Jekyll/Hyde: Alive

Hyde actually wanted to write this but both of them decided to write in a collab of sorts. Enjoy. -Zaf

Jekyll stood watching the stars. It had been many years since that fateful wedding night. He could remember Emma's voice, "You are free now. You're with me now, where you'll always be." Her sweet soprano voice. Of course he'd remember, his reflection kindly died. Eventually he had told Emma of this, and explained magic. She remained with him until death. He faked his own death for his mortal friends. Hyde on the other hand had killed the only friend he had. Lucy Harris, the only crime was meeting Hyde. I heard that, Jekyll! It was no crime! Hyde's voice rang out in Jekyll's mind. He let it. 

The English Sanctuary was a buzz. Stron had been killed in Ireland. Jekyll listened in shock as the news sunk in. I could of done it more creative! Hyde again spoke. Jekyll went to the Medical Bay, looking in on patients and going back to his work. Grand Mage Kerias had been in contact with him. He had been researching true names. She told him she knew a man who understood the true name. 

Hyde laughed, walking down Fleet Street. He loved London. He loved to kill, and killed he did. He had a raging desire to find a lady, but he quelled it. He had that Adrasdos girl to torment. Maybe he'd use her as Lucy. She seemed the type, in his mind. Movement behind Hyde made him turn, knife drawn.

"What do you want?" He asked the man. Alexander Remit looked at him, eyeing the knife wearily. 

"Master Mevolent wishes for you to go to the dungeons, Hyde. He said that the child Olivia is yours. Niccolò Croatoan has vanished for god knows what. He asked me to take you." Alexander offered. Hyde surveyed the teleporter. To kill him would be easy. He decided the child would be more fun.

"As you wish." Hyde replied. Alexander took him to the Anchor and they appeared near the dungeons. He stalked down to the cell holding Olivia. The child lay in a ball, bloody and weak. Her once beautiful face was dirty and bloody. Her hair had her own blood in it. She was barely able to look up. 

"Meanie." She coughed, she even sounded weak.

"I the 'meanie'? I believe myself worse, child. I find myself, violent. If only you were older. I could do oh so much more. Though this shall do." Hyde sat beside the child, holding her close. He did this before to Lucy. This time he would keep her alive. 

"Sympathy, tenderness warm as the summer, offer me their embrace. Friendliness, gentleness, strangers to my life, they are there, in this face. Goodness and sweetness and kindness are found in this face!" He cut the child up, laughing at the end kicking her. He began to cut her arm open. He did this slowly and carefully until her bone showed. He cut various parts of her, each cut adding a new scream. So young and just so hopeful. It was music to his ears. Finally, all too soon, he ended. He got up and left. He got to the Anchor going over to Blogland. The pain overwhelmed him.

Jekyll woke up in Blogland. The dynamite forest, Zafira....Olivia... Jekyll shook his head. He could hear voices, one smooth as chocolate. Jekyll did not like Niccolò, he had attempted to kill him. Jekyll went to his tiny lab. Once inside, he sat down. "I hurt a child." He whispered. I hurt her and I would have done worse, were she not so young. "Enough Hyde! I said to you not to do-" You are me. You and I hurt her, you do not control me! You and I, we are alike. We are one. "No. Stop!!! I can't stand you, damn you Hyde!" Damn you Hyde set me free! Oh be quiet! Let me out I have the guts to handle this! "No-" Hyde took control. Jekyll was back to watching. Hyde grinned. 

"Animals trapped behind bars in the zoo, need run rampant and free! Predators live on the  prey the pursue, this time the predator's me!" He sang and his teleporter teleported him to London. He had a night ahead of him. Of being the predator. 

Well we hope you liked this, well you have no choice, dear reader. -Hyde

My apologizes for Hyde. You are allowed your own opinion of this piece. -Jekyll

Rhydian Blake: Insanity & Blake

(This is what it was like for Rhydian being trapped inside his own head and causing him to go temporarily insane. And this us also saying bye to Blake coz he ain't real. Enjoy!)

Darkness. That's all it was here... Darkness...

Dark here. Dark there. Dark everywhere. Rhydian wad lost within this darkness, wandering around looking for something. But nothing was here. Just the darkness. He then heard echoes and cries and voices. He was scared to follow them, but he had to. Following the cries for help and voices of evil, Rhydian found himself at his old school. He knew what this was. A bad memory. A nightmare. His own personal Hell.

These memories, they were tormenting. He couldn't stand living through this the first time. He couldn't bear it a second...he was going to break.

Rhydian turned and ran but failed. His legs stopped and he fell. In dreams you have no control over what happens. That made the situation worse. Being forced to watch himself get bullied. No. Rhydian couldn't bear it. His own personal Hell. He awoke in his room. Tithe had trapped Rhydian inside his own mind. His memories. Rhydian was traumatised.

(So that's how Rhydian kinda lost the plot...)

