Artifacts [Read Only] - Printable Version

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RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 09-19-2017

NEWS ALERT: BLOODY ATTACK AT ROYAL RESIDENCE IN MACRILAN SENDS KING AND PRINCESS TO HOSPITAL. AUTHORITIES ON SCENE REMOVE UNIDENTIFIED BODY OF SUSPECT FROM RESIDENCE. SPECIAL TASK FORCE FORMED. TOP SCIENTISTS ARRIVE. INVESTIGATION ENSUES.

Bloody Attack on a Quiet Night at Royal Residence In Macrilan

(CP): Early Thursday morning, violence erupted at the Royal Residence in Macrilan after a gunman entered the chambers of the youngest Princess Celeste in an apparently failed kidnapping attempt.

Guardsmen attending the royal family that evening reported a quiet night in the home. The King and Queen, Mr. and Mrs. Hart, were observed retiring to their chambers as usual around eleven in the evening on Wednesday night. The princess had retired to bed earlier. Just after one in the morning on Thursday, gunfire and shouting was reported in the upstairs chambers as a struggle ensued.

The first guardsman to arrive found what he described as a “bloody scene” in the Princess' chambers. A yet unidentified man lay sprawled on the floor by the wall. The back of his head was described as "caved in with blood and brain matter spattered" on the wall behind him. The individual had multiple gunshot wounds to his torso. Mr. Hart was found sitting on the bed holding his hand to a bleeding gunshot wound to his right shoulder. He was undressed save for draw-string sweat pants and was otherwise covered with both his own and the suspect’s blood. Mrs. Hart was attending to her daughter nearby who had suffered from a stab wound to her leg. A pistol lay on the bed next to Mr. Hart.

A call to emergency services was made by the Queen at 1:13 A.M. The audio for this call has not been released to the press but the emergency responder described the queen as breathless, shaken, and possibly tearful. Medics arrived on scene at 1:19 A.M. along with emergency security forces supplied by the Navy for such incidents.

Mr. Hart and Celeste were transported to Macrilan General Hospital by emergency medical responders. Attending physician and brother to the Queen, Dr. Kama Darkwillow said early Thursday morning that the King and Princess were recovering well and “in good spirits” though he declined to comment on the severity of their injuries. No official statement has been released by the family as of the time of this writing. The queen has called for a respect to her husband and daughter’s privacy as they recover.

Naval Admiral Lanzo Weatherfare has put together a Special Task force spearheaded by his son Atlas, retired Naval Black Ops Specialist, to launch an official investigation into the incident. Specialist Weatherfare has declined to comment on the ongoing investigation beyond stating that “no associated arrests have been made” at this time in the case. Admiral Weatherfare added that the family called in a special forensic analyst from the United States, Dr. Holland Rivers, to evaluate the body of the suspect as well as the scene.

Dr. Rivers arrived early Thursday morning by royal private jet and was accompanied by his wife, a renowned biologist and researcher. They were transported by armored car directly to the Royal Residence to begin the analysis.

Security at all royal residences and at the Macrilan General Hospital has been increased in a show of force following the violent attack. Mr. Hart and Celeste are expected to be released to home by the attending physician as early as Saturday.

The Correlate Press’ Monte Leonard and Emanuella Gin contributed to this report

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RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 10-25-2017


Owen was admittedly distracted by the obvious beauty of his new psychiatrist. She had the kind of hair only seen in magazines. Every strand of golden hair held perfectly in place in a sleek and professional ponytail. Her hair was curled too, adding a touch of femininity. She adjusted her glasses and shifted her legs in this elegant way. Crossed them so tidily. He would bet his left testicle that her panties matched her bra every single day of the week.

“Have you ever had thoughts of harming yourself?”

She looked at him in that way that only therapists, priests, and mothers could. In that non-judgmental but soul piercingly empathetic way that made his blood boil. He didn't know where anyone got off looking at him like that.

“Yes.” He answered curtly, his gaze skirting away from her when he did. His leg started shaking, bouncing up and down. It wasn’t a nervous tic so far as he was concerned, but really a marker of his growing impatience with answering the same questions over and over again to different strangers with pretentious degrees.

His answer was followed by a silence he wasn’t used to. There was no clicking of a pen, no scratching on a paper. This one took notes on an iPad. She was a bit upgraded from his last psychiatrist who always took notes by hand. She tapped her finger on the bluish screen with her index finger while the other three splayed out.

Owen had firmly made up his mind that he hated everything about her. Uppity bitch.

“Have you ever had thoughts of -”

“Suicide? Yes. Of course.” He interrupted her aggressively. “Look doc, I know how this goes. So here’s the answers to your pressing and dramatic questions.” His eyes rolled and voice modulated with his clear disdain for the process.

The doctor pulled the glasses from her face and folded them into her hand. She rested the iPad on the arm of her chair and placed the glasses on top. Her hands settled one on top of the other on her leg. She could tell he wasn’t going to let her lead the interview. She would nonetheless give him her undivided attention. She could tell he didn't like the iPad. She had watched his nose wrinkle up in disgust when she used it.

“I passively think of death probably on a daily basis. I rarely, but do sometimes, have more...what would you say...active thoughts of killing myself. No I don’t have a current plan to kill myself. But if I did I would put a bullet through my head. Yes, I have guns in the home. I’m law enforcement what do you expect? No, I will not be getting rid of my personal weapons, nor will I be resigning my position with the FBI.”

A brief pause before he continued.

“Yes, I do have thoughts of harming other people. My work involves investigating very bad people. I want to harm them. Outside of the context of my job, I only think about murdering assholes who piss me off. Like the kind of person who knows they need to change lanes and then they forcibly slide right in front of you only when they’re in a turn lane that they had been warned about 50 feet ago. You know those kind of people? Or the kinds that blatantly cut you in line.”

He shifted his weight to the side to fish a folded piece of paper from his rear pocket. He unfolded it and leaned forward, thrusting it at the doctor who took her time accepting the paper. Even her way of moving annoyed him. He wiggled the paper at her to hurry her up.

“Here’s a list of all the medications I’ve ever been on and the diagnoses I’ve been given. That should make your job easier.”

The doctor refused to be harried by him anymore than she already had. Slow and deliberate characterized the way she took up her glasses again, unfolded them, placed them on her nose, gave him a long hard look before lowering her gaze to the paper. Her patient was fidgeting and she gazed at him over the top of her glasses to find that he was pushing more papers at her. She was loath to receive them from such an unnecessarily grouchy man but she nonetheless did and kept her opinions to herself.

“I printed off one of those self-report inventories and filled it out this morning. So we can skip the rest of the bullshit and you can fill out your chart from that.”

She barely had time to look over what he had given her before he was pushing himself up from the chair facing hers and moving off towards the door.

“Hold on a second, Mr. Hart.” She said as she placed the papers to the side. “We’re not finished with the assessment. I haven’t completed the interview.”

“I gave you all you need to make a provisional diagnosis.” He snapped back entirely too quickly.

“Why are you avoiding the intake assessment?” It was the first adversarial question she had asked him. The others had been purely routine. Questions asked of every patient.

“I’m not answering any more of those fucking questions. How many times do I have to go through this shit? Every time I get a new doctor?”

“I asked why you are refusing to cooperate.” She pressed unsatisfied with his brief tirade.

“And I told you I am sick of answering the same questions over and over.”

“That isn’t acceptable, Mr. Hart.”

“I need refills of the meds on that list. I use Family Pharmacy on 54th.”

“I won’t be prescribing anything until I complete my assessment.”

“I guess I’ll just go fucking blow my brains out then.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Maybe it is.”

“I would like you to contract for safety. I want you to promise that if you intend to harm yourself that you’ll call myself or 911 before you do anything.”

“I’m not signing those stupid contracts. Are you so naive to think a promise on a piece of paper is going to stop a bullet?”

“It has certainly saved the lives of my patients in the past.”

He scoffed derisively and turned towards the door.

“Mr. Hart I cannot let you leave after the statements you’ve made. I cannot be certain that you are not an imminent danger to yourself. If you take another step I will call security and have them escort you to the emergency department for a hold.”

Owen whirled around at the threat of hospitalization and stared angrily at the doctor that dared defy him. “You can’t do that.”

“It would be for your safety. You may have walked all over your psychiatrists in the past but I cannot allow that. I am unable to adequately treat you if I cannot make a diagnosis. I need to complete the intake assessment and I need you to contract for safety.”

He had been backed into a corner. She seemed serious at least in her threat to hospitalize him. He was skeptical whether she really cared if he intended to kill himself or not. She just wanted to win at whatever power games they were playing at. And she had the trump card and the prescription pad. His nostrils flared before he moved past her and dumped himself back into his chair like a child having a temper tantrum.

She was so infuriatingly measured in the way she returned to her chair. Polished in the way she smoothed her skirt over the back of her legs in the act of sitting down. So stately and refined when she crossed her legs and took up the iPad.

A slender hand petted the papers she had given him. Fussy in the way they tried to smooth out all the wrinkles. “Thank you for this information, Mr. Hart that is very helpful. I will look over it and add it to your file. I’ll have copies made so you can keep your originals.” She paused taking a moment to review what she had recorded in the electronic chart on her tablet. “Now..Let’s continue. You said you work for the FBI? I see that this treatment was recommended by the agency?”

Her voice sounded too much like the school counselor who had asked him why he beat up that one kid. He bristled at the sound of it. His mood had long since turned black and soured with bitter resentment towards this Maeve Reed, M.D.

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 11-18-2017


Murderers! Imperial pigs! CAF Whore! Fuck you! Cunts!

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 12-08-2017


This isn’t a playground.

It was a place where his shoes squeaked on yellowing linoleum flooring.

You can’t just go wandering around.

Empty, echoing halls were lined with closed doors. All of them closed. Some of them labeled Authorized Personnel Only. The one hall with the big double doors had those symbols on it. Three crescents over a circle. Biohazard.

Stay in my office and don’t touch anything.

It smelled like a hospital but not quite. Hospitals had the smell of life and death struggling with one another. A human smell. But this place smelled like the hospital but without the human smells. Like pure sanitizer and fresh plastic and that subtle burning smell of fluorescent lights. And that was the only sound too. The soft hiss of fluorescent lights and the occasional closing of a door and the occasional squeak of shoes on linoleum.

It was spooky that lack of humanity and Owen couldn’t bear not exploring it.

I’ll only be gone a while. Sit there and work on your homework.

He wasn’t sitting and he wouldn’t be doing his homework. Not on this rare day. The one and only day he had ever been allowed to see the place where his mother worked. He would probably never get another opportunity to enter the building much less explore the lab without parental or adult supervision.

So he walked as quietly as he could. It only helped the squeaking some.

He walked and walked until he was lost in the labyrinth of nondescript halls and closed doors. Some of the doors had long rectangular windows like the doors at his school had. He stood on his tiptoes to peer inside them. They were all dark or had paper covering the windows.

He could see ahead that the hallway was a dead end. One final door and then nothing. It had a window and he could see the light was on in the room. Owen crept closer fearful of what he might see inside. His mind swirled with possibilities of twisted and terrible monsters kept at bay by locked doors for studying and experiments.

He pressed his hands to the door and rose on his tip toes. Someone was in there. A flash of green eyes looking right at him. He ducked back down and threw himself into the hall corner pressing flat against the wall to hide from whatever’s eyes he had looked into.

From behind the wall he could hear the sound of scraping. Something like metal being dragged across the floor. Then it stopped. Something bumped into the door. Trembling he leaned to the side and rolled his eyes up towards the window. Those green eyes again. Like nothing he had seen before. Electric and hungry. Such hungry eyes full of a need he had never witnessed before. He’d never seen desperation before.

