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3 days ago
Current Days like this it really pains me that the guild loads with the status bar open automatically
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2 mos ago
revert back? we never left!
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2 mos ago
@Grey you joke but I have absolutely heard exorcists call demons lawyers
2 mos ago
Happy Easter guild!
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2 mos ago
It's not Easter yet but thank you
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Bio

child of the storm

Current RPs:

Archived RPs:

If you're interested in some short completed pieces of mine beyond my regular RP posts, feel free to rifle through my filing cabinet here.

About me:
  • Birth year 1998
  • Female
  • Canadian RIP
  • Time zone: Atlantic, GMT-4 (one hour ahead of EST)
  • Currently judging your grammar
  • Not usually looking for 1x1s but if you're really jonesing, my PMs are always open
  • Discord Obscene#1925

Most Recent Posts


Maya’s eyes were fixed on the grappling hook rapidly tightening on the chandelier, when, behind it on the wall, her focus sharpened on a glimmer of purple light in the darkness, rapidly approaching. Edmund! He bounded onto the ceiling, sticking to every surface he ran on like a spider, and ran right past her, a few shots ringing out behind Maya as she assumed he took care of the one attacker who survived the fall.

“Edmund--!” Maya cried, cut off by shock at her own panicked breathing as Edmund crossed in front of her and cleanly dispatched the attacker scaling the grappling hook. When he finally returned to her, Maya had never been so happy to see him in her life - even his helmet, blending into the darkness in all but the pulsating glow of the trim, was the most welcome sight she could imagine. When he knelt, she reached out and grasped his arm with both hands, clutching his armour with a white-knuckled grip; she barely registered what he was saying to her, hearing little more than the chaos on the floor and her heartbeat in her ears until she saw the glint of steel in Edmund’s outstretched hand.

Maya blinked at the offering for a second before everything rushed back to her all at once: it was her sidearm, her PPK/S the one she always wore - except for tonight, because it ruined the lines of her dress and she was apparently foolish enough to think Giles could protect his home from terrorists - and Edmund needed her to keep them on the ceiling. Right, good idea; bad guys on the floor, stay on the ceiling.

Nodding mutely, Maya took the gun, heart and mind racing as she fumbled through practiced motions with shaking hands. Right, finger off the trigger, muzzle down, pull back the slide - it took a few tries to fight the spring, and she jumped when a bullet flew up in front of her, having forgotten in the panic that she carried with one in the chamber. As she fiddled with the gun, the pair of them grew suddenly heavier; startled, Maya let out a small noise, and they became much lighter, the gravity holding them growing and shrinking in quick chunks like someone clumsily turning a dial. For a brief moment, Maya felt herself float just barely off the ceiling; remnants of the chair that littered the ceiling escaped her grasp completely, as did the corpse of the first terrorist Edmund shot, both careening out of Maya’s grip and to the floor.

Frightened by the prospect of falling, Maya let out a more audible squeak, and her Holy Sigils flashed, slamming them both firmly back onto the ceiling. “I’m fine,” she cut off any possible remark from Edmund, her stern tone undermined by the crack of fear in her voice. Strength was not the problem: Maya was quite sure she could rip the whole roof off the building and chuck it into space if she wanted to. What she lacked was control; much like the Larme Incident, reversing gravity seemed second-nature enough, but as soon as Edmund brought it to the forefront of her mind, she felt her control begin to falter. She struggled to put it out of her mind, striving in vain to let her instincts take care of it.

From among the tumult of gunshots below, Maya heard the sound of crashing glass once more, the chandelier just above the two of them exploding into a shower of glass. Maya screamed, ducking down to hide her face. A few more shots followed, chunking away at the ceiling plaster, tracing a line toward them.

“Your cape!” Maya suddenly remembered, looking up to Edmund. “It’s bulletproof right? Give it to me!” She scrambled along the floor as another grappling hook found purchase on a different nearby chandelier, but was distracted by a somehow-audible shouting from the floor.

