tumbled toward unconsciousness.

It wasn’t even her dream that woke Pythonshade from her slumber, as much as it was the raucous din that had enveloped the warriors den. Both were harsh enough that while they grounded her in the present, they allowed for the most rude awakening. Blinking past the harsh sunlight that assaulted her sense with almost the same intensity as the moonlight, trying to forget the mysterious sea-goat from her dreams. He’d called himself capricornus, or capricorn. Frankly speaking, she was still trying to digest all of what she’d seen, when Cinderfrost came hurtling into the den, hysterical beyond belief. Well, that was something … unusual, for the medicine cat to descend into panic instead of reason. Almost at the same moment, one of the warriors who slept at the very left edge of the den, Maplefall, woke up spitting and hissing from … yes precisely the same dream. Maybe. The molly groaned inwardly to herself. The morning sunlight beckoned, and given that the next full moon was an imminent event, they needed to get moving. Quickly. Now!

But why couldn’t the world be quiet for once? Even if she had woken up past dawn?

5…4…3…2…1 Pythonshade heaved herself off her warm nest, wawy from the tantalizing comfort of her nest. Paws suddenly unsteady where they rested on the cool stone. The camp setting was identical…deceptively so…because this wasn’t where she should be. Her normally vivacious mind felt cold and hollow, with a stream blocked by a dam. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the usual desperation to do something began to itch in her paws. Taking her first steps outside the den, Pythonshade was met with the full brunt of the noise, crashing against her like a maelstrom of noise. Voices clamored and argued and shouted to be heard, rising louder and louder with each passing heartbeat. Good star clan. If there was one thing she could not stand, one thing that she could loathe beyond words, it was crowds. No cat had noticed, yet, that she had emerged from the den. She sat down, rather heavily in fact, the frustration that obviously came with helplessness burning into her pelt until it was ruffled with agitation.
Yeah, and the noise wasn’t helping.

moss rustled across stone, shifted by an unconscious paw, light illuminating it in patches as the first rays of morning sun filtered within the deputy's den. the glorious sunlight beckoned with a warm hand to the siamese, creeping onto his creamy pelt, dancing behind his eyelids. the siamese was not exactly the most early riser. his body simply refused to allow him to get up till past dawn. involuntarily, the tom frowned, displeased by the feeling of something so bright encroaching on his peace of slumber. his dark brown tail wrapping tighter around his being in an attempt to block out the light. a breeze graced his pelt caressingly, carrying with it the warmth of sunhigh. it was almost as if the wind was laughing, like a gentle mother, calling him to his post as the juniper deputy. still, the siamese refused to arise from his warm nest. there was much to be done. patrols to be organized, prey to be hunted, and most pressingly a clan to look after alongside their leader. oh bother. how can it be morning so fast. mourningrain grumbled silently to himself, his irritation finding expression as his tail tip twitched from side to side. he rarely ever slept that well or warmly. much as he would like to deny it, there was perhaps very little sleep to be found at the moment. the deputy was a late-night worker, always with his paws full. he retired to his nest around the same time as the warriors yet always found himself getting up the earliest. in a way, it was fitting.

so it was with reluctance that mourningrain opened his sapphire hues, focusing on the slumbering forms of his fellow warriors. their snoring nearly knocked him back down into the dark abyss. his back arched in a luxurious stretch, a yawn cracking his jaws wide open. that done, he did feel a bit more awake, yet his eyelids refused to feel any less heavy as he proceeded to groom himself. part of getting ready for the day was looking presentable. as with everything he did, this was methodical. done in an orderly fashion. first his side, then his belly, then his face, and finally his paws. each stroke was slow and even. while he bathed, he did a careful sweep of the warriors, observing the rise and fall of their flanks, and even breaths. he suspected that most of them would be waking up soon anyways, so he left them to rest and rise on their own as he padded out out of his nest. optics narrowed almost immediately as they adjusted to the brighter environment. the sky didn't beam in its full glory today, parts of it were obscured by plump clouds; a breeze whispered past his whiskers. it would be wise to take advantage of the late sun; if the warriors were lucky, they would be able to escape the worst of the heat right now. unless, of course, it started pouring instead. shrikestar would be up soon, if he wasn't up already. let the leader sleep, the deputy could take care of patrols. the spotted tom may not be the most socially involved within the clan, the siamese reflected, sapphire orbs absentmindedly wandering toward the leader's lodgings as he mused, but he pulled more than his weight every day.

so sleeping be damned, the siamese gave himself a shake and got to his feet. enough dawdling. the fresh-kill pile wouldn't stock itself. the first warrior he approached, or felt comfortable approaching so early, was sparrowcreek. gently, the siamese tom nudged her pale-furred shoulder with his left forepaw, "sparrowcreek?" mourningrain kept his voice low to avoid waking up the other warriors, but loud enough so the molly could hear him. "good morning. i need you up and ready for dawn patrol. i'll grab two more warriors and meet you outside." briskly he made his way around the slumbering cats; palefoot's bright dappled form caught his eye almost immediately. he gave her a firm nudge, repeating the instructions he'd previously given to sparrowcreek. she was still a bit sleepy, but mourningrain knew she understood what he said. mostly. the final cat was velvetfeather, who's inky black pelt nearly made him invisible within the darkness of the den. in fact, if it wasn't for the morning light, mourningrain might've thought the black tom had disappeared into thin air. 'nice try buddy.' he snickered silently to himself, a mischevious smirk perching on his maw as he approached the ebony tom. "you know, with your black pelt, i nearly picked someone else for dawn patrol. nearly." the siamese joked with a purr, nudging the black tom awake with a few gentle pushes, "i'll give you some time to get ready before we head out. palefoot and sparrowcreek will be coming with."

satisfied that the patrol would soon be underway, mourningrain padded outside the den once more, taking in the land that housed juniperclan. it was a peaceful sight, free from the hustle and bustle of a normal day. allowing himself to take on a more relaxed posture as he patiently waited upon the other warriors. the flash of a dappled pelt above near the border of the camp made him straighten, his ears curling forward in an alert prick. ah, finally. he didn't know where the shrikestar had been all morning. gone? asleep? whatever, the siamese was used to seeing him up earliest. with a brisk pace, mourningrain made his way to the bengal leader, tail high in greeting. "hello shrikestar, good morning." the siamese mewed respectfully, "so, i've already gotten a few warriors up for dawn patrol, and i was wondering if there were any other patrols that needed to be covered; i'll deal with them when we get back." absently, mourningrain found his attention drawn to the trail behind the leader, one of the ones that led out of camp. 'is there a threat beyond our camp? something i should be aware of?'

