Entry tags:
ic contact.
"Hello, Hermione Granger here. I must be busy, so please leave a message. Thank you very much!"
ic contact for hermione granger at drift fleet.
(text, voice, video, action;)
(text, voice, video, action;)
"Hello, Hermione Granger here. I must be busy, so please leave a message. Thank you very much!"
Tell me you haven't touched those stupid crates.
[So there's this guy on the Vanquish. When he's actually on the Vanquish, which throughout February has mostly just been to sleep and occasionally cook things. Dark hair, fairly obvious bare-metal prosthetic leg, not too chatty. There's this guy who has been In A Hurry To Be Somewhere every time Hermione has been around.
There's this guy who's realized, maybe, that feeling intensely awkward and weirdly intimidated about meeting a fictional BAMF is no reason not to at least treat them like a person, and that he's been basically avoiding someone he's going to be enclosed in a spaceship with for the forseeable future. There's this guy who's been so aware of his complete lack of chill that he's kind of been a jerk.
There's a guy who brought a fancy bottled lemonade and a packet of shortbreads back from the station on his last supply run before they take off again, and who has left the bag with both in front of Hermione's door with a note.]
Hello neighbour!
Sorry I haven't actually said hello yet. Apparently my spaceship manners need work. (Leaving it to Clay and the rest to make new people feel welcome - double rude, right? Sorry.)
Anyway, it's good to have you on board. Looking forward to talking with you sometime.
- Eugene Woods
(The Kitchen Guy)
There's this guy who's realized, maybe, that feeling intensely awkward and weirdly intimidated about meeting a fictional BAMF is no reason not to at least treat them like a person, and that he's been basically avoiding someone he's going to be enclosed in a spaceship with for the forseeable future. There's this guy who's been so aware of his complete lack of chill that he's kind of been a jerk.
There's a guy who brought a fancy bottled lemonade and a packet of shortbreads back from the station on his last supply run before they take off again, and who has left the bag with both in front of Hermione's door with a note.]
Hello neighbour!
Sorry I haven't actually said hello yet. Apparently my spaceship manners need work. (Leaving it to Clay and the rest to make new people feel welcome - double rude, right? Sorry.)
Anyway, it's good to have you on board. Looking forward to talking with you sometime.
- Eugene Woods
(The Kitchen Guy)
Hi, Eugene.
It's really nothing to worry about, we've all been a little busy (and I've been trying to learn my way around without ending up shooting out into space, which is, thankfully, easier than it sounds). Clay has been lovely, as has the rest of the crew, and I don't think you have anything to worry about.
The gifts are really lovely and the shortbread is amazing! You should come and share it with me before it's all gone.
- Hermione.
It's really nothing to worry about, we've all been a little busy (and I've been trying to learn my way around without ending up shooting out into space, which is, thankfully, easier than it sounds). Clay has been lovely, as has the rest of the crew, and I don't think you have anything to worry about.
The gifts are really lovely and the shortbread is amazing! You should come and share it with me before it's all gone.
- Hermione.
Hey, Hermione.
It's Nightingale.
Can I ask a couple questions about your magic?
It's Nightingale.
Can I ask a couple questions about your magic?
[The message is brief, and to the point.]
Hello. You mentioned 'transfiguring' to me once. Are you capable of changing something like a powdered food solid into flour?
[It's also pretty random.]
Hello. You mentioned 'transfiguring' to me once. Are you capable of changing something like a powdered food solid into flour?
[It's also pretty random.]
[The night Tamamo moves onto the Vanquish is the first night she really allows herself proper rest since arriving onto the Fleet. And rest- properly sleeping, rather than keeping one ear open for threats- allows for certain kinds of dreams to sneak in, especially this close to her Master.
The Heian era of Japan, the year Ninpei 4- 1154 in modern calendars. In the corner of the Imperial Court, Tamamo sits alone. A large, ornamental decoration in her hair covers her ears, and her tail is hidden under her layers of kimono. Normally, she should take a place near to the center, but with Emperor Toba having fallen ill, she hides in the corner, praying that none will notice what she is hiding. She doubts herself, wondering what she is, and she is afraid- Afraid that she'll be found out, persecuted. The one she loves will condemn her as a monster. That's the fate of a youkai fox. She prays, alone and hidden from everyone else, for her nightmare to end- For her to wake up a human again, and to stay with her beloved Emperor Toba.
Maybe, when the Emperor recovers, he will not mind. There are stories, Tamamo knows, of foxes who have been good and loving wives to a human. Maybe, she thinks, he will not mind her ears. Maybe he'd even find them cute? Focusing on that is the only way she can keep hope. And a famous diviner is coming soon, anyway, to find the source of his illness.
Soon, he arrives. Abe no Seimei, a man in the center of the court. Her first thought is that he is an incredibly gorgeous man, perhaps one of the most beautiful she's ever laid eyes upon. Her second is that she can look into his eyes and tell- That man's soul is as black as the underworld. She tries to keep herself composed in court, of course, but even so, she can't help but feel- She shouldn't get close to this man.
Even so, as he approaches the Emperor, with a strange board with pictures of constellations, Tamamo can't help but edge closer. Her fear is outweighed by her love, and if she can be near him, then maybe...
"The Emperor's illness is being caused by an evil spirit." Abe no Seimei declares firmly. His voice is grim, but Tamamo can see a faint twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth.
"An evil fox in this very court." Her blood runs cold, and she freezes. And in one swift motion, he spins, pulling the ribbon off of Tamamo's ears, showing them to the court. "By the name of Tamamo-no-Mae."
Panic rises in her throat. She can only escape- The court is in an uproar, and she just sprints for the door, trailing the ends of her robes behind her. Even so, her fox ears pick up the words of that man- "Poisoning the emperor, to take over". "An evil nine-tailed fox who seduced the emperor with her magic". As the voices fade, she hears the other court ladies voice agreement. It was suspicious how fast the Emperor took favor to her. It was the work of magic.