He bolted from the wall and started down the hall. He heard the door latch open behind him and a small voice rang out over the sound of his shoes squeaking - “Wait.” A girl’s voice. Timid but crystalline.

He stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face the speaker.

She was standing in the open doorway in a white hospital gown. Skinny tanned legs ended in bare feet that made no sound as she backed towards the safety of her room. She shied away from him pushing at the chair she had brought up to the door to stand on and peak back at him.

He briefly went over the rules his mother had set out for him as he walked back towards that room and the shy girl that watched him fearfully. He hadn’t broke any of them except for wandering around. He already had his excuse ready. He had sought the toilet and got lost. Easy. She had told him not to touch anything. So far he had only touched doors. She didn’t say he was forbidden from speaking to anyone he encountered.

“Hi.” He said standing now at the doorway. He peered inside the sparsely furnished room. A small cot, a plain desk and chair, some white computer paper in a stack on the desk and a 24 box of crayons. There were a pair of blue slippers lined neatly by the wall. Two pictures - drawings in crayon - produced by her probably that were taped to the wall.

The girl was now hidden half behind the door and seemed ready to close it on him.

“I won’t hurt you.” He promised, cocking his head at her. “I’m Owen. My mom works here.”

That made the girl shy even more behind the door. He could no longer see her. Except the tips of her fingers which held the door protectively in front of her body.

“May I come in?” He asked crossing the threshold anyways. He walked right up to the drawings to examine them. They were pretty poor in his estimation. Stick figures only and an underutilization of color. They were both the same stick figure. Self-portraits, he figured, if the boxy white dress and cropped black hair and green eyes were any sign.

He glanced behind him and found the girl watching him attentively from behind the door. So he turned back towards the pictures and made a show of evaluating them carefully. He made a skeptical kind of hum in his chest. He had heard adults at the art museum his parents sometimes dragged him too making such noises when they looked at paintings.

“Not bad.” He concluded and turned back towards her smiling.

“What’s that?” She asked her finger pointing at him.

Owen looked around himself, down at his shoes, and behind his shoulder. “What?”

“That.” She moved from behind the door for the first time letting it go. It swung closed. Quietly latching the children away.

“Me? I already told you, I’m Owen.”

“No. That.” She moved so close that her finger poked his chest.

Owen stared down at his t-shirt with a graphic image of a monster on it. “Oh. That. It’s the Leviathan.” She showed no sign of comprehension. “It’s like a sea monster dragon thingy. Isn’t it cool?”

She frowned at the serpentine monster depicted with a voracious open mouth full of deadly sharp teeth. “Scary.” She concluded.

“It’s just fake.”

“Fake?”

“It’s not real. It’s make-believe.”

“Make-believe?”

“Yeah. From some old stories. Cool old legends. Do you like monster stories?”

She shrugged. Her eyes skirted away from him. “I don’t like monsters.” She fidgeted nervously wringing her hands.

“Not all monsters are bad.” He suggested gently, cocking his head to catch her eyes.

She seemed hopeful that he was telling the truth.

“Look.” He took hold of the chair and dragged it over to the desk and perched himself on it. Owen poured the crayons out from the box using his hands as walls to stop the ones that threatened to roll away. When the colors were still he picked up a piece of paper and began drawing. “I’ll draw you a nice monster. This one is from a story my mom read me about a little boy who accidentally turned himself into a monster because some boys at school were mean to the girl he liked. He pushed the boys and hit them. He was so mad he transformed into a monster and the whole playground turned into a crazy jungle full of scary creatures. The girl ran away into the jungle and got lost because she was scared of him. He eventually found the girl and made her be not afraid anymore and then everything turned back to normal. My mom told me the story is about how sometimes we have to act like monsters when we are trying to do good and defeat something bad. But she said we have to always be careful how we act so we don’t become monsters that can’t stop being monsters. Not all monsters are bad. And not all bad monsters are all bad. Some of them were good once and lost their way. She said it is a met-a-phor? But I don't know what that is.”

The blank page turned into a colorful furry monster with sharp teeth and a big smile. It was surrounded by multi-colored trees and plants and a few other critters. When he was finished, Owen held it up for her. “Ta-da!”

She was silent eyes wide enraptured with the image and the story he had explained.

“Here. You can keep it.” He pushed it towards her.

She shook her head, hiding her hands behind her back. “No.”

“It’s not too scary is it?”

She shook her head. “I’m not allowed.”

“Allowed to have the picture?”

She nodded gazing in shame at her bare toes. “They’ll take it.”

“Who will?”

“My big brother.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He took a step closer towards her. He reached for her arm tucked behind her back to take her hand. “Is he a monster?”

She nodded. The bottom of her eyes sparkled with tears that welled up threatening to spill down her face. “A bad one.”

“I know what we can do!” He released her hand and moved to her wall of pictures. He pulled down one and carefully peeled the tape from it. He set the picture respectfully on the bed. “We’ll put the tape on this one.” He explained as he fixed his picture with tape. “And we’ll put it under here.” Owen crawled under the desk and pinned the picture to the underside of the desk. “See?”

The girl fell to her knees and crawled under the desk next to him. She stared up at the picture where he had fixed it for her.

“They’ll never know.” He whispered.

She nodded and dared a cautious smile.

“What’s your name?”

“J- J - Julianna.” She whispered stumbling over her own name. Like she hadn’t said it or heard it said in a long time. Like an unpracticed rudiment on a long-neglected instrument.

“Ooooh fancy.” He praised her teasingly. “Juliannaaa.” He tested out the vowels. "Sounds like the fancy name for some hoity-toity queen of a distant land." His hand made a dramatic arc in front of him and he snickered before nudging her with his elbow.

She wasn’t encouraged but stared blankly at the floor.

“Why are you here?”

She shrugged.

“Are you sick?”

Her eyes flashed, angry. “No.” That was the strongest her voice had sounded since she called to him to wait.

“Then why?”

She folded her arms over her chest and huffed before shrugging again.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I -” She started and stopped again hands falling away from her defeated.

“What?”

Her hand disappeared into the shadow cast by the desk they sat under. From it she pulled out a plastic unicorn figurine with a rainbow mane and tail and a glittering gold horn.

“Whoa!” Owen exclaimed loudly staring wide eyed at the figurine she held.

“Shhh!” She hushed him pressing a skinny index finger to his lips. She glanced fearfully towards the doorway as if a monster might appear at any moment.

“How did you do that?” He whispered taking the figure from her.

She shrugged.

“So wait - are you - in here because you can do magic?”

Her eyes skirted away from him again. Then her head jerked towards the door and her eyes went wide. “He’s coming.” She whispered.

“What? Who?”

“Big brother!” She had grabbed his arm and her fingers pressed painfully into his skin. “Hide.” She whispered.

“What?”

“Hide!” She pointed towards the bed. “Now!”

The sound of clicking footsteps was now audible to him. Somehow she had heard it or sensed it before he did. Owen scrambled from under the desk and crawled under the bed shoving himself as far back against the wall and into the shadows as possible.

The door opened and Julianna crawled frantically from under her desk to face who ever had entered the room. From his vantage point Owen could only see a pair of shining black business shoes and Julianna’s small bare feet.

“What were you doing under there?” A man demanded.

Julianna only squeaked and stepped away from him.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“I - I - I -” she stuttered. “I spilled my crayons.”

“You spilled your crayons.” His voice though velvety smooth sounded black. Like the absence of light. Like hopelessness.

“Y - yes.” She whispered.

Owen could see her legs trembling.

“Careless.” He spat at her. “You can’t take care of even a simple box of crayons.”

“No - I was -”

He stepped away moving towards the desk. Owen pressed harder against the wall. Holding his breath as much as he could stand it.

A hand reached for a simple round wastebasket. Owen couldn’t see what happened next but he saw it in his mind. The man swept the crayons into the trash along with the stack of paper.

“No!” Julianna shrieked.

“You have lost your coloring privileges.”

“No!” She sobbed and moved towards the man but was knocked down with an awful sounding smack. She was there on the floor, holding her face, curling into a ball as the man crossed the room to the wall where her other picture hung. Owen started to move towards Julianna but she shook her head at him mouthing ‘No.’ He froze hearing the sound of paper being torn. The man took down her other picture and ripped them both.

“Come on. Time to work.” He said.

Julianna didn’t move. She held herself, trembling. She stared at the boy hiding under her bed and mouthed ‘no’ at him again. Telling him to stay put.

“I said move.”

A hand grabbed Julianna’s arm and hauled her to her feet. She cried in protest as she was dragged from the room. The door closed. The sound of clicking footsteps faded.

Owen stayed under the bed for a long time listening. After a while his hand began to ache. He was gripping the unicorn tight in his hand and the horn had pressed a small purpling dent into his palm. Owen crept out from under the bed. He tucked the unicorn as best as he could into his pants pocket and sidled from the room. Once out into the hall he bolted running blindly and crying until he ran into an adult wearing a long white lab coat.

The man took him to his mother.

Owen tearfully delivered his lie about getting lost seeking the bathroom.

His mother took him home.

Owen never returned to that place again.

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 03-04-2018

Last Call

After Renly died Ishara bought one of those old phones the landlines with the ridiculously long cords so she cold curl up in bed and talk until she fell asleep. The kids were all tucked in and her patient was settled for the night. So she took the phone into bed and got comfortable. She had discovered this position where she could lay on her side and rest the receiver on her face.

The rain was a loud drum on the roof. It didn’t bother Ishara. She wondered whether the sound of it would go through the receiver. He never let it ring more than three times. It was like he knew she was calling. By now he did.

How many nights in a row had he talked her to sleep?

They never talked about anything important. Just benign little things. Something the kids did. Something that happened at his work. The weather. What they ate for dinner.

“It’s late.” He said as if her calling bothered him. She knew better than that.

“Then you should be in bed.”

His sigh rumbled into the receiver.

“Lemme guess you’re at your desk working, working, working.”

“Guess again.”

“Oh? Hmm. The couch?”

“Closer.”

“Are you in bed before midnight? Darcy Weatherfare I am shocked.”

“Guilty.”

“Slacker.”

He grunted into her ear but gave himself away with the telltale sound of paper rustling.

“You are working!” She accused.

“I never suggested I wasn’t. Don't blame me for the leaps your overactive imagination makes.”

“ Yeah. You actually relaxing? A leap indeed."

"Mhmm."

"Hey. Here's an idea. Put that work away and come over.”

“Not tonight.”

“When?” She whined.

“It’s too soon for us to be seen that way, Ishara. We talked about this.”

“I know, I know...but I’m sick of being lonely and heartbroken.”

He sighed. “I know.”

She fell silent so he picked up the conversation again. “How was Owen tonight?”

“He misses him.”

“Yeah.”

She could hear the pain in his voice and wondered if that was the wrong thing to say to him. But it was the truth. “He keeps looking for him.” She whispered feeling suddenly fearful. “I think he’s still in this house, Darcy.”

“Who?”

“Renly….I can feel him. He’s … he’s not right. He’s scaring me.”

“Ishara.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

“What tone.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were.”

“I’m bringing a medium over here once I get this patient out on her feet.”

“Ishara.” There was warning in his voice.

“What?”

“No. No mediums.”

“Patti Hanesworth does wonderful work. There's nothing wrong with using a medium. Maybe he has something to tell me.”

"I wouldn't mess with that kind of thing."

"Oh what do you know?"