Tulipmist had never felt so disoriented in her entire life.

It had happened too fast really. One minute she had been sorting out the herbs she’d gathered earlier in the medicine den, casually humming a tune to herself, and the next? Half of her clan had been taken away from her, banished to starclan knows where. She didn’t even remember screaming out loud when that first blast of lightning had come down like the judge’s gavel upon their guilty verdict. Tulipmist felt shaken. To her core. To her left and right, cats yowled and shrieked, raving madly, their usual routine and demeanors jostled and thrown aside in the face of this disaster. It was for this reason that Tulipmist hated change.

Til the next full moon?

They’d been given, what? Four, approximately five moons to find twelve spirits on some panicked whim? Tulipmist would’ve whimpered out loud, her fur puffing up in both dismay and discomfort. She, on the whole, wasn’t a very assertive cat. This was precisely the type of situation that she did poorly in, with loud noises and harsh words flying every which way with no end or motive in sight. It changed too fast; one moment she was in the ‘in-between,’ then she had once again been spirited away to meet the zodiac spirits, her eyes still half-blind from the lightning the zodiac had used to call them all to them to order.

Then, she was back here. In the waking world, all perfectly normal and unharmed. Or so it seemed. Tulipmist woke with a whimper, her limbs spastically jerking and her fur puffed up against some imaginary threat. The golden, comely light of the sun grazed her pelt with the love of a mother. But it was this sun that was rising in a different world; rising on a clan that was now hallmarked with misfortune, blinded by worry. There was one thing, however, that nearly took away what self-control she had altogether.

Nymphmoon, her father, was gone. Starclan had taken him away from her.

A low sob ripped from her, tears dampening the fur on her cheeks as she pressed her cheek into the moss that lined her nest within the medicine den. The reality that the one member of her family left…stripped from her and now held on a ransom for a thought and a panicked whim sent a burst of grief into her system. The intoxicating scent of catmint, to her left, as well as of other herbs soon succeeded in bringing her attention away from her woes. She sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her paws, sniffling quietly. It would not do for her to be whimpering like a kit, although Tulipmist was sure that what the mental state that she was suffering from held true for the rest of her clan. They were all hurt or confused, maybe more so than she was. But, most importantly to a medicine cat like her, they were likely injured. It did seemed unlikely - before - that the spirit cat would’ve been able to hurt them physically, but all of her beliefs.

“Where are you, Star clan, when we need you?” Tulipmist prayed silently, “What have we done, so that you would do this to us?” Like most clanborn cats, Tulipmist’s faith in her spiritual ancestors was unshakeable, having been ground into her skull since she was a kit. She had been taught that they were the ultimate guardians in the galaxy, that they watched over all cats, from leader to deputy, from warrior to apprentice, queens to kits, and even the rogues who’d once had a path with moonclan before they left. She like to believe that they even watched over her wayward Mother, and her new half-siblings.

The den was abandoned, indicating that Cinderfrost had likely woken up and was attending to her morning duties as the clan healer. A warm feeling spread from her heart to the tips of her paws at the thought of the motherly molly. Tulipmist looked up to Cinderfrost greatly, not just as a capable and clear-headed medicine cat, but also as one of the finest teachers in the clan. If there was one cat that the tabby molly could count on for advice in extenuating circumstances as this one was, it was her mentor. A tendril of hope blossomed within her chest, and she quickly arose from her nest, giving her pelt a quick grooming before she poked her head out to look for her mentor. The situation outside was out of hand, to say the least, and Tulipmist winced as all the loud shouting assaulted her ears. For some reason, it seemed to be louder than usual, barging against her ears and eyes. She could see the domineering form of Thunderheart above on the highrock attempting to maintain some semblance of order, and failing. Her whiskers twitched in chagrin as she noticed his irked expression. What a challenge this must pose for the deputy…

Things were going to be okay.

She hoped so, at least.

The loose mist hanging over the isolated alleyways of the Victor’s village draped and shrouded the figure who prowled through it, water displaced from puddles splashing as a heel crisply stepped over it. The woman lingered almost wistfully on the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered uniformly in the middle of the square. Though the air was laden with moisture in a way that could indicate spring, the lurking storm clouds that were purposefully darkening the sky during the last few hours along with the crispness of the air suggested that they were on the cusp of autumn. The victors shifted, anxiously murmuring, the sound caressing the woman’s very bones. It wasn’t a very welcoming sound, rather it was one that proceeded the announcement of disaster. It stood at stark contrast with the brightly decorated splendor that surrounded the Victor’s Village. The heavy chain of the amethyst amulet, the only jewelry she would ever allow herself to wear and genuinely love, felt colder than ever along the nape of her neck. Nonetheless, the metal had grounded her in this horrible reality when other things couldn’t. This woman called herself Boudica Manon, a cold female that at the age of 14 had been crowned victor and now resided on the extravagant yet colder streets of the Village. She’d used to hope that a certain redhead would come to live with her here, but Boudica was past the age of childish wishing long ago.