She flees, making it all the way out to the fields of Nasuno. Dog spirits join the chase, and she is hounded as far as she can go. Finally, she falls to rest, after how many days of running? Maybe weeks by now. And as she rests in the fields of Nasuno, she is surrounded by foxes.
"You have come a long way." "What a rough journey you had." The foxes speak to her words like this, and through her haze of sadness and confusion, she can't help but wish that they could be more encouraging. It's then she realizes for the first time that she truly never was a human. She remembers- She was a goddess once. A delusional child of a goddess, Amaterasu, who wished to be human. And now, incarnating instead as a fox... This must be her punishment for going against divine providence.
"Ah, what a fool I was." is all she can say to herself. She wished to help humans prosper, and was instead driven out and hunted down.
Eighty thousand soldiers roar into the fields, screaming "kill the fox demon!". She apologizes, she begs them not to fight, but they ignore her, coming at her with swords and spears. Unable to control her own emotions anymore, she fights back. Her body twists, her tails multiply, and with fire and ice, with terrible magic and the power of monsters, she kills every single one. Even the ones who try to flee are crushed. It's this that causes her to realize her own rage, and she returns to normal, frightened of herself. Is she Tamamo-no-Mae? Mizukume, the name given to her by the humans who took her in? Is she still Amaterasu? She doesn't know anymore.
A few days later, another army approaches. This time, she refused to fight back. She looks up, and it begins to rain arrows. For three days and nights, the arrows continue to come, hailing down like a storm. Her magic and mantras keep her from being killed, and she cries.
"I wasn't trying to fool anyone. I'll leave now, so please, just forget all about me." She begs, almost begrudgingly. But even as she begs, no one listens.
And then, she realizes. How narrow-minded humans are. How much hatred they hold. How self-righteous they can be. And... How fragile, inhibited, and how completely precious their lives are. She was the one in the wrong from the start- Her perceptions as a goddess influenced her opinion of humans too much. Humans respect the gods and through the various priesthoods try to understand and be one with them, but in the end, their effort is wasted. No matter how hard they try, no matter how much deprivation they subject themselves to in their mortal lives... There is no way for a human to become a god. Or for a god to...
And so it ends. An arrow pierces her leg, and she falls. The last thing she feels is an enchanted arrow pierce her neck. And so, at a mere twenty years of age, Tamamo-no-Mae's mortal existence came to an end.
It can be dismissed as the tale of a goddess deemed unworthy of the gift of humanity. It is the story of a delusional child-goddess who admired humans too much.
But even so, Tamamo-no-Mae was more than just Amaterasu. And as a mortal, she still felt regret. Regret, despair, and even hate for those who killed her. Her soul, too attached to this world, refused to pass on or be extinguished- It could not bear to leave this world it loved so. And despite loving this world so much, her hatred twisted it as well.
She anchors her soul to a boulder, and it starts to emit a deadly gas, a poison made of her feelings. So lost in this depth of her damnation, she fails to notice, even as her body is cut up and dragged away. Her soul will haunt this, the place where she died... She doesn't need to think about anything else. She is simply lost in despair, and love for humans, and her hatred for her fate.]
The Heian era of Japan, the year Ninpei 4- 1154 in modern calendars. In the corner of the Imperial Court, Tamamo sits alone. A large, ornamental decoration in her hair covers her ears, and her tail is hidden under her layers of kimono. Normally, she should take a place near to the center, but with Emperor Toba having fallen ill, she hides in the corner, praying that none will notice what she is hiding. She doubts herself, wondering what she is, and she is afraid- Afraid that she'll be found out, persecuted. The one she loves will condemn her as a monster. That's the fate of a youkai fox. She prays, alone and hidden from everyone else, for her nightmare to end- For her to wake up a human again, and to stay with her beloved Emperor Toba.
Maybe, when the Emperor recovers, he will not mind. There are stories, Tamamo knows, of foxes who have been good and loving wives to a human. Maybe, she thinks, he will not mind her ears. Maybe he'd even find them cute? Focusing on that is the only way she can keep hope. And a famous diviner is coming soon, anyway, to find the source of his illness.
Soon, he arrives. Abe no Seimei, a man in the center of the court. Her first thought is that he is an incredibly gorgeous man, perhaps one of the most beautiful she's ever laid eyes upon. Her second is that she can look into his eyes and tell- That man's soul is as black as the underworld. She tries to keep herself composed in court, of course, but even so, she can't help but feel- She shouldn't get close to this man.
Even so, as he approaches the Emperor, with a strange board with pictures of constellations, Tamamo can't help but edge closer. Her fear is outweighed by her love, and if she can be near him, then maybe...
"The Emperor's illness is being caused by an evil spirit." Abe no Seimei declares firmly. His voice is grim, but Tamamo can see a faint twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth.
"An evil fox in this very court." Her blood runs cold, and she freezes. And in one swift motion, he spins, pulling the ribbon off of Tamamo's ears, showing them to the court. "By the name of Tamamo-no-Mae."
Panic rises in her throat. She can only escape- The court is in an uproar, and she just sprints for the door, trailing the ends of her robes behind her. Even so, her fox ears pick up the words of that man- "Poisoning the emperor, to take over". "An evil nine-tailed fox who seduced the emperor with her magic". As the voices fade, she hears the other court ladies voice agreement. It was suspicious how fast the Emperor took favor to her. It was the work of magic.
She flees, making it all the way out to the fields of Nasuno. Dog spirits join the chase, and she is hounded as far as she can go. Finally, she falls to rest, after how many days of running? Maybe weeks by now. And as she rests in the fields of Nasuno, she is surrounded by foxes.
"You have come a long way." "What a rough journey you had." The foxes speak to her words like this, and through her haze of sadness and confusion, she can't help but wish that they could be more encouraging. It's then she realizes for the first time that she truly never was a human. She remembers- She was a goddess once. A delusional child of a goddess, Amaterasu, who wished to be human. And now, incarnating instead as a fox... This must be her punishment for going against divine providence.
