Fantasy The MPC Rushes Story, Cont.

[UCBooties]

William's attention was on the door, he could see someone standing there but not make out their features. Genevieve had said it was Daisy, the first person to greet them when they arrived in Shanghai the first time, and the the first person to greet them again now.


Auspicious or suspicious? William thought he detected another hand in this...


Something cool and fragile pressed into his hand and he gratefully took the spectacles that Lisbeth had quietly passed to him. He settled them upon his nose and blinked as the world came back into focus.


Much better.





He glanced at Blott and grimaced to see the article of clothing she was holding out to him. William stifled a groan and snatched it from her hand with a jerky nod of acknowledgement. With nothing better to do at the moment he stuffed them into his pocket and did his best to put it out of his mind.


Well for better or worse they were back, and more or less collected. Someone was having a bit of fun at their expense, obviously, but William suspected that there was a much larger game being played. For a moment he concentrated, probing the back corners of his mind, but there was still nothing. Black Iron House was not present in this world, save for the small sliver of it that Lisbeth had saved from the Nexus.


He sized up Daisy again, she wasn't looking particularly well. William did his best to look friendly, whoever this girl was it could not be coincidence that she had crossed their path twice in so short a time.


"Are you alright?" he asked gently, "Have you come to find us?"

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth gratefully received her blouse as there was some commotion at the door. A quick glance told her that Mr. Nope's assistant had arrived. Good. Perhaps some progress had been made on the Lance of Longinus sooner than expected.


With a groan she clambered to her feet, clutching her blouse in one hand, and in the other... oh. William's spectacles. She pressed them into the hand of their owner as she passed him, shuffling her way to the back of the small room.


She summoned her Book and quickly Wrote a folding screen into existence behind her, then began to dress herself properly as she listened to the others speaking with the young woman. Daisy, she thought.


She dearly hoped it was good news.

 

[Marianne]

Daisy felt her throat burn, and she honestly thought that at that moment, she was really going to cry. But, if her Master was here, he would've told her not to, so when she looked up and stepped into the room, she attempted to straighten her shoulders, as she swallowed the fear she had before she made it up here. "My Master, sadly, is not here. . . anymore," She cleared her throat, trying to rid her English of an accent. "and yes." She stepped closer to the male with the spectacles resting atop his nose as she held his gaze with a patient, yet almost pleading one, before she tentatively handed him the note she was hugging to her chest. "'The Lance of Longinus has passed in and out of history since the dawn of Time. Its last location is obscured in mystery, but mayhap the Architect knows. . . Find the Architect. . .,'" She recited its piece and now all she really wanted to know was:


"Can you help?" And something told her that if she made it all the way up here, just to see these strangely dressed foreigners, then they most likely can. Especially since they held convenience to her Master Nope.
​

 

[UCBooties]

Can you help? Such a simple question but what answer could he give. What could any of them offer to this girl who had fallen across their path?


A wave of exhaustion passed over him. How long since he had slept? Not since before... before these travelers has arrived at Black Iron House for their appointment. Travelling between worlds made it difficult to keep track but now he was unable to deny the fatigue dragging at him. As he opened his mouth to respond a cracking yawn overtook him. He stiffled it as best he could and them waved at her apologetically.


"I'm sorry, please..." another yawn, "please forgive me." He blinked and shook his head to try to clear it.


"I don't know of the Architect of which your master wrote, but," here he glanced at Lisbeth and frowned, "I have some suspicions as to who that might refer to."


He turned his attention back to Daisy, "Someone or something has taken an interest in out activities and stepped in to aid us several times since I joined these people on their journey." He yawned again and swayed where he stood.


"We should probably make ourselves as secure here as we are able and get some rest. None of us are going to be at our best if we force ourselves to keep pushing like this."

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott thought back to how the strange girl had just appeared in her room. 'Secure'. Right.