"EDMUND!" Sara called out, "Get her to Theobald!"

“What!?” Maya blurted out incredulously, shooting an incensed look at Edmund, “Like Sheol you are!”

Another shot chinked away at the plaster dangerously nearby, and with a frightened noise, Maya scrambled painfully to the base of the nearest chandelier, hoping to conceal herself under its crystal umbrella. She barked at Edmund. “That bear-fucking bitch is crazy if she thinks I'm going back down there! Either that, or she was trying to make things easier for her gun-toting buddies on the floor.



While it was a chore for some and an anxious obligation for others, for Maya a gathering like this was a prime opportunity. This many relevant people in one place was an almost never event - in this case, literally once in a thousand years - and she was making the most of it. It was no wonder Edmund lost track of her; while some of her contemporaries spent their evening huddled in corners or stuffing their faces, Maya spent the night dancing around the room like a butterfly on the wind, touching just down long enough to share warm pleasantries, some earnest small talk, and (if she played her cards right) a picture or two before taking off again. She spent the entire evening that way, hobnobbing with figures from royalty, government, and even a few of the Scions she hadn’t met earlier in the night.

Erica Bachmeier, Scion Rosemary’s older sister and one of the Estoran Princes’ wives, was a doll who had warmly received her and insisted that Maya guess her baby’s gender (it was a boy); Maya’s followers would love those photos, although she’d been sworn to secrecy regarding the baby. Of course, she would obey: Maya wasn’t much for bonds of honour, but she was even less for getting on the royals’ bad side. That being said, Princess Belle of I’m-Better-Than-Yous-Burg had come over to exchange some veiled insults, the two young Scions trading disguised blows over lipsticked smiles for a few minutes before parting ways equally frustrated. Marchioness Lucienne made some wise cracks after that, something about the follies of youth, which Maya entertained only because she didn’t want her cutting clapback to be the last thing the old crone heard before she took a heart attack in the limo tonight or some other crap she’d have to hear about on the news in the morning.

Maya had a large social appetite, but even she was starting to fade. At long last she decided to take a breather, finding an empty chair at a table and sinking gratefully into it, draping the black fur stole that had been adorning her arms around the back of her chair. She flagged down a passing servant.

“Sparkling water please, with lime if you have it,” she smiled sweetly at the man as he bowed, the universal high society sign of ‘thank you, now get out of my sight,’ and promptly turned her attention to her smartphone, fanning through the photos she’d taken so far.

The servant didn’t return before a sudden flicker in the lights made her blink, and at first, Maya thought nothing of it. But it was followed by a second, and a third, and before Maya had the chance to wonder how Giles managed to find the only corner of Veradis backwoods enough to have power bumps, the lights went out completely.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” she hissed, her expression of deep contempt illuminated by the cool glow of her phone screen. The room reflected her mood, a low and displeased murmur rising from the crowd until the sound of breaking glass turned everyone’s grumbling into screaming.

Maya’s heart jumped into her throat, and she jumped out of her chair reflexively, wide eyes prying into the darkness as she pawed with shaking hands at her phone, trying to turn the flashlight on. For a moment, there was nothing around her but inky blackness, and all she could see were the vague shapes of figures that moved into the glow of her screen, jostling against her as they stampeded through the dark. Then, somewhere nearby a light appeared, dimly illuminating the area just in time for Maya to come face to face with a hulking masked figure lunging toward her.

Maya screamed, ducking backwards; she kicked her chair as she did so, hoping to slow the figure’s advance, but when she turned, another blocked her path, catching her arm with a painful grip. Panic seized her; images of men with guns on the Larme flashed before her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. She held her breath, hands balled into fists, and her Holy Sigil flashed over her eyelids; in an instant, her feet left the ground, and she heard a male voice yell in surprise as they all suddenly hurtled straight up.