Boudica didn’t really care what the other victors from her district said or how they spoke to her. Reaping Day was a day that she would inevitably hand-wringing, nail-biting anxiety. But not because she was actually nervous about her fate. No. Her hands had long stopped trembling at the prospect of the arena, the prospect of her life being on the line as she fought and clawed for survival. But the feral barbarity she saw displayed on screen had never quite left her mind. It disturbed her much more than one would expect, leaving a cold imprint on her brow like Death, but she’d always watched them until the victor was crowned. Nothing from her mother, no amount of coaxing, arguing with her father or threats, was going to change her morbid fascination with the Games. Especially because there were indeed streak of the victors, and their brutality, that she actually saw within herself. Boudica would be dishonest if she said that she did not enjoy the occasional fight, be it with her blade or her own two fists. Blonde braid swaying violently, fair fists often bloodied from one fight or another flying out in a precise staccato rhythm. Yes, it felt good, although these practice bouts were made with less of a passive intent since Kardia had disappeared. Forever. Boudica bit her lip. a grimace twisting her lips as a twinge of pain started to coil in her gut. But Boudica was past that too, and as she blended into the side of the crowd, a cold fist wrapped itself around that ounce of pain and grief, squashing it to a pulp. Effectively stifling the long, long list of memories that would come with it. Later. It would do her well to dwell on Kardia later. Especially since it was Reaping Day, and she definitely didn’t want to come in a sobbing, emotional puddle. She wore white this time, nothing extravagant, with a high collar that hid the amulet from sight. The pale pink gemstone sparkled mischievously at the peripherals of the victor’s vision, at odds with the cool, composed expression she plastered onto her face like glue as she pricked her finger on the needle and slid in with her age group. There were two emotions that were the most prevalent in Reaping; outright gut-wrenching terror or glee. Glee was the rarer one to come by, but it was most certainly more preferable to being scared out of your god-forsaken wits. District 2 had a remarkably large pool of victors, as always, since their tributes as children were trained for war every minute of their lives. A powerful ally, but ruthless enemies at best and predators at worst. Savage, wild, and vicious. The young fae next to Boudica inclined her head in respect for the victor, her too-thin arms trembling nervously as she shifted her pearly gaze forward. The sky was even darker in the square, Boudica noted, the dreary breeze and ominously dark clouds threatened to worsen the children’s mood with a downpour. A cold breeze had Boudica shivering slightly, arms reaching up to vigorously rub her arms. She suddenly wished she’d brought something a little warmer. Pristine heels clacked on the wood as the capital escort, gaudy and well-dressed as usual, slunk on stage. There was something off in the sheer extremes that the Capital Citizens would push themselves in terms of beauty. It often crossed the line into repellence in her book, and it left her feeling physically sick. As if she wanted to rip her eyeballs out of her head. Why would anyone would want to live their life as a shallow, narcissistic freak? The escort, named Dionysus, beamed proudly at the crowd, oblivious to Boudica’s disgust at his garish design. Meanwhile, a deep hush had fallen over the crowd, along with a heavy shroud of anticipation.

“Welcome, welcome, citizens of District 2 to the Fourth Annual Quarter Quell and the 100th annual Hunger Games!” Dionysus’s light and reedy voice, scraped along Boudica’s very bones, leaving behind cold streaks of goosebumps on her biceps. “As per the rules given, we will be reaping from the existing pool of victors from District 2. Today, the boy and girl selected will vie for the ultimate crown!” His smile, just like his voice, sent a chill down Boudica’s spine. Ridiculous as they were, the one thing that never settled well for the fae was their stupid accent and their grotesque smiles. Stretched and tampered til they stretched the boundaries of all imagination, all for style and vanity. The victor wasn’t one to concern herself with baubles and wealth, although she was more than willing to bet that the smallest blemish would send Dionysus on the stage into a hysterical hissy fit. Boudica bit her cheek to stifle a chuckle at the very thought of such childish antics ; any thoughts of amusement died as Dionysus made his way towards the bowl of female victors “Ladies first!” The escort chirped, smiling widely. What a pitiful sight it was. It seemed as if the entire audiences’ eyes were fixated on that white slip of paper that he held as he made his way back to the podium.

“Boudica Manon!”
And every damn head in the square turned to look at her. Parted for her, as Boudica took a single breath to collect herself and ascended the stage gracefully. She was too aware of every breath, of at least a hundred eyes pinned on her form. Boudica hated crowds and large groups of people; the feeling of people squashing against her, of all their voices clamoring harshly to be heard made her want to stuff cotton balls in her ears and shriek in utter frustration. Now, even with the silence, walls pressed down on her senses. But she didn’t waver in the slightest, only offering the crowd a stone cold mask.

The Peacekeepers at her heels kept pace with her easily as they guided her towards the visiting area. The last time she’d been here, she’d actually had people visit her. It was pointless, as far as Boudica’s opinion went. Being the cold, reserved girl that she was, nobody could get much out of her. Boudica indulgently reclined on the lavish cushions, the butter-soft fabric caressing her bottom as she waited patiently to be collected for the train. Minutes ticked past, and the door didn’t move an inch. She yawned, picking at her nails, when the door nearly flew off its hinges. Her head jerked up in surprise as she took in her visitor. An elderly male, a mane of white hair and a powerful body with wild eyes. No one other than Zephiri, Kardia’s mentor in masonry, and the only other person other than Boudica herself whom the street urchin could’ve called family. The two had gotten closer after Kardia’s demise in the arena, and he was the only one whom she was willing to trust to help her cope with the grief. He sat down awkwardly nearby, trying and failing to hide his despair. When he spoke, his voice was ragged; both he and Boudica were people of few words when the situation was awkward enough. The peacekeepers came to collect him when the five minutes were up, and she could’ve sworn his eyes lingered on the amulet on Boudica’s neck. The last remnant of Kardia that Boudica clung to. Would always cling to. She knew better than to think that her parents were coming, especially her father.

The walk to the train wasn’t far. Boudica quickly ensconced herself in a private compartment and locked the door.

The first thing - aspect of Earth that the fae noticed - was the strange glamour that coated the mortal realm. The decor was so at odds with the deadly elegance of her other-worldly retreat.

Keris’s sleek ebony-clad form slipped through the night air, soft heeled feet strangely producing no sound as she mingled with the shadows so thoroughly she appeared to be one herself. Her bags, similarly, hardly appeared to encumber her; numerous and bulky as they may appear. Her sister, Lilith, was nowhere to be seen, though Keris could assume she'd gone ahead to the hotel already. The cool, blessed dreary of the midnight breeze caressed her face. Even with her rather unnatural abilities providing her with more than a few alternatives, Keris had been more than patient enough to acquiesce to normal human traveling means, even if she found them rather … uncomfortable. The crowds and sheer amount of noise coming from the streets made her want to claw her hair out. But because she was the daughter of hades…well, she managed to conceal her discomfort. It was but a trivial demand compared to what Hades had sent his daughter to the mortal realm for. “What a place of squalor these mortals live in.” Keris grimaced to herself quietly. How anybody could stand these conditions was beyond her.