"Ah, what a fool I was." is all she can say to herself. She wished to help humans prosper, and was instead driven out and hunted down.
Eighty thousand soldiers roar into the fields, screaming "kill the fox demon!". She apologizes, she begs them not to fight, but they ignore her, coming at her with swords and spears. Unable to control her own emotions anymore, she fights back. Her body twists, her tails multiply, and with fire and ice, with terrible magic and the power of monsters, she kills every single one. Even the ones who try to flee are crushed. It's this that causes her to realize her own rage, and she returns to normal, frightened of herself. Is she Tamamo-no-Mae? Mizukume, the name given to her by the humans who took her in? Is she still Amaterasu? She doesn't know anymore.
A few days later, another army approaches. This time, she refused to fight back. She looks up, and it begins to rain arrows. For three days and nights, the arrows continue to come, hailing down like a storm. Her magic and mantras keep her from being killed, and she cries.
"I wasn't trying to fool anyone. I'll leave now, so please, just forget all about me." She begs, almost begrudgingly. But even as she begs, no one listens.
And then, she realizes. How narrow-minded humans are. How much hatred they hold. How self-righteous they can be. And... How fragile, inhibited, and how completely precious their lives are. She was the one in the wrong from the start- Her perceptions as a goddess influenced her opinion of humans too much. Humans respect the gods and through the various priesthoods try to understand and be one with them, but in the end, their effort is wasted. No matter how hard they try, no matter how much deprivation they subject themselves to in their mortal lives... There is no way for a human to become a god. Or for a god to...
And so it ends. An arrow pierces her leg, and she falls. The last thing she feels is an enchanted arrow pierce her neck. And so, at a mere twenty years of age, Tamamo-no-Mae's mortal existence came to an end.
It can be dismissed as the tale of a goddess deemed unworthy of the gift of humanity. It is the story of a delusional child-goddess who admired humans too much.
But even so, Tamamo-no-Mae was more than just Amaterasu. And as a mortal, she still felt regret. Regret, despair, and even hate for those who killed her. Her soul, too attached to this world, refused to pass on or be extinguished- It could not bear to leave this world it loved so. And despite loving this world so much, her hatred twisted it as well.
She anchors her soul to a boulder, and it starts to emit a deadly gas, a poison made of her feelings. So lost in this depth of her damnation, she fails to notice, even as her body is cut up and dragged away. Her soul will haunt this, the place where she died... She doesn't need to think about anything else. She is simply lost in despair, and love for humans, and her hatred for her fate.]
[ The dream sinks into Hermione's subconscious, and it draws out her own pain in response. The memories flicker and twist, but what is most prominent is the scent of blood in the air, thick and heavy and dangerous.
"Dorian... Where are the birds?" That's how it starts; silence, nothing but silence, a girl and her friend walking through a forest. They walk and pause and tilt their heads, but nothing comes - there are no birds, no small squirrels, nothing that indicates life whatsoever. Hermione might not be a warrior but she is not a fool, either; she knows the signs as well as anyone and a sense of panic grips her above anything else.
The first thing she notices is the sickly, familiar smell of blood, metallic in the air, like iron on her tongue, her throat catching with it. She stumbles forward, her hands shaking even as she moves to shove Dorian behind her, heart racing too fast in her chest, her eyes flicking here and there, desperate and unsure. There's so much that she can't focus on one thing in particular, there's nothing she can do except move forward and try and follow the trail - Adela had to be alright, there was no reason, why would anyone -- she looked up.
Hanging from one of the trees is the body of a woman, swinging in the barely-there breeze. It was high, higher than she thought would be possible, but they had been gone a while and there had been time enough, to make a point, to leave this mark for Hermione to see, to make her hands shake and cover her mouth, the violent urge to throw up twisting inside of her. She could see the inside of the neck, the blood dripping down, a spoiling the simple dress her handmaiden had been wearing.
"We should go," Dorian says as he reaches for Hermione's hand. "Apparate us out of here." It doesn't work. An arrow slams into Hermione and suddenly all her magic is limited, twisting down until she feels like she's chained with it, her heart in her throat as Dorian steps forward to defend her, to protect her, even though that was her job, her duty, she was the one that was supposed to love and protect -
Everything seems to happen so fast. Dorian is on the ground, a woman crushing his hand with the heel of her boot, and Hermione is pressed with her back against a tree, defenceless and hopeless, her eyes wide and her breathing coming harder and harder because there's nothing she can do. There's no way for her to get out of this and it burns, agony fuelling her as she watches her friend scream out in agonising pain as his bones are ruined because of her.
"Marchioness Granger." There's a woman's voice, deep, trembling with barely restrained anger. "It isn't so easy to crush us when your magic is blocked, is it?"
"Leave him alone." Hermione steps forward, head held high, expression tight, pained and angry. She keeps her eyes glued on the woman, her chest heaving even as she tries to block out all the things she's feeling. "You want me? Take me. But hurt him and - and you will regret ever coming here. You've already taken Adela and she was innocent. Don't hurt someone else when you have the chance to be merciful."
"Traitors aren't innocent." Dorian pushes, and surprise his advantage, and the woman stumbles and he scrambles to get to his feet, scrambles to get up and get between this woman and Hermione, (he can't lose Hermione, that's what he told her he was thinking, later, alone in her room), his teeth are bared and his hands go for the throat and with just one push, this woman has Dorian pressed against the tree, pressed to Hermione to pin her in place, so that he can feel that arrow.
She and Dorian are pressed against each other - Dorian to her front, the tree to her back, the hurt of the arrow in her skin making her cry out even as she shifts to try and give him room to find his freedom. It doesn't work.
Then there's a sword through Dorian's gut. It goes far enough that Hermione can feel it press into her stomach, that she knows if she pushes forward it would be enough to press into her gut and kill her, too.