Blake was doing homework. Rhydian looked over at him and then Rhydian was being slammed against the wall and Blake was thrown through the door. Tithe.

"Hello Rhydian. Something you need to know" saud Tithe

"Leave! NOW!"

"How polite of you...Y'know your brother Blake? Yeah, he's not real" Those words were truthful and cold.

"No. No. He's my brother!" Rhydian shouted

"Yes he is...Just a fictional one"

Rhydian ran out to Blake.

"Now you know the truth, he shall fade. Blake was only sustained by your belief."

Blake looked at Rhydian "I'm not real? I'm.....not real..."

"Blake stay with me!" Rhydian begged

"Goodbye Rhydian" Blake faded away. Rhydian cried and ran out of the house and ran and ran and didn't stop...he tripped in the snow and then his whole body was cold. But he didn't care...Rhydian wanted Blake back.

Aretha Tesla: Unbiased Advice

"What is troubling you?" Niccolò asked smoothly as I descended the ladder. He hadn't even looked up from his painting. And we still didn't have a mental link established, so he couldn't have been reading my mind, either.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, my voice tired and laced with sarcasm.

"Of course," he replied, "We do know each other quite well, do we not?"

I smiled warily. "I guess we do." I walked across the room to sit on the corner of his desk, leaning my back against the wall and closing my eyes. I wanted just one moment to make my mind blank. "I've been thinking for a while, and I need some unbiased advice." He continued his painting as though I wasn't there, but I knew he was listening carefully. "I worked as an assassin before, and I hated it. But I only hated it until I started trying to bring people in alive, and I ended up doing that most of the time. So I wasn't really an assassin anymore, but you get the idea. And... In a way, I did like that kind of work. On the ground, helping people directly. And you know how much I hate politics, and I was hesitant to become an Elder in the first place..." I paused, taking a deep breath. "I just don't know if I can do it. I mean, I think I'm good enough at it- I'm pretty well read in strategy and I think- at least I hope- that I've made a lot of good decisions, and I'm careful to follow all the rules. I do all the necessary paperwork, and write in the journals, and issue orders and hold meetings and organize everything, and I never fight on the front lines. And it's killing me. I can't just sit around in an office sipping tea and reading reports while I send other people to their deaths! I just can't! And as much as I love Zaf, I can't do what she did the first time Mevolent returned, either. I can't lead the battles, or even be part of them- because she was right when she said she couldn't lose me back in the dungeons earlier today. Somebody has to be here to issue the orders, and that person has to stay safe, and I can't live with myself knowing other people have died to protect me, and all I did for them in return was add their name to the list and send for an obituary." I hadn't meant to speak for so long, but once I'd started I couldn't stop, and by the end my breaths became strained and hot tears fell from my eyes. "I just... Can't do it anymore." I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, and continued. "And I know I took the job- I feel like an idiot now for taking it, but I did- so I can't just say no in the middle of a war, can I? I mean, she only asked me because she didn't have any other candidates lined up... At least, that was my impression."

Niccolò made one long, final stroke of his brush, then set it aside and raised his dark eyes to meet mine. He looked so old, sometimes, so tired. I could never really forget who he was, or what he thought he was supposed to be. "What would you like me to tell you?" It was an earnest question. Of course, in the end, I needed to make my own decision. But I needed and what I wanted were two separate things. He  brushed away the few tears still drying on my cheeks.

"I want you to tell me that I don't need to be an Elder anymore- that I shouldn't be one. I want you to tell me that someone else will take the position- someone who's wise, and calm, and not heartless, but not so emotional that some piece of them breaks every time they turn a person into a statistic, and that I don't have to do it anymore. I want you to tell me that it's ok if I just quit, and go back to being a foot soldier." I spoke firmly, as though I was angry at the very nature of the job. Really, I think, I was just angry at war.

He thought for a few moments before answering. "For your sake," he spoke slowly, meticulously, so his dark chocolate voice sounded like it was melting, "You should not be an Elder. For the sake of others... Perhaps you should be. Ask Zafira if she knows anyone else willing and able to take the job. If she does, you may leave. But if not... War takes its toll on everyone, Aretha. You know exactly how much I loathe to see you scarred, but there storms that simply cannot be subdued, storms that even I cannot shelter you from. You have to outlast them. I know that you have the strength." He took my hands in both of his and kissed one of them, ever so lightly, while he dropped the hilt of a black knife into the other. Then, with a last knowing glance and a swirl of his coat, he evaporated from the room like a cloud of smoke. I took a deep breath, tucked the knife away in its rightful home in my pocket, and headed out into the late night. I would finish revising the recon schedule or fall asleep trying.