Maya gasped, and her eyes flew wide as she fell, managing to right herself just before she hit the ceiling. It wasn’t a good landing; she yelped as her ankle crunched painfully on impact, and again as her chair came hurtling down - up? - on top of her, missing her by mere inches and shattering into splinters beside her.

It took a moment for Maya to get her bearings, stuck on her knees with her ankle crushed beneath her. It was darker than it was on the floor, but she had landed upright - or rather, upside-down - on the vaulted ceiling, its ornate molding forming uneven footing at least three storeys above the chaos of the ballroom. The darkened chandeliers formed a sparse forest of golden trees around her, casting misshapen shadows across the disorienting curves and of her ornate ceiling-floor.

But she wasn’t alone. There wasn’t the collateral damage of the Larme Incident this time, but she’d brought a few hitchhikers with her, the masked men chasing her down. Maya fared a bit better than her assailants: the one that caught her by the arm landed on his head and served to cushion some of her own impact, and with his neck bent at that severe of an angle, he wouldn’t be a threat any longer. The other one landed on his side, a dark mass crumpled atop one of the curves of the ceiling. At first, Maya thought she might be safe, but after a moment, he started to stir.

Behind her, Maya whirled around to a chinking noise, and saw what looked like a grappling hook latch on to a chandelier.

A desperate shriek rang out through the darkness, audible even above the chaos of the ballroom. “Edmuuuund!!”


To Jannick’s chagrin, the night was not passing as quickly as he’d hoped. It started off fine, his conversation lively, his partners interesting and interested enough, and a little champagne helping to lubricate things never hurt, but as the night wore on, the clock seemed to grind to a halt. The polite giggling of the ladies gradually went from cute to grating, he was pretty sure the band was playing the same dull, droning string arrangement on a loop, and Jannick was starting to get a little tired of polite insistence that his stories really were so interesting.

All of a sudden, he jumped at the sound of crashing glass, jerking sharply from his lacklustre conversation with one hand on his holster as he searched for the source of the noise. Not that he should have expected much, but it turned out to be nothing; just a waitress who dropped some glassware and pissed off one of the nobles. Jannick took a breath, playing off his reflex to grab his sidearm by adjusting his uniform jacket as he watched Sir Edmund come to the fair lady’s rescue; apparently everything from his past to his outfit was old-fashioned. Jannick himself would have been content to let the janitor - or scullery maid or whatever rich people have - take care of it, but he supposed he couldn’t fault the guy for being nice.

Maybe he was just on edge. A cigarette sounded good; these girls were pretty but boring, and the single flute of champagne that had barely touched him to begin with had certainly worn off by now, as had the couple of smokes he’d had on the way over. Maybe whoever was keeping watch outside would be more interesting to chat with.

After politely excusing himself, Jannick began making his way out, but not before checking in with his charge. Despite wandering off, he wasn’t a total latchkey Templar; he’d been keeping track of Holly somewhere in the back of his mind, and even better, at an event like this he always knew where he’d find her: hovering around the snack bar.

With company, apparently. “Evening, Dame Sss…” Jannick began to greet the accompanying Templar, realizing too late that he forgot her name. Sasha? Sierra? No… Oh! Sssara. pardon me; strong drinks,” he excused, gesturing at his head and rolling his eyes before turning quickly to his Scion.

“Everything good over here, Your Holiness?” he asked Hollyhock, his decorum betrayed by his casual - or more aptly, antsy - demeanour. “Figured I’d check in, but I’d hate to interrupt.” He cast a token smile to Sara, although the pleading look in his eye and the way he thumbed the cigarettes in his pants pocket made clear his true motive.



Mercifully, the Scions and Templars weren’t left in limbo for too long. Dame Irina appeared with their armour crystals, and Jannick was thoroughly unnerved by her uncanny valley deference toward him – mere months ago she was breathing down his neck with all the reverence owed to gum on her shoe, and now she treated him almost like her better. To his relief, however, she couldn’t fool him completely: there was nothing she could do to fully rid her tone and icy stare of their intimidating edge.