"Just push a little further," a voice tells Hermione, "and spare the rest of us any more of your mistakes." It's the last real thing she remembers; the last real thing that prickles in her mind and echoes in her memories. The rest is something of a blur, but details often come back over time, bringing her more pain, more agony, more hurt.
Dorian is dead. Dorian died, Dorian is gone, he stepped between a blade meant for her, a sword that was intended to cut her down, traitors aren't innocent, and she feels like she's going to be sick. Her hands move, grasping at him, covered in his blood as she shakes his body, the noise of his organs, pierced and cut with the blade, moving along it, making her shake and stare. He's breaking from the inside out but there's nothing there to feel it, nothing and no one there to feel the drop of his blood, to see the stain on her, her clothes, her skin and her face, her hands reaching up to touch his cheeks, leaving bloody wet hand prints against his pale skin.
"No, no, Dorian, please, don't - don't do this, please, please-"
It comes out as a desperate sob, the shaken hand moving to grip at the metal hilt. She did this. This is her fault, she had pushed the blame, she had broken her vow, even months later people still hated her, and with the rising pillar of Caer Scima back she knew that the guilt would leave her broken and hating herself. He's gone, he's gone, and Hermione wails, shifting with bloody hands to nudge him back, the woman not tearing the blade out to let his body drop, pushing it deeper instead. It's a desperate, lost noise, her body shaking as the woman laughs, seeing the horror and the pain on her face, the knowledge that Hermione was suffering as much as she had deserved from the moment she had proven herself to be a traitor of her word, to have worked with the Courts, to hold a Shard and rise against them.
Hermione knows she could push forward, she could end it. She would come back shardless, with nothing but her name and her magic, nothing of her own, and it would be so easy. After everything she had done it would be easy, letting her be free of all the pain - but Dorian had died for her, she had her friends, she had been fighting so hard, she had been pushing to make the world better, to make everything brighter, and the gasping noise that falls from her mouth is a low, angry sound, a growl, deep in her throat. It doesn't sound proper, real, she's too human for that, but something comes over her.
She draws the blade out, ignoring the sick sound of flesh against steel, dropping it to one side. When she steps forward it's not a simple movement; partway through it turns into a leap, Hermione's body shifting. She is not simply a woman, she hasn't been for almost a year, and the urge to bite, fight, to punish this person for taking an innocent life, for the blood on her hands and the pressure of it touching her - it overtakes her, twisting her body. The magic she uses to become a lioness, to take her sigil, feels removed from the pressure of the magic of her own world, a Monarch given prize that doesn't take as much power as it might have if she had been an at Hogwarts.
The woman screams as the lioness overcomes her - Hermione isn't a woman any longer. She's a beast, a creature. The figure, the assassin, the murderer, turns to try and run, to twist out of the way and lurch to escape but that does nothing more than ignite the instincts that have become a part of Hermione over the last year. A lioness hunts her prey, chases them, and a figure moving to escape does nothing more than prickle at those powerful, intense feelings, a low, curling growl resounding through the forest.
The lioness doesn't remember that Dorian is immortal. A crazed mind doesn't remember that her friend will be back. All she can see is death, agony and pain, instinct telling her to grab, bite, tear, rip apart, punish, destroy this creature for daring to touch him, for daring to even consider, let alone perform, such a horrific act on someone that she adores, that she loves, someone that is hers, her family.
Wings spread, Hermione soars, her claws hitting the woman's shoulder, pulling her back, sinking in to the skin and giving the lioness enough leverage to turn her head, sinking large fangs into the spot along her neck, biting down and tilting her head, twisting at the throat under her. It's not so much a rip as it is a pull, her mouth wrinkling as her teeth sink deeper, deeper, tongue enjoying the taste of the blood in the way only a predator could. She's nothing more than a beast of instinct, wanting to take down her prey, the idea of her pride being threatened making her rage.
Blood drips from her jowls, the flesh clinging to her fangs, to the skin, the twitch of her whiskers, crunching around bone and pressing deeper. Her giant paw moves, scratching at the flesh, digging, making sure that the woman is dead, that the pull of spine, of skin, of muscle and pure flesh had been enough to remove her life. Lions suffocate and her jaw had clutched around the neck, pulling, making sure there was no room for air, no room for anything other than death.
The lioness swallows.
It feels good, like the kill has lifted some of the weight from her heart. It's pure pleasure, the knowledge of a successful hunt, and to a mind burning with instinct and pain, all rationality gone and humanity pushed to one side in a fit of rage and agony, it feels like bliss. No more threat to her pride, no more threat to the people she loves, gone, gone, simply gone, destroyed and ripped apart as punishment for choosing to dare attack someone else that the lioness has chosen to protect. It's the first time she has ever taken any pleasure in hurting anyone, her lion-mind accepting it and enjoying it, almost purring from the pure excitement and joy of having taken down the creature that tried to escape her punishing call.
Slowly, she turns, face covered in human blood and goes back to Dorian's body. It takes a few minutes for her to calm her panting breathing, her nose nudging his face, decorating it with a print of the shape of her snout, but then she flops, dropping at his side, paw on his shoulder. There's soft snuffling noises from the nose of the lion, his blood under her stomach, on the fur of her hind, staining her like she has rolled in it for her own pleasure.
She turns back like that but, when she does, not even the blood on her face and lips can stop her sobs.
(In the background, a figure watches, and he revels in her suffering.) ]
"Dorian... Where are the birds?" That's how it starts; silence, nothing but silence, a girl and her friend walking through a forest. They walk and pause and tilt their heads, but nothing comes - there are no birds, no small squirrels, nothing that indicates life whatsoever. Hermione might not be a warrior but she is not a fool, either; she knows the signs as well as anyone and a sense of panic grips her above anything else.
