Not entirely happy with most of these, but I thought it'd be better than the hot nothing I've put out in the past half-year. Pretty all over the place in terms of timeline and canonicity, sorry.
Devi's part was supposed to be out like a year and a half back when that whole situation was fresh and Blake's section was something I meant to get out monthsss ago but I just didn't finish them and they're not particularly important or interesting now but I had 90% of it written so I figured I might as well post it now.
"Pass me that file. The one to your right."
Devi turned to scan the desk before spying a manila folder with a number of labels and scribbles across the top, picking it up and passing it over to Becca. She navigated the cabinets with ease, the sleeves of her work coat folded up below her elbows. While she'd been older and working by the time he was old enough to not be considered a nuisance, he'd always liked her the best. She wasn't as uptight and hard-headed as Noelle was, but naturally more mature than the twins were. He found himself lamenting, at times, that he'd never thought to pursue much of a relationship with her, having preferred to stick to his own company or the company of Naya.
"A Xiangliu demon? I thought these were rare," he said as he picked up a different folder, reading the front where a brief summary of the Shadowhunter's injuries were given. "At least, I've never seen them. Even on trips to visit family."
"They are rare. Time and normal iratzes aren't working for her, so we're trying other measures to heal the wounds," Becca responded, giving a shake of her head and gathering a few papers to staple them together. "That's one of the more severe cases at the moment, though. We usually get smaller injuries that Shadowhunters aren't comfortable dealing with in their home Institutes."
He gave an attentive nod, comfortable enough with the filing system to assist a bit with tucking different papers, envelopes, and folders into their rightful spot. "Most of the treatments that Shadowhunters receive here are successful, though?"
With a sound of affirmation, she tucked a pen over her ear as she grabbed one of her own case files, sitting down at a table in the room to edit a few details. "Most of them, yes. Demon injuries can be tricky, but once you've dealt with enough of them, you learn to get a little creative with how to treat things. I don't work as hands-on as I used to before my promotion, but I still oversee the decisions my team makes."
She continued to talk about a few ordeals that she'd dealt with as of late, but he had already tuned her out. It was hard to go and see her every week and act like things were as they always were. But his life had always been normal and uneventful anyway; he wasn't the type to go out and accomplish anything worthy of note but nor was he the one his parents were worried about becoming some grand embarrassment for their family.
...I'm in trouble, you know," he blurted out finally, trying to grasp some closeness in their relationship. Anything that might reassure him that she wouldn't just cast him off as some problem child that had always been ill-fitting and awkward in their family. "For, you know, taking stuff. Like-...Well, illegal-...I'm sure you can guess."
She just lifted her eyes from the file she was reading, surprisingly nonchalant at his outburst. "I know. I mean, I've known for years now, actually."
"What? How?" Devi stared at her, warmth rising to his face in embarrassment and surprise. "You didn't say anything. I just-"
"Thought you hid it well? You did, considering. But I work with people that are drugged up everyday. I'm probably the only one who noticed, so you don't have to worry about the others already knowing," Becca said, capping her pen and setting it parallel to her file. "How much trouble are you in?"
"Like 'I might get into serious legal trouble if I don't stop and my parabatai's parents are definitely going to find out because we're mixed in some other drama' kind of trouble," he said, pressed the back of his hand into his forehead, having felt nauseated by the stress as of late. "So, pretty bad, I think..."
With a click of her tongue, she shook her head. "It's not good to mess with things like that, but I didn't think you'd have taken it well if I'd confronted you. You've always been a skittish wreck about things like that, and terrible with confrontation."
"Wow..." Though her words were true, he still couldn't negate a small feeling of offense, straightening a few things up in the brightly lit office. "I just...don't want it to reflect poorly on Naya's family. On our family, even. You and Noelle are...exactly what every Shadowhunter parent wants."
"I made mistakes when I was younger. You were too busy with Naya to notice, but it's not like I didn't get into my share of trouble when I was your age and younger," she said, though Devi partially inferred she was reassuring him with such things to just make him feel better. "I straightened out, though, and I have a good job. If you focus on something that proves you're willing to grow from the mistakes, the Clave will let you off easy."
"...Yeah, I know. I'm trying to do this and be on top of stuff, but-..." He bit his words back before they had time to come forth, not wanting to simply put the blame on something he had clear control over. "Sorry, I just thought I'd say something about it."
"Better you tell me than Noelle. She'd probably get you kicked out," Becca replied with a shake of her head, shutting the file and clipping it so it stayed closed. "I'm...glad you decided to come clean about it, but we're gonna have to talk about this more later."