Jannick took his crystal quickly and without much interaction, and followed Dame Sonia’s lead when it was time to activate it. His opinion on the Templar costume, as he called it, was mixed; the little boy in him who once idolized knighthood couldn’t deny a little excitement, but this was much more than the parade garb of a Church Knight. This was the garb of a Templar, unmistakably setting him apart from the rest; it put every eye in the Cathedra on him (or so he felt), attention he increasingly wished to avoid.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, mercifully; there wasn’t much for Jannick to do, and thus, not much for him to screw up. Funny how performance anxiety never dawned on him in the middle of a car chase or a shootout, but in the middle of the Cathedra with the eyes of Gaia on him – not to mention the eyes of the Goddess, which he never really felt leave him even after departing the blessing chamber – Jannick was starting to flag.

The end couldn’t come soon enough, and neither could the afterparty; more importantly, the chance to finally sneak off for a smoke. The stress of the afternoon had been creeping up on him like a slow leak, at first unnoticed, and at length quite problematic. The first cigarette – in the car, using Wind magic to direct the smoke out a crack in the window – took the edge off, and the next was a natural consequence, and the third was a result of the agonizingly slow driving of the escort leading the Scions to their destination. Honestly, when he found out who was at the front of this police convoy he’d have to bribe his buddies to hide a fish in their locker.

The party itself was a classy affair, the kind that Jannick had no experience with prior to his assignment to Hollyhock. He was grateful for his Templar uniform (sans armour), which constituted the whole of his formal wardrobe, and cut a sharp figure; that, combined with the title of Templar, usually won him the attention of reasonably attractive female company feigning interest sufficient to pass the evening without the time dragging too slowly.

Tonight’s plan was no different, and going smoothly thus far: he was already one glass of champagne deep and chatting up a pair of young ladies from either Doumerc or Lorenzia connected to diplomats Jannick couldn’t remember the names of, and didn’t care much about anyway. Everyone involved knew where they stood, he politely pretended to know who they were, and they politely pretended to care about his police stories. It was a good system.

“I once saw a girl – in the back of the police car, hands cuffed behind her back – take a cigarette out of her pocket, put it in her mouth and light it, Jannick recounted, eliciting a chorus of giggles – or maybe that was the one girl’s third glass of wine, but he’d take it either way. “Seriously – you gotta keep your head on a swivel, people can get up to some crazy shit when you least expect it.”


The cookie helped his mood, but not nearly as much as the approach of a diminutive new face - the Scion of Light, or (to Jannick, more importantly) the Crown Princess Rosemary Bachmeier Veradis. As both a patriotic Veradian and an uncle to a niece around her age, Jannick was truly taken with the little princess, returning her adorable little curtsy with his best formal bow. Her question, however, threatened to break what little remained of his knightly composure, and he had to clamp his hand over his mouth to conceal the snort of laughter that broke free as he realized he’d just introduced the future Princess of his home country to half of an amateur rap video starter kit.

Fortunately, Jannick was saved the embarrassment of explaining by the timely and merciful intervention of the man of the hour himself, who smoothly diverted the Princess’ attention before wandering off in the direction of some other Scions. Truly, not all heroes wore capes.

Jannick could scarcely criticize Hollyhock’s overly familiar tone with the Princess after his own blunder, so he just called it a draw; she seemed to be in a pleasant mood this evening, actually, so he was content to let her keep that vibe going as long as she didn’t start getting them both into trouble. Besides, he shared her sentiment; even if he had stars in his eyes, Princess Rosemary reminded him too much of his niece for him to fully grasp the weight of her station. She was just too cute.

