Festive

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

_{LOCATION(s): Amistad, Texas}
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" T H E Q U E R Y "
” T H E Q U E R Y "

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Early April, 1888

The once barren streets naught but a few hours ago lay choked to the margins laden with tired and weary travelers leaving the safe confines of the Haven Inn wandered down the rock permeated dirt road. The surrounding chattering voices of the town residents setting up their shops beneath the early morning’s rising sun filled the wide streets of town over powering the forlorn whispers of the travelers. The days in Amistad had always started early since the foregone days as a measly trading outpost for the lost souls upon the Rio Grande; a town started upon the backs of tents and caravan cars converted into homes, and the blood, sweat, and tears of the travelers turned settlers whose hard work carved the paths the folk mingle upon below. The intersection that lay just beyond the window Jonathan Davis sat behind reminded him of what he got up for every morning, even in the disordered streets of morning Amistad, there was a spark in this town he had seen ever since his first arrival as a traveler himself. A town of a hopeful populace and almost boundless potential, the newfound boom in the town had shredded the schedule Jonathan has become adapted to as the newest mayor of the town, trapped in a constant state of early mornings and even later nights. The coffee in his cup swished around as he stirred in the solitary moment of personal silence he would have for the rest of his day, his hand slithering from his side to the bottle tucked in the depths of his desk. From his hand revealed an unmarked bottle of whiskey, encompassing the bottle worn from the ages, removing the cap as Jonathan spiked the little bit of coffee he had left with the booze. It was time to hit the ground running.

Before the idea of relocation from the window washed across Jonathan’s mind, an intemperate knock tapped against the thin wooden doors before him. ”Ya know the door’s unlocked for ya Malory." At the advent of the words spoken from his mouth, a small blond head popped her way into the room through the crack in the door. "Ah! Uh, one mister Pierre Masse is here to meet with you uncl- Mayor Davis. He says he’s from the governor, something about a letter too?" The mousey little blond squeaked as her eye’s peered over to her uncle. Jonathan gripped the sides of his mug a bit tighter, the sigh from his voice was audible as the man took the rest of his drink in one sip. The letter, Malory had mentioned, laid upon his desk from his reading the day prior, his hands slipped up beneath the cream colored paper, once again laying eyes upon what was foretold. If that damned governor thought he could come into his town, and disturb his people, and take advantage of his resources, he had another thing coming to him. "Thank ya Malory, ya tell ‘im to come up ‘ere now." Jonathan looked at his niece and gave her a soft nod, watching the girl retract from the doorway in which she stood.

Minutes felt to Jonathan like hours as he waited for Malory to return with Pierre. He wasn’t excited, hell, the last thing on his mind was excitement. His fingers tapped away at the desk he now sat in front of awaiting his unwanted guest. If this man really was who the letter claimed him to be then he held no power, and as much as Jonathan resisted the grubby self-serving hands of the governor upon his town, there was nothing he could. "Mayor, this is Mister Pierre Masse." a familiar voice chimed in from the now opened doorway, standing beside his niece a man Jonathan had seen but rarely around the town since his arrival, his recollection held nothing about the man save for his connection with the government. "Good mornin’ to ya, Mister Masse." Jonathan stood from his seat with an arm outstretched, taking Pierre’s hand into his own for a handshake. "Please, call me Pierre, Mayor Davis,"

“My pleasure, then ya can just call me John.”

With the drop of the handshake, Pierre took the seat before Jonathan as he too fell back into his seat. The two men, whose positions of powers stood at an imbalance, sat in each other's company in a moment of silence. Pierre’s eyes took a gander around the room in this moment, in this brevity he held witness to the maximalist wonder that stood around him, artifacts from all over took positions along the wall and among shelves decorating this slightly bigger than average room with history of the place it occupied. With his eyes refocused upon the man whose face stood as blank as a page, Pierre cleared his throat before speaking. "I was assured you know why I am here? I am sure the governor made is explicitly clea-"

"Yer Cajun, are ya? I hear a bit of the drawl in that voice of yers."

"Yes, John, I am. Though I must be honest, I am not completely sure how that relates to the governor’s business." Pierre’s head cocked a bit to the side, his face twisting from the once worn smile to raised eyebrow.