But, at the moment, such insignificant pinings for vanity were very much unnecessary. Keris's thoughts gratefully trailed elsewhere and allowed her a minute's distraction from her less than ideal surroundings. Cool, calculated ease rippled through her bones as she considered the one thing that would warrant a trip down here. She had been sent here on the trail of two demigods. Hunting them; and honestly, nothing could send a thrill of adrenaline through her in the manner that the prospect of a good hunt did. Subdue her prey if possible, but to end their life was also an option. One, that she knew her dear sister Lilith would be all too happy to choose.

Keris gracefully breezed in the pleasantly gold-gilded hotel door-skipping the line completely after a quick wave of her card to the doormen and taking a moment to admire the handiwork. Approaching the woman at the counter, Keris gave her fake alias along with any other information and picked up her room key; turning her back on her interlocutor without a second glance. The cheerful golden haze of lights that emanated from a beguiling chandelier was certainly a pleasant aesthetic, especially compared to the streets outside. Two hotel officials offered to take her things for her; they were quickly dismissed. Despite what it may appear, this wasn't the same hotel the other demigods were staying in. Hades had insisted that his two daughters be located elsewhere. Give time for them to come to terms with their methodology before they were unleashed. She meandered toward a marble elevator, punching in floor 32. The inside was just as delightful as the hotel's main lobby; rich russet-colored oak with two mirrors on each side. The wait was short, and Keris soon arrived on the designated floor. Her room was somewhat to the end of the maroon-carpeted hallway. She set down her suitcases-rather heavily and drank in her surroundings. A plush king-sized bed appeared to be the centerpiece of an extravagant living area. There even was a kitchen area and a full-sized bathroom. Expectations met. For well mortals that is.

Waiting for her on the mahogany nightstand was a bottle of blood-red wine. Keris picked it up suspiciously and tentatively gave it a sniff for poison. The cloying scent of poison was absent, and she permitted herself to smile for once. Well met. She saw herself to the sitting area, helping herself a chalice of the delicacy. Keris supposed that she should also inform her sister as to her whereabouts. Picking up her phone - the sole item of mortal design that she kept with her - she sent a quick message Liilth's way. I've arrived at Room 724. Where are you?

The force twittered and whispered at Sicarius's ear, her heart skipping a beat as she suddenly became aware of the force potency of the male before her. He was teeming with it, though whether he was well aware of his 'gift' would have to be a question to be posed at a different time. She supposed that it wouldn't be long before the answer revealed itself, rash as the other male was. Yes, there were always little tidbits that she knew about the other—little gems of information that would, (or would not) be played. For now, there were different things to attend. Namely, the aura that he emitted was rash and unfiltered, another tidbit. He, Aerrian, had not been trained, and as such, his signature was not honed. No force training at all. Mirra mused silently. He's literally been thrown in and hoped to swim. Interesting, most interesting."

Mirra gave him a rather curt nod, the movement smooth as her dark blue-grey met his assessing gaze that brazenly stared through her with carefully masked impassivity and quiet judgment. Knew it as little as the two of them did, what happened in the next few minutes could mean a lot to as far as their mission went. Expensive and stiff as her position, and this interaction was getting, she would have to wait. Soon, if they were able to retrieve the Sceptor smoothly, she would be rid of these chains.

Until then, games were beckoning to her.

There was no response given to his somewhat harried greeting; she was not one given to rhetorics. "Ah, yes. Of course." Mirra said, easily keeping pace to him with tall, purposeful strides as they headed down the corridor that led to the hanger. Her shoulders distinctively relaxed, utterly at ease, and undaunted by the task ahead of them. As if she had done this before. Honestly, Mirra was no fool; if he was force sensitive, she knew that he could ever so faintly detect the cold aura of the darkness around her within moments of their acquaintance. Perhaps, this was her dance to him, a convoluted series of riddles with clues that she'd littered like footprints. A mask of calm and detached interest was all it took to draw him in.

Sicarius, naturally, was a name as dreaded as her masters. Yet it was also a name that was as misunderstood. She'd stood in Vader's shadow for most of her life, enduring the silent punishment by his hand. Many called her Vader's scythe or Vader's shadow. The more brazen called her Vader's pet, although if you took a look at their relationship, that title was far from real. The thought of the cold phantom male who played this game with her made her purse her lips in mild distaste. He was watching her every move, even though his shadowy form was nowhere to be seen. Her loyalty did not surpass her hate. But who was she to point fingers; only a fool could assume that information was misconstrued on purpose when it came to politics and masks. The former of which she had a distaste for that went a mile wide.

She considered his second question, carefully watching her words. "A Y-wing, BTL-S3 class is an interesting choice." The smooth white walls soon opened up to the hanger; the selected craft outlined boldly against the sun. Mirra noted that it lacked the dark beauty of the Tie Interceptor or any ties. Nonetheless, she refused to be picky. "I would say I prefer to be the pilot." Her choice, however subtle, of control. Mirra never liked working with others, and placing her aerial safety in the hands of a male she had just met did not sit well with her. Mirra turned to her partner, her voice dry. "I assume I rest this conversation knowing that you're going to be a suitable gunner."

Because really, it was a bit too early to argue.

Several moons ago, Tawnypaw would've thought it a dream to feel so vivacious and filled with life, but it appeared that her time was not to come during the sickness. She was alive, and pretty damn grateful to be as well. Having been cleared by the medicine cat, the fawn molly was looking forward to properly getting back on her feet. Most of the sick cats had recovered already, but it didn't even take a glance to figure out that they wouldn't be returning to their former splendor any time soon. Many had been lost during the sickness, and even more so during the arduous journey to the Great Owl Tree and The Abandoned Campground. They would need some time to get back on their paws again - and then take back what was theres. The fawn molly flexed her claws, digging them fiercely into the earth as she thought about clawing a rogue. Aside from foxes, there was nothing more cruel than a rogue. They didn't follow any sort of code, didn't have a conscience, and were overall cruel and unethical beings. They only took, never thinking of giving to the greater good as a warrior might give to their clan. Their selfishness filled Tawnypaw with hot ire just with a mere touch.

