[Mature] Those Wicked Things We Do

An unexpected reunion

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Writer: Raksha
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Sat Jul 14, 2018 2:08 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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"Clocking hell.” Charity breathed, lifting her head from the curve of Diaxio’s shoulder and running her hand through her platinum locks. The Hoxian had passed out on the lavish lounge beside her, far far gone in an opioid induced blackout, the drug delivered directly into her bloodstream by a clever new invention known as a hyperdermic needle that one of their aspiring medical friends had acquired. The galdor looked down at the small glass vial still in her hand, dropping it on the hardwood floor with a soft clink. Around her, in the bizarrely named ‘Green Room’ of the theatre bowels, there were other socialites spattered in various states of intoxication. Basil York, with his powdered face and dashing jawline, had brought the Kings Crop for them. After handing out the drugs to the various gollies fawning over him, the actor had stolen away to his own dressing room with a contingent of pretty young men.

They had laughed, and danced and played music as though nothing more than filthy wicks. Here, in the Green Room, there were no rules and no laws. Drugs and alcohol flowed freely, and occasionally some bright spark would cast a fancy spell that followed the noble rule of conquest so loosely it was prone to backlash more often than not. Tonight however, it had not, and under the influence of the perceptive magic far too many good family names were being properly tarnished.

“Xi. Xi get up. We should go.” Charity said through the bleary haze of the opioids in her system, shaking her friends shoulder. The dark haired girl didn’t even stir, beyond waking until the drugs wore off. Dragging herself off the lounge, the pianist carefully made her way over or around bodies on the floor, ignoring those still lucid enough to speak to her. It had been a stellar performance that evening, the young anaxi born woman playing first chair in the orchestra for Basil’s most recent play. After the proper mingling with guests of honor and all the proper decent people, the children of the theatre underworld disappeared to the real after party.

“Hey D’arthe. How about we go make a little magic, if you know what I mean?” One of the gentleman called out as she passed him, reaching for her hand and smirking with heavily dilated green eyes and auburn hair. Beside him swayed a heavily intoxicated brunette man with far more chin than anyone required. Charity chuckled and pulled away, shaking her head and making her way to the door.

“Sorry Benjamin, you know I’m not like that.” The woman said gently, finding her purse and her boots, slipping into the latter whilst smoothing out the creases in her ivory dress. She paused for a moment, her head less spinning and more drifting.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But, I mean, surely just once isn’t going to hurt? We’ll be gentle.” Benjamin said, thumbing his lower lip as he looked the drugged blonde over. Charity steadied herself and grasped the handle.

“No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.” She said firmly, violet eyes glancing at the man and his chin endowed companion before opening the door and stumbling out. It was still dark outside, the sun a good couple of hours from rising, but the petite musician wasn’t afraid. She knew Vienda like the back of her hand, and all the trick ways back to her father’s abode, over the back gate and through her bedroom window. Walking as briskly as she could, Charity followed her feet along the familiar back alley beside the theatre and along the drain that took excess rainy season water away from the city. Home was only a hop, skip and a jump away, as was her deliciously warm bed—

“Charity wait up.” The familiar voice of the auburn haired man called out from behind her. Stopping and turning with a frown, the blonde felt a small thrill of concern creep up her spine, field trying to gather with a wavering wobbly sort of motion. Tocks, she was in no position to cast like this. Both Benjamin and his companion were approaching, all friendly smiles if she didn’t know better. Their fields however, expressed something far less friendly, and Charity was smart enough to keep walking. Past her house, the young woman moved further along the street, heading towards Crosstown Court in the hope that she would come across a Seventen patrol as they walked. Her feet picked up, not quite running, but not quite walking.

“I said no Benjamin, leave me alone.” She said loudly, glancing back as the two men picked up their own pace. Swearing, Charity threw any sense of proper heel etiquette aside and broke into a run. Almost at the same time, the men ran to catch up with her, the brunette grabbing the blonde by the arm and making a shushing sound. The short woman took a deep breath, readying her lungs to scream, stopped short by the hand over her mouth. An arm snaked around her waist, lifting her easily off the ground and dragging her away into the shadows with hissed sounds to shut the tock up.

“Hold her, you lugger!” Benjamin growled to his companion as he reached for the fastenings on his pants, the auburn galdor grinning and stepping closer. Charity shook her head, breaking away from the hand over her mouth and cried out, struggling and turning her head away from his face.

“Help!” She managed to shout, much to the men’s frustration. From behind her, Chin breathed against her ear.

“Just stay still and shut your head Charity. It’ll be great, you’ll see. Just—ah fuck!” He yelped as the panicked woman threw her head back to smack him in the face. Blood immediately gushed from his nose and he dropped her. Landing heavily on hands and knees, the girl scrambled to her feet, panting with adrenaline and fear. Benjamin leapt to stop her, sprawling across the back of her legs and smacking her headfirst into the cobblestone. Charity saw stars and her ears rang, a small gash opening on her forehead where she’d met the filthy cold stones.

“I tried to be nice Charity. I tried...” He growled, reaching for her skirts with his free hand.


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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Writer: Muse
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Sun Jul 15, 2018 1:09 am

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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"One more round, Sergeant!" Constable Hours slurred, raising her glass with a smile. The entire back room of the little pub erupted in a cheer and some loud Hear! Hear! catcalls for good measure. The squad of ten had been celebrating for well over a house, drinking and regaling each other with their favorite highlights of the season-long investigation that had finally, epically ended in the arrest of four Black Hand wicks. Foul folk who'd been smuggling all sorts of illegal goods from firearms to a particular strain of Hessian opiate—Drake's Tongue—that Hanz Morde himself had ordered cut out of the Kingdom as swiftly as possible.

With all four wicks in custody for questioning by the Investigative Services Division of the Seventen over the next few days, the blond Sergeant knew it was time for everyone in his Special Enforcement Unit to celebrate, to relax, to clocking breathe.

And, by the Lady, it was glorious.

"Chimes and bells, Valentin, sir—only you would show up in fucking uniform." Ensign Shayes was laughing crudely, red-faced and guttered, sloshing his mug of ale when the crowded table lifted theirs together, "Gonna give the rest 'f us a reputation."

"Shut your clocking head. One of us had to do all the godsbedamned paperwork, didn't he?" Rhys sniggered in response, swimming in a comfortable buzz that threatened to drag him further toward deeper inebriation if he allowed these damn "one more rounds" to continue. Emptying his drink with a hiss, the tall blond set his glass down on the table. He was still in uniform, his four snaps and all, and he couldn't complain about the looks the well-known green had garnered him from the crowded pub. Had he not been with his squad, had this long night not been about them, he could have spent more time flirting with those stray smiles directed at himself by a pretty galdor or two across the room. Instead, he knew when to call it in, "That's it. I'm plumb done."

"Awww, Sarge, y' aren't sloshed enough." Groaned Constable Othurn, the older auburn-haired man all but melting into the tall table, gripping his mug tightly.

"Close enough for tonight." The young Valentine grinned broadly, feeling the pleasant warmth of all he'd had to drink calling him to sluggishness and sleep. "I've got to crawl back to questioning those clocking spokes in the morning, you know. Excellent work, friends. Clocking excellent work."

Rhys hummed and clapped the other man on the shoulder, digging into his own pockets to toss what coins were in there all on the table, "Should cover more 'n my fair share. Good night, friends."

Chuckling, the tall blond slipped away, much to the begging and teasing of his squad behind him—

Clockin' light weight, sir!

Rummy two-shoes, Val!

Goney!


Laughing and waving his hands, the Sergeant couldn't help but flash a sly grin at one of the ladies at the bar who'd caught his bleary blue gaze more than once, enjoying her blush and shy wave but resisting the urge to waste another house attempting to convince her or one of her friends to come home with him. Pausing in the coat room, Rhys slipped back on his Seventen jacket, straightening the sash and collar, loathing the humidity of the Roalis late evening that would be waiting his flushed, inebriated self. The sleepy young human at the counter stirred when he cleared his throat, blinking at the tall galdor and nodding, retrieving the Seventen’s baton from its secure place behind him,

"'Ave a good night, sir."