"I like ta get ta know the folk all be workin’ with. Not many yall found over here in Texas, ‘specially by the Grande." Jonathans face remained the same blank stare he has held since the beginning of the conversation. The government always seemed to poke their head into business that had no concern for them, into a world far beyond what their reach should extend to, yet this was the power he was beckoned to yield to since he was elected to this position.

" Once again, John, I am not sure how this relates to what I am here for. I work for the government, I go where they tell me, when they tell me. Now if we could please get to the topic at hand, I would like to start my work early."

"Ah, I’m just bustin’ yer balls, Pierre, I do it to everyone.” Jonathan’s expression cracked into a faux smile as the two men locked each other’s gaze, God he didn’t like this man one bit. ”The creek, yeah? Surveyin’ and the like, I’ll get our very own Sheriff ta show you out there. When ya are done I’d like a copy of what ya are gonna send ta the governor, ya heard."

"Thank you, and of course, I can do that for you."

"Great. It was nice meeting ya Pierre, make sure to stop on by with any questions ya may have. I’ll make sure ta tell Malory to wrangle up Sheriff Ramos straight away" As the two finished their rather brief exchange of words, Jonathan stood up once again, his hand outstretched to the stranger one last time signifying he’s request for Pierre to make his exit. Perceptive of his body language, Pierre took Jonathan’s hand once more, as their hands joined Jonathan’s grip was tighter than before, more strained, and without further thought he shook it sharply before releasing his grip. "Till again, Pierre." With those words Pierre conducted his rather quick exit from the room, Jonathan falling right back into the chair he sat in before, melting into the soft cushions that lined the back as his head fell back in disdain.

"Fuckin’ government shills."

The Cursèd West

@JJ Doe

Pssst, join the discord...

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

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" W E L C O M E Y E L O S T S O U L "
" W E L C O M E Y E L O S T S O U L "

" G U I L L E B U R N E R "
" G U I L L E B U R N E R "

