Fishy Friendships

Secret Valentine's

This is my entry for the event hosted by @writeblrcafe! It was fun doing something like this again :)

This is my gift for @kittrrrr.

Word Count: 1610

---

"Can you cut it out?" Aren snaps, breaking his concentration. The cobalt glow emanating from his calloused palms shrinks to a pinprick. A soft sigh escapes his lips as tension leaves his body. "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm trying to get this done, and if you distract me, it's gonna go wrong. I don't fancy having to deal with another zombie, thanks very much."

Gracie-Mae crouches down. "Why don't we just leave this guy here? It's not like we're getting paid." She unsheathes a jagged dagger with a gleaming topaz embedded into the hilt.

He glances at the limp body in front of him. By all means, Gracie-Mae was right. Nobody was paying them anything. They had no obligation to offer their services. He could just stand up now, say he did what he could. Maybe they could hit the pub on their way back. There was a drink somewhere with his name on it, probably accompanied by bad decisions and a faceless figure in bed with him. Then he'd find Gracie-Mae later on, figure out what he got up to, then move onto the next village.

And yet...

He couldn't just leave this guy here. He probably had a family or something. Not quite old enough for a wife and kids, but maybe a pet? Or he might still live with his parents and siblings. In which case, Aren definitely couldn't just leave this guy.

Cobalt light floods the entirety of his palms as he lays them flat on the man's chest. Aren breathes in, then out, then in again. With each breath, the man's body begins to glow with that same light. He keeps going. In his gut, he feels the familiar tug of a rope and he grabs onto it, following the rope to wherever it shall lead him.

On the other side was an ugly, black mass of gunk latched onto the guy's lung. It pulsates with each breath Aren takes, convoluted green light spilling out from the gaps and spreading towards him. It creaks and groans like an old squeaky door, but moves at an incredible speed. He stamps his foot down on it, wincing in disgust at the atrocious squelching noise it makes in response.

He approaches the black gunk and, with a swift flick of his wrist, causes it to dissipate in an explosion of blue. Aren is yanked back out and into reality. He heaves, leaping to his feet and peering over the man's face.

"Did you do it?" Gracie-Mae whispers. She, too, stares at the corpse in front of them. "He still looks kinda dead."

"Give it a minute."

And, surely enough, there's a quiet groan and two green eyes stare up at the two of them. They're hazy and unfocused, but then the man blinks a few times and his pupils thin. He sits up. The man studies the two of them silently, his expression remaining blank and unreadable. It's mildly surprising; a man dressed this well shouldn't be so good at hiding like this from criminals.

Maybe he's dipped his foot into the criminal world enough times for a few instincts to be ingrained into him.

"Who are you two?" The man's voice is hoarse, as most newly-resurrected people's voices are at first, but sweet. It washes over Aren, coating him in that sickly sweetness. The mild accent there caused inflections on the vowels.

"Aren," He says, holding out his hand. "And that's my sister, Gracie-Mae." The man slowly lifts his shaking hand and takes Aren's, pulling himself up with it. "What's your name?"

The man looks startled at such a question being asked. His eyes go wide, lips parting in thought, and if that isn't just the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. A moment passes, and then he responds, "I'm Carter."

"Pleasure to meet you, Carter." Aren says.

Gracie-Mae rolls her eyes. Her eyes flash with an electric yellow, the air around her crackling and sparking. Carter swallows nervously. She presses her thumb to his forehead and mutters under her breath. Carter winces, then stands up straighter.

"To give you the rundown, here's what happened to you: a guy - drunk, lazy, unimportant - got mad at you for something. I dunno if you owe him money or had an affair with his wife, but he was pissed. He saw you leaving the tavern-" She points at the building behind them- "and got an idea. He whacked you on the head with a broken beer bottle. It wasn't pretty. He hit you a few more times to get the job done." Gracie-Mae pauses. She meets Aren's eyes. "We saw you, and decided to give you a hand."