Rhydian Blake: Coming Home To Blogland

((Hello! My First chapter :) this chapter is just Rhydian coming back to Blogland (coz he went temporarily insane) now he's recovered so...yeah. set before Christmas. It's a bit short. Sorry ))

Rhydian Saint was teaching. Well, actually it wasn't teaching. Close enough though. Near enough to teaching. His school had this thing, where a few of the students could go to the primary next door and just have fun with the kids. Rhydian and his friend were helping to little kids make play-dough. It was fun-ish. Got boring after awhile. It was nearly Christmas. All the kids were excited. Of course they were. 

Rhydian left them and went to the kitchen to check on the dinner. Smelt amazing. Then his friend walked up to him. 

"Had a phone call for you at the office" He said

"From who? What for" Rhydian replied.

"Dunno? Something about checking your phone?"

Rhydian turned his phone on and saw the message. 

Go to Blogland -Lewis

His reflection. Rhydian was going to have to go back to Blogland. Oh, how he missed that place. Excitement filled him. 

"I got to go. Cover for me?"

"Yeah sure!" 

Rhydian left the building and got onto his motorbike. He arrived at Blogland. 

He took his helmet off, and pulled a Santa hot on. And he took hid jacket off revealing a Christmas themed jumper.

Home...

The Mascara Incident

As requested, here it is. The them you know are . . . well, Hunter's a hundred and seventy something, and Ez is a hundred and forty something, but here they're more like seventy something and forty something (or maybe sixty something and thirty something), so yes. :)
And, to quote Hunter, "For future reference, Ez used to be called Emily, and then she changed her name, and then she changed it again, and sometimes I call her Emily to annoy her."
Just background information.
(Plus, it didn't paste any of the indents in.
DAMN.)

She felt a sparkling sensation suddenly crackle into life in the middle of the room.

“Ez?” Hunter asked.

“Go away,” she told him.

The fizzing energy that hovered in her senses like a bad smell moved towards her, and the weight on the bed sifted as Hunter sat on it. “Look,” he said. “I’m pretty crap at this whole cheering-people-up thing, because usually I’m the one sat there crying.”

“Then say what they say to you,” she told him, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Nobody generally cares enough to say anything,” he shrugged.

Silence.

“You know, Ez,” he began.

“Shut up,” she told him.

“My very best friend died, a few years ago. And it sucked. Really sucked.”

“Tony was slightly more than my best friend,” Ez pointed out, lifting her head up from the pillow slightly so he could hear the edge in her voice.

Hunter raised his voice slightly, ignoring her interruption. “And do you know what sucked the absolute most?” he asked, hatred creeping into his voice, but it wasn’t directed at her. “I was the one who killed him.”

Silence.

Ez lifted her head up over the pillow further, her eyesight a mad blur. “Well, that’s because you’re a screwed up bastard.”

“I know,” Hunter said, his voice strangely calm.

She wiped her eyes and turned around to look at him, and he was sat there staring at his hands. Water was running through the creases in his gloves.

“And it never really goes away,” he said in a low whisper. “And maybe life sucks and it’s unfair, but at least you’re the victim, Ez.”

She fully sat up now. “Don’t you dare make this about you.”

“Well, who is it about?” he asked, his voice an upset too-loud. “You? It’s not about either of us. We’re alive.”

“If you dare start lecturing me -”

“I’m not -”

“Because you’ve never loved anyone, ever, so don’t you even think you know what it’s like -”

“Who says I’ve never loved anyone, ever?” he asked, and he laughed, but it was a broken kind of laugh. “And Ez . . . three things, and you are going to sit there and listen and not interrupt. First thing, it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Second thing, you shouldn’t be sad he’s gone, you should be glad he was here at all. Third thing, he had a happy life whilst it lasted. Fourth thing -”

“You said three things.”

“And you said you wouldn’t interrupt.”

Ez moved to put her head back on her pillow, but it was all wet and had mascara smudges on it. She curled over and buried it in the duvet. “You’re not helping.”

“See, I told you I couldn’t help,” he sighed.

“Yeah, so go away.”

“Ez -”

“I don’t need you, I need waterproof mascara.”

Hunter lifted her head up, ignoring her hand smacking his, and held some under her nose.

Ez sat up again and grabbed it. “Where’d you get that?”

Hunter pointed to his jacket.

She gave him a look. “You have mascara in your jacket?”

“I have a lot of things in my jacket. Plus, you never know when you might need it.”

“Do you happen to have mascara remover in your jacket?”

“I don’t think it works on pillows.”

“What does work on pillows?”

“Vanish?”

“Vanish?”

“Trust pink, forget stains.”

“Thanks.” She put her head back on the duvet.

“I’m not going away,” he told her.

“If you don’t, I will open this mascara and pour it on your head.”

“Well fuck you, I have black hair.”

“Well, I’ll get pink mascara, then.”

“From where?”

“Do you have any?”

“Sure.”

He rummaged in his jacket, pulled some pink mascara out, screwed the bottle open and carefully poured it by her ear.

She jerked upright, knocking the bottle out of his hand, which quickly whizzed and caught it before it could move more than a few centimetres.

