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 WRITING CHALLENGE #19, 16 july - 30 july
CRIM
 Posted: Jul 16 2017, 02:36 PM
Quote
mage hoarder
51 posts
23 years
Non-Combatant


Writing Challenge #19


Welcome to another writing challenge here on Unbound. We had a little break while the Grand Tournament got going - and don't forget to get over to the event forum if you owe anything over there. As always, direct any questions about these challenges to my staff account.

Prompt: AU time again!

Superheroes, supervillains, and spandex. Pitch your character in a setting full of superheroes and villains. Do they have powers, are they fighting for truth and justice? Or are they a civilian just trying to get through the line at Starbucks before the Riddler tosses giant coins down the middle of main street? Show us a glimpse of their AU lives.


Posts should be at least 400 words to claim credit. Write from any format or POV of your choosing! This challenge will end July 30th at 11:59pm and will have an award of 200 sovereigns.

Reply below with your challenge submission to earn credit for this challenge!
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CRIM
 Posted: Jul 23 2017, 07:47 PM
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mage hoarder
51 posts
23 years
Non-Combatant


A reminder! This challenge is open until the July 30th, and the character roulette will follow.

character roulette sign up!
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GARRETT HAWKE
 Posted: Jul 27 2017, 08:44 PM
Quote
sugar
60 posts
39 years
Mage


PRISON AU – PRESENT DAY

Garrett stared straight ahead of him, standing with his hands on the bars, drab prison uniform rolled up to his elbows to allow for some breathing room from that itchy material, staring out into the hallway of Block D. The guy across from him, a blonde with ratty hair, was raving to his cellmate about injustice and other mumbo-jumbo that Garrett Hawke had tuned out. He knew what time it was, if only based on the ever-present rumble of his stomach around this time at one in the afternoon. Visiting hours.

“Waiting like that isn’t going to make them come any faster, you know.” The man on the top bunk in his cell said, voice grim and low. He’d hardly taken the time to get to know his cellmate—all he knew that the man with the growing out platinum-dye job’s name was Leto (of no relation to the 30STM brothers, he’d assured Garrett multiple times) and he was in here for murder. It made sleeping a bit difficult at night, but so far, Leto hadn’t shown any malicious intent, but he also didn’t want to play cards in the cafeteria… so the man would continue to remain a mystery.

”They’ll come,” Garrett responded in earnest without looking behind him to the bunk beds. “I know they will.” He frowned as the guards led someone else down the hall to the visitor’s area. Where are they?

”Perhaps they’ve forgotten you, Hawke,” Leto sneered, ”and when you get out of here, you’ll be left to your own devices to survive. Oh, how tragic.”

”Shut up,” Hawke responded with mild annoyance, pressing his face as far as he could through the bars before it got stuck, peering in both directions down the hall. A sigh relief as he saw a pair of footsteps heading to his cell. A series of wolf-whistles followed, and the woman, looking slightly irritated to being subdued to the collective harassment of men corralled in one area, motioned behind her at the guard manning the block, and his cell buzzed open.

”Hawke! You have visitors.” The woman informed him in a firm tone, brown eyes sharp as needles, cheekbones cutting enough to saw his cell bars in half if need be.

”When do I not?” He shot back cheerfully, following Officer Pentaghast down the hall—a desk worker who pushed the system as often as she could, as she was kept out of the major throes of the prison because of her gender, which infuriated her beyond belief, but really, there was no going against the Warden. Mahariel was a hard sell, and only let Pentaghast fill in on block duty. Garrett turned the corner behind her and followed Pentaghast through the double doors to the visiting room, where the other front desk officer, Vallen, sat with a watchful eye to ensure no funny business went down.

Garrett sat down at the designated table, and his gaze lit up immediately as his girlfriend rudely passed Ms. Vallen’s clearance and jogged over to his table—against the rules, of course—and her tits bounced joyously above her cinched shirt. Garrett watched them as if entranced, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head by the time she sat down.

”Baby! I said hey!” Isabela whined and kicked him below the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pentaghast make a move forward, but apparently she thought better of it when she saw Garrett reach down to clutch his shin.

”Ouch! Hey. Where’s… my mother?” Garrett looked behind Isabela for another body to enter the door, but none came.

”God, I don’t know, Baby. I think she’s sick or somethin’. She didn’t tell me shit—oh wait, yeah she did. She said she’d call you tomorrow. But why do you care about her anyway? Could I do this if your ma was here?” Annoyed, Isabela shifted her booted leg under the table, lifting it to run up Garrett’s pant leg, touching the skin of his calf.