There had to be something better to do besides sit around and do nothing, Tawnypaw reasoned as she gazed around the campground. Surely there was no better way to take advantage of the daylight. The clan's fresh-kill pile was slowly being stocked since the surviving warriors had been tending to it, but less sickness usually meant bigger appetites. Healthy cats consumed more food, after all. She could even show Owlfang that she could hunt on her own, without him watching her or supplying his guidance. Wouldn't that be exciting! The fawn molly rose up on her haunches, her sharp golden gaze sweeping the campground for anyone open for hunting — or doing nothing in general. Tawnypaw wasn't sure where her fellow apprentices were, right now; maybe with their mentors. She didn't want to go out with a crowd, either. At last, her gaze fell on a pile of black and white fur. Jaypaw. Tawnypaw's ears twitched in sympathy as she arrived at the black and white molly's side, casually prodding the apprentice's side with a paw. The fawn molly knew how frustrating it must be to have her dad as a mentor - and the thought aroused vague feelings of jealousy. Partially because her dad actually payed attention to Jaypaw, and yet that didn't cover up the old feelings of distaste. Maybe Tawnypaw would speak to the ginger tom afterwards.

Beginning the conversation was easy. It always had been, because Tawnypaw was a girl who knew her worth. She wouldn't bend backwards for anybody, except for her leader and deputy.

"Hey Jaypaw, good to see you. Fine afternoon, isn't it? I don't see Stagflight—" Tawnypaw swallowed her distaste at speaking the name, "—around, and I'm feeling quite bored, so I was wondering if you would like to go hunting? Pretty sure I can't go out alone, so I would welcome some company. Two cats can rake in more prey than what I would bring in alone." She gestured to the entrance into camp, "Maybe you can show my d- I mean Stagflight that you're able to hunt without him nagging you. That'll get him off your back."

Bright sunlight cascaded down the sides of the large library, and permitted entry to the nesting place of so many books, soon poured incandescently into the library, creating a blinding sheet of light that illuminated patches of the floor. It was still bright and early, yet with the way the library and its windows were designed, the place was almost immediately clad in a bright cloak as soon as dawn swung around. In absolutely no hurry, a young man walked around each shelf, shuffling books in each aisle and shelf into their correct positions, a placid air around him that set all who could see him at ease. He could hear the playful banter, murmuring like doves, filled with quiet cheer and deep thought. Such was to be expected at the The Flower Garden. Rowan Crane knew that if there was one place that he could just focus on his job without worrying about the utterly terrible state of the world, it was here in the garden. He hadn't known it then when he filed his resumé and gone in for his interview, but when he landed the job, when he'd gotten the email that he was hired, it only took a week for him to realize that he was here to stay. Where else would he go?

Rowan didn't usually find it in himself to pay attention to customers and their various needs unless he was mentioned or if someone needed something from him. Frankly, he wondered if he should actually apply for a desk job - and stop being in the background so much. But considering that he had not yet found a good way to well - put his circadian clock on track with that of a human- he could really risk falling asleep. And wouldn't that be embarrassing! Picking up a series of mathematics textbooks, all written by Lance DuBois, that had gotten displaced, he carried all four of them over to the correct place several shelves over, only staggering slightly under the rather cumbersome weight. Silently, he sighed to himself, running a hand through his light brown locks. While he was not one to openly rebuke anyone who was kind enough to pay The Flower Garden a visit, it annoyed him to no end when people didn't put the books back properly. Or when they openly mistreated the books they were reading, such as putting dog-ears or spreading them flat when they wished to preserve a page. 'Books should be treated with respect and care if they were to last.' Rowan thought quietly to himself. So absorbed was he in his work that he did not expect the ear-splitting shriek — 'Shien, bring the medical books here please?' Rowan literally jumped a few feet in the air as he felt the discordant sound ways smash into his sensitive ears, leaving them ringing long after the shout faded. Since his hearing was at least ten times as sharp as the average humans, even the smallest things could feel piercingly loud. Rowan took a few deep breaths, his heart racing. There was a chorus of thuds as all the books he had been carrying tumbled to the floor. Great. He'd wanted them in a certain order too.

The strigiform directed his peeved look at the inanimate novels scattered haphazardly on the floor instead of at the actual offender as he collected the books up once again, making sure to put them back in the right order this time before moving on. Ordered by title, in alphabetical order. The peace of the once quiet library disrupted, Rowan moved on to moving the books to the correct locations without a glance at the people at the counter. It didn't seem that they'd noticed him anyway. Apart from these set of vagabond books, it seemed the shelves were in good order, and Rowan set the books down with a gentle smile. With that done, he straightened up, stifling a yawn before making his way to the counter. He rolled his eyes at the sappy puppy look that had come over his coworker, Shien, when he handed the girl his book, like a puppy expecting his master to give a treat for good behavior. Given the current conversation exchange, he waited patiently for his turn to speak. He didn't miss the astonished look the girl gave Shien when she spotted how feline the jackal's eyes were. What did she expect anyways? Shien's behavior deviated from the normal human's so much so Rowan was tempted to pet him.

Guess this was a first for her.

"The shelves on the left wall are all sorted now." Rowan said respectfully to his boss, a thread of worry going through him - showing up within his cognac optics when Miyabi started coughing again. His health was not in the best state, and whether the red haired male knew it or not, Rowan would definitely be keeping an eye on him. "Oh dear. Try some honey for that cough?" He said with concern, only trailing off when he realized how out of place that must sound. Especially since the girl seemed to be an experienced healer. Making his way to the freshly arrived books, he began to examine them carefully, putting them in separate piles for later.

The soft sound of someone humming flowed through a darkened room, bringing a nurturing warmth to the air as Farrah bustled around her room like a bee, stuffing the various items that she would need for the day. A bundle of dry clothes there, a med kit there. It was not a small amount of items, but the russet colored pack that she had bought seven years ago was still holding up fine. It had multiple layers and compartments, anything from pencil sockets to a place to store your credit card. And that was something that Farrah made full use of. Behind her, a crane paced back and forth gracefully, her red-crowned head bobbing as she added items to the growing pile. Euthymia was more than a little aware that Farrah wasn’t the best at remembering things, though the patient crane was patient enough to put up with it. Patience had been a powerful virtue of Farrah’s that had passed on to her daemon, much to her delight. Nowadays, after she had enlisted in the main military, Farrah’s clumsiness had disappeared significantly, making life much easier for both the human and her companion. The military did indeed demand a certain level of discipline.

Sometimes, it was hard for Farrah to believe that only three years ago, she’d been a delicate, wide-eyed girl working in her uncle’s bakery. So much had changed since then.