“Hey!” Ez protested, giving him a glare that could dent walls.

But Hunter could cut holes in walls with his bare hands.

“You wanted some,” he said innocently.

She snatched it out of his hand, then teleported over and she was behind him, and he reached up and grabbed her wrist, and she was falling on the bed, and he had another full bottle of mascara out, and he burnt the outside and BOOM, mascara explosion.

“Hunter, that’s on my clothes!” she gasped, spitting mascara out of her mouth and standing up.

“Well, that’s in my hair!” he said, giving her a wounded look.

She gave him a teasing grin. “Aw, too bad. Guess you’ll have to dye it pink.”

“Guess you’ll have to dye your clothes black,” he retorted.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” she pointed out.

Hunter snapped his fingers and his hair was pink.

Ez’s eyes widened and she started laughing.

He teleported behind her, but she was swinging to kick him, so he crackled with electricity and she fell over, unprepared, singed.

Hunter put his hand on her, keeping her under, then his hand whizzed over and began writing on her face whilst his hair shifted back to black. He was cut off near the end and the bones in his wrist cracked, Ez’s hand glowing with energy. He pulled the energy out of her – convert – and his wrist was healed before the pain had really begun.

She sat up and glared at him. “How old are you?”

He laughed, and she whizzed over to a mirror.

Her face read, “HELLO, MY NAME IS EMILY”, with the Y doing a funky swirly thing at the end where his wrist had gone.

She looked at him, grinning. “Oh, DAMN you to hell to be eaten by the crows who bear eternal grudges for being scared.”

“Hey, that’s my phrase!”

“Sit down,” she told him.

He sat down.

“Now, hold still,” she said, opening her brand new waterproof mascara.

“Yeah, that’s likely,” he said, and leapt forward onto her. Her mascara jabbed him in the eye.

“OW!” he yelled, leaping back, and started swearing properly, eyes closed.

He felt Ez move towards him and opened his own mascara, and they engaged in some odd form of sword fight, Hunter being more experienced and Ez being able to see. They did blocks and parries and swirling defence movements and destroyed their mascara wands. Hunter ended up fighting with a new breed of sword that he decided to name the kitana wand, and Ez ended up fighting with a really retarded breed of sword that was more like a right-angled wand, and then she realised she could just reach her arm out and move it round away from the battle, so she did that, and jabbed Hunter in the chest.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he yelled, falling back and wrapping his arm around himself. “HELP ME! I’M DYING! I’M MORTALLY WOUNDED! I AM SEEING MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES! OH, HOW I REGRET NOT SPENDING MY LIFE DOING MORE WORTHWHILE THINGS! I SHOULD HAVE EATEN FAR MORE TOAST! MY TOASTER MUST FEEL WASTED! OH, HOW I SHALL MISS YOU IN THE AFTERLIFE, OH MACHINE THAT CONCOCTS TOAST! HOW I WISHED I HAD BURNT THEE TO DEATH SO THAT THOU MIGHT JOIN ME! OH, THE PAIN! IT’S UNBEARABLE! HOW DARE I BE DYING IN A ROOM WITHOUT ANY BEARS IN IT? BEARS SHOULD BE COMPULSORY! I SHOULD GET A REFUND! EZ, RING HADES FOR ME AND TELL HIM THAT I’M NOT DYING UNTIL HE DOES WHAT IT SAYS ON THE DAMN INSTRUCTION MANUEL AND GETS ME SOME BEARS!”

He sat up. “Dial 23534 357454. Come on, come on! I’m not getting older here!”

She raised her eyebrows and dialled the number.

“Hello?” asked the man on the other end.

“Hunter’s not dying until you get him some bears,” she told him.

“What?” he asked. “Who is this?”

“An unbearable soul,” Ez told him seriously.

His voice hardened. “Is this a prank call?”

“Are you a prank call?”

“Of course I’m not a prank call -”

Hunter snatched the phone off her. “Are you Hades, Lord of the Underworld?”

“Of course not -”

“THEN IT IS A PRANK CALL!” he bellowed. “HOW DARE YOU TRICK ME LIKE THIS? WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?”

The man hung up.

There was a knock at the door.

Hunter and Ez looked at each other.

“I have mascara on my face,” she said.

“I’m dying,” he said.

She got up and opened the door. “Yes?”

There was a woman standing outside looking not very amused. “Could you possibly keep the noise down? My daughter is trying to get to sleep.”

“WELL, I’M TRYING TO ETERNALLY SLEEP AND THERE AREN’T ANY BEARS!” Hunter pointed out, teleporting in front of Ez. “Then again, I’m sure I can die quietly. Hi. What’s your opinion on erasers?”

Ez poked her head out from behind him. “Sorry, he has mental issues. Like, literal ones. He’s schizophrenic. I have told him he might be better off getting a room in a mental institution, but -”

“Are there bears there?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “Possibly.”

“Ooh,” he said, brightening.

