The Ximilia Wayverse

[bushyeyebrows]

BOOK ONE: Danger Days

PART I. "If you haven't noticed, I can't dance." — well. not like anyone else in the crowd, a mixture of frenetic energy and what borders on lewd, sinuous. | (NSFW Section)

PART II. "Hey, Party, I was looking all over for you; you forgot your jacket! It's gonna be almost freezing. Dr. D said so on the radio." The springy-haired girl, tanned and adorned with bracelets and bright colors and a newly acquired tutu with chunks eaten by the elements, hops along toward Party to hold out his signature jacket, the one he'd left in her charge.

PART III. "We'll stop here for the night." As he starts to pull over on the dirt road, he looks over at Alina, eyebrows raised. "... We've got some business to take care of, but tomorrow morning — anywhere you want us to drive you, we'll go. Besides, you might wanna hear some of what we're intercepting."

PART IV. she has to factor in the fact that he might very well prefer to be without her company. sleeping beside someone requires a level of trust she knows she hasn't fully earned just yet, much as she wants to be worthy of it. her eyes flicker to the unzipped sleeping bag and up to him, a silent question in her gaze, as she waits for some sign of permission.

PART V. Dr. Death Defy's little home away from home is full of vinyl and old, reburnished record players. They're too outdated for the BLI to bother with, even as scraps, but they can be pretty long-lasting if you keep the sand away from 'em. Show Pony's the first to greet them at the door, in all of their genderless glory and still rocking their skates and helmet; their voice is sweet and soft and not at all something you'd expect out here in the desert as they greet Baby and gesture her to follow after them.

PART VI. "Intercepting the Dracs now," Party chimes in, "We've got their attention; leading them to the west. They're scattering from the truck, just like planned. Cherri, how many bullets you got in that sniper rifle?"

PART VII. "Why are you really here? Not here in this bathroom, but here in the zones. What really brought you out here?"

PART VIII. And that's how life is, for the days that follow. Alina gets her time to become comfortable in the Four, to experience days where lazing about is actually possible, like lizards basking in the sun. They outrun Dracs on their way to concerts and parties, practice shooting and gagging on the grossest moonshine available where booze gets scarce. Kobra gets a birthday comprised of snacks out of a vending machine Alina helped burst open, and someone finds a guitar for them to all stubbornly try to play until they can hold a melody. | (NSFW Section)

PART IX. They can hear Ghoul looong before he enters the diner, and he hasn't stopped talking the moment he came through the front doors. Something about losing fuzzy dice, then hollering for Party and Angel like he's their nagging wife — and when he opens the door into the back, he's mid-sentence in his complaints: "For the record, I'm not the one who gave Kobra a black eyyoh come on!"

PART X. And for a while, it was good. It was good. It was... It was a sunny day, the day that they took Motorbaby.

PART XI. "You're not going to lose me. And you're not going to lose her, either. I promise. But ... " she hesitates for a heartbeat. every move she makes is careful not to disturb his injuries as she crawls over him in a hover, setting herself as light as a feather in his lap. a gentle weight that tries to ground him here, with her, in case the hole in his chest eats away at him until there's only pain and anger left.

PART XII. "I have someone coming over later. Someone who can help us get a message to your kid." she hesitates for a lurching heartbeat, wondering if it's too presumptuous of her to claim any part of this family as hers when she quietly amends, "Our kid. I thought if we could reach her, she'll feel a little less alone."

PART XIII. Party blinks blearily at Alina, seems like he's going to speak, and then slumps back to sleep again with a soft smack of his lips. Show Pony touches a hand to their face with a sigh. "... Do you think you'll be able to keep him awake long enough for that shower?"

PART XIV. her fingers tangle around party's, weaving them together. radio static filters out of the bathroom as she watches some of their crew step inside, eyes catching on the drawing still clutched in el's hands before she passes motorbaby's artwork back to alina. she transfers it to jet with a small, wistful smile for safekeeping. leaning over toward party's shoulder, she murmurs, quiet: "Ready?"

PART XV. "Your turn to regale me," she murmurs into his cheek, ignoring her breathlessness. "What does Party Poison's future look like in your imagination?" now that this hard-fought war is on its final legs, ushering in a new future that's so close alina can taste the promise of it.

PART XVI. Tomorrow. Curled up beside Alina in one of the numerous little tents, he quietly toys with a curl of her red-tipped hair, suddenly too aware of why she enjoyed reaching up and doing the same to him. He should be asleep. He should be, but he can't stop thinking about what's coming tomorrow. Instead he's hyperaware of the tangle of their legs together, of the sounds of some crewmembers still laughing and awake by a bonfire — he hears Jet's laughter, he's pretty sure. He's so awake it hurts, even as his body aches still from the process of healing.