Carter fumbles for an apology, but Aren cuts him off. "It wasn't easy, mind you. You had this weird thing on one of your lungs I had to get rid of. Real creepy, that thing. But the point is, you're alive and well." He slings his arm around Carter's shoulder and starts to walk him down the street. He glances over his shoulder at Gracie-Mae, and winks. She sighs but lets him go. He knows she'll still be watching.

To his credit, Carter doesn't look uncomfortable or scared at being taken down the street by a complete stranger. In fact, he seems completely relaxed. He walks without a care in the world, like he hadn't been lying on the ground a mere minute or two ago.

"Why'd you bring me back?" Carter asks. "I'm sure there's tons of people that deserve to be brought back more than I do."

Aren shrugs. "You seemed interesting." He left it at that.

Carter gives him an inquisitive look. "But why?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Look at it this way: you have another chance at life, thanks to yours truly. All I ask is that you don't tell anyone that me or Gracie-Mae were here. Alright?"

"Alright." Carter looks like he wants to ask, but doesn't.

He didn't want to tell Aren the real reason he brought him back, but it was a glaring issue. Every time his eyes drift in that direction, he brings them back to facing forwards. More and more similarities crop up by the second. He isn't happy to admit it, but Carter has his eyes, and his hair was styled the same way he loved. He wore the same sort of clothes as him, and even his voice was similar to his. If he looked at Carter for too long, Carter would cease to be there; in his place, he would stand, arms open and a warm smile on his face as he welcomes Aren home.

They arrive at the place Aren and Gracie-Mae have been holed up in for the past few days, and he ushers Carter inside.

"Your injuries are mostly healed, but not fully," He explains, guiding Carter to a chair and getting him seated. "You'll need time to let them heal before going out."

Carter nods, then shuts his eyes. Aren, rather foolishly, in his opinion, bends down to quickly check Carter's pulse. It is sputtering, stopping and starting at random, but it seems consistent enough. It'll even out after a few more hours.

He just needs to make sure Carter doesn't get injured in that time.

"Well, you're royally screwing us over," Gracie-Mae comments as she slides in through the window. "The guards know where we are now. No thanks to your little stunt."

Aren rolls his eyes. "Maybe if you'd been quieter when I was getting it done, they wouldn't have found out." He shuffles around the dinghy space they call a flat in search of their first aid kit. He pulls it out and returns to Carter's side. The wounds on his body aren't hurting him, but they still need to be cleaned and tended to. Aren cracks on with it as he always has done.

Gracie-Mae falls silent. She normally does, when she wants to vent but has no words to vent with. Aren quickly finishes off tying some of the bandages around Carter's abdomen, then stands up.

"I'll meet you outside later. We can work this out when I'm done."

She relents, and slinks off to a hidden corner, either to sulk or do... whatever it is she does when she's alone. Aren's never around to find out what her hobbies are. For all he knows, Gracie-Mae just stares at a wall for hours. He has no way to know, and if he's honest with himself, he doesn't want to. It's her time to do with what she wants. He doesn't need to know every little thing she gets up to.

Aren stares down at Carter. He examines his work, then his hands glide across Carter's torso, gently adjusting the man so he can see what he's looking for better. A canvas of smooth skin, marred by the occasional blotches or scars or marks. His fingers stutter to a halt when they encounter something so small he almost misses it.

It's a tattoo, barely the size of his thumbnail, and yet so intricate in detail. It's a tiny ram's head, the horns gushing with thorns and petals. The eyes of the ram are hollow, staring up at Aren as if to ask who he was.

A grin overtakes his face. This is unbelievable. Lady Luck is truly on his side. Aren contemplates calling for Gracie-Mae so she can see it for herself, then looks down at Carter's face. He can't bring himself to do it yet. Later down the line, perhaps.

For now, that information was a valuable asset. He'd find an appropriate time to reveal it later.