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_____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________ " Y I E L D Y E R N A M E ? " " Y I E L D Y E R N A M E ? " GUILLERMO "GUILLE" PEREZ-ROJAS _____________________________________________________ " S O W H E R E Y E F R O M ? " " S O W H E R E Y E F R O M ? " SAN DIEGO, ALTA CALIFORNIA, REPUBLIC OF MEXICO _____________________________________________________ " Y E C A N F I L L O U T T H E R E S T " " Y E C A N F I L L O U T T H E R E S T " ★ Age? 47 years ★ Birthdate? June 2nd, 1841 ★ Height? 6'1 ft ★ Weight? 195 lbs ★ Ethnicity? Californios ★ Gender? Male _____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________________________________________ " T E L L M E ' B O U T Y E R S E L F " " T E L L M E ' B O U T Y E R S E L F " "..." "Yer acting like ya don' even know me." Guillermo is often silent, a man of few words outwardly as to not reveal who is to the town folk. The demeanor he wears is often cold, closing most out but the rare few who are able to crack out a bit of his personality. Although to most, he is closed off. Keeping a wall around his mightier than Hadrian's. However as cold as a man he presents, he shows kindness to those deserving, with a soft spot for the animals of the frontier whose nature was free of the supernatural energy. Guillermo is a changed man than he was over a decade prior, he has mellowed. The spitful nature he held as a young man had almost faded from his being in times other than rage. Out on the frontier, nature is the devil and its creations are its demons. Despite having been raised as a child religiously, he was faithless. To him, there were no gods of this land. His morals stood gray and his philosophy asunder, changing his ways to fit the situation at hand. He is a man who yearns for a normal life, but has yet to atone for his sins of the past. There is silt is on his hands, but to Guillermo? It was a necessary evil for his survival. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " D E S C R I B E Y E R S E L F F O R M E , Y E A H ? " " D E S C R I B E Y E R S E L F F O R M E , Y E A H ? " "Describe myself? Ya got eyes, don'tcha?" Years of running brings naught but fatigue to the face. Guillermo is a man whose age rears it and dares not to hide, he bears a face riddled with a full beard of dirt-colored hair, ragged and jagged in spots he had cut down with his knife whilst on the road. The top of his head was overrun by a full mane of short-length hair which curled as it lay in place. The face of Guillermo continued to sport the same look throughout his adult life, a stern-looking (by most accounts), straight-faced stare. His eyes were low, the bags under his eyes stood still in time like the scars that lay scattered around his body. The body of which stood with a tall stature, with the muscles from his younger days persisting til the present; life on the frontier wasn't easy. The garb of a survivalist is one of practicality. Upon his shoulders Guillermo sported a dusty brown leather jacket, one stressed with the years of travel and utility. Atop the jacket, slung across one of his shoulders lay a bandolier strapped tight to his chest, and around the other lay loosely his saving grace; his rifle. And the sombrero he first found (stole) when he came to America sat on top of his dome. His old dusty and dirty white shirt peaking from beneath his jacket as it floats around the denim on his legs, which stretch all the way down to his black pair of boots. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " S O W H E R E Y E B E E N , W H A T S Y E R P A S T ? " " S O W H E R E Y E B E E N , W H A T S Y E R P A S T ? " "Que? Oh, I was born in Mexico, survived the war, and been out here ever since." Under the blanketing light of a candle that burned ever so dimly against the clouded Californian sky, and the unlockable screams of a woman who yearned for the trials of motherhood, a long-awaited child was yielded to the couple who were surrounded by the graceful presence of close friends and family. Guillermo was nothing if not the child of abject wonder. Born from the barren womb many a doctor claimed would never bear the fruit that is children, the life force the boy was given to run this game we call life came with the loss of his mother; a handmaiden Isabella Rojas. Following the loss of his mother, an inkling of a picture-perfect life for Guillermo was ripped asunder. His father, Marco Perez, stood as a general within the Mexican army, and owner of many a rancho across the San Diego territory, and provided nothing but a void of the parental love assumed by many to be oh-so guaranteed to the boy with the incredible nature of his birth. A baby who sought the bosom of a loving mother and the gentle grasp of an adoring father was met with but the child surface of an iron chassis that held sustenance and the disregarding touch of the very same maidens who worked beside his mother. There was no heart, a life void of the assuring touch of love which allows one to see the world for the green it is rather than solely the gray. As the years passed in but merely a blur past his eyes, and for the first time in years, Guillermo had once again seen the man who had aided in giving him life, returned from the war with the Americans. In front of him stood a man whose life had been changed on a level irreversible by even the most skilled Native Shaman. Was he different? Could he be different? Guillermo held a staunch indifference, the man in military garb, wounded all over with bandages wrapped around several parts of his body had never been a father to him. As more years flew by with a pace unmatched the man who gave him life soon lost his own. Free of the master that held him in shackles to the grounds of the Perez home, Guillermo took off like the blowing wind. A man fresh of the master who held his shackles tight to the home, Guillermo took a sprint under the never-ending void of the night sky. A newfound vigor coursing through his bloodstream like a drug led Guillermo down to the estate's stable. Within the confines a horse lay in wait beyond the stable doors, a stallion bearing a mane of butterscotch brown, a tad shorter than the lot; the runt of the pack. "Ascuas" as he had come to call him, was the one thing who had stuck by his side for the long run, and Guillermo wasn't leaving without his prized mount. Both wearing that same spark within their eyes, they took off. Led by the dazzling light of the moon to far beyond the bounds of the place of his birth. Life upon the frontier lands had been a far cry from the rose-tinted view many on the coast had uttered. Coined as a land with unlimited opportunities the tales and odes seem to overshine the reality of the stories told under pit fire light in the wee hours of the night. Through his travels, there have been many a time his survival seemed near to zero, and yet he continued. Guillermo hunted, living off the land. He learned from the many native tribes who had added the young man in his desperate times, taking on traits and acquiring skills, he had learned more on the land than he did during his years with a teacher. Although the land was his mother during his numerous escapades, Guillermo was not shy to steal. A petty little thief, whose hands latched on to whatever lay unattended within his reach. A man of but twenty years of age, the day the news of a war between America and itself broke to Guillermo, it was the point of no return in his lifetime. In times of war, the only side that wins is the one that makes the most money. Like the conniving thief he was, Guillermo used the distress of all to take advantage of both sides. The fire, the brilliantly striking inferno of his hate was the only thing that marked the scene after his robberies. "Burner" was the moniker the infantry slapped upon his name. Like a flame snuffed out, he was in as quickly as he was out. The young man was now treated as an outlaw by both U.S.A. and C.S.A. lawmen. Guillermo stuck his reign of terror all across the South and Midwest; stealing and burning as cascade of national guardsmen followed close in his wake. With the end of the war on the horizon, Guillermo retreated back into the depths of the frontier. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " L A S T , W H A T B R O U G H T Y E H E R E ? " " L A S T , W H A T B R O U G H T Y E H E R E ? " "Ya got good booze, some good folk too." With the year of his age creeping up ever so quickly, and his days as one of the most wanted criminals on the Gulf Coast a bygone era of regret, Guillermo sought an area void of the papers of his face, void of the bounty on his head, and far, fringe regions of western Texas, nestled into the Rio Grande was the perfect place. It was discreet, and had a high enough population to blend in with hoping his now-aged face would block recognition. After years in the grueling years in the prairies and plains of the midwest, tucked in the shadows hiding all trace of himself from bounty hunters and rangers seeking the prize for his head, the isolation had finally broken him. The town was his return to civilization, and while he didn't live in the town proper his little tent on the outskirts of the town limits kept him connected, and with his secret hidden for the time being, he will stay for as he can.