The first thing she notices is the sickly, familiar smell of blood, metallic in the air, like iron on her tongue, her throat catching with it. She stumbles forward, her hands shaking even as she moves to shove Dorian behind her, heart racing too fast in her chest, her eyes flicking here and there, desperate and unsure. There's so much that she can't focus on one thing in particular, there's nothing she can do except move forward and try and follow the trail - Adela had to be alright, there was no reason, why would anyone -- she looked up.
Hanging from one of the trees is the body of a woman, swinging in the barely-there breeze. It was high, higher than she thought would be possible, but they had been gone a while and there had been time enough, to make a point, to leave this mark for Hermione to see, to make her hands shake and cover her mouth, the violent urge to throw up twisting inside of her. She could see the inside of the neck, the blood dripping down, a spoiling the simple dress her handmaiden had been wearing.
"We should go," Dorian says as he reaches for Hermione's hand. "Apparate us out of here." It doesn't work. An arrow slams into Hermione and suddenly all her magic is limited, twisting down until she feels like she's chained with it, her heart in her throat as Dorian steps forward to defend her, to protect her, even though that was her job, her duty, she was the one that was supposed to love and protect -
Everything seems to happen so fast. Dorian is on the ground, a woman crushing his hand with the heel of her boot, and Hermione is pressed with her back against a tree, defenceless and hopeless, her eyes wide and her breathing coming harder and harder because there's nothing she can do. There's no way for her to get out of this and it burns, agony fuelling her as she watches her friend scream out in agonising pain as his bones are ruined because of her.
"Marchioness Granger." There's a woman's voice, deep, trembling with barely restrained anger. "It isn't so easy to crush us when your magic is blocked, is it?"
"Leave him alone." Hermione steps forward, head held high, expression tight, pained and angry. She keeps her eyes glued on the woman, her chest heaving even as she tries to block out all the things she's feeling. "You want me? Take me. But hurt him and - and you will regret ever coming here. You've already taken Adela and she was innocent. Don't hurt someone else when you have the chance to be merciful."
"Traitors aren't innocent." Dorian pushes, and surprise his advantage, and the woman stumbles and he scrambles to get to his feet, scrambles to get up and get between this woman and Hermione, (he can't lose Hermione, that's what he told her he was thinking, later, alone in her room), his teeth are bared and his hands go for the throat and with just one push, this woman has Dorian pressed against the tree, pressed to Hermione to pin her in place, so that he can feel that arrow.
She and Dorian are pressed against each other - Dorian to her front, the tree to her back, the hurt of the arrow in her skin making her cry out even as she shifts to try and give him room to find his freedom. It doesn't work.
Then there's a sword through Dorian's gut. It goes far enough that Hermione can feel it press into her stomach, that she knows if she pushes forward it would be enough to press into her gut and kill her, too.
"Just push a little further," a voice tells Hermione, "and spare the rest of us any more of your mistakes." It's the last real thing she remembers; the last real thing that prickles in her mind and echoes in her memories. The rest is something of a blur, but details often come back over time, bringing her more pain, more agony, more hurt.
Dorian is dead. Dorian died, Dorian is gone, he stepped between a blade meant for her, a sword that was intended to cut her down, traitors aren't innocent, and she feels like she's going to be sick. Her hands move, grasping at him, covered in his blood as she shakes his body, the noise of his organs, pierced and cut with the blade, moving along it, making her shake and stare. He's breaking from the inside out but there's nothing there to feel it, nothing and no one there to feel the drop of his blood, to see the stain on her, her clothes, her skin and her face, her hands reaching up to touch his cheeks, leaving bloody wet hand prints against his pale skin.
"No, no, Dorian, please, don't - don't do this, please, please-"
It comes out as a desperate sob, the shaken hand moving to grip at the metal hilt. She did this. This is her fault, she had pushed the blame, she had broken her vow, even months later people still hated her, and with the rising pillar of Caer Scima back she knew that the guilt would leave her broken and hating herself. He's gone, he's gone, and Hermione wails, shifting with bloody hands to nudge him back, the woman not tearing the blade out to let his body drop, pushing it deeper instead. It's a desperate, lost noise, her body shaking as the woman laughs, seeing the horror and the pain on her face, the knowledge that Hermione was suffering as much as she had deserved from the moment she had proven herself to be a traitor of her word, to have worked with the Courts, to hold a Shard and rise against them.
Hermione knows she could push forward, she could end it. She would come back shardless, with nothing but her name and her magic, nothing of her own, and it would be so easy. After everything she had done it would be easy, letting her be free of all the pain - but Dorian had died for her, she had her friends, she had been fighting so hard, she had been pushing to make the world better, to make everything brighter, and the gasping noise that falls from her mouth is a low, angry sound, a growl, deep in her throat. It doesn't sound proper, real, she's too human for that, but something comes over her.
She draws the blade out, ignoring the sick sound of flesh against steel, dropping it to one side. When she steps forward it's not a simple movement; partway through it turns into a leap, Hermione's body shifting. She is not simply a woman, she hasn't been for almost a year, and the urge to bite, fight, to punish this person for taking an innocent life, for the blood on her hands and the pressure of it touching her - it overtakes her, twisting her body. The magic she uses to become a lioness, to take her sigil, feels removed from the pressure of the magic of her own world, a Monarch given prize that doesn't take as much power as it might have if she had been an at Hogwarts.
The woman screams as the lioness overcomes her - Hermione isn't a woman any longer. She's a beast, a creature. The figure, the assassin, the murderer, turns to try and run, to twist out of the way and lurch to escape but that does nothing more than ignite the instincts that have become a part of Hermione over the last year. A lioness hunts her prey, chases them, and a figure moving to escape does nothing more than prickle at those powerful, intense feelings, a low, curling growl resounding through the forest.
The lioness doesn't remember that Dorian is immortal. A crazed mind doesn't remember that her friend will be back. All she can see is death, agony and pain, instinct telling her to grab, bite, tear, rip apart, punish, destroy this creature for daring to touch him, for daring to even consider, let alone perform, such a horrific act on someone that she adores, that she loves, someone that is hers, her family.
