time marches on

[pokerap]

Fandom: Murdergame post-games (Dangan Roleplay, Trustfell, Parasomnia, Antumbra, Unknown Seas, Once Upon) (no I am not listing every single fandom for these characters)
Character(s): Everyone I played + a bunch of others
Pairing(s): Archer/Kimbley, Ryuunosuke/Tsukiyama, Zagi/Kamui, Yeager/Duke/Top Dollar, Gangrel/Lusamine, Krauser/Wesker, Iago/Dist, Aela/Lif, Yeager/Raven/Alexei, others mentioned
Word Count: 7,421
Summary: This isn't the end, this is just a new beginning.
Notes: Post-game snippits for some of the characters I've played in murdergames! These were supposed to be the appropriate amount of time after the game's ended (as of 2023) but eh, some of these could've happened earlier, who cares about timelines.

dangan roleplay, round 2

( frank archer, zolf j kimbley, 9 years )

"I am getting way too old for this crap." It's as much a greeting as a complaint as the door to their (rather quaint, by his standards) place is pushed inwards and Kimbley enters. Another mission successfully(?) down, another day in their eternally strange lives.

"Welcome back," Archer says without bothering to look up from the report he was working on. "I trust Cynthia will deliver the report after she's had some time to rest."

"Yeah," Kimbley collapses on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes with a sigh. "If things'd gone on much longer, she woulda been in trouble."

Archer's pen stills for a moment and he finally glances over to the other man, who isn't bothering to look at him. "That bad, hmm?" His voice isn't even pretending to be sympathetic; it's amused, as it always is whenever Kimbley actually looks exhausted after one of their missions.

He waves a hand as if that will get Archer to shut up. "Complications. Had to track down a few extras the bastards didn't warn us about."

Usual things, in Kimbley's line of work. There hasn't been a single experience of his that hasn't been interesting to hear about, even if it is in the dry words of a work report. "But it all went according to the Future Foundation's plans in the end?" Archer asks, glancing back to the report he was working on.

"Yep." Kimbley finally removes his arm from his eyes and smirks. "C'mon, said like you'd expect anything else?"

"Not with you two on the job," Archer admits and finally decides there's no point in bothering to pretend he's going to actually get back to his work. It's taken him a bit longer than usual this time, but he joins Kimbley on the couch, reaching out immediately to brush his fingers over his husband's cheek and turn Kimbley's attention to him.

The other man complies with a soft hmm and leans into the touch. "It wasn't that bad," He finally admits. "But it wasn't fun either."

Kimbley's idea of fun is never anyone else's, so while the boredom is undoubtedly disappointing, Archer's glad it was dull. "Good of you to put up with it for so long."

It gets a scoff from him and he rolls his eyes. "Only 'cause you ask me to."

"And I'll keep doing that." Archer smiles. "Though I suppose I can reward you for your patience."

"Yeah?" Kimbley's look brightens at that and he continues, "Found a place we can go scorched earth on?"

Archer nods, a darkly pleased look in his eyes. "There's a world that has been almost entirely destroyed - save one organization that has been running instances the Future Foundation wants shut down. There isn't anyone left to save. You know what that means."

Kimbley's grin is wilder than Archer's expression, but certainly just as pleased. "You're coming with me, yeah? Troops to command, people to boss around, like before?"

"Of course," Archer's reply is controlled even if his expression's bordering on a bit too unhinged at this point. "This is what we signed up for, after all."

"Can't imagine you doing anything else." Kimbley laughs. "Eternal war, right?" He leans forward before Archer can confirm, pressing a tattooed hand to his chest and laughing when Archer pulls him down onto the couch as well.

"Eternal war." Archer confirms before kissing his husband fiercely.

dangan roleplay, round 3

( ryuunosuke uryuu, shuu tsukiyama, 8 years )

The applause is uproarious tonight, loud calls for blood and violence and a show having only been sated by some of the fiercest butchering from the most talented scrappers the place has. Tsukiyama had slipped away from the crowd after the closing act, making his way easily through the passages backstage as if he owns the place and waiting in the usual spot.

There's a sudden burst from activity behind the door in front of him, and when it swings open to several scrappers piling out with overjoyed cheers, it's hardly surprising. The group seems to get along fairly well, though Tsukiyama doesn't know any of them personally - save one important exception, of course.

Ryuunosuke is the last one out, still drying his hair after having clearly showered, given the absolute blood sport tonight was. His eyes light up the moment he sees his husband, as though he somehow wasn't expecting Tsukiyama to wait for him, even though he does every single time without fail. "Shuu!" He closes the distance between them in a few short steps (that are nearly more of a skip), towel abandoned as he takes the ghoul's hands with both of his and grins. "How'd you like it? Was it cool?"

