A super short chapter on ideas of what might have been if certain events wouldn't have happened.
Kellan: If he had survived the Shadowhunter battle
"It isn't right," Kellan interjected, standing up quickly and earning a murmur of surprise from his brother. "We must call a meeting to deal with this. Their concerns are not erroneous."
The Consul turned a calculating eye to Kellan's father. "Will you silence your son? I can't have his...leniency for the faerie race cloud his judgement for what is right."
"He won't silence me when he knows I'm correct." Continuing, Kellan removed a letter from his coat, sliding it across the desk to the Consul. A bit of red hair uncoiled over his forehead and he pushed it back over his ear, a clear reminder to all of his heritage. "There's a transcription here of our meeting with the Queen. She has requested that we stop our interference with changelings."
Shifting, his brother glanced to the side, muttering something over at him quietly. He had always been for the rights of the fae, surely, but his ferocity for advocation had always paled in comparison. Instead, he had lead a rather normal life, vying for a position in the Clave and having a Shadowhunter wedding with a girl he had met from Manchester. Their father had never been able to find a suitable wife for Kellan, but then again, Kellan didn't like the idea of being sold off to marriage for the sake of taking advantage of his youth.
"I know, I know," he whispered patiently at his brother, hardly able to hear his cautious comments. "But I must bring it up if they are ever available to listen."
"Our interference, Kellan," the Consul said sharply, "Is not to hinder their ability to acquire changelings but to protect ourselves. Shadowhunting first, or have you forgotten?"
Trying to respond with a kind comment, he could not help but sigh inwardly at their stubbornness. "This doesn't concern us. Whatever quarrel they have with the Unseelie is none of our business. The changelings will not threaten our relationship with the Unseelie, no matter how fragile it is. Neutrality is still an option."
"You understand that you have to take this up with the entire Clave," the Consul said, a hint of resignation interweaving with their tone of annoyance. "This ridiculous notion that we can stay neutral will only add onto their distrust of your blood. You know I have attempted to turn a blind eye to your father's...misconduct but-"
"Don't insult my family in this way," his brother said, unable to ignore the turn of the discussion. "Our father is respectable and so is my brother."
Kellan exchanged a look with both his father and brother before turning back to the Consul. "All I'm asking is for you to respect their boundaries as they respect ours. Surely this will not be difficult for us. Basic, human respect."
"You forget, Kellan-" the Consul looked displeased, "-that the fae and us Shadowhunters are not necessarily human."
"Maybe." Straightening, Kellan ignored the red curl that fell out of place. "But that doesn't mean that we can't have a bit of humanity."
Aspen: If he had never joined the Hunt
Nyx often sat in the lobby with a glass of some faerie alcohol in his hand, his suit neatly ironed as he eyed the incoming customers. Often, he gazed at his establishment with a look of cunning pride, running his tongue across the points of his teeth. His eyes glinted smartly as he sipped at his alcohol and followed the incoming person like a cat.
"Seamstress or tailor?" he asked lazily, eyeing the person in front of him. "I have a faerie girl that's always eager to please. She's all sorts of fun and nice and a real submissive if you like things like that. Or there's my star pet and he's a real trip. Will do anything you please and he's real pretty." Listening, he nodded carefully, a smirk spreading across his face. "Ah, I see. Yes, I'll send for him. Make sure to tip him nicely - he's in demand quite a bit and I don't want him out of order anytime soon. But, if you'll follow Poppy, I'll ring for him."
Tightening the sash of his satin dressing gown, Aspen leaned up against a dresser in front of a mirror, inspecting himself. His hair was tousled and he smoothed it down, reaching for a compact of powder to hide a light bruise on his cheek. He supposed he had gotten it from hitting it against a table, but he often forgot and was quite unable to keep track.
