kingdoms_of_auradon | Stronger With Those Daddy Issues

From:

While one or two people might have noticed a purple haired person slamming all windows in the castle shut tight on the first day, attempts to contact Mal in person will be met by a polite but apologetic Ben, with the news that Mal isn't feeling well and would like some alone time. No remarks will be made about the occasional crashing sound.

All attempts to reach her via the network will go to voice mail. Feel free to leave those messages here.

From:

missrecalled_npcs

With Mal unavailable, Ben will do his best to be around for the people and to calm down any fears they might have.

Given how busy he has been, this is probably the most he's been available since Mal's coronation.

From:

under_the_raptors_wings

Enki had... honestly had no real reason to think much about the flowers previously, though once he'd realized what they did he simply had steered clear of people who interacted with them unless actively invited.

This time? Look, he was going to interact with birds he hadn't seen before. They were... quite colorful and perhaps where they foraged he might find a place to forage also. So he went out to where several were perched in bushes, curious.

Now, given that the flowers hadn't had any effect, the vision starting before he even reached them caught him entirely off guard.

It was dark around the boy who sat in a meadow. And on his lap sat a... look who even knew what that thing was. It looked vaguely feline, vaguely reptilian, quilled between armored plates, had an unreasonable quantity of eyes(5), and an only slightly less unreasonable qty of barbed tails(2). The boy himself was... difficult to mistake. The familiar burn scar distribution was old even then, though there were a few scars gained since this moment. His hair was longer too, but not long enough to hide how patchy it was at the sides and back. In the background the night-sky boasted... well, it was too large to be a moon, it looked more like this must be the moon and that the planet, a bright green blue with gold and blue flecks around it, said flecks circling the sky and disappearing behind the horizon.

The animal looked up when an adult approached, giving a warning growl sound, but paused when the boy shifted his hand, looking up also.

"Can you explain what brings you out here this late, Enki?" The first thing of note was how he pronounced Enki varied from what Enki usually used, An-Kay rather than En-Kie. The man's age was impossible to determine and he had pointy ears like Enki's but he was very pale, the greenish undertones visible in his skin and he lacked the forehead ridges. The man was very tall, kept his straight black hair in a short bowl cut, and when he moved he wasted no energy on excess movement. He stood still, waiting for an answer, an eyebrow raised. He didn't say he disapproved, but he didn't need to.

"Oh... umm, T'kahr Skisan." A small half bow over the cat(?) "I had a nightmare and knew Ryill would calm me."

"And in doing so you broke the rules. Do you know why students are not allowed outside after hours?"

"Of course, but I won't get hurt. You know I will not." The boy let the cat(?) off his lap so he could stand and she went away, melting into the shadows.

"Perhaps not, but if I allow you to break the rules, I will have to allow the others. Would you wish to take responsibility for what happens to the others?"

The boy flushed a deep bronze. "Dhat, sir. But..." Skisan held up a hand, and the boy went silent immediately, looking down, visibly irritated.

"No. I believe I can teach you a better way to handle them. Was this another one where you dreamt as someone else?"

The boy hesitated and then nodded.

Skisan nodded, clearly having expected that. "Come, We will go back inside where we can work on some meditation. You will then spend your free hours tomorrow and the next day working on these exercises. Understood?"

The boy wrinkled his nose but nodded, "Ae, sir." As the pair headed away the vision faded.

It took Enki a moment to recover from... confusion more than anything. He'd forgotten how often he used to get nightmares like that. (Now he had nightmares all the time, but they weren't nearly as confusing as those had been. In hindsight they were far less confusing. And now he knew that Skisan had definitely known he was half V'Tosh.)

He looked around to see if he'd subjected anyone else to a memory, not that it was a bad one, it mostly angered Enki because of context, but... it was the principle of the matter.

From:

unfavorableinstigation

Now, them being birds, Nita was half in mind to just talk to them; if the flowers hadn't gotten the message from her, perhaps animals could.

Then a feather landed on her shoulder, and she saw red.

It wasn't what they made her see, just that they had the same effect. The same as-

Well, one could find Nita as close to a reliable source of (salt)water as she could get at this time, etching out a particularly large spell diagram.

From the look in her eyes, she had plans.

And rage, lots of rage.

From:

souls_of_roles

"OH!" Those feathers were so pretty! And she could do so much with them, she was sure. Never one to waste anything that could be useful - especially if it was free. But of course that gave lots of opportunities for memory triggers. With each, Kyoko stilled, watching, unaware if anyone had joined her...