PART XVII. When he awakens, it's to a different air. Not completely serious, no — there is lightness even in the dawn of an epilogue, and the orbers and killjoys are all too used to using humor to dispel the grimness of any situation. But there's an undeniable tension in the concept of time. People check watches, measure the sun in the sky, prepare their kits, their weapons, their plans.

PART XVIII. the tears come until they can't anymore, the streaky tackiness of the trails they've left behind concealed the press of her face in her knees, refusing to emerge until she has no other choice but to face the rest of the day. all she can do now is brace herself for the finality of seeing them cold and gone. and so she waits in that same spot, muscles aching painfully with her refusal to move an inch, for cherri to bring them back home.

PART XIX. forcing herself to study kobra's profile in the sparse starlight is a unique type of pain. party echoes within him, most of all. her mind torments her with its focus on their similarities, seeing him reflected in his brother's face, until she has to tear her eyes away to the jangle of his bracelet. "He told me. About ... the fires, and everything he's done to protect you. He fought for you to live. That's the best way you can honor him now. By living."

PART XX. "We're family now. All of us. You're stuck with me no matter what." aren't they? she's always understood a home to be the place you feel safest, and loved. accepted.

TO BE CONTINUED. "I'm sorry about Party," Viveca tells her quietly, and everyone wanders tiredly through the halls, like any other mission. Like always. And as the last orb quietly joins the ranks of the other orbs, it hesitates — floats and flickers and considers, as Degar's eyebrow raises at the sight.

NOTE: STOP READING AT THIS LINE: "And so things carry on. Days turn into weeks."

BOOK TWO: The Black Parade

PART I. the underworld. the abyss. the pit. elysium. paradise. viveca's file had given it a fair share of names, but alina finds that none fit as well as the great beyond. there's no end to the scenery that sprawls out in front of her, shifting with each step. bombed out buildings. dead sand beneath her boots. decaying trees rotting at their roots. nothing alive but the heart beating in her chest, warm in the absence of ...

PART II. He shows her as much when they at last approach a clearing with a small park. Children's toys, somewhat worn and in need of replacement. As they walk, the parader puts an arm out — stops Alina before she can continue. And the reason seems to be this: Up ahead, there's a figure wandering rather aimlessly. Judging by the messy clothing and unkempt hair, one would assume homeless, which he would attest is a fair assessment (and he has certainly seen his share of ghosts without homes). As the reaper studies the scene, he hums to himself: "Duty calls. Try not to startle, darling."

PART III. Instead, he turns to look at her, nodding toward the bank of the lake where some ducks are currently wading back into the waters; there are families picnicking and the sun's out, and really, it's just a lovely place to sit and relax. So why is it that the figure huddled up on his haunches near the lake's edge radiate such unhappy energy? A bowed head donning what seems to be an old army helmet doesn't turn to them, even as the parader calls out: "Michaelson? Don't tell me you haven't left this spot since the private last saw you."

PART IV. thankfully, some of the air refills her lungs, now that she isn't rushing to keep pace. she expels a winded breath, keen to pretend she hadn't raced ahead, in a staunch refusal to be left behind. at least, side by side, she doesn't have the impression she's trailing after him like a lost duckling. or, worse, a soldier following higher command. that comparison would inflate his ego too violently, she's sure. "You haven't forgotten I'm a living thing, have you? We have needs. I'm still going to have to stop to sleep. Or eat. Or — whatever else."

PART V. He rises out of the floor of Alina's hotel room just before the sun rises, crawling across the floor almost drunkenly before he drags himself onto the bed — a whisper of a creak — and lies there with his back to her as she sleeps, absently sliding his hand back and forth through the remote control on the nightstand while he stares at it.

PART VI. "You're awfully loud. And dramatic. And you sulk when the attention isn't on you."
"I do not sulk." he says, sulking. "And I'm not that loud!" he says, loudly.

PART VII. Wrong direction indeed. Franklin's back in her line of sight, and he offers a short, courteous wave. "Try not to get killed by shadowy monsters of death." Before she can probably point her finger and give him any additional pieces of her mind, Zeke starts walking her forward with that same obnoxiously aware smile.

PART VIII. The sidewalk splatters with an inky black not unlike the reaper's blood — and in no more than a breath, a creature lunges up and out of the mess, towering over Ezekiel on four black legs; a beast with a canine-like skull, so large that it matches the nearby homes. There's no mistaking it: it's the creature that had consumed Reyes and the other reapers, mouth dripping with black tar, shadows heavy in its features.

PART IX. her fingertips graze the lock, heating to a glowing point until it melts into a dripping puddle. the door yields to her with a twist of the knob as she shoots him a smug look and disappears inside, no violence or dramatically embellished performance necessary for this anti-climatic pay-off.

PART X. Standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with her, he studies the front door. A red one, with a pretty little sign on the front that says: 'Welc😸me! I hope you like cats! 🐾' — which it elicits a cringe out of him instinctively, because it's- "So unbelievably tacky. I'll bet she has five cats. No, six."