"Greatest cool, amore." Tsukiyama confirms, even though he knows Ryuunosuke doesn't need to hear it. His husband pulls one hand away to fistpump in delight. "You were so brutal today, so vicious. You certainly did take well to the subject of tonight's show."

"Yeah, well," Ryuunosuke doesn't exactly seem flustered, just coyly shy about it, as though bloodsport and numerous brutal murders are somehow abnormal between the two of them, "usually I get to work on my art with you, but going all out and putting on a show for everyone else is pretty fun!"

He takes Ryuunosuke's free hand, then decides he'd rather pull his husband into a hug. The nuzzling is immediate, instinctive, possessive. Ryuunosuke returns it without hesitation. "Let's waste no more time, then. I want you all to myself. Let me be a little selfish, hmm?"

The laugh that gets out of his husband is bright, pleased. "I'd like nothing more. C'mon, Shuu, let's go home."

It takes them longer than it should to return to the mansion - but of course it does, once they get started cuddling, it always takes them awhile to stop. It was that way when they first started doing it, and even after eight years that much hasn't changed. Ryuunosuke holds Tsukiyama's hand all the way back to the bedroom, and even once they're collapsed in a tangled mess on the bed, he still grips his husband's hand tightly.

"You seem worked up today, amore."

"More than usual?" Ryuunosuke laughs.

"Mm," Tsukiyama confirms, once again nuzzling him. "What is it you're thinking about?"

Ryuunosuke returns the nuzzling, a soft hum escaping him as he somehow manages to squirm even closer. "I was thinking about... how similar tonight was."

He waits for Ryuunosuke to continue, knowing he will in time. Tsukiyama's free hand comes up to play with the back of his husband's hair.

"The executions."

He doesn't need to elaborate, Tsukiyama knows what he means. Bloodsport, making a show of killing rather than turning it into an art, quantity over quality. These are things they've discussed at length before, and how ultimately, it always circles back to their time in the hotel and how some things will always feel strange because of it. "Is it a bad thing?" Tsukiyama asks.

"No. No!" Ryuunosuke reaffirms. There isn't any more space for him to cuddle closer to Tsukiyama, but that doesn't stop him from trying anyway. "It's just kinda crazy. I wouldn't have ever wanted to do that back... y'know, back in Fuyuki. Before all the memories, anyway."

A very distant time and place, then. A time and place Ryuunosuke stopped referring to as 'home' a long time ago. "Would you prefer to get back to work on your current project?" To take his mind off it, perhaps.

"Nah," Ryuunosuke nuzzles Tsukiyama again for emphasis. "I'd rather be right here. And besides," There's a manic glint to his eyes when he pulls back, "I did have fun. I wanna make sure you're enjoying it as much as I am."

The dark look is reflected in Tsukiyama's eyes when he responds, "I always do, amore."

trustfell, round 1

( logan, 7 years )

With his name announced to alert the Queen, the guard leaves and pulls the door shut behind him. The throne room is remarkably empty for this time of the day, which means that his sister has something she wants to say for him, and him alone. This isn't unusual anymore; they're on better speaking terms than they have been in a long time, actually.

"Logan," The Queen sighs into her hand, not even bothering to look up, "please tell Reaver that he is not allowed to bring back any more petitions for any more wild things from these..." Vague handwave. "Other worlds."

Ah, of course. This is one of the more out-there requests of his, one that requires his sister to try to understand the concept of "robots" and "building a giant machine that shoots lasers because Reaver wants one". Of course she's suffering. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

"I'm not his keeper." Logan remarks and her sigh in response is somehow even more despondent. "But I can attempt to discuss it with him."

"Good. Thank you." She gets up then, gesturing for him to come join her.

They sit on the stairs leading up to the throne, as they usually do nowadays. She'd said we're equals when he asked her why the first time, and he hasn't bothered to try to correct her since. It's certainly better than being at each other's throats like they were during the war.

"How are they doing?" She asks with another vague gesture. "Your friends from these other worlds. You visited them recently, didn't you?"

Ah, so she has been looking for him. "Yes. It would seem everyone is doing just fine now." She doesn't need the details of how they're coping with life after spending time in murder hell; though his sister tries very hard to understand, she never truly will. She can't understand the sheer levels of paranoia that most of the survivors of Graceside experience on a near-daily basis, just for one example.

She nods, a pleased look on her face. "And yourself?"

He hesitates for a moment. Not because of his answers - he has been doing better lately, so it wouldn't be a lie to tell her as much - but rather because he's reached a decision and he's not sure how she'll take it. "I know what I want to do with myself."