Still, not one to rock the boat, she bobbed her head in vague agreement. Daisy (her name was Daisy, yes? Maybe? Sure.) looked about as tired as everyone else. And she was shaking like a leaf. Blott had a more-than-vague feeling that Mr. Nope had not simply left them to their own devices. Daisy (or was it Lily?) had that look of panic, something deep and vibrating, threatening to bubble over.


She instinctively went to check her phone, as was her custom when uncomfortable, before remembering it was dead. "He's right, we've been up almost all night. You can stay too, if you like." she nodded in Daisy's direction, "Not sure how we want to run security, but I can stay up, sooo..." she trailed off with a shrug.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth poked her head around the screen. Everyone was a bit worse for wear, and from what Daisy had said, the news about Mr. Nope was not good.


"I think that none of us are fully ourselves at the moment," she said, "We could all do with a bit of a rest. As far as making ourselves secure, if you'd like we could all stay together in one room. Safety in numbers and all. The sleeping quarters may be a bit cramped, but frankly I'd rather avoid any further disturbances than sleep alone."

 

[Marianne]

Daisy nodded her head in agreement, she understood, and rather exhausted herself she wasted no time to close the door behind her before she dropped to the floor. A sigh escaping her lips as she fixed her qipao cheongsam, adjusting herself so as to lay down on her side as she adjusted her hair so it would work as a pillow before closing her eyes. She knew she looked rather odd, and that maybe falling in front of the door wasn't the best course of action, but she would love to go to sleep right about now. She attempted to will her exhausted lips to move as mumbled between Mandarin and English, "Thank you," and although she was exhausted and was in need of sleep, she was still conscious.

(It's Daisy. xD )​

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth finished dressing herself and folded up the screen to lean it against the wall. It would Erase itself soon enough, anyway. The girl, Daisy, was lying on the ground in front of the door, by all appearances asleep. Well, that neatly answered the question of whether or not they were all staying in the room: Lisbeth doubted any of them would want to move the poor girl to open the door.


She thought about trying to rouse Daisy and get her into the bed, but in the end Lisbeth simply took one of the blankets from the bed and laid it over the girl rather than disturb her. Lisbeth's top hat was still on the floor where William had dropped it, so she picked it up and sat it on the desk before sitting herself on the edge of the bed to kick off her boots. She then crawled into bed, placing herself as close to the wall as she could so there would be a bit more room for the others.


"I appreciate you offering to keep watch, Blott, but do be sure to get some rest if you need it," she yawned, her eyes already drooping.


As soon as her head touched the pillow, Lisbeth was asleep.

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott smiled tightly, easily shrugging off the suggestion of rest. ""Well, go on you two," she waved at William and Genevieve, "Settle down. I'll wake everyone for dinner if you all sleep through the day."


She took the initiative to close the curtains, shielding the room from the light outside before plunking down in the corner across from the bed. For comforts' sake, she flipped her hat off, setting it upside down on the floor for her crow to sleep in. The artist sighed, crossed her legs, and began to think away the hours as her companions slept.

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genevieve cast a sidelong glance, first at Lisbeth, snug against the wall, then to William. Which spot to take? She'd seen how those two looked at each other, all awkward stammers and downcast eyes, and she was sorely tempted to place herself on the opposite side of the bed just to see what would happen. Still, after the incident with the missing clothing just now, one or both of them might die of mortification if they brushed against one another, she thought. Best to leave the romantic antics for another time, then.


Genevieve sat down next to Lisbeth and pulled off her boots. She lay on her side, arms curled under her cheek as a pillow, and drifted into a fitful sleep full of dreams of pursuing and being pursued.

 

[UCBooties]

William folded himself down into a seated position on the floor and pulled his knees close to his chest. He let his head droop and sleep was not long in claiming him.

 

[Arkadious]

Black Iron House: William sat behind his desk and poured through the ledger, looking for an obscure note. Something was tickling the back of his mind and he couldn't place the feeling. Something was definitely not right though. He flipped through the ledger, scanning page after page when suddenly there came a sharp knocking on the door...