Mostly, he just gave a slight groan of shame, looking off to the side. "I'm already trying to fix it, you know. I just wanted...someone to know."
"Yeah, well I'm your family too, so it's just natural that I want to help." Walking up to him, she waved the file for him to take it. "Go bring this to the front desk and go on with your usual stuff. And seriously don't be all weird about it. You know people notice those sorts of things."
"I thought you were supposed to be the nicer one..." he said, his feelings a little wounded though he took the file and started towards the door. "I'll...catch up with you later, then."
She followed him with her gaze as he left, and he tried to not notice the concern in her expression. "Mmhmm. Later."
... ... ...
"I have a feeling this could have been a really boring visit or a quick letter."
The cold look that Blake earned from the Shadowhunter that had escorted him was hardly enough to quell the other snide comments that threatened to surface, but he maintained some restraint anyway, sitting when he was indicated to. A Shadowhunter woman sat across the table, a few files nearby and her arms crossed over the surface as she waited for him to meet her gaze.
"You're here partially because you were seen badly injured in the Towns." The woman started before he had a chance to address her, not that he would have with any pleasantries, and he couldn't help being caught off-guard at the forwardness of her statements. "Which led us to believe that you had faced trouble near the New York Institute. Historically, that's not a very good look for you."
Narrowing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair, the padded back only slightly stopping his wings from twinging where they'd been injured. "I'm not exactly the harbinger of peace, if that hasn't already been established."
"A few injured Unseelies were spotted later in the Towns, so we have to follow up to ask if it was related. Our lack of good terms with the Unseelie is dangerous for local Shadowhunters, so you must understand the height of caution we have to exercise," she continued, watching him intently as if somehow she'd glean the answers from his expression alone. "So we should probably start with your involvement in a sighting like that."
He didn't respond right away in thought, trying to piece together who had even considered reporting on his injuries. Savannah knew the importance of secrecy, not to mention her involvement would have reflected poorly on her, and he tilted his head subtly in thought. There had only been one other person he'd seen that night, but it was brief enough to have slipped his mind. "...The shopkeeper? Is this how infested the Towns have become?"
The Shadowhunter gave him a tight-lipped smile, a hint of impatience in the way she tapped her thumb lightly against his file. "She's never had Clave trouble once for her cooperation. Now, if you'll follow suit, we'll get you out of here with the least amount of trouble possible."
He sighed inwardly, finding no real way out of her interrogation. "Not that your kind would care, but being taken in by Shadowhunters for an excessive amount of time doesn't really put me on a better side of the Court dogs. So yeah, I had a bit of a run-in with sympathetics. I don't think they were all active members. They weren't...dressed like it."
"And did you kill any of them?"
Would it have been better if he had? Perhaps that would have made them look more favourably on his distance from the Unseelie, although it would have affirmed whatever violent personality they assumed from him. It was an odd question in and of itself, but he just gave a subtly quizzical look.
"...No?"
She frowned and then shook her head slightly, reaching down towards a box that had been on the floor next to her chair. "We didn't think so either," she said, though she snagged a clear bag to set it on the table, a bloodied arrow visible within it. "A former Unseelie sympathetic was found with minor injuries and with this through them. We have plenty of associated Seelie contacts currently part of the Court that have confirmed that this arrow is one of theirs, but that none of them had known of any plans to kill the faerie. Do you know anything about it?"
"I'm hardly the person for these questions," he said dismissively, not bothering to cover the annoyance in his tone. "Why would I know anything about why Seelie arrows are ending up in people?"
"An Unseelie faerie is dead on our soil. That's why. It's not often we have a faerie from the Unseelie Court that we have leverage against, as many go under the radar without detection. Besides, most of our Unseelie contacts aren't fae that ever lived in the Court itself. Contacts like that shopkeeper have held Unseelie loyalty, but she hasn't been within Unseelie lands for decades," she responded, watching him disapprovingly. "And most Court defectors that became our contacts are dead."
"Part of me guesses it's partially because your precious Clave leaves its marks everywhere it touches. Not exactly easy to be discreet with your kind breathing down our necks, you realize," he remarked dryly. "Are you trying to speed up the process for me?"
"I'm not your enemy, but I'm not here to infantilize you either, so I'm going to be straight with you. You look terrible on paper," she stated, thumbing through a few sheets of paper with print too small for him to make out from where he was sitting. "A failed asylum in Richmond which culminated into an assault case that was, thankfully for you, dismissed in your favour, and conspiracy at the New York Institute that resulted in the death of two inhabitants. Not to mention your less-than-stellar attitude towards the questions we've had for you."
He exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Nothing I say will change the Clave's mind. I flew straight and narrow the year preceding Richmond and they still acted like I was the bane of their existence."
"This isn't a matter of being liked. It's a matter of imprisonment and punishment when your case is revisited at the end of the year you were given," she stressed, frustration now apparent in the way she spoke. "It is not only your word against the Clave's decision, but also the word of whoever will speak on your behalf regarding your behaviour and the way you've conducted yourself in the past year. At the moment, I cannot imagine anyone stepping forward to inhabit such a role."
"I'm not here to discuss my future," he stated, lifting his chin. "I'm only here because I was forced to come and answer questions."
Her disappointment was obvious, and she set aside the papers she was holding to better focus on him across the table. "I'm only trying to prepare you for what steps lie ahead and be honest about the push-back you'll face," she responded, her voice edged in judgement. "You'd be foolish to not take my advice."
Shadowhunters were usually interested in lecturing him more often than not, and Blake just looked over to the side to indicate his disinterest. "Whatever. Let's just get this meeting over with."
She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing else in argument against his stubbornness. The Clave had made themselves hostile to him years ago and he couldn't find any trust in himself to consider their words with any weight. Dealing with things alone had always been how he'd conducted himself, and despite the gravity of the situation that he found himself in, he couldn't say that this instance would be any different.
... ... ...
Being responsible for something so helpless is a more frightening prospect than anything else that Vanna has faced, strangely. She is used to scaling cliffs, navigating treacherous waters, and surviving the chase of spited warriors, but not even that has prepared her for the demands of her new life. It is an unforgiving and harsh world out there - she knows that more than most - and she does not know how to protect someone that has never once known hardship.
Light spills into the yurt as the fabric covering pulls back, a dark-furred phouka bending down so she can fit through the opening. Her clothing is adorned with gold embroidering and metal detailing, catching the light even as the fabric falls back to cover the entrance. In the phouka's arms is a swaddled baby, forehead smudged with the ash of a protection mark that had been drawn nights prior. Vanna presses her fingers into the fabric lining the floor of the yurt before murmuring a few words and lifting her hand, a few harmless sparks like fireflies hovering in the air around them to shed some dim light on the interior.
"She's been so good," the phouka praises, nuzzling a finger against the cheek of the sleeping baby. They've lived lifetimes without seeing another child, and the presence of one has caused excitement in the small village. "Everyone has adored seeing her."
Vanna doesn't lift herself from the makeshift bed she sits in, not entirely sure what she's supposed to say. "I am grateful that everyone has spent time looking after her," she says finally, tasting her voice for the first time since her last visitor. "I don't wish to keep her inside here forever."
"She'll have plenty of time out and about when you go back to the Court." The phouka kneels by her, transferring the baby in her lap so Vanna can hold her instead. She stirs, one of her hands opening and closing in the air as it becomes loose from the swaddle. "We'll all take good care of her."
Furrowing her eyebrows, Vanna focuses on the child, adjusting the fabric swaddle and trying to not disturb her as she does. Being soft doesn't come easily to her, but she already knows that it will if she's given enough time. The village faeries did not trust her at first, but they learned to with time. The same can be said about the growth of her magic. The same will be said about her.
"It is only natural to be afraid, you know." Again, the phouka speaks, although her voice is low, knowing that it isn't an assertion that Vanna would want others to hear. "It has been long enough since we were all children that we cannot act on experience, only intuition, and I know the Court will give you no aid."
"The Court cannot know," Vanna responds with certainty, staring at the baby in concern when she starts to fuss. Gently, she brushes a finger over the bridge of her nose, having watched another faerie do so to get her to go to sleep. "I'm...sorry to put this burden on your people."
"Don't be sorry. It's a blessing from the Faerie." The phouka leans in to see the baby a little closer again, a calm smile growing on her face that is illuminated by the light that Vanna has summoned. "Look at her. She's so small, and she has such inquisitive eyes when she's awake."
"She does, doesn't she?" It's a good distraction from the other worries that Vanna has, and she allows the sparks of light to gather closer to their faces, emitting a faint bit of heat. She continues to stroke her face, letting the pads of her fingertips graze gently across the baby's closed eyelids. There is so much of the world to see that she cannot imagine possibly starting from scratch.
