JOHN TRAVOLTAAAAA

The sharp click of heeled boots echoed through the polished obsidian halls in at an even, unbroken tempo. Left and right through those high vaulted, mammoth corridors the denizens of this black fortress scuttled and skittered on a multitude of legs, desperate to get out of the way of the source of those footsteps. The pace was fast, each step near a stomp, and one could almost feel the high level of pent up, broiling irritation in that sound alone.

No doubt every single one of the strange and vile beasts now slipping away into the shadows could hear that loud and clear as well. One of them, a being that nearly looked to be a half scorched bumblebee at least the size of a man, was having a touch more trouble than all the rest of them at getting out of the way. The grotesque thing's chitin was pitted and blackened, the fluff that would have normally added at least some hint of charm to a bumblebee, even one of their size, was patchy and half fused to it's body. The poor thing's wings fluttered uselessly as it tried to haul itself up and into an indentation in the wall, but the slippery stone that composed the wall itself rejected every single attempt to find purchase upon it.

The thing that this unsettling, insectoid creature was so desperate to get away from was already swiftly coming into range, and it pressed itself tightly against the wall as the steps drew closer. One could almost imagine the compound eyes of the poor beast screwed tightly shut in panic with them like this, apparently utterly convinced of it's untimely and violent demise.

“Stop whimpering, obnoxious little slug.” The thing walked past with only that single barb. The bumblebeast for its credit did indeed go deathly silent, as did the rest of the hall, filled with only the sound of retreating footsteps. This would soon be followed by what could only be described as a collective sigh, the walls and ceiling beginning to seethe with life as other bug-like creatures of every size and kind slipped and shimmied free of their hiding places. As for the bumblebeast, the second the sound of footsteps died away, it simply released the wall, falling onto its back to lay there motionless for a time. They'd all get to live another miserable day, it seemed.

---

At the end of the hall, a pair of iron doors loomed, imposing and inconveniently large. There was no bolt to be seen but then again, it would take a great deal of strength to shift the doors in any direction, so perhaps they really didn't need them. Granted, he didn't really set foot in this disgusting place very much, so he shouldn't really blame the door's owner for not taking him into account. He was going to anyway of course, but he shouldn't.

With a sharp click, the thing from the hall stopped before the doors, arms crossed in sullen annoyance. Upon his back, six magnificent wings lifted and spread, the air suddenly filled with the sound of glass chimes as the feathers gently rattled and clinked together. A thousand little panes of glass instead of fiber and sheaths composed those wings, each 'feather' a paper thin membrane. What pitiful light illuminated the hallway caught them, the feathers almost seeming to drink in the ruddy red and orange light filtering in through high and thin windows. It crafted an unsettling illusion of internal illumination, like hellfire blazing through the halls behind him.

The thing himself was no less painfully, uncomfortably sublime. Skin as white as cold dead marble, eyes as dark as a tempest, long and wild blonde hair haphazardly tied back as if trying to bind together streams of sunlight and fire. All dressed in nothing but the purest white clothes, sharp stiletto heels on ivory boots lending the appearance of distant, cold, gaudy superiority. His features were as delicate as a doll's, a sweet heart shaped face and precious pink lips, a shame not a shred of that sweetness made it to his eyes.

“Szel.” His tone was overly saccharine, it was impossible to miss the mockery in it as he rapped on the door with the backs of his knuckles. Oh but how melodious it sounded, how bright and polished, like the merry peal of bells in the crisp winter air, a hint of an Italian accent lending it an almost angelic quality. “Open up, precious.” His voice had quickly turned singsong, sarcastically playful and hinting at a strained, near snapped patience. “Don't make me open them myself, Szel or I swear I'll-”

The doors creaked outward suddenly, as if someone of impossible size and strength had suddenly rushed forward to shove them open. Both heavy panels slammed into the surrounding walls hard enough to crack the stone, leaving a spiderweb pattern branching outwards and upwards and sending tiny chunks of rubble to the floor. All of which began to knit themselves back together again mere seconds after the damage as a thick, viscous fluid seeped from the broken stone.

The thing didn't budge. The doors simply did not hit him, as if they had failed to or refused to acknowledge his presence as a physical object there at all. Like a ghost, he'd slipped through both of them, his pretty face set in a dull, unamused glare.

“Thank you.” The word 'prick' could only be inferred by that tone, and the white clad bewinged and beautiful creature strode forward into the opened room. A vast library lay just beyond those iron doors, rows upon rows of towering shelves composing a winding labyrinth of forbidden knowledge. Small vaults stood at various intervals, locked tight with various different manners of mechanism, each one more alien than the last, and in the furthest walls stood yet more massive iron doors, or entire sections of the wall itself converted into rows and rows of yet more vaults. Set at various points were lights, eerie and pale orbs of light anchored to their places by thin strands of gleaming thread. It bathed the entire, cavernous place in a sickly hue, hardly a decent place for anyone to go about reading much of anything at all if they cherished their eyesight. But one didn't really come to this place to pick up a new novel for weekend, and the library's most dedicated of caretakers didn't really need all that much light to be happy anyway.

He didn't have to look up, he could hear the librarian of this blasted, bastard place overhead. The creak of wires sounded in the seemingly endless, black space above, the gleam of steel barely visible in the wane light. Above that, just out of sight, something of ponderous size and weight shifted before heaving a long, exasperated sigh.

“Get your shit and get out of my library.” That voice was awful. Not even just compared to the thing now looking upwards at the source of it, just in general. It grated and hissed and bubbled, rasping and painful to even listen to. The thing only smiled, or perhaps simpered was the better word for it, drumming perfectly manicured fingers against his upper arm.

“Oh but Mister Szel, I came here to ask you something. Or is it Haagenti now? Again rather? What persona are we going to try on toda-” He actually had to move this time as a glob of black, reeking fluid shot out from the shadows, splattering onto the floor with a sound not unlike a wet slab of beef being flung with force onto linoleum. The stone beneath bubbled and hissed, a scent not unlike ammonia wafting into the air in a noxious cloud. The thing's lip curled, and he took a half step around the tarry puddle. “Gross.”


“This could have been an email.” There was not a hint of guilt in that ugly voice from above, he wasn't even going to acknowledge what he just did, but to be fair, neither would the thing as he began to pace below the source of the voice.

“Shut up with your stupid mortal references. This could have been avoided as an interaction altogether if you'd just told any one of your hideous little pets the answer I'm looking for.” The thing gestured to himself, tapping razor sharp nails against his chest. “I don't want to be here, you don't want me to be here, it's not my fault you've decided to be a petulant, petty little-”

“If they didn't tell you, I'm not telling you either.” The voice interjected, and the thing steamrolled over that interjection just as quickly.

“You don't even know what I'm asking you yet.”

“The great thing is that I don't have to. You could ask me what day it was and I wouldn't fucking tell you.” The Ugly Voice sounded so insufferably smug about that, and The thing seethed upon the floor, grinding his perfect, pearly teeth together until he was positive he'd pop one.

“Don't you forget who's home you're living in, Szelhamos.” There was a lingering silence from the shadows above, the only thing audible being the gentle creak of corded steel and a soft, almost utterly inaudible clicking. Finally, after an age, there came a long and long, gurgling groan.

“If I play along, will you leave?” The Ugly Voice was bordering on sounding like an annoyed teenager, and the thing smiled sweetly.

“If I promised you wouldn't believe me anyway. Sure, though. I don't want you around me any longer than I have to.”

“Well I'm glad we can still see eye to eye on something.” It was as if all at once, the shadows above turned to ash. It came pouring out from the eternal area above, a waterfall of black sand stinking of caustic chemicals and burned meat. It streamed down to the floor, now in plumes of acrid smoke, swirling and dancing about until each and every shadowy tendril found its place and froze. A shadow becoming a person, translucent smoke became solid flesh, and when all had settled into place, a man stood rigidly, a distinct air of discomfort clinging to every single part of him. From his tense expression in a deep set scowl to the very tips of his jet black wings. Six as well, same as the thing that was now preening before him in triumph.

The Ugly Voice's form was incongruent to what he sounded like, that much could be said. Tall, slim, with skin that might have been olive once had it not become sickly and yellowed. His features were fine, sharp and elegant, with a lightly hooked nose and high cheekbones. His hair was as black as the wings upon his back, sleek and well cared for, tied up in a neat and tidy high ponytail. It was impossible to make out his eyes however, covered entirely by a pair of black glasses. Handsome, if somewhat unsettling.

The sun shone through the half shuttered window of the inn, falling upon the side of his face. The light drew a low, long and lazy sigh from him as he turned away from the window to fling his arm across the partially covered breasts of his still slumbering companion. Oh how could the sun be up yet, he'd only just fallen asleep! The night surely couldn't be over when he was still so terribly tired, that'd just be unfair. He didn't open his eyes yet, not yet, opting instead to drink in the sensation of his lover's soft skin against his arm and feel the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath his fingers. A heavy sleeper, apparently. Lucky creature, he mused, his brows knitting together as he tried to ignore the growing awareness of the world outside the window. Carts rolling past, children in the streets, merchants calling out the days wares...

Grunting, he heaved himself upwards, pulling himself up and away from the olive-skinned vision laying peaceful and still on the bed. He dragged both hands through his long, ink colored hair to try and tease out any knots, wholly aware of the hilarious futility of even trying as the utterly unmanageable length of it only ever yielded to a brush. Even then he'd be lucky if he could get the mess tamed within an hour. Oh it would have been prudent to have properly braided it up the night prior but well... The man's pitch black gaze wandered back to his sleeping partner, a soft and somewhat rueful smile creeping across his face. Well, he'd been a bit distracted, hadn't he?

Softly, silently, he slipped off the bed, leaving the sheets and blankets to his partner as he set about quickly and clumsily braiding his hair, cursing softly as he searched the room for his things. A shirt tossed over here, boots hither and thither (how did it get under there), trousers and small clothes draped over a chair and tossed atop a table respectively. Belt, staff, broach and bag, rings all set and a hat for his head. Did he look a bit disheveled? Yes. Did he look like he'd been up to no good last night? Absolutely, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Had he not been in such a rush, he'd have spent a long and lazy morning dozing with his new friend in bed, leaving far later for a late breakfast... Very late breakfast, he'd note as he stepped out of the inn to peer at the cloudless sky. Just past midday by the looks of it. But, he'd places to be, as soon as possible so he'd been told, and he was not to waste much time with his usual dalliances. It wasn't a promise he'd made, so to speak, when he'd agreed to such terms. Careful was his wording when he said he'd do his utmost best to be as swift as I can manage.

Missing out on a lavish breakfast and fine company, look at the sacrifices I make for you, Basil. He fixed his hat, and headed down the road, flashing a brilliant smile towards a particularly keen eyed watchman who'd not looked away from him since he'd stepped out of the inn.

"A beautiful day, is it not, sir?" No response was forthcoming from the other man, who looked him up and down with a hint of skepticism before snorting. But not looking away, so it would seem. That was fair, he was a bit outlandishly dressed for the area. The conversation would be pressed no further, just a tip of the hat and a cheerful wink as he turned to head down the road. Naught but a few miles from here, perhaps half a days walk if he kept his pace quick, sat the forest. His destination, and within it the reason he'd had to forego his typical level of hedonism. The memory of the conversation still weighed heavily on him, sunk like a lead weight in the center of his mind, an apt enough comparison considering how it dragged at his mood so and forced him to labor to keep up the usual cheer.

He never remembered a time where his old friend looked so weathered, so tired, the impish light that usually danced in his eyes dim and faded.

"I can't do this for much longer, Óengus." That exhaustion lay heavy in his voice. "The weight of it all is becoming too much to bear, the longer I struggle beneath it, the more I fear I lose." Lose what, he'd not elaborated upon, though he, Óengus, could hazard a few guesses. Indeed though this 'weight' was only figurative, it almost seemed as if it were all too physical; the satyr's head hung low, the boughs and branches that comprised his kingly crown gray and rapidly shedding its bark. They seemed more like driftwood now, made all the paler next to limp chestnut ringlets and dark brown skin.

"You cannot abdicate and leave no one to bear the shard, Basil-" He'd started, only to have the satyr cut him off, his tone at once both drained and of sharpened iron,

"I will not. That's why I've come to you." For a moment, silence hung in the air, the young siren at a loss as to what to say.

A mighty rumble and crash shook him out of his thoughts, stopping short and jerking his head upwards in surprise. Had it just ended there, his curiosity wouldn't have been powerful enough to convince him to investigate, but quickly after the disturbance a shrill and terrified shriek cut the air. At once, the calm, quiet afternoon broke into instant chaos as a young girl suddenly hurled herself forward from a nearby barn, closely followed by a boy and three other children. It was difficult to discern just what precisely they were screaming, desperately trying to put as much space between themselves and the barn as possible, and as they darted past him he could make out at least one singular word: "Bodach!!" Away they ran, their shrieks and cries of terror intermingled with heinous cackles, hoots and wails from within the barn, the very boards that made up the structure rattling and shaking as the sound of shattering glass and rattling metal filled the air. Bodach... at this time of day? In this area? Oh he'd said he'd come as quickly as he could manage, he'd do his very best, but ignoring this was beyond his ability. He'd apologize to Basil for his lateness later, this needed attending to now.