“So, will you be quiet?” asked the woman.

“Unbearably so,” Hunter told her, turning around to walk back into the room, and getting a bottle of mascara exploded in his face.

I’ll fucking murder you, Ez.

He tackled her and she fell over, and he smashed his head into her chin, covering her with mascara and causing them to both sit up rubbing their faces and getting black all over their hands. Which was okay for Hunter, because hey, black gloves.

“Not smart,” she told him.

“You’re ruining my last moments alive,” he moaned.

She slapped him in the face with her black hand in answer, and ending up with it blacker.

“You know, I’m really glad I wear all black,” he smiled.

Ez whizzed away slightly and held up a bottle of blue, a bottle of red and a bottle of purple.

He looked at them.

“Why would you even have that mascara?”

“Why would you even have pink mascara?”

“Oh, for emergencies, you know.”

They stood up.

They looked at each other.

Hunter produced a water gun and poured mascara in it.

Ez didn’t have a water gun, so she was just kind of stood there.

Hunter tossed her a water gun.

She filled it.

They pretended to take the safety catches off and stood there with the guns held to their shoulders like rifles.

“May the best man win,” announced Hunter.

“I’m a woman,” Ez pointed out.

“Exactly, so I’m the best man,” he grinned, and then dropped to the ground as Ez began firing. Once he had dropped to the ground, she merely stood over him and kept firing, so he made a run from the sofa, leapt over it, knocked it over, sat behind it and began firing from behind the cover. Ez ran for the bed and they fired.

“It’s kind of boring without sound,” she noted.

Hunter chucked her an earpiece.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG  BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG –

Ez made a motion like she was turning down the volume on the radio and it quietened, and they fired, Hunter occasionally chucking mascara at Ez for her to reload.

Ez wrote “Ez” on the back of the sofa in mascara.

Hunter wrote “Emily” on the floor in mascara.

Ez teleported over there and began hitting him with her mascara gun.

“Okay, okay, timeout!” he grinned.

She whacked him one last time, then handed the gun to him. “You better have a lot of Vanish in that jacket of yours,” she told him.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he mentioned casually. “Most of the mascara’s permanent.”

The world seemed to freeze for a moment, probably because Ez’s eyes were too busy widening in horror to process any new information.

 

There was mascara all over the floor and the furniture and the walls and the ceiling.

“Fuck,” Ez whispered, looking around, taking it all in.

“It’s okay,” Hunter said cheerily. “Unlike Hades, I deal in refunds.”

“Please say you have some form of remover for this,” she whispered.

He hesitated. “Er . . .”

She moaned.

Hunter sighed and produced mops, scrubbing things, buckets of water, and Vanish. He pulled off his jacket before rolled up his sleeves, showing a mass of scars twisting around his arms, and got scrubbing.

Ez looked at the floor.

“That’s not coming off.”

He tried pouring makeup remover onto the carpet and rubbing that in as well.

“IT’S NOT COMING OFF!” Ez whispered madly.

“WE’LL SAY WE REDECORATED,” Hunter whispered back.

“I DON’T THINK I’M ALLOWED TO DO THAT!!!” Ez whisper-screamed.

Hunter shrugged, scrubbing.

Ez picked up the bucket of water, dropped it on his head, and reached inside his jacket, pulling out a fireman’s hose.

“Good idea,” said Hunter, pulling the bucket off his head, going to the water supply and filling the hose with Vanish and makeup remover. Then he switched it on.

It jerked right out of Ez’s hands, the water zooming through it, making an audacious bid for freedom.

“YOU CALL THAT HOLDING A HOSE?” he yelled.

They picked it up together and sprayed it everywhere.

Then they switched it off.

And the room looked the same, except very wet.

They looked at each other and said “Oh,” in unison.

“I think someone downstairs might be getting a nice shower around about now,” Hunter grinned.

Ez sighed.

Hunter produced a hairdryer.

“We might need a bit more than that,” she pointed out.

“You dare to insult my hairdryer?” he asked, blasting it in her face. “But you’re correct.”

He paused. “Although, I don’t really have anything bigger.”

“Hairdryers are fine,” she said.

He pulled one out for her, both of them battery-powered, and they walked around blowing the room and having no effect whatsoever.

“Sorry,” Hunter said.

She laughed. “It’s fine. It’s been fun.”

“I’ll speak to your hotel manager for you.”

“God, you’ll just make him mad. I’ll do it.”

“I destroy everything, don’t I?”

“Including bad moods. It’s cool.”

A pause, in which hairdryers could be heard.

“Ez?”

“Hunter?”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Putting up with me.”

“That’s fine,” she said, turning around so he could see her smiling at him.

He looked at her, and his eyes darkened.

She frowned. “What?”

“You have permanent writing on your face.”

“Oh, fuck!”

 

When Ez opened her eyes and looked into the mirror in the ensuite, her face was rubbed red and still had letters marching across it, edged by enthusiastic splashes.