He didn’t miss the shadow that passed over his charge, however, as the Templar of Gravity came and went; Jannick followed her gaze to the Scion of Gravity, Maya De-something, whom Jannick really only recognized from her presence in those annoying unskippable Youtube ads. She seemed pleasant enough with Scion Kasper and Sir Tyler, in that dead-eyed “you looking for a good time” sort of way, but Hollyhock eyed her like a hare eyeing a hawk, looking liable to jump out a window if she got any closer. That said, Jannick did recall a few derisive remarks for “influencer” types, and Holly’s distaste for the spotlight was renowned. He made a mental note to keep the two separated; he wasn’t super enthusiastic about showing up on Instagram himself, but mostly he did not want to chase Hollyhock through the Cathedra Incepta. If any of his buddies on duty saw him struggling to catch up to a 90 pound girl literally blowing away with the wind, he’d never hear the end of it.

And speaking of social media, the Scion of Earth joined the throng, chatting up the Templar with the cookies. This asshole, Jannick definitely knew: Justinian Gardner, or “RockinRangerJ”, which Jannick hated that he knew, and knew only because enough dumbass teenagers who watched his streams decided they’d try to imitate his stunts without the benefit of Goddess-given powers, leaving the Knights to clean up the aftermath.

The brightness Princess Rosemary had brought to Jannick’s countenance fell when Justinian addressed him as “Sir Jarrick” - nice - although Holly’s little jab did ease his rankling a bit, getting an amused huff out of him. Man, she was really putting in work wearing him down tonight; much more of this and he’d start thinking the Templar gig wasn’t so bad.

But until then, he shrugged at Justinian, acknowledging his congratulations with a curt nod as he finished his cookie, followed by as shallow a bow as he could get away with. “Pleasure’s mine, Holiness,” he replied with barely-passable reverence, “She’s got a good nose, that’s for sure. Good skill to have, really.” He came up with a tame enough response to put the comment to rest; whatever their differences, he wasn’t about to disparage his own Scion.

This Scion, however, was fair game. “But say, uh - if you don’t mind my asking, Your Holiness,” Jannick stumbled over the formalities as he absently patted himself down for cigarettes, “you been keeping busy lately? You used to be big stuff on the internet, my little brother was a big fan. But I feel like I haven’t heard much of you in a while. You pick up a new hobby or something?” He gave up his search when he remembered that the Crown Princess was within secondhand smoke distance, and he wasn’t that good at manipulating the air yet - or dodging angry Rodian Templars.


Maya was a little disappointed that Edmund didn’t take her bait, but not surprised; what did surprise her was that he actually tried to crack a joke, although it fell flat when he stumbled over his own unfailing fealty to her. She got a hint of satisfaction from that, as she always did, but if Maya didn’t know better - which, at this point, she wasn’t sure if she did - she’d think Edmund was showing off. Not that wearing his knightly honour like a medal was out of the ordinary for him, but he normally saved those underhanded little jabs for her. It was refreshing enough to see Edmund’s judgemental gaze fixed on different targets that Maya decided to let him off the hook for being so mopey. For now.

At any rate, that was more of a rise than she’d gotten out of him in quite some time, and she’d take what she could get. Besides, she supposed it wouldn’t do to have her Templar casting a shroud over the night’s proceedings - her followers were astute observers, and they always pointed out when something in her photos was off, no matter how heavy the filter. That, and it would probably bum the other Scions out, but Maya cared somewhat less about that. A lot of them seemed like they were in Edmund’s boat anyway, if the glowing orange twink sulking in the corner was any indication.

Edmund wandered off, and with his oppressive presence gone, Kasper approached, bringing the best possible tribute with him - a compliment.

“Kasper, you’re sly with your flattery,” Maya gently teased, stretching up to kiss his cheek in a customary Doumercène greeting he’d be familiar with. She slipped into her genial persona like a well-fitting glove, smiling warmly at Kasper. “But you’re going to upstage all of us. Truly stunning - I’d expect nothing less.” She winked.