"I'm quite a bit older than you."

“He’s trying to tell me something. I have to hear him out.”

“What patient?” He changed the subject. It was no use arguing with her.

“Huh?”

“You said you had a patient there.”

“Oh yeah. I just got her today. Tonight actually.”

“Tonight?”

He sounded worried to her. “Owen found her.”

“What do you mean Owen found her?”

“In the yard. He was out looking for Renly and spotted this poor girl laying in the yard on the edge of the woods. In the rain. Pitiful thing.”

“Who is this girl?” There was quite a bit of concern in his voice now.

“Oh it’s perfectly alright, Darcy. Just some poor thing beat all to hell.”

“Beat all to hell by who? Or what?”

“Well I didn’t ask her that.”

“You didn’t - Ishara you can’t just bring people into your home like that. We talked about this. Renly didn’t like it when he wasn’t there either.”

“And now he'll never be here and you're not coming over either.” She snapped too quickly.

He sighed. “You just need to watch yourself.”

“You hate me.” She whined.

“Yeah. That’s it. I hate you.”

“Well I hate you back. So much.”

“I know.”

"Thank you for being concerned for me. You know I can handle myself."

"I know." A silence fell between them for a few moments so he spoke again. "So tell me about this patient.”

“Oh, she’s Veridian."

“Veridian, really?’

Ishara could hear the surprise in his voice. “Mhmm. Her name is Rylan Sor-”

“-ensen?”

“Wait, do you know her? I mean the Isles aren’t very big. What are the odds! You should come say hi!”

“I might. I think I will.”

“Splendid. What time will you come tomorrow?”

“I’m coming tonight.”

Ishara felt something like a surge of jealousy. It was wildly misplaced. Not that she knew that. “Oh I see. You know...It’s much too late for a visit, Darcy....”

“Ishara.”

“It sounds like one of the kids has gotten up.”

“Ishara.”

“I have to go.”

“Ishara don’t hang up.”

“I love you darling. See you tomorrow.”

She hung up.

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 03-30-2018


It wasn’t knocking, per se. It was pounding. A much deeper more urgent sound on his front door. It was both loud and worrying. Darcy threw back the covers exposing long legs to the cool night air. His feet were a padded trot as he descended the stairs. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he went. With a click the foyer and his porch were bathed in light and he peered out the peephole. What he saw made him throw open the door immediately.

Ishara in pajamas and an open robe holding a tiny bundle against her chest. She was crying and pounding on his door.
“Help him. Help him.” She thrust the bundle at him with that desperate greeting.

Darcy had no choice but to take the baby from her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The cry that sounded from the soft blankets made primal echoes somewhere inside him. Darcy was shocked but also moved to hear that sound. So, it had happened after all. The question they had been waiting to have answered.

He pulled back the blanket that was wrapped tightly around his son. The head of lynx cub peaked out at him. Gold fuzz stuck up everywhere. His mouth open in cry showed tiny but sharp looking teeth.

“Why does he sound like that?” Ishara asked sounding shrill not so unlike the needy cries Owen was making. She was biting at her nails and pacing in front of him. “Is he – is he – stuck?!”

“No.” Darcy’s answer was hardly a whisper. He was in a state of awe at the little being in his arms. “He’s just frightened. He can sense your stress. Cubs are very sensitive to their mother’s moods.” Darcy began carefully unwrapping the kitten from the blankets. She had essentially swaddled him. “They don’t like being wrapped like this.” He explained as he tossed the blanket over his shoulder. The blue blanket printed with little bears hung over his shoulder like a sash.

The kitten’s limbs were free of the restricting blanket. He cried once more up at Darcy as if to make a point before settling into the nook of his father’s arm. His paws began kneading affectionately against Darcy’s ribs.

“See? That’s more comfortable, isn’t it Owen? Yeah. You like that better, don’t you?” Darcy asked as he ran his fingers over the kitten’s head to feel the soft fur like down that grew there. He glanced up at Ishara who was standing there with one hand over her mouth looking shocked. “He’s fine.” He assured. “See?” He tilted his arms to show her their child nuzzled up in kitten form along his forearm. “He’s perfect.”

Ishara’s eyes welled with tears again. “How – how will he go back? How long will he be like this?”

“Not long in the beginning. Longer as he grows. He’ll be walking and running and climbing in a few months. Cubs are very nocturnal too.”

“W-walking? But he’s only three months old, Darcy.”

“Lynx cubs develop faster than babies. They grow a lot faster too.”

“How much will he grow?”

“It’s hard to say. Hybrids can vary.”

Ishara blanched and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. She flipped a large section over her part. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“You’re not doing this by yourself.” He reminded her sternly. “Listen.” He held up his finger to stop her from speaking. It was a tiny sound almost like a marble being rolled on a bumpy surface. Owen was purring away completely oblivious to his mother’s stress now that he was tucked safe against his father’s side.

Darcy heard Ishara say ‘aw’ quietly and felt her move up against his other side. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sleeping kitten. “He is kind of cute like this.” She conceded as she ran her fingers tentatively over his head and down his spine.


There was the crashing in the kitchen almost simultaneous with a distinct screech of feline terror followed by familiar mournful cries. Darcy threw off the covers and rushed downstairs to see what Owen had gotten into this time. It had been something every night this week. Darcy had hardly gotten any sleep but he didn’t mind at all. He had gotten a blissful week all to himself with his son.

The other Hart children had gone to their respective annual summer camps and Ishara had convinced Renly to let Owen stay with Darcy for the week so they could have child-free time. She seemed to find all sorts of reasons to let Owen stay over with Darcy for the day, or afternoon, or night.

After a week of nightly wakings with Owen, Darcy could certainly appreciate how fatiguing it must be to care for the child fulltime and keep the secret of his parentage from the rest of the family. He was beginning to wonder how she managed it, when Owen could be so frisky and troublesome in his kitten-play.

“Owen?” Darcy called out for his son. He wasn’t quite sure where the crashing sound had come from. The kitchen maybe?

More urgent mournful cries confirmed his guess.

Darcy flipped on the lights in the kitchen and found the evidence of Owen’s play on the floor. A knocked over box of cereal spilled flakes over half of the kitchen. He’d found the toy inside and tore up the plastic wrapping. The toy was nowhere to be found. A drawer had been pulled out and half the silver ware dumped on the floor.

Darcy scanned the wreckage with something like wonder. How hadn’t he woke earlier? His eyes tracked upwards when he heard a more tentative call. There high up on the top of the cabinets were two scared kitten eyes glowing yellow from the way they caught the light.

“How did you get up there?” Darcy glanced around looking for clues. A few magnets and papers held up by them had been pushed askew on the fridge. There. Owen had jumped on the counter and then to the fridge and then to the top cabinets.

Darcy tsked and moved closer under the spot where Owen was. “You’re alright.” He held out his hands. “Come on.”
The kitten inched farther back from the edge and cried pathetically. His ears were pressed down against his head and he made as small a ball of himself as he could.

“I’m not going to let you fall.” Darcy reassured as he reached up to coax Owen closer. The kitten wouldn’t come. “Look.” Darcy ran his hand along the top of the cabinet towards the fridge. “You can jump back down here. It’s not far, see?”
Owen raised his head to peer down the line of the cabinet where his father indicated. He twisted around and crept in that direction keeping hard against the wall.

“You can back down just the way you got up. See?” Darcy kept up his encouragement as Owen got close to the fridge again. “I won’t let you fall.” Darcy kept his hands up to catch him should he miss his jump.

Owen’s back side lifted some and his feet seemed to mark time as his body calibrated the jump. He lept easily clearing the space back to the fridge.

“Good. See? I knew you could do it.” Darcy let his hands fall down to the counter and he tapped his fingers there. “It’s farther down but not by much.”

Owen made his calibrations again and leapt down. He was obviously scared by the distance and landed with his paws outstretched as if he would try to sink his claws into the counter to stabilize himself. But there was nothing to latch on to. And that seemed to annoy him. Owen’s ears flattened out and his tail flicked back and forth.

“You made it! Now it’s just down to the floor.”

Owen turned around and leapt at Darcy forcing the man to catch the kitten. Darcy laughed when he caught Owen even though there were claws sinking into his shoulder. He didn’t mind the pricking. Owen’s claws retracted as he relaxed against his father. He bumped his head against Darcy’s cheek as if relieved.

“You made a mess.” Darcy said as he stepped around the spilled cereal, carrying Owen back to his crib.


“Oh it’s alright, sweet heart. It won’t hurt you.” Ishara cooed at her youngest child who had backed himself into a corner, crouched down, and covered his head with his hands. He was crying a sobbing. It might have been funny, maybe one day it would be funny. But his genuine fear made her heart ache. “It’s just a haircut, baby.”

“No.” He whined into his own knees, peering at her with watery blue eyes. “No mama.”

“Yes, you need it, darling. Your hair is wild.”

“It huwts.” He whined.

Ishara smiled at the sad child. She couldn’t help it. The way he said his r’s like w’s was so adorable to her. “It doesn’t hurt.” She argued gently. “Look.” Ishara left her son in the corner briefly while she retrieved the scissors. She snipped a small bit off the end of her hair in the front and showed it to him. “See?”

“Youws is diffewnt.”

Ishara shook her head. “No our hair is just the same. I promise.”

“No. You have mama haiw.” He argued.

It was no use. He dropped his head back to his knees more determined than ever to protect his mop of messy blonde hair. How blonde he was left her in awe at times. She hadn’t expected him to be so blonde. Darcy’s hair was so dark at the roots. She’d noticed when he let it grow long the strands seemed to become more and more blonde. Even so, Owen was just so blonde.

The door bell rang. Ishara pushed herself up from her crouch. “Guess who that is, Owen?” She asked using her ‘get excited’ voice.

The boy gave her a daring watery glare. “I don’t know.”

“It’s Darcy!”

Owen lifted his head some and gave her a dubious look before dropping it back down.

Ishara was in that frustrated but still amused in-between emotional state that she found was peculiar to being a mother. “You don’t wanna come say hello to Darcy?” She reached for Owen’s hair trying to ruffle it affectionately but he shoved her hands away. “Oh you’re being a stinker.” She accused him. “I’m going to tell Darcy.”

The door bell rang again.

“Fine, fine.” Ishara muttered to herself as she left Owen in the corner. She opened the door to find Darcy standing there looking impatient. His hip was popped and his fist rested on it.

“Took you long enough.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Mmm.” She hummed a warning at him before stepping over the threshold to give the man a kiss on either cheek. “Your psycho offspring keeps me quite occupied.” She whispered and as she pulled away she gave him a devilish smile.
Darcy grunted. “I’ve heard psycho is a trait passed down by the mother.”

“Nope. Exclusively a ‘Y’ trait.”

Darcy grunted. “So what is it this time?”

Ishara grabbed on to his bicep and pouted dramatically. “He won’t let me cut his hair. He’s scared of the scissors.”

Darcy gazed down at her seemingly unaffected by her endearing ways. “Did you snip a piece of your hair –?”

“Of course I snipped a piece of my own hair. This isn’t my first rodeo. It didn’t work. I have mom hair, so.”

Darcy’s face lit up as if he was having a revelation. “Hard to argue with his logic there.”

Ishara planted both hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow at him. “Get in here and make him let me cut his hair so we can get to Renly’s pinning ceremony on time.”

Darcy allowed himself to be pulled into the house. “Where is he?” He asked loudly.

That open inquiry produced first the frantic approaching steps of a small child. Blonde hair bobbed everywhere. “Dawcy!” Owen called excitedly as he ran with open arms expecting to be caught.