As the children bolted towards town, he turned and headed for the barn, staff in his hand and a look of slowly growing irritation on his face. The almighty cacophony had yet to let up, a sign that while the creature therein knew it was not yet without an audience, it couldn't see who it was performing for. Dense creature, he could only think, reaching for the door and flinging it open.

In an instant, he was forced to react as a half finished bottle of ale flew straight at him, threatening to crack the young man right in the center of his handsome face. Surely, the bottle connected with something, just as surely as it shattered into jagged pieces, but there was no accompanying cry of pain nor spatter of blood across the ground. The staff clutched in his hand had split, wooden tendrils curling back and shrinking away to reveal shining steel beneath. The gnarled and knotted wood creaked and curved around to form a polished guard and pommel, and the newly formed sword had slammed into the flying bottle before it could make contact with himself. And just like that, all the hellish giggles and wails were cut short as the thick shadows in the furthest back of the barn suddenly and sharply shifted right, and then left, like a startled and confused animal. Trying to make heads or tails of what on earth it just played witness to.

"Yoooooouuuuuuuuu.... you... you..." It sounded sluggish and dim, two beady blue eyes cracking open inside the pitch black mire. "Yoooooooooooooooouuuuuu..... Sssssspoilsport. Bore! Killjoy! That... that wassss my last bottle." Drunk, it was drunk, of course it was drunk. Middle of the day and the dumb, loud, belligerent, lucky bastard was completely pickled. It'd explain why it had picked a barn, at noon, to play its pranks instead of the dead of night under some poor child's bed. He was envious, he'd admit that, he wanted to be halfway through a bottle right now himself, so yes there was a bit of bitter satisfaction knowing now neither of them was going to have a fun afternoon. He hefted the sword upwards, directing it towards the shadows.

"Then why did you throw it? That seems counterintuitive to drinking the rest of it, sir." The eyes squinted, and rotated slowly, until they sat one atop the other.

"Shhhhhh.... Shhhhut up. Don't assssk.... ssstupid questionssss. Where'sss the nibblingsss? Did they get you here? Far... far from the shore, you are, brine witch." So drunk, it was picking fights with strangers, then. The insult skipped over his ego like a stone over water, he scarcely felt a ghost of offense at it.

"That was uncalled for, much like your cruel waste of ale. The children I assume, went to go find someone to deal with the bodach in their barn." The eyes bobbled and rolled about like a pair of marbles in a jar, the shadows cackling and spitting.

"Good, good let 'em! Let 'em! I'll take anyone who comessss in here, my barn now! My barn! Mine mine mine, assss isss everything in it! All the way back to Tír na nÓg, child and man and beasssst and brine witch alike!" The shadow thumped and roiled, it's form thumping, seething and crawling over the boards of the barn as the bubbling blue eyes expanded from mere marbles to saucers. Maliciously mirthful and completely hammered, the young man, the brine witch, didn't doubt for a moment that the thing meant every word it said. After all, a fairy was a fairy, and lies were far beyond their ability. All made more blunt and forward by the alcohol it'd guzzled down no doubt. In spite of this though, he felt no real concern, even as the creature grew and grew before him, it's formless shape seeming to devour the wall it sat upon.

"Do you promise?" The question forced the drunken fairy to pause, freezing where it was for a moment before it shrunk back just a touch, squinting again.

"What do you mean 'promisssse'?" It burbled, it's tone all of a sudden far less delighted, and far more confused... and suspicious. Heavily suspicious, actually. The siren shrugged, his once irritated expression breaking into an easy smile.

"What does it sound like? Do you promise? Now that I stop to think about it, I could use a trip to Tír na nÓg. The faster, the better, actually." The siren's sudden shift from confrontational to friendly had clearly set the shadow on edge, the way it's eyes wrinkled up and squinted making to seem as if the quick change had given it a sudden, throbbing headache.

"What do you need to do in Tír na nÓg?" A land fit mostly just for the gentry and their closest consorts and children, merely more than a waypoint for anyone else. It would beggar the question what the hell a common bodach would need to do in the land of Faerie but that was a question that the siren opted to gently put to the side for now. Instead, he pressed a hand to his chest, turning his head away as if suddenly reserved.

"Oh, I'm not sure if I should tell you that.... It's a very sensitive situation, you see. Quite private, a very 'need to know' state of affairs..." With his voice lacking any conviction of course, the shadow bubbled forward, the eyes in the mire lighting up in almost childish glee.

"Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about it! I need to know!" The threatening tone had so quickly turned fascinated and conspiratorial, eager to hear what it could only assume was some truly juicy gossip. Though it took some effort, he managed to smother the grin that tried to force its way to the surface. It really was like playing a fiddle, once one knew another's nature well enough, and there was almost nothing a common fairy loved more than outrageous rumors and gossip.

Instead, he gestured towards the open barn doors with his free hand, shrugging helplessly.

"I fear it would take a long time to do so, and you've made it clear that all within this barn, man and child and brine witch alike, will all be borne away. My secret is so sensitive, sir, that I couldn't bear to have any others hear it, and if I were to stand here and explain it all to you now, well I'd surely have an audience of more than merely you before I was done. I'm afraid that unless I know you and only you alone will hear it, I cannot tell you anything at all." He was rushing this a bit, yes. And it was indeed due to the fact that they'd surely not be alone for long. The 'secret' as it were was secondary though, bodachs were not particularly powerful fairies, and a modestly armed militia of farmers would have little trouble 'fixing' their bodach problem before the sun had even begun to set. Annoyance though the creature might be, drunken fool though it was... a 'countryman' as it were, was a 'countryman' nevertheless.

Mercifully though, the shadow was so far into the bottle that it didn't bother to even try to think about anything going on right now. The eyes spun and the darkness contracted and expanded, letting loose a series of drunken titters.

"Issss that all? Issss that it? Don't want an audience? Ssssstrange requesssst for a brine witch. Just you and me then! I bear you to Tír na nÓg, and you tell me your ssssecret! Fair exchange!" With a grin, he moved before the creature could consider what it had just offered, stepping forward to offer that free hand. Quickly of course, as quick as he could manage.

"I'll trade a secret for safe passage to Faerie, an excellent deal, sir!" Already he could hear the sound of thumping feet in the distance, angry cries and the rattling of metal instruments. Swords, perhaps, though just as likely if not more so whatever the locals had managed to grab hold of. The smile turned a touch forced, desperate to flee before the mob arrived, and he thrust his hand forward into the shadows. For a moment he nearly thought to command the creature to shake itself out of whatever drunken stupor it had suddenly landed in, before he felt the cold mass wrap around his arm. His final thoughts before he was yanked into the murky abyss were pure and unrestrained relief, and he tumbled forward into black oblivion just as the first man burst through the open door.

Just in time to here an alarmed cry and barely feel a hand brush across his back as the well meaning farmer tried to pull him back and away, only to fumble and fail. There was a brief moment of remorseful amusement, before all sound and sensation fell away entirely.

He'd never traveled by bodach before, and while the creature's word was as good as gold he had no real guarantee that the thing would drop him off where he needed to be in any decent amount of time. Quietly, he berated himself for not remembering to state the importance of expedience here as he drifted through the black nothing between realms. Seconds ticked on, turning to minutes, and he wondered if minutes would become hours, then days, then weeks... Ageless he might be but he'd been quite clear with Basil that he'd arrive quickly... As quick as he was able. This didn't break the oath he made if he found himself trapped but time was of the essence here. His fretting was broken however, by a sudden beam of sunlight breaking through the pitch black fog, landing across his face and striking his eyes. With a grunt, he flung his arm across his face, which turned out to be an excellent move as with little ceremony and no warning, he was suddenly spat out onto the ground below, colliding with grass as soft as down before rolling into a pile of cottony leaves. Through barely open eyes, he watched the lavender sky spin overhead, pillowy rose clouds drifting by in the golden light of Tír na nÓg.

Finally. He slowly sat upright with a groan, groping for his sword, now once more a staff. It took no time at all to find his ride here, as he found his lap suddenly occupied and the collar of his shirt grasped tightly by gray skinned, pudgy little fingers. No bigger than a toddler, the bodach appeared now not as a bubbling mass but as a shrunken, rotund little old man, wispy white hair like a ring of clouds around an old and weathered mountain. The smell of ale clung to it like a miasma, and it's over bright blue eyes peered up at him with wild enthusiasm.

"Sssssecretsssss! You had 'em! Tell me the ssssecret!" He jerked his head back to avoid getting a noseful of the little boogyman's drunken breath, waving his hand a bit to waft it away before reaching to turn the bodach's head to the side. Leaning in to the giggling fairy's ear, he spoke softly and carefully;

"I slept with the mayor's daughter last night." The giggling paused, and the creature furrowed it's brow.

"... What's that got to do with going to Tír na nÓg?" The siren shifted, and the creature in his lap was forced to let go of him in order to keep it's balance. Swiftly, he moved to grasp the little fairy under the arms, hefting the now squealing bodach into the air.

"Absolutely nothing, but you asked for a secret, not the secret." Oh he sounded so proud of himself, so smug, and as the bodach burst into angry squeals and curses, he grinned from ear to ear, before standing and setting the enraged little fellow back down on the ground.

"Liar! Cheater! You promised-"

"A secret! I promised a secret, it's not my fault you didn't make sure I would tell you the right one."

"Killjoy! Sourpuss! SPOILSPORT-"

"Had I left you there you'd have been torn to shreds by the farmers you know." The bodach hiccupped, then paused at this bit of knowledge, swaying a bit where it stood.

"... No I-" It didn't get far, as the siren interrupted sharply while he stooped to scoop up his hat.

"It is the middle of the day, in the middle of a crowded town, and you in the middle of a bottle of ale, no doubt not your first bottle of ale." He brushed the grass and leaves off his hat before setting it upon his head, the glamour coming off of him in waves as a pair of jet black, majestic wings shimmered into existence upon his back. "They have iron tools and fire, you have half a bottle of alcohol and a bad attitude. You tell me how that would have ended." He reached to scrub his eyes, one and then the other, onyx irises blossoming across the whites until it was all swallowed up, a single point of white blooming within their centers as he did so. The bodach warbled and burbled, before burping, any further argument tapering off into mumbles and inarticulate whining.

"... Was any of that a 'thank you sir'?" He pressed, and to his complete lack of surprise, the fairy before him shrank, starting to melt away into a tarry puddle on the ground before grumpily slithering away. "... That's what I thought." Bodachs... And now he stunk of ale, on top of looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. At least I'm arriving just as Basil'd expect. It'd still be half a day's walk to the palace proper, but he was here now. He looked towards the distance, barely spying the uppermost spires of the castle from where he stood, his expression falling to a thin, mirthless smile.

For the final day of freedom, I couldn't have asked for better, I suppose.

“You're right, you're right... It wouldn't do to greet him with a frown. Do you know where he i-” Before she could hope to finish the sentence, she was sharply interrupted by a vicious, snarling hiss from the sill of a long broken and empty window. Another cat, a rotund calico, her amber eyes narrowed into sharp slits as she puffed her already considerable size up a few more notches.

“You!!! You have some nerve coming back here! After all this time, all these years!!!!” In contrast to Ambrose's nasal drone, the calico held a remarkably deep timbre to her voice, as if every word were just oh so slightly growled, emanating from deep within the hefty feline's chest. The words, and anger, was so sudden that Mary nearly dropped her basket, fumbling with it for a moment as its contents clinked and rattled before she quickly gathered it all back up to herself. But instead of replying to the irate beast, she turned her attention briefly to Ambrose first, who seemed, as usual, deeply bored of everything.

“You said years don't matter, Ambrose.”

“I said they don't matter to me. I'm not the spokesman here, Mary, I'm the tour guide.”

“You said-” She'd have finished her accusation, but the rolly polly calico had heaved herself up from her spot in the window, hopping down with surprising grace before she began to hustle and bustle her way over like a cranky hen, still puffed up like cotton ball.

“Leaving him here with not even the vaguest idea of when you'll return, no letters, no messengers-”

“I can't send letters to a mysterious grove in the forest, Maeve.”

“They have pigeons for that!”

“I'm not sending you pigeons to eat.” Maeve gasped, rearing up upon her hind legs to press a soft white paw to her fluffy chest.

“How dare you even insinuate I would do such a thing! I would never! I don't even like pigeons! I can't believe you would just... just run off and abandon all of us for ages and ages, and then the first thing you say to me when you come back is an insult! To me! I never even knew what he saw in you, you know, I said- Ambrose you recall what I said the other day, don't you?” The black cat was, at this point, openly dozing off, having settled down in a sunbeam upon the warm and smooth stones.