Nyx never let him go out much but he didn't mind for he preferred the dark anyway. He was left, however, with a porcelain complexion and his eyes were emeralds that stared back at himself. Swallowing, he reached for a pad of rouge and pressed his thumb against it. Swiping it against the curve of his cheekbones, he looked slightly more content at the flush against his skin. To finish, he smudged the rest of the creme against his bottom lip. He gazed for a few more seconds before looking away from the mirror quickly, a little weary.
He didn't rest long before a knock at his door drew him from his thoughts. Walking to the door, he opened it carefully.
"You have someone heading up," Lye said, holding a few fabric items in his hand. "Once you're done, Nyx says to send for me and I'll draw a bath and change the sheets."
"Very well," Aspen sighed, waving him off and leaving the door cracked. He went to stand by the bed before pacing a few times, unable to keep still. He was startled slightly when the door creaked back open only a few moments later and he turned to greet the person standing there.
He had mastered how to stand, how to look, the edge of his purple dressing gown slipping from his shoulder as he bit his lip with a demure smile. To allow his wings room, he often let the back of his dressing gown droop down slightly, perfecting his silhouette of a coy and extraordinary figure.
"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" he asked, his fingers playing with the sash that kept him clothed. "I always liked my room up here. You can see the Towns."
The person closed the door behind them in response and Aspen took a shuddering breath.
"Alright, then." He flicked a hand towards a drawer. "There's things in there if you'd like. Whatever you'd like. And I'll be anything you'd like."
Slowly, he sat back on the bed, working to loosen the sash. Allowing the person to approach him, he was very still when they pulled at his sash to tie over his eyes, blinding him. The room was quiet, too quiet, and Aspen tightened his fingers in the sheets, his chest rising and falling in anxious anticipation. Breath skated against his cheek before teeth scraped against his throat and Aspen groaned softly, hoping it didn't sound too forced. He lifted his hands to run his fingers through their hair and lift their head to kiss them, shrugging off his dressing gown so it curled on the sheets and around his waist.
It wasn't long before their hands roamed to tug his dressing gown off to discard beside them, their nails scratching across old grazes and bruises on the side of his waist and the curve of his hip. Grasping at them blindly, Aspen murmured encouraging things into their ear, his eyelashes fluttering against the sash.
"That's it," he whispered sweetly, curving up against them. "Just tell me what to do and I promise I'll be good."
Cole: If his parents had never died
Sharpening Marchocias, Cole turned it over and held it to the light to watch it gleam before reaching for a towel to wipe off the blade. He had only used it a few times for actual combat but otherwise kept it in pristine condition, careful to not let anything happen to the only heirloom of his family. In fact, he had never preferred fighting with shortswords and instead took a liking to daggers, knives, and seraph blades unless the demon called for otherwise.
Looking back when the door to the training room opened, his brown eyes narrowed goodnaturedly. "Stephanie. What are you doing here?"
"I've finished packing a bag," she answered, her hair tied up in a bookish bun, a few blonde strands framing her face. "I thought you were going to be doing the same, but you're here instead."
"Ah, that was the plan," he remarked, sliding Marchocias back into its sheath. "But I saw Mason and he put me into a perpetual mood of annoyance and I lost all will to pack. I regained a pleasant taste for homicide, though. And then Rose seemed determined to talk my ear off about things I don't care about. I wanted to tell her to leave but I'm afraid she didn't even give me the chance. That took up quite a lot of my time."
Disapprovingly, Steff walked inside of the training room and rested a hand against one of the tables. "Don't be so mean to Rose. She wouldn't talk so much if you didn't make her so nervous. And you ought to refrain from joking about those things with Mason. You could get in trouble again."
"Nonsense. I'm a refined being."
"The only reason why the Clave isn't currently investigating your threats against him is because your parents were kind enough to fight for you. You should really give them a thank you," Steff responded, fighting the urge to frown as she watched him. "I know more than some that you haven't always been nice-"
"Are you going to lecture me like a parent?"