For those who have already figured out the pattern of these events, Kyoko's memories this time, might be confusing, however.

The first Morning

The scene was a lovely hotel suite bedroom. It was lavish. Lovely. Only the lack of personalization made it seem to be a hotel not a home. Well, that and the phone with the hotel log on the night table.

Neither of the people in the room seemed to be Kyoko, though the young boy, early to mid teens, looked as though he could have been related to her. His hair and eyes were the same colour, but there was a youthful energy to the eyes that Kyoko didn't have. Th hair might have ben about the same length, but it was mostly slicked back with just a few fly away bits, which made it hard to tell. He moved lightly on his feet, more like as close to floating as a human could get than lik walking. He wore a black shirt partially buttoned open and the neck to show off a cross necklace, jeans, and a hoodie tied around his waist.

The other person in the room was a blond man, laying in the bed, clearly still asleep.

The young boy bounce-floated into the room, bounding with energy. "Dad. It's morning. Dad, wake up. You have some TV work starting at eight."

"Mmmm...." the man murmured, rolling over with an arm over his eyes. "Five more minutes."

"N-O. Wake up now! Time to eat," the boy insisted. He rushed to the window and dragged the heavy curtain aside to let in early morning light. By the light it was too early for anybody to be that awake without caffeine. "You need at least an hour to get there. Otherwise you'll be late." Then the boy was distracted by something outside. "Oh... a bird! A bird just flew in front of me! Just what you'd expect on the top floor. What do you call that bird in Japanese?" He asked, so hyper his words were going a mile a minute. His back to the man he didn't see the warm contented smile on his father's half asleep face. "Suzume? Hmmmm..." the boy shook his head. "What? Surume? Dried squid?"

The man chuckled, finally opening his eyes. "No," he said, smiling at his boy. "S...." He froze, looking at his son in something like shock. The hand that had been moving off his face was frozen in mid motion.

The boy turned back to his father, with the brightest smile on his face. "S...?"

The man kept staring at the boy in shock, like something unbelievable had just happened.

Confused, the boy's smile turned to concern as he turned to fully face his dad, one hand on his hip. "Dad?"

That seemed to startle life back into the man, though he looked even more stunned than before. "Uh... um. No... nothing..." he mumbled. "Well.... I guess I'll wake up. I'm hungry."

Relived, the boy laughed. "You must be. Breakfast is ready, so hurry!" He raced from the room towards the suite's kitchen. He pulled a huge... something from the oven, bouncing around as he then poured what... was probably supposed to be eggs on a huge plate. He then cut a slice off of the thing from the oven and put it on a small plat, covering it in jam. A smaller plate of eggs - these mad slightly better, and some vegetables. Then he prepared two cups of coffee.

The man came in, toweling off his hair as he was pouring the second cup.

"Dad. coffee?" the boy offered. When the man nodded, he set the cup on a saucer with a spoon beside the plate with the huge something.

The boy was too busy fussing with breakfast to notice the way the man stared at him studied him. Even as thy both sat down and the boy, calm for the first time, started to eat. Finally, as he he ripped his slice of somthing apart, the boy looked up and noticed. "Why... are you staring at me?"

"Hmm?" the man asked, startled at being caught out. "Uh... no." He stared another moment then his features softened. Settled into the expression of on trying to seem firm when he is really amused at someone he loves. "Well... um. May I ask you something, Kuon?"

"What?" the boy asked.

The man held up the huge something, and now his expression was almost comical. "What... is this?"

"What?" the boy asked, puzzled. "It's bread. Just like it looks like."

Now the man looked almost gray faced as he started at the so-called bread. "You could've at least... sliced it... or toasted it..."

"Cuz... dad would eat it all, right?" the boy asked, sounding eager and hyper again.

The man was silent a moment before mumbling "Well, yes, but..."

Th boy cut him off. "I didn't hav time slice and toast it all. I... spent all my time cooking the eggs."

"Ah..." the man said, but his face lightened as though he realized something pleasant.

The boy, Kuon, watched his father, eager. Sweat formed on his face and he started to flush a bit. He started to look down, shoulders hunching in a bit. So he wasn't watching when the man got a bunch of the eggs up on his fork and took a big bite.

The crunching sound, however, got the boy to look up, devastated. "D...dad?" he asked, shaken.

"Hmm?" the man asked, seeming to be enjoying his crunchy eggs. He was almost smiling as he chewed. And chewed. And chewed.

"That sound..." the boy asked, unsure now, "was that... egg shells?"