Siren Song

The Mean Gills were thriving. Martyn focussed on building his hourglass whilst Scott had built them a house. And now that it was done, and Scott was out gathering materials, he took the time to get used to the storage system. It was odd, to say the least. He couldn't make sense of it. Although he did have to admit that the chests were at least somewhat organised. Martyn would never admit that it took him a solid ten minutes to get used to the storage system. In hindsight that didn't seem like a long time, but since everyone had twenty-four hours to live, it was kind of humiliating. It was like having fifty days to live and spending one of them trying to make sense of something simple.

He'd just put some stuff away when he heard it. In the distance, a tad bit muffled, he could hear something. Singing?

"Drown me underwater, watch as I flounder~" the song was low and quiet, but it's hypnotic melody caused Martyn to drop the wood he'd been holding. Curiosity held him in a vice-like grip and it refused to let go. "I'll gasp for air, for your touch, for your lips and your hair~," The song continued, slowly building in volume. The voice singing was clearly used to it, as each note was perfect and rich.

"H-hello? Anyone there?" Martyn called out. Nothing. No response. But the song kept playing upon his ears and his ears alone.

"As you pull me up and kiss me, water fills my lungs, is this something you'd miss?" The voice was closer now. Or maybe Martyn had subconsciously gotten closer to it. But he felt compelled to find the source. He barely even noticed as he gradually lost land to tread on and began to dip his feet into the water...

"Who's there?" He asked aloud. But before he could hear an answer, Martyn realised that he'd fallen into the water. The warm water was comforting. It warmed his bones and enveloped him in its embrace. He didn't want to leave. Even though his clothes were soaked and he'd lost his sandals despite not having moved, even though the water was filling his lungs-

"And when you release me and hold me down, the water floods my body, flowing down, down, down~," He was closer now. Martyn ignored the rational part of his mind telling him to swim back up and abandon his quest. But he was determined. And that voice was far too tantalising to ignore. "Down into my lungs and I forget how to breathe, but I see your smiling face and I forget how to leave, you keep me here~" And so he swam. Martyn swam down further and further. He was close to the coral. In fact, he was just skimming the sand at the seabed. Still no sign of the voice.

Actually, maybe he was wrong. Martyn saw a faint silhouette of someone not too far from him. He swam towards them. His movements were sluggish, and more and more water filled his lungs. If he didn't resurface he would die soon.

But he made it. Somehow Martyn had managed to reach them. A figure with a human body, but fins on their arms and legs and one ginormous one on their back, along with webbed fingers and toes and gills in their neck. The mop of cyan hair was familiar. So were the patches of colourful coral that clung to their skin. The jacket that had been torn and was loosely tied around their waist. Shimmering teal scales decorated the merfolk's body. They glinted like gemstones in the warped light illuminating the sea. The figure continued to sing, and slowly Martyn began to recognise more and more things. The way they sang sounded familiar. So were the figure's gestures. And when they turned around, Martyn recognised them in an instant.

"Scott?" His own voice was garbled, and water flooded in through his mouth. but he couldn't help but ask. Martyn suddenly felt light-headed. The lack of oxygen was finally catching up to him.

---

Martyn woke up later. He was in his bed with Scott kneeling down besides him, fretting over his still but newly conscious body.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit! Goddamnit, Scott, why did you do that? If you hadn't opened your stupid mouth to sing then he'd be fine!" Scott cursed himself. Martyn groaned, and Scott's attention snapped over to him in an instant. "Martyn! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Oh my god I'm so happy you're alright-" Scott cut himself off by tightly hugging Martyn.

"Whoa, whoa, sl-slow down. G-gimme a sec..." Martyn sat up and rubbed the side of his head. Scott had put on some clothes, but now that he'd seen the gills and the fins, Martyn couldn't un-see it.

"I'm so sorry about that. It was dumb and I should've thought and-"

"Calm down, Scott. It's fine," He grunted mildly in pain and coughed. Water flew out and splattered onto his clothes. "Wh-when were you gonna tell me you were a..." He struggled to find the right word.