Shanghai, 1918: Daisy ran down the back alleys of her neighborhood, tears streaming down her face. Why had that mean boy picked on her, again!? Why was she always being teased be the others? She ran until she collapsed from exhaustion then curled up and wept, scarcely away of the large being the watching her from the shadows. Very nimbly for a being of his massive size, he scooted next to her and gingerly patted her hair, humming softly to calm her down. He smelled funny, like bamboo, and was very hairy...





Paris: Genevieve nervously paced back and forth in her room. Today was the big day! She was going to marry her love, but she could not calm her nerves, no matter how hard she tried. Her mother said she was just experiencing pre-marriage butterflies and that she would get over it soon enough, once she was walking down the aisle and standing at the altar with...Tristan? Altamonte? Genevieve rubbed her temple and struggled to make sense of the conflicting emotions and the names running through her head. Surely she was to marry Altamonte, right? She had known him her entire life. Or was it Tristan? She heard a familiar voice call her name from the doorway and she looked up and had to stifle a gasp...





Lisbeth's Room: Lisbeth looked at the last page of her Book and smiled softly. Frostine was safely reunited with Jack. Everything was going to be okay. Genevieve and Blott and William had helped her get separated and now they were retiring to their room for the evening to catch up on much needed rest and Lisbeth was herself getting ready to turn in. She slipped off her daily clothes and placed them by the door for the elderly inn-keeper to collect and wash, and slipped on a comfortable cotton nightie. She smooth the sheets out on her bed then turned and closed her Book, setting it beside a pocket watch. When she turned to crawl into bed, she was startled to see a small pale boy, about twelve, dressed in soft white and cream shorts with knee high socks and ankle boots, a small vest over a simple high collar button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hair messily combed over to over side, slightly obscuring his left eye, while his right glowed a pale pale blue, his over all look almost being more of a specter than a child...

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth thought that she ought to be more surprised, but somehow she wasn't. Startled, yes, but she was not entirely surprised to see the ghostly boy standing between her and the bed. She stifled a laugh, and when the boy raised one pale eyebrow at her, she waved an apologetic hand.


"Forgive me," she giggled, "I was suddenly struck by the absurd realization that I am growing used to the sudden appearance of mysterious figures."


She shook her head and smiled at the boy, then moved past him to sit on the bed. She patted the sheets beside her, inviting the boy to sit, but he simply stood and stared at her with that strangely glowing gaze. She shrugged off a niggling sense of foreboding, and manage another warm smile.


"Well then," she said cheerfully, "What can I do for you? I do hope you're not going to try to convince me that I am your long lost mother. I should think I would remember having a boy your age."

 

[UCBooties]

Rap rap rap.





William's head jerked up in surprise. He had not heard the bell. No, that was impossible, the bell had not rung at all.





Impossible.


Rap rap rap. The same three knocks came again, seeming to come not just from the other side of his study door but from somewhere right behind his eyes as well. William felt a drop of sweat run down his spine, leaving a single finger of chill dread in its wake.


No one could enter Black Iron House without the House’s permission.





You know that’s not true, a doubt whispered in the back of his mind. There has been one, who is to say that others could not come as well.


A vision of burning eyes in darkness rose up in William’s mind and a shudder of dread coursed through him.





Rap rap rap. The knocks came again, somehow more insistent. They were a railroad spike through William’s temples and his vision narrowed to a tunnel with each pulsing echo of the knocks at the study door.


He gritted his teeth and willed the pain away as best he could. He glanced at the Ledger where it had fallen open under his hand. Was this some strange appointment he had missed?


There, written on an otherwise blank page in bolded text he saw the terrible words:





The Master of the House admitted his visitor saying, “Welcome, stranger, to Black Iron House.”





William was standing before he finished reading the line, the words already fleeing his lips before he could try to stop them.


“Welcome, stranger, to Black Iron House.”


The door to the study flew open with a crack so loud the whole of Black Iron House seemed to shudder. The frame splintered and the blank volumes on the study’s shelves flickered with a thousand nonsense titles.