Holy fucking shit. Garrett gripped the table with both hands, fingers turning white as he did so, unable to control the sudden blood flow from a serious lack of attention. ”Jesus Christ.”

”HEY!!!!” Officer Vallen shouted loud enough to interrupt everyone’s conversations. All heads turned in her direction for a brief moment. ”NO TOUCHING.”

Defiantly, Isabela blew a large pink bubble and popped it across her face, pointed at Vallen. ”Oh my God, what a prude. I bet you she ain’t been laid in her whole life, huh? Gar-Bear, are you even listening to me?”

”What? Yes.” Concerned hazel eyes fell on Isabela’s bored expression. ”When did my mother get sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

”Oh my Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooood,” Isabela dragged out the word, and then upon seeing Garrett wasn’t going to let up, sighed an answer. ”Last week or something. She’s got pneumonia again. Don’t worry, baby. Your brother’s been visiting her in the hospital.”

”Good,” Garrett’s shoulders dropped in relief upon hearing that. He and Carver didn’t get along—at all—but that hardly meant his younger brother wasn’t a good person.

”Yeah. You know what else is good, baby? 54 more days. I keep counting, right. So you better not do anything to fuck it up, because if your release date gets pushed back I’m sleeping with your brother.” Isabela said, looking to her nails, the shift of her body pushing her golden necklaces into her cleavage.

”You certainly are not,” Garrett shot back angrily.

Isabela shrugged, looking up at him, huge hoop earrings rustling underneath her hair. ”And what you gonna do if I do, Garrett, huh? Write me a letter?” His expression hardened as he stared at her across the table, and she instantly apologized. ”I’m sorry, baby. I don’t mean it. I just get so angsty, ya know—I just want you back with me. Don’t you wanna fuck me, baby?”

”Of course I do,” Garrett responded, lowering his voice since Cousland’s brother at the table next to him had brought his kids, ”When you get home, why don’t you give me a call and I’ll… see what I can do.” The conversation went back and forth in a similar fashion for a few more minutes, until time was called and the inmates were allowed a hug with the person who came to visit them. Isabela thrust her hips into Garrett’s thighs to the point that Vallen came forward to break them up.

”Go home, Isabela,” Vallen said with a warning hint in her tone. She hauled Garrett by the arm and strode him down the hallway back to his cell.

”Y’know,” Garrett purred, glancing over his shoulder to Aveline and nodding downwards, ”If you want to take care of this, I wouldn’t say n—OH!” Swifter than he finished his sentence, she’d used sheer blunt force with the base of her palm on the small of his back, enough to send him reeling to the floor of his cell.

”Keep it up, Hawke,” Aveline responded with some joy evident in her tone, ”and I’ll show you what else I’ve got.”

He moaned on the ground for a few minutes more, much to Fenris’ dismay, until a sudden commotion across the hall coveted his attention. He didn’t know what had caused the inmate to go into one of his psychotic rants, but he’d started attacking his cellmate—to the point that Garrett saw blood. A few minutes later, a jolt of something shot through his heart, leaving a sick, fluttering feeling in its wake as he recognized a voice.

”… What are you doing here? The warden says you aren’t to be in D-Block.” Aveline’s voice, curious.

A low mumble of a response, ”Samson called in. I’m coverin’ for him. We don’t got time for this, Aveline.”

”You’re right. Just get him to the SHU.” The gate buzzed open and two officers rushed inside, Rutherford and… one that he would have recognized anywhere.

Garrett wrenched his gaze away, suddenly unable to look. His curiosity got the better of him during the struggle and he glanced up—only to feel his gut rising in his throat when he locked eyes with his brother. Carver shook his head, as if to say no, and he and Rutherford hauled Anders out of the cell. The door buzzed shut behind them.

”Wait,” Garrett called, the rest of the block painfully silent to listen to the drama that had ensued, ”Is Mother going to be all right?”

Carver stiffened at being addressed and turned to Garrett, his eyes flashing. A thick, plastic rod swung across the bars of his cell, rattling them, forcing Garrett to step backwards. ”INMATE! YOU DON’T FUCKIN’ TALK TO ME! YOU DON’T FUCKIN’ LOOK AT ME. YOU FUCKIN’ GOT THAT?” Carver stepped forward, one hand wrapped around the cell bar. Garrett watched as he dropped a small piece of paper inside, loosed between two fingers. ”I SWEAR TO GOD, I’LL SEND YOU TO THE SHU RIGHT ALONG WITH THIS ONE. LAST WARNING.” Carver stepped away from the cell and after a few steps hauling Anders away with Rutherford, was gone.