"Siren? Merfolk? I was going to tell you later today, but I guess you beat me to it. A-and I am really sorry about this."

"Don't worry. And besides," He paused and locked eyes with Scott, taking on a grin. "You have a nice voice. And the fins really suit you."

"O-oh." Scott's face was bright red with embarrassment. "And I'll warn you if I sing again. I don't want you trying to drown yourself a second time around."

"Sounds good to me."

I'm not gonna lie, I was terrified Pentious was gonna die permanently. Knowing that he's in heaven had me SO happy. This man deserves the world, and I can rest happy knowing that he got probably one of the best outcomes of the situation.

I'd Hate To Do This To You On Your Birthday

Martyn stared at the world below. Today was meant to have been his birthday. And, sure, he'd had fun, but there was just something almost sad about it. Something poetic about celebrating his birthday in the midst of the death games where he'd die immanently. If it were anyone else, maybe they'd come up with a decent metaphor for the situation. But as it was, Martyn wasn't really a poet.

He watched the night sky calmly. The swirling pools of ink dotted with smidges of liquidy purples and wisps of navy. Small twinkling stars that smiled down on the participants of the cruel games being enacted, as if they were completely amused by their primitive actions.

The stars were as clever and calculating as they were beautiful. Almost like Scott, in a way. His ally had been talking about strategically-placed pufferfish and strategically-placed dolphins for a fair while, and even though only the pufferfishes had been done, the ideas he'd come up with were quite admirable. There was no reason to doubt why Scott had won the death games twice.

The moon had a tranquil glow that night. Instead of its taunting and menacing light, something calmer shone down on their small pocket of land. Like Pearl. Pearl, who only for a few hours, had been acting somewhat odd. She no longer seemed like the woman Martyn had known throughout the games. Her voice was slightly different, for one.

Martyn couldn't help but smile to himself. Today had been so hectic that it was...nice to take a moment to breathe. No one else was up here with him. He was alone. And, while normally Martyn liked the company of others, he couldn't help but enjoy the calm complacency he was in. There was no chatter to fill the air. No breathing alongside his own. No whispered promises, stolen kisses or silent laughs shared between friends. No agonising memories to dwell on as his mind constantly compared current moments to those of the past.

He was alone. But he was happy.

In this game, where you could never prevent the clock ticking, it appeared senseless to just do nothing. Why do nothing when you could be out there, killing others to take their time from them? When you could be spending time with loved ones? When you could be setting traps to ween down the remaining numbers?

Martyn didn't have time for that. Well, he did, technically, but that wasn't the point.

He remembered everything from the past. He'd killed a close ally twice now, once in separate iterations of the death games. He'd tried to win back his 'soulmate' to whom his life was tethered to after she left him. He'd tried so much to do so much.

Maybe now, on his birthday, it was finally time to rest.

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me," he sang to himself to fill the silence. "Happy birthday dear...me?" shrugging, he continued on. "Happy birthday to me." finishing the song, Martyn sat down on the floor.

Unbeknownst to Martyn the Stars and the Moon were singing that same song under their breaths to him.

The End Has Come

It's all over now.

Scott finally got his happy ending. Shirking his crown, he happily went off with Milo. It worked. The spell worked. Now Scott was able to live out his life with his love. Scott was Milo's moonlight, his little shadow. Losing his magic was a price he was willing to pay if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with Milo. Scott was overjoyed.

Lauren was happy. She made friends! After years of being in the desert, alone, she had people that made her laugh. People that she cared about, and cared about her in return. Lauren liked having friends. It was much better than being alone, that's for sure. But her mind was doubtful. She ran instead of fighting that demon. Would the others forgive her? Lauren wouldn't know.

Pris was going to start her own family in the ocean. Pride welled in her chest as she swam amidst the waves. She could visit her sister. She could live her life. There was no way anyone could ever say she wasn't overjoyed. The water passed over her skin and she relished in the feeling. Pris was happy.