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♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

Let's get this party of this rolling!

The Cursèd West

Funny, I would have gone this way with it, @Festive

@Archazen

I say we roll with them both, and how about another!

The Cursèd West

Excited to get this party rolling

The Cursèd West

Definitely putting my interest out there! I was wondering if you were potentially going to use/reference American folklore and Cryptids specifically in the west/mid-west region?

౨ৎ new here !

Welcome to the guild! We are happy to have you, enjoy your time!

Sword Art Online

If I could throw this question out there: why do you want it to be based connonly? I could understand wanting to keep the core cannon aspects of the thousands of people trapped in a game where the only escape is finishing it, and no magic only sword skills, but to be frank the story and how the Aircraft arc ends is rather rushed. I believe it could a better and more fulfilling story if instead of stoping with the cannon ending of heathcliff's reveal on floor 75, we follow all of our characters up until floor 100, the actual end of the game.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

An Eclipse. A spectacle, truly. To all those who possess the ability to behold such a wonder, may witness the convergence of two celestial bodies; one a brilliantly bright ball of gas and the latter a terrestrial plane of rock and metal. As one enshrouds the other, the eyes of those who watch witness the beauty within their sight as obscured light from the star forms an outer halo around its mask. A moment that while not rare, is fleeting. As time flows in its natural way, forgetting all who cling to the notion of the past, the celestial body, worn as a cover around the light source, passes it by.

Thus was the name sake of Team 18, “Eclipse,” a moniker treasured by the group who bear the name on their shoulders. A group dedicated to what they worked towards, passionate through their efforts, and through each other. Aligned in perfect sync as if they were the planets far floating in the heavens. Although in present times, akin to the celestial bodies moving out of place, the impermanence of their team floats in the air. A miasma spread across the atmosphere of their team whispering the forlorn question of “What’s next?” In this team of once twelve severed up to three lone souls, continuing on in the once active shell of a team they now occupy. Bygone from the days of their prime, and destitute from the absence of new members.

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_{Location: Off The Beaten Path - Hiking Trails, Dundas Island}

Dance Monkey #4.008#: The Twilight Hours of Team Eclipse

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_{Interaction(s): Cleo Boyd @Spicykvnt, and Lucas Bray @Nemaisare}

The world was loud, that was but only certain to Immanuel. It was a sanctuary which offered naught but utter disturbance. His days began with not a simple alarm clock tune blaring in his ears but with thunderous pandemonium billions of human beings living the single life provided to them. The sound of animals on the prowl, hunting in the treacherous South American rainforests, to the low growl from the belly of the Russian industrial complex. A part of him held thanks to the powers at be that gave him these abilities that he couldn't understand the hundreds of languages he heard in his ears each day, he heard enough information in English he wouldn’t dare to utter. The island of Dundas, while having come to be to Immanuel as a second home of sorts, offered little escape from the noise. The roaring cries of children and adults alike reached levels to even hinder the sound of the rest of the world in his ears. But thus was every morning, and hour of the day, for Immanuel.