Once the coast was clear, Garrett reached for the scrap of paper and unfolded it. It read, simply,

CALL YOU THURSDAY.


When Fenris wasn’t looking, he tucked the piece of paper underneath his mattress, along with a few others that had survived inspection.

He’d just have to wait until Thursday.




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ROSALINDE EDELGARD
 Posted: Jul 28 2017, 01:26 AM
Quote
BIRTHE
7 posts
22 years
Warrior


With a heavy thump, she landed and rolled, rolled, rolled, until she was forced to a sudden stop by an unfortunate encounter with a wall.

"Oof."

The air expelled from her lungs in a pained groan, she wondered what sported the worst bruises; her body, or her ego. At the sound of Christel laughing uproariously from the rooftop above, she concluded that her body would mend, but her ego... That was a different matter entirely.

She scowled upward, but missed her mark entirely, too disoriented by the tumble to accurately pinpoint Christel's location on the first try - something that only seemed to further fuel her amusement. The last glimpse she caught of her sister was when she disappeared beyond the edge of the rooftop, in all probability because the force of her laughter had just caused her to topple right over.

Jaecar was on his way down, floating gracefully, the way Rosalinde assuredly had not, and landed softly by her side. He extended a hand to her, and she took it, stifling the yelp - of both pain and surprise - that threatened to emerge when he pulled her to her feet with one strong tug.

"I guess that rules out flight." His smile wasn't meant to offend, and yet it did - but only the bruised parts of her ego. The rest of her recognized it for what it was; a brother's attempt to soothe his sister's disappointment.

It was in stark conflict to Christel, whose laughter could now be heard again as she threw open the door to the abandoned building they'd been using as a proving ground of sorts to determine the nature of Rosalinde's abilities. If she had any at all - like the rest of their family.

She sighed heavily. "Maybe I can't do anything."

"True to form," Christel chimed in in the background, her voice melodious with barely contained laughter, but was silenced by a sharp stare from their brother - though Rosalinde's noticed the edge of mirth to his eyes, and released a quiet huff.

"Think of it this way; right now, there's no limit to your opportunities," he answered her, fixing her with another one of his award-winning smiles - literally, after the award ceremony they'd held following what the newspapers had dubbed 'an unprecedented show of heroics' during the city fire. The rest of their family had received no commendations, and some had even gone so far as to viciously criticise Christel, who'd been nowhere to be seen while the city was ablaze.

Of course, she'd been nowhere to be seen because she was busy letting vengeance rain down on the one who had started the fire in the first place.

Rosalinde, on the other hand, had been stuck at home, watching Jaecar on live-stream and hearing the sound of Christel delivering the beating of a lifetime through an earpiece.

As usual.

"What if I'm just a dud?" Her voice was meek when the words left her; the doubt was rarely spoken, but often thought. Jaecar's shoulder's sagged, and even Christel's laughter faded to nothingness - though Rosalinde figured she was mostly annoyed she'd ruined her fun with feelings.

"Then you'll find another way to help people." Their father's voice seemed strong enough to shake building at their very foundation; a deep baritone that demanded respect and was capable of commanding armies - and had. And yet there was warmth in it; the gentlest, most affectionate tones mixed in with an authoritative stance.

Rosalinde's shoulders sagged, and she nodded sadly, then neutrally, then with determination.

"Yes. You're right." She straightened her back - her ribs ached with a gentle throb; bruised, but not broken - and held her head higher. "There's plenty of people who do good without superpowers."

"Well..." Christel cut in, but her argument was cut short by a stern stare from their father and the choked sound of suppressed laughter from Jaecar. Rosalinde scowled at her sister, who mock-scowled back at her, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips like Lindy was prone to do when angered.

"You won't be laughing when you're bumbling around in the desert and I'm the one in your ear with directions." Her defiance was subdued by the sullen quality of her words; it drew another trill of laughter from her brother, and a low chuckle from their father.

Christel only shook her head. "Please. You couldn't find north with a compass."

"I could too!"

Jaecar's laughter intensified as Christel turned on her heel and began walking away, calling back, "I'll believe that when I see it." Their brother followed her with a shrug and a half-apologetic smile, then jogged to catch up with her and throw his arm around her shoulder.

Always so close, those two. Lindy was the odd one out, in truth, left standing in the background and watching them almost wistfully - until their father tenderly put his arm around her shoulders and gently prompted her to follow them by his side.