His sister raises an eyebrow. Yes, okay, that was just sort of blurted out there without any sort of preamble, but she's known Logan her entire life, she knows he just does this sometimes. She also knows that he's been aimless, adrift since his time at Graceside, and he's never fully settled since returning home.

"I want to be a teacher." It's an awkward admission to make and he exhales slowly. "I cannot undo the damage I've done to Albion. I cannot atone for everything I did. I cannot make up for all the mistakes I've made." He finally looks back over to her and continues, "But I can do this. I was able to assist those who were trapped with me, and so I believe I can provide information to children who are willing to learn."

She's been silent through that, her face frustratingly unreadable. She's gotten better at it, he thinks. She looks like mother when she does this. "I'm proud of you, Logan."

It's the last thing he expected to hear for her, and he shifts a bit to get a better look at her. She's smiling now, the radiant expression he hasn't seen since her wedding day. "What? Why?"

"I've been telling you to find something you want to do for yourself since you got back, idiot!" She smacks his arm, which hurts a lot more than he's like to let on. "None of this moping about or agonizing over how you're going to fix all of Albion's problems on your own - you need to think about yourself for once in your damned life." She then pulls him into a hug and he's powerless to resist her.

He still isn't very good at it, but he's better now that he's had practice with so many of those during his time in Graceside. "Thank you, sister."

trustfell, round 2

( zagi, kamui, sigrun, mettaton, ryuunosuke, 7 years )

"Sure we got the right place?"

"Yeah," Kamui pulls down his hood as they approach the outpost. There's a brief explanation of who they are, why they're here, and who they're looking for before they're permitted to see her, but Sigrun is looking as bright and chipper as always.

"Sister!" Zagi says, lighting up like he's about to pick a fight with some horrifying beast. It's always sort of cute to see him get so excited about mundane things.

"There you two are, been waiting for ages!" Sigrun laughs, sweeping Zagi into a one-armed embrace and then grabbing Kamui before he can flee. He really should know better than to try to flee at this point. "Alright, this's everyone, let's get this hunt started!"

The beast they fight is something out of a nightmare - giant, deformed, and vicious, but it isn't a match between Sigrun and her crew (who are actually trained with their own world's beasts and how best to actually address such a problem), a vampire, and a fight-crazy assassin. It's a tough fight, make no mistakes, but a satisfying one that doesn't result in any major injuries, so it's more than a victory.

As the celebration of their victory is in full swing, Kamui slips out the back door. He knows Zagi will follow him.

"C'mon, you aren't leaving already are you— Whoa!"

Zagi barely gets time to follow him out the door and start his question before Kamui flings a snowball at his head. Considering the velocity of the damn thing, it would probably hurt like hell. "Fight me," He says, just like old times.

Zagi laughs wildly, immediately unsheathing his knives and charging. Some things never change, no matter how many years it's been.

Sigrun smiles knowingly as she leaves the door slightly open for them to get back in once they're done. It's going to result in them making out in the snow, then Zagi will complain about being cold, then maybe they'll finally come back inside, so better to make sure they won't accidentally get locked out. Though that would be funny. She has a few more rounds to make with her crew before she returns to Mettaton, but she points at her eyes, then at him to let him know she isn't forgetting him.

Mettaton waves a hand lazily in response, settling back in his seat with a sigh. "And how are you holding up, darling?"

Ryuunosuke has his head down on the table they're sitting at and he just groans in response. "I wanna go to bed."

With a light chuckle, Mettaton pets his hair. "You did a good job. You're getting so good at this!"

"You think so?" That gets Ryuunosuke to look up, and though his eyes still look dead as hell - as they always have, as they almost always will - he's smiling. It's exhausted, sure, but he's pleased with the praise anyway.

"Of course! You can actually keep up with the others now, you were a sight to see!"

"Yeah, guess so." It's taken him long enough, anyway. "So you wanna try asking the Captain to lighten up on me a bit?"

"Oh, absolutely not."

Ryuunosuke drops his head back onto his arms with a defeated groan.

trustfell, round 3

( decim, ginti, ??? )

Viginti is quiet with the more recent departure of its guests. Ginti himself seems to be in a sour mood when Decim enters, because he gets a table chucked at his head.

He catches it easily and leaves it suspended. "Good evening, Ginti."

"Shut up." Ginti says, even though he's only said three words to the man. He looks like he's considering picking an actual fight before sighing loudly. The gesture that follows is frustrated, but an obvious "go ahead, I'm done flinging furniture at you".

Decim carefully sets the table down and approaches, sitting at the bar.