Immanuel’s boots crunched twig underneath his firm step as he trailed to one of the common meeting spots for his team; or what was left of it. The light formerly blocked by the helping hand of the tree’s shade, shone down onto the dark-circles eyes of Immanuel. This little clearing was what they needed. Away from everything, away from everyone, alone with his team and nature. Immanuel lifted his hand up to shade his eyes from the blazing sun, looking around to see if any of his teammates had made it before him. For now, he was alone. In the far corners of his head, Immanuel could feel the festering pain, throbbing and searing away as it slowly was creeping down his forehead. He’s been at it for too long. His ears were filled with the sound not of the whole world, but nature. The sounds of ruffling leaves in the pacific shore wind, and chirp of birds he had no idea of engulfed his mind as filtered out everything but this; his close surroundings. Normally he would be able to hold the filter for much longer, but as he sat down on a stump his focus waned. The hand that once covered his eyes moved to his temples, rubbing them as he peered at the ground. “Just a little bit longer…” His voice softly trailed off to himself.

The world was loud, that was certain also to Cleo. In different ways of course. Usually in colours that screamed, in loud feelings and in waves of emotion. Her mornings often began with a clumsy stumble from her bed. A struggle against the oppressive fog that had seeped in. The beginning of her daily battle to discern which of the feelings she had were her own, and which she'd collected involuntarily. To shake them away with intention and find herself, wherever she may be amidst the scattered piles that had been drawn to her like moths to a flame.

The world felt desaturated today. Heavy. Bleak. The burden of an enormous weight she could barely describe. Stories hung in the air like motes of dust suspended in the amber morning light that filtered through her window. Usually, they weren't so numb, but today and the days preceding, each tiny speck of emotion held only emptiness. Like a long twirling string of black holes. Just nothing. Layers of nothing drawing from each other. She wafted it away - a long breath that conjured up a shimmering bubble in her palm to collect it all. A galaxy that she cradled carefully in her hands. As she concentrated, she brought life back to it. A spectrum of colour from white, to yellow, to gold until it burst. Her colours filled the room and turned it technicolour for a moment. Dorothy stepping into Oz.

A fleeting smile quirked upon Cleo's lips; guilt threatening to spill over and overshadow, a slight chide for her creation on a day like this.... But her smile, she decided, was a necessary act of rebellion.

She set out. No skates today. Just a pair of simple sandals on the grounds until she reached the grass. She slid them off, letting the blades of grass meet her bare skin. Grounding her back to the earth, brushing away at whatever negative ions still wanted to hold to her. As she approached Immanuel, she did not speak immediately, but gave a small wave, a wag of her fingers before sitting across from him and onto the grass beneath the tree, letting sunlight dapple her as she sat cross legged. Her knees sank slowly towards the ground, her spine relaxing into shape. "Good morning," she finally whispered, her voice a soft and careful murmur.

“Morning, Cleo.” Despite her whisper to Immanuel the sound of her voice was rather loud. “Only waiting for one more now.”

The world wasn’t quiet… Lucas woke up to the earliest birds in the building, stocking feet a faint creep down his back beneath the weight of the roof still holding everything in place. Rolled over and stared nowhere for a while, thoughts tangled amidst the loose sheets and warmth wrapped around him, the window playing streaks of moon light and cloud shadows across the ceiling, morning breezes sliding cool across his skin even with it closed. Bird feet scratched his head as he counted creaks and snores, tosses and turns, and how many toilets were flushed. An open fridge hummed, spilling cold air across the floor. Cups and plates hit counters and showers were starting to make it rain when the second round of waking came with a ripple of alarms and music muffle or not, some turned off faster than others. And, with a grimace, he took that as his cue to get up. Besides, the world was getting louder, but so was his stomach.

And if he left before the rest of his Ursus colleagues let their alarms join in on good intentions set to snooze, then he’d not have to hear it.