"Don't worry, love," he smiled down at her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, mumbling, "You'll find your way soon enough." into her hairline.

Rosalinde sighed, and nodded, watching her feet move as they followed the sound of her siblings' excited voices. "I know, but... I wish soon enough would get here a bit faster."

Her father threw his head back and laughed, and the sound made her smile, despite her disappointment, and despite her bruised ego.

Maybe he was right. Maybe there was time. And maybe she'd live up to her name, some day.

She hoped some day came this week.

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LARA
 Posted: Jul 28 2017, 06:15 AM
Quote
Alicia
15 posts
40 years
Rogue


Her baby, in all of its outdated mechanical glory, looked as if an elephant had trampled it into the earth. There were no wild elephants to be found in this region, and it was highly unlikely that the zoo’s population had recently undergone an exodus from captivity. Despite all appearances, Lara knew with certainty that no elephant had actually touched it. When she scrutinized the damage, feeling sicker by the moment, she knew exactly what had happened to her poor car.

In the distance, the unmistakable sounds of battle echoed. There was a great smash—one side of a building was in shambles now, and with the neighborhood’s luck it was the same one from last month—car alarms blaring—civilians’ screams as they poured through the streets in the opposite direction of the so-called “heroic” showdown.

The chorus continued to panic: some of them had to be from out of town, not yet desensitized to what was regularly scheduled chaos for the locals. Others were of the naïve sort that believed no masked vigilante could do them harm, but Lara knew better. No one so fixated on nonexistent Ideals, as some pretentious douchebag from her cohort would’ve put it, ever stopped to care about the basic collateral damage their actions caused on a weekly basis. Lara’s unfortunate car was only one of a long, unending series of tragedies.

“I’m gonna sue that son of a bitch,” she announced, drawing a scoff from her friend.

“Like you can afford it.”

It wasn’t untrue, but the reminder was unwelcome. “I’d figure it out,” Lara bit back, “and I can’t afford to fix this myself!” She gently laid her hand on poor Jackie’s busted tail light with a wistful sigh. Some cash was stuffed into the nooks and crannies of her apartment, a habit that still couldn’t be ditched, but there wasn’t enough to cover this disaster. Her options were few, and abandoning the car that had lived through so much this soon was out of the question.

“Besides, can you actually sue a superhero? It’s not like you can just find them anywhere.”

A shadow passed over Lara’s face, lingering as the fire of her anger burned in the depths of her being. “Quit calling him that. He’s not a hero. None of them are heroes, not really.” Whether such a person existed outside of literary archetypes, Lara wasn’t so sure, but she knew for a fact that heroes wouldn’t screw some third party over so readily.

“You’re right, it wouldn’t be easy, but it’s not impossible.” On a day like this, the man in question was easy to find. One only had to follow the noises and the path of destruction to find a man in too-tight spandex and an ugly cape wrestling skyscrapers and mildly annoying foes.

On days where their Unfriendly Neighborhood Superhero was nowhere to be found, presumably having disappeared back into their alter ego’s life, Lara would only have to put the rest of this new plan into motion. It would be difficult, but Lara was no stranger to challenges. If she could survive a dissertation, if she could survive knowing that there was no place for her in chemistry, if she could survive her beloved mother’s departure from this world—if she could survive all of the things that had happened to her before, finding that man and getting thousands out of him was well within the realm of possibilities.

“D’you know any lawyers?” she asked suddenly. No withering look could deter her, for Lara had already made her decision. “Look, I’m going to do it, so you can either help me or not.”

The plan was unfolding in her mind, beginning with a contact. Spending time and money trying to find an unknown person’s trail was useless, unhelpful, and wasteful before building a solid case and strategy. She needed someone familiar with the law on her side, backing her up, and she needed to make a record. There were arrangements to make while Jackie was out of play, alternative sources of income needed.

As the cogs turned, Lara realized that this really was possible. She hungered for personal justice, not out of a sense of right and wrong but for herself, and nothing was going to stop her from getting what she wanted.
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LUCIUS QUINN
 Posted: Jul 30 2017, 11:51 AM
Quote


He lounged upon one of the front pews; slouching further on the uncomfortable wooden seat with his legs lazily spread. A soft sigh was pushed from his lungs as he took a silver cigarette case from the pocket of his black jeans and removed a slim cigarello.