"Cole-...You know I only mean well," she said slowly, carefully, trying to not say anything she'd regret later. "I'm only...worried for the sake of your reputation with the Clave. I don't want you in any trouble and I don't want you to make any trouble with people I consider my friends. Rose, I mean. Not particularly Mason, but even then."
He exhaled stubbornly, having always harboured a bit of bitterness. A bad seed, some called him, but he had never done enough to warrant any serious investigation. After Steff convinced him to stop chasing after his vendetta against Mason, he had been more than uncooperative. It went without saying, though, that he was a novel, Latin, and travel enthusiast and Steff found it curious to hear about his hobbies. Her parents had never allowed her to do what she liked as a child, but without her brother and the curse, she didn't see any reason to not explore and read what she liked. Independence was foreign, but she welcomed it wholeheartedly.
"Are your parents still in Zürich?" she asked when he didn't reply to her worries. "I know you said they moved there a few years ago."
"Yes, so we'll be going there first," Cole answered as he pulled a few weapons off the shelf to take with him. "I don't think my mother will like you. She dislikes Londoners. And she'll try to force formal training upon you. I'm sure she'll go out of her way to hire ones from the Academy to make a 'proper Shadowhunter of you'. She's entirely ambitious and more blunt than I am, so I hope you're prepared."
"Oh?" Her expression shifted into one of anxiousness. "Well...I'll try not to take what she says to heart...And really, we should have gone an hour ago. I don't want to nag but we did promise to be there by six."
"We can go by Portal," he said, starting past her to step into the hall. "Once I have my things, meet me by the doors."
"Alright, but you better not be too long," she reminded him before starting down the hall as well to collect her bag, not wanting to be caught as a hypocrite.
Caleb: If he hadn't been born with the Sight
Typing in a few things to the chat, Caleb rushed to move his character further downstream to warp back to the River Styx, hoping to regain his health. Following a fatal dungeon raid that hadn't gone well, the rest of his party members had rushed to flee back to their base. However, he was reluctant to abandon the task. After all, the rare set of Khorium armour was hidden in the last level along with citrine enchantments (+20% dexterity and +80% speed). Simply, he couldn't let an opportunity pass him by.
Reaching to the side, he fumbled for his headset, scrambling to hook it into the computer and pull it over his ears. The volume crackled as he tried to adjust it and, slowly, his friend sounded on the other side, their voice muffled with background noise.
"Alright, alright," Caleb spurted out, trying to keep up with everything they had said. "I'm going to try to use debuff against him. He's a high level dragon. I don't know if I'll be able to get through it."
His character ran across the screen, their outfit an...interesting array of armour and charms. It didn't matter much to Caleb what it looked like, though, as long as the stats were high. He had grown attached to a helmet he had won in a troll's lair once, though, and although he owned another helmet in his inventory that had higher defense, he refused to swap it out.
"I'm going to use Heroic Strike too-...Yeah, I know it's a level one move but who cares? I'm using everything on my attack table and-..." An alert sounded on his computer and he made a sound of frustration, adjusting his headset. "Okay, okay...Mmhmm, wait let me pause real quick. I got an email."
Minimizing his tab, Caleb pulled up his web browser, opening the new notification that had interrupted his game. Looking at it, he couldn't help but feel slightly disheartened. It was good news, of course, but it reminded him again of his unlucky situation.
Congratulations, it read. You've been accepted into the DigiPen Institute of Technology. Please respond by-
Glumly, Caleb exited out of his email. It was his dream school, but he had already earned a hefty scholarship from a local public school and his mom had already made him agree to go. Sometimes, he wished he had fought his way to DigiPen to convince her that it would pay off in the end, but with four other siblings, he knew she wouldn't listen. Instead, he opened up his game again, coughing slightly to make sure his friend knew that he was still online.
"Yeah, it was nothing," he said, trying to ignore the sudden noise of his siblings outside his door. "Just some spam email. Now come on, are we going to do this raid again or not?"