She eagerly agreed to the photo, clinging playfully to Kasper’s arm for the shot. By the time the night was done, she expected a photo with every one of the other Scions - with the possible exception of Princess Rosemary, whose growling dog might keep her away - and Kasper was the ideal place to start. He was rapidly becoming one of her favourite contemporaries: agreeable, popular with the masses, but importantly, stayed in his lane. Better still, he didn’t stick around to chat; truly ideal, in Maya’s opinion. Hi, bye, don’t forget a selfie. Incredible. Why couldn’t all the other Scions be like him?

Edmund returned as Kasper departed, having procured a cookie in his absence. Maya eyed the proffered half incredulously. Did someone replace Edmund while she wasn’t looking? She didn’t realize he even knew what sweets were, let alone that he was bold enough to eat one in the innermost sanctum of the Cathedra Incepta. What was it he’d called it? The bosom of the Goddess? Maya nearly laughed as she wondered if Incepta appreciated her Templars getting crumbs in her cleavage.

Damn, if Edmund was like this all the time, maybe she’d like him better. Sweet-sneaking Templar was a much more pleasant vibe than stern Sunday School teacher. Still, the secondhand embarrassment wafting off the Templar who brought the cookies was too strong for Maya, and she declined, albeit more politely than Edmund was used to; he had earned that, at least, if his little peace offering indicated that he was going to chill the fuck out for the evening.

Just then, Sir Tyler approached with familiar greetings for her, and Maya had to quickly rack her brain for exactly how she and the Templar of Time knew each other. They’d definitely met, but was it more than just in passing? There’d been a few blessing ceremonies, a funeral - oh! Right! Duh, Theodore had invited her to his estate early in her Scionhood to discuss the Larme Incident at length, and they’d met a few times since to discuss his plans for peace with Kaudus. Maya had always thought he was a bit of an idealistic idiot on that front, both for seeking peace with a nation of godless savages and for thinking she’d have anything more sophisticated than that to say on the matter, but Tyler had always been pretty pleasant. More notably, he was the one responsible for a lot of unflattering pictures of Theodore on social media, and that was definitely worth entertaining him for.

“Far too long, Tyler,” Maya agreed excitedly. Her mischievous streak, which had so recently been quelled, flared up again when she saw Tyler’s offer of a hug, and she took it, glancing provocatively at Edmund before disengaging.

At the mention of a picture, her smile brightened, but her eyes took on a dangerous glint. “Oh my goodness, we’ll have to fix that! Edmund,” she called sweetly, producing her phone from a fold in her dress and offering it to her Templar. She took Tyler’s arm, looking to Edmund expectantly. “Would you take a picture of us, please?”


Jannick had looked forward to this event for some time, and for the most part, it did not disappoint. He was still convinced that nobody could throw a party like the Holy City, and there would surely be no better place in Gaia for the Millennium Festival. Preparations had already begun in earnest when he and Hollyhock arrived a few days prior, and the drive over from the hotel today was significantly slowed by detours where closed-off roads were choked with people milling around in their finery, buzzing with excitement. Streets were lavishly decorated, stalls for vendors of every type were erected, and the festivities were already in full swing; and here and there, standing up above the rest on tall white horses, trotted Church Knights in their shining gold armour, waving down at children and staring watchfully over the crowds.

And that, to Jannick’s considerable disappointment, was what made his homecoming a bit of a mixed bag. He really was happy to be home; it had only been six months since he left, but in that time he’d scarcely spent any more time in his “new home” in Rosaria than he had at any one of Hollyhock’s innumerable vacation homes scattered all over Gaia, and the travel wearied him considerably. Granted, even staying put in Rosaria probably would have done the same; he had spent the bulk of his life within the same six blocks of home, and leaving it was hard. Really hard.

Which was why he didn’t expect coming back to be equally difficult, but here he was. The few extra days tacked on to their trip had afforded him some time to visit with his family and friends, but that was as much a hindrance as a help: seeing his family was good, but all of his friends either lived at the Civitas Equitum or worked at his old precinct. Jannick thought he’d be happy to visit, but the familiar sights only made him feel even farther away; there everyone was, going about the business that was so familiar to him, and he was just a visitor. An outsider. And worse still, they treated him like one, making all sorts of a fuss over his “big promotion.” Being halfway across the continent might have been better.