Darcy swept the child up and hugged him close. He frowned down at the boy in his arms whose hair was all in his eyes. “Where is he? Where is Owen?” He teased as he examined the boy skeptically.

“Dawcy I’m hewe!”

Darcy managed to look shocked as he pushed back Owen’s hair. “Oh! I didn’t see you there. You need a haircut, Owen.”

Owen’s brows knitted together. All his mirth melted into an expression that looked like betrayal. Darcy had taken his mother’s side. He crossed his hands over his chest. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Dawcy. No.”

“Owen. Yes.”

This contest of wills wasn’t getting anywhere. Ishara threw up her hands. “Goddess help me.”

Darcy carried Owen into the kitchen where a chair and towel had been set up for the haircut. He set Owen into the chair.

“You gotta get your haircut for the pinning. Don’t you want to look nice for the pictures?” Ishara asked as she followed along.

“No.” Owen said stubbornly to her before turning to gaze up at Darcy. His voice changed to more dulcet tones. “Dawcy. What’s a pinning?”

“It’s when the military gives out awards for when someone does something brave.”

Owen made an ‘o’ with his mouth as if he understood. Curious grey eyes fell to the stitches that spelled out Darcy’s name on his uniform. The embroidery glistened gold like the pins that lined his chest.

“You did something bwave?” He asked poking at one of the awards.

Darcy stared down at his own chest as if he were noticing his awards for the first time in a long time. It seemed impossible that the one Owen pointed to was the Meritorious Leadership Medal he’d received long ago from the war in Eskra. He glanced at Ishara whose face was a mask.

“I sat still for my haircut.” He explained to Owen with a serious expression.

His son blinked slowly indicating that he didn’t believe for one second that’s what the award was about. “No you didn’t.”
“But you will.”

“No.”

“Owen will you be brave and sit for your haircut?”

“No.”

“What if I sit with you.”

Owen crossed his arms again. His feet kicked back and forth where they hung off the edge of the chair. He seemed to be mulling over how much Darcy’s approval meant to him. “…okay.”

Darcy lifted Owen under the arms and sat himself down on the chair with Owen on his knee. “Alright mom. He’s ready.”
Owen squeezed his eyes shut tight and gasped when he heard the snip of the scissors. When he felt no pain, he opened one eye and peered around to find his mom holding a lock of his hair in her hands and the scissors in the other. “There. See?” She asked sweetly. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt.”

When she snipped another chunk of hair away, Owen frowned at her and said, “Ow.”

When Darcy laughed, Owen giggled along with him. Ishara sucked her cheeks before muttering, “Psychos.”


Owen was crouched down and creeping along barefoot in the grass. He was watching something in the bushes intently as a light breeze made the grass tickle his feet. The sun was setting and reflected an orange gold in his hair.

Ishara had opened the backdoor to call him in for dinner, but stopped and cocked her head to watch him. She stepped back into the kitchen and whispered and waved at Darcy to get his attention. “Hey. Hey. Come here. Look at this.”

Darcy set aside the book he’d been reading and joined Ishara in the backdoor way. “What.”

“What’s he doing?” She asked quietly, gesturing at Owen who crept along so slowly it was almost painful. She kept her voice low so as to avoid alerting Owen to the fact that he was being observed.

She didn’t know that his ear had pricked at the sound of the door opening. He heard his mother’s voice and then Darcy’s and then hers again. He knew he was being watched. It made him more determined in his task. He crouched lower.

Darcy leaned towards Ishara’s ear. “He’s stalking something.”

She turned and frowned at him. “Stalking? Why?”

Darcy watched Owen in that so feline crouch, sneaking through the grass. “It’s in his nature to hunt. He’s practicing.” He explained feeling something like a surge of pride.

“But he can’t…” She stopped short of saying ‘shift’ because that damned spell had become a bitter wedge between them. The biggest mistake she had ever made was tampering with their son’s nature.

“I guess he’s more resilient than you expected.” The anger he still felt for what she had done to Owen years ago bubbled up into his voice.

Out in the yard, Owen stilled moved in what looked like slow motion. Suddenly, he sprang to action. A figure darted from the bush and Owen leapt at it capturing the neighbors tabby cat. It screeched in protest and struggled against him. Owen turned with the cat and held it up clearly looking for his father’s approval. The cat twisted around in his hands and with one effective sweep wiped the grin right off Owen’s face. He dropped the cat with a cry. He doubled over with his hands cupped over his face and wailed in terrible pain.

Darcy darted from the doorway and was the first to reach him. He fell to his knees and coaxed Owen’s hands from his face. “It’s just a scratch. Let me see.”

It wasn’t just a scratch. The grey in his eye was washed out by red and when Darcy pulled back the lower eyelid to examine the damage, blood leaked down Owen’s cheek. Owen screeched and shoved Darcy’s hands away to cover his eye with his hands.

“It scratched him in the eye.” Darcy explained when Ishara ran up to them. He gazed up at the redhead and saw her standing with her hand over her mouth. She had an expression on her face like she shared in Owen’s pain.

“Bring him inside.” She ordered and Darcy lifted the crying child into his arms. “It’s okay, baby. Mama will fix it.” She cooed as she petted at Owen’s hair. She whispered a spell that would help soothe his nerves.

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 04-05-2018

Prisms, Professors, and Pygmy Puffs

Julianna shoved her wide brimmed pointy black hat lower on her head. It was no use. The hat sprang back up from the volume of her curls. The corridor leading to the Great Hall was empty and quiet. The students were unloading from the locomotive and would soon file in for the sorting ceremony.

Staccato clicks from her heeled boots announced her stride down the hall. She slowed when she heard a couple of men’s voices speaking urgently in a side corridor. Peaking around the corner, she observed two men. One had dark hair and a nervous face. He was speaking in a low and anxious manner to the taller man with platinum blonde hair.

The blonde man took from his robes a cloudy black prism. “Do you have the page?”

“Yes.” The nervous looking man produced a piece of torn parchment. “But should we -?” His question was cut off.

Floating before the taller man was the prism, he was already manipulating it with his wand casting light onto it from the tip. The brown haired man held the piece of parchment before the prism. Purplish light refracted through the prism revealed text on the parchment too small to be read from where Julianna watched. The darker haired man stared hard at the paper with his head severely cocked as if he were trying to decipher it.

“Curious isn’t it?” The brown haired man asked as he peered at it.

The symbols looked vaguely familiar to her. She had seen them somewhere before she was sure of it. She stepped closer trying to get a better look at that they were doing. The clicks of her heels caught the attention of the blonde man.

A flick of his wand and the light clicked off. The prism fell from where it was suspended in front of him and he snatched with his hand and secreted it into his robes. He frowned at her and turned away. The brown haired man regarded her with a curious gaze as he tucked the parchment away into his pocket. The blonde man took the other man by the arm and led him further down the hall into the shadows whispering as they went.

Julianna’s heart fluttered with nervous embarrassment. “S-sorry.” She said to the now empty hall. Staring at the spot where the two men had been, she backed up the way she came until -

“Oops!”

She bumped into someone and whirled around.

“Oh. Sorry!” She apologized again this time to a smiling woman with robes open that revealed a fashionable red dress.

“Oh don’t worry about them.” The blonde woman said waving her hand dismissively down the side hallway with a knowing look in her eyes.

Apparently she had witnessed the scene. Julianna half turned to peer down the hall again. “I didn't mean to…um what were they-?”

“You must be the new professor. Darkwillow was it?”

Julianna blinked in surprise at the topic change. “Y- yes. Julianna.”

“Wonderful to meet you. I’m Maeve Rivers.”

The women shook hands and then Maeve seized Julianna’s arm. “Come. Let’s go in. The students are arriving.”

Julianna allowed herself to be whisked into the Great Hall by the charismatic blonde woman. After introducing her to several more professors already milling about and socializing near the head table. Above each place at the table billowy gold lettering spelled out the title of each professor.

So they had assigned seats. She had always wondered about that.

“Looks like you’re over there.” Maeve pointed out Julianna’s spot. Care of Magical Creatures. Then she frowned, “Looks like we’re not together.”

When the Headmaster appeared the group of professors fell silent. “Welcome.” He said with a kind of fatherly warmth. His eye fell on their newest staff member who appeared in good care with Professor Rivers. “Take your seats, the students will arrive shortly.”

Julianna shrugged at Maeve and moved to take her spot. But the words of her title moved and floated away trading spots with someone else’s. She watched her title float away until it stopped above the empty seat next to Maeve who looked just as confused. Both women turned to look at the Headmaster who appeared too obviously indifferent to the two of them.

Julianna took her place next to her new friend who was beaming now that they would be sitting together for the ceremony and dinner. The dark haired man she had seen earlier in the hallway appeared. He joined them sitting on Maeve’s other side.

“This is my husband, Holland Rivers.” Maeve announced. “This is the new professor we heard about?” She explained to her husband who nodded pleasantly.

The man didn’t offer his hand but smiled as if nothing strange had happened in the hallway. “Ah yes. Pleased to meet you. If you need anything getting settled in just let us know.”

Julianna blinked and thanked him.

Soon students began pouring in bringing the cacophony of their excited voices. The seat on Julianna’s other side remained mysteriously unfilled.

Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The Headmaster stood to shush the students. The din hadn’t quite died down when the door at the end of the hall clanged open over the half shushed voices of the students. The man that came through the doors strode with intense purpose. When he got closer she could see that it was the blonde man from the hallway. It sent a shock of icy dread through her. The only empty seat was next to her. She almost wished she hadn’t been moved next to Maeve if only to save her the embarrassment of sitting next to him. Maybe he would act the way Holland had. As if nothing had happened.

He rounded the table, nodded to the Headmaster (who looked slightly peeved at the man’s tardiness), and took his seat right next to Julianna without acknowledging her presence.

“Now we’re all here.” The Headmaster said in a voice that was loud enough to be heard but that demanded apt attention to hear. “Welcome first years….”

The Headmaster’s voice faded into the background as Julianna’s mind was focused on surreptitiously studying the man sitting next to her. She thought about that spinning prism and the parchment with the golden text. He had golden hair and a severe, set jaw. There was a c-shaped scar that started above his eyebrow curved around the outer edge of his eye and towards his nose. He kept his grey eyes trained forward until a slight twitch her direction startled her into staring down at her lap.

The Headmaster’s words were far away. “Pleased to announce the addition of Professor Darkwillow who will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures this year. Let’s give Professor Darkwillow a warm welcome.”

She heard her name - Darkwillow - but didn’t respond.

Maeve elbowed her. “That’s you.”

Julianna realized she was being announced and sprung to her feet. Her hands flew to her hat to make sure it stayed stuck down to her head at the sudden movement. She stared out at the students issuing their polite applause. She smiled brightly at the young faces staring at her and nodded at them.

She plopped back onto her seat and realized the man sitting next to her was now fully staring at her. She noticed for the first time the green tie in a windsor knot at his throat beneath his robes. Obviously Slytherin house, which explained the icy air emanating from him. She couldn't quite understand the look in his eyes.

“Professor Weatherfare has an announcement.”

The man next to her stood slowly. He rose and it was like he kept rising and rising. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until he was standing there right next to her. From his robes he pulled out a tattered red and yellow scarf and a dirty green and white beanie hat.