Farrah’s deft fingers zipped the pack shut, allowing for all three zippers to line up on the left side. “I’m finished here, Euthymia.” She called to her daemon, lifting the heavy pack onto her right shoulder with a grunt of effort. “I’m not sure whether I missed anything, and looking around, it doesn’t look like it. ” Indeed, her quarters were neat. Or as neat as they could be, considering that there were all sorts of sundry items tossed all about her room. Farrah sighed, wincing to herself as she silently noted what she’d have to clean up after today’s duties were done. The crane’s slender head did the same scan around the room, keen eyes checking her quarters for anything Farrah might’ve missed. She never stated, but rather it was known between them in the human-daemon way that Farrah was always grateful for a second pair of eyes. Visibly, both of them were very relieved when Euthymia shook her head, “That’s everything.” She chirped brightly, a playful spark in her eye, “For once.”

Farrah gasped in mock outrage, knowing full well that Euthymia was only sporting with her. The crane had a propensity for dramatics at times, strutting with more pride and purpose than an actor on the stage. But the statement was within reason, to be fair. And Euthymia had a point, which Farrah acknowledged by rolling her eyes in defeat. “Alright, miss clever.” She gave her a sarcastic smile, “You win. This time. I’m glad I’m getting better at putting things in their place, at least. Come, let’s get breakfast.” Breakfast wouldn’t be served, for that matter, for the next fifteen minutes, but Farrah always left early because she tended to get lost. The stronghold was much more expansive than one might expect, with the tunnels twisting and twining like some ancient serpent. Euthymia edged past Farrah, her slender form outlined ahead as she bounded eagerly down the tunnel, the click-click-click of her taloned feet echoing against the walls. Laughing to herself and adjusting her pack so the weight fell more favorably against her right shoulder, Farrah followed behind, her pace more leisurely than that of the hyperactive crane.

Tierney blinked back the pain as sunlight struck eyes taking in an entirely alternate reality. She felt nothing short of unnerved at having arrived without her knowledge, and her claret orbs absorbed the scene with the enthusiasm of a parched man in the desert seeing water for the first time in weeks. What she did remember was being bailed out from the cold, damp prison where she had been held. The detective with which she had been faced hadn't given the albino much warning before she hauled her from the depths of the abyss and told her to get into the car. Where ever she was being taken was better than the cell, Tierney reconciled, but now it seemed as if she was back in another cell. Another prison, doomed to rot behind bars, alone, under the law as repentance for the blood on your hands. Tierney had long been dogged by the voices of her inner conscience, warning her that the chaos she wrought upon the city in the name of organized crime was wrong. The girl, young as she was, had a fairly poor reputation. Some people dreaded seeing the pale skin and red eyes, and Tierney found herself equally ashamed.

Like an oleander

So, for months on end, she had sat alone with only the stone and the turbulence of her own thoughts for company. She had knotted her pale fingers together, white locks dull and lacking shine, mimicking the empty state of her mind. Trapped away from the sunshine and the moon and rain.

White white leaves of an oleander.

Understandably, her companion, a fit yet playful Doberman, Stance didn't seem so perturbed. His ebony tail was in fact wagging slightly, nose to the ground to absorb all the different scents. He was built for speed and for hunting. In Tierney's opinion, a more regal dog had never lived, and she reached down to caress the smooth fur on the Doberman's head and neck; Stance wriggled eagerly in response, tongue lolling from his powerful jaws. Just leave it up to her dog to take this as one large adventure. The dog wouldn't understand for the life of him that his owner had committed a crime (or would he?) and Tierney wanted to keep it that way. At least then she knew that he wouldn't leave her. Dobermans are loyal dogs, loyal to the end.

White like me

Tierney had a good sense that this wasn't a tourist attraction, and the name of the city — Prison Borough. What a way to add insult to injury. Was this her sentence following conviction? It didn't seem so bad. These people seemed jovial enough, as if Tierney had arrived at some tropical resort instead of a city for criminals. If anything, it seemed as if they wanted her to enjoy herself. With some measure of apprehension, the albino female approached the men in front, blending into the crowd without a whisper. And what a crowd it was! Composed of every manner of supernatural creature conceivable by man, with varying appendages. Well, well, talk about diversity. One thing they all had in common; they were all wondering what they were doing here. The girl had no memory of coming here, just a groggy sense of her surroundings, and she was consumed briefly by alarm. Not knowing how you got to one place usually means that she was here against her will. Alright. So she was here against her will, but no one had tried to kill her. She needed to get as much information as possible on what she was doing here, and possibly use that to her advantage.

A voice tickled her ear, singing with glee and benevolence, like a famous singer at a concert. She automatically turned her attention toward them, keeping her ears perked for any important details. Tierney was quite surprised to find they were not human at all. They had wings and a beak, like a bird yet certain other features felt feline to her. Lionlike. "Welcome, all!" They said gaily. "To those who are lost, without a partner, or simply just new to town, I am pleased to announce that your spouses will be assigned to you soon. Just walk over to my buddy Wy here and he'll tell you aaaall about it!"

Wy? A wyvern? This day was becoming weirder and weirder by the second. Stance's tail was wagging slowly while his nose probed the air curiously. Tierney's own curiosity was piqued, stirring in her chest at the chance of seeing a real dragon. It wasn't until she reached him that the real meaning of the words hit her. "Did he just say...spouse?" I'm getting married? That couldn't be true! She had been shipped here against her will and now there was going to be an arranged marriage. Absolutely preposterous. Marriage should stem from consent, not from last-minute, back-door decisions made behind her back. Besides, as long as Tierney had remembered, she had only worked alone. Working with others was practically an excuse for them to betray you and cast them aside, as her own mother had cast her daughter astray, leaving her to pick up the remnants of her own mistakes. The albino had been cursed by the albinism of her mother, and then used and discarded. No mother should treat their child that way.

So bitter was the bile that pooled in Tierney's maw that she barely heard when the wyvern began to speak. "Oh, hello there, you're Tierney Kyle, I presume" The albino briefly scowled, only slightly furrowing her brows before she corrected him "It's Jackie, but it's fine. First times an' all. I understand." The albino casually smiled, offsetting her previous displeasure, a dichotomy prone to giving people whiplash.