It was in these quiet times when the church was blissfully empty that he allowed the coldness in his eyes to shine through. The carefully manufactured smile slipped from his lips as the cigarello was pressed between them. A spark of flame lit up hard features, the mask fallen away. Grey plumes of smoke surrounding the lone figure as he lay his head back to rest upon polished wood.

It had been startling even to him how large his flock had grown in such a short space of time. For five years now his faithful sheep had followed him, trusted him and loved him. Gave him their time and adoration and money. Money that Lucius swore was going to charities. Doing the great word of God. Being a good son of the Holy Father.

Lies had become so common place that Lucius could not remember the last time the truth had slipped across his serpent's tongue. But there was one truth, one bright shining truth that he held dear and shared with great love to his Flock. Lucius still believed in God. Still believed that the Almighty was up there looking down upon them.

Which begged the question; why had he been allowed to continue as he had done? By using God's name to lie, cheat and steal, surely he was on a path paved with his sins spiralling steadily downwards. But as of yet there had been no divine intervention. No terrible thing had befallen him. Even as he had tempted fate and scandal by spending his nights in the arms of many a man or woman. All but drowning in excess of everything and anything his ill-gotten money could provide him.

And yet here he still was. No great sign from the Almighty had come that had put a stop to his plans. There was no proof in his eyes that God cared at all what he did. Sometimes Lucius wondered if He was listening at all. Or if He had simply created this world and all its creatures on a whim and then simply... Left.

That was something that Lucius tried not to think too much about these days. He could feel the Almighty, knew that He was still watching them. It wasn't just belief. No one could change his mind on the matter, there was no proof he would listen to that would make him believe that God did not exist. That He was not still with them.

But still... He had to know. Always had to push that little further. Cry out to the Heavens and make sure that His eyes were still on him. If he would be sent cascading down into the flames of Hell for his wrong doings. He didn't fear the fire, there was a part of him that knew he deserved it. Lucius had sinned and sinned and sinned again. And if he were bound for Hell, then he intended to truly deserve it.

With a flick of his wrist, Lucius tugged the crisp white length of cloth and thick card from his collar. He looked at it for a second before placing it firmly between his teeth. Cigarello in one hand whilst the other unfastened the buttons of his black dress shirt. The priest stood and made his way slowly up the steps to stand before the statue of the crucified Christ. The white band spat at its feet.

“God if I have wronged you, strike me down!

Lucius dropped to his knees and bared his chest. The tip of the lit cigarello was pressed to the centre of his chest to give the Almighty a place to aim. He spread his arms wide and tilted back his head. Eyes closed and breathing deep. His faith held strong; if he was indeed causing God ire, then the Father would strike me down.

“I am your son. Your creation. Strike me down!

He waited in silence. Breath caught in his throat. But nothing happened. All he heard was the slight flicker of the candles around him. All he felt was the coldness of the stone beneath his knees and the cool air of the church around him.

Lucius grinned.
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REMBRANDT VILMOS
 Posted: Jul 30 2017, 02:31 PM
Quote
squee
7 posts
38 years
Mage


Mature.

---

“You can’t protect him, precious!” Rembrandt barked sharp laughter as the bullets shattered and shaved the plaster wall. The walls of the military hospital “sanctuary” were not deserving of good, proper concrete.

“He’ll be mine again!” He taunted around the corner, easing into a crouch. He’d been toying with Adelina the moment he’d seen her in the hall upstairs. She’d pulled a concealed gun on him, to his excitement.

“Shut up!” Her enraged cry echoed between the bare walls and bounced down hallway behind him. Her voice shook with restraint. A lucifer’s grin stretched the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, he was so beautiful,” he recalled with fondness. “Especially with blood on his face. His neck. And those scars on his back. Unf. I’m quite lucky he traded himself for you.” Another bullet punched into the concrete above his head. “Who’s Daniel? He had a tendency to occasionally whisper the name. Like when-” Another shot cracked down the hallway. His wicked tongue didn't know when to stop, and his lips pulled into a wilder grin as he continued, “- my tongue glided across the muscle of his shoulder. Oh, he trembled. And his blood was sweet.”

There was no response but another three shots. Remy waited, quiet and grinning, calculating how many bullets she’d fired as he stood, sliding his back along the wall. Before long, he heard her footsteps, which was just what he wanted to hear. His skin shifted and slid, dark eyes brightening to ocean blue. All the small details of the Albrecht brother’s face became his own - the scar splitting his lower lip, the one separating his hair over his ear, and the subtle flatness to a nose broken several times over.