William was frozen in reverie, his gaze locked to the open portal.


Darkness there, and nothing more.

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

"Tristan."


Genevieve choked out the name. Tristan. She remembered now; she was marrying Tristan. But that knowledge did not give her comfort. Her heart beat hard against her chest--a warning. She raised her fingers to her temples again, wishing the floor length veil that covered her face could hide her from his gaze while she tried to unravel these thoughts.


It doesn't make sense. Why would I marry Tristan when it's Altamonte I want?


Tristan stood in the doorway, top hat in hand, looking every bit the refined gentleman she was expected to marry...she had chosen to marry. For she had chosen him. She had loved him. She had married him before. In how many Whens had she married him? She looked up into his dark eyes and saw the corner of his mouth creep up in a knowing smile, as though he read her thoughts.


But I chose. And if I chose once--if I chose a thousand times--I can choose again.


"No," she said in a fiercer tone than she expected. "It won't be you at the altar today, Tristan. Not this time."


His eyes hardened and his mouth flattened to a thin line as he tossed aside his hat and advanced toward her. Genevieve swept her ivory train to the side and stepped quickly backwards. She gasped as she realized Tristan's hands were stained with blood.

 

[Marianne]

Daisy, with teary eyes, would persistently blink them away as she peered from beneath her arms. Her eyes finding a strange, rough piece of cloth as a gentle pat continued to comfort her and somehow wash away the negative feelings which plagued her. "You," she began with her mandarin tongue slipping into a small lisp. She was attempting to say that this strange person smelt funny to her, and she wanted to ask what it was, for she could faintly distinguish the scent. Yet, the words never made it out as she hiccuped and sniffled, wiping her snotty nose as she averted her gaze to her muddy flats and closed her eyes.

Somehow, in her sleep, Daisy shed a single tear before clutching the blanket and burrowing deeper into its warmth.​

 

[Arkadious]

Black Iron House: William stood and stared at the looming darkness until a figure started to take shape in the void. Tall, wreathed in the impenetrable darkness, with a hood pull low. The figure regarded the Master of Black Iron House for a long moment before it was joined by one then two then several other figures, of various heights, all shrouded in darkness and peering at William from the depths of their hoods. William opened his mouth to greet them once again when suddenly there was a cawing that broke the silence...





Paris: Genevieve staggered back and covered her mouth, gasping again at the sight of Tristan's blood stained hands. She looked back up to suddenly find it was Altamonte's eyes looking back at her, not Tristan's. His hair was disheveled and there were flecks of blood on his collar and cheek, but there he was, her Fitz...





Lisbeth's Room: The pale boy looked at Lisbeth for a long moment, his almost crystalline eyes a stark contrast to the burning embers that she had grown accustomed to her mystery visitors having. He walked over to her nightstand and picked up the pocket-watch, clicking it open and whispering softly as he traced a delicate finger over the face. For the briefest of moments, the weight of countless worlds passed across the young boys face, giving him an older appearance, and Lisbeth felt a slight nagging in her breast. The boy turned back to her and held the watch out to her, still open, where Lisbeth could just barely make out an inscription on the inner cover. As she reached out for it, her fingers brushed his briefly and she heard cawing in the distance.





Shanghai, 1930: Blott sat on the floor of Lisbeth's room in the nondescript inn, watching as her friends slept. The young girl, Daisy? Daffodil? slept curled up by the door, gave a shiver then curled tighter into the blanket that Lisbeth had draped over her. Blott had lost track of the hours that they all slept, even her Crow having dozing off in her lap, when suddenly he started kicking and rolling around and cawing in his sleep, Genevieve's sock having come off and returned to full size, now engulfing her Crow like a Puffbird Burrito...

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

"Fitz!" Genevieve cried.


He opened his arms wide, giving her that lopsided smile that always made her breath catch in her throat. She ran to him and gently placed a hand on his blood-flecked cheek before burying her face in his chest. Fitz wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.


"Hey, Red," he murmured, laying his cheek on top of her head.