“Hunter?”

He was standing there, his eyes somewhat darker than his pretty rainbow-coloured face. “Yes?”

“I am going to fucking murder you.”

He passed her another brand of makeup remover. “Try this.”

She took it. “Remind me to never, ever let you near mascara again.”

She applied it to her face, and the black stains still remained. “Hunter, this isn’t working.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, and his eyes went blue. “Maybe, if we took your skin off . . .”

“No.”

“Do you think if I burnt it with a blowtorch?”

She slapped him in the face. “No.”

“If I scraped it off with a scalpel?”

“Hunter, I like my skin.”

“Aww. What’s the ship name for that?”

“If I were in love with my skin, wouldn’t I technically be in love with myself?”

“Possibly so. If you’re correct, can the ship name be Ezmeraldez?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Ez.”

“Hunter?”

“I think you just might have to go around with those words on your face.”

“Oh, fuck it!”

“Sorry.”

“Well, damn you!”

“I have to go around with a rainbow on my face!”

“Well, you’re male!”

“Sexist.”

“And you wear a helmet half the time!”

“True.”

“Hunter?”

“What?”

“I swear, I’ll blowtorch your face if you don’t get me some permanent mascara, come here, and sit still.”

A blur, and Hunter was there.

She leant over him, mascara wand in hand.

“Ez?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t write anything too outrageous.”

“Should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?” she asked with a scary grin.

He held still and felt the cool mascara drifting across his face, felt Ez, leaning her hand on his shoulder as she drew, eyes looking straight at his forehead, tingle like she was radioactive.

“Is it hard drawing on me with the tingling?” he asked, curious.

She shrugged. “You get used to it. I mean, I barely notice myself tingling. Do you?”

“We don’t really tingle, we just kind of feel like we do,” he said. “Although we do sort of tingle.”

“Very specific, that.”

She finished and sat up, grinning at him.

Hunter leant over and looked in the mirror. His face said, “I AM REALLY HOT AND I WANT TO FUCK YOU ALL YEAH.”

He laughed, eyes a playful green. “Could you not have just written ‘I am an idiot’?”

She grinned at her handiwork. “Not as mortifying.”

“At least yours is hard to read now!!”

“At least you knew what you were getting into!! Plus, you wear a helmet! I have to go about like this at work!”

“Well -” Not able to think of any more arguments, he made a frustrated noise. “Hades, with or without bears, you can kill me now!”

She laughed, and he smiled. Apparently, he could cheer people up.

“Maybe we should leave now, before trouble catches us,” he says.

“Guessing you’re not going to notify the hotel manager?”

He shrugged. “With this face? I’ll leave a pile of money in the middle of the floor.”

“It’ll get wet there.”

“I’ll hang it from the ceiling, then.”

Hunter disappeared, and Ez walked back into the sopping wet hotel room to see him stretching onto the tips of his toes, the toes encased in boots that imitated a kaleidoscope, sellotaping some string to the ceiling.

“Tall people should be banned,” she told him.

He dropped his feet back onto the floor with a sodden squelching noise and sellotaped –

Ez put her hand over his, stopping him. “You’ll wreck the money,” she pointed out.

“Oh.”

He looked around the room aimlessly.

She reached inside his jacket and pulled an empty wallet out of one of the main portals.

He nodded, checking that it was empty, and stuffed some notes inside it. “Thanks.”

“I think they might need more money than that.”

He glared and pulled more notes out.

“Do I want to know where this money’s coming from?” she asked.

“Probably not,” he admitted. He sellotaped the wallet, then took her hand and started skipping.

Her arm jerked forward and she almost fell over. Seeing she wasn’t moving, Hunter stopped, glaring at her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

He looked at her like she was mad. “Skipping off into the sunset!”

“Sunset? That’s a wall!”

He looked at it. “It’s a rainbow wall. It’ll do.”

He skipped into it and banged his face. “Ow.”

He turned around, and saw out of the window.

“Ooh, look, an actual sunset.”

He skipped over to the window, paused to open it, jumped out – slowly his fall by levitating – and carried on skipping.

Ez jumped out after him. “You are not skipping like a lunatic down the street with your face like that.”

He smiled. “YOLO.”

“You did not just say that.”

He took her hand again and she started skipping with him.

“And this, Ez, is how radioactive milkshakes are invented,” he told her, his voice jerking with the skipping.

He was absolutely mad.

But that was probably why she liked him.

It was strangely liberating.

Passers-by stared at the them, actually stopped what they were doing and turned around and stared, and they stuck their tongues out at them and waved with their free hands.

“Where are we skipping to?” Ez asked.

“It’s not about getting there,” replied Hunter. “It’s about the journey.”

“But, you know, skipping is kind of exhausting.”

“Good point,” he decided. “We shall go and get milkshakes.”

“And one day, we shall get radioactive ones,” she told him.

He smiled. “One day.”