“Prrrmmm.... something about cream?” Was his lazy, lackadaisical reply, and Maeve immediately let off from her dressing down of Mary to descend upon the dozing Ambrose like a storm cloud, stalking over to him to carry on her argument with him instead.

“Do you even listen when I speak to you? Since when have I said anything about cream, I don't even like cream! I was saying...” And thus, the one sided arguing continued, Ambrose clearly not about to let a little bit of screaming get in the way of his midday nap. Mary was quick to take advantage of the calico's distraction however, slipping past the duo to venture further into the grove.

It was with no small amount of caution that Belial accepted the angel's offer to meet. The angel, a real angel apparently, some castoff from another universe since dead. He wouldn't have been so guarded, and as convinced of the strange being's divinity, had he not felt the entity's power ripple through the Black himself. Not like a candle in a pitch black basement, more like the sudden, blazing intrusion of a whole goddamn house fire, before it all mysteriously went dark again, scattering mystical embers in every direction.

He'd not found the angel's deception very funny, though when he'd finally hunted down the true source of that power, it was clear the angel thought himself quite the comedian. It'd made for an infuriating, though oddly engaging conversation, held obnoxiously from outside Jack's window. He never did manage to get into the house, either. Jack's wards and the angel- Azrael's magic, saw to that.

Azrael. What kind of a name was that for an angel? He'd nearly tried to put a brick through the window at the absolute audacity of it. There was no way that he, stranger though he was, had absolutely no idea who owned that name here.

…. But, the angel had sworn up and down that this meeting would not end in deception, and Belial was tempted to believe him. Well... that and he wasn't technically going alone. Let it never be said that he was a fool.

The angel had both prudence and good taste: the meeting would take place far away from Jack's flat, in a rented suite. Where on earth Azrael had managed to come into enough money to do so was beyond Belial, and he found it genuinely rather funny. As if this was some business meeting between executives rather than two immortals haggling for a soul. Well, in the end, what was the difference anyway, really? He'd cheekily, jokingly, suggested that the meeting should perhaps be in a church instead.

The flat, unamused stare he'd gotten for that clearly indicated the angel's total lack of a real sense of humor, unsurprisingly.

Belial had thought he'd arrived early, intending on inspecting this place and the suite first before actually settling down to talk, only to find to his deep chagrin that this had been planned for.

There he sat at the table, watching him quietly as he entered the room, just as calm and as poised as he'd been the night Belial had found him in Jack's flat. Dressed down a little for the occasion, though no less anachronistic. Gone was the golden finery and mantle, the paldrons and scant armor he wore over the flowing robes. Even those were far simpler, though no less flowing. No less covering, unfortunately. Belial had made it clear before his opinion on Azrael's state of dress and how he thought the angel might improve upon it, once before.

“It isn't the fifteen hundreds anymore, luv. It's really trousers or nothing. I happen to have nothing at home, if you'd care to follow me.” That had earned him a crack upside the head with a wing, and an extremely insincere apology. Perhaps he could avoid that this time, his reaction time had gotten much better.

“You're early.” Spoke the angel, that tone relaxed and smooth as he gestured towards a seat. “Please, sit down, I'll try to make this as succinct as I can.” It was at this point that the demon noted the dressing for the table. No food, which didn't really surprise him, but he couldn't really hide the smirk as he took a seat beside the angel, reaching past the empty plates and wrapped cutlery to snag the bottle of wine atop the table.
“How apropos of you. Sangiovese, I see? Very clever.” Azrael's eyes rolled, and with a chuckle, Belial poured himself a drink, taking care to ensure first that the bottle hadn't been opened prior. No deception, the angel claimed, but he'd not be so quick to wholly trust that. Settling back now with his glass, he gestured languidly towards Azrael. “Before we begin, let me inform you that if you have any intention of talking me out of my deal with Jack, you're free to excuse yourself now. Thank you very much for the wine, angel. The mage, as I recall telling you earlier, is mine, and I'm not going to be bought by a fiery sermon or some wholesome, uplifting speech.” He raised his drink to his lips for a sip, regarding the angel with coal colored eyes as he awaited an argument.

“I'm not here to barter for your deal, Belial. I'm here to barter for time.” The response prompted the prince to loft a single brow, swirling the wine about in its glass.

“Time, Azrael? You're asking for a stay of execution for the boy?” Huh. Well. Not exactly what he was expecting, but... “Why would I want to do that? He's escaped from me twice now, I'm rather eager to have him in my company again, as quickly as I can manage at that. Granted, time is perhaps a touch easier to give you...” After all, as powerful as the angel seemed to be, there were still rules. No amount of power was going to change those. “But you'd have to find a hefty enough payment to get me to even consider-”

“One night for a year.” Azrael gestured towards himself, his tone even and still so infuriatingly calm, despite the absolute insanity he was now speaking. “I will trade a night with you, within this room. Until the sun rises, you may do whatever you see fit with me, so long as I still live come daylight. In exchange, you add another year to Jack's time on earth.” Belial's immediate response was to choke on his wine. Quickly, the glass was set down, control regained almost instantly as he fixed Azrael with a piercing stare.

“You can't possibly be making that offer.” Could he? … Would he? “Not very angelic of you, mate.” Was this a joke? … He hoped not. Azrael didn't budge, his expression still calm, still quite painfully serious.

“I am. You are, of course, free to reject this deal. I can't make you-”

“No.” He interrupted that potential withdrawal, leaning forward towards the angel. The word 'deal' ringing in his head like church bells. Not his favorite kind of deal, no, but he'd be a fool to turn it down. “An entire night, whatever I like with you, angel. I'll take that deal.” A hand, pale and clawed, was held out. Only right to make it official.

He noted with interest that Azrael moved to take it without hesitation, his expression unreadable. “Then it is a deal.” So crisp, so official. So final.

And without warning, Belial would go to collect on that deal. The grip on Azrael's hand tightened, and for one wild moment, the angel was jerked forward, Belial gleefully watching the expression of tranquility break in an instant into surprise. Into alarm. And then, just as quickly, Azrael would be slammed back into the table, the demon following as his free hand locked firmly around the angel's neck. The other would slide to his newest (if temporary) acquisition's hip, forcing the angel's legs apart as he pinned the gasping man to the table. Those wings, once hidden by magic, erupted into existence upon striking the table, magnificent white plumage knocking aside the bottle of wine and Belial's glass.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that the demon would watch the expensive sangiovese stain those white feathers red, muddying the gentle blue light of the runes upon them.

Leaning forward, he watched for a moment, rapt, as the angel beneath him writhed, gripping his hand and fighting to breathe.... but not fighting against him. Whatever he wanted, after all.

“Easy, angel...” The purr in his voice was obvious, and quite appropriate given the circumstances, in his opinion. No answer, of course he wouldn't get one, tightening his grip around Azrael's neck. The angel's pearl colored eyes screwed shut, his own grasp on Belial's wrist starting to slacken. “There we are now, don't fight it.” He'd promised, as part of the deal, not to kill him. It didn't mean he wouldn't make it feel like the angel might die. “I'm going to give you a little something, before we start proper. Consider it a 'thank you' for all you're going to do for me, tonight. But first-” He peered around the table, finally raising his thumb just a bit off the hollow of Azrael's neck. The ensuing gasp for air was very pleasing indeed, along with the way the pinned angel's eyes widened as Belial snagged a steak knife from the table. “A little preparation.”

Judging by the way the angel flinched as he brought the knife down, it seemed clear that Azrael had just about as much faith in Belial keeping his word as Belial had in the angel's own honesty. And sure, the knife would nick him. It was a hard task, sawing off someone's clothes with a steak knife of all things, really more of a job for a fillet knife, but any port in a storm. Belial's gaze was half lustful, half fascinated, as the knife laid brilliant, scarlet lines across the angel's tanned skin, across his arms and chest as the fine robes were cut away into so many rags. He didn't stop there, either, turning the blade towards his catch's hip.

Azrael jerked, as if thinking of stopping him.

“Stay still.” Came Belial's hissed order, and with a swell of pride did he note that he was instantly, though reluctantly obeyed. Thus was the drag of the knife along the angel's hip and thigh to free his trousers and small clothes just a little less deep than it could have been. Less deep, still there, drawing a shallow, bloody gash along Azrael's side. The hiss of pain it caused, the way the pinned, ashen faced, obedient angel shivered and squirmed under him was the headiest aphrodisiac he'd ever sampled.

Bare to him, legs still splayed around the demon, wine soaking into platinum hair and white wings as sacred blood lazily trailed down exposed skin. What a sight. His thumb at the angel's hip dragged along the smooth flesh, admiring the feeling of taut, firm muscle beneath it, the contrast of sunless white against warm gold. “Good boy.” It was more of a growl, that comment, rolling his hips against Azrael. Perhaps it was fear, the flood of adrenaline through the angel's body, but there was no hiding his half aroused state, nor the obvious shame, the once so put together man's gaze now unable to meet the demon prince head on.

“You've gone awfully quiet, Azrael.” Oh that name still filled him with anger, and he punctuated it with a harsh squeeze at the other man's neck, his nails biting into the soft skin. The ensuing gasp of pain and surprise was delicious. “It's a shame, you have such a lovely voice. I'll see if I can't coax-” Another squeeze, this time he was rewarded with a short, choked cry, “some more sound out of you before daylight.” But he'd promised him a present, hadn't he? He had all night to be smug, there was no reason to dump all of that out right now, he could layer it nice and evenly until daybreak.

“I'm going to let go of you, and you, are going to put your feet on the floor, turn, and brace yourself against the table.” There was still the expectation there, just a little, of a fight. A deal was a deal, but then, he wasn't entirely sure if the angel would be foolish enough to think he could go back on it. “If you fight, I'm going to rip those pretty wings off and feed them to you.” It was both amusing and heartening to see him only level a withering look at Belial in response to the threat. Despite the prior alarm, it seemed Azrael still had little genuine fear of him. At least, no fear he was willing to display.

Good.

Slowly, begrudgingly, he released the other man's throat, dragging his hand down along his body as he did so, trailing lines of too red blood in its wake. So did he remove his other hand from Azrael's hip, but not before sliding his thumb along the inner curve of it. Best not let him forget what was going to happen here.

Belial wished for a moment he had a camera to record all this with, as the angel slid off the table, enough to touch the floor, before turning away and bracing against the table, precisely as commanded. It was impossible to miss how the stained wings trembled just ever so slightly, how sluggish and leaden his movement was. He didn't want to give Belial his back, and who could blame him, really?

“Bend forward, rest your elbows on the table, and spread your legs, luv. Nice and wide now, and keep those wings out of the way.” But still out, one hand flying to the left one and yanking sharply as blue light shimmered at their edges. “And where I can see them, pet.” What a compromising position this was, he could only imagine the level of the angel's embarrassment. But what a view, his hand sliding from the wing to the center of his back as Azrael slowly lowered himself to the table, platinum hair dragging into spilled pools of wine. Absolutely decadent, really, and his hand slid lower. Down over the ridge of his spine, wondering at where the wings joined seamlessly with sun-kissed skin. Sliding down his lower back, then lower to the curve his hip. There was a clatter as the knife was dropped, both hands gripping the angel's hips for a moment. He greedily took in how Azrael tensed, it being rather obvious what he was expecting next as his head sunk downwards towards the table. It'd almost be a tragic sight if the rest of it wasn't so goddamn hot.

But that wouldn't quite be the case. “Now now, that's not how foreplay works, pet.” As if he could read Azrael's mind here. The angel would have no idea what the demon behind him was doing, all he'd be treated to was the sudden, slick press of fingers against him, slowly now forcing their way inside him as the demon prince's middle finger popped past the tight ring of muscle. The sound that slipped from the angel, unbidden and surprised, was probably not the most holy noise in the world, now was it? But it was still perhaps the best damn thing Belial had heard all day, only second to the sound of Azrael making that deal with him.

“What a sound, Azrael. I'd think you never felt this before.” Which was precisely what he assumed the matter was, pressing another finger slowly, carefully inside, feeling him tighten around him, hearing him bite back another moan. “Oh no luv, don't hold back on my account. I insist,” he knew damn well where to press, and his fingers pressed in and down, quickly locating that little bundle of nerves. He knew he'd found it the second Azrael jerked forward with a decidedly much more energetic cry, “be shameless. Nice and loud, it's quite well insulated in here.” Azrael had clearly chosen this room with this entire deal fully in mind, and he wondered for a moment how long he'd planned it.

Ah but he was shaken from his idle musing by the tremble in Azrael's body, how heavily he leaned on the table at only the lightest press. Tragically new, it was almost such a waste. Good thing he'd come to Belial, wasn't it? He couldn't imagine Jack getting this far with Azrael, after all. His free hand again gripped the angel's hip, and his fingers moved inside him, pressing down firmly, dragging long and deep against that sweet little spot. Azrael writhed, his fingers biting into the table as those gorgeous wings spread wide, the tips trembling as he rocked gently, just ever so gently, back against Belial's hand.