"Yeah," the man said as he swallowed. He gave Kuon a bright smile and a chuckle. "It's alright. They're full of calcium. Kuon you're... a real smart kid!" He gave him a thumbs up. "You are my son!"

The boy, rather than looking relieved looked mortified and shocked. Desperate, he stammered out "Y.. you... don't have to force yourself... dad... You don't have to eat it."

The man's expression shifted to concern as the boy spoke.

"It doesn’t taste good, right?" Kuon continued.

"Why not?" the man said. The boy's face filled with painful hope. "You tried so hard.. to make all this for your dad. Of course it's good." With that he took another bite, and did genuinely seem to enjoy it.

Th boy still looked confused and stricken and hopeful, but mostly just bewildered.

"It's delicious," the man said.

The boy flushed, eyes wide. But then his eyes half closed as they welled with, and then spilled, tears. He tried to stop them, but they kept coming. "I'm sorry..." he said, gasping as if breathing were hard. "I'm happy I just... don't know... how to express..." in the last few words his voice cracked. Sounding almost... almost like Kyoko's voice.

"Kyoko?" the man asked, setting setting down his fork.

As if the name released something, she put her hands over her face and scrubbed at her tears before pressing hr hands into her legs, looking down. Something subtle in how she held herself now, something about her expressions made Kuon vanish until it was clearly Kyoko in Kuon's clothing. It wasn't magic, but whatever it was, was subtle.

"My... my family..." Kyoko said, and it was clearly Kyoko's voice now, "is just my mother and me... But since I was little... We haven’t gotten along very well," she confessed, still crying. "This... is the first time... someone... has been nice to me... when... I messed up... So I don't know.... what I should do... I'm sorry.... When I'm... supposed to be acting.... I'm sorry..." the memory faded there.

"NO! My shining memory! Come back!" she begged. She fell to her knees, hands over her face. "Come back," she begged in a whisper. "Magic, please bring the memory back, I want to be the Kuo boy again. Please....

--------------

Kyoko later was either told or figured out that sh could possibly bring the memory back, by touching more feathers. So for the rest of the event she would be able to be found gathering them desperately, filling bag after bag with feathers, hoping for another memory to trigger.

------------

A limo. Kuon, still in the same clothes shard a bench in the car with his father who was now in a striped suit with a black shirt. Two other people, with the look of guards, shared the back seat with them clearly trying to pretend they weren’t there.

Kuon was staring out the window, looking bored. "Ka udon."

"It's chikara udon," his father corrected.

"Snack Ta Gure," Kuon offered.

"Yugure," his father corrected.

"Hohohoho-o"

"That's Hayashi Mokizai."

Flushing a bit, Kuon gripped the window and scowled. "I... just hate Japanese."

Behind his back, his father was fighting to keep his laughter silent. So far he was succeeding.

"In Japanese," Kuon continued, "why do characters that look the same read differently? Or words have different meanings? Kumo and kumo and hashi and hashi for example. The stingy personality of Japanese people who use one room as the living room, the dining room, and the bedroom really shows in the Japanese language." He flopped back in his seat as his father crossed his arms and his legs, looking stern and a little disappointed.

"That's not true, Kuon," he scolded firmly. "That's not stingy. It's practical. There's no waste."

Kuon huffed, sulking.

"Hey, Kuon. Why don't you learn Kanji... instead of calling it boring?" Kuon turned his face away from his father, who kept trying. "There's a lot to kanji. It's interesting."

"No thanks. Cuz.. it won't help a bit when I'm a grown-up. Learning the language of a small country like Japan. If I'm gonna learn kanji, I wanna learn Chinese."

His father doubled over trying not to laugh out loud. The guards were really trying to not exist, from their expressions.

Kuon glanced over, seeing him doubled over. "What's wrong, dad?"

And like that laughter became crocodile tears. "Uh... no... nothing..." Then the crying seemed more real. Over dramatic, but real. "I'm sad that Kuon isn't interested... This is the country your dad grew up in..."

Kuon looked alarmed and shocked. All pout was gone as he started to reach, desperate. But his hand faltered, hesitated, stayed in place. He stared at his father who had a hand over his face. "Fath... I... I'm s...." Kuon's voice became Kyoko's for just a moment. The stricken look, hers.

The man glanced between his fingers, but when he saw Kyoko there, looking afraid and devastated. at first his glance was curious, as if to see why "Kuon" stopped talking. But then concern too his expression when he saw her paralysis. Her pain. A look of sympathy on his face, a moment of compassion, and then... he reachd out and flicked her on the forehead.