There was no one still sleeping in his own dorm for him to sneak around once he was dressed, no one to nod or wave at either though. So, he just grabbed a bagel and left the building behind, following the first pair of feet marching past the door and going wherever they led. It felt like company, the sort you didn’t have to talk to or worry about leaving behind, though… the feet didn’t talk or worry about leaving him behind either. Eventually, they went their separate ways, and he found another set of footsteps to follow until the pavement stopped and he didn’t, walking towards the trails and then veering through the trees. There’d been too many soft voices whispering over tabletops at dinner last night for him to think the forest was completely safe, but he hadn’t managed to hear which forest. And since the mess in the quadrangle was solidly on campus, did it really matter where he went?

Enjoying the natural sounds and settled quality of the air around him, Lucas ambled his way to their meeting spot, grinning when he saw two familiar faces already waiting there. Felt the usual quiet tension and long breaths of trying not to hear too much and the quieter held breath waiting to let everything out of feeling too much. Last one then. Well… No one else was coming. Gave him the pick of seating space, didn’t it? “Last one left… yesterday, I think. There was crying. It was loud.” He paused to glance towards Immanuel curiously. “D’you hear it? Well,” he hadn’t been the one doing any of the crying, “it’s quiet outside my door now.”

Quieter, at any rate, the empty rooms acting like a buffer between him and the rest of the building, though they’d still been lived in more than they’d ever sat empty. Be a long time before he stopped hearing Ezra’s favourite blues. “Even the new guy…” He’d been the last to leave but the first to start thinking about it, so Lucas couldn’t say he was surprised. “The air’s all thin and empty again.”

“Yeah. I heard it… It seems like that’s one of the few things I’ve been able to consistently pick out these past few days.” Immanuel’s eyes shifted up from the ground focusing his mind a bit stronger on the words of his friends. The throbbing at his temples only jumped with this focus, it hurt, but he could hold it. The somber cloud that hung upon the island in the present days had become naught but evident. The crushing weight placed upon their shoulders leaned and creaked under this cloud, it sucked the life out of what was left of their team. And as much as Immanuel wanted to ignite a shred of hope into the hearts of his comrades, Lucas was right. The air between them all sat thin with a palpable demoralization between the three of them as they sat in a triangle shape. The new guy came in the form as a saving grace for the team, it had been quite a while since they had received a new member, but as quickly as he arrived, he departed. Whispering wistful apologies with a half hearted backing as he left the team destitute once again. The same as the others had, a bond broken at its core and shattered into thousands of pieces. It was a feeling not all too new to them, but disappointment of watching a member leave stings all the same. “And the new guy… yeah, I wish he had stuck it out for the long run, but, what can you do, right?” Immanuel was not the original team leader, but it was a role he now had to fill. That day, it was the worst loss of their team. How can you trust in the stability of your team if not even its original lead decided to stick with it? That question pervaded Immanuel’s mind each day, that little voice in the back of his head louder than any sound of the world he could possibly hear. The one thing that sticks out in a sea of voices was his own. A constant reminder of his own insecurities that he just wished would be drowned out by the rest of the cacophony he heard.

“Well, I know the question you’ve been thinking, hell even myself. And to be completely honest as your lead, I don’t have an answer. I don’t know what is going to happen to the team, I don’t know if we are getting new members anytime soon. I’ve been left in the dark. Just like you. I… I wish I knew the answers for you guys, but I am just as lost.” Someone had to break the tension, nothing was ever meant to last forever.

“S’okay. Now we can lose without trying, okay?” Lucas grinned as he spoke, completely genuine and obviously pleased with this small silver lining. It likely came as no surprise to his teammates that he’d find it. He was a fan of teamwork, but less so of competition. And with only three people on their team, there wasn’t really any pressure to win left over. Although, he wasn’t sure how many other teams had a full headcount anymore…

“We're not in the dark,” Cleo spoke, holding her hands upright in front of her, waggling her fingers to let the little sun rays dance over her palms. “Not right now, anyway,” she continued. She paused, sensing something just out of reach, and while she couldn’t hear the voice that troubled Immanuel, she felt its presence, like distant echoes. “Whatever comes next is on its way, and it will happen.”