“Excellent, just like that. Roll your hips back into it, pet.” Awkwardly so at first too, but as he'd done before, the angel obeyed again. It wouldn't be long until he'd meet his hand vigorously, gasping and moaning shamelessly as the demon's pace became almost frantic, jet black eyes drinking in the sight of this supposedly holy being eagerly, desperately fucking himself on his fingers. Each motion was so fluid, he could have nearly fancied Azrael genuinely experienced, and he gripped the angel's hip tightly, his claws sinking into the skin harsh enough to draw pin pricks of blood.

And then, with a sharp, soft cry, he'd come. Stiff for a moment, before it'd roll through him, and Belial felt the angel tighten once more around him before Azrael slackened, barely managing to avoid collapsing against the table. He shook with that exertion, and Belial took a moment to admire the sheen of sweat on the angel's warm, bronzed skin. Those wings had again fallen into the spilled wine, and he took the liberty of reaching up with the hand still yet stained with Azrael's blood, idly wiping the crimson stains across the snowy feathers. “Very good, are you sure you haven't done this before?”

The lack of response was disappointing, though he wouldn't be left entirely cold. Not with the tired, hooded glare he'd receive from over the angel's shoulder. Still just prickly enough. Good. He pulled his fingers free of Azrael's body, the hand at his wings reaching up to almost lovingly twine in the angel's pale hair.

“Now, as lovely as you are, all spent and spread out on the table, and as much as I'd just love to fuck you from now until dawn,” those clawed fingers wrapped several silvery locks around them, before yanking back sharply, unable to keep himself from pressing his clothed erection against the angel's naked ass as Azrael jerked back with a cry. “Patience, I've been told, is a virtue, and I have all night to get around to fucking you senseless. I hope you enjoyed that little gift. If you're very lucky, I might give you another one before our time here is up.” One more good yank on his hair, pressing firmly against Azrael's upturned ass so that he could really feel how hard the demon prince had become, listening with barely contained glee to how his breathing ticked upwards. He bent forward to murmur in his ear now, his voice soft and low. “Onto your back again, angel. I want to see your face.” With that, he'd again release him, resisting the urge to just grab at those wings and flip Azrael over himself. It was much more satisfying to watch him obey.

And obey he did, Belial treated once again to the handsome sight of shallow, bleeding cuts that had just started to slow and heal, the scent of alcohol thick in the air as it became clear the angel was almost nearly soaked in it. Well, he had been laying on the table. At least those wounds were clean now, right? Didn't matter, it was a damn good look either way. Any attempt to close his legs would be swiftly interrupted, Belial stepping in the second Azrael faced him to put himself right between them, forcing the angel back down again atop the table. Forcing him down, eager to press him flat against the expensive mahogany as his hands clamped around his neck again, driving his thumbs into his throat just to hear the angel gag. Delighting in the fact that he didn't fight against him, didn't even try to lift a hand to push him away, Azrael's nails dug pale shallow furrows into the wood instead. Inviting would be the word for this look, those wings spread and his knees at either side of him, and it was an invitation he took with great gusto, pressing down against the angel to listen to him gasp, feel every motion as he struggled pointlessly under him. So warm and bright even now, no matter how hard the demon's hands squeezed. A human's neck would have surely snapped at this point, the bone like glass under Belial's hand. Dead or dying, surely. At the very least unconscious from lack of air. It was genuinely impressive to see that inhuman level of hardiness, especially coming from someone who, without the heavy drapes of robes and regal golden finery, looked so slim and breakable.

He loosened his grip, just for a moment, and as Azrael tried to get just one unhindered breath, Belial quickly descended for a punishing, bruising kiss, his teeth drawing blood at the angel's lips as he stole that breath from him. Oh he'd be allowed to draw air again, once Belial was finished of course, his tongue drawing along the small gash his teeth had made on the angel's lips as the other man was reduced to panting. Greedily sucking in as much air as he could manage before it could potentially be cut off again.

“All this, for one human.” Belial's tone was low, musing, gently massaging the angel's no doubt very, very sore neck with one hand. The ragged breathing was as good as music to his ears, the sight of Azrael's chest heaving with every gasp tantalizing. “And no reward? You can't begin to tell me you don't want anything out of that boy. Not when you're willing to go this far.” His hand finally slid away from Azrael's throat, much to the angel's obvious relief, slowly sliding down skin slick with blood, wine and sweat to splay across Azrael's lower belly. “Unless this was what you wanted, of course. You don't have to be so convoluted about it if that's the case. I'd fuck you raw any time you'd like. You only have to ask.” He didn't expect to hear an explanation, and clearly, Azrael had no intent of trying to explain himself anyway. Perhaps there was none to give, altruism by definition didn't require a reason, and weren't the stories of angels all about how bloody good they all were? Perhaps the angel just felt the demon would never be able to understand it.

Perhaps he'd be right.

But there were no perhaps or maybes to be had about the fact that in the end, Belial didn't really care, nor care to know Azrael's logic or reasons. One night for one year, plain and direct. Practically as if the angel had some experience in the nature of deal making. A question for another day, most definitely.

For now though, the clock was ticking, and they hadn't even come to the main event yet. His hands pushed at the angel's inner thighs, and obligingly he spread his legs for him, apparently having not realized that at some point, he'd wrapped them around the other. Belial only chuckled, fussing with his belt and trousers.

“Were you enjoying yourself?” It looked at least partway some again, Azrael visibly half aroused as his breathing began to even. Pity, that part. He was just starting to put himself together again, and here was Belial, getting ready to undo all that hard work. “Like I said before, pet. I already gave you a present,” with a sigh of relief, he freed himself, hard enough now to the point where it'd started to become painful. “and if you're lucky, I'll give you another. But you're going to have to work a little for it.” Belial sure as fuck wasn't going to go out of his way a second time to bring the angel to orgasm, if Azrael wanted to enjoy it so damn bad, he could seek his own pleasure.

Again, slick fingers would press inside, pleased both to feel how Azrael relaxed around him, and to hear the faint, breathless moan, tainted with some measure of subconscious expectation. “Eager, I see.” The look of embarrassment on the angel's face was fleeting, replaced quickly with something unreadable, but undeniably dark. Finally got him genuinely angry did he? Took damn long enough. “Don't pout, you're better than that, luv. As sweet as it looks on you.” He pulled his fingers out, tugging upwards and back on the angel's hips sharply, partially to put him on level with his cock, and partly to just jolt Azrael from that absolutely precious, but clearly moody little moment. “Try not to tense up.” His other hand moved to guide himself, the fingers gripping Azrael's hip starting to dig in just a little, just for the sake of being contrary. 'Don't tense up', he said, while doing something that would cause literally anyone to get tense. “Or do. It'll hurt a lot more, fair warning, angel.”

The head pressed against that tight, slick ring, and Belial hissed as he pushed past it, watching, feeling Azrael fight against the immediate urge to stiffen. Those bright eyes had again shut tightly, his jaw set and tense, fingers gripping the table. Fuck, what a fit though... As much as he'd prepped the other man, he was still so goddamn tense! “You're not listening to me, luv.” It was unfair to be irate with him, first time and all. 'Don't tense up' was a lot easier said than done, but he wanted to be inside him now. And despite how violent he'd been with the angel up until this point, he didn't desire to shred the man.

It was absolute agony to hold still, reduced to gently rocking his hips forward, giving the angel just enough pleasure to the point where he felt him starting to relax around him. “There... there now, like that, yes. Breathe, nice and deep.” The feathery bastard better be grateful for this pep talk, this was as tender as he was willing to be.

Loosening, Azrael's breathing steadying again, Belial would slowly start to pick up the pace. The lubricant had certainly spread now, and the angel was pleasantly slick, once too tight walls approaching more of that lovely, velvety clasp that he was more accustomed to from far more experienced, better prepared partners. He'd be gracious enough to hold that long, slow, steady pace for a moment, letting Azrael acclimate to the sensation of the demon's cock moving inside him. He'd wait, far longer than he'd typically be patient with, watching as the angel's expression began to soften, the lines of pain starting to smooth away once more.

It was only when he saw the crescent of those bright, pearl colored eyes start to show that he finally took what he'd been desperately reaching for this entire time.

The ensuing, keening cry from Azrael as Belial buried himself hard and deep in him was the sweetest, most beautiful noise he'd ever heard. If only he'd been recording this, he could have listened to it every day for the rest of eternity. The angel's body arched like a bow beneath him, and he was all too happy to take advantage of that, dipping down to sink his teeth into Azrael's collar bone. The pace was punishing, fast, the sound of the angel's ass meeting Belial's hips just as lewd as the gasps, moans and strangled sobs he was now managing to wrench from the other man. Oh, it looked like it hurt, sure, but from the way Azrael's cock hardened without even being touched, it was clear that it wasn't just pain lancing through the sacred creature's body right now. He practically bounced with every thrust, and Belial certainly didn't miss how Azrael's hips rolled upwards to meet each thrust.You'll have to work a little for it. Looked like his suggestion was being heeded, how lovely.

Just as lovely as coming was going to be, if he had his way. His own breath was coming in ragged pants now, he wouldn't long be able to deny his own peak, but he wanted just one more act of obedience from Azrael. One more bit of proof, of how much he controlled the angel now. He lowered his head towards Azrael's ear, nipping at his jaw as he did so. The angel's dazed expression almost seemed to suggest he might not be able to discern or fully understand words, so he'd keep this simple.

“Beg me to come inside you, angel.” His pace slowed, pure agony for himself to be sure, but he wanted this. “Beg me to fill you up, tell me how much you love being fucked by a demon.” His voice husky, fighting to hide the desperation in every syllable. “Anything I want, Azrael.” He stared hungrily, as Azrael's head rolled to the side, the angel watching him from the corner of one luminescent eye. “Anything I want with you.” Don't forget the deal. The angel's tongue flicked out to wet his lips, drawing a deep breath now.

“Belial.” How hoarse the angel sounded now, no doubt a mixture of pain from how the demon had gripped his throat, and pleasure from the cock still slowly pumping into him. “Please...”

“Please what?” No it wouldn't be so easy as just 'please'. He dragged his claws across Azrael's hips, and thus dragged another delicious, soft cry from the angel.

“Please, Belial, I want... I need you to come... inside me, please, please, please come.” His words were cut short by a sharp thrust of Belial's hips, the demon's voice straining not to crack.

“Do you love this, Azrael?” It was only with the barest, but obvious hint of hesitation, that Belial would receive his reply.

“Yes.” That word sent shivers racing down Belial's spine, as the angel spoke again, “Yes, yes, yes, Belial. I love it...” The way it tapered off into an exhausted, desperate sob, as he rolled his hips upwards into the demon again. “I love it... Please come.”

Belial's nails sunk into soft, sun-browned skin, black eyes alight with lust. “Since you asked so nicely...” So very, very, very nicely.

The screams he'd drag from the spent angel were exquisite, the notes of pure pleasure that hung in them as clear as day to Belial as he brutally chased his own climax. Later, the angel would surely be sporting a lovely dappling of bruises and red, angry stripes across his hips.

It'd be up to Azrael to hide the more visible necklace of bruises around that lovely, slender neck of his as well, and no doubt he'd have to come up for an excuse about his split and swollen lip, and his cracked voice. That was none of Belial's concern. He genuinely hoped Jack put two and two together.

For now though, as he spilled himself into the writhing body of the angel below him, he was happy to just sit in this moment, committing every motion, every sound to memory.

“One night, for one year, angel. I hope to see you just as eager come the new year.”

Not his favorite kind of deal, perhaps. But still one hell of a deal.

The lights fade yet again on another beautiful week. The promise of the weekend approaches. But can we call it the weekEND, if a new week is simply born at the end of that?

Perhaps then it is not the weekEND.

But a week restart.

I cannot wait for my week to restart, and comfortably wash away the mistakes, mishaps and accidental deaths of the past week.

Welcome To Attleton.

---

Briefly, the traffic.

There appears to be a traffic jam in Fayren. I know this may be surprising to some of you, as the grand sum of the vehicles in Fayren can be accurately approximated at twenty horses, five hay wagons, one sheep drawn wheelbarrow and one occasionally begrudging dragon.

But there is, indeed, a traffic jam.

Taking place on a beautiful town road, lovingly cobbled with old and worn stones, there seems to be a semi immobile collection of rabbits, deer, squirrels, hedgehogs, feral cats, and one ancient, toothless wolf.

They are simply standing there.

Staring.

Watching down the path and waiting patiently for someone... or something.

Several animals have managed to get past this team, but it seems that those of the sapient persuasion are having some trouble. It is advised, if you intend on braving the woods of Fayren, to study up on music or, at the very least, hire a currently banished but pure princess to escort you through the woods.

If you cannot hold a tune or are finding banished but pure princesses to be in short supply, several gun stores in Nova City are holding door buster sales! Buy one, and the ammunition comes free!

---

Guardian Weiss Shnee of Nova City has resigned earlier this week, citing conflicts of interest, among other things.