Nodding in a mockery of curtness in return, the blond made his way out the door and onto the street, phosphor lights glowing comfortable yellow and stars overhead reminding him of just how clocking late the hour was. He would have regrets, but they were worth it. Thoughts swimming, body floating, Rhys turned and strode with a well-trained confidence down the familiar path toward Kingsway Market and his home, unafraid to take the narrow alleys or pick his way through the less-traveled thoroughfares because he was in clocking uniform and, drunk or not, no one on this end of town was going to dare mess with a Seventen. He knew where the patrols were around Crosstown Court and all the way to the Market, or he would have known, had he been sure of the hour in his blurred state of existence.

It was as he stepped back into a well-lit street and paused to dig his pocket watch out with a groan that he heard the shout, unmistakable in the near-abandoned darkness of this time of night (or morning ... or whatever) as the voice of a woman. Rhys was close, and the laughter that rang out behind the cry for help was not at all encouraging. Time and patrols forgotten, the Sergeant took of at a run in the very clear direction of the commotion, his whole body objecting to the sudden force of adrenaline that attempted to surge its way into his alcohol-laden veins.

"Godsdamnit, get a better grip on her already, would you?" Benjamin wasn't even trying to be quiet, growling and ignoring his bloodied face as he continued to attempt to shimmy out of his pants, perhaps far more enticed than discouraged by the struggle.

The chinny young galdor with him was beginning to have second thoughts, as both his friend who'd promised him a bit of the fun and the wasted but very lovely pianist were both bleeding and none of the entertainment had even started. Attempting to shift his hold on the delicate creature, not even he was paying attention to the wretched trio's surroundings.

Perhaps he should have been.

"What the clocking hell is going on here?" The blond Sergeant made sure to let his voice ring out loudly in the narrow alley, gathering his rather reluctant field, acutely aware of his own level of intoxication but also not entirely without logic. The bare erse of a well-dressed man hardly older than himself was not the vision he was expecting, and he was hardly an idiot. The scene before him was immediately readable as disgusting, especially given that the fields of the shocked creatures before him were unmistakable as galdori, "Good Lady, you stop-clockers better get away from that young woman right now—"

"—or what?" Chin found his swagger at the sight of a lone Seventen, realizing the tall, uniformed blond wavered just so on his feet. Dropping the pianist roughly, he channeled his fear into a defiant expression, "There's nothing going on here that's not without consent, sir."

The sprint had left him a little dizzy, nauseated, sloshy, but the young Valentin wasn't at all threatened by the two galdori, especially as the one with a bloody nose was hurriedly, desperately attempting to get himself dressed again. What a pair of disgraceful bastards,

"Now, that's a load of croveshit and I don't see a patrol nearby. Consensual anything in a clocking alley at this hour? What are you, a clocking pair of wicks? Disgusting. Get up, both of you." Rhys growled, wishing there was one for a bit of back up. He continued moving forward as the bloodied one turned toward him, and whispering apologies for his state of mind in Monite, the tall blond asked with swift politeness for an immediate dulling of the two sod's already obviously stupid senses, reaching with the mona through his request into their minds with intent to subdue them. He finished his spell with a healthy suggestion of fear. The taste of bile and a tangible hesitance could be felt in his field, but there was still a shift of Perceptive mona in the narrow space that the Seventen had now closed, already raising a hand toward Benjamin while the other hovered near the baton slung at his hip. The magic moved like a shadowy beast, crawling into the dark spaces of their clouded thoughts and taking root there like claws in soft flesh.

Chinny had stood and was clearly weighing his options. He chose obedience, confused by the Perceptive mona that invaded his already impaired judgement and clawed its way into his momentary confidence.

"Back up against the wall, over there." He indicated, making the mistake of looking away from the two young men to glance down at the blonde woman who was still on the ground, "Miss, are you injured? Just stay calm, you're safe now—"

Once he got sight of her dirty, bleeding face, his attention faltered, judgement blurred by surprise and far too much alcohol,

"—Bells! Charity? What in Alioe's na—oof!"

Benjamin seized his chance, enticed by the tall Sergeant's sudden recognition of the petite blonde he'd been so desperate to have a piece of for himself. Angry now and far too wasted to have any superior sense of judgement in comparison to Rhys, the other galdor shoved sluggishly from the wall and launched himself at the Seventen. The motion caught the stuttering man off-guard and signaled to his auburn-haired companion that they had a very brief window of opportunity.

Chin just blinked, dulled by Rhys' spell enough to require an extra moment or two of thinking.

The Sergeant didn't waste any of his time, either, for the bloodied pervert moved far slower in reality than perhaps he thought he was in his mind. In well-trained defense, he shot out an elbow, catching Benjamin in the bloodied face a second time, turning in an attempt to shift his footing, but far too intoxicated to keep it, Benjamin crashing forward and knocking them both to the ground.

Hissing at the weight of the other galdor on top of him, the young Valentin immediately raised his free arm as a barrier, the other trapped beneath the gurgling, angry galdor as his toffin blood stained his crisp green uniform. Clearly, the other man was far more inebriated than himself to even consider assaulting a Seventen, and Rhys struggled for a moment with the options that were quickly being eliminated in the heat of the moment. For a galdor to attack another galdor was ridiculous, wasteful, foolish, but this ersehat was clearly a piece of inbred trash.

Twisting his body beneath the well-dressed man, the tall blond would have clearly been a superior combatant had he, himself, been sober. Benjamin managed to get in a few swings, unblemished knuckles landing desperate blows,

"Fuck you all for ruining my night!" He was whining and cursing, but Rhys struggled to shift his weight and attempted to toss the lighter little toffin toward the cobblestones, free hand shoving a hard palm one more time into the other galdor's bloodied face, eliciting a horrid noise of pain that finally sent Benjamin rolling to the ground, curled up and howling. The other galdor simply turned and ran, albeit as if he was in slow motion under water, dragging his feet and staggering away as quickly as his magically-dulled senses would allow. The Sergeant let him go for the moment, far too concerned with the bleeding young woman he knew far too well.

"Clocking trash. Don't get back up. You're under arrest." The Seventen hissed, voice thick with judgement as the pathetic other man held his face. Clocking hell, a patrol hopefully had heard them by now just so some other uniformed sod on blackback could process the loser.

"Y-yes, sir."

He hoped to the Circle the disgusting thing spent what was left of the night and the next day in a cell with a bunch of mewling prostitutes and sloppy drunk wicks. Slower to his feet than he willed his body to be, he moved toward the blonde pianist, reaching for her hands first without any hesitation in the rush of danger-filled excitement,

"Gods, it is you—damn it all. It's alright. Hey. It's Rhys Valentin, Charity. You're safe." Always reduced to awkwardness in Charity D'Arthe's presence in the past, the adrenaline-filled young man was a totally different creature in uniform. This wasn't the time to play catch up, even if something old and familiar fluttered about in his chest that had been tucked away years ago before Numbrey, before graduation. The delicate woman he'd spent nearly the entire decade of his school years distracted by or denying any such distraction was clearly not sober by any means, but in his own intoxication, the sight of her dirty and bleeding and clearly terrified cut through the thick coat of duty he wore handsomely with ease, "What happened so I can press charges properly?"

Already gathering his meager field again, he wanted to wipe her forehead and close the gash, aware that his casting often left much to be desired. Hesitant, he waited on her trust, unaware of just how eager he was for her recognition despite the circumstances of their unexpected reunion.
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Raksha
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Sun Jul 15, 2018 7:30 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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I tried.

The blonde pianist groaned, blinking as though trying to clear the stars from her eyes, confused momentarily as to what she was doing face down on the cobbled alleyway. She felt the hands on her body, moving her, rolling her over and the bunching of her skirts. With a sudden sharp clarity, the young galdor remembered what the tock was happening.

"Godsdamnit, get a better grip on her already, would you?" Charity struggled against the hands around her, kicking wildly and gasping for air to speak as Benjamin moved to do the unspeakable, tearing at the neckline of her ivory dress.

“Don’t, please don’t do this! Benjamin please, this is wrong. This is wrong!” The delicately framed woman sobbed, looking into his eyes with a desperate plea, the warmth of her own blood tickling her forehead. The brush of too cool, too rough hands on her thighs drew another horrified cry from her lips.

“Don’t let him do this!” She cried, field crackling and wavering with terrified disgust as she fought with all she had against the two inebriated men. All of a sudden, like a whip crack in the night, a voice rang out loudly. Unable to see over Benjamin’s shoulder, Charity drew another breath and screamed.