“These items were recovered from the Dark FOrest. It is therefore my understanding that the houses of this school have re-initiated the competition to see which house can go the deepest into the forest.” He held up the articles of clothing for proof. The hall filled with the nervous whispers of students. He waited until they were silent again. “I will remind you that wandering into the Dark Forest is strictly prohibited. This unauthorized competition will not continue this year. If you are found in the Dark Forest you will be subject to punitive measures decided not by the head of your house but by me. If articles of your house’s clothing is found in the Dark Forest your house will be docked points. As such, ten points from Gryffindor and ten points from Slytherin.”

The two affected houses cried out a protest before they were hushed by the hand of the Headmaster. “Thank you, Professor Weatherfare.”

The man nodded curtly and sat back down.

“It is also my pleasure to announce that Professor Weatherfare will be taking over as Slytherin’s Quidditch coach.” The Headmaster continued, gesturing down the table at the man who had chastised the entire school.

He nodded stiffly at the Slytherin table whose recent point docking didn’t stop an unnecessarily raging applause.

Julianna politely clapped and smiled as warmly as she could manage at the frowning man next to her. “You were in House Slytherin?” She asked genuinely curious as to why she didn’t recognize him from her school years. Then again it was a big school. Or he could be older, though he didn't appear much older than she.

“I went to Durmstrang.” He replied as if put out by her assumption. It’s not like he was wearing green and had been announced as Slytherin’s Quidditch coach.

“Oh!” She turned slowly back to her own meal when she realized he didn’t intend to carry the conversation.

That’s when she realized the pygmy puff she had been nursing back to health had escaped from it’s comfy home in the pocket of her robes to the table and was making its way towards the grouchy professor’s plate.

She felt a hand seize her arm and turned to share a horrified look with Maeve. On the other side of Maeve, her husband watched the scene with a kind of clinical curiosity.

The pygmy puff pilfered a roll almost too large for it from the grouchy professor’s plate.

Julianna sat in frozen silence as she watched the little puff struggle to carry the roll back towards her. She tried to shake her head discreetly at it. No. No. She said to it with wide green eyes.

Suddenly the thing was frozen and the professor picked it up between his thumb and forefinger. His wand was out. He’d petrified the creature.

“I believe this belongs to you.” He said sternly as he held the little pink creature for her to retrieve.

Julianna was mortified and embarrassed but also angry. “You didn’t have to -”

Suddenly the pygmy puff was moving again, fluffed up even more and angrily squeaking at the mean professor.

Maeve was giggling next to Julianna. “Don’t mind Owen, he’s always cranky at the start of the school year. Aren’t you, Owen?” She asked with pointed sternness.

Owen grunted. “The sorting ceremony can be such a bore.” He complained as if that made up for his behavior.

"Owen," Maeve said undeterred by his attitude. "This is Julianna Darkwillow. The new professor."

"I'm aware." He said with no shortage of sauce in his voice, but he turned toward her and offered his hand. "Owen Weatherfare. Nice to meet you. We've been needing that position filled. The students are vastly under prepared on the subject having had nothing but substitutes for two years now."

She wasn't sure if he meant that it was 'nice to meet her', but she shook his hand and smiled nervously. "I suppose I have my work cut out for me." She said with a giggle that came out of nowhere. She felt her face turning red.

"Indeed." He said and turned back to his plate.

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 04-30-2018

Return Address:
Miss Ishara Reinelle O’Rourke
75 Parnell Street
Old Ashford District, Port of Lyle
Eskra, ESK-97341

To:
The Queen of the Veridian Isles

Dear Julianna,

I beg your forgiveness for my informal greeting. I am entirely ignorant in how to properly address you in correspondence. I once heard your full title but I can only remember your first name and that you are of a house called Darkwillow. I would have spent more time figuring out how to properly address you, but time is of the essence. I also do not know your address but I suppose a postman could locate a queen. (One hopes, haha).

As you may know, the Covenant of Allied Forces have helped themselves to our country. There has been growing Eskran on Eskran violence since the occupation began. My safety can no longer be guaranteed here. The war has caused a bloody divide between us all.

It is a very long story but I have, perhaps, found myself on the wrong side of things. It partly involves my in-between role as a healer for the CAF soldiers in the military hospital (something many Eskrans believed we healers should have resisted with more vigor). Some of my trouble is my own making, I admit. It has not helped that I developed some personal friendships with many of the CAF soldiers during my service at the hospital...including one of your own countrymen, a Mr. Darcy Weatherfare.

(If you saw some of these men you could hardly blame me. Haha!) I don’t suppose that remark makes me sound loose? It’s not like that, I promise. I’m sure you might understand that when you’re put in charge of caring for someone else, even if you detest their behaviors, you begin to feel some compassion for them. Many of the men are decent and have found themselves serving an organization whose mission has taken a dark turn. I believe Darcy may be one of those men. (My mother says its unattractive to brag, but it’s quite true I am on a first name basis with Darcy, the dashing general).

The purpose of my letter to you is a hope that you might grant me political asylum, even temporary, in your country. I don’t know whether you know Darcy personally but perhaps you could solicit him to provide a character witness for me if you have reservations about granting passage. I could be a productive member of your country. You could put me to work. I believe my healing arts would be of good service in any community. I have also heard that there is a magical college that perhaps I could attend in exchange for work?

I would have you know that despite his occupation which you and I may frown about, Darcy has conducted himself with the utmost integrity even when put into untenable situations by CAF command. Although I wish war had never come to us, I am grateful that Darcy was one of the men who conducted the operation. I have reason to believe that his decision making has spared many lives on both sides. I hope someday he might be commended for his compassionate leadership. He certainly won’t be recognized by the CAF Command, but perhaps by his queen.

(Perhaps you could also encourage him to propose to me??? He’s proven quite stubborn and an order from his queen is perhaps the kick in the butt he needs. I don’t require a large engagement stone. I’m not terribly materialistic. Even a half karat would do. He could certainly afford that).

Thank you for reading my disaster of a letter. I am ashamed that I have fallen to asking for so many favors from you, a stranger. But maybe someday, I’ll be of service to you in some way.

Many blessings,

Ishara

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 07-17-2018



Julianna was multi-tasking, looking down at the next page for review while passing a paper over the desk for him to sign. Except the paper hung over the desk between them for a period longer than what was acceptable. Julianna looked up from the page she was reviewing and stared hard at the man who, at first glance, appeared to be daydreaming. She wiggled the paper so that it would rustle and then cleared her throat. There was a vocalization in the throaty noise she made, both feminine and impatient. It was both a warning and an opportunity to correct his misbehavior.

Grey eyes popped back into focus on her face and then Owen snatched the page from her to sign hastily at the bottom. There was nothing sheepish or apologetic in his behavior. He even dared to seem annoyed that she was keeping him on task.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t say anything but simply returned to the review-and-pass process. He stayed on task for a few minutes before once again he neglected to notice she was passing him a paper. This time she stared at him carefully. His eyes weren’t glassy like those of a man distracted or dreaming. They were focused, moving as if examining something, and he frowned some. His lips moved subtly as if he were reading something or reciting something to himself.

Then she remembered the display behind her. They were still in the process of boxing up that cold case. The cork board on the wall behind still had pictures, newspaper clippings, and a map and timeline.

“Do we need to change rooms, Special Agent Hart.” Somehow she could employ that kind of bossy issuance of both a question and a warning.

“It’s just that -” He started to say. His mouth snapped shut and he snatched the paper from her instead.

Except she didn’t let go. The paper trembled pulled taut between them. “Cases go cold, Agent Hart.”

“I know that.” He said as if she were condescending to him. He pulled at the paper to test her and she let it go. His pen scratched aggressively and then he hastled the paper into the stack next to him. Now it was looking a bit crumpled. His face was troubled.

“What is it?” She asked and when he tried to avoid her eyes, she cocked her head and gestured at him to speak his mind.

“It’s a serial killer. I -”

“You don’t know that.” She interrupted to keep him from going down the road of conspiracy theories. So often, over-involved agents could become conspiratorial, superstitious about cases. Obsessed even.

“I do know it.” He countered, leaning forward with intensity.

“How do you know?” She pushed back.

“I - I have a hunch.” His fingers pulled together and he pressed them to his stomach. “I feel it.”

“Gut feelings are not evidence, Agent.”

“I know I’m right about this.”

“You need to let it go.”

“I want that case.”

“That case is cold and you’re on Senator Bartow’s case.”

“I’m sick of reading his emails.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Well now you know.” He held his hand out for the last page so he could just get out of her office and on with his day.

She refused to hand it over. Instead she folded her arms over it. A power play that annoyed him to no end. Not to mention, that it pressed her breasts together. Her cleavage was - His nostrils flared and he threw himself back against the chair moodily, crossing his arms over his chest as if they would enter a staring contest.

“How’s therapy going?” She asked changing the topic. So she was going to hold that last page hostage in order to interrogate him about therapy? But actually, she leaned back herself, mirroring his posture. That piece of paper stayed on the desk like a challenge. A dare to him to take it even though she hadn’t handed it over to him.

“Fine.” He lied without hesitation obediently leaving the page where it was. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of displaying his impatience.

“Really?” Julianna shifted a couple of files and pulled a pendaflex in front of her. She opened it. Green eyes were lidded as she gazed down to read over a page. They flicked back to his face. “Dr. Reed has indicated that you’ve been missing sessions?”

“What.” He growled at her. Owen sat up and leaned across the table to snatch the file from her hands. She resisted but the violence of his pull had him confiscating the folder. “How do you have access to my private medical -” He stopped as he opened the file. It was full of blank pieces of paper. She had tricked him. Owen slammed it closed on the table and then stood up. “Are we done, Executive Assistant Director Maxillion?” He asked throwing her title into her face as if to accuse her of pettiness beneath her station.

“So you freely admit you’ve been missing sessions?” She asked unperturbed by his suggested accusations.

“I don’t have to talk to you about that.”

“You do if you want to be put back on homicides.”

“I don't want to. I like reading the Good Senator's emails” He lied reaching for the paper she was still holding hostage.

“You’re a great detective. Get back into treatment. Show me that you’re emotionally stable. Then we’ll talk about reassignment.”

“I don’t have a partner anyways. I’ll stick to my desk.” He lamely redirected the focus as if she wasn’t offering him exactly what he wanted.

She stood slowly and smoothed her hands down the front of her pencil skirt before she rounded the table, bringing that last page with her. Curls bounced on her shoulders as she walked. She came to a stop in front of him. She had a way of looking at him that made it seem like she didn't have to look up at him. “If and when you get reassigned to homicides, I’ll be your partner in the interim until someone else can be assigned with you.”

Owen sucked at his cheeks seemingly annoyed. His eyes tracked down her body to the black patent leather pumps. “You gonna work the field in those?”

She smiled and pressed the paper into his chest. “I’ll worry about my own footware.” She was clearly angry that her efforts to encourage and push him were so vehemently resisted. Julianna exited the room with a kind of sashaying to her hips that he found supremely obnoxious. The image of her ass working in that tight pencil skirt made him want to bend her over and spank her. And she walked like she wanted him to do it. Like she knew what he was thinking.

But...hadn't Dr. Reed told him not to assume her motives?

He returned to his desk both frustrated and on edge. He didn't understand Julianna at all.


It was dark when he finally came home. He shifted the pharmacy bag around under his arm while he fiddled for the key to unlock his apartment. Except it was already unlocked. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his heart kicked into gear for a fight. Owen stood back away from the doorframe and then pushed the door open.

Nobody rushed him.

No shots were fired.

He peered around the frame and then crept into the house tripping over shoes left by the door. The pharmacy bag fell from his hands to the floor with a crash ending all chances of him sneaking up on his intruder undetected.