She missed her team too. She'd made friends and connections that had now all departed. “Remember the time Ezra played us all some music on the beach, and we had that wee party? I remember that night, because I think I ate more marshmallows than should have been possible…” she sighed, and let the memory conjure in her mind. Maybe they wouldn't appreciate it, but for Cleo, days of being buried to observe the walking nightmares, anxieties, and sadness, had left her starving for just a glimmer of something bright.

He hadn’t really started to miss anyone yet, with traces of them still slipping into his head. They weren’t here anymore, but they weren’t gone either. Though… They wouldn’t be making any more memories like that. Not with everyone, anyway. “We can find more marshmallows.” He grinned again. “We can make s’mores. But Ezra picked the best music and Chaney told the best jokes...” His mood sobered. “They can be safe somewhere else. That’s all right. But I don’t want new friends without you. What if they split us?”

“If they try tae split us, we riot!” Cleo answered, jabbing her finger into the air. A playful smirk danced across her lips. “Or… y’know, we’ll respectfully plead our case to stay together…” Her tone softened, but there was still a glint in her eyes that betrayed her true feelings– she couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from them either.

“Hmm, I say we riot as well.” Immanuel cracked the first smile he had in the past few days. He admired the fact that despite the downfall of their team, they could still crack jokes, and enjoy the company of each other during what appeared to be the final stretch. At heart, Immanuel missed it all. Ezra and his sometimes annoying speaker, Channy and his corny jokes; the feeling when they were all together was something he didn’t know if it could be replaced. “Honestly, I couldn’t stand the taste of marshmallows after that party, God I ate too much that night.” A small chuckle left Immanuel’s lips. The air felt a bit lighter around them, although demoralized, they still held that little spark in them from the bygone days.

“And seriously, over my dead body I’ll let them split us up. We’ve been a team since the start, you can break up that easily. And hey, we’ll still hold that little piece of team 18 within us, even if they shut us down. Hopefully that’s the absolute last thing that happens.” This team was like his second family, and he’d be damned if he lost them.

“So we'll raise a glass to them,” Cleo said with a smile to imbue a feeling of warmth within the safe triangle of Team 18. Immanuel, ever stalwart, was as determined as he always was, it struck her how relieved she was to see his smile. “And a glass to us…” she continued as her thoughts drifted to the impending dance. “And a glass for tomorrow too. Whatever it may bring.” she paused, feeling fleeting apprehension that brought her gaze down to the ground, her hand instinctively rose to her chest where she felt a hum of emotion. “No matter what happens… I'm grateful that we're friends.”

“As am I.” Immanuel's smile stood firm to his two compatriots among him. He couldn’t ask for a better last two. “Hell, I’ll raise my glass to that! If I had one, that is, still a bit too early to start day drinking. Probably something we could do at the dance actually.”

Riot, huh? Lucas returned Cleo’s smirk with a crooked smile of his own before he flopped backwards, holding up a fist in solidarity when Immanuel joined their little rebellion, such as it wasn’t. He hoped there wouldn’t be anything worth worrying about. Last year and all this fuss, maybe no one would notice, or care enough to make sure they were… team sized. He wouldn’t mind new teammates, but only if he could keep the old. Otherwise, it felt like a waste of team spirit and trying to keep things from sliding in one ear and out the other.

He waved his hand again—though he hadn’t yet lowered it—at the mention of raising a glass. Making that time-honoured enthusiastic gesture guaranteed to spill if ever there was a glass in hand. Raise a glass! And a glass and my glass to that… “Yeah.” He liked being friends, too. Liked having friends… Liked that he hadn’t had to go looking. And that not everyone had left. Though his pleasant ruminations on that front stalled after a second run through of what had just been said and he sat up again, frowning vaguely. “That today?”

Cleo sighed too. “It is indeed…”

“When i checked on the calendar it said so.”

“You going?” Though he did glance between both of them as he asked, sounding vaguely incredulous, Lucas’ skeptical gaze landed more firmly on Immanuel’s tired expression, feeling the strain in the tightness of his shoulders as much as he could see it in his face, and rolling his own shoulders to try settling the wrong shirt. It had taken a few minutes to build up in his awareness, but once it had, it wasn’t something he could ignore. “Like that? We can shut up if you need to breathe. But I don’t think you need dancing.”