Guardian Shnee was up until this point one of the longest serving Guardians in Genessia. She has faithfully and selflessly served the citizens of her city to the best of her abilities, and has contributed so much to the surrounding cities themselves. I, myself, fondly remember watching her hologram in the bay cave, admiring her wonderful taste in fashion and excellently styled hair, with accessories all to match. She was an intelligent, brave, beautiful leader with the voice of an angel.

If those were real.

She will be deeply missed, and I wish her the best of luck in all her future endeavors.

Guardian Shnee leaves behind Deputy Mercury and Deputy Garrus as co-Guardians until the next election. I, for one, have the utmost faith in their administration.

If you cannot trust a sapient bipedal alien crab, who can you trust?

Good luck, Nova City. And god speed.

---

Staying in Nova City, Mayor Schnee has announced a new series of laws set to go into effect immediately, pertaining to the rights of our non-organic and partially non-organic friends and family.

Immediately, all non-organic and partially non-organic beings within the city are considered to possess full, inalienable rights. Discrimination in the workplace, in business and in public will not be tolerated. These new laws will be held to the letter by the remaining deputies that Former Guardian Schnee has left.

I know in my heart that they will surely uphold these new laws without question. Garrus is very admirable like that, I couldn't imagine anything else.

Personally, I applaud this bold step forward in equality! I remember Nightvale, pre-machine sufferage and work equality. It took me weeks to convince my toaster oven to return to work, and if I were still at home, I'd still be paying for their highly skilled team of lawyers.

---

Attleton has once again become a hotbed of action! The streets are now full of dogs. Dogs everywhere. Up and down the street, in cars, on porches, frolicking freely and happily where ever their dear, doggy hearts decide to take them. We are truly blessed in Attleton, considering the dire straights we are still in with our heart stealing murderer yet unfound.

It is the dogocalypse.

A puppopalooza.

Our beloved and perfect Guardian, Cassian Andor, has done a marvelous job in rounding up the loose dogs, helped in no small part by his effortlessly graceful and efficient partner, Kay. They are truly the power couple of Attleton and it was an unparalleled pleasure seeing them function as one seamless, perfect unit, as if they were one complete and beautiful, four armed, partially robotic entity.

This has also, unequivically and eternally answered the ancient age old question that has long haunted mankind, since the dawn of history...

Who let the dogs out?

... Pirates!

---

Svens Seven Scary Scarts are still out and looking for buyers! Several of our local soulless natives have already eagerly snapped up their own masks, makeup, dye and costumes for the season! Don't forget to get yours now!

Sven is doing a promotional sale at the early and easy hour of 1 AM amid a grove of birch trees by the glow of the full moon! Bring your friends! Bring your family! Bring something you are at loathe to part with, and give it to Sven to assure yourself a safe and bountiful harvest.

---

Speaking of Halloween, there will be some difficulty involved with engaging in the usual, wholesome Halloween tradition of summoning demons in the mirror.

Due to poor working conditions, the entities Bloody Mary, the cigarette demon, and the evil baby that may or may not be an incarnation of Lucifer are on strike. Attempting to summon any of them this year appears to only get the summoner an automated message containing a list of demands which contain but are not limited to:

Longer lasting candles
Windex
Cleaner bathrooms
Longer hours
Less jokes about tomatoes
Cigarettes that are not Eagle 20's
A sacrifice that doesn't scream so much

Fortunately, we still have the reduced price, off brand evil mirror summons, sure to still put a spark into your spooky evening.

On the list of willing stand ins are:

Hematoma Marge
The Lollipop Imp
And Willy Scratch. E, who is not actually a demon or a supernatural being, but a very bored and recently laid off tax accountant in the down town Attleton area. For twenty five dollars and a can of beer, Willy will bang on all your windows at around 9 pm on Halloween for approximately five minutes or until he gets tired.

---

In rumors this week, the fae dragon Liora is actually a bottle gold. No word on who the stylist is currently, though with results like that, I can only assume it was professionally done. Regardless, isn't she just stunning?

Noctis Lucis Caelum was recently spotted patronizing the Gentleman's Club Glitter Palace this past weekend. Dancer Krystal Nipz, an employee there, has stated that he is an excellent conversationalist, and has exceptionally toned thighs.

In darker rumors... our own Dave Strider has sunk to desperate measures in order to make a name for himself at the Fama Talent Agency. I am at loathe to repeat this, he is so very young after all, but it is my duty to inform all of you that Dave Strider....

Is evading taxes. Attempt to control your outrage, I know. More to come on this story later.

---

Please place your calls! Remember only the first five callers will be answered, and keep it clean. You are, after all, on the air.

---

And now, the weather!

---

I sincerely hope you all enjoyed tonights show.

If any of you out there are interested in further broadcasts, the station is always accepting donations.

I hope you all enjoy your weekend, and take care. Take care of yourselves. Take care of your friends. Take care of your family, your pets, your appliances and your home.

Take care of our world.

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But most of all... take care. In everything.

Today wasn’t really a good day. Not for poor Sammy.

Sammy, to his credit, didn’t actually want to hurt the man they’d been sent after. True, he looked like any rich asshole CEO, complete with a custom made Italian suit, perfect hair and a smile like a used car salesman. That made him pretty unlikable. Until Sammy had finally put his finger on why those douche bag sunglasses looked so familiar in his picture.

Those weren’t glasses made to be seen through.

By the time Sammy had gotten into the car with his compatriots and headed down the road, all the pieces had snapped into place about just who the boss had sent them after this time.

They were kidnapping a fucking blind man. A blind man! Rich or not, the man was clearly a cripple. Maybe he inherited all that money for that look? They’d been informed that he was wealthy, and whatever they managed to dig out of his pockets when they snagged him was fair game. Hell, that suit was fair game as well, the boss, Trench, had been pretty clear he didn’t really intend on letting their catch keep any sort of clothing for too long.

Dismally, Sammy had to agree that the man was quite handsome. It stirred parts of him, but whatever crude and shriveled conscience Sammy had left informed him he should still sort of feel like a shithead for going after a blind man. Still, that half dead, mostly inoperable conscience did pretty much nothing to keep him from his lead foot habit, and the most he really did was take a slightly more scenic route to one of the hits favorite and highly habitual locations. The man seemed to thrive off patterns and repetition, and today was, apparently, no different than the day before today, and the day before that, and the day before that.

Midday, twelve o’clock noon on the spot, as he’d done for weeks and weeks before now, that fancy snot sauntered out of a high end cafe with an expensive coffee, an excitable little corgi bouncing along beside him. Oddly, no leash... But then, Sammy supposed, not all blind people needed service dogs, right? He had that stupidly ornate cane of his. Sammy immediately noted from the car he sat in across the street that the grasp seemed to be made of gold, and there was a murmur through the back on who was going to get that nice shiny little bauble. There was going to be a fight after they snagged him, that was for sure.

Once more, as the man had done day after day, he made a sharp left towards a quiet, mostly uninhabited park. Lots of forest to wander about in.

Must like the crinkle of the leaves, Sammy supposed quietly as the car was parked near the entrance to the park, and the small collection of men, four in total, filed out of the car. Just enough room for one more.

In the trunk.

Sammy himself stayed behind, someone had to be ready to gun it at a moments notice after all. He lit a cigarette and reclined in the car a bit, snagging the picture of their hit to study him a bit closer.

The man was tall, slender. Very fit, apparently, though there’d not been a single snapshot of the man with anything less than a full suit on. Not even jeans.

Fancy fucker, he remarked internally, trying to work up just a little more personal dislike of this character before he really got his hands on him. Just so he wouldn’t feel too bad doing what usually happened to people that interfered with Trench’s little pet project.

Long legs, all elegant and regal. Perfect slicked back hair. His skin seemed a touch off... What was the issue with it? Too gray? Maybe a bit on the yellow side... Probably wasn’t in the best health, but that wasn’t a surprise considering the state of his eyes. Maybe some congenital thing. Hope it was and not something communicable, as Sammy’s hand gently eased its way under his belt and into his pants.

He wondered what he sounded like. Was it an obnoxious, high pitched snotty upstarts voice? Or was he as slick as he looked? With a charming voice, something worth listening to. Listening to him talk, yell, beg, scream-

Probably not a good idea to make a mess in the car yet, he figured. The other guys would never shut up if he straight out jizzed his pants here before he ever laid a hand on the man. They really should have been back by now, honestly. How hard could it be to grab one single blind man in the woods? Not even a gunshot for that shitty little lap dog of his.

His cigarette was nearing its end too, and now he was appropriately horny and annoyed. Just as he went to stub out the cigarette, leaning down into the car a bit to do so, the last time he didn’t pay attention to what he was doing he set something on fire, the car door opened in the back, and then slammed shut.

“Finally, asshole. It’s been almost ten fucking minu-” Sammy lifted his head up to look in the rear view mirror, but the person who’d settled into the back, his expression sour and sharp, was not a single one of the men who’d wandered into the forest after the man.

No.

No that was the blind man himself, crossing his legs at the knee, that obnoxious dog comfortably seated next to him and staring at Sammy with the most fiery, orange and red stare he’d ever seen on a dog. Dog eyes shouldn’t be that color-

Any other words poor Sammy might have had for the man in the back died on his lips as the man leaned forward, tendrils of obscenely sweet, heady smoke curling from a mouth that was perhaps a touch too wide, the corners almost threatening to vanish under the dark glasses as the man- No the thing, bared a set of gleaming, jagged, needle like teeth in a feral famicile of a smile.

“Drive. Apparently, I have a date today.”

That voice. That smooth, smokey, spine chilling voice, like silk soaked in whiskey. Sammy’s foot hit the pedal, the pedal slammed to the floor, as the scent of opium filled his nostrils and slowly turned off his brain.

Drive.

We have a date.

My father always told me that first impressions are the most important things. Always be polite, keep yourself well groomed, try not to smell like a dumpster, and no matter how offensive the other person gets, never stoop to their level. Above all, always be kind, for everyone you know is fighting a harder battle. I try to keep this in mind every day of my life, and while it has gotten me into some unfortunate situations, it's saved me from more things than it's started.

One day, I took a road trip down state, towards New York City. It was a big day, I packed my bags, kissed my mother goodbye, stuck my little chihuahua mix in the back seat and headed down. I was your typical young woman having an adventure away from home, the music blasting in my beat up old car, windows down, yelling off key along to the lyrics like I was staring in some stupid coming of age movie, so on and so forth.

My mother had impressed on me the importance of staying safe along the road. Wear your seat belt, don't text and drive, always top off the tank when it gets low, and never, ever stop for any hitchhikers on the way there. I swear, I was going to do this. I really was. I never wanted to disobey my mother, but when I saw that man on the side of the road, his thumb stuck out, his worn, grizzled features, dirty stubble and old clothes, my heart ached. I couldn't let him sit out there. No one could be that cruel.

I pulled over for him immediately, popping open the door for the man and smiling.

"Need a lift?" I asked with a grin, patting the drivers seat. I remember he smelled like cheap whiskey and piss as he pushed his way into the car. He was so tall he could barely fit, and had to push the seat back all the way in order to get some decent leg room. With the sun starting to creep down across the sky, I peeled rubber and headed out again. Remembering my fathers words, I started to talk to him, cheerfully chatting about current events and what was going on in my life.

He was reserved, quiet. A soft spoken man with a gravely rumbling voice, like he gargled with gasoline and gravel. He was on hard times, he said. His wife had left him and vanished with their daughter, he'd lost his job, all his money, his parents were dead, and supposedly the doctors had told him he was slowly dying of lung cancer, a payment for smoking since he was a teen. He was going into the city in order to try and get a new job, a construction job working on a new business firm. He was sure this was going to be what turned everything around for him.

At that moment, I was so thankful I'd taken him in, feeling a sort of motherly affection, despite his advanced age over me. By this point, the sun had sunken over the hills, and the light of the other cars had dimmed. We had just reached an area that was heavily wooded, close to some national park apparently, when my passenger demanded we stop.

"I have to piss." He grunted, and of course, I happily pulled over to the side of the road. I wasn't prepared for when he grabbed my hair, and dragged me from my seat, pulling me towards the woods on the other side of the car. But... I remembered my father at all times. No screaming, no hitting. I just pleaded with him, my feet skidding over the ground.

He didn't want to do this, I tried to reason with him. Whatever he was planning, he wasn't going to like the end result, I could get him to where he needed if he just-

At that point, he hurled me to the ground, removing a filthy knife from the inside of his coat.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled thickly, his eyes glowing with madness and lust. "Gotta. I gotta. Ain't got a choice anymore, you'll go to heaven, don't worry-"

... I wish I could tell you that someone came and was a hero here. I wish I could say that no one was hurt, and that I managed to get to the city.

... I stumbled back to my car, drunken and dizzy.

He'd apparently had a lot to drink before he got here, and it was so hard for me to pick the shards of bone and hair out of my teeth that I couldn't even bother. I hoped I wouldn't be pulled over before I got to a rest station. My little dog, bless him, was still waiting for me in the car, he knows how things get sometimes, and knows he always gets something for being patient.