Ginti works on a drink - not because Decim wants or needs anything, but to give himself something to do. His agitation hasn't been this bad in... quite some time. It's interesting, to see his coworker so worked up about a judgement.

"What has you so troubled this evening?" Decim asks, because if he doesn't, Ginti won't ever tell him.

"Troubled," Ginti echoes, pausing to toss a glare at Decim before he continues working.

Apparently it's an acceptable enough way of wording it, because he eventually speaks up again, "Do you ever get the feeling that some of our guests are... familiar, in some way?"

Decim considers. Familiar, in some way. He wants to say no, but his own judgement today lingers in the back of his mind.

"You seem familiar... have I... met you somewhere before?"
"And you seem unsure. I'd assume you'd remember someone as striking as me!"

"Perhaps," He answers.

"Perhaps." Ginti echoes through gritted teeth. "That isn't an answer."

His reactions are very interesting. "Did one of your guests seem familiar today?"

"I don't know," The sigh it gets from Ginti reveals more than it probably should; oh, he is having a very difficult time of this, isn't he? He turns around and sets the drink in front of Decim. It is very, very pink.

"This place feels familiar too. Almost like..."
"A dream? How odd."

The silence spans between them for a long moment as Ginti prepares a second drink. Decim swirls his own, watching the pink liquid and wondering why it seems oddly familiar. "I had two guests who seemed familiar today." He says eventually, breaking the (not-exactly-comfortable) silence.

Ginti looks back over, eyes narrowed, like he's somehow expecting this to be a joke. Decim returns his stare evenly. "What were they like?"

"Why do these cards have flowers on them?"
"Flowers... No, these are just primroses."

"One was a large man with dark hair; a serious expression, but quick to fluster. He was devoted to science, at the cost of all else, seemingly even himself. He was duty-bound, however, putting his work ahead of himself."

"Huh," Ginti says, but it doesn't seem to interest him very much. Those types never did.

"The second one..." Decim trails off, staring back at the drink again. "He was lively, flamboyant. But he hid his true emotions behind a mask, pretending that nothing bothered him. Though he caused problems, it was to fill the void in his heart."

Though he isn't looking at Ginti, he sees Ginti stiffen a bit anyway. "White hair, yeah?"

Decim nods. Somehow, they both know who he's talking about. Somehow, he knew Ginti would.

There's another long stretch of silence, followed by a scoff from Ginti as he tosses back his drink all in one go. "It doesn't matter." He says, seething. "It doesn't matter."

His eyes drift to the shelf of kokeshi dolls Ginti keeps, where a white haired man and pink haired girl sit side by side.

parasomnia

( yeager, duke, jason/top dollar, 6 years )

"That is the last time we're traveling out to fuckin' Zaphias during monster season."

"Agreed."

The third member of their party only offers a silent nod, but all three collapse on the couch in the Manor of the Wicked with a collective long-suffering sigh. For a brief moment, the trio simply sit there in silence, all three undoubtedly pleased in their own way to finally be back home.

And then Jason slides him arms around both his boyfriends and drags them closer, earning a soft noise of disapproval from Duke, and a startled yelp from Yeager. "Ah well. Think of it this way, we don't have business in that hellhole for months. We get to relax."

"Relax," Duke repeats, his expression and voice betraying nothing even as he continues, "you're the leader of the guilds and Yeager has another three jobs to take care of."

Yeager reaches over Jason to gently yank on Duke's hair, which earns an eyeroll. "That's part of the fun, ja? No more travel, no more pesky monsters, just back to the usual business!"

"The usual business still involves a hell of a lot of murder," Jason remarks with a laugh. "Not that I'm complainin'."

"Will you be heading back out, Duke?" Yeager asks, settling back into Jason's grip. "It would be a shame if you were to leave so soon..."

They all know what he's doing, and yet Duke falls for it as usual. "I suppose I would not be opposed to spending more time with the two of you."

"Wunderbar!" Yeager grins. "Then we'll get to enjoy the new bed!"

Duke colors and glances away, but Jason looks interested. "New bed? What was wrong with the old one?"

Yeager makes a face at that and waves a hand. "You saw how cramped we were on that one! Absolutely dreadful. You kicked me off of it during your sleep one night."

"I did not—"

"Anyway," Yeager continues, talking over Jason, "it's a truly wonderful bed! In fact, why don't we take this upstairs now~?"

"Your daughters are not present?" Duke asks as he glances toward the Manor of the Wicked's various doors.

"Wouldn't wanna traumatize two grown women by thinkin' about their old man havin' sex with his boyfriends." Jason remarks dryly.

Yeager elbows him for that. "I sent them out earlier, what do you take me for?"