Wings spread, Hermione soars, her claws hitting the woman's shoulder, pulling her back, sinking in to the skin and giving the lioness enough leverage to turn her head, sinking large fangs into the spot along her neck, biting down and tilting her head, twisting at the throat under her. It's not so much a rip as it is a pull, her mouth wrinkling as her teeth sink deeper, deeper, tongue enjoying the taste of the blood in the way only a predator could. She's nothing more than a beast of instinct, wanting to take down her prey, the idea of her pride being threatened making her rage.
Blood drips from her jowls, the flesh clinging to her fangs, to the skin, the twitch of her whiskers, crunching around bone and pressing deeper. Her giant paw moves, scratching at the flesh, digging, making sure that the woman is dead, that the pull of spine, of skin, of muscle and pure flesh had been enough to remove her life. Lions suffocate and her jaw had clutched around the neck, pulling, making sure there was no room for air, no room for anything other than death.
The lioness swallows.
It feels good, like the kill has lifted some of the weight from her heart. It's pure pleasure, the knowledge of a successful hunt, and to a mind burning with instinct and pain, all rationality gone and humanity pushed to one side in a fit of rage and agony, it feels like bliss. No more threat to her pride, no more threat to the people she loves, gone, gone, simply gone, destroyed and ripped apart as punishment for choosing to dare attack someone else that the lioness has chosen to protect. It's the first time she has ever taken any pleasure in hurting anyone, her lion-mind accepting it and enjoying it, almost purring from the pure excitement and joy of having taken down the creature that tried to escape her punishing call.
Slowly, she turns, face covered in human blood and goes back to Dorian's body. It takes a few minutes for her to calm her panting breathing, her nose nudging his face, decorating it with a print of the shape of her snout, but then she flops, dropping at his side, paw on his shoulder. There's soft snuffling noises from the nose of the lion, his blood under her stomach, on the fur of her hind, staining her like she has rolled in it for her own pleasure.
She turns back like that but, when she does, not even the blood on her face and lips can stop her sobs.
(In the background, a figure watches, and he revels in her suffering.) ]
I'd like to talk, if you're willing.
Is this other Drabwurld girl a friend of yours? Because she's hilarious.
Happy birthday, Hermione! Somebody on the fleet told us it's your birthday today! What kind of stuff do you want for your birthday? Do you want a party, Cheese and I can throw one for you super quick if you want. What's your favorite kind of cake?
So I hear its a special mage lady's birthday~
[A message he will leave, then.]
I hear it happens to be a certain mage's birthday. You should have said something, we could have had a party!
I have a present for you, so you know. Oh, and for Crookshanks too.
I hear it happens to be a certain mage's birthday. You should have said something, we could have had a party!
I have a present for you, so you know. Oh, and for Crookshanks too.
[Tamamo has been sleeping well lately, especially with the magical aura of the nearby planet, but that can't last forever. Her dreams and memories have to resurface eventually.
When she's first summoned, the first thing she does is change her hairstyle. It's simple, and not really a big difference, but she hopes it will make her appear more mature. If there's one mistake she learned from at the end of her life, it is that she has to be serious. A light-hearted, whimsical approach that she'd always taken is what made it possible for everyone to believe she could betray Emperor Toba. This time, she won't repeat that mistake. She will serve with all of her heart, so that her loyalty would be without question.
Her Master is a man with a kind heart. She can tell- He's kind. Too kind, even. He was a doctor, and now as a fighter in the Holy Grail War, he only wants to save lives... He can't bear to take them. He's too kind, too soft, and completely unsuited for battle. He's without a doubt the weakest Master of the war, and she is easily the weakest Servant.
So it comes as no surprise when, in a mere few days, and she's instantly killed with three well-aimed arrows that weren't even a Noble Phantasm.
The surprise comse after. Rather than returning to the Moon Cell's records, she finds her and her Master in what can be only thought of as a distortion in time. (Not time, she thinks. The Moon Cell's war ended without a winner, so it's simply starting a new one.) When the Holy Grail War begins again, she and her Master are there to try once more- Her Master, after all, is actually just an NPC. A long-dead record of a human who was brought in to be an NPC helper for the war, but who gained awareness of himself and became a Master.
The next War, she's killed by an unbreakable sword, and returns to the twist in space-time. Her Master follows shortly, and they return to try again.
She apologizes with every defeat, and her Master laughs it off. They can try as many times as they need. That is their special advantage, after all. Caster sighs, grateful for his kindness, but still upset that she cannot take him to victory. She is determined to try again. (The sun burns in her mind, a power that could overwrite the moon, but that would give up her status as a Servant... No, beyond that, it would be giving up her identity, and becoming just another wakemitama.)
Achilles' hero-slaying spear. Atalanta's arrows. Lancelot's holy sword. Kintoki's hatchet. A strange demonic axe, or blasts of light and fire. Sometimes, she's killed before even knowing there's an enemy, and she realizes her enemy must have been an Assassin. Sometimes, she survives for weeks, sometimes, she's killed within days.
Her Master's smile becomes more tired, and Caster's guilt grows worse. She wonders if he isn't changing... He no longer seems as kind or soft as he used to. But she banishes that thought- She cannot question her Master. If anything is wrong, it's on her own fault for being too weak. After a loss, he comforts her as always- That it was inevitable, he says. He won't ever ask her for results beyond her ability.
Victory is beyond her ability, as he says. Their losses together, their deaths together... They've already done it over a hundred times. Every time, she picks herself back up. This time, she'll try harder. No matter how many times, no matter how many deaths, no matter how many Noble Phantasms she faces, to fulfill her dream... To be a good Servant, to be a good wife, she'll keep trying. She'll win eventually... Even if it's a one-in-a-million fluke that lets her win, she has the chance to try those million times until it happens. They will just continue on, unchanging.