“Help me, help me please!” The pianist shouted in a cracked, panicked sob, her struggles freshly renewed as both men paused and glanced up at the intruder. Human, wick, galdori…from this distance with the two fields around her it was hard to tell, but she didn’t clocking care. Anyone was better than no one right now. Like unwanted trash, Chin tossed her aside, the woman landing roughly and grazing her hand. Dirty, frightened and high as a clocking kite, Charity raised up on one elbow and pressed a hand to her head with a soft hiss of pain. She heard the stranger speak again, and felt the shift in the mona around her even if she was too intoxicated to cast. Perceptive conversation filled the alleyway like a familiar friend, and laying on the cool stone of the confined space, Charity watched as Benjamin and his friend faltered. The bitter, burning taste of bile tingled on her tongue as the man moved closer and raised his hand. Not a man, a Seventen.

Alioe, really?

“I-I…I’m not…” Her violet eyes swept up to meet the Seventen’s own with a filthy, bloodied, tearstained face, frowning as he spoke her name. The galdor knew who she was, and somewhere in the back of her mind, the young mixed blood knew too. The name danced on the tip of her tongue, faintly teasing memories buried in the sands of time. She opened her mouth to speak, turning instead into a shout of surprise as Benjamin launched himself at the tall Seventen. Watching in a state of shock as the two tussled, Charity scrambled to move back against one of the cool buildings that made the alleyway, chest heaving with each breath. Her hands moved to her mouth with a gasping sob as the pathetic excuse for a galdor landed a couple of lucky blows on the man, eyes wide as Benjamin was finally put in his place. Looking at the sorry, bleeding ersehole on the ground, she trembled as she glanced up at the approaching Seventen. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of others approaching could be heard, along with the deep growl of the chroves that accompanied the patrols.

“Rhys?” The pianist said with a soft sound, the name flooding her drug addled mind with all the wonderfully bittersweet memories of the University. Of course it was him, how hadn’t she recognised that unkempt blonde mop and those crisp blue eyes. Reaching for his offered hands slowly, Charity took them and allowed him to help her to her feet, wavering unsteadily as she searched his face.

“Tocks. Rhys Valentin.” She murmured, her thoughts and feelings a whirling hot mess of things that had been quietly stored somewhere precious and hidden, now rudely strewn across the entirety of her mind. Blinking, she looked down at Benjamin cowering and nursing his face, her mouth dry. What the clocking hell could she say? The auburn ersehole looked at her, and he knew, by Alioe he knew he had the upper hand. If she told the truth, the inbred bastard would spill all the wicked and illegal things that had happened only hours before.

Then her father would know.

Fear laced her field heavily, and Charity glanced up as the patrol approached, before looking back at Rhys with a tearful shake of her head.

“We had a couple of drinks and I…it was a misunderstanding. It’s…it’s nothing.” She said softly, nausea rising as the lie fell from her lips. Benjamin smirked under his hand, laying back on the cool dirty stones as he waited for the chroves to arrive. He would be charged, no doubt, for attacking an officer. But not under the full weight of his actions. Looking down at their hands, Charity let go and pulled her torn dress closer to cover her lace undergarment with intentions of stepping away to find her purse, only to stumble and reach out to steady herself against his torso. Oh, this close she could almost pretend they were back in Brunnhold, before this life they called adulthood.

“Rhys, please, I just want to…I want to go.” The pianist pleaded, looking up at the taller galdor with wildly dilated violet eyes and a creased brow. She couldn’t be taken in for questioning, and she couldn’t press charges against Benjamin. Not lest she wanted to come face to face with her father’s wrath. It made her want to throw up, feeling trapped by her own ridiculous addiction. It had gotten her in this mess in the first place.

Idiot, stupid idiot woman.

Her fingers curled into the bloodied green fabric of his uniform, searching his face desperately. Gods, why here, why now?

Why him?

“Please?” She whispered, heart hammering in her chest. Alioe knew she couldn’t go home, not like this. Perhaps the blonde officer could take her to Xi’s home. The Hoxian was clearly not going to be there, but Charity knew where the spare key lived. And there was no way she would be going anywhere on her own, barely able to walk in a straight line as it was from the Kings Crop and trembling with shock. The ugly bruising and bleeding gash on her forehead barely registered as the first of the patrol entered the alleyway, her field fluctuating with worry and shame.

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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Sun Jul 15, 2018 8:49 pm

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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"That was not a fucking misunderstanding." Rhys hissed, wiping the corner of his lip with the back of a bloodied hand while he squeezed the delicate pianist's with the other. In their vicinity, he was made achingly aware of how much he'd had to drink, both because he smelled unmistakably like a tavern but also because the sight of Charity D'Arthe hurt and terrified stirred something hot and dangerous enough in his veins that he felt suddenly weak in the knees. He was inebriated, in uniform, and about to accuse some poor sod of assault on at least one count against his person, let alone against hers if she'd let him. When he held her wild violet gaze with his own bleary blue one, the Sergeant had seen enough strung out wicks and drunk humans to know which kind of expression he was looking at, which sort of influence the blonde he'd known for far more of his life than not was under.

Oh, tocks. Why?

His chest ached and her words of dismissal stung, even as he heard the snuffling of chroven and the concerned shout of a patrol. Patrol. Godsdamnit. Blinking at her in her fear, her intoxicated horror with a Patrol Captain of the Seventen as her clocking father, the tall blond's face twisted in unfiltered discomfort, caught between the stained green of his uniform and the smoldering sensation of unrequited emotions the lovely galdor stirred up from the silty, ignored places of his heart,

"No. Wait. You should press clocking charges, Charity. That wasn't—" He cut his fervent whisper short, feeling the shift in the disgusting excuse for a galdor's field as he groaned on the cobblestones at the young Valentin's feet. The petite blonde pulled her hands away and he turned to raise his hand in the direction of the approaching pair of Seventen, his uniform obvious, and so he called out, attempting to desperately regain his composure even as he nudged the stop-clocker with his boot roughly to get up,

"Special Enforcement Sergeant Rhys Valentin, sirs." He wavered on his feet even as the first patrol officer, an Ensign by his two snaps and therefore far beneath him in rank, slid off his chroven and approached briskly, warily eying the situation.

"Sergeant. We intercepted another young galdor apparently fleeing the scene. Was it that one?" The Ensign, a man just fresh out of Numbrey, barely younger than himself, gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. The dark-haired young man's field was heavy with with the strange sensation of moving, shifting, changing Static mona and in his alertness, it seemed to crackle and invade the frayed, wild Perceptive aura that the taller blond found himself all but drowning in between his field and Charity's.

"Yes." Rhys nodded, seeing the other patrol had the chin-endowed other man with him, resisting the urge to reach out for Charity, to take her hand and empower her to speak up because what he'd seen had not at all been misunderstood by anyone involved, "This stop-clocker assaulted me after I interrupted his act public indecency and attempted—"

The Ensign smirked, his gaze wandering to the crying, bleeding young woman with a hint of disbelief, to Rhys' unmistakably injured face, to the galdor with a broken nose who still had the gall to smirk, "Assaulted you, Sergeant?" The dark-haired galdor's tone was incredulous and his field seemed to become more oppressive.

"Yes. Look, let's be clear—I'm intoxicated. My Squad is still up the street at The Dark Horse, and we were celebrating tonight—"

"Yes, the Black Hand and Dr—ak—uh—congratulations, sir—"

"Thank you. They deserved it, not me. Anyway, they can corroborate my location and activities tonight so that you can put it on record that I'm not of sound mind. Regardless, I'm not clocking blind, only a little buzzed. I was on my way home when I came across three galdori in the alley after hearing a cry for help," The tall blond finally realized the trap of the situation he was in and for a moment he stood there, mouth open, wanting to gasp for breath but his lungs ached as if squeezed. The smug look on the bloodied ersehat's face next to him and Charity's ardent desire to flee, to not press charges—

Oh, clock the Circle.

Shaking his head, Rhys continued anyway, a vehemence sneaking into his tone, "When I arrived, this one had his pants down and the young lady here had very clearly told him no—"

"That's not true." Hissed the young man who had the nerve to speak up and the Ensign chuckled, "We were just playing around. She's drunk, too, Ensign—"

"Quiet. I'll take your statement ne—wait—you're all inebriated?" The dark-haired man sighed, shifting on his feet as if he considered dropping everything and leaving, but there was blood on the Sergeant's uniform and the young woman was still bleeding. The other Seventen dismounted and the Living mona that followed the second Ensign into the narrow alley was actually a comfort, "Go on, Sergeant Valentin."