Ah yes, some things never change.

trustfell, round 4

( gangrel, lusamine, 6 years )

As always, Plegia has stood the incredible difficult task of remaining standing while its rulers were out. Summers in Plegia are simply unbearable, and Lusamine has insisted they spend their time in Alola during the heat - partially to escape the desert in the summer, but mostly because it wouldn't be right of her to completely leave Alola behind. Her children are doing very well nowadays; she meets with them frequently while they're in Alola.

"Ah, so nice to be home," Gangrel says with a laugh that sounds far too evil for it to be simply about returning home. "And the servants got the bloodstains out while we were gone!"

Lusamine steps around the spot in the hallway anyway, nose wrinkling. "Regardless of it being an assassin, you shouldn't kill someone in the foyer."

"Oh yes, my apologies," Gangrel presses a long-nailed hand to his chest and dips into a mock bow, "I should have let the assassin kill me, surely he would have made sure my blood was all over a different room."

"That's—"

"I'm teasing, love." He says before she can even start to get bothered by it. "I know what you meant. I do try to avoid killing any messengers, don't I?"

Lusamine nearly replies that he doesn't have to kill the messengers that deliver good news, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut. Gangrel will never let her live it down otherwise.

So instead she sighs and tosses her hair before moving toward the throne room, not surprised in the slightest as Gangrel follows after her. He takes his seat on his throne, and after a moment of consideration, she joins him. In his lap.

"Get off, you're heavy—"

"I most certainly am not!"

A short squabble later and Gangrel finally gives up, carefully moving Lusamine's hair out of the way as she leans up against him. "It really is good to be home." She sighs, slowly letting her eyes drift closed. For how angular and generally pointy Gangrel is, he's surprisingly comfortable when he isn't squirming to get her off.

"Home?" Gangrel echoes and she opens an eye just so she can roll it at him. "And here I thought you were simply humoring my lust for power! Gyahahaha!"

"Mm, Plegia is..." Her eyes slide open again as she looks around the throne room, as she thinks back on her time here, as she considers her own words. "It's nice, when it isn't scorching hot. And besides, I wouldn't want to take you from the thing you truly excel at, my dear."

Gangrel's hand winds back through her hair again and she hums, pleased. "You just like being queen."

"I do not—"

trustfell, round 5

( jack krauser, albert wesker, 6 years )

It's always been more dangerous at night. Seems like that's true regardless of the world, at least when it comes to the infected. They've been active lately, far more than one would expect, but given just how far they are from civilization, perhaps that's to be expected.

Krauser returns with a corpse. A human corpse. It isn't entirely unusual, at this point - there are some days where Wesker simply isn't feeling well enough to hunt. So Krauser hunts for him, and he brings back what Wesker needs. He isn't surprised when Wesker approaches, eyeing the corpse critically.

"...This will do." He finally says, which is high praise considering how he usually has some remark about how Krauser's butchered a preferred organ, picked a terrible victim, or something of the sort.

"You must be feeling bad," He scoffs, but it's a joke more than anything. If Wesker were truly feeling bad, he wouldn't bother.

So they set about their separate tasks - Wesker carefully dismantling and consuming the corpse, Krauser tending to his weapons. He doesn't even bother to tell Wesker how gross it is anymore, because it's happened enough that even this has become routine.

It isn't a good sign. Wesker not being able to hunt means his days are numbered. They both know that. They both don't say anything about it.

antumbra

( iago, cumore, mikami, dist/saphir, 3 years )

It's been three years since Cumore dragged a strange assortment of weirdoes back with him to Terca Lumireis, and most of that time has been working extremely hard to reach some sense of normalcy.

Well, they've found it. Or at least, Cumore has. He stands in front of the mirror with a confident smirk, admiring the Commandant's uniform and what he's done to it.

The door opens behind him and Iago lets himself in without a word and immediately makes a face. "No."

"No?"

"Absolutely not."

The dark mage sweeps over with a swirl of his long robes - the Council's today, not his usual gothic look - and immediately he begins fussing with Cumore's uniform. "This is my uniform, I'll wear it how I want." Cumore huffs, but he lets Iago fuss over him anyway.

"Oh I know that." Iago replies, pulling back just enough to wave a hand airily and roll his eyes before he's back to attempting to fix Cumore's collar. "But at the very least you need to look the part of commanding."

He thought he was perfectly fine, and by the time Iago's done, he's pretty sure nothing has changed about his appearance at all. Ah, perhaps just Iago's way of fussing over him, then. He's grown used to it, at this point, so Cumore decides to play nice for once and not call the mage on it.

"Well, if you're done," He rests a hand on his him and points to the door, "then you'd best get back to your seat before Saphir starts wondering what happened to you."