Shelbie was home again. It was awkward, especially after she set off the rain again, but she couldn't complain. Not when she was welcomed with open arms and into a warm hug. She melted into the touch with a smile on her face. Shelbie was grateful.

Eloise had found that crown. Some loser had just left it on the ground! And whilst she didn't know how someone could just leave it there, she didn't question it. Eloise readily picked it up and placed it on her head. She paid no mind to the runes on the ground, nor the circles of chalk. Eloise didn't see the shimmering dark-green glow pass over the crown.

Joey had followed Tiff through that portal. There was nowhere else that she could've gone. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the unsettling crawl of goosebumps on his skin as the portal transported him. He didn't need to return to the mages that tossed him away when his magic was revealed. He didn't need to prove himself to them anymore. Joey just had to find his friend and make sure she was okay.

Tiff couldn't help but grin. This would be a new adventure. A new world. Those voices called to her, beckoning her to come with them, more hypnotic than a siren's song. Tiff wanted to take the plunge. Just like she had done with the competition. Only this time, there was no major incentive to do it. No Mother Nature calling her forth to help protect the plants. Tiff had chosen this.

Cleo marveled at her new body. No more rotted flesh. No more stitches holding her limbs together. No more time spent having to struggle with an undead body she was condemned to be trapped within. Cleo finally had a normal body again. A normal body with a beating heart. With no stitches. With no risk of falling apart if not for her magic keeping her together. Cleo was content.

Bertha had to follow Joey and Tiff. Without them, the two would likely get themselves in trouble within mere minutes. So, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Bertha bade their beloved Mertha goodbye as they ran towards the portal and stepped in. They watched as Mertha's image dissipated slowly. Everything soon was covered in green, green, green. Green everywhere. Just green. Bertha had to help them.

Happy endings never last. Loose strings must always be tied when all is said and done.

The story is not over just yet.

Legal Rights and Murder

This wasn't good.

Not in the point of view for the court, anyways. Killing the person who decided to sue you wasn't a good look. At all. It just made him look really guilty and...pretty much made him lose any chance he'd had of avoiding being sued.

Ah well.

To be fair, he usually marked lots of things, and he'd completely forgotten about...that. It just wasn't very memorable! The guy sued him for counts of murder (that weren't accurate, he'd killed more animals than that) and for having a scottish accent, as well as a lack of empathy towards animals.

Well, he was sorry for the creatures that had to put up with him. Sorry for the animals that everyone on the server practically kidnapped and shoved into a pen to breed until it wasn't good enough, and then slain.

He certainly wasn't the worst person on the server. After all, Jimmy had put his sheep in his already-cramped house, as well as replacing parts of his floor with dirt and using it to grow crops. He'd helped fWhip and Sausage with grabbing those villagers! A tiresome affair really, especially with all the countless teleporting he did.

Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could find a way around this like he could with getting out of sticky situations. Mark a few people, do enough scare-teleports and perhaps he can get some friends to help him out. Forcibly, if the need arose.

He wasn't going to let himself go down that easy.

---

He was furious!

The darkness had suffocated him, a stark contrast to where he'd been before. The squelching sculk underfoot clawed at his ankles in an angered grasp, squeezing and scratching. The Warden barrelled towards him, the souls trapped within its chest pulsing brightly.

He felt his body practically disintegrate. Within moments he was dead and buried. All because he'd been unlucky. Because he'd made the mistake of letting someone mark him, and he'd paid the price for it. He should've kept himself at a distance. Should've made a glass barrier between them. Anything to prevent being marked.

But who was he kidding? The guy gave him gifts before reading the book saying he'd be sued! He'd gulped down the lump of guilt in his throat as everything conspired.

He wouldn't let himself make that mistake a second time. Not again. No, when he respawned he'd be far more careful. If he wasn't, then he may be the first to die permanently. How many lives did he even have left? How many did everyone have left? How much longer did everyone have to live, lives to use up, before inevitably perishing?

He didn't know.

The darkness had suffocated him and spat him out.