I forgot what I grabbed, but it was pretty heavy, and tossed the slab of organ meat back at him, which he eagerly started to gnaw on.

Always be polite. Always be kind.

"Daddy's gonna be pissed." I slurred as I fumbled with my phone.

"Fifth time this month too, mom's gonna be so upset."

PLAYER
Name: Squid
Age:23
Personal Journal: hailthenarc
E-mail: notthatwitty@yahoo.com
AIM/MSN/etc: squiddlypeon

CHARACTER
Name: Bao Huan

Age: Real age: Ancient. Alive long enough to witness several extinctions, including the passing of the dinosaurs. Well over 60 million years old.
Apparent age: Late sixties, early seventies.

Appearance: Human: She stands at about four foot nine, a round, plump little old woman who dresses in earlier era style Chinese attire for the wealthy. She usually walks with perfect posture, but with very small, almost mincing steps. She is usually in no hurry and that is made clear by her typical slow walking speed. Her hair, usually hidden under her headdress, is iron gray, and her eyes are a pitch black. She typically dresses in greens and grays, and seems to carry no weapons on her person. May occasionally be seen with a bag though to carry items or money in. She speaks with a Chinese accent, though it doesn't seem terribly heavy, and usually uses formal terms instead of the vernacular or slang.

Dragon: Forty feet tall and sixty feet long. It isn't often she reverts to dragon form these days, prefering the obscurity of being human. Her scales are a dull, shifting green, along with her curling, goat like horns, and her teeth are a dark deep jade green in color. Her eyes are a pupilless pearly pink, and there are six of them in total, three to each side. Her wing span is equally as impressive, and is decorated at the tips with a pale, fleshy pink color. She's built thick, almost like a massive bull, and her claws almost avian in appearance. Usually doesn't move around much as a dragon, preferring to bask in the sunshine and sleep. Four legged, capable of rearing up on her back legs for added intimidation but otherwise a quadraped.

Chosen PB: Icons commissioned by Tytaero!

Personality: The friendliest, most bubbliest old woman you will ever meet. Level and down to earth with a good sense of humor and an overwhelming nurturing nature. Having been the mother to many, many babies in her time, she's taken on the aspect of a mother in every sense of the word, and spreads the love all around her, sharing her care freely with anyone who decides to take it (and with several people who are forced to take it). As matriarch to a massive brood of dragons, and well past breeding age herself, she's taken it upon herself to procure other beings to mother over. This has lead to many a cat being taken in, along with dogs, birds, and the occasional lizard. She's outlived them all, and currently on cat number three thousand, two hundred and eighty six, going by the name of Lemons.

She is almost infinitly patient, having raised all of her children past their rebellious years, and can tolerate a great deal from a lot of people. Though she has pride, it's not delicate, and she weathers most insults and attacks against her like a reed in the wind. Bowing back and then straightening up once it's all done and over with. It's better to not fight and cause trouble, and focus more on tending to others than be a pain in the ass. While some of her brood have flown off to go torment mountain sides and eat villagers, she remains a steadfast pacifist and gentle giant, almost never stooping to simplistic violence in order to get her way. It has driven her from a few homes, as humans are not always the most understanding species (and living next to a dragon can be kind of nerve wracking), but she's comfortably settled now and oversees her now slowly aging brood with a gentle claw and the eyes of a hawk.

She can become somewhat overbearing when she's settled on someone to care for, as she is still a dragon and has some of the same kinds of 'better than you' mindsets that most other dragons have. Delicate little things outside of her species need special care after all, they can be hurt so easily and pass on so quickly. She rarely refuses to accept that she's not needed (or wanted) in certain situations, and insists on having her opinion be heard and her care be accepted. She's lived to a ripe old age after all, who has better advice than her? She's a stubborn old broad, and will stick around for as long as she thinks necessary until she is positive that her services are no longer needed. While she is perfectly capable of being reasonable and rational, she still holds herself as the most responsible person in the area, and it would be irresponsible to abandon someone in a time of need (even if they claim they don't need anything).

Not a being easily swept away by emotions, there are still some ways to trigger the old broodmother's anger. While idle threats against her brood (or assumed brood) are usually brushed off without much notice, attacks against them are never tolerated. Those under her protection are defended with little care given to her own personal well being, and she generally does not feel any sort of remorse for taking down real threats to her brood. Another excellent way to anger her is to steal something of hers, or show dishonesty. While it usually doesn't earn one a roaring rampaging revenge dragon, it will earn one angry old woman with a few choice words about ne'er do wells and what she ought to do with them. And endless guilt trips. She can hold grudges for a long, long time if a slight actually harms her, and generally will not relent until an apology is had.

Though she is overwhelmingly friendly and easy to get along with, she can still be quite the tricky old lady. In her old age, she likes to play up her aching hips or trick knee, if only as an excuse to avoid having to go along somewhere, or run after someone. She is also known for laying on the guilt if her way isn't had, citing her age as another excuse as to why she should be listened to or 'humored'. Not often terribly self deprecating, she can slip into it slightly if it means swaying someone to her way of thought, or at least getting them to sit still for long enough to listen to her, wielding guilt like a cudgel. It's worked enough in the past before that she doesn't feel she has to do much else to get her way, and tends to be a bit surprised if it's turned around on her. Or ignored.


World Information: Dragons in Bao's world have been around since the earth was first a spinning ball of molten lava with mineral enriched seas. When the earth was young, magic ran wild and untamed through it, and with a meeting of magic and fire, the first small proto-dragons were formed. These violent, rather stupid first creations were only partially organic in nature, the living rock made flesh by the sheer power of wild magic alone. The males killed each other and mated almost non-stop with the females, and females fought and slaughtered the other for the right to nesting space. These first dragons didn't live long enough to grow very large, but as time progressed, they slowly became more intelliegent.

Either learning to avoid other more violent dragons or just plain out becoming the strongest of the bunch, the broodlings of the old proto-dragons began to spread out across the earth. Some took to the sea, the others claimed the land, while others dominated the air. There were other, smaller pseudo dragons, such as the wyrm and the wyvern, less intelligent than their true dragon cousins, that took control of the mountains and cave systems.

And while every dragon was original and different in appearance than the other, much like people, there were only two different types. The Western dragon, with it's massive wings, large build and dinosaur like appearance, and the Eastern dragons, of whom were more elegant and slender and serpentine in appearance. With each different dragon came different abilities, and while the Western dragon laid claim over poison fangs, fire beathing and molten vomit, the Eastern dragon commanded the weather, and could drum up a mighty storm in its wake. Both were capable of disgusing themselves to appear to be other creatures, though this really only came into play as humans began to dominate the planet.

Dragons are naturally territorial and get into fights fairly quickly, and while there are a few peaceful hold outs, most use their ancient cunning and intelligence to take advantage of the human race, which is widely considered beneath them. It isn't rare to find a dragon heading an organized crime syndicate, or becoming a cutthroat politician. They love positions of power, and while it is usually the female that holds the reins in the family, it is the male that strives for dominance against other dragons. There could be an entire clan of dragons in an organized crime hub, such as the mafia. They are actually far more common than anyone really knows.

Dragons from the East and West differ in both appearance, magic, and tradition, as they have taken on the traditions and cultures of the surrounding humans. In some instances, it was the dragons that started the entire culture to begin with, but in most cases, they adopt the culture they are living in to blend in better with society. There is no one uniform dragon culture, though there is a singular dragon language, that all dragons speak in. Being intelligent, long lived creatures, they can simply pick up any language they feel like learning, and while one might speak Japanese and the other may speak Spanish, there is still the one draconic language that binds them to the other.

Dragons typically have two names: A human name, and their original draconic name. While the draconic name never changes, their human name can be subject to change several times over as they move and change who they are to fit where they are. The draconic names hold a great deal more power than the human names, as human names are really more like a pseudonym for the dragon. A human could bind a dragon to them by learning their original draconic name, but it requires perfect pronunciation of the name itself, or else it's just a collection of alien syllables. Dragons only share their true name with family members, or with someone who is deeply, and intimately trusted.

History: Bao Huan was not born with that name. Technically, it is merely a human named adopted when China finally had some people in it, but her draconic name is far too complex for human understanding. Technically, she's been around long enough to clearly remember the dinosaurs, and used to spend a great deal of time in the warm waters of the new earth, and flying above the oceans. She can tolerate temperatures of incredible heights, and is usually the most comfortable around heated areas and volcanoes.

Bao was born the first clutch of her mother's, and raised in a fairly normal family. You know, for an ancient clan of dragons. Her father passed away early on after getting in a territorial fight with another dragon, and her mother never settled down again with another male, preferring to go about picking random males in order to lay more clutches of eggs. Bao was one of the few daughters that remained behind with her mother in order to help attend to the new broods, assisting her mother with all measures of childcare as she grew older. At first it was believed by her family that she might never take a mate herself, but as her mother laid smaller and smaller clutches, her attentions wandered outward. While she never did leave her mother until after she passed on (killed by another broodmother for nesting space), she began to seek out a mate to start her own nest with.

Her first mate was a massive drake from the west, as her father had been, and she had five broods with him, far more than her original mother had ever had with her father. She cared for each and every brood deeply, protecting them through many trials and tribulations. As dragon eggs, before humanity arrived, were a prized dish for their protein and size, protecting both the eggs and her young brood was the most important thing she could ever think to do. She put her entire being into protecting each clutch of eggs, raising each drake until they were old enough to either choose to remain with their broodmother as a clan, or set out to start their own families.

After only a few thousand years though, she lost her first mate to, what else, a territorial squabble with another male. When said male attempted to claim Bao Haun as the prize for the fight along with the territory, she summerily dominated him. She was a large female, larger than most other local dragons, and while the fight was hard and she came out battered and scarred, she still sent the attempted suitor away with burns and gouges. Rather than remain in the territory and weather more fights from incoming males and females though, she chose to pack up her newest brood and move for more calmer areas. It was around this time that the dinosaurs began to show up on earths forested and green surface, and Bao... cared little for the new arrivals to her area. Though larger than most dinosaurs that would pass through her territory, there was the ever growing threat of losing eggs and hatchlings to opportunistic hunters. She had to find a new mate to help in protecting her hatchlings, and she eventually settled on a more local, eastern dragon.

This relationship lasted only a few thousand years longer than the last before he was injured in a battle with a dinosaur, and died due to infection not too long afterwards. There was little mourning to be had by Bao, who had merely taken him as a mate as an insurance policy. Again, she moved her brood and her clan to a new area and settled down again, intent on making this one last a little longer. This time, she had chosen a cooler location, far up in the mountains, where there would be little chance of large predators bothering either her or her eggs. By this point, she had a nicely sized clan to assist her with protecting her young, and thought very little of getting a new mate, focusing on raising her brood without interference. Indeed, she had planned for the latest clutch to be the last, until she met Bai Hui.

Again, this was long before humans were ever even a thought on this planet, and Bai went by a very different name when they first met. He was another eastern dragon, traveling through the mountains to reach the sea to mate with another female. He was unfortunately caught up in a storm in the mountains though, and forced to land right outside Bao's chosen cave. At first, she attempted to drive him away, fearing for her brood, but as he pleaded to be kept safe and swore to leave after the storm abated, she relented, allowing him entrance into her cave.
He bonded quickly with her brood and her clan, and soon, with Bao herself, the two of them becoming very close despite the fact that she was a few thousand years his elder. As the storm passed and the way cleared, he lingered at the cave, and the two of them soon became inseperable mates quickly afterwards. Bai and Bao were long standing mates, and Bai sired several broods with Bao. He was a far more peaceful dragon than her previous mates, and remained safe up in the mountains with her, rather than wander and get into trouble with other dragons, or fight for more territory.

Bao remembers the asteroid that hit the earth well, and she took her brood and her mate with her into the sea to escape the wrath of the severe shifts in temperature and climate. Under the waves, she lived with a more welcoming clan of sea dragons near hot sea vents. It was there she developed a taste for sea food, mostly shark as they were one of the few that were massive enough to support her diet and keep her well fed.

Her and Bai would only emerge from the ocean again when the skies had once again cleared, and the climate had started to return to normal. Once more they sought out their mountain home, but continental drift and earthquakes had long ago destroyed it, forcing them to seek out other homes for them and their peaceful clan. They would find it in a valley, interested to find that the dinosaurs that would have once called this place home were no longer present. Instead, strange new animals came to greet them, with hair and fur. Much smaller than the dinosaurs ever were, and while they were still a threat to eggs and young dragons, there wasn't so much of a danger in fighting them off anymore. For a long, long expanse of time, there was general peace in the valley, hidden well enough that no other dragons came to challenge either of them for space, and only the occasional mammal would show up to try and steal eggs.