Tierney wasn't interested in learning the name of her spouse, which just so happened to be Revron, so she moved away from the group. Stance bumped against her leg reassuringly, as if he was trying to tell her that everything was going to be alright. Or maybe he was just excited to explore. This was a new place full of so many new smells. They should probably get moving anyway, since there was no point lingering around. She had no idea or motivation to find Revron, so wherever he was, he would have to find her. The albino female gathered up Stance's leash in her hands and was just about to depart when a sprite jumped into her face, their visage an expression of wicked, childish delight.

Hazily, the vixen came to.

The sanguine, mysterious, yet endlessly stunning vixen awakening from her shadowy slumber. Confused vulpine eyes scanned the sky groggily, as if she had just woken from a long sleep; her vision slowly sharpened and became normal. It took but a moment for the vixen to realize that her glamour was no more; she lay sprawled on her side, russet fur and vulpine traits on full display, nine long fox tails fanning behind her. It only took a few moments for the graceful vulpine being to take in her surroundings, the faint graying of the heavens: it was nearly nighttime? Yes, for it seemed twilight was falling as she lay there under the heavens, the nighttime display that was sure to come was just as likely to be blocked by a dreary congestion of clouds. Possibly, it would rain tonight. Unfortunately, analysis only gave way to confusion, that put a frown on her thin muzzle - a funny look considering that her face was rarely given over to such unpleasant gestures - and managed to at last get on her four paws, no doubt a bit unbalanced. The fox did not recognize her surroundings, and her ears pricked as confusion gave way to fretting and the melancholic despair that came with a genuine loss for what to do in her situation. The fox was no damsel, however, and she quickly began to take in as much as possible without making it look obvious. Her senses riddled off information to her through scent, touch and smell. Might she admit it herself, but her senses were quite sharp and refined. The unmistakable scent of rain-washed stone, as well as an earthen scent, made her ears prick. Humans, no doubt. She wasn't alone, yet the vixen didn't know whether she should be relieved or worried that this was true. Relief won out; humans were good. Humans could likely give the vixen an idea of where she was. The lush flame-fleshed form took a deep breath before following the instinctive trail that her senses laid out before her.

But like any clever fox, she did not appear the crowd as a sleek, enamoring vixen. No, in the mist that hung low over the well-paved asphalt, she shed her golden pelt and piercing electric blue optics for something more muted. More...approachable, if not for its normality. A rich cascade of ebony hair elegantly framed her face, which was slightly pointed at the chin. Her normally striking eyes had taken on a warmer hue of warm periwinkle, undoubtedly inviting yet contemplative and mysterious. A soft yet confused appearance completed the ruse. A wolf, or a fox rather, in sheep's clothing. Nonetheless, despite her demure appearance as a girl who called herself a self-appointed name; May Pryor, the fox's eye had lost their confusion, and now remained sharp and alert, peeled for any dangers, or anything that could help her in her current situation.

May's feet touched down upon concrete, a different texture, and she found herself in a square. There were voices up ahead, beckoning to her - they belonged to a crowd that was mostly dispersing. There were still quite a few individuals; some with more eccentric traits than others. Apparently, not just humans had been brought to this strange place. There was an informant, yes, a dragon? How mystical! How rare it was to see one of those noble beasts, born from stone and fire. She wasted no time in moving closer toward him, eager to make herself seen and heard. The vixen stifled a yip as some of the creatures present jostled her, unintentionally of course. It didn't take long for her eyes to capture his attention, and she quickly started to speak before she lost him. "I apologize sir; it appears that I am late this party." May chirped in bright, serene tones, "Unfortunately, I have no idea where I am, and it is rather late. I have missed so much! I was hoping you could perhaps enlighten me on such pieces of information?"

Judging from the surprised look and the small cough, it appears that she had flustered him somewhat. May blushed a bit at that thought. Foxes have sly ways, easily enough to flatter and overwhelm the unprepared. Apparently, this wyvern fell into that category. "Oh, dear me my apologies! You really surprised me there." They mumbled, nearly dropping their clipboard in their haste, face turning claret at the attention this beautiful female was giving him. "My name is Wy. Really creative right? Wy, wyvern? Ah- anyways, I presume you are May Pryor. You'll be in Lynx Wood. Your - ah- spouse, is Osiris. He was just asking about you in fact."

May blinked. Spouse? Did she hear him correctly? She didn't know whether or not she should be shocked, indignant, or just plain amused. The laugh that came out of her mouth was all three, polite titters that easily communicated the hilarity of his proposal. Kumiho had long lifespans, more so than humans and most mortal creatures, and as such, they never dwelled on permanence. They also usually did not take on lovers. 'I do pity my spouse, to be tied with a vixen like me. Where is this Osiris? Where am I going to find him?' "What a curious suggestion you have here! Oh Wy, you are delightful!" She laughed at the wyvern-human, keeping her gaze playful, "Spouse! I sure hope you don't mean marriage. That would be quite unfortunate for me, so permanent. I have too more to explore of the world before I settle!" Shaking her head, and accepting both nametag and map, she turned back for some explanation as to where he expected the fae to start looking for her 'partner' when she thought she spotted the word Osiris hanging on another creatures' nametag. Ah, there he was, although he did not seem sociable. All gnashing teeth and sharp angles, with eyes that burned with ire and hate. A brute, no doubt, yet with the same primal ferocity that she summouned when in her true form, donning the moon's coat and harkening to her bestial roots.