“You okay?” A familiar feminine voice asked from the living room. The TV screen flickered light from adjacent room and the muted sounds of a commercial reached him. It was all kind of surreal.

Owen looked down at the shoes he’d tripped over. Black pumps.

It clicked together. He strode into his sparsely furnished living room to find his boss with her bare feet tucked under her cozied up on his couch. She had a beer resting on her thigh and her head propped up on a hand resting on the arm of the couch. Her curls spilled downward pulled over one shoulder. She looked beautiful even with the strange blueish TV light flickering on her face. Beautiful and smug like she enjoyed catching him completely off guard.

“What -” he waved his hand, “nevermind,” and stalked back the way he came, picking up the prescription bag and heading into his kitchen. On the counter she had left her briefcase, purse, and a little black pouch. Owen flipped open the pouch to reveal what he expected: a lock picking kit. He flicked it closed again and dumped the prescription bag onto the counter. Pills rattled somewhere inside. “You have a warrant, officer?” He asked moodily when he heard her pad into the kitchen behind him. He was digging in the fridge for a beer for himself. She had the right idea. A nice cold beer.

“You went to see Dr. Reed?” She seemed hopeful, glancing somewhat sheepishly at his prescription bag.

“You tailed me didn’t you? And broke into my apartment?”

She swayed back and forth acting like a guilty child. “Maybe.” She said in her cute voice.

“This is not at all a dysfunctional supervisor and subordinate relationship.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he opened the beer with a satisfying crack. He took a swig and then dug around in his pocket before producing a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and placed it between his lips before patting himself down for a lighter he didn’t have.

Though she went for her purse to fetch him a lighter, he was already turning on the gas stove and bending over towards the blue flame.

“That...works.” She said as she fished around for her own cigarettes.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” He warned, puffing.

“Why’s that?” A flash of light. The cigarette glowed when she pulled at it.

“You’ll catch all that -” he gestured at himself, fingers petting down imaginary hair at the side of his head, “pretty hair on fire.”

She giggled flirtatiously. “I think I could manage.” She said trying not to look flattered that he had noticed something about her. Her hair, her shoes. Did he like the way she looked? She tried to look casual, leaning against his counter, as she dragged at her cigarette.

“Can’t smoke in here.” He said passing by her and out of the room as if he couldn’t care if she was there or not, or if she was posing for him or not. In actuality, the way her red lips looked making a perfect ‘o’ around that cigarette made him want to die. Or fuck her against a wall. But preferably die.

She scoffed, deflated, when she was sure he couldn’t hear. He was so hot and cold; he gave her whiplash. She followed after him onto the balcony, anyways. He slid the glass door closed when she joined him. She briefly caught their reflections in the glass. They were an image of opposites almost. Yin and yang. He was oversized. So tall and broad. She was shorter, slimmer. He was a blonde with straight and fine hair and pale skin; she had dark hair, and thick curls, and brown skin. His t-shirt and jeans juxtaposed the pencil skirt and blazer she wore. But they looked good together anyway, even though they were poorly reflected and the glass was warped so their images were kind of distorted.

There was a dingy metal table and two uncomfortable looking metal chairs on the balcony. A heaping of ashes on a saucer and several empty bottles of beer occupied the table. Julianna felt sad thinking about him drinking and smoking alone out here in his nearly empty apartment.

She knew he hadn’t lived there long. The place was provided by the FBI to him after his partner had been killed. He’d been doxxed himself and needed a secure place to stay. That was all before her promotion and reassignment to his division. She had read it in his personnel file. They had warned her about him. Moody, reckless, argumentative, disrespectful, insubordinate. A good detective, one of the best maybe, but poor leadership material. He’d never go anywhere beyond where he was in his career and she was beginning to think he was right where he wanted to be. Except he wanted to be on homicides, not investigating some shady Senator’s inappropriate use of government resources.

He rested his forearms on the balcony railing, staring down at the street below watching traffic and passersby. He was doing a great job at promoting the image of the pained and lonely man…

Until he spoke. “You done holding your authority over my head now?” He asked suddenly, half turning towards her.

“What?” She took a self-conscious drag to occupy herself while she tried not to look guilty. She didn’t know how he could make her feel that way even though that hadn’t been her intention at all. “That’s not what -”

“Oh okay. My bad.” He interrupted her and turned back to his sulking.

Julianna plopped down on one of the chairs and crossed her legs, smoking and ashing into the saucer while they maintained a tense but peaceful silence. She watched him smoke. The way he was leaning over pulled his shirt tight across broad shoulders. His muscles moved under the shirt when he lifted the cigarette up to his lips. He ashed over the balcony.

Irresponsible. She tsked and made sure he heard it.

She picked up the saucer to bring it to him. She paused noticing lipstick staining the mouth of one of those abandoned beer bottles. She picked it up with her index finger like it was a piece of probative evidence.

“Girlfriend?”

He barely glanced at her over his shoulder. “What do you care about my personal life?”

She dropped the bottle back onto the table with a clink. “You’re right.” She said too quickly giving away the wound he’d just inflicted.

He turned around to catch her putting out a half-smoked cigarette, smashing it into the heap of ashes. What a perfect metaphor for everything he touched. Heap of ashes. He was in such a black mood that he could barely care about the fact that he was clearly hurting her. She was showing an interest in him that no supervisor had shown him - other than his own father whose career had rocketed him to the directorship in Washington.

“I’ve got to go.” She opened the sliding glass door just enough to admit herself and then slammed it back into place behind her even though Owen was trying to follow.

He pushed the door open and met her at the doorway where she was hastily putting those pumps back on. She was half bent over with one leg crossed over the other while standing up. She put the shoe on and then stepped down instantly rising a few inches before she put on the other in the same way. “I put a casserole in the fridge for you.”

“Why?” He was annoyed that she seemed so hurt. So ready to run away.

“Because you need a hot meal once in a while.” She snapped, pushing past him to retrieve her things from his kitchen counter. She tucked the little black pouch down into her purse.

“What did I say?”

Julianna didn’t answer. She laid the briefcase down and released the springy clasps. She pulled packed manilla folder from the case. Everything stuffed inside was held together with two large rubber bands. Julianna shoved the folder at Owen. “Here.”

“What’s this?” He asked stupidly. He balanced his cigarette on his lips while he pulled the rubberbands off the folder to take a hopeful peak at what was inside. It was the case they’d argued over earlier that day. “There’s gotta be more evidence that this.” He said unintentionally sounding ungrateful.

Julianna stole his cigarette and puffed at it while she stared at him in disbelief. “I know if I gave you that whole evidence box you’d stay up all night reading it.”

“And?” He wasn’t even looking at her anymore. His eyes were rapidly reading the information she’d given him. “I like my job.” He said distractedly.

There was something endearing about the way he retreated from the world into that stupid file. Infuriating, yes. But endearing. She touched his forearm. “Too much.”

“Huh?” He looked at her hand touching his arm and then at her face questioningly. “What?”

“You like your job too much sometimes. You need balance.”

Owen pursed his lips at her. “I’m fine.” He reached to reclaim his cigarette from her but she moved to evade him.

“You need a hot meal. And sleep.” She ordered, stepping around him and guarding the cigarette. “And get some fucking furniture, Owen. This is pathetic.”

“Always bustin’ my balls.” He complained. “I went to the doctor like you asked.”

“Good boy. Now roll over.” She sassed.

“Just go home already.”

Julianna pulled the casserole from the fridge and dumped the pan onto the counter. She set the oven to preheat for him. “Clear your plate and maybe you’ll get another file.”

“So that’s how this is going to go?”

“Precisely.” Her heels clicked on the kitchen tile as she crossed the room to retrieve her things for good this time. “You got away with being a disaster under your old command, but not me.”

“Looking forward to all the forced personal development.”

The oven door creaked behind her.

“Wait for that to preheat first.” She commanded with her back to him as she headed for his door. A trail of cigarette smoke snaked behind her from the stolen cigarette.

“This is all wildly unorthodox, you know.” He complained uselessly. She was already closing the door.

“See you in the morning, Special Agent Hart.”

She had left behind her own bottle of half-finished beer stained with lipstick on his counter. He thumbed at the red lipstick on the rim and then rubbed the pigment into his forefinger. He finished the rest while reading the file she left him.

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 01-12-2019




I will remind you that wandering in the Dark Forest is strictly prohibited. Julianna, who was doing precisely that, assumed the rule enunciated by that rather handsome if standoffish Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was for students and not faculty. She could see his disapproving eyes flashing in her mind.

In truth, the scope of the rule wouldn't have mattered to her regardless.

She had recognized the cries of a distressed kneazle for three nights and had been tracking it for that long, as well. The sound, to the untrained ear, was a kind of terrifying shrieking. But Julianna knew the sound was mournful, more like a frightened kitten screaming out for mother than anything else.

She blew into a whistle-like device she'd crafted herself to produce a friendly kneazle call. She stood listening to the silence of the forest around her. There wasn't true silence in the Dark Forest. There was always the creaking and groaning of the trees, the occasional sounds from far off that set her heart to beating rapidly.

There was nothing to be afraid of, she reminded herself. How many supposedly dangerous and deadly creatures had she faced off with only to learn they were terribly misunderstood and not so horrible after all? That was her current working hypothesis for the forest. There was no evidence, so far as she was concerned, that the forest was any more or less dangerous than any others.

It was both a flaw and a benefit to her character that Julianna so often refused to accept the prevailing wisdom about anything. Better to figure the truth for
herself.

A branch snapped from somewhere behind her. Very close.

Julianna whirled around, holding her wand up. The dim light from the tip of it would only spread so far through the fog that clung to the dreary forest floor. The shadow of a figure moved suddenly in the dark. It seemed to come right at her. She startled and stepping backwards carelessly, she tripped over an exposed and gnarled root and fell right on her bottom.

The fall knocked the wind out of her and sent her wand rolling down a little hill taking the light with it until it was just a little glow in the dim.

The shadow, a cloaked figure, moved closer. It stopped, hesitated, when a shrieking cut through the forest. Julianna clapped her hands over her ears and ducked out of instinct. It was only a half second before she reclaimed her wits and began scrambling for her lost wand.

No sooner had she secured the wand in her hand, did a large paw swipe at her. Claws caught in her scarf but a big head nudged her sending her rolling farther down the hill. The scarf unraveled from her neck like she was a spool of string.

“He took fifty points from Slytherin.”

“For what?”

“Found one of their scarves in the Dark Forest.”

Julianna overheard a group of her students gossiping as she dismissed her class. “Josie?”

“Yes, Professor Darkwillow?” The second year spun around to address her teacher.

“Do you know where Professor Weatherfare is?”

“Quidditch pitch.” Answered one of the Slytherin boys passing by.

He could have recognized that buoyant walk anywhere. It was easy enough even across the long quidditch pitch. The small figure marched her way right onto the field curls bouncing. Never mind their practice.

“Run the drill again.” Owen ordered his team before zipping towards their guest on his broom. He pulled his broom up at the last second sending a gust of air that he had brought with him straight into their interloper.

Julianna's robes blew open revealing her grey knit sweater, a green and black plaid skirt, and black thigh high boots. She huffed and tossed her head to send unruly curls back into order. She had a lot of questions for him. If he was the shadowy figure she saw in the forest, did he have to scare her like that? Why did he dock points from the house for her scarf?

“Are you lost Professor Darkwillow?”

She emerged from her thoughts. “I have something to say to you.” She wasn't sure why she sounded so uncertain. Maybe it was the way he glowered down at her, looking both disappointed yet somehow bored.