"It's you," she whispered. "It always should have been you."


They sunk to their knees, still clutching one another. Genevieve exhaled a breath she didn't know she had been holding, years of pain and fear and uncertainty, of constant watchfulness, melting away as her body relaxed into Fitz's arms. She felt his hand move to the back of her head, his fingers entwined in her elaborately pinned and curled hair. Without warning his grip tightened and he yanked her hair hard, tilting her head back and forcing her to face him. She cried out in pain and surprise. The face she met wasn't Altamonte's but Tristan's. With his other hand he ripped the veil from her head, a terrible sneer etched across his face.


Before she was even conscious of her movements, Genevieve pulled the jeweled dagger from the folds of her skirt, thrusting it upwards just below Tristan's breastbone. The shock of the impact reverberated through her arm, but she held tight to the handle, and as Tristan released his grip she fixed her eyes on the scarlet stain spreading over his crisp white shirt. Warm blood gushed over her fingers and dripped onto her gown, and Genevieve found this gave her a small thrill. With a triumphant smile she raised her eyes to meet Tristan's one last time.


But it was Fitz's shocked expression she met.


He groaned and slumped forward into Genevieve's arms.


"No," she breathed. "Oh God, no. No, no, no. What have I done? Fitz! No."


She held his limp body in her lap, his blood and her tears mixing on the ivory silk of her wedding gown.


"You can't leave me, Fitz. I need you. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."


It was some time before Genevieve realized she was awake in Shanghai and it was Lisbeth's shoulder she was sobbing into.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

As Lisbeth's fingers brushed those of the pale boy, a jolt like electricity ran up her arm at the same moment that the sound of a crow's cawing filled the room, quiet but growing louder. The lights flickered, guttering low, and a tremble began to shake the room. She grabbed her shoulder with her free left hand, her right arm still outstretched and now clutching the pocket watch in a rigor mortis grip as lances of pain that made her eyes water danced up and down her arm. The boy was gone, as suddenly as he had arrived, and through her tears Lisbeth though she could make out another figure standing in the shadows... No, that wasn't quite right. It was as though there were a silhouette of a man, a deeper shadow set within the already darkened corner of the room.


And he was laughing.


Laughing and laughing and laughing.


She could hear it, mixed in the crow's cawing, part of the crow's cawing, growing louder and louder. He was laughing at her, his voice full of mocking scorn.


"Stop it," she growled, her own grip on her shoulder growing tighter, "Who are you to dare mock me?!"


But the laughing and the cawing only grew more deafening as her fingers dug into her shoulder like a vise until at last dark, wet blood began to seep between her fingers. The room shook and shook and shook with the shadow man's laughter.


"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!"


Her eyes flew open.


She was in bed at the inn in Shanghai, and someone else was gripping her shoulder tight: Genevieve. Her friend's tears, not Lisbeth's blood, were dampening her blouse as Genevieve sobbed into her shoulder. Lisbeth tried to push away the dream threads that still clung like cobwebs to her mind as she turned to her friend.


"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, dimly aware that the crow's cawing, at least, had followed her from her dream.

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott's eyes refocused at the shuffle-squawking of her crow. She had been starting into nothing for a while now, shifting only slightly when the house popped or creaked, but having a writhing feather-burrito in her lap was enough to pull her attention. Gosh, but he was loud!


Hey, no, you'll wake everyone up! Hush! She poked at him at he kicked his little legs inside the sock-wrap. To this, he only crowed louder, thrashing until Blott finally just picked him up like the crunch-wrap supreme he seemed destined to be. The bird blinked and settled, looking about coolly.


Looking past him, further into the room, Blott noticed her friends were stirring, Lisbeth at least seeming to be awake.


"Good going, puffbird," Blott stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders as her back snapped and popped. Perhaps she sat still for too long. "Sorry about birdbrain here, uhm, what's wrong with who?" It was then she noticed Genevieves tears, "Oh. Um." She fidgeted, tapping her crow-ritto nervously, "Not the best of dreams, then?"