Ballad of Secrets

The Canary fell, but was not the first

An age of deceit, a broken curse

Slain at the hand of his ally another time

The light of The Stars has dimmed, gone past its prime

The Moon has set, a new era come

As The Sun shall rise, all pain undone

And as Mars died in a final war

Putting an end to the blood and gore

The Slayer's sword fell from her hand

And she joined the chorus, the rest of her band

And as Earth stood at the Secret Keeper

Ready to meet the grim reaper

He was not yet done

He never would be

But Earth was among them now

Now, and for all eternity

Witchcraft SMP Member-Inspired Dances

I've already made a post on genres of music I thought the witches would listen to. What about dances they invented themed around their magic???

Shubble - Storm Shuffle. Literally. Just Shelbie doing a small little shuffle left and right in the middle of a storm.

Tiff - Floral Flamenco. For whenever Tiff is trying to tend to gardens or work with her botania books, she can do this dance to relax.

Pris - Hydro Hand-jive. Just a small dance Pris came up with after the date. She does it a lot when she's in a panic, and probably would've done it a small while after the incident with that demon on the ship.

Lauren - Sandy Salsa. Salsa is a kind of sauce/topping. Lauren's character is part-sandwich (i think???)

Eloise - Illusionary Ikariotikos. It's something she'd do after a particularly difficult illusion or just as a stress-reliever. I feel like she could've done this after her date with Pris went wrong.

Joey - Flaming Foxtrot and Frosty Flamenco. Joey just dancing in the middle of a bonfire seems funny to me. And then Joey starting a dance in a tundra while everyone else is just freezing.

Scott - Widow's Waltz. It fits his character, and does have some connection to death via mourning. Scott would have performed this with "him" before "he" died, and Scott now does it alone in "his" memory.

Cleo - Time Tango. Cleo would do a tango alone as time changes around her. Or maybe she tangoes with the embodiment of time. Maybe a time god? Or a time spirit? Something like that.

What do you think? Again, you can use this for Dancer AUs or whatever you want!

The Illusion Of Love

Pris had messed up.

She'd managed to go on a date with Eloise - beautiful, wonderful Eloise whose smile could light up a room. Okay, maybe that wasn't completely true, but Pris felt like it was. Every word that came out of the Illusionary Witch's mouth was melodious and entertaining.

That damn demon had to ruin it. The demon in her head possessed her at the worst moment. Why did she have to be the one who had a demon? Scott would have been better. A necromancer who dabbled in the dark magic no one would touch. He was a perfect fit. Possession would work incredibly well with his motif. Or maybe Cleo. Lauren? Maybe she could have made a deal with a demon to become a Sand Witch? Or Cleo could have bargained for...something! Anything.

And in that split second the date had fallen apart. Her heart had shattered just as much as the words of that demon that came from her mouth, in her voice that shattered the spirit of Eloise. Pris couldn't bear it. Not the tension. The silence. The agony that tore her apart with every passing second. Now it was awkward between them. The suffocating silence. The unspoken words that begged to be said but neither could muster the courage to do so.

Now she watched from her tower. Pris stared down below at the small congregation of witches gathered at Spawn.

Scott and Joey were walking together, with Scott bright red in the face whilst Joey laughed and laid his head on Scott's shoulder. That could have been Pris and Eloise. They could have been the duo walking together and showing affection in kisses and hand-holding.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for that. Not the right time for jealousy.

Cleo and Lauren were trading with Bertha. The two were laughing together at a joke Pris couldn't hear from all the way up in her tower. But there was genuine companionship written on their faces. She hadn't known they were friends, but Lauren's peculiarity often made people like her. Because the Sand Witch was so unafraid to be herself. Pris envied that. If she'd been proud of her demon from the very start, Eloise could have forgiven her faster and maybe they'd be together. Or at the very least they would have taken longer to go on a date but it would've been successful.

Damn it. Not again.