"Anyway, yes. Everyone is intoxicated, but that's no excuse for public indecency of any kind. Nor assault. We're all clocking galdori here tonight, not a bunch of wild spokes avoiding curfew. Nor was anything consensual, Ensign. Make sure you write that down."

"Uhuh. If it wasn't consensual, why was a nice lady such as herself out drinking? Doesn't she know what kind of trouble she can get into? Nice ladies should stay at home doing nice things." The Ensign laughed, but his joke was ill-received by Rhys whose blue eyes widened and lips curled into a frustrated sneer.

"Exactly." Nodded the galdor with the broken nose, Benjamin, smugly, casting a sideways glance toward Charity as if to warn her that if she objected, he'd not only say her full name, but he'd make sure everything they'd been doing hours prior went on record for her father to read on his desk the next morning.

Fuck. Everything was about to go downhill and Rhys could feel all the truth of what had happened being ripped from his fingers. It was a terrible feeling, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to throw up or punch somebody.

"No. Stand down, Ensign. That sort of ignorance is why you'll never be Constable. Apologize before I have you reprimanded for harassment of a victim." The young Valentin all but growled, stepping forward, pointing at Benjamin with his field suddenly full of seething threat and impatience, "I was taking the ladies' statement when the young man attacked me." Lifting his chin to reveal where bruises would be later, the second Ensign approached and eyed him before roughly shouldering past him to reach for Benjamin first instead of Charity, almost ignoring the blood that still dribbled down her dirty, tear stained face.

Rhys felt dizzy and nauseated in his helplessness, the opinions of his inferior officers reminding him of all that was wrong with Anaxas,

"Clocking hell. I'm pressing charges for assault on an officer regardless. I want both of those men to spend the night in the Tankard with everyone else you've picked up shambling in the Dives and I will file the rest of my formal paperwork in the opening house. I have the Lady's statement and will escort her home as she doesn't wish to press charges at this time. Under the Queen's Statute of 2714, she's entitled one week's time to change her mind, as every galdor lady has a right to do, and so as your superior officer, I suggest you keep your clocking ignorant opinions in your mouth and clean up this mess immediately."

The Sergeant found his fire and it burned its way off his tongue and into the air, voice and field simmering with his sense of command. He spoke with a force that caused both Patrol Ensigns to blink as if suddenly remembering their places, and after the injuries were recorded, the second Ensign began to very precisely speak his Monite for the care of the injured, closing their wounds and knitting flesh back together without the same amount of sharp, momentary pain as from when they were caused thanks to his skill. The overwhelming scent of menthol filled everyone's lungs and nostrils and eyes, and a tingling lingered in the tips of their fingers as the Living mona finished obliging his requests with obvious reluctance given the level of everyones' lack of sobriety, the edges of which were softened but not abated entirely. Woven ever so subtly into the spells, however, were careful Quantitative phrases meant to measure levels of intoxication, to analyze the contents of the blood that stained their bodies, and the truth was not entirely a mystery to the Ensign: not everyone present was drunk, but he couldn't tell what else was clouding their minds. He was not yet trained.

Rhys scowled, not ignorant as to the standard procedures, and something heavy settled in the heat of his chest.

The Ensign hastily wrote several notes down and eyed everyone carefully before he leveled his deep, youthful timbre at everyone present. He didn't seem to like the statement that came out of his mouth, his expression sour, and he struggled in the middle as if wrestling with his own sense of morality,

"All charges are dismissed. All apologies, Sergeant, sir, but you're off duty and everyone is acting under the influence. I simply cannot take these charges seriously unless I agree to taking you all in for questioning and an overnight stay in jail. As you are in uniform, I am obliged to trust your judgement as my superior officer, but because you have been drinking, I'm not willing to take this any higher. And I don't think you want me to, anyway, with that knowledge. Sir, and if she's not pressing charges, we cannot proceed."

Benjamin had the nerve to snigger, swaying on his feet and grinning like a shark.

Fucking galdori privilege. This was not the first example of immediate immunity afforded his kind, and had Rhys not been an officer of the Seventen, perhaps he would have considered it right and proper. But he'd seen far too many chroveshit examples of his own kind—his own gods-blessed, rightfully ruling kind—act like monsters. Resisting the urge to spit on the bloodied pervert's fine shoes, he shifted warily when the dark-haired Ensign moved to take names and statements from the two young men who'd so obviously had lascivious intentions with the petite blonde he knew—or thought he knew—so well.

The opinionated, sexist erses who wore his uniform were making her wait until last. Rhys' restless fingers brushed Charity's arm and he offered her the slightly steadier support of his person without a second thought, adrenaline of the moment before draining far too swiftly and leaving a simmering emptiness in its wake,

"I'm sorry." He leaned to whisper, blue eyes taking in the clear names on both of the Ensign's uniforms and committing them to memory so he could keep an eye on their behavior, distracted unexpectedly by her hands curling into his dirty, bloody uniform and by the tone of her begging. There was no apology he could muster that mattered, and for a moment, he glanced down at her hands and bit his lip to resist the urge he had to hold her hands in his, aware such display of familiarity would have made matters worse instead of the better, "They'll want your last name, you know. I can't—Tocks."

Chewing the inside of his cheek because he understood what that meant for the Patrol Captain's daughter, he hesitated, hearing Benjamin give a false name for the delicate pianist and feeling the disgusting creature's satisfied expression wash over him. There was no need for Truth here, given that no one was sober and the paperwork wouldn't even make it off either of these Ensigns' desks.

He was going to get that piece of shit somehow.

Yes, he clocking was.

The tall blond's shoulders sagged and he stood for a moment, desperately attempting to sift through his seething, shifting thoughts for a solution, but afraid there was none,

"I'll at least walk you home, alright? None of those stopclockers will touch you. Again." Rhys whispered, waiting for one of the Ensigns to simply dismiss them, worried that he would end up the one reprimanded. Gods, he did not want to see Investigative Captain Arthur Haine's disappointed face.
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Charity Valentin
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: The voices aren't real, right?
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Tue Jul 17, 2018 8:55 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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She could see it, even in the addled state she was in Charity could see the slow realization cross Rhys’ face, his own legally intoxicated eyes holding hers for a fraction longer than needed. The Seventen protested her excuses, her protection of Benjamin’s unforgivable actions, and all the blonde could do was look away as the Ensign approached, crying quietly.

By the clocking Lady, what was she going to do.

Special Enforcement Sergeant, Charity didn’t fully know what it meant, but she knew enough about the Seventen through her father to know it wasn’t just some street patrol. In some other time and place, she would have been impressed. Right now though, she was clocking scared. As the patrol man thumbed towards Benjamin’s chin endowed companion, the petite woman chanced a look at him, her skin crawling at the still fresh memory of his hands holding her down. Perverted sick inbred sons of kensers. Rhys spoke for her, and she couldn’t help but stifle a hitching sob, the words forcing images and feelings into her mind.

The Ensign looked at her, and for a moment Charity wanted to hide behind her childhood crush, feeling almost more exposed under his scrutiny. She pulled the fabric of her dress over her chest, eyes widening slightly as the blonde continued to talk, glancing at Benjamin with a trembling lower lip. He had to stop talking, before it went too far.

We were just playing around…

The patrol captain’s daughter swallowed the bile and disgust that threatened to rise from her at the brunettes words, but it was nothing compared to the Ensigns comments. Looking at Rhys’ stained uniform, Charity cried softly. The taller man moved towards the sniggering galdor on the cobblestones, and for the moment the pianist stood alone, holding her dress to save her modesty. It was the Anaxi way, men still thought themselves the better sex, and clearly she had left herself open to this situation. Therefore, in the mind of the Ensign it was clear that she was to blame. She let her gaze drop to the stones as the patrol officer made his way to Benjamin first, Rhys continuing to fight for her even if she knew it didn’t matter. Unless she pressed charges, none of it would matter.

Shock and a numb acceptance washed over the blonde mixed blood as the Seventen healed her injured head along with the others, whilst the strong scent of menthol filled the air. She hated the feeling living magic left in her nerves, but at least the side effect of the healing was a lessening of her intoxication. The woman wasn’t sober, but at least now she could think a bit more clearly. Perhaps not a good thing, given now she could really feel how the dirt clung to her pale skin, the places where Benjamin had touched burning with the need to bathe and scrub away every sensation.