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genevieve sat up and drew deep, shuddering breaths to quiet her sobs. She noticed the shoulder of Lisbeth's blouse was dark with tears and felt her cheeks flush. Though they'd all been thrown together on this journey and plenty of tears had been shed already in the past few days, Genevieve wasn't entirely sure they were close enough yet for the intimacy of crying on each other in their sleep. She slid across the bed, trying to put a more comfortable distance between her and the Writer.


"I...I'm sorry," she said in a voice that still shook with emotion. "It was just a dream. It was just a terrible dream."


She wiped the fat teardrops from her cheeks and looked down into her lap as she explained.


"It was my wedding day. Everything was exactly as it had been that day--the tiny pearls on my gown and the way the morning light slanted through my bedroom window as I nervously waited. It felt so real. But I couldn't remember if I was marrying Tristan or...or Altamonte," another sob escaped her lips as she said his name. "Tristan attacked me and I stabbed him, but it was really Fitz. I...I killed Fitz."


More tears escaped the corners of her eyes, and she pressed her fingertips to her forehead.


But she didn't tell them the rest. She didn't tell them how much she enjoyed plunging the blade into Tristan's chest or how his blood spilling over her pale fingers fascinated rather than horrified her, at least until she realized it was Altamonte. She didn't mention the fear that haunted her by day--that one day she would indeed hurt one of the people she loved most.

 

[UCBooties]

A cold gust of bitter realization blew William back to wakefulness. He was not in Black Iron House.


He had been dreaming of home.


Amid a cacophony of squawking the walls of the study fell away and he found himself blinking blearily through spectacles that had fallen awry as he slept. Blott was shushing her bird, Gen was visibly distressed, apologizing for something William had missed to an obviously still bleary Lisbeth. Daisy still seemed to be asleep, which was good since she had clearly been through quite an ordeal.


William unfolded his long limbs and rolled his joints to banish some of the stiffness from sleeping in such an awkward position. He let himself quietly out of the room and made his way to the small cramped bathroom at the end of the hall. He blinked at the odd toilets and used one of the stalls to get his underwear back on and get himself properly dressed again.


He walked to the small sink and glanced at the tiny mirror hanging above it. He looked...


ordinary...


No stubble darkened his chin, no dark circles sat under his eyes. Even his clothes seemed cleaned and pressed. He was the picture of the Master of Black Iron House.


William splashed some water on his face and hurried back to the room. His unease followed him like a shadow.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

The door snicked quietly shut behind William. Lisbeth cast a glance to Blott before she gingerly placed an arm around Genevieve's shoulders. They had all grown rather close over the past few days, but Lisbeth had always felt a touch awkward when it came to comforting someone in tears.


"There now," she said, trying her best at reassurance, "It was only a dream. I'm sure Fitz is quite well; he can take care of himself."


The platitudes sounded hollow in her ears in the wake of her own dream with its terrifying shadow figure whose laughter rang through her mind even now. Were her own visions "only a dream" as well, or did they hold more portent than that? She was reasonably certain that the young boy was supposed to be Arkadious, but who did the shadow man represent? Thanatos, perhaps? Somehow that didn't feel quite right...


Her gaze settled upon her pack on the desk, and she remembered the pocket watch and the inscription that the boy Arkadious had been trying to show her in her dream. If she checked the watch, and the inscription were truly there, than that would mean that her dream was...


She murmured an apology and gently pushed her way past Genevieve and off of the bed. The pocket watch was there in her pack, just where she had left it, and she flipped open the cover with rising anticipation. A folded piece of paper fluttered from inside to the ground, but for the moment she ignored it and looked at the inside face of the cover to see -


Nothing. The inside of the cover was blank, the mildly polished silver gleaming and unblemished.