Perhaps that was why she approached the brute, clearing her throat as she hailed him. "You're Osiris, I presume? I'm May Pryor. I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting here while I was out like a light. Apparently, we're dubbed housemates, despite that being a terrible idea. Do you know where we'll be staying? It's getting dark, better to find shelter."

erin was known for being rather disposed towards violence than any manner of diplomacy, but in the end, her ideas were futile, and as such, the android said nothing when the woman carefully elaborated on her manner of punishment. a maniacal grin perched on her maw, each word delivered with savage intent - a delineation of information that she had always known. of course, the android wasn't about to go alone. by some mercy, they'd given her a companion to suffer with together. no longer in human form but conscious nonetheless, the dark cloud andrea had become trilled with devilish delight, weaving around erin's shoulders, briefly shadowing the android. a morbid sense of confusion aroused in her chest as she watched the cloud dart around this way and that, completely intangible but horrible all the same. andrea's going to be delighted, the android growled to herself. erin had harbored a great sense of apprehension for the red spy, who seemed absolutely determined to get under the android's skin. andrea wanted a favor done, some deal to make good upon, but at this point, she had little idea what it was. did she expect the android to make a promise to her? a guarantee for salvation and rescue? but how could she promise that. i'm not going to promise something that i can't deliver on. or that i may not deliver on at all. in the end, the android was still motivated by her own selfish ends, and she had little interest in tailoring her whims to those of another who would deliver little in return.

ah... being such an advanced andoid, i would've suspected that you knew of such a thing... well, it doesn't matter. the white room is a room with no texture, sound, color, or entertainment. you will be in solitude with only yourself and the white that surrounds you, nothing else. such a lovely experience, isn't it?

the walls behind her weren't soundproof, and erin could feel the floor shaking from the sound energy. voices protested against deaf ears, and screams of agony caterwauled through the walls like ghosts. the android clenched her nails into her palms as the pitch crescendoed pitifully, until her knuckles were white and thirium 310 leaked from her nails. blue stained her palms, but in return, she kept her facial features reasonably neutral beyond a simple consideration. from there, it only got worse. others were given the sentence as well, the woman's choosing indiscriminate and random. bree...aster...grimm.. names that she would never have recognized, or cared about, now sentenced to damnation. maybe there was a lesson to be learned in that, the previous boundaries quickly erased in the wake of rising waters. drawing her thoughts back to her current predicament, her thoughts roamed back to the white room. the implications were certainly terrible, but at the same time, she saw a sliver of hope. given that the white room often remained unmonitored. there was no task required of her either, no manual labor or tests to run. as arrogant and far-fetched as it seemed, the guards would figuratively no idea what was going on inside her head either.

she met the women's glance with a curious quirk of her own, a wry smile poorly covering up the resigned apathy and dread inside her gaze, and haunting of her soul. the android had long struggled to comprehend why stoicism was embedded like shards of shrapnel in her programming. stoicism had its moments, but overdoses of it often resulted in toxic levels of despair and an android's right to nihilism. "leaving me with the company of my thoughts, eh?" she chuckled tiredly, abandoning any sort of pretense in favor of a wry wit that surprised her, "can't say i've had that privilege as of yet. delightful indeed." she shrugged, "of course, as you can imagine, i'll be rather disappointed if the lounge isn't as pristine as you described. only the best must be given to such volatile prisoners such as me and my -" what was andrea? not a friend, surely. but enemy? - eventually she settled on a word, "cellmate." a sleight of hand, daring the cloud next to her to disagree with the sentiment. despite her jest, wasn't saying this lightly, in the dazzling emptiness of the white room lay its fragile weakness. just a single speck of color would shatter the veil, removing the dangers that these soldiers had set up with painstaking care.

"i doubt you're the type to disappoint." she drawled offhand, not addressing any one faceless subject, their limbs held stiffly by their sides as if by puppet strings. "i'm sure this will be a terrible experience." looking at them, erin felt disparaged, not for herself, but for those whose futures were reduced to waiting on another, shells of what life was meant to expand upon. whatever bravado she felt earlier when she unraveled her first untruth was gone, and the android let shadows claim her eyes. a modest cant befell her chin, and with eyes angled downwards, she looked the perfect portrait of a prisoner greatly daunted by the nightmarish prospects awaiting her. in some ways, the android was worried and fretting on the inside, but knowing that this was her only chance to be truly alone with her thoughts, she kept her silence. erin concealed her cut palm by tucking it with her palms facing backwards toward her breast. it didn't seem that it was bleeding anymore, but at least it left a permanent jag of cerulean across her palm.

strong hands gripped her shoulders, and she was propelled rudely into the awnings, shadows swallowing her sinewy form until she disappeared. andrea being the little angel she was, followed without prompting as though attracted by a magnet to the android's back. a pensive frown tugged her lips downwards, breaking the facade of apathy that she had worked to put up as she felt andrea's ghost gently tap at her shoulder occasionally, always reminding the unlucky female of her presence. erin knew that the chaos agent intended to continue her self-glorifying litany once they were alone again, but that would require speaking. the contradiction gave her some measure of strength, so she ignored the urge to snap at the chaos agent. behind her, the screams continued endlessly, a haunting wail that seeped through the walls. each raw shriek drawn out stained the air with memories of agony and great tribulation. the android had half a mind to think that such torture was inevitable and inescapable, given their current state. it distressed her greatly to think so, but given that any assistance on her part would probably exacerbate the situation, she forced herself to keep walking. it was no easy feat, for it seemed that lead was attached to the soles of her feet, and there was an anxious flutter in her chest that refused to abate. erin let her captors guide her as she was shoved along, focusing more on observation of her surroundings than walking. but much to her surprise, it wasn't to the white room that she was being guided to, and here at a junction, she felt andrea taken from her side again. the chaos agent's bristle of disappointment faded from erin's attention as she was greeted with a surgical table practically bristling with tools. a steep frown of confusion must have furrowed her brows, becuase one of the guards took the liberty of shoving her forward with another shock.

"i think you know this by now, even though you've been playing stupid, but the white room usually takes a day or two to really set in. but we don't have that time now. let's just say that you'll be feeling a whole lot worse after this."

again, not much she could do about that. even so, however, she refused to go easy onto the white altar, and it was a significant struggle to keep her still when the knives descended onto her bound form. with no anesthetics involved, erin felt every poke and prod, but thankfully, none of it was painful given that there was a general lack of pain sensors. it was, of course, very uncomfortable, and she was barely conscious after the operation. propped up between two guards, she was escorted to the brilliantly lit chamber at last. the door creaked open, and she was unceremoniously dumped inside, her form sliding like ink over the polished floor. the first thing that hit her was the quiet, an awful lack of sound that weighed down on her ears like a blanket. neon lights on the ceiling took away her shadow, and walls of snow encircled her on every side. heck, even the door was white.

some punishment this is. the android grumbled, yes, i may lose my mind. but at least i can have some peace and quiet.

of course, andrea was quick to greet her, and the whiteness of the room was quickly defaced by a splash of black in front of her eyes. erin was left to figure out how the heck they were supposed to communicate without speaking when white text appeared in her vision. never mind.

planning would have to wait, it seemed.