All charges are dismissed.

Of course they were. The bastard golly laughed, but Charity couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his smug gaze. He’d won, even if she wanted to stop and scream all the wrongs he’d done, Benjamin had her over the stupidity of her actions. Rhys apologised to her, and it was the nicest thing she thought she’d heard in a really really long clocking time. Gods, if her father found out about this…

Curling her fingers tighter into the Seventen’s uniform, Charity moved to rest her forehead against his chest with a shuddering soft sob, thankful at least that Benjamin upheld his end of the unspoken bargain and gave the Ensigns a false name for herself.

“No!” She breathed sharply, looking up at Rhys again and shaking her head slightly.

“Not home.” The shorter woman said softly, waiting for the Seventen patrol to let them go, glancing around for her purse. Once she located it, the blonde looked up at him and nodded.

“I can’t yet. Not in this state. Is there...I might...I could...” Charity stumbled over her thoughts. She could go to Xi’s, but Alioe she didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. She would follow Rhys if he walked, moving along at a sedate pace, her once ready smile so far gone since the last time they’d met. Walking in silence for a while, the pianist finally spoke, hoping that talking to the officer would wash her mind of the repeat visions that burned in her mind.

“Rhys Valentin. I honestly never expected you to join the Seventen. You used to infuriate Professor Dallium so much, I genuinely wondered why you weren’t gated. Special Enforcement too, that’s no small feat.” She said softly, warmth of their school years moving gently through her chest like a hot beverage. It had been years, years since they’d last seen each other, but Charity still held a candle. Even if it had been stored under all her social activities and career and father’s ever controlling rules, the delicate pianist still felt a small thrill in her chest as the taller blonde walked so close beside her. Like stepping through an opened door, her infatuation with Rhys Valentin was rekindled with just the whisper of his voice and those piercing blue eyes. Perhaps, if her father didn’t have eyes and ears in the school faculty, perhaps she would have courted with Rhys. Perhaps it could have been something grand.

But he did have eyes and ears. And Master Valentin had not been a viable suitor at the time. Father looked for someone with more assets and connections than good sense, and already had suggested a couple of men far far her senior.

Alioe, those eyes.

“It’s, it’s really good to see you again. Even if this is never how I would have imagined it.” She wanted to say more to him, but her drug stained mind and post-traumatic shock held her tongue for the time being. Her violet eyes began to scan the city street, happy to be moving at least away from the alley and away from home.

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Rhys Valentin
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Wed Jul 18, 2018 4:59 pm

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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They hadn't spoken for years, and had Rhys not been so caught up in the moment, disgusted and concerned, perhaps he would have been able to dwell on how swiftly six or so years had passed between them with hardly a word. He'd promised, and he'd kept it—Captain D'Arthe's stern warning for the only son of a lowly plantation-owning galdor from the middle of nowhere Edmonton to stay away from his clocking daughter. Courting was out of the question, given his less than admirable status even among the ranks of his kind, and so why should they even remain friends? It had been with much angst and frustration that the tall blond had finally, obediently relented in his attentions. He had nothing to offer her—no family fortune, no future of comfortable wealth or prestige—and all those years ago, he hadn't made the most memorable of impressions on the slightly terrifying man, either.

He probably still hadn't made much of an impression on that ersehole, despite his current position as one of the youngest Seventen to reach the rank of Sergeant in the history of the organization. He'd purposefully avoided joining the Patrol Division, no matter how much it had once appealed to him, no matter how pressured he'd felt by superiors during his training, not wishing to end up under the command of the monster he still struggled to believe was Charity's father in the first place. Now? Well, now he couldn't give a kenser's erse what that Co-Captain thought of him.

He'd made his own name, after all. And it was a good one.

Rhys did realize, however, especially with her fingers curling once again into the blood-stained greens of his uniform, with her disheveled platinum hair brushing his chest, with all the alcohol that still swam dizzily through his system, that he cared a bit too much about Charity D'Arthe's opinion of him even after all this time. He couldn't hide the flush her proximity brought to his face, even if he wavered on his feet for a moment, less buzzed but more tired after even the briefest of brushes with Living Conversation and adrenaline.

Clock the Circle. Why now?

It was all he could do to keep his own hands to himself in front of other officers and especially in front of the disgusting creatures who'd wanted to take advantage of the delicate pianist in her intoxicated state. Allowing her touch, he straightened, having done his best to keep his blue eyes on the Ensigns instead of on her and her torn, ruined clothing that threatened both the limits of his once-dormant imaginations and her modesty.

Clearing his throat and finally, gently, prying her fingers from his uniform, he offered her a shy, private expression of apologies, reaching to unbutton his jacket and slip himself free, sash and snaps and all, to wrap it comfortingly about her petite frame, lingering when he drew the collar together and meeting her gaze instead of letting his wander where it shouldn't, "Why not ho—" The Sergeant began almost rhetorically, pausing mid-word both because he knew the answer and because the dark-haired Ensign finally approached,

"Seeing as I've taken both your statement and the statements of the other two men involved, Miss Kingsley, would you still like to give a statement at all?" The Ensign seemed to be admitting it wouldn't matter anyway if she did or if she didn’t, having already made his conclusions so typical of the same ersehats that attempted to molest so-called friends in alleys in the first place. Rhys now knew his name and his face and he would be making damn sure his misrepresentation of the safety Seventen were supposed to offer all galdori wouldn't go unpunished, on or off the books.

Bastards.

"She has a week." The tall blond repeated, emphasizing the little known law he'd memorized in training.

"So she does, Sergeant. May I recommend you go on and escort her home while I lock these two up in the Tankard for the night, as per your orders?" The Ensign was clearly displeased but made it just as clear that he knew his place, nodding his head to excuse himself and turning to take care of his two charges.

Rhys didn't waste a moment, though he sneered at their backs before he slipped a hand in Charity's without a second thought and walked away. She was far less stable on her feet, though how anyone could walk anywhere in heels at all was still beyond his ability to comprehend. He led them in silence until he'd decided they'd put enough distance between them and everything that had just happened,

"You still live at home, don't you? Gods, really?" He finally had to ask while she stumbled over her words, realizing rather quickly her reluctance revealed that she shared a roof with the Co-Captain he still avoided despite his rank. He couldn't help but chuckle, his words spoken a bit swiftly, unable to help the sudden nervousness that warmed his chest and focused his inebriated thoughts in a direction that was, to his credit, mostly innocent in its kindness, "What a shame. Yes, well, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, to be fair. Look, I'm not far from here near Kingsway Market. Come over and clean up at least and we'll figure out what to do from there—I—"

She said his name and he paused, blinking at her words, before a slow, wicked grin crept across his face, "Oh, please. Never? You should have guessed that I was headed into this uniform after all the things your father said I couldn’t do and shouldn’t be." Rhys was honest, and while there was a hint of hurt in his voice, it was old and comfortable, "I clocking stayed away from Patrol Division, however. You can guess why. Four snaps in two years—no one said it could be done by someone like me, towheaded and mediocre. Fuck 'em all. I did it anyway."

He did it for her, but he'd never, ever, not in a thousand years say that out loud.

The tall blond thumbed his nose for emphasis, dissolving into coarse laughter and leaning slightly to playfully brush against the petite blonde as if nothing had changed between them in their distance from each other, though the tightness in his chest at her unsteadiness reminded him that yes, so much had changed. He led them through the streets with practiced ease, making sure they staggered their way through main thoroughfares toward Kingsway Market and toward the three-story building that housed both the Hoxian dsoh shop, a flower shop, and several very nice apartments like his own,

"This clocking madness isn't exactly how I'd pictured running into you, either, you know ..." His words implied he'd imagined, and he didn't make any effort to hide the truth that he had, turning down the side street and letting the familiar scent of so much broth and spices fill his senses, nodding toward the exterior stairs of the building that led to his particular home. He paused as if he had more to say, as if he was going to ask all of the difficult questions he'd let hang between them:

What had really happened tonight?

If she wasn't drunk, what was she intoxicated with?

Who were those erseholes?

Where had she been?

Why hadn't they talked in so long, living in the same damn city as adults?