There was a crack of thunder. Pris hadn't seen the lightning bolt, but rather saw the flaming cluster of trees. Shubble and Tiff were frantically trying to put out the fire. Tiff was yelling in an erratic frenzy while Shubble apologised every few seconds.

And there she was. Perfect Eloise. The Illusionary Witch laughed at their efforts. And how her laugh echoed in Pris's ears. She found herself leaning further forward. If only just to hear Eloise better.

"You okay?" Joey and Scott were behind her. How'd they get there so fast? She would've been able to hear them.

"Y-yeah! Wh-why wouldn't I be?" Her hands were clammy and her heart hammered in her chest. Scott took one look between Joey and her and shrugged.

"You wanna handle this?" He asked Joey. The Fire-Frost Witch nodded and stood on their tip-toes to playfully swat Scott's forehead. The Necromantic Witch giggled for a second and walked down the staircase. "I'll be down here. Scream if you need me."

"So...how are you?"

"F-fine." Pris mumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"No you're not. What's going on?" Joey asked with a small tilt of his head.

"It's...nothing. Nothing important." She was adamant on this. Pris didn't want Joey knowing how...humiliated she felt. Humiliated because of her damn demon. Because she and Eloise could no longer talk as freely as before.

"Okay. I won't pry. Buuuut, if it's to do with love-" he gave her a knowing look, "-then I can listen. And maybe contribute a solution?"

"Ju-just don't laugh," She hugged her arms tighter. And slowly, she began to explain it all. Joey was uncharacteristically quiet throughout it. If anything it made her more self-conscious. He was only trying not to laugh at her. That was all. He was trying to be polite.

"W-wow. Okay, uhh..." Joey scratched the back of his neck. "I guess, if this helps at all, then she's probably just as upset about it as you are. Try and talk to her about it. Verbally. Tell her everything, maybe give her a gift and ask for forgiveness."

"You think that's not my first thought?"

"Have you tried it?"

"I mean, I left a chest. And signs. And rose bushes in the chest. But there's been nothing." Pris sighed.

"Then just talk to her. Forget the other stuff I said. Talk about it. It may sound dumb coming from me, but talking helps." Joey said. Pris could hear Scott coming back up.

"I-if you don't mind, then can I just say something quickly?" Scott asked. But there was something weird about the way he talked. It was different. Not as deep or intimidating. More light-hearted. Melodious. Upbeat.

"Okay..." Pris made eye contact with Scott. Only to notice they weren't the usual murky green colour. No, his eyes were green and blue. Like-

"I forgive you." And Scott 's appearance shimmered and the illusion melted to reveal Eloise standing there. "B-but...can we take it slow?" Pris might have died then and there. She was forgiven. And Eloise actually wanted to give them a try! Even if they did have to go slow, it was something!

And Pris nodded all too eagerly, practically throwing herself into Eloise's arms, who hugged her back with just as much enthusiasm.

Maybe they could work out.

Secret Santa

This was really fun to write, and was also my first time doing something like this, so for my first ever thing like this, I'm pretty happy with it. I hope my person likes this a lot :)

@writeblrcafe hosted the event

This is my gift for @kittrrrr - hope you enjoy!

A Recurring Face

Word count: 979

At first his name had been Kestrel. He’d liked it; for what reason, he couldn’t quite say, but when he first heard the word he knew he loved it. Later on, he found out that a Kestrel was a bird, but he didn’t mind it too much. They were lovely birds.

Over time that name had to change. It was only natural. As humans developed, so did their languages and the names they went by. His name would be seen as unusual or strange, and thus it had to change to something else. In his heart, though, he was always Kestrel. No matter what name he took, he was always just Kestrel.

Humans had nice literature, Kestrel decided.

They were amazing; artfully woven words into strings of sentences. Each word was carefully selected to have an intended effect. They could make him laugh or - on rare, memorable occasions - make him cry.

Some of his favourites belonged to the Greeks.