"I was only gone for a few minutes—"

"I know how the two of you are." Cumore cuts him off with a click of his tongue. "And tell Teru Mikami he can enter, I know he's been standing by the door since you got here."

There isn't any noise from outside, but he's certain he's right. Given the roll of Iago's one visible eye, it seems he got it in one. "Very well. If you're late to your own ceremony because you're distracted by Teru Mikami, I'm not saving you."

Cumore waves a hand and Iago scoffs in response, but his look is soft as he pauses by the exit, simply watching Cumore preen in front of the mirror for a moment longer.

They've worked really hard to come this far. Cumore as Commandant of the Imperial Knights, Iago as one of the Council members - but that's not to say Mikami and Saphir have been slacking.

Mikami is indeed standing outside the door to Cumore's room, and it's entirely because he asked so politely that Iago didn't tip Cumore off to his presence. Not that it did any good, anyway. The man is dressed nicely, wearing a badge that signifies his position - one of the "arbiters" of justice in this world, part of the burgeoning "justice system" he's been working so hard to establish here. "He knows you're here." Iago says with a smirk and watches Mikami's face do absolutely nothing, while somehow saying exactly what needs to be said. "Go, and do try not to mess his outfit up too much."

"What exactly do you think I'm going to be doing in there?" Mikami asks with a raised eyebrow.

But Iago just wiggles his fingers in farewell and sweeps down the hallway to join the others in their seats. As a member of the Council, he actually gets to sit front row - an honor he most certainly deserves! - but he has a place to stop before taking that seat.

Saphir has his nose buried in his notes, and given the fervent pace his pen is going, it's safe to say he's made a breakthrough. Iago takes the chair beside him, draping himself over his beloved, and not even slightly surprised when Saphir only budges after he reaches a stopping point.

"Oh, Iago," He says, straightening his glasses and giving one last look to his notes before he closes the notebook. "Did you finish up with Cumore?"

"I did," Iago tucks a stray strand of hair behind Saphir's ear, earning a light blush for his troubles. "He's completely hopeless, his outfit is a disaster."

"That bad, hmm?" Saphir smiles in sympathy. "I'm sure you'll survive it somehow."

"Teru Mikami's entertaining him right now; let's hope they won't be late."

"I'm sure they won't be. Cumore wouldn't miss this for the world." Then after a pause, Saphir adds, "Mikami wouldn't either."

As one of the Empire's foremost blastia researchers, Saphir has likewise taken a position of power and authority, his seat isn't all that far back from Iago's, after all. And here they are, to watch one of the four of them take his rightful place leading the knights. It's almost surreal. "We really have come so far, haven't we?"

"All of us," Saphir nods, as if he was thinking the same thing. "And we've still quite a ways to go."

Iago chuckles at that, moving to press a kiss to his beloved's lips as the bells chime, signaling the start of the ceremony. "I want to hear all about your work after this. Cumore isn't the only one who should be having fun today."

While Saphir takes a moment to figure out what Iago's getting at (and then going bright red and spluttering when he makes the connection), Iago laughs and pulls back, moving to take his seat with the other members of the Council.

A new age is dawning for Terca Lumireis.

unknown seas, round 1

( aela the huntress, lif, 3 years )

This is the most ale Lif has seen in his life.

Oh, he's accustomed to the drinking habits of the Companions - it would be hard not to be, after spending so long with his shield-brothers and sisters - but today seems... special. There are at least three more casks being brought in even now, with Vilkas overseeing the arrival of the ale.

Last he checked, they were nowhere near close to running out. "What's the occasion?" He asks Aela, by his side as always.

"Hm?" She looks up, watching the casks as they're placed in Jorrvaskr's dining hall. "Ah, did no one mention? It's the anniversary of the day I returned, and you arrived here."

That completely catches Lif off-guard. "What? We're celebrating that?" It's been years at this point, why celebrate it now?

"Indeed," She claps him on the back, hard enough to make the table they're at shake. "I thought you wouldn't be amenable to it until now."

He's pretty sure he's still not amenable to it, actually, but... "What made you change your mind?"

"You've adapted. You fit in well now. You've shared your stories, our battles, our triumphs. It's our turn to celebrate you, Lif."

He's not entirely sure what his face is doing, but it must be embarrassing because Aela's grinning. "A blush looks good on you." She adds and Lif huffs loudly.

"There's no need to celebrate me."

"We celebrate all our shield-brothers' and sisters' accomplishments."

"I haven't done anything out of the ordinary."

"You've survived."