Her heart sank a little. So. Just a dream, then. She bent to pick up the paper, and as she stood again her eye was drawn back to the watch. Lisbeth's eyes widened as a symbol began to glow behind the cracked watch face: a glowing golden star of five points with an eye in its center, surrounded by a script that Lisbeth could not read. The symbol grew brighter and brighter as the watch grew warm in her hand, and Lisbeth had to avert her eyes. Then there was a sudden crack!, the symbol faded, and Lisbeth blinked the burning star from her vision. The watch in her hand now looked different, the silvery metal tarnished yet somehow also showing green spots like aged copper, and the face was cracked even further.


What was going on?


She turned her attention to the folded paper in her hand. Surely it had to hold some clue, for she was certain it had not been in the watch before. She unfolded it, and as she looked upon it her face paled and her hands began to shake.


"This... This can't be..." she murmured.


She turned the page around so the others could see. It was a photograph, old and faded, of a young man standing next to a small child. The man was slim and pale with severe, angular features: Arkadious Grimoire. The girl had long, dark hair that fell in gentle curls past her shoulders and dark eyes that twinkled above her cheery smile. Her dress was all ruffles and ribbons, and she wore a matching bow in her hair.


"I... I don't know how this is possible," Lisbeth stammered, "But this child... it's..."


"It's me."

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott personally had written of Fritz as dead when he failed to escape with the rest of them, but that was an opinion she decided to keep to herself. They had enough gloom and doom without Blott's pessimism.


So she stayed still and silent as her friends awoke and shuffled about. Tears were still involved over with Genevieve, she noted, but Lisbeth was playing with that locket again, her back to the artist.


Something close to magic rippled in the air, filling the room briefly before disappearing so quickly her ears almost popped. Hadn't they had enough of magic for now? Blott tensed as Lisbeth turned abruptly, paper in her hand and face paler than...well, paler than usual.


"It's me."





Blott tilted her head and stepped forward. "Well...you were a very cute child?"


Genius, Blott. Way to go.

 

[Marianne]

Shanghai, 1918: The being would stare down at the little girl as she placed her petite head upon her dainty knee caps. Her dark hair falling past her shoulders, tips brushing the dirty ground as she shook every so often. Her hiccups were audible, and he remained transfixed on the ends of her hair before he wasted no time in plucking the girl off the grimy ground and onto his lap. Although he was squatting the furry being, man in the inside, still held his own weight as the light Chinese girl kept her eyes down cast. His chest of hair peeking from beneath his strange garments, a soft white blanket of fur tickling her fingertips as she gently ran her hand atop it. It remained quiet, her melancholy sniffles the only noise audible to the duo as gentle patters of rain began to fall every so often with every passing second.


Once it had begun to drizzle the furry man stood and hooded her with his arms protectively. Stealthily carrying her deeper into the alleyway 'till he approached the back of his own shop. The back door was unlocked so he pushed it open, then closed it with a gentle nudge of his paw, the inside smelt oddly familiar to Daisy as she looked past the creatures arm. Right there, by the entrance to the kitchen, rested a heap of failed egg rolls resting beside the stove. Walking past that mess, Daisy stared at it longingly as he pushed open another door which led to his study. Inside of his study consisted of two love couches, a fireplace, and a small desk. Situating young Daisy on to one of the couches, draped a small blanket over her shoulders before exiting the room. Once he left, Daisy's eyes ended up transfixed on the flames whilst her ears and mind remained attuned to the gentle being that gave her comfort and warmth; a small white strand of hair resting inside of her palm as she pressed it close to her flat chest and curled deeper into its warmth.


Shanghai, 1930: Daisy's brows furrowed as the world around her began to make noise. It was faint, and she was scared for a moment before she felt the warmth of a blanket covering her. For a second, she thought she was living in the past before she realized where she was laying: on the floor. Opening her eyes, it took a moment for them to adjust before her eyes adjusted to the shadow of the group that she had met earlier. Their voices were hushed, and sitting up, Daisy rubbed at her eyes as she attempted to shove her dark hair out of her face. "Zǎoshang hǎo," she whispered "Good Morning," but didn't think anyone had heard her as she positioned her self on to her knees.
​