But, while those thoughts swam through his mind just like alcohol still swam through his system, he bit his lip and held his tongue in check. Blue eyes searched her dirty, bloodied face and took in the disheveled creature he'd wrapped in his soiled coat, unable to hide the sudden mix of feelings that rushed into the cavity of his chest,

"Tocks, Charity." The Sergeant whispered with unabashed nostalgia, shaking his head as if to clear it before he led them up the stairs, patting his pockets before he realized his keys were in his coat, the coat that was not on his person. Pointing sheepishly to indicate they were inside, he waited for the petite blonde to retrieve them before opening his door and letting them both in, leaning against the same door once he'd shut and locked it behind them.

Reaching up to curl fingers into his untamed hair with a long sigh through his teeth, Rhys stood awkwardly for a moment, the realities of the latter half of his evening slowly sinking in. He longed to say so many things, to ask so many things, and yet the woman in front of him reminded him in her current state that now wasn't yet the time, if it ever would be at all,

"Do you need to sit? Can I get you something to drink? Run you a bath? Yes, gods, let me at least do that for—" His thoughts raced and his pulse thrummed with a strange cocktail of concern and unrequited history, interrupted by the chirrup of his osta, the dark grey one-eyed creature coming to investigate the appearance of a stranger in her territory. The sleek pet ignored Rhys entirely, making a bee-line for the young woman in his coat to sniff and chirp at. For an animal that wouldn't even let him pet her that often, the Sergeant pretended not to feel a hint of jealousy at the osta's immediate friendliness,

"—oh. Jynx, you traitorous beast." Rhys hummed, welcoming the moment to collect his thoughts, finding himself too full of them and not inhibited enough to contain them without effort,

"What happened?"

Perhaps his question was far more purposefully ambiguous than he was able to consider, but he asked it anyway.
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Charity Valentin
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Thu Jul 19, 2018 9:23 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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Charity all but disappeared in the Seventen’s green jacket, reaching to hold it together as he held her gaze, delicate fingertips brushing his own hands ever so gently. Rhys began to question her immediate hesitation to go home, his words pausing as his crisp blue eyes finished the answer he already knew. As the Ensign approached to talk to them, the blonde broke away from the taller galdor’s eyes to glance at the ground, ready to shake her head. Rhys spoke up for the pianist again, and she couldn’t help but sigh with thankful relief, surprised by the warmth of his hand entwined with hers under the too long sleeve of the decorated jacket.

Weaving slightly as they strolled through the streets, the young woman pressed her lips together at his question, hearing the soft chuckle and the rushed tone of his voice. She remembered that tone, those nervous chuckles. The sound was as distractingly delightful as it had been so many years prior.

“You thought he would let me leave without being wed to his perfect chess piece?” Charity said softly, tugging the oversized jacket closer together over her person, realising that Rhys Valentin was inviting her to his house. To his personal abode.

Clocks, it may as well be sneaking out after curfew into each others dormitories.

She remembered those days they’d spend hours and hours talking together, laying side by side on the small school cordoned bed with legs hanging off the edge, hands barely brushing together as though on the very verge of touching. Charity was utterly enamoured with the blonde boy, but her fear of her father’s wrath kept the young woman in check. Unable to do more than dance around the edges of what could have been more, the intoxicated woman recalled they had almost been more. Her father, in his obsessive and controlling desire to have a viable offspring discovered the friendship, knowing full well there was more to it than just a study friend. He took Charity to task, ingraining into her mind and body that she was to end it with Rhys, before it went too far.

Terror was unfortunately an overwhelming force, more than the gentle stoking of teenage romance, and almost overnight the blonde girl cut her ties with the tall blue eyed boy. They drifted apart, and her path took her down the rabbithole that led to this night. As Rhys mentioned the man in black, watched the Seventen grin, blushing with memories that she’d buried for so long.

“Well, I suppose, you were always such a clocking rebel. No one could ever tell you what to do, even when they thought they had.” She smiled, a small thing, as he laughed and bumped her gently. Their fields mingled warmly, familiar and comfortable, even if not entirely straight. Looking up at Rhys, Charity chuckled and shook her head, before looking to the road ahead of them. As they approached the building, the once student eyed the dsoh shop with a faint nostalgic smell of the delicious noodles that basically made up some really clocking good nights in the stacks.

“I…” The violet eyed mixed blood couldn’t find the words to explain any of it, unwilling to voice out loud what he so clearly knew in some way, following as the blue eyed galdor led her up the stairs that must have led to his home.

“I’m sorry.” Charity finished quietly, unsure if she was sorry that they’d reunited like this, or that they’d had to let each other go six years prior. Biting her lip to quell the feelings that burned in her chest, looking down as he pointed to the jacket. She opened one side, looking for the pocket and fishing out a set of keys, handing them to Rhys and steopping inside once the door was opened.

As he closed and locked the door behind them, Charity couldn’t help but feel a huge sense of relief. She was safe now, even without having spoken to the man for such a long time, the dirty and battered blonde knew she was safe. Her eyes scanned his home, picking out both familiar and unfamiliar flairs of décor. Shifting to remove the jacket with a slow, unsure movement, the blonde was distracted by the soft chirp of the approaching one eyed osta. Smiling, Charity knelt down, dishevelled platinum locks around her shoulders as she reached out to stroke the grey creature.

“Jynx. That’s a pretty name.” The woman said directly to the osta, before straightening again. A bath, a drink, Gods both were an excellent idea.

What happened?

Charity’s smile fell slowly as she kept her eyes from meeting his gaze, looking at the floor as she removed the bloodstained jacket, folding it and gently draping it over the back of a chair. She knew he didn’t just mean tonight, he meant to them. To her. Stroking her fingers lightly over the four snaps, the delicate pianist shook her head with a shrug.

“The world happened Rhys. The world came and stabbed its sharp filthy blade in my ever so brilliant life to make it a little more brilliant.” There was sarcasm in her tone, not unkind toward the man, but self deprecating. Charity knew she wasn’t giving him a true answer, but frankly she couldn’t. Rhys was a friend, so much more than a friend, but at the end of the day he was a Seventen. There was no admitting her insidious addictions to him, not with any words. The man knew her, had known her, well enough to see what she didn’t say. Rubbing her hands over her arms, curling one into the dirt smattered curve of her shoulder, the pianist took a deep breath.

“Benjamin and his companion propositioned myself, something I politely declined. They caught up with me outside, and…and I said no…” She stumbled over her words, almost growling the last no, eyes threatening to well again. Blinking rapidly, she laughed and looked at the ceiling.

“I can’t tell them Rhys. I can’t because Benjamin knows he only has to mention my real name. Can you imagine if he….tocks…” Her throat constricted against the very words, fear of her father a real and tangible presence in her field and her voice. Gasping and bringing her eyes back to her once nearly childhood sweetheart, Charity held herself, eyes sweeping over the crystalline blue of his gaze and the soft bow of his lips.

“A bath, please. If it’s not too much to ask.” The woman said in a small voice, standing filthy and disheveled in her once fine ivory dress, the delicate filigree of her black undergarment peeking from just beneath.

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Rhys Valentin
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Thu Jul 19, 2018 2:12 pm

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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The tall blond had no comment about Captain D'Arthe's opinion on perfection, quite aware that he didn't fit the carefully crafted mold Charity's father had in mind for the particular vision he'd created for his daughter's future. What he'd taken so seriously as a youth now seemed like foolishness as an adult, however, and he had very little shame about inviting her to his home as an adult. There was a flutter of nervousness there, however, a reminder of longings unfulfilled, and when she smiled at him and called him rebellious, Rhys could only laugh again, shaking his head in a mockery of self defense,

"Hey. I obeyed one rule." He taunted her with their lengthy history, making a joke out of something that had once crushed that vital organ keeping him alive in his chest, "Look where it got us both, am I right?"

The petite blonde apologized on his threshold while his intoxicated pulse thrummed in his ears, quickened by smoldering fantasies and too much excitement. Was she sorry they'd both done what they were told? Was she sorry she'd never sought him out again over the years just as he'd been so clocking careful to avoid her? Was she sorry he'd found her vulnerable on the street? Gods, what if he hadn't? What if—

"Don't be. Your father's a clocking ersehat with too much power and I'm more of an idiot than I can ever make up for because I clocking bothered to listen to what he wanted. That one time, and it was moony." It was that simple, wasn't it? That was the truth that singed the air between them like runoff from a brail, but all he could do was roll his eyes and lock the door behind them, closing out the darkness of the night from her frightening experience and the memories of an unrequited past they couldn't go back to even if they'd really wanted to. He was apologizing in his own way, but it wasn't for tonight. He wasn't sorry about that. Or this. He wasn't sorry at all.