His feet touched the ground and he dismounted from his broom to lean against it, hip popped, looking impatient. “Right this moment?” His eyes swept over her figure. Despite his best efforts not to, he had noticed how attractive she was at the sorting ceremony and in the few occasions they had crossed paths since then.

“I don’t understand why you punished the students for my scarf.” She challenged fixing him with an electric green eyed stare.

“I don't know what you mean.”

The look of true confusion that crossed his face made Julianna's stomach turn. So he hadn't been the one she'd seen in the forest? But she didn’t want to believe it. “You docked Slytherin for my scarf.”

One of Owen's leather gloved hands disappeared into his robes and produced a tattered green and white scarf. “This is yours?”

Julianna blushed at the sight of her ruined scarf. She had come to confront him and was left the one feeling like the naughty student. “You know it is. You saw me.” She accused. Her confidence surged when she noticed how his sleeve had slid down his arm to reveal telltale kneazle scratches down his forearm. Served him right.

“I investigated a fresh trail this morning. That’s when I recovered the scarf. What were you doing out there, Professor?”

“How did you get these?” She demanded shoving the sleeve of his robe up to reveal the angry gashes on his forearm. She wondered why he hadn't been treated yet. The poison had to have been making him sick by now. “You weren't the man I saw last night out there? How did you know where to find my scarf?”

“I wasn’t and I didn't.” His clipped responses to her questions were delivered so that he could get to his own questions. He jerked his sleeve away from her and hid his injuries again. “What man did you see? What were you doing in the Dark Forest?”

“I don't know that it was a man. I just assumed it was--.”

“And what were you doing out there?” He interrupted her.

“Research!” She asserted too quickly sounding a bit petulant, taking offense to his interrogation. Julianna frowned failing to interpret his aggressive questioning as his way of showing genuine concern.

“Research.” He clearly didn't believe her. “Well, I suggest you keep out of the Dark Forest, Professor Darkwillow.” He held up her tattered scarf. “It's dangerous. As you well know by now.”

Was he reprimanding her? He was the one who got injured in the forest. Not her. She snatched the scarf from him and balled it up in her fists. “I'm not leaving that pregnant kneazle to that man - person - out there.

“A what.”

“Kneazle, Professor Weatherfare.” Julianna gestured impatiently to his arm again.

“Well, suggest you leave that kneazle to fend for itself, until I can check this out.” He turned again signaling he was done with the conversation.

“And I suggest you get those scratches treated. Kneazles have a slow working poison in their claws, you know.” She said to his back.

“I'll go to the infirmary after practice.” The way she scoffed made him stop and turn. “What.”

She folded her arms sassily over her stomach and stared at him before shrugging one shoulder. She turned her head and looked away. So petulant. It would serve him right to suffer the common treatment for kneazle scratch. An awful solution.

“You have a better suggestion, Professor Darkwillow?” He prompted her.

She brushed past him, a swirl of robes and bouncing curls. Her rush past him brought his scent wafting with her. Woodsy and clean like cedar and sandalwood. “I do.” Maybe she should have kept it to herself. But she was weak for nice smelling handsome men with dumbfounded looks on their smug faces. “See me after practice.”

She pulled her wand out and flicked it over the shoulder of the grumpy professor in front of her. He whirled around in time to catch her levitating a student who had fallen from his broom. The rest of the team was circling and laughing as she lowered him slowly and safely to the ground.

“I've got it from here.” Owen said. A flick of his wand negated her spell and had the student falling the final few feet on to his face in the dirt with an audible ‘oof.’

A roar of laughter from the team.


Julianna preferred the dumbfounded or even his smug look to the one of pain that marred Owen's face when she applied the serum she'd concocted to the scratches on along his ribs. His skin was red, hot, and angry looking. He was in a worse state than she had estimated. She might have felt more pity for him if he wasn't so difficult. Though she would hate to admit that difficultness made him more interesting to her. Another creature with a deeper story to be unlocked.

He was sprawled on her couch, with his bandaged arm in her lap. He gasped when she applied a new layer of serum with a paint brush to the scratches on his side.

“A bit dramatic.” She teased him when he draped his free arm over his eyes.

“You aren't a very good nurse.” He criticized her as he peaked at her from under his arm. His eyes briefly glanced around the room, looking no doubt, at all the pairs of eyes watching them. She had a lot of … roommates. He was wary of the magical creatures she made her home with.

He was sweating and seemed fatigued. That wasn't a good sign. Julianna frowned and pushed his arm away from his face to feel his forehead with the back of her hand. She brushed a few of the hairs that clung to his forehead back. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine.”

“You should rest.” She tsked, her hand wandered the backs of her fingers traced the scar that curved over his brow and down to his cheek. She pressed at his cheek.

“I can't rest if you're going--”

“I am going.”

His lips turned into a flat line. He pushed away the soft hand at his face. That wasn't where his injuries were.

She knew that he knew that she was going back into the forest. And he knew that she knew and he wasn't letting her go alone. They already had the argument. Apparently they were going to have it again.

“You shouldn't go in this condition.”

“You shouldn't go at all.”

She scoffed at him in pure contempt of what that implied.

“You don't know what's out there.”

“You don't know me.” She snapped back.

“You don’t know what's out there.” The arm in her lap turned over and he squeezed her waist. He wasn't meaning to insult her skill.

“And you do?”

“I do.”

“All that knowledge didn't seem to help you.” Her eyes flashed to his injuries. They wandered a bit over his muscled chest and torso. He sure looked like a former auror who saw plenty of action. His athletic build was covered in the scars of the dangerous work. She had some of her own but not nearly as many as he.

“Are you finished.” He asked seemingly of her stubborn refusal to listen and her treatment. His hand had never left her waist. He noticed the wandering of her gaze. He knew there were things about his body that said a lot more than he would ordinarily volunteer.

“I'll bandage you up.”

“Good.”


“So Durmstrang? What was that like?”

Julianna’s cheerful voice struck him as entirely juxtaposed to the gloom of the Dark Forest. He gave her a sharp glance and floundered for a response. “It was a rigorous school.”

He was aware of her at his side. Looking up at him. Even from the corner of his eye, he could see her face lit by their wands. She had a bright and curious expression. She wanted him to continue. “My father taught there for awhile. He was doing some research with another professor.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Now you do.” The way he said it dampened the conversation. He wasn't sure why she was so eager to know him anyway. It seemed like there was a type of person that just adopted people who didn't want anything to do with other people. He supposed she was that kind of person. Was she adopting him then? He spared a glance at her. She didn't look at him. She had a kind of stubborn look on her face now. Determined and focused.

Her face changed suddenly. Brightened. “There!” She pointed. In the gloom ahead the kneazle that had attacked him was curled up under a tree nursing three pups. “She gave birth already.” She observed marching forward with her hand stuffed down into a satchel that bumped against her hip. She'd brought kneazle snacks. He had no idea what that was. She hadn't elaborated. He hadn't asked.

“It was pregnant?” He asked incredulously remembering the viciousness of the creature's attack on him earlier that morning.

The kneazle growled as Julianna drew close. Owen searched the gloom around them. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. There was a tingle in his scalp. He always felt that way before a fight.

“What now.” He growled at her.

Julianna glared at him over her shoulder. Now they were both growling at her? She fed the fatigued mother raw meat from her hand and cooed at her sympathetically. “I think she lost her mate.” Julianna observed. “That's why she's been crying out every night.”

“And what -” A flash of light in the darkness. Owen whirled and parried it reflexively.

Another spell went for Julianna. She had her own arsenal of offensive and defensive spells, but it had been a while since she had dueled proper. She parried the attack and responded with her own sending a purplish blindly into the dark in the general direction that the attack had come.

“Your light!” Owen yelled realizing that their opponent could see them clearly. He dimmed his wand to blackness. Julianna followed suit covering them in the dark of the forest.

Julianna was frozen in the dark. Gripping her wand, she willed herself to stop trembling. It was the adrenaline. She kept her guard over the kneazle mother and pups but could hear Owen changing his position in the dark. Advancing towards where he thought their attacker was.

She held off casting and coaxed the mother to move her pups behind the tree. The attacker would certainly aim for that spot again. Glancing over her shoulder, the flashes of the blind duel going on behind her occasionally illuminated Owen's figure in the dark.

There was silence for a few moments and then something went thud on the forest floor. A brilliant light illuminated the entire area casting outwards from a delicate sphere. It looked like a Christmas ornament entirely out of place in the Dark Forest. They were all out in the open now. The figure was right behind Owen several paces. Owen was scanning the area in the other direction.

“Behind you!”

It was too late. A spell hit him square in the chest when he turned around. He heard Julianna shriek his name. He was momentarily stunned, staring stupidly up at the dark canopy overhead that was occasionally illuminated by flashes of light. Julianna.

He wasn't sure how much time passed but he came to when he heard his name being shouted. “Damnit Owen. Get up!”

He looked down the length of his body. Julianna was kneeling a few paces from his feet, dug in behind a brilliant white shield emanating from her wand. Their attacker was wearing away at her shield steadily.

Julianna wasn't sure how much longer she could hold it. She was steadily sliding backwards from the force being exerted against her. She wasn't sure if Owen was even conscious, or dead until two hands clasped over hers. A firm body stood at her back steadying her. A protective warmth washed over her. But she felt herself resisting the effect, closing her mind as something else fought to gain control. Black rage fell over her mind like a curtain. She heard Owen's voice utter some words in a language she didn't recognize. The white spell that streamed from her wand swirled with black and the wand blazed in her hands burning her palms. She screamed when she felt the black spell passing through her and the shield she'd made burst forward violently.

They both fell backwards from the blast. Owen first and Julianna landed on top of him. No sooner had she landed on him, did Owen shuffle her off to the side. “Accio wand.” And a stick flew past her face. He sat up and held his wand at the ready waiting for a new onslaught. He reached for the gleaming orb and tossed it in front of them to spread the light on a new direction.

The blast had dug out the ground in front of them and scorched the trees for a few yards in length and width. Julianna gaped at the destruction. There was no sign of their attacker.

“What was that Owen?” Julianna demanded.

“I don't know. I think he's gone. You did brilliantly.”

“The spell!” She clarified more desperately ignoring his compliments and the respect and awe reflected in his grey eyes. “What was that, Owen.”

He turned to the side and grabbed her face with both of his hands, pressing his mouth hard against hers. She could feel the smooth wood of his wand pressed against the side of her face trapped between his hand and her cheek. She melted against the kiss at first, grabbing a fist full of his shirt. Closing her hands that way sent a searing pain through her palms. She pushed him away to look at her hands ruined by severe burns.

The skin was melted. The pain and the look of it turned her stomach. “You took control of my wand.” She said in disbelief. “What was that?”

“Defense against the dark arts.” He said before he uttered a spell and tapped his wand gently against each of her palms. Julianna watched as the skin melted back into place, leaving not even a hint of scar. He rubbed his thumb over her palm.

Despite his caressing touch, she jerked her hands away from him unsatisfied with his infuriating answer. “Just - help me with the kneazle.” She gave the order, scrambled to her feet and offered him a hand up

“You're not an auror anymore.” The Headmaster was warning his son who sat on the edge of an infirmary bed being rebandaged by his mother.

“I'm aware, headmaster.” Owen responded blackly apparently not taking kindly to being reminded of his career change.

“So there's no need to participate in duels with dark wizards anymore.”

“I didn't go looking for one.” He insisted and glanced at Julianna, who, for the moment had been forgotten.