That gets him to pause and he looks back to her, as though he's expecting a follow up to that statement. When she doesn't give one (and her gaze has drifted, back to the courtyard where two of the whelps are sparring) Lif speaks up. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"I wanted to." Aela says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "I want you to celebrate and be celebrated, just as any of our heroes of old."

Heroes, huh...

"I still don't think I deserve that title." He says, but there's humor in his words for the first time.

Aela smiles, and leans forward to kiss him regardless of who's watching.

unknown seas, round 2

( yeager, 2 years )

In some ways, it feels as though it hasn't been all that long at all since Yeager arrived in Freyja's realm. In other ways, it feels like it's been a century and a half and he wouldn't be surprised if that was actually the case. Freyja had warned him when she took them in that theirs was a realm that may not fit humans, but all things considered, they've done a remarkable job fitting in.

The members of Leviathan's Claw serve Freyja as much as they serve Yeager now, following her orders and doing what she needs them to do around the realm, occasionally even assisting Triandra and Plumeria, when the latter can stand to be around them, anyway. (She really wasn't all that happy when Yeager and a bunch of humans showed up here, and has only softened her stance because it's Yeager.)

But boredom does have a way of creeping in every so often, such as today. So here Yeager is, sitting at one of those gorgeous and colorful pools, idly trailing a hand through the water.

He hears footsteps approaching, which means it must be one - no, two - of his. He doesn't have to turn to know Droite and Gauche are here, but he does anyway.

Both girls look a little older now - no older than Plumeria, certainly, but a bit more like the young women they are rather than the girls they were when Yeager returned to them. All three of them bear matching wings in deep blue and purple hues, and Gauche's are twitching ever so slightly, indicating that something is up.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, girls?" Yeager asks, gesturing for them to come sit with him.

They do immediately, one on each side. "There's something we wanna ask you!" Droite smiles, but her sing-song voice gives away that whatever it is, she's going to like it more than her sister (and likely Yeager himself).

"I apologize for her." Gauche says stiffly, but for once she isn't making any move to stop Droite.

Yeager inclines his head a bit. "Oh? Do go on, now I'm curious!"

That's all the invitation Droite needs and she asks, with the biggest sly grin imaginable, "So can we call you 'dad'?"

Whatever it was he was expecting, it wasn't this. Yeager's obvious hesitation is like blood in the water and he knows it, because Gauche is burying her face in her hands beside him.

"Plumeria and Triandra get to call Freyja 'mom'! I even called her 'mom' once just to see what she'd do and she didn't even notice for a bit! So! We totally get to call you 'dad' now, right?" Droite's practically bouncing where she's sitting, looking way too damn smug about this.

Yeager considering dunking her in the pool. It is really, really tempting.

Meekly, from his other side, Gauche offers, "I did hear Plumeria call you 'dad' once."

"That was on accident!" Yeager exclaims while Droite howls in laughter. "She didn't mean to call me that, she isn't—"

You know what, there's no winning this one, is there. Yeager sighs and buries his own face in his hands as Droite continues to cackle at his misfortune. Gauche awkwardly pats his shoulder as if to say "it's okay" despite her being the one that really doomed him.

"...Yes." He finally says after all three of them have calmed down a bit. It's delayed, a little awkward, and he thinks he understands exactly how Freyja felt when she tried to explain this to him, because now he's going to have to explain it to her.

"Yes?" The twins echo in unison, eyes wide.

Yeager sighs; they don't need him to clarify, but if he doesn't then he knows one or both of them is going to ask him, so he'll just get it over with. "Yes, you can call me 'dad'."

Both girls go in for a hug, though it isn't long before Droite's on her feet, laughing again but also pointing at her sister. "See! Told you!"

Gauche, still hugging Yeager, makes a face, but doesn't seem all that bothered to be proven wrong.

"So how long do you think it'll be before we can call Freyja 'mom' since we all know dad's got a thing for her—"

Yeager does dunk Droite in the pool for that one.

once upon

( yeager, raven, alexei, 2 years )

What happens when the Commandant of the Imperial Knights, the right hand of Altosk, and the leader of Leviathan's Claw walk into a bar?

Trick question, because it isn't a bar, it's a hotel room in Capua Nor, and it's the worst meeting place they could possibly get on such short notice. Alexei already looks exhausted and all they've done is exchange pleasantries (and threatened him with a good time three times).

"Can we please get down to business?" He asks, trying to keep said exhaustion from his voice.

Yeager gasps, pacing a gloved hand over his mouth and looking at Raven with wide eyes. "He said please! Can you imagine?"

"We really must be pissin' him off today if he's resortin' ta that already!" Raven grins, though his look goes slightly more sheepish on meeting Alexei's eyes.