Aretha Tesla: Fire

Takes place just before Niccolo starts the forest fire in Blogland. To clarify- this does not take place in Blogland, this takes place in my research cabin, which is in a different forest in Iowa.

I had always been fascinated by fire. It was so beautiful, so fluid and flickering and delicate and undying all at once. And it glowed in the most understated yet awe-inspiring way. Fire was classy. And it was there, but at the same time, it wasn't. I could reach out to touch it, and it would burn me, but aside from that I wouldn't really feel it, as if it wasn't there. Or it could touch me, but I couldn't touch it. Fire captivated me, and I had always been drawn to it. But far stronger than my fascination with fire was my love for books.

If it weren't for the books, things might have been different. I would have been safer, and happier, and I... I didn't think I had anything else to lose, really. At least nothing that only had value to me. My family was gone, any contact with the mortal world and the friends I had there were gone, and now Niccolo was gone again too. I didn't care much about material possessions, so all things considered, there wasn't much left for him to take away. That was what I thought. But I didn't think of the books, and maybe that's why he chose them. He'd never been especially fond of fires.

I might have actually enjoyed, to some degree, watching my cabin burn from the tiny basement up. Nature has some amazing powers, and I like to be reminded every now and then that I can't control everything, that no matter how hard humans try to contain it, nature does what it wants. I like that reassurance. But when I saw the heavy smoke rolling out from the broken windows, all I could think about was the 207 year old book I kept in my room's library, and- my room's library! A clothbound second edition collection of Charles Dickens, countless books on magic and research and fantasy and so many of them old, and- !

I found myself racing straight into the house, using air to try to clear a path to my ladder through the smoke and flames and only partly succeeding. I flew to the shelves and frantically tore through the books, pulling them out into my arms, and quickly realized I couldn't carry them all at once. I coughed, inhaling the thick black smoke that curled upwards in opaque waves, as I turned and frantically glanced through my room. Why did I keep it so organized?! If Niccolo didn't clean all the time... I couldn't find any bags on the floor, so I rummaged through a few cabinets, eventually finding a bag full of training equipment. I dumped the contents carelessly into the drawer- 16 oz gloves, arm and shin pads, and a helmet, all leather- I could replace those anytime, and barely used them anyway.

By then the room was so full of smoke, I could barely see an inch in front of my face, and each time I used a wave of air to push the smoke a way a new tendril filled its place, making the haze even thicker. I coughed and sputtered, torn between desperation for more air and the knowledge that breathing smoke could only hurt me. Stumbling forward, my eyes rendered useless by streaming tears and the cloud that engulfed me, I reached out for where I estimated the books I had dropped would be. I could feel blinding heat creeping up through the floorboards, and stopped to wonder for one precious moment if this was what cremation felt like.

When I tossed a few books into the bag and slung it over my shoulder, and ran blindly to the corner of the room where I knew the ladder was. One careless step sent me falling rather than climbing down to the first floor of the cabin, and I would have screamed if my throat wasn't burning. I was pretty sure I'd just landed in fire, and I wondered if I could even survive something like that. My thoughts wandered in a second of manic helplessness towards the hoard of paintings and research in the basement, but I knew I was already too late for that.

His laughter resounded through the air and seemed to vibrate through the surface I stood on, and I knew I was out of time. Any books I might have saved were probably doomed. But I was already up again and racing for the open door, not even noticing the pain that shot up my right leg as I ran, and I sprawled onto the snow-covered grass outside. The shock of the cool, crisp, wintery air was such that I wasn't even sure whether or not I wanted it. My whole body trembled in spasms as I struggled between gasping for air and coughing up black soot. I could see now, but only in large, distorted blurs, and my eyes stung each time I opened them, but when I closed them the sensation only grew worse.

I barely even noticed him lifting me up by a fistful of my short hair. "Aretha, darling," his voice was just as smooth as always, like a river of melted chocolate, "Look up with those beautiful eyes of yours." I found my eyes open of their own accord, but I could still only see in streaming blurs. "Pity," he said, and dropped me. "Well, I suppose you could borrow mine." I felt his mind enter mine, the sensation so familiar yet so wildly different and invasive at the same time, and I saw the world as he did. I looked at my cabin burning, the smoke flowing out so much that even outside I wasn't safe from it anymore. A second Niccolo strolled into the cabin casually, completely unaffected by the flames, and emerged with a large stack of books.

"What have we here?" he mocked, "It would appear to be Charles Dickens. You're missing a few volumes from that little bag, aren't you? Well, here's volume three," he read off the name and then tossed it back into the growing fire, "Volume nine, ten, eleven. There they go. World War II in pictures is next, it would seem- and you went through such great care to protect those fragile covers." In one final spurt of desperation, I sprang forward, the bag of books sliding off my shoulder to rest in the snow, and ran straight into Niccolo. I should have known I wouldn't be able to move him, but in the moment, I forgot how strong he was.