Sir Tyler’s Blessing Ceremony didn’t do much to lift Jannick’s spirits. Fortunately, his poor mood didn’t make him stand out; it seemed like there were more than a few in attendance who weren’t too enthused by Sir Tyler’s appointment. Jannick might have been in the minority in that sense. The media made a lot of hay out of the controversy around this appointment, but to Jannick, it seemed pretty straightforward: Sir Tyler was investigated, and the powers that be found that his Scion’s death wasn’t his fault. Case closed. Jannick had seen enough of these shitstorms to know how they worked; the media and the public never got the full story, and Incepta only knew that if the evidence was enough to convince Fyodor of Tyler’s faultlessness, it was enough for Jannick. The court of public opinion would never change their minds, but he’d never put much stock into that anyway.

Of course, the theories of the public and the gripes of the other Templars were probably separate things entirely. That much was clear from the vows they swore - similar to the vows of a Church Knight, but above and beyond in every respect, with absolute dedication not only to Incepta, but to a charge. That was probably why the eyes of more than a few Templars burned as they watched Sir Tyler receive his second Blessing - a fate the vows themselves seemed explicitly designed to prevent.

Sir Tyler felt it too, no doubt; whether from the scorn of the masses or his own personal misgivings, Jannick didn’t miss the tension in Tyler’s form as he gave his first response. Jannick tensed, too, but for a different reason. It was only six months ago that he received his own Blessing in this very hall, when he knelt before Holly and felt the sting of foreign mana as she burned Incepta’s brand over his heart. He averted his eyes as the same happened to Tyler, feeling strangely self-conscious about it all. He hadn’t prayed in years; his vows were the first time in a long time he’d even uttered the Mother’s name - outside of profanity, anyway - and he hadn’t repeated it since. He had plenty of good reasons to doubt Her claims of benevolence and seek his solace elsewhere, but even still, he couldn’t shake a deep, unsettling feeling of unworthiness. It was like the eyes of the Goddess were on him, and he hoped She would look away.

Fortunately, it was all over pretty quickly, and no sooner had the High Cardinal dismissed them than Jannick noticed Holly was gone. He heaved a long sigh, cradling his temple. Honestly, he should thank her - it was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. But the distraction was less of a solemn oath of protection and more of a bad babysitting gig, and his charge was off making very stately and Scion-like work of three cookies that a Templar - wait, really? - had somehow snuck into the ceremony.

Well, whatever. Jannick hadn’t been with Holly long, but he had learned pretty quick that when it came to stuff like this, it was a lot more work to beat her than to join her. Besides, six years as a cop built up habits that were hard to break.

Sidling up next to Holly, Jannick plucked a cookie of his own from the box, giving it an exploratory bite before deciding if it was worth giving Ionna an interesting fact. It passed the test.

“We used to keep the funniest civilian complaints framed in the locker room,” he offered. “My favourite one accused me of using excessive force because I scuffed the suspect’s Weezys.”



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Maya had never once regretted her move to Juniperus. Aside from the everyday benefits it carried for a Scion like herself, today it meant that she got to do all of her preparation for the Millennium Festival in her own penthouse - a relief, since she packed her day even more fully than a normal event would demand. It wouldn’t normally take several hours just to choose an outfit and do her makeup for the evening - not even she could stretch the process out that long on her own - but stopping every few minutes to re-record a clip for a Get Ready With Me or to post one of several different pictures of her breakfast really made the process drag on.

And it was all very necessary. And not just the same kind of necessary that she always insisted to Edmund that every Instagram post was, but especially necessary. Maya had been hyping up the Millennium Festival for weeks, and her followers expected detailed coverage. More importantly, she had deals and collabs set up with brands for everything from her hydroflask to her nail polish, and everything needed to be photographed in the right light and at the right angle - but subtly, of course. She wasn’t a sellout.