Blue eyes watched her fingers brush over the symbolic pieces of metal he'd worked his erse off to earn for recognition that didn't matter until today, recognition that had just been dismissed by his inferior officers and their ignorant, traditional opinions on the weaker sex,

"More brilliant? What's that supposed to mean?" Rhys questioned in still-inebriated confusion, unable to help letting his gaze wander over Charity's dirty, disheveled, and delicate self without bothering to hide familiar interest. An adult now, the boyish shyness had faded into a bolder appreciation, but after her evening, such a lingering glance was not appropriate. He rolled his shoulders into a shrug and quickly looked away, tugging off his boots and removing his belt with his baton, listening to her attempt to explain what had happened in as ambiguous detail as possible.

She didn't want to tell him everything, either. He could feel it, that heaviness in her field that wasn't at all a stranger after all this time. There were things Charity held back from him, especially in this moment, and yet she didn't have to tell him everything anyway. Some things he knew. Or thought he could guess at, his analytical, investigative mind already churning out theories without his permission.

His title and position came with experience, and two years of it had already begun to jade him, more than just a little.

His time on the streets of Vienda had left him far too aware of what was available for more than just recreational use, and he'd seen far too many of his own kind—galdori with too much time or too much money or too little satisfaction in their lives falling into expensive social habits usually revolving around mind-altering experiences both mundane and magical. The young Sergeant swallowed hard the strange mix of emotions that watching and listening to the delicate pianist he'd more than simply held a candle for since his childhood skirt around the admission of just how far she'd crawled from the straight and narrow dredged up inside the cavity of his chest—but why? Other than the pressures of her overbearing father requiring some kind of escapism, some kind of way out he'd once longed so desperately to be, was there more he'd missed out on after they'd been forbidden to even be friends?

"Can't tell who? Your father? The Seventen? Or me?" He understood that he was now two of those things, perhaps even more Seventen than friend in this moment after all their time apart, "Charity, what are you on, anyway? I bet I can guess, and it's not Chroven Hearts or chan, is it? I know too clocking much about all that's out there, washed in from gods know where on Hawke's ships or dragged into our Kingdom by some other fucking criminal's caravan, so you can't clocking surprise me. Just one mistake at a clocking party is a pretty forgivable offense, at least in my books. And I know them all. It's not like you're selling opiates on the streets, right? I'd know if you were: that's my job now as Special Enforcement Sergeant, I—never mind. You've had enough Seventen talk tonight."

The tall blond was rolling up his sleeves because he had every intention of honoring her request for a bath, desperate not to look too long at her in his spartan but comfortable enough apartment. Teenaged Rhys would not have been able to handle this moment, no matter the circumstance of its design. Uniformed, adult Rhys was struggling enough, not unaware of her violet eyes wandering over him or the realization that he'd be allowing her to undress in his bathroom, let alone that he had no idea what in the world she could borrow from his meager closet.

Tocks. He wasn't sober enough for those thoughts at all. Even if he was—

Inhaling sharply at the wandering of his intoxicated imaginations, suddenly so brightly rekindled by the delicate pianist's abrupt and violent reappearance into his life, he reminded himself of the inappropriateness of all of his unasked for desires considering the circumstance of their reunion. Stepping over the very content Jynx to bring himself inappropriately close to Charity, he spoke with a quiet insistence,

"Did that Benjamin ersehat share something with you in hopes of having a good time at your expense? Or did you make that choice yourself? Because, all I need is his full name and the name of his ugly friend and your father won't know a thing when I'm through with them both." Rhys' tone and the sudden flex of his field implied he was as ignorantly hopeful that the petite blonde's drugged state was a first time offense as he was that those disgusting galdori he had to call peers were the ones who took advantage of her innocence to let her try whatever it was she was on—probably an opiate of some kind, given his brief but educated inspection of her person.

Not that he could protect her if her answer was anything but simple, the weight of his title and duty settling heavily in his stomach like one beer too many. Nausea at the very thought of it burned the back of his throat and he sighed in their proximity, reaching up to brush some dirty platinum strands of hair from her bloodstained face with a mix of both proper chagrin and improper shamelessness.

By the Lady, he'd told himself he didn't miss her one bit, that he was better off without her anyway, bit it was all a clocking lie. The sharp knife of regret twisted in his gut and he realized how much he'd allowed himself to pretend,

"Charity, you know you can trust me, right? Uniform or not—it's still me—" The tall blond bit his lower lip at his own words, aware that he was making a bold promise he wasn't even sure he could keep. He wanted to be able to keep it, of course, just these brief, unexpected moments with the young woman he'd nursed such a crippling crush on for far too much of his youth enough to set ablaze everything he thought he'd snuffed out in his mind and, worse still, in his heart.

Blinking, he made some awkward half-chuckle noise and finally tore himself away from standing too close, forcing himself to move toward the small bathroom in his cozy apartment,

"—chimes and bells. Bath. I'm sorry. You—I—some things never change, but I'm not complaining." He paused in his room, selecting a shirt that wasn't one of his uniforms so that the petite blonde could at least figure out what to do with her dress before moving to draw a bath in the equally small but comfortably functional tub. His words were spoken loudly above the rush of water, above the loud sound of his heart against his ribs, noisy and honest and just as plainly spoken as the young Valentin was known for, consequences be damned, melting time and space into the steam that rose from his humble tub as if by magic,

"I clocking missed you, I'll have you know."
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Fri Jul 20, 2018 11:02 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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”It mean’s that I’m not the girl you knew.” The blonde said softly, curling her fingers away from the snaps and rubbing gently at the puckered pink scar just beneath her ribs, a deep sort of ache radiating from within. Her voice caught, watching Rhys remove his boots and belt, unwilling to tell that story just yet. He’d already seen enough of her to be disappointed by what she’d become, there was no need to give him more reasons.

“You. Them. Him. All of you. Tocks…” Charity hugged herself, as though staving off unseen forces against her delicate frame. Rhys continued, cutting right the point, and she couldn’t help but scoff with a shake of her head.

“...Rhys don’t. Don’t ask me this.” She whispered, brow furrowed as she looked down at her feet with a blush, knowing if he kept pursing it she would break. His voice was deeper than when they were young, but it still set her heart racing at the sound, so genuine and concerned.

Without warning Rhys stepped closer, so close Charity could have lifted on tiptoe to press his lips to his, and her violet gaze was lost in the blue of his own. She swallowed as soft fingers moved her disheveled hair from her face, resisting the urge to lean towards his hand. It had been so hard to walk away the first time, so painful and crushing, but Alioe her father had hovered like some bound ghost, ensuring his daughter did not stray again from his careful grooming. She wasn’t anymore than a legacy to him, once that he would make sure didn’t become an absolute embarrassment like Mathias and their mother.

You know you can trust me, right?

“Yes, of course. Always.” She answered quietly in words so similar to those they’d spoken years ago, breathing shallow as she stood before the man, wishing the world would just take them back in time, before it all was so complicated. Alioe, save me. Her eyes drifted to his lower lip, drawn so perfectly between white teeth, the warmth of her field so gently rising the pulsing flex of his own. It would be just so easy to lean forward and…

“Of course. Bath.” Charity breathed as Rhys broke the tension, turning her head slightly as she reigned in the urge to kiss the taller galdor. It was not the right place, or the right time, not after the events of the evening.

Why? Why isn’t it right?

Moving to join the Seventen as he walked through to the bathroom, Charity watched as he ran the bath, steam rising around him like some sort of shroud. She carefully removed her boots, using the toe of one boot to push off the other so she didn’t have to hobble around trying to pull it off. Stepping out of the shoes, the small blonde stood barefoot on the cool floor.

I clocking missed you, I’ll have you know.

The pianist felt a wave of tears threaten to come forth, blinking rapidly and looking away as she tried to get them under control, her field belaying what her heart truly sang.

“I missed you too, Valentin.” She said thickly, laughing softly as though it was all some strange cruel joke. Maybe she’d actually died on the lounge beside Xi. Maybe this was all the afterlife, and Rhys was her light on the other side.

Or maybe you’re just high.