“I am sure I’ll be fine by time the dance rolls around. I’m not much of a dancer in the first place, just worried about the music. Regardless, I’ll just bring my limiter.” The throbbing reminder of his own power’s drawback ran its merciless conquest in his mind, a searing pain ravaged with intention to stop creeping down to behind his eyes as they talked. His mind was empty of thoughts gear toward excitement towards the dance, a slithering distraction in the back of his mind in which he awaited the impending strike. He didn’t want to go, he had been one not to hold particularly high hopes in a lot, and this was certainly one of those events, but he had to go. To go despite the eardrum eviscerating music, despite the incessant chattering of people he could care less for, he was going for his team. For the last three that sat here among him, and for others who were no longer around to see this night. If his team was on their final days, he damn sure was going to make sure they go out having at the least a bit of fun.

“And I… I think a second to breathe would be good. Maybe it would be a good time catchup on that meditation we never got to.”

“All right.” No more words from him. He was probably being too loud anyway. With a finger at his lips by way of promise, Lucas glanced at Cleo just to see if she thought the same before letting himself fall backwards again. More comfortable that way.

Cleo didn't need a second invitation; and so a warm, effortless smile curved naturally upon her lips in Immanuel’s direction. She wasn’t thrilled about the dance either, far from it. She knew all too well how the mixed and varying emotions of the attendees would pull to her like magnets. A smorgasbord of angst and unclaimed romantic longing. None of it would be hers. She’d feel it all the same. But, to focus now would be to clean the slate and give herself a chance against it.

Her eyes closed slowly, each hand drifting to rest on a knee. She exhaled slowly, the breath carrying with it the gnawing thought that was at the back of her mind: Will this be the last morning I share with Lucas and Immanuel like this? The thought lingered, and she knew for certain that this moment should be preserved. This fragment of time. Sun pouring over them like warm silk, the grass that whispered at their side. Orange and gold that folded itself over, rippling in the energy of it before it settled as Cleo slipped into the quiet solitude of her own mind. Time paused, time saved. Everything else a distant hum.

Watching as first Cleo and then Manny closed their eyes and feeling his own breathing slow, falling into the rhythm repetition had worn into their clothes, Lucas stared up at the sky. It was even brighter now, a pale blue that was gentle on the eyes even if the sunlight wasn’t. Branches were filling in the space more than they had last year, their tips wavering and their leaves still green… They’d start falling soon, catching new colours off the sun before hitting the ground. Then the clouds would come, and the rain with them. But for now… He watched sparrows darting between those leaves, a gull gliding in the distance, and bees bumbling through the clover patch he was lying on. A hummingbird pausing at the clearing’s edge didn’t stay long when it found them taking up space, but by then Lucas was smiling and closing his eyes himself.

If he didn’t look, absence didn’t matter. Under the trees’ soft rustling and the dark–light kaleidoscope of so many days of dappled shade were more than three voices, some softer than others, some farther away, but everyone was there, carrying on old conversations and making plans. Cheering someone up after a bad exam. Sharing recipes and study notes. Laughing and swearing when the rain caught them out early… or a water gun. Most of them had been excited about the Senior’s dance, eager for their own turn. They’d made sure to volunteer every year just to see what the themes were and get ideas, they’d said, and he’d gone along to help. He’d never been sure what the fuss was for, having too many things about the idea he wasn’t looking forward to. He’d figured there wasn’t much point to going now the enthusiastic people weren’t here, but if Manny was going, Cleo, too, then…

Maybe there was something to look forward to. Gladys had been trying to teach him to dance over the summer, before she gave in to the outside pressure and worries about her family. So, if Cleo wanted, he could let her step on his feet as often as he stepped on hers. Immanuel probably wouldn’t want to dance with him… Maybe there’d be line dancing… Or beer nuts. At least a good dip to go with some veggies, or breadsticks… Cake. Yeah, it would all be worth it if there was cake.

As another round of discourse dissolved into a bout of laughter, Lucas smiled to himself and rolled onto his stomach to watch the bees continue their work. Their teammates couldn’t go anymore, so, like Cleo’d said, they’d raise their glasses for them.

The world was loud, but they could still find their own quiet.