I breathed out a hoarse "No", quieter than a whisper, that was immediately drowned in another round of coughs. I felt as though someone had reached down my throat into my lungs and was slowly scraping the contents out with their fingernails. The desperation was gone now, and hopelessness took over. I stood no chance against Niccolo to begin with- now there were two of him, and I couldn't even see or breathe. Much to my surprise, the second Niccolo dropped the books anyway, and before I could wonder whether or not he had come to his senses I found myself shoved into a cold, stone cell. I could only hope that whatever books I had saved weren't worth burning anymore.

Zafira Kerias: Fear

I've previously written a simple taste of what Zafira actually experienced when Alastair stole her conscious but I never went into the details of what it was like being trapped and some of the more....gruesome and terrifying things she saw. And felt. 

Zafira looked straight at Javier and Ravel. The boys were watching her as she tried to find words, for months she kept to herself the terrifying time she was in Alastair's mind. 

"I just know....that it is hard to explain. I've been able to keep it hidden to both of you but....Javier I'll show you and Erskine being you can hear my thoughts and see what memory I show you..." Zafira closed her eyes and started from the beginning. 

June/July when Alastair took captives

Zafira could see everyone and hear everyone. Nothing seemed totally wrong physically until mentally she heard the screaming. It caused her to want to freak, if she had the ability to even hear her own thoughts. Whatever was happening it seemed odd and...she couldn't control her movements. It was like being the eyes and ears but not the brain, which seemed odd. Zafira didn't even know what she was thinking, it felt like her worst fear had come true: Alastair had stolen her true name. She could see everyone in Blogland and possibly Javier or someone freaking out on Alastair. How strange. 

"What the hell did he do?!" She screamed, no reply came from anyone. Probably unlikely anyone heard her. What seemed like days went by and the noise of the others, a blur really, vanished. Zafira found herself able to hear her own thoughts, hear her own breathing. She couldn't see though. She could feel the pain of when Niccolò had performed his own insane autopsy on her. She cried out for Javier but he didn't come. This wasn't like that fatal day. Her vision suddenly came back and she saw herself as she usually did, but laying in a pool of blood. It was her living room, she could hear Javier's footsteps but then she saw a knife and he died before her, a strangled scream of fear, pain and sadness came from her. She heard that laughter, Niccolò's, but she knew Alastair Cruciatus was behind it. Then she saw something, her own child...Alexis. Alexis was in a field running and Mevolent was attacking the Sceptre pointed at her baby and she turned to dust. Zafira felt the tears sting her eyes as she screamed, and begged for it to stop. To end the torture of her loved ones dying. Then that damned voice, smooth as the day she first heard it in the dungeons, 

"Are you seriously that afraid? I was only just beginning, love. How do you know that I didn't steal your name?" Zafira hissed her answer,

"You stole my name?!" Her fear began to rise, her kid...Javier....how would she be able to tell them what Alastair did? Surely he would gloat, but he has a Necromancer why need another? Alastair's laughter was audible, like he was next to her. Then the screams came again, still sending chills to her. She saw what he saw. Blogland. It was night now and most were asleep though obviously he was not. As he walked, it made her feel off like how disembodied she felt unable to walk on her own. Her thoughts were barely audible and she didn't know if she was screaming, probably was, it was the only thing she could do to hold onto whatever was left of her. Then the world went black and screaming subsided, she was in her treehouse again. Zafira curled up in a ball and willed sleep. 

A sharp pain woke her. And then the moment of torture. 

"Please?" Came Niccolò's mocking voice as the live autopsy began. This time she could see him cut her. See and smell her own blood, if Zafira had any ounce of strength she'd have screamed. It had been this point when she was unconscious. It went on until the blur of torture sessions ended and she lay curled up in a ball, crying. Let me go please. She thought. If I'm part of the names maybe I will get free. If...I can. If...I have the strength to take control. Alastair's laughter was soft, and close. 

"Oh but you will never escape from here. I stole your name." His voice faded and Zafira was left in the darkness. In a pool of blood. Somewhere in the far distance that voice, Justaria. He didn't steal your name, I'm free. I will get you ought somehow, Adra and them...they plan to. He isn't paying attention now, he's preoccupied. I promise...

Zafira banished the thoughts for fear Alastair was listening. And then, the hot knife came down and Zafira screamed, sometimes Alastair would let her have a glimpse of being with the names, no more then a minute or two. All the rest of the time she was secluded in her own private Hell. Hoping. Praying. Freedom. 

Present day Blogland

Ravel's eyes widened. Javier was pale. Nobody spoke. Zafira broke the silence,

"Now you know. I'm sorry you had to see that." She turned and walked into the bedroom. Christopher in her arms, safe. He hadn't stolen her name but he made her believe that was the case. The day he released her was a blur, a canyon they say, and Alexis....it was the past. Niccolò was back and that was that. Nobody would kill her now. Well name wise.