Soon, they started to become aware of a new addition to their furred neighbors. Hairless ones, with weapons and tools and thatched houses. The first humans arrived in their valley, here to hunt the plentiful game and claim the valley for their own. Fascinated by their newest neighbors, it was Bao that would first approach them. And scare the loincloths right off them. Her massive size was too much for them to handle, and the few of them that didn't scatter from her like she was about to devour them, decided to treat her as some sort of diety. Her and her mate, as it turns out, were subject to this treatment of either fleeing or worship. Amused by the reaction, they left the hairless pink creatures alone and watched from a distance, watching them as they came and left and returned again to the valley, year after year, decade after decade, century after century. Until their little thatched houses began to be made out of stone, and the barest scraps of covering over their bodies changed to full attire, sometimes fine, sometimes poor.

Now, dragons are capable of great feats of magic. Bao's life never really demanded that she preform much magic before, but as more humans began to appear in the valley, she began to long to spend more time with them. They fascinated her as a species, appearing quite intelligent despite being so young, and very clever. So her and her mate crafted disguises to meet these newcomers. As a couple, two young humans arriving in the valley to get a closer look at these new people without spooking them or driving them away. At this point, both Bai and Bao were legends among the people, seen as benevolent spirits that protected the valley, as neither of the dragons ever attacked the humans or encroached in on their land. They were able to walk among them now, learning their language and speaking with them. More and more time was spent with these fascinating new beings, and soon other members of their clan adopted human guises and walked among them.

So it was for years and years, and both Bai and Bao witnessed the attacks by the Huns, and the building of the massive wall to keep them out. They moved their brood from the cave into the valley, living on the outskirts of town in a large manor-like house. While money was never an issue for them (as treasure was such a thing that Bao hoarded), Bai took on a job as a farmer, and he and his kin integrated with the town. Some of the clan split and moved off with humans themselves, though Bao never really saw the reasoning behind such a move. Humans were a short lived species, and falling in love with one was tantamount to trying to keep an insect as a pet. Death would come far too soon to develop much of a feeling beyond a mere crush. While she never once admonished her children for these relationships, she never really approved of them either, and while she still welcomed humans into her home and treated them well, she never progressed past the point of seeing them as just some sort of new, intelligent animal.

Finally, Bai and Bao would be split when Europeans came to China. It was not the fault of humans, but of another dragon that had assumed a human shape and had traveled along with a trading group on the Silk Road. He met Bao first, and attempted to steal her away from Bai. While Bao was, at this point, a very old and very powerful broodmother, she was caught unawares by the intruders advances, and was unable to use her more powerful attacks against him for fear of revealing herself to the townsfolk and losing the home she had built for her and her family. Bai, however, was much less worried about it.

When he came home to find Bao caught up with the European dragon, he reverted to his dragon form immediately. The townsfolk ran scared for the center of town as the trader shifted his shape as well, and their battle took to the skies, fire and lightning streaking across the sky as Bai called upon his magical prowess as an Eastern dragon. Storms blew in, trying to strike the drake with lightning, deafen him with thunder, and sweep him from the sky with wind, as the drake in turn responded with flame and molten lava wretched up from his gut.

Bai would soon be joined by Bao, as her mate began to flag in the battle, and brought with her the rest of her brood, rallying them to fight against this powerful new opponent. The sky was full of dragons, colorful scales, powerful flames and smoke filling the air above in a breathtaking display of power. For Bai, however, this fight would be his last. The Eastern dragon took a heavy blow to his side, and fell from the sky, crashing to the ground below. For Bao however, it would be the only fight where she would actually kill her opponent. Set upon at all sides by angry draklings and young dragons, the European dragon never stood a chance against the matriarch broodmother. She would tear him from the sky and crush him under her immense body, incinerating him with flame and tearing into him with poisoned fangs and rending claws.

Bloodied and bereaved, she returned to her mates side, the damage too much for her to fix. Bai died as Bao looked on, and his remains were taken to the mountain side near the valley, buried under stones and boulders. Once more, she would move her family, her secret revealed unto the humans there and worried about the attention and the problems that may arise from people knowing a dragon lived so close to them.

She retreated for a mountinous village, continuing the farm there, and raising the rest of her brood with no intention of ever again choosing a mate.
And now it's been several thousand years since she last had a mate to call her own, and the last of her brood is past the age of needing care. While she is never alone in her new home, in a now modern China, she still misses her last mate dearly, as it hasn't been nearly enough time to allow that wound to heal. She took on the duty of collecting strays to take care of now, whether they be stray humans or stray animals, as she has now decided she is too old to have any more children. Appropriately she has aged her human appearance, the old matriarch no longer seeking attention from anyone anymore.

She lives a quiet, peaceful life in her home now, with her cat and the occasional drifter and the rest of her clan. The house is still never empty of children even now, and she maintains her position of high matriarch and broodmother.

Strengths/Weaknesses: Strengths: Physical
Whether in human form or dragon, she is incredibly physically powerful. Her tiny, aged form belies the amount of strength she has, and is the reason she hasn't bothered to learn any means of self defense. She is rather confident that her brute strength and intelligence can get her out of a situation unharmed. As a dragon, she is immune towards fire, and actually prefers incredibly hot areas to rest in. Her dragon skin is very tough, and can repel most blades, though a gunshot would still puncture her. Though given her size, it would barely do any damage.

Mental: She is exceedingly intelligent, having been around for so long, and very clever. She prefers to get out of her problems with brains alone, and has easily outwitted dangerous individuals in the past. While she is really no rocket scientist, she's wise and street smart, not easily fooled or conned. She knows Chinese, English, and Draconic, and speaks all three fluently and with ease.

Emotional: Very calm and level headed for a dragon. She tends not to lose her temper quickly and keeps her emotions well under control, typically portraying herself as cheerful and optimistic. She will back off from a situation should it get too heated for her, and rarely goes out of her way to make someone else upset.

Weaknesses: Physical
As an old woman, she has all the weaknesses (save for strength), that an old woman would have. She can easily be stabbed, outrun, picked up, pushed, shot, or really take any kind of abuse at all. It is easier for her to break bones as a human, and it translates over to her dragon shape as well, so whatever damage is done to her as a human is mirrored on her dragon form. She is light, and with a poor sense of balance as a human, hence the small steps, and can be easily knocked over onto the floor.

Mental: She is capable and usually is pretty arrogant, confident in her abilities to outwit anyone and settle most any dispute. She doesn't hear refusals very often in her clan and isn't used to being shown up or spoken down to, and while she won't lose her temper, she will still be insulted. While she is not cruel towards humans, she still thinks of them as the lesser species, and tends to treat all of them as if they are children. She's not an intellectual, and is not terribly book smart, nor tech savvey, and is usually left in the dust with all the growing and expanding technology around her. She's still amazed humans made it to the moon, and has barely even heard of an ipod.

Emotional: She will hide her feelings from people for as long as possible, and constantly pretend to never be effected by anything. She doesn't reveal much about her emotional state, even with her own family, and bottles up any errent emotions inside of her. As the mother of the family, she needs to be the level headed and calm person of the bunch. She never lets anyone get in close emotionally, and usually if someone edges in too far for her comfort, she distances them by regulating them to a childs role in comparison to herself.

Abilities: Human: Immense strength. She can lift things several times her own weight over her head, as well as bend and break metal. Other than that, there's very little that sets her apart from any other human.

Dragon: Fire breath, molten vomit and flight. Ability to cause minor squalls due to her Eastern dragon blood. Her sight is sharp and each pair of those six eyes can look off in a different direction. Her hearing sharpens, and her sense of smell increases several times over.

First Person: Excuse me.

[Bao is at the grocery store, and holding up a small bag of clementines]

Is all the food here fresh? Who is doing all the restocking here anyway? It really is quite curious.

[She goes to pick up a few leeks too, dropping them into her bag]

Not that I am complaining. It is all very conveniant. It is just a curiosity. How strange that they can keep all of us in here, but manage to sneak in fresh food as well. Such a strange prison.

[Now she was inspecting a chicken, judging the weight of it]

If any of you out there are in need of a hot meal tonight, by the way, I would be more than willing to cook for you. I am not used to having such an empty table, it is nice to have some company while I eat. I will make enough for four people, that should keep me busy for the rest of the day. Just feel free to stop by and see if there is any room for you at the table.

Third Person: If ever there was a good time to go out for a nice sunning, it was today. The sun blazed brightly overhead, the sky was clear, there was no one in the field to bother her and she had the entire day in front of her. Unfortunately. Normally she was used to having so much more to do. Children to watch, babies to care for, meals to cook, shopping to do. Just an endless parade of things to keep her hands busy, now to be reduced to nothing at all?

She needed to make a new clan. A shame most everything here seemed to be so delicate and young. She reached the field, and immediately dropped the disguise, all sixty feet of ancient dragon spilling out over the sprawling field. Her massive wings rose and extended, soaking up the sun as she laid out in the grass. It would be better to find a plateu to do this on, but the place seemed to be absent of landmarks such as that. She'd have to be happy with the field for now. Her head was kept aloft, there was no way something as big as her would be able to sit out here and remain unseen, and she was sure there would be at least one person wandering out to see the huge dragon resting in the plains.

She was... lonely. Normally she'd have her young somewhere near by, either flying above her or resting below her, and the silence she heard instead of their calls and roars left her feeling empty. Maybe she should find someone and bring them out here. Just someone else to talk to while she was sunning out here. It didn't have to be deep or theological, just a bit of light chatting to fill her senses. There was a sigh from the beast, smoke curling from her maw as she stretched her wings, and then dropped them, allowing them to lay at her sides languidly.

She really had to find a house with more people in it, maybe one of the apartments down town. It didn't seem right to have an entire house to herself when it was only her there, there must be someone else out there she could possibly share an abode with. All things to ponder on as she raised her head to the suns rays and closed her six eyes in silent contentment. That's what she'd do when she was done out here. Head back to town and see if there was anyone in need of a roommate. Why not, the worst that would happen is that she'd be told no.

player information.

name: Squid
are you over 18?: I am 22!
personal dw: hailthenarc
email/msn/aim/plurk/etc: AIM: Squiddlypeon
characters in abax: N/A


in character information.

series: Transformers G1 cartoon
name: Skyfire
age: Well over ten million years old.
sex: Gender neutral/Assumed male
race: Cybertronian
weight: 3 tons (roughly 6000 pounds)
height: 8 feet
[OPTIONAL] cause of death:N/A
canon point:Episode: Fire in the Sky, after he falls back into the ice.
previous cr:N/A
history: Skyfire was a scientist on Cybertron, along with his friend and colleague, Starscream. This was before the war broke out between the two factions, and the only Cybertron that Skyfire remembers is a peaceful, quiet one. Never one for combat, Skyfire got his excitement and joy from his job, studying other planets and the intelligent life forms that lived upon them.

Along with Starscream, he went out on a mission, discovering the planet earth years before humans ever walked upon it. Though a scan of the planet revealed no intelligent life, Skyfire insisted they move in for a closer look, curious as to what secrets the planet held. Unfortunately, the two of them became caught up in a polar storm, and were separated in the arctic. Starscream, unwilling to leave without his partner, circled the globe looking for him, but was unable to find him until his second crash on the planet earth, millions of years later.

Skyfire spent untold eras buried beneath the ice of the arctic until the Decepticons found him, thawed him and recruited him to their side. Though uneasy about the situation, Starscream’s very presence there seemed to be enough to convince him to join forces against the Autobots, of whom he only assumed were evil due to the fact Starscream was fighting them.

His time on the Decepticon team was short lived, as Skyfire became increasingly upset by the Decepticon’s method of warfare and their treatment towards humans. The final straw was when Starscream attempted to have him murder a squad of captured Autobots. When Skyfire refused, Starscream shot him, gravely wounding him and leaving him for dead. It was only through the help of the Autobot medic, Rachet, that he barely managed to pull through, and turned the tide of battle in the arctic against the Decepticons.

He even went into battle against Starscream, though in the end he was unwilling to kill his old friend, instead knocking Starscream from the sky before using his blasters to cause an avalanche of snow around the Decepticon arctic base of operation. He saved the earth from an icy fate, but was entombed in ice once more himself, where he was to be trapped until months later, where the Autobots would locate him and thaw him out once more.

personality: Skyfire is possibly one of the friendliest, most helpful, most compassionate ‘bots you could ever meet. Though dedicated to science in almost every way, his pursuit of knowledge is meant to help, never to harm. As an Autobot, he believes in the freedom of all sentient beings, and would much sooner observe the inhabitants of earth peacefully and nicely than wage war or smash them. Though he is an absolutely MASSIVE guy, he’s gentle and careful, always willing to use his strength and size to help anyone in need.