“I missed you every clocking day. Everday. I cried, so much that I thought I couldn’t cry anymore and then I cried again. I begged father to reconsider, I...I didn’t care what he did. I just wanted to be with you Rhys, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t.” Charity shook her head, staring at the space between them. A bitter chuckle came from the pale, disheveled creature.

“I tried to drown the way seeing you around campus tore me apart, spending more time with people I probably shouldn’t have doing things I definitely shouldn’t have. I was stupid, and I didn’t care. I nearly died, in the Stacks. Some human, I don’t really recall much but afterwards. After they fixed me, that’s where I found I could make all my feelings just disappear. I could make you disappear, and it was just easier than being miserable for the rest of my life. The mixed blood galdor spilt it all suddenly, in one huge flood of words that didn’t quite make sense, but maybe made just enough sense. She breathed raggedly, barely containing a sob as she gestured at herself.

“But it wasn’t easier Rhys, and I am still miserable. The only difference is that I can make it not matter for a while. Or I could until I saw you, and tocks Good Lady save me, I feel all these feelings now. Damn it Rhys.” Charity looked at him, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as she fought the emotions rallying against the walls she’d so carefully built from the narcotics.

“Gods, just ignore me. I’m rambling, and I’m just...I should just...”

Damn it.

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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
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Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Fri Jul 20, 2018 3:56 pm

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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Time had passed and yet it hadn't, and some things had, indeed, changed in both of their lives. It was unexpectedly easy to fall into the familiar and the comfortable, whether it was the nostalgic sensation of her own collection of similar mona that clung to her field or whether it was simply years of pining catching up to him in one singular moment, Rhys couldn't really tell. He frowned at her whispered resistance and disappointment filled the space between them with a heaviness nearly equal to his weighty emotions. Perhaps she expected judgement from the tall blond, given his choice of careers, given his rank, and yet as far as he was concerned, just like that loud, rebellious teenager with a very huge crush on the delicate pianist, Charity D'Arthe could still do no wrong in his eyes.

Well, even if she did—

"I mean it." He wasn't sober enough to be insincere, but his tone was distant, mind wandering the past for a moment under her rather pointed violet gaze. She was staring, and there was something about the way that the blonde galdor breathed in their proximity that was distracting, different, and while he didn't have to answer to the rules of adults anymore because he was one and he didn't have to answer to Captain D'Arthe because he wasn't even his captain, Rhys allowed what little common sense remained in his fading inebriated state to reign, stepping away from standing so clocking close to the object of his childhood fantasies.

As much as he felt very compelled to pick things up where they'd once left off just in her presence, he felt a nagging guilt, a suddenly immense burden made heavier by the situation she'd just walked away from ... without justice.

It was, what the Sergeant thought, a quick and innocent change of subject, thoughtlessly leading her through his apartment in an unofficial and unspoken tour, perhaps not entirely expecting her to follow him and yet expecting it at the same time. He sighed at her equally honest admission, at her sharing of the same feelings that had woven their quiet, persistent roots through every aspect of his life for six clocking years. Staring at the faucet, blue gaze focused on the steaming hot water even as his eyes stung and his chest tightened, fingers curling tighter into the copper lip of the small tub.

Six years. He'd followed one order, and what had it gotten him? What had it gotten her?

Charity kept talking, however, expounding on the depths of her longing in their separation, and her words compelled him to stand up and turn back to face the delicate pianist in her broken, dirtied state barefoot in his bathroom. He leaned a shoulder against the tile wall, knees suddenly weak and head spinning with the heavy wave of emotions that threatened to drag him out to a sea he'd told himself he'd never sail again. He tried to follow her brief history of their time apart, far too analytical, investigative-trained mind filling in the gaps with assumptions of details she was far too intoxicated to give clearly. He'd seen enough in two years across Anaxas in Seventen uniform to be able to interpret that she'd not only been attacked in the street, but found the opiates given to her as a treatment to be more than just a physical comfort,

"Wait—what? Hang on—nearly died? Some human? Fixed—oh, gods." Had she been coping through those drugs and more all this time? Without getting caught by her overbearing father or tangled with other strangers like the bastards from tonight?

Clock the Circle! How her admissions made something hurt inside, something old and buried and declared dead through denial, and he sighed through his nose, jaw clenched as he madly attempted to keep any tears from falling down his cheeks. The petite blonde's words were meant to be sad— this much he knew—and they were full of things that crushed him, preventable terrible things that made him angry and stirred his once-childish longings to comfort her. Her rambling shoved sharp objects in sore places, fanning the flames of his sense of duty and protective motivations for ever joining the Seventen in the first place. Terrible things—

—and yet her words revealed her feelings, announcing through all of the unveiled pain that she'd carefully kept hidden her feelings for him, burying them at the behest of her father and drowning them in substances he was obligated by his uniform not to tolerate.

"Charity."

Rhys said her name quietly, but with a depth of emotion he hadn't expected, something cracking and shattering in his chest under the weight of what he could only describe as guilt. Of all the rules he'd ever chosen to obey, Captain Damen D'Arthe's had been a mistake.

"I'm sorry. I feel things, too. So many things. Things I thought I'd put away like childhood toys, but—but. I haven't. I didn't. I refused. I just thought you had instead." His bathroom was a small space and the delicate pianist was a small creature. It took very little effort to reach for her, and even less for the tall blond to envelop her disheveled self in a warm and unashamed embrace, holding her with a sincere tightness as if he couldn't pull her close enough, as if there was nothing he could do to fix the distance they'd both allowed to fill all the space between them until now. He rest a cheek against her dirtied platinum hair and whispered the rest of his words fervently above the sound of the faucet and the fierce beating of his heart in his chest, blue gaze on the water,

"Listen, I should never have let your father's words intimidate me. Of all the rules I clocking didn't care about, I only chose to follow that one because of you. Captain D'Arthe's not wrong, you know: I had nothing to offer you. I still don't. My family name is a small, unimpressive one. But I tried to make something of myself, even if he never noticed. Those four snaps? Every one of them has been for you—"

That wasn't as hard to say out loud as he'd thought, and he sobbed a little and laughed a little, not letting go, wanting to disappear into his words or, if nothing else, at least into his needful hug,

"—but they're for nothing. I see that now. In this moment. Meaningless if this is where you are, if this is what's happened while we've been apart. I've accomplished things others feel the need to brag about, sure, but they've all been without you. You needed someone and I didn't protect you, so I've wasted so much time. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Charity. Had I known—gods, had I known that you've kept your feelings over all these years, I wouldn't have stayed away for so long. I thought by now you'd forgotten me, telling myself I was clocking stupid for not letting you go."

Leaning back, his hands shifted with an unaware sort of inappropriateness over her ruined dress to hold her face gently, his palms hot, his nerves tense, his pulse so loud he worried he'd go deaf. He felt both heartbroken and overjoyed at the same time and in his current state of mind the mix of feelings was as strange as it was overwhelming. By the Lady, had he missed her, but gods, what kind of mess had she gotten herself into over the years if tonight was just one small example?

It would have been very easy to sweep things away, to forget everything that had gone unsaid between them, to usher in an unexpected reunion with a bold and often-fantasized about kiss. His whole self hummed for it, expectant and eager, and even his blue-eyed gaze betrayed him, shifting from holding her violet hues to drifting over the attractive curve of her lips. But the blood and dirt on her face dragged his focus back to the moment, to this moment instead of desired ones, even as he stood there and breathed slowly, so close but so far away. A sloshing sound reminded him of his present duties and a blatantly stupid expression warmed his features,

"Clocking hell. Damn it!" He muttered as water tickled their bare feet, dribbling over the edge of the tub and drawing a ridiculous, embarrassed, tension-breaking laugh from him. Reluctantly, his hands slid away from Charity's face and he leaned toward the faucet, shutting off the water and kneeling as quickly as possible to willingly submerging his hand and shirt and arm into the comfortably hot water to pull the plug and let just a bit of the water begin to drain, watching it this time instead of looking up at her, instead of letting himself gaze longingly at her face again like some fool,

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything." His remaining dry hand reached for hers again, lanky self practically able to fill the whole bathroom had he stretched. Pulling her closer, he spoke without bothering to stand, leaning against the tub,

"It's by Alioe's kind wisdom and kinder timing that we could find each other again tonight, though, I'll admit I wish I had been just a bit more quick about things. I should've beaten them both soundly and taken the reprimand."
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