But after her last defeat, as she waits for her Master in the twist of space-time, he seems a little slow. She isn't sure how how long she waits, but as soon as he appears, she immediately rushes to his side. As usual, she lowers her head and apologizes. As usual, she's told it's all right. But unusually, it ends with him raising his hand. The three Command Seals that have never been used shine...
"With three Command Spells, I declare our contract ended."
The seals flash, and vanish, and the cord holding her, the right to manifest, is taken away. She finds herself fading, but as she does, she has enough time to speak- She begs him to reconsider. That next time, she'll win for him. So...
He simply turns away. He won't ask for results beyond her ability, after all. So, if winning is beyond her ability, he'll simply try again. He'll try again and again, until he gets a strong Servant. One strong enough to bring about his ideals.
Before she can respond, she fades, sinking back into the Moon Cell's records. And when it is time for him to summon a new Servant, obediently, she remains without responding.]
When she's first summoned, the first thing she does is change her hairstyle. It's simple, and not really a big difference, but she hopes it will make her appear more mature. If there's one mistake she learned from at the end of her life, it is that she has to be serious. A light-hearted, whimsical approach that she'd always taken is what made it possible for everyone to believe she could betray Emperor Toba. This time, she won't repeat that mistake. She will serve with all of her heart, so that her loyalty would be without question.
Her Master is a man with a kind heart. She can tell- He's kind. Too kind, even. He was a doctor, and now as a fighter in the Holy Grail War, he only wants to save lives... He can't bear to take them. He's too kind, too soft, and completely unsuited for battle. He's without a doubt the weakest Master of the war, and she is easily the weakest Servant.
So it comes as no surprise when, in a mere few days, and she's instantly killed with three well-aimed arrows that weren't even a Noble Phantasm.
The surprise comse after. Rather than returning to the Moon Cell's records, she finds her and her Master in what can be only thought of as a distortion in time. (Not time, she thinks. The Moon Cell's war ended without a winner, so it's simply starting a new one.) When the Holy Grail War begins again, she and her Master are there to try once more- Her Master, after all, is actually just an NPC. A long-dead record of a human who was brought in to be an NPC helper for the war, but who gained awareness of himself and became a Master.
The next War, she's killed by an unbreakable sword, and returns to the twist in space-time. Her Master follows shortly, and they return to try again.
She apologizes with every defeat, and her Master laughs it off. They can try as many times as they need. That is their special advantage, after all. Caster sighs, grateful for his kindness, but still upset that she cannot take him to victory. She is determined to try again. (The sun burns in her mind, a power that could overwrite the moon, but that would give up her status as a Servant... No, beyond that, it would be giving up her identity, and becoming just another wakemitama.)
Achilles' hero-slaying spear. Atalanta's arrows. Lancelot's holy sword. Kintoki's hatchet. A strange demonic axe, or blasts of light and fire. Sometimes, she's killed before even knowing there's an enemy, and she realizes her enemy must have been an Assassin. Sometimes, she survives for weeks, sometimes, she's killed within days.
Her Master's smile becomes more tired, and Caster's guilt grows worse. She wonders if he isn't changing... He no longer seems as kind or soft as he used to. But she banishes that thought- She cannot question her Master. If anything is wrong, it's on her own fault for being too weak. After a loss, he comforts her as always- That it was inevitable, he says. He won't ever ask her for results beyond her ability.
Victory is beyond her ability, as he says. Their losses together, their deaths together... They've already done it over a hundred times. Every time, she picks herself back up. This time, she'll try harder. No matter how many times, no matter how many deaths, no matter how many Noble Phantasms she faces, to fulfill her dream... To be a good Servant, to be a good wife, she'll keep trying. She'll win eventually... Even if it's a one-in-a-million fluke that lets her win, she has the chance to try those million times until it happens. They will just continue on, unchanging.
But after her last defeat, as she waits for her Master in the twist of space-time, he seems a little slow. She isn't sure how how long she waits, but as soon as he appears, she immediately rushes to his side. As usual, she lowers her head and apologizes. As usual, she's told it's all right. But unusually, it ends with him raising his hand. The three Command Seals that have never been used shine...
"With three Command Spells, I declare our contract ended."
The seals flash, and vanish, and the cord holding her, the right to manifest, is taken away. She finds herself fading, but as she does, she has enough time to speak- She begs him to reconsider. That next time, she'll win for him. So...
He simply turns away. He won't ask for results beyond her ability, after all. So, if winning is beyond her ability, he'll simply try again. He'll try again and again, until he gets a strong Servant. One strong enough to bring about his ideals.
Before she can respond, she fades, sinking back into the Moon Cell's records. And when it is time for him to summon a new Servant, obediently, she remains without responding.]
[ The memories come and sink into Hermione's consciousness like whiplash, striking her down and making her feel weak and vulnerable. There's nothing she can do; they swirl around in her mind and she can't stop it, can't fight back, can only watch as Caster is killed time and time again, hundreds of times, playing out like a grotesque picture show for her and her alone. The only relief that comes is tinged with sadness and pain as the Master breaks their contract, abandoning Caster back to the Cell that she was trapped into, and she feels...
Broken.
When Hermione wakes up she breathes out a sharp noise, shivering a little before she pushes herself to her feet. She looks around but can't stop - she slides out of her bed and along to where she knows Caster will be (her Servant doesn't sleep with her unless asked, and Hermione doesn't ask often).
It's easy, then, to slip up and lay on the bed beside Tamamo, to reach out and put a hand on her head, gently, stroking through her hair. When she speaks, her voice is a low, quiet whisper. ]
It's okay. I'm here.
Broken.
When Hermione wakes up she breathes out a sharp noise, shivering a little before she pushes herself to her feet. She looks around but can't stop - she slides out of her bed and along to where she knows Caster will be (her Servant doesn't sleep with her unless asked, and Hermione doesn't ask often).