He’s somewhat naïve, however, willing to assume the best of anyone. A hopeless optimist, really. While he is also always willing to help, Skyfire is… not… much of a fighter. At all. That is not to say that he cannot fight at all, and can be quite capable when properly provoked, but he tends to dislike harming others. Both battles with the Decepticons saw him laid out flat by Starscream, and in each fight his aim was to disarm and end the fight with as little damage as possible, either by destroying cover, knocking ‘Cons out of the sky with a body slam, or destroying weapons before they could be used. While he enjoys assisting his fellow Autobots in their battles, he’d be much more at home simply studying the local flora, fauna and intelligent life. He is unwilling to take anyone’s life, really, be it ‘Con, Autobot or human alike. Skyfire is terribly curious, and can and will drop everything in order to further his knowledge, literally walking out of a fire fight once to inspect and assist two imperiled humans. It’s probably safe to say his curiosity hasn’t been dampened one bit, ever eager to learn more about his surroundings.

Skyfire, being a scientist, is quite intelligent, and will not hesitate to launch into explanations or lectures that would rival any tongue twister with its complexity. He doesn’t seem to always remember that not everyone knows exactly what he’s talking about when it comes to science, and will happy science-babble at anyone who will sit still long enough to listen. He honestly doesn’t mean to sound like an egghead, he really can’t seem to help himself. He gets excited at the prospect of learning more as well, along with his curiosity, and does not hesitate to ask questions. Even if they might seem a little… strange.

As well, he likes to keep in top shape, modification wise. Before he crashed, he had kitted himself out with top of the line modifications to his body, in order to travel for long spans of time in the emptiness of space. He loves being cutting edge and fully updated, and in turn appreciates such technological advances on others. He’s pretty hands on, and usually won’t hesitate to inspect things he finds interesting a little more… closely. He doesn’t seem to fully realize that he is at all intimidating with his build, and he interacts easily and casually despite differences between himself and others.

It is also pretty easy to see he’s… perhaps a little absent minded at times. His compassion for others along with his natural curiosity often clouds his judgment, and usually ends in him taking a laser to the chest plate.

Finally, there is Starscream. While he eventually proved willing to knock his former friend and colleague from the air in the show, he has never once opened fire on Starscream, and is unwilling to fight much with his old friend. Something of a push over with everyone, being far too polite and easy going to fight much, he beds pretty easily under Starscream’s more demanding and bolder personality. It is easy to see he still has tender feelings for Starscream, unwilling as he was to use lethal force on him despite being fired upon himself.
abilities/powers:Flight: With his engine mods, Skyfire is easily one of the fastest fliers around.

transformation into a shuttle craft: While at home he could carry people inside of him, in Abax he’ll be far too small for this task. However, he is much faster in shuttle mode than he is without transforming.

subspace storage (used to house his gun): He can hold a few things in his subspace if he has to, but it’s usually used to house his double barreled plasma blaster.

proportionate strength: In the show, he was capable of lifting Megatron over his head and hurling him into a snow bank. It’s only to be expected that he’d retain proportionate strength here.

Armor: Skyfire’s armor does not rust like earth metal does, and he is capable of taking hits from human weapons like guns without getting too badly damaged. However, he is weak to weapons from his own planet and is usually laid out easily by well-aimed plasma blasts.

Scanners: He has internal scanners that can give him information on the world around him, and on his own internal systems.

Scientific Knowledge: While he doesn’t have a doctors understanding of the Cybertronian body, it’s still pretty in depth, knowing how to add mods to his own body. It’s reasonable to think that he’d be clever enough to do a bit of field work and first aid on other Cybertronians.
first person sample:
Really, this city is actually quite amazing, if you think about it. When will we ever have a chance to meet others from alternate universes, different realities altogether? I had originally imagined that the theory was near impossible to prove or disprove, that it would have been impossible to visit these different universes or even gather evidence of their existence, but here we are now. It really is extremely incredible. If I can gather information of this world, of the other worlds, just imagine the impact it could have on the scientific community. The possibilities that it opens up. We are looking into an entirely new frontier, beyond space and time into something more. Not simply entirely new worlds, but entirely new universes!

True, there are… unfortunate implications upon arriving here… And I would most like to go home sometime soon, but this situation isn’t entirely negative. I would have never met such fascinating people at home, made such new and wonderful friends. I would vastly prefer a life having known the people I have met here than never having known them at all.
http://ink-city.dreamwidth.org/337241.html#comments
http://ink-city.dreamwidth.org/282643.html#comments
third person sample:He'd returned not too long after his reconciliation with Blurr, the smaller Autobot having to return to the hangar. Skyfire had wanted to go back to the Nemesis... for several reasons, really. Of course Starscream was the biggest one. He couldn't bring himself to leave where ever the jet was for too long, not when having him back, even if it wasn't the same one, was still a novelty.

On top of that, there was no better place to observe the underwater wildlife that still moved about at this time of year. Despite the frigid temperature, he had been treated to a few schools of fish crossing over the decks windows, and he'd become rather taken with them, logging when they passed over, what kind of fish they were, the patterns and manners in which they moved... It was relaxing, almost like a return to normal for him. To be honest, he'd somewhat grown to enjoy the city. It felt like... a second chance.

It did, of course, occur to him that despite the Nemesis being devoid currently of any other Decepticons, the other Autobots might not… entirely think it wise to remain on board, but with the small size of the rest of the buildings in town, he really had no other choice. Besides, it wasn’t really all that bad. He got to share it with Starscream, after all, and the mech had not actually made any attempt to harm him or force him to stay on board the ship. Really, the situation could have been a great deal worse, he thought he was pretty lucky right now.
He was focused now on a rather large fish, some impressively sized, sleepy looking specimen, a smaller, more brightly colored one darting about it, seeming to try and harry the much larger fish. He couldn’t help but smile, making a note on the data pad he held. Yes, he had to say he was genuinely happy here, despite it all. When else would he ever get another chance like this?
http://ink-logs.dreamwidth.org/53910.html#comments
http://ink-logs.dreamwidth.org/51503.html#comments
case no: Oh any old number will

OOC Information
Name: Squid
Personal journal:hailthenarc
Contact:AIM: Squiddlypeon
Characters played at Discedo:N/A

IC Information
Name: Soundwave
Canon: Transformers Prime
Timeline: Episode 26

Canon Resource Link: http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Soundwave_%28Prime%29

Personality: With Soundwave’s silent demeanor, dislike of combat and preference towards passive surveillance in contrast to his more violent faction members, some might mistake the Decepticon for being merciful, kind or even gentle. In all honesty, Soundwave is not as vitriolic or as boldly hateful as the rest of the Decepticons merely because he sees no reason so act as such. Rumored to have deleted his emotions, the infamous ‘Con without a face does almost nothing without Megatron’s orders, though he does obey his commanding officer Starscream just so long as Megatron’s wellbeing is not at stake.

He is an entirely neutral entity, following Megatron no matter what his Lord’s will might be. Soundwave prefers surveillance over battle any day, and will tolerate a great deal of ribbing, shenanigans, personal space invasion, yelling, threats and so on before he even considers removing himself from the area of the particular annoyance of the day. More often than not, if he doesn’t outright ignore the pestering, Soundwave is remarkably good at dead-pan snarking without even using words, and can usually find something to ‘say’ as a retort. His body language, while subtle, is usually very telling, and he can say a lot with the mere tilt of a head or the shifting of a shoulder. … And it’s usually sarcastic. He never actually talks either, speaking entirely through recordings and his body language. While the Decepticons on the Nemesis have grown used to this manner of speech, others might find it difficult to understand. If goaded into communicating through other means, he’ll prefer text, refusing to use his vocalizer.

It takes a lot of effort to goad him into attacking, and Soundwave has only ever used true violence once in Prime, where he quickly squelched an attempt by Airachnid to abandon Megatron on earth. He much rather prefers to simply remove himself from undesirable situations, and while the rest of the army is in the heated midst of battle, you’re far more likely to find him on the sidelines… or just not there. Soundwave is by no means a coward, he simply puts a great deal of thought into the conservation and proper use of energy, focused on efficiency overall.


Soundwave is a cold and calculating ‘Con, letting logic deem his every action. He isn’t evil for the sake of being evil, nor is he boastful or prideful. Frankly, if something doesn’t strike him as being necessary, he won’t do it. While sometimes, this may actually make him appear merciful (keeping Starscream from destroying Wheeljack, not terminating Jack, Miko and Raph at the first chance he got), he has absolutely no problem with killing if he is ordered to do so. That isn’t to say he isn’t at all curious, and will take the time occasionally to study things, if only to see if they could be of any personal use to him or the Decepticon cause. The only thing that can shatter his usually stoic and emotionless veneer is Megatron. If his Lord’s well-being is threatened, Soundwave will start to show flickers of emotion, as he became nervous and worried when he couldn’t locate Megatron’s signal, and completely and publicly humiliated Airachnid in front of the entire Decepticon army at the very instant she attempted to abandon their leader. It is reasonable to infer that Megatron is a soft point for the usually cool ‘Con, and mentioning him will more often than not gain his immediate attention. Megatron is the center of everything for Soundwave. Megatron and Soundwave’s job has taken complete precedence over everything he does, and it has been said that he deleted his own emotions in order to process information faster. Starscream is his only other obsession, and when not at his Lord and Master’s side, he can be seen constantly trailing behind the treacherous second in command, always willing to temper the jets mercurial moods.

Overall, with his hidden face, strange mannerisms and muted nature, Soundwave comes across as an unreachable, alien presence no matter where he is. He’s considered an oddball even among his own kind, and seems to almost take a certain amount of pride in how strange he is. After all, it helps get his job done, and his job is the most important thing to him.

Powers & Abilities: As a transformer, transformation comes as standard. Soundwave’s alt-mode is an unmanned spy plane, specifically what appears to be an MQ-9 Reaper.

He is the only Decepticon that appears to be unarmed, carrying no guns nor blades, but his fingers are needle sharp, and he has a considerable amount of strength for his build. He’s also almost blindingly fast with an excellent reaction time, capable of fending off all of Airachnid’s attacks before hurling her across the bridge of the Nemesis.

He possesses a pair of tentacles that reside somewhere within his chest, which are usually used for direct uplinks. They have proven to be useful in combat as well, however, and can grip and pick up objects or oh… say… axes.

Soundwave fights primarily with his minicons. So far, only Laserbeak has been seen in the show. Laserbeak is capable of reconnaissance, spying, and attack, and is the size of a small plane.
Again, his biggest strength is in his spying capability. Soundwave, in the show, is capable of monitoring communications world-wide, keeping an eye on the Autobots, Starscream, and Megatron’s signal at all times, along with important government transmissions. He has hacked satellites with ease, so it is a safe bet to assume that he’s quite the tech geek.
(the hacking and the spying will be put in a permissions post on his journal)

What items will they be bringing with them to Discedo? Laserbeak. The minicon acts as both his only real weapon, and as a chest plate.

Posting Samples
Third-Person Sample: The day was like any other, really. The same as it always was when he first arrived. Well… after he got over being only nine feet tall, with crippled scanners and unable to transform. That day had been way too out of the ordinary for the usually semi-all knowing, always prepared, never surprised spy master. But he was over that now. … Kind of. As over as he was going to get with his scanners still inoperable, his alt-mode refusing to work and still being a paltry nine feet tall. It still put him a good few feet over the rest of the citizens here but it was the principle of the thing.

How on earth a bunch of random human scientists had managed to knock him out and apparently deactivate all his defense and spying functions was beyond him, and he’d allowed the idea to stew for quite some time. Not that he was about to let it interfere any more with his work. He could still monitor the various transmissions over the communicator. It was a poor substitute for what he was used to, and at first the ‘con had been less than pleased with this minor consolation. … He still wasn’t over the moon about it, but he was nothing if not adaptable. He’d separated himself from the others there, preferring to hunker down in a warehouse for a recharge rather than have to deal personally with any of the humans, or otherwise there. He really had only one job in mind, the act of monitoring all frequencies all for the greatest cause of all.
Finding Megatron.

He had not ceased his efforts, and had never once yet become even slightly disheartened. After all, to him, their leader wasn't a possibility, but an inevitability. He would appear in time, and Soundwave would be there the second he arrived with full data on the city.

And so he waited, watched and listened, like so many other days, a strange, silent and faceless alien statue at the clearest point in the city. Even if it took a millennia until Megatron arrived, no wait was too long for him.

First-Person Sample: --Area scanned: data not available
Scanning
Scanning
>>not available: constructing map

[If it were possible for a line of computer text to sound annoyed, it would be Soundwave who could do it. The text flashes for a moment, before clearing, what almost sounds like a rush of static over the airways cutting in.

Anyone in the area of the ‘Con would find the now nine foot tall spy hunched over his communicator, holding the little device delicately between two long, spindly fingers. The visor flickered faintly as the words appeared on the device… Seemed like he found a way around the little buttons.

And he didn’t appear happy. With the shoulders drawn up and the head lowered, he was the very image of an annoyed creature, the free hand lightly tapping his fingers slowly against the ground. There was a click, the communicator switching over to vocal input.]

--sensors must be faulty!--

[An oily, enraged voice slithered out of the audio output, the shoulders hunching more.]

--Decepticon life signal—

[Just trying to find him a colleague out here. … Yeah it’s not going so well.]

[[as soundwave is a mute by choice, most of his dialog will be in either text, recordings or body language]]

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