There was a bit of chaos, a few shrill profanities thrown around, but by the time the limousine came Maya had wrapped her day (and more importantly, her social media posts) into a neat little bow. Her dress was elegant enough for the red carpet but demure enough for a church function: long sleeves and a high neck covered most of her skin, but a slit in the neckline stopped her from looking like a seventeenth century dame, and modest gold accents glittered like stars against the midnight purple fabric. A matching gossamer veil completed the look, almost blending in with her hair if not for the tiny gold beads flecked throughout; her favourite piece of the night, since it came from a brand new sponsor of hers. The picture she posted of the completed outfit was already racking up likes as she and Edmund got into the limo.

The ride to the Cathedra Incepta was short, but long enough to be awkward; Edmund usually didn’t ride with her, and it showed. Regardless, she took a selfie on the drive with him in the background, knowing that her fans would eat it up - they had made a game out of picking Edmund out of pictures, and they loved ammunition for their search. And, brooding or not, Maya would begrudgingly admit (but never out loud) that he cleaned up decently nice; the white Templar uniform was a nice change from the edgy dark clothes he usually chose, even if the purple accents did kind of make them look like prom dates. Maya shuddered at the thought.

Aside from forcing Edmund to take a picture of her in front of the Cathedra Incepta, the ceremony itself was boring; sacred oaths, fancy light show, same thing she’d done herself two years back and witnessed a couple of times since. Maya supposed it was cool if you were into dusty old tradition, which meant that Edmund should have been having a blast, but not even Sir Knight himself seemed enthused by the display. Of course, that could have been because his panties were still in the same twist they’d been in since the news first broke about Sir Tyler’s appointment - tighter, perhaps, given that his usual dignified scowl was now coloured with shades of very real disdain at the sight of the returning Templar of Time.

Maya couldn’t deny herself a coy little smirk at the display. It was so hard for anyone to get a rise out of her duty-bound protector, this was a rare treat indeed. She knew on some cerebral level the source of Edmund’s animosity, but she neither shared nor cared to understand it; she did, however, care to push his buttons a little bit. It was a special occasion, after all.

“Aw, isn’t it inspiring?” Maya asked in a whisper, leaning so that only her Templar could hear her. “I remember when that was you and me up there, don’t you?” She smiled sweetly up at Edmund; he knew her well enough to see that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Beyond her brooding Templar, of far more interest to Maya than the blessing ceremony were the other figures in attendance. Kasper and Justinian she knew in passing - the former had been the adopted pride of Doumerc since long before she ever became a Scion, and the latter was like an algorithm barnacle on just about every social media platform frequented by teenage boys - and she and Princess Belle over there were well-acquainted; it was amazing how much one can get to know someone through insincere pleasantries and venomous looks alone.

But the rest were a little less familiar. The big one she recognized by his sheer size, remembering him as the middle-aged Scion of Fire whose name didn’t match his home country, even though she couldn’t precisely recall either; the girl scarfing down cookies was the Scion of Wind, Holly-something, whom Maya knew only enough to know this seemed on-brand; Maya got to hear all about Marchioness Lucienne’s heroic efforts for the poor and downtrodden every time she blessed a hospital, so she neither needed nor desired any introduction; and of course, despite living in the Holy City, Maya had never really met the little princess of Veradis - that giant guard dog of hers they called a Templar usually kept her at arm’s length. A freakishly long, man-ish arm’s length.

The last one, though - the plain-looking chick who didn’t ring any bells, seemingly by design - Maya couldn’t remember which one she was. Which, by process of elimination, meant she must have been the Scion of Metal, whose ceremony Maya had attended only six months ago and whose name Maya had forgotten at precisely the same moment she learned it. No worries; if anyone from the media asked about the other Scions, they always prefaced the question with their name anyway.

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