"All I wanted was an update on the situation with the guilds, but it seems that this entire meeting was a waste of time."

With a wave of his hand, Yeager finally decides to cooperate. "Oh very well. You are simply no fun!"

Where has he heard that one before...

Raven explains what's going on - some sort of guild dispute that's been causing all sorts of problems and that's what's been sending ripples into the Empire's territory - and Yeager adds very unhelpful commentary whenever he's least wanted, as usual. So in short, nothing really for any of them to be particularly worried about.

...And yet.

"'Kay so," Raven says, now that he's accomplished his actual job, "why'd ya really ask ta meet us here?"

Though Yeager isn't actually saying anything, he has that expression on his face. The one he can't seem to stop giving Alexei ever since the arson incidents. Like he's simply waiting for something, though exactly what it is, Alexei doesn't know.

"Perhaps I merely wanted to ensure you both were doing alright."

"He wants to set something on fire." Yeager says with a knowing nod.

"I do not—"

"Whoa, whoa," Raven holds up his hands as if to stall the arguments that will undoubtedly follow, "the Commandant of the Imperial Knights? Settin' things on fire? C'mon now, Yeager, I thought your lies were a little more believable than that!" Given the cheeky grin, he's in on this. Are they both trying to get him to set things on fire now?

Alexei sighs and tries very hard not to give them a reaction. They do not deserve a reaction. This meeting was a mistake.

As if to apologize for the teasing, Raven pats his hand. "It's 'ppreciated, Alexei. By both of us."

Yeager simply raises his shoulders in a shrug, but for once in his miserable life he does not actually argue the point.

"Though," Raven looks around the room and his eyes land on the shitty hotel room bed, "that is not gonna be big enough for the three of us."

Alexei loses the battle and sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose as Yeager cackles.

unknown seas, round 3

( rossiu, 1 year )

To say Rossiu went back to his life and picked everything up as normal would be a lie. He learned a lot of very valuable lessons from the others who suffered through absolute hell with him in that horrid game.

...He just didn't learn how to actually relax and instead overworks himself even harder now, but no one said all character development is good character development.

It's easily getting close to dawn when the door to his office slides open. Rossiu is in the middle of yet another stack of paperwork - requests, approvals and denials for changes to infrastructure in Kamina City, he hasn't made his way through all of those yet, let alone the ones pertaining to the other cities.

He doesn't look up until a hand comes down on his desk, hard enough to shift the papers and rattle the still half-filled coffee cup he'd forgotten about hours ago.

"Rossiu." Oh no, it's Leeron. "When were you going to tell me about all your darling little friends?"

Rossiu looks up wearily. Partially because it's too early in the morning to deal with Leeron's energy, partially because he's been up all night looking at paperwork, and partially because he has no idea what the man's talking about. "I— What?"

"The ones who sent you all these magnificent letters, of course~!" Leeron turns around and whistles, and then one of their staff brings in a stack of letters and Rossiu eyes that wearily as well. He's so tired. He should've gone to bed hours ago, then maybe this would make sense.

"I don't know what all of this is." He admits, defeated as he plucks the first letter off the stack.

Leeron leans against the desk with a hum, perfectly content to fall silent as Rossiu reads.

It's a letter - a handwritten one, at that - from Dandy. He talks about his adventures in space with Hagakure, about visiting several of the others, about gathering up their thoughts and deciding to send it to Rossiu as a "birthday gift" since no one ever actually got a birthday out of the man.

The next letter is unsurprisingly from Hagakure, who clearly was just as much into the idea as Dandy was, for similar reasons. This one comes with a reminder to actually sit down and rest once in awhile and not overwork himself.

A letter from Adaman follows, with a pawprint from Leafeon on the bottom of the page, telling him of their time back home and how Forrest and Midori are adjusting, talking about what Pokemon he thinks Rossiu would like and practically begging him to please come visit.

Another from Forrest, with glowing reminders of how much he appreciated Rossiu's help and how confident he is that Rossiu's doing well, and wishes to see him again.

There are others - so many others - and Rossiu's overwhelmed by the time he gets to the bottom of the stack. He's forgotten how tired he is, how much all of this has drained him. He's trying not to cry because it both hurts and feels so damn nice to be remembered after everything that happened in that horrible place.

Leeron gently pats him on the head, like he had when Rossiu was a kid and was just learning how to understand gunmen. Like when he'd spent hours pouring over books just so he could try to read the lines back to Leeron, to show he was actually making progress and being useful to Team Dai-Gurren in some way. "It's okay, honey," Leeron says gently. "I know you've been through a hell of a lot."

For the first time in a long while, Rossiu lets himself cry.