“Boo,” he said, hushed as he took the corner. Her gorgeous blue eyes widened in shock and Rembrandt seized her arm in a vicious grip, taking advantage of her hesitation to attack her brother’s face. His other hand went around the pulse in her neck as he slammed her against the wall. Like a slithering shroud, Quirin’s face easily melded back to his own.

He pressed his mouth to her ear, whispering, “A pity, precious.” She choked, a sound as pleasant to his ears as melodic music, hand tearing at his covered forearm as he watched wakefulness begin to drain from her vision. Remy sighed, forlorn, releasing the wrist and brushing his thumb against her lips. Such a pity, my dear Adelina. You were my favorite.” He kissed her cheek. “Maybe I’ll come back and get you. After I take back Quirin.”

Her consciousness faded, and Remy caught her slumping body against his chest and lowered her to the ground, gentle as a putting a child to bed. After brushing her dark hair from her soft cheeks like a lover, Remy made his way to the stairs. Two at a time, he peered cautiously through the stairwell door, surprised but gleeful to find short hallway empty.

Perhaps Adelina had been the only visitor? He had anticipated the other brothers to be present, given the condition Quirin had been prior and after his escape. Bruised. Branded.

Foolish man. Did the soldier think the door had been left open for him to escape forever? Granted, Rembrandt had underestimated Quirin, who must have mustered courage and a reserve of strength after Rembrandt had purposefully left open the basement door. To tempt the man with freedom. To Rembrandt’s surprise, Quirin had made it to town, or something, before Remy returned to the basement cell to see if the soldier had remained. He should have. That had been the deal. His life forfeit to Remy’s desires for Adelina’s freedom.

Thus this had been the best week-long hunt Rembrandt had the pleasure of experiencing.

He tracked Quirin to this almost empty on-base military hospital, easily smoothed his way through the entrance, and blockaded the sector. Positively giddy to reclaim his prisoner, he browsed the names posted beside each door, found the one labeled “Quirin” and threw it open. “Hellooo, darling!” Empty. The room and bed were empty. Remy had a moment to be saddened his perfectly pitched words were wasted on empty air, which was not much of an audience.

Then he gasped as his cavat yanked tight to his neck. His assailant whirled and smashed him into the wall opposite the door. The chilly touch of cool metal pressed into his forehead, followed by the click of a hammer dropping. “Surprise.” Although there was no joyous enthusiasm in the other man’s voice. “Motherfucker.” Ice blue eyes stared him with triumph and crystallized anger.

A trap? They had set a trap for him? What a day!

“Albrecht the younger,” Remy purred, rubbing at his neck. “Where’s your brother?”

Not waiting for a response, he dropped to his knees. The shot rang and Remy sneered at the nearness of that miss. Scooping out the young Albrecht’s legs from under him, Rembrandt called forth the single face that might stop the Albrecht.

“Nuh-uh, Diedrich,” he chastised as he rose over the Albrecht. His voice had transformed and adopted husky femininity. Stature shrunk and he admired the smallness of his new female hands, which he smoothed through the chin-length dark locks. “Could you look me in the eyes…” Large, dark eyes glittered over a mad-woman’s smile, the one Remy had personally witnessed when Nolani was prepared to do battle. “… And shoot me?” He reveled in the uncertain lurch in Diedrich’s movement, that hesitation to bring the muzzle to bear on him once more, and hot torture brimming from eyes that just moments before could have frozen hell.

“I can.” The tertiary voice was hard with darkened resolve.

Remy turned his smile - Nolani’s smile - onto a man occupying the doorway next to what should have been Quirin’s. A man wearing a surgeon’s garb. A man with distilled venom bottled beneath a brow heavy with fuck all anger. A man who’s lovely, kissable lips were drawn into a twisted, ugly sneer behind a leveled pistol.

“You must be Daniel. Stunning.” he said, in Nolani’s gleeful voice, before the man pulled the trigger.


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CRIM
 Posted: Jul 31 2017, 05:27 PM
Quote
mage hoarder
51 posts
23 years
Non-Combatant


This challenge is now (officially) closed!

Thanks to Sugar, Birthe, Alicia Gabe, and Squee for giving us these fantastic entries to read.
And terribly sorry to all of the people that got served up some suffering in the tags over the course of this prompt. I really liked the different perspectives of Rosalinde and Lara of being on the periphery of the special, what exactly does happen if you try to serve Captain Fantastic? He might not even have a mailing address.

Don't forget to visit the moderation thread to claim your sovereigns and your achievement if this is your first entry.
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