She reeled back, at the moment not seeming much like Kyoko or Kuon. Mostly whoever it was in there just seemed confused and surprised. And confused.

The grin on the man's face was almost sadistic as he sat back. "I lied... you fool."

Kyoko/Kuon still looked confused, but a little less stunned.

"What's wrong, Kuon?" The name seemed to snap her back into Kuon fully. A confused Kuon, but Kuon. "I lied to you, teased you, and flicked my finger against your forehead." he pointed at Kuon. "You have the right to get mad and fight back. If you're a man... show your guts and fight back when someone gets at you."

Kuon blinked, still a bit stunned, but less hesitant. Less unsure.

His father grinned a bit as Kuon leaned forward a bit. Then h mad a bring it gesture and hope filled Kuon's face and eyes with a light flush. Like when he was waiting to see his father eating breakfast he made.

Kuon lunged to try and flick his father's head, but his father grabbed his arm and slid his face away. Then he chopped Kuon on the back of the head before letting the boy go.

"?! Why...?" Kuon asked, hands going to the back of his head as h stared at his father with wide eyes. "Why're you fighting back?! I'm the one who can fight back, right?!"

"You fool...When a man knows someone one is out to hit him, h's not going to let himself get hit without resisting. That's what weak cowards do. Your dad is strong." Despite still sitting, he seemed to loom large over Kuon as the guards exchanged a look. "Your dad only lets someone who's stronger hit him!" His eyes and bearing mad it clear he had no intention of losing or backing down."

"What the..." Kuon mumbled, shrinking a bit. "That's not fair..." Then, stronger, "You had no intention of letting me fight back from the start."

"What are you saying?" his dad asked, looking more relaxed again. "If you want to fight back, do it. Surprise attacks. Weapons. Whatever." He glanced at Kuon. "I give you special permission... because you're my son."

Kuon looked stunned again. "I'm... special? Really? I can really... do anything?"

The guards did not look amused.

"Yes," the father said, crossing his arms and leaning back. A picture of confidence.

"You'll... let me?"

"A man never goes back on his word. So.. don't worry."

Kuon stared at his father, something growing within him as his exprssion slowly evolved from hope to impish mischief.

The man opened his yes and glanaced over, then looked more openly, smiling. "You'r... starting to look pretty good... you naughty brat."

From:

gregorydeegan

The first

Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did. But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."

The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with an older man in a bright pink coat.

"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."

"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird being up on both legs."

"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, dad."

His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."

Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"

"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.

Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."

"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.

He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that in tune with each other.

Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.

Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.

He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"

"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."

"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.

For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.

Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.

Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.

"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.

"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.

Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."

Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"

"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.

Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.

-----------

Battle of the banned?

Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.

Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.

A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.

Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.

Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. "OBLIVION FOLDER!"

On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.

The concert went on for hours. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.

At one point near the middle the pace changed, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.

It didn't take them long to get back to high energy songs, though.

Then it was time for the drum solo. Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back. Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc

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The first

Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did. But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."


The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with <a href="https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/dominicdeegan/images/3/3b/Donovan_Deegan.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120417041248">an older man in a bright pink coat</a>.

"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."

"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird being up on both legs."

"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, dad."

His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."

Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"

"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.

Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."

"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.

He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that in tune with each other.

Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.

Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.

He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"

"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."

"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.

For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.

Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.

Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.

"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.

"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.

Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."

Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"

"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.

Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.

-----------

 Battle of the banned?

Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.

Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.

A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.

Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.

Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1066_20051203.gif">"OBLIVION FOLDER!"</a>

On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.

<a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1067_20051204.jpg">The concert</a> went <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">on for hours</a>. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.

At one point near the middle the <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1069_20051206.gif">pace changed</a>, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.

It didn't take them long to get back to <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">high energy</a> songs, though.

Then it was time for the drum solo. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1072_20051210.gif">Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back.</a> Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1073_20051211.jpg>answered.</a> (Warning for one bad word.) The other orc leapt onto the stage. The drummer moved to a long staff and the two did a <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1074_20051212.gif">duet</a> of drumming and dance. The dancing! The drumming! It was <a href="YOUR LINK HERE">a hit.</a> With an <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1077_20051221.gif">unexpected development</a> when the drummer leapt, as no human could, into the crowd to hug one of the other orcs. When she returned, Greg invited the dancer to dance for the rest of the show, and the crowd went wild with glee over the idea.

The concert went long. A few people, like the one legged man and the girl with the fangs left for a bit, missing when Greg tossed his jacket to the crowd in a fit of adrenaline.

On and <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1089_20060103.gif">on</a> the concert went. Long into the night. And the crowd loved it, most of them sticking through to the very end. And with the dimming of the stage lights, so too dimmed the memory.