She blushed when the eyes in the room all turned to her. Blushed in part because of a certain pair of grey eyes that locked on her. After the adrenaline of the fight had faded, she'd been left with no buffer between her and thoughts about his mouth.

“What was your part in this, professor?” The headmaster asked her with firm undertones to his voice.

“I was tracking a pregnant kneazle that has been distressed.”

“All for a new pet.” Owen offered his commentary which got him a half-hearted backhand on the arm from his mother and a warning look from Julianna.

Darcy pursed his lips seeming quite interested in the information. “A kneazle, really. In the Dark Forest.”

Julianna nodded making her ruined curls bob with the action. She still had some leaves and a small stick stuck in her hair from the tumble to the ground. The mussed look was endearing to Owen. “Yes sir.”

“I want to see this kneazle and her pups.”

Julianna beamed. “Of course!”

---

RE: Artifacts [Read Only] - saronym - 02-08-2019


“For Fitzhugh.” He didn't sound happy about it either.

“You the attorney?” It wasn't a question so much as just the thing the bored head behind the dirty precinct window asked while he slid a clipboard under the window slot.

“Apparently.” He clearly wasn't happy about it.

It got so quiet that the scratching of his name on the cheap grade government paper was audible across the room.

“You got I.D., pal?”

An exasperated sigh. “You know me by name, Marty.”

“I still need your I.D., bud.”

The attorney shifted around in his wrinkled suit. Obviously dressed in a hurry. He patted his breast pocket, flipped open his suit coat and checked more thoroughly, and then his patted his pants pockets. He was grumbling what sounded like fuck words.

The women watching were sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs against the wall. “This place smells like a urinal.” Maeve complained as she fished around in her clutch for a compact, her hand brushed up against the small revolver she carried for personal protection. She checked her complexion. Perfect as usual. She was doing her best to look casual.

“I suppose our friend should stop getting arrested then.” Julianna murmured. Displeased. She popped her gum in her mouth. She switched her crossed legs. The red velvet heel she wore bobbed as her leg bounced impatiently

“I don't see why you had to come down here. It's risky, Jules.” Her nerves were tearing her apart from the inside. It was a wonder that her worry lines hadn't creased her foundation. She pressed powder over her forehead.

“God that suit is awful.” Julianna interrupted her fussy companion, gesturing at the man at the window.

“Huh?” Maeve asked as she reapplied another layer of red on her lower lip. She gazed over the edge of her compact at the ruffled looking attorney. “Clearance rack.”

“Um hmm.” Julianna agreed and popped her gum again. The man turned to the side to set down his briefcase to continue a more thorough search of his pockets for his wallet. She caught a glimpse of his profile. Set jaw, chiseled cheeks, a strong nose. She hummed thoughtfully. “Kinda cute though.”

Maeve looked up from her compact. It was too late. His back was too them. “I missed it.”

Julianna pursed her lips and cocked her head. His briefcase now on the floor looked like it belonged to an executive Ken doll in compared to him. Albeit a cheap executive Ken doll. He was big. “How tall do you think he is?”

Maeve clicked her compact shut and huffed. “I don't know Julianna. Who cares. You're not going to fuck that clearance rack suit wearing pro bono state lawyer boy. I mean Christ look at his shoes.”

Julianna pouted at the blonde. She had a point, his shoes were awful. Scuffed and they didn't match his suit. Where did he learn to dress? “He's like a shelter puppy.”

“No. He is not “

Julianna stood up suddenly.

Shit, she is in a real mood. Maeve grabbed her wrist. “ What are you doing.”

Julianna jerked her wrist away and marched up behind the man re-claiming his wallet at the window. She wasn't sure what she was going to do. She was just going to wing it.

The bored man behind the window was saying, “He’ll take you on back.”

“I know how this works, Marty.”

The lawyer was vaguely aware of an approaching clip clop of heels but he paid it no mind until, when he turned around, he ran right into a woman.

Julianna purposely bumped into him. Rammed him really. And, in the confusion, lifted his wallet right from his pocket. Her heart hammered in her chest while she waited the long split second to see if he or anyone else noticed what she did. But his phone had fallen out of his hand and landed with a sickening shatter on the ground. There was no better cover than that. Her hand crept around her back and she deposited the wallet safely into her butt pocket.

“Fuck.” He sounded seriously pained like he had stubbed own his toe. “There's a concept called personal space.” His hand drew an invisible plane of space between their bodies.

It had been a minute since she lifted something like that. Still got it. She gloated to herself in her mind. She wondered if her face looked gloat-y. She did her best to keep it innocent but she felt her lip twitch. Was she smirking? She couldn’t tell. She repeated the word neutral in her mind like a mantra and stared at him hoping it would work.

“Look around,” he was saying while she sized him up, “who's cutting you in line at three A.M. at this precinct? You could clip clop yourself a few paces back and I promise you'd still be next in line.”

He was fiesty. So like a lawyer. His eyes were a meteorologist's textbook definition of overcast. She wanted to lead him around by his cheap, crooked tie. Maybe she'd rather have him tie up her hands and dress her down like that while she tried to come on his knee. He'd made a real pretty picture to look at for a fun game like that. Not with that fucking tie. And not in that fucking suit. She popped her gum in her mouth and did her best to look innocent.

He bent and picked up his phone. “Oh fuck me.”

Gladly.

“That's just great.” He displayed his ruined phone.

Julianna stared at her distorted reflection in his shattered screen. She took the phone right from his hand and ran her thumb over the damage. “Oh darn.”

He was so taken aback that she just took his phone that he stood there speechless. The confusion gave him a moment to actually notice the woman who ruined his phone. All of his attention was brought to the hint of shimmer that shifted light around right between her breasts that were framed by a slinky silk camisole and lace trim. She looked wildly out of place standing on stained linoleum under anemic lights and mildewy ceilings.

“Looks like you need a new phone.” She shoved it back at him. Her breasts shifted around freely under her top.

He drew his eyes away from her breasts to her eyes. Electric green with heavy cat eyeliner. The same light catching shimmer on the top of her cheek bone.

“I'm real sorry.” She said as she gazed at him out of the top of her eyes. She boldly tucked his phone for him into the interior of his suit pocket.

She seemed anything but sorry.

“Hey bud, you coming?” A police officer asked from where he was holding open a heavy door waiting to escort the lawyer to his client.

Julianna's gaze flicked to the police officer and she shuffled slightly to the right. The lawyer's bulk easily blocked her entire body from view of the officer. He was a brick wall of a man. Why clearance rack suits and late night pro bono calls? He could do so much better.

The lawyer picked up his briefcase. “Yeah. I'm coming.” He gave her a deadly look. Glittery tits or not she broke his fucking phone.

Her jaw worked quickly as she chewed her gum and she wiggled sharp coffin-shaped nails at him. A cute finger wave to send him off. First to get him a new suit.

Maeve looked downright pissed when Julianna bounced back into the chair that reminded her too much of the sixth grade. Mean teachers and hormonal preteens. Did the school donate their shittiest chairs to the police force or some shit?

“Why. The. Fuck. Did you lift his wallet?” She breathed into Julianna's ear.

“Shh. I'm looking.” Jules flipped open the wallet. It was some awful material. Not even pleather. What is this even made of? And what happened to it? It felt so cheap she thought it would melt the tips of her fingers off. “Why is it so misshapen?” She was flopping it around like a dead fish.

Maeve slapped her hand over the wallet and glanced around discreetly to see if anyone noticed them playing with a man's wallet that clearly didn't belong to them. Julianna's impulsivity left her brittly tense. She would be cleaning up whatever mess her boss was making. “He probably washed it.” She said in a hushed voice.

“Bingo.” Julianna said as she pulled out his driver's license. “Owen. Hart.” She flicked his face with his back of her nail. Of course he would be the type not to smile for an I.D. She liked that. No nonsense. No fucks given about a social convention to smile for a picture. Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Blue. Mmm, no. They're grey. Height: six foot four. “Six four.” She showed the I.D. to Maeve and tapped her nail on his height.

“It could be a lie. They just ask you how tall you are.”

“No, he's definitely that tall.” Without heels she thought she would be eye level with his badly done windsor knot.

"Jules, who cares? Where is this going?" Now Maeve was whining. Pleading really.

“Just let me enjoy this.” Things were complicated. Her life, her business had gotten so big it felt like it was crushing her sometimes. She thought that's what those collapsing stars must feel. Immense inward pressure. She needed release for once. Let the steam valve open. Jules tossed the I.D. into Maeve's lap. “Pull him up.” She ordered and crossed her legs again.

Oh so now she wants to act like the boss? Maeve grumbled incoherently under her breath but pulled out her phone and began typing. Then she dumped her phone into Julianna's lap when she had several tabs about him open. “He’s only on Twitter. Teaches logic and argumentation to the pre-law infants at the university. Has some legal analysis write-up about some criminal reform bill in the New York Times.”

“How wholesome.” Julianna muttered as she scrolled through his latest Tweets. Her nail clicked against the screen when she switched tabs. She squealed when she saw the picture.

Maeve growled. “Keep it down.”

“Omigod look at him.” Julianna showed Maeve his faculty picture on the college website. It was one of those so typical they were almost parody type school pictures. A close up. His hand hovered near his split chin. Eyes looking like grey marbles. “Do you think his students call him doctor?”

“It needs one of those 80s laser backgrounds.” Was all the commentary Maeve allowed herself to give.

“Yes. That is everything.” Julianna agreed emphatically and giggled.

Maeve leaned back in her chair and elegantly rubbed her temple. Her head was throbbing.

“Look at him.” Julianna was practically squealing again.

“I see him.” Maeve said not unlike a mother whose patience had run out with her toddler. Julianna had found a new puppy. There was nothing to be done but buy a leash and a squeak toy and clean up the piles of shit until it was potty trained or ran away or got hit by a car. Maeve could maybe have him hit by a car if she wanted. She dare not cross Jules though. “I'll have the boys confirm his address.”

“Perfect. He needs a new suit. And new shoes.”

“What about his phone.”

Julianna rolled her eyes as if considering it. She wrinkled her nose. “Mmm. Suit first.”

“You're criminal.”

Julianna gave Maeve a wicked smile.

She was nothing but criminal.

She thought about the casino she'd recently bought and filled with criminal employees to launder the endless monthly multi-millions she made with her sprawling black market enterprise. It would be useful to have another attorney on her side. It wouldn't hurt that he was cute either. Maybe he could help their hapless associate so recently picked up at this very precinct.

“Let's go.” She said suddenly. The walls of the police station suddenly felt like they were closing in on her. It wasn't fun anymore to brazenly sit there in the police station. She was too close to the cages she lived to avoid. She'd dangled her hand over the fire long enough.

“What about--”

“Sairus will pick him up.”

Maeve nodded. The quixotic adventure bordering on manic insanity was, thankfully, over. “Of course. I'll get the car.”


He was over arguing with the delivery boy. "I didn't order any suits."

"You're Dr. Owen Hart, right? Associate professor of law?" The delivery boy read-off his name clearly annoyed with the self-important man who ordered suits with his entire credentials on the name for delivery line.

Owen gestured wildly. "Yes. I said. That's me. But I didn't -"

"Please sign here, sir."

Owen huffed and signed his name feeling entirely ridiculous as he looked at the delivery order. Dr. Owen Hart, Associate Professor of Law. Seriously? He threw the suits in their expensive wrapping on his ratty couch.

This was obviously some kind of joke, right?

He posted a Tweet accusing his students of playing a very expensive prank on him. There was an accompanying selfie of him in one of the suit jackets. He told the prankster he was keeping them.

---