Kestrel walked through the town, his eyes wandering across the shops and men walking around him. The sun was high in the sky, its golden rays beating down on him pleasantly, if a little too hard at some points in the day. There were no clouds that would drift by. The fact made him frown a little, but he recovered soon afterwards when his attention was captured by a man arguing with a vendor.

The man was not dressed like the other men and women roving around. He wore a white button-up shirt underneath a leather waistcoat, accompanied by pinstripe grey slacks and shiny shoes. His hair was a ruddy red and his eyes bright green, like moss in a forest. The man was trying to bring down the price of an urn, to which the vendor was trying to maintain his composure whilst explaining to the man that “This urn is incredibly valuable, it cannot be sold for such a price.”

Smiling, he approached the two men slowly. His arrival caught the attention of the vendor.

“I can pay for it,” he said. Kestrel took out some drachma and handed them to the vendor, taking a glance at the strangely-dressed man beside him. “Is it enough?”

The vendor’s eyes bugged out of his head. “This is too much.”

“Consider it a bonus, for putting up with my friend’s antics.” Kestrel turned to the man with a smile, hoping he would play along. “Come, let’s go back home.”

He placed his hand against the man’s back, but not before taking the urn and handing it to him. Kestrel escorted the man away from the shops and people and down a more private road.

He stopped when they were far enough from other people that no one would overhear.

The man looked at him curiously, his gloved hands shaking a little as he held the urn. He rotated it, tilted it, looked at it from every angle imaginable, then began to smile brightly. “Thank you,” he said, “I do not think I would have made it out of that unscathed.”

Kestrel laughed. “I’m sure you would’ve managed it.”

“I’m Thomas,” the man - Thomas - held out his hand. “And who are you, good sir?”

“Kestrel.” he answered, shaking Thomas’s hand with vigour.

---

His love for Greek literature was threatened by the appearance of Shakespeare. He couldn’t help but adore the man’s craft; his way with writing and creating likeable and repulsive characters; his amazing skill for both comedy and tragedy; the way he had risen to fame and even earned the favour of the queen herself.

He had arranged tickets to see one of his favourite plays and took his seat. It was a more private area, since he found that sitting with other people was quite tedious, at times, and that  plays were far more enjoyable with less clamour.

A man walked in. “My apologies, sir, but there aren’t many more seats available. Would you mind sharing with another?”

Kestrel nodded. “I see nothing wrong with that. Tell the fellow that he is welcome here with me.”

Bowing his head in response, the man scurried away, then returned with—

Oh.

The man disappeared, and Kestrel was suddenly alone with Thomas. He hadn’t aged a day; no wrinkles, no crow’s feet around his eyes, nothing. He was just as youthful as the day Kestrel first met him.

Which couldn’t be possible, since it had been several centuries since their last encounter. Unless Thomas was also…?

“I recognise you,” Thomas said, breathlessly. “You— you’re that man. From Ancient Greece.”

“How are you still alive?” he blurted out.

Thomas’s brows furrowed in thought. His eyes took in Kestrel’s clothing, his hair - which he had to cut short, sadly - and his face, lingering a bit too long on certain features.

Kestrel felt his cheeks colour, and looked down at his lap. He nervously fidgeted with his hands. “Why don’t we enjoy the play?” he suggested. “Then we can talk afterwards. Perhaps go for a nightcap.”

Hesitant, Thomas sat down beside him. Their shoulders brushed against each other for a brief moment.

“I think I would enjoy that very much, indeed.”

He wanted to never see Thomas go. He wanted to learn everything he could about the man who had disappeared for centuries and then came back.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

It took a short while for that to sink in. He wasn’t alone anymore. Kestrel didn’t know what to do. He could sing, he could cry, he could dance for hours on end and never stop!

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked, a nervous smile on his face.

Kestrel beamed back at him with an expression akin to a child on Christmas day. “Yes. More than alright, in fact.”

Their attention was snatched by the commencing play as the actors rushed onto the stage.

He was not alone anymore. Maybe things would be different this time.