Vanna cradles the faerie's head in her free hand, her fingers deep enough to scrape the back of the eye socket, curling inward and managing to get membrane under her fingernails. The faerie she maims is choked into incoherency, though her knee is at his throat anyway, crushing his windpipe so he has to gasp for air at each opportunity and doesn't have enough in him to call for help. No one would have come anyway. It is often surprising how easily flesh is torn and manipulated despite the centuries of experience that bolsters their mind. He is nothing more than a helpless animal or an ignorant child, and she is adept with finding every fontanelle that remains.
Withdrawing from him, her fingers coated in gore, she uses her foot to nudge his chains to the side so he can roll over and vomit. She doesn't need him to talk - she has already probed through his thoughts to extract exactly what she's looking for. It's more of the same banal justification for acts the Queen deems grotesque and unbecoming of the Seelie, and internal strife is boring to Vanna. Attempting to kill a prince is certainly a new crime that she has never punished before, but it is all the same in the end.
"You've ruined his depth perception," a guard says when he escorts her out, tossing a damp rag at her so she can clean her fingers. She's used to their irritation, but she's confused at the disapproving tone that is clear in his remarks. "He was an archer of the Court."
"Was," she says in agreement as she follows, wiping her fingers on the rag before the blood and fluid can start to dry. She does not know what will happen to him when he is exiled and forced to die a slow death, but it is obvious that his previous normalcy has been disturbed. Though it is a distant memory, she remembers how childlike and helpless it feels to be forced into a different situation, state of mind, and body than one is used to. Still, she relearned herself with time. She is always curious as to whether or not others will be able to do the same.
... ... ...
Ethos is delicate and slow with his guidance despite the amount of time he's toiled in trying to teach Kellan the basics of the instrument he's picked out. He's not the quickest learner, but he's diligent and attentive, allowing Ethos to reach forward to adjust the fingers that press against the fretless neck. The sun casts long shadows, but it rests for some time on the horizon. Even the universe will go on pause to allow the lesson to continue.
"This isn't entirely my expertise," Ethos says, watching as Kellan slowly strums a few chords that he's been working on. "I only know some scales, as my interests primarily lie outside of the strings and with the woodwinds."
"I'm afraid I don't have your musical touch either way." There's a kind of smiling defeat in Kellan's face as he continues to try out different notes, fumbling a bit to switch inelegantly between chords. Still, the sounds he produces are passable, and the progress from where he'd started is admirable. "Maybe it's not an intuitive sort of thing for me."
"Music is a conversation, monologue, and soliloquy. It is what you make it and nothing is technically incorrect." He shifts a little closer and reaches, just putting light pressure against his wrist as a reminder. Kellan straightens his wrist, following his touch. "The notes will speak for themselves, if you learn them well enough."
"You make it sound so easy," Kellan sighs as he plucks at the strings, letting Ethos' hand graze up his arm to correct how he holds the instrument. It is a more private moment than someone with the Queen's blood would normally be allowed, not that there's a blueprint for such an instance, so Ethos intends to make the time they have count
A look of concentration crosses over Kellan's face as he tries to remember what he's been taught, failing a few times to place his fingers in the right spots, but managing to get there eventually nevertheless. He glances up briefly and wets his lips in search of any advising, and Ethos meets him with a few murmurs of encouragement, letting the moment linger. The lean-in is subtle at first, but then Ethos' hands are already cupping Kellan's face as he kisses him, not caring to stand on ceremony and skirt around the affection that is desired from him. After all, it is a sweeter kind of music than he ever could have made alone.
He's never understood certain primal conventions of life. Never been hungry for anything past his own share. Perhaps there's merit to indulgence, like torturing an enemy for the pleasure of being powerful, becoming someone else with the variety of hallucinogenics in the Faerie, or rutting with a lover - or lovers - in the grass. Or anywhere, for that matter. But those are things that remain foreign. Instead, he is starting to understand the appeal of intertwined fingers, shared breath, and duets.
Ethos reaches instead to find Kellan's hand, his fingertips grazing across his knuckles before he realizes how tightly it's fisted around the neck of the instrument. There is a twitch in his expression that can't quite be read as he coaxes Kellan to unfurl his fingers, shifting his weight back from him. "Now that isn't a proper chord."
"Well, a teacher of mine said nothing is technically incorrect," Kellan argues back, not without his usual easy smile and faint blush across his cheeks. Dutifully, though, he shifts his fingers back into position, strumming the strings again.
"And that teacher is trying his best but will unfortunately be wrong about some things." Still, Ethos draws his hands back from correcting Kellan's, letting him continue. There is something refreshing about those moments, and he finds that it's easier to relax when focusing on something he's more familiar with, although he doesn't entirely rule out the possibility that the company might play a part in his ease as well. "Now, let's take it from the top."