PART XI. The General's other hand roughly pulls back the reaper's sleeve, and Alina's handprint stands out against his pale skin, raised and scarred. Zeke's rounded gaze moves from the mark to the General's pinprick-sharp stare, expression finally crumpling into fear. "As I feared," The General says, clicking his tongue. "They saw you and her, alright. And though you're one of my favorites, I have to punish you fairly."

PART XII. There's a distant wailing, ghostly in the way it hangs on the air. Ancient anguish befitting a haunted house. Then — when Alina approaches closer — the awful moans cease, replaced with sharp-edged silence. Those handprints lead to the underbelly of a broken bed, one intimately akin to the kind you'd find in hospital, and beneath it blackened fingers curl tightly around the legs. The man who has crushed himself as tightly as he can beneath the structure stares out like a deer in the headlights. His clothing is still ripped apart and looks more like a shroud, like a beggar's tattered uniform, with the healthy fat sucked from his face, his fingers, his shoulders. A step away from skeletal, like the corpse he likely is in a cemetery not so far from here.

PART XIII. and whether that's temporary remains to be seen. a product of his memory loss he hadn't warned her to anticipate. less obnoxious, he'd said; alina snorts, finding that theory of his absolutely debunked, and returns his glower with one of her own sour little glares. "Oh, here we go again. Yes, you've very dark and mysterious and don't care about anything. You've convinced me."

PART XIV. there's only a single moment where she hesitates, hand raised in the air and retracting back, before her thumb reaches out to follow the same path beneath his eye, wiping away the lingering splashes of dampness with more softness than he'd shown himself. "You're you again?"

PART XV. "I remember standing in the back of the crowd, wondering what it was they were all so eager for. Didn't they know they were going to come back missing bits and pieces? In boxes? If they weren't left in ditches."

PART XVI. "There must be other things you dream about. Experiences you've never had, or... memories you miss. I don't think they make giant chocolate cakes for reapers, but — is there nothing else you want? Small or big. We can start a list."

PART XVII. "You're both very difficult to find right now." The darkly spun shadow steps out into a single hanging light in the room, hands folded behind his back, expression neigh unreadable as the General studies Alina Starkov where she's left standing in her own head. "What did you do to mask your whereabouts, little girl?"

PART XVIII. And yet he can feel them dragging back again. As if they're fighting a current. The ambulance siren grows louder beneath them, and he knows what he's gotta do. And she won't like it. But since when does he care what she likes? Pfft. He's death himself. He's the Parader. He does whatever the hell he wants. Grinning against the crown of her head where it had been tucked beneath him, he gives her a sudden swing — and throws her upward.

PART XIX. And for the first two, three minutes, Alina is left to practice. The lull of the piano may very well distract from the quietly shifting space in the wall behind her — and it's from there that a shape crawls out with all intention to be unnoticed. Ezekiel's not the quietest, most assuming reaper. He isn't good at stealth, at being unseen. No, that would be Michaelson, who points his rifle at her. It announces his presence when he pulls back the bolt with a loud click. "I-I knew he'd c-come here."

PART XX. "What I want to know is what your general offered it in return. I suppose it doesn't really matter, but ... I can't think of a single thing that would be important to a man like that. He doesn't exactly inspire warm, cuddly sentiments." which leaves one other possible explanation: he's seized power at the cost of someone, or something, else. contented himself with inflicting suffering, so long as he isn't the one that has to pay in blood. unsurprising, but repulsive all the same.

PART XXI. "You can inform him I'm so busy bathing in a sink and trying on little boy's sweaters. I don't know when I'll be done with such grueling work. Waiting can't possibly kill him a second time."

PART XXII. Ezekiel stares for a long, thoughtful moment at the door, his hand hovering over her wrist. The gears are turning, and his brow furrows before he turns to her — with all the determination in the world. His voice is low but steady, the sound of someone standing fearlessly at the edge of a minefield with newfound nerves of steel. "What if we don't go? What if we hold our ground, stop the creature, here and now?"

PART XXIII. There's a loud pop behind the two of them, and one final, insignificant bullet fires over their heads. It finds a home in the remaining chunk of ashy white bone in the creature's mask. As it splinters into pieces, the oozing, gurgling beast stops dead in its tracks, staggering, stumbling, falling over and curling its legs up like an insect in its death throes. Michaelson stands behind Alina, slowly lowering his own gun. "I wasn't too slow, this time."

PART XXIV. "Don't nag me yet, doll." It's a petulant comment, spoken the moment he can sense the aura of someone ready to give him a stern talking to; he shakily pulls himself to use the side of the bed as a crutch with his one good hand. Then, he buries the side of his face against her bruised, aching torso. It's a light touch, and a cold one meant to provide the same relief as an oversized bag of peas.