It's easy, then, to slip up and lay on the bed beside Tamamo, to reach out and put a hand on her head, gently, stroking through her hair. When she speaks, her voice is a low, quiet whisper. ]
It's okay. I'm here.
Have you had a chance to try any of the food found on this planet?
[Before he can stop himself, Ignis goes to find Hermione to talk to her about...things. It's been weeks since that strange month of memory sharing and he's had a lot to think about in the meantime. Granted, a great deal of his time has been spent helping Noctis and Lunafreya for their upcoming wedding, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been thinking and trying to find a way to approach the woman.
It's not that he's afraid of talking to her. Or even examining his own feelings and actions regarding what they've seen about the other. He's just not sure what to do. And if there's something he dislikes more than dealing with Ardyn, it's uncertainty.
But uncertainty is life and he can't—and won't—avoid her.
He begins his search at her library on the Iskaulit. It seems the most logical place, considering what he knows of her.]
Hermione, are you here?
It's not that he's afraid of talking to her. Or even examining his own feelings and actions regarding what they've seen about the other. He's just not sure what to do. And if there's something he dislikes more than dealing with Ardyn, it's uncertainty.
But uncertainty is life and he can't—and won't—avoid her.
He begins his search at her library on the Iskaulit. It seems the most logical place, considering what he knows of her.]
Hermione, are you here?
[ While Hermione hasn't been actively avoiding the people who saw her in calibrations - that would be a little bit too difficult, even for her - she hasn't been going out of her way to find them either. A lot of what people saw were personal things that she struggles to talk about on a good day, let alone when her mind is broadcast for the entire world to see. A part of her is a touch ashamed of herself, for how her mind showed aspects of her life, even as she struggles to remind herself she had no control over it.
She finds comfort, of course, in a little corner of the library, the same place she used to go and read with Erik when he had been around. Not too many people bothered to come poking around the books most of the time, so it was quiet and comfortable.
The silence is broken by someone calling her name and she frowns, leaning forward and lowering her book. She recognises the voice after a moment and, hesitantly, she calls back. ]
I'm here. At the back.
She finds comfort, of course, in a little corner of the library, the same place she used to go and read with Erik when he had been around. Not too many people bothered to come poking around the books most of the time, so it was quiet and comfortable.
The silence is broken by someone calling her name and she frowns, leaning forward and lowering her book. She recognises the voice after a moment and, hesitantly, she calls back. ]
I'm here. At the back.
[Justice has been spending most of his time getting refugees settled and fretting over Riona and Anders, but that doesn't mean he doesn't consider the people he met during the evacuation. He remembers the young mage he assisted during the confusion, and he'd like to make sure that she's okay.
He finds her in Iskaulit's library, looking through the shelves. He doesn't immediately approach her, instead observing quietly (and without blinking because that's not creepy at all). He likes libraries. They hum with the wonder of a reader cracking open a thousand new books, imagining a new story a thousand times for the very first time.]
Are you well? [He speaks without preamble because he's socially graceful like that.]
He finds her in Iskaulit's library, looking through the shelves. He doesn't immediately approach her, instead observing quietly (and without blinking because that's not creepy at all). He likes libraries. They hum with the wonder of a reader cracking open a thousand new books, imagining a new story a thousand times for the very first time.]
Are you well? [He speaks without preamble because he's socially graceful like that.]
[ The library is a comfort now, a focus point for her and all her thoughts when so many things are going through her mind. She has people she needs to check on and plants to water and potions to make, but here she can let it all go to rest for a little bit. She could sit and read books for days and days and end up re-reading all of them at least three times, but at least she would be comfortable and at peace. That makes her feel a little bit better; she has somewhere to relax her.
The voice makes her turn and her eyes track Justice a little warily before she recognises him and relaxes, all the tension seeping away. It's someone she knows and someone she trusts, just enough, and it means she can put her things down and turn to give him a soft, fond smile. ]
I'm doing fine, thank you. How are you?
The voice makes her turn and her eyes track Justice a little warily before she recognises him and relaxes, all the tension seeping away. It's someone she knows and someone she trusts, just enough, and it means she can put her things down and turn to give him a soft, fond smile. ]
I'm doing fine, thank you. How are you?
[Once all the dust settled and he's sure that his crew is safe, he has others he must check in on. He wastes no time in picking up his communicator and reaching out to one of the two most important people to him that isn't on the First Breath.]
Hermione, are you okay? Do you need anything?
[Belatedly...]
Ah, and is your crew fine?
Hermione, are you okay? Do you need anything?
[Belatedly...]
Ah, and is your crew fine?
[ Hermione is a little bit of a mess, a little bit bruised and battered, but she's healed the worst of it - her broken fingers have been repaired and the cuts along her skin are dirty but taken care of. When she hears the device suddenly make a noise she's grabbing at it with shaking fingers. ]
Ignis! Thank goodness you're alright.
[ Since he can communicate and all. ]
I - I don't know. I wasn't in orbit with them, I was in a shuttle. I haven't heard anything, but I have no idea if they've crashed too. What about yours? Do you need anything?
Ignis! Thank goodness you're alright.
[ Since he can communicate and all. ]
I - I don't know. I wasn't in orbit with them, I was in a shuttle. I haven't heard anything, but I have no idea if they've crashed too. What about yours? Do you need anything?
(This would be after the comms were put back up. That's what I get for not paying attention.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blindrecipe
- 2017-10-23 05:26 (UTC) - Expand[A few days after they're all settled back onto their ships and in orbit, Ignis contacts Hermione.]
I would like to see if you, if you're not busy.
I would like to see if you, if you're not busy.
Hermione, when you get a chance, I need to ask you about something. Something I need help with.
Hey! I've got some time, if you wanna pick up those pictures. Or I can meet you somewhere. Lemme know!
It's been too long since we have waxed poetic about magical theory. You are overdue, my dear lady.
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