"Wow... I... wow. Shame it ended when it did...." Greg shook his head. "And I didn't realize Dominic and Szark and Luna left the concert for a while. Wonder why. And did you see where he had his "I'm having a vision" face? I missed that from the stage. A little mixed that Siggy left in the middle... but why did Jayden? Oh well, I won't tell you what happened after the concert, after al, I'm not one to kiss and tell....."

------------

From:

aquawayfinder

A Calm Before The Storm

Aqua has seen a great many odd things in the years since she left home. So she was fairly certain that something more than there being many birds was actually happening here. She thought she was prepared for anything. As it turned out... she was wrong. Touching a feather led her to learn just how wrong she was.

The memory shimmered into place. A courtyard before an impossible seeming castle.

But Aqua noticed none of this, nor the younger version of herself behind where current Aqua stood. All she noticed all she had eyes for...

was the man who stood with his back to her, looking out across the distance. But he smiled. "Aqua, is that you?" he asked, turning to glance back.

"Master!" Hr voice cracked and she ran toward shim, leaping to tackle hug the man who was all the parent she ever had. Ever wanted. Ever needed. Tears were in her eyes.

Tears of a different sort as she fell through him and landed hard on the grass beyond. She turned to see what had happened, rubbing her abraded face, eyes watering now from impact. Hr face was dirty and if not for healing magic she'd be in for some nasty bruises. She had thrown herself with full trust that he'd catch her. But now... Now seeing her past self, seeing him looking at that past self she understood why h didn't. Why he couldn't have. He wasn't truly here. The her he saw.. Wasn't the her she was now. She couldn't have him back. All she could do was watch.

Still, it was more than she'd had in years, and she drank in the sight of him, the soothing sound of his voice.

The younger Aqua hesitated just a moment then strode forward. "Master."

He chuckled. "I know who I am, but what troubles you, Aqua? I am surprised to see you out here."

She gave a weak smile but nodded and gave him a hug. When he tucked an arm around her shoulders, she let him. "Terra is watching him, Master Eraqus. But..."

"But?" he asked kindly.

"I'm afraid."

"Are you out here because you are afraid?"

She shook her head, considered, then nodded. "I did not run away from my fear," she said finally. "But I cam out here to find you, to talk to you, because of my fear."

"I see. And I think I can guess at the fear. Or would I be mistaken?"

She looked shocked and scandalized at the thought he could ever be wrong. Her expression made him laugh.

She shook her head. "You... You wouldn't be wrong. Master... He will wake up, won't he? Ventus?"

"With our hearts calling to his, it would be very difficult for him to not, I suspect. He will awaken soon, I am sure. And then he can join you both in your training."

She gave him a smile and nodded. "I won't let him fall behind."

Eraqus laughed. "I will take care of him, young Aqua, never fear. You look to your own training. It won't be long before you are ready to take your Mark Of Mastery exam. And once you are a Master you'll have plenty of students to fuss and worry over."

"And to love..." She whispered.

"And to love," he agreed. "Just as I love you and Terra as though you were my own children. And I could not be prouder of you two."

"And... Ventus?"

"Will be Ventus. We will know his heart soon enough. But I suspect I know yours now. You wish to return to his side?"

"You said our hearts reaching for him will be the Light that guides him. Though sometimes I think it would take a miracle."

Another chuckle as he kissed her hair. "And what exactly do you think a heart is, my child? Or the connection between hearts?"

She gave him a bright smile and nodded before ducking out from under his arm. She started to dash for the castle but skidded to a stop, turned. She summoned her Keyblade, crossed it over hr chest and bowed. Then she turned once more and ran inside.

Eraqus watched her go, love and pride in his face.

"Master," she whispered as the memory scene faded. She rested a hand over her own heart. "A miracle indeed..."

From:

queen_butterfly

Mallia was having fun, seeming happy enough to prompt a close repeat of the previous month's imagery, more or less, though it seemed this time, the elves pictured were at least nominally outwardly male. There wasn't a whole lot different, past that detail.

Which, really, probably said a few things to an attentive observer about their society. If someone looked good wearing something, they looked good in it, and that was that. Long or short hair, dresses and skirts, robes, pants, various items of jewelry... male or female, it was all just aesthetics, wasn't it? And none seemed to wield weapons, in these visions or the previous ones. Perhaps that simply wasn't a thing that happened while crossing paths with the fluttery little insects?

What was she doing this time, to prompt the magic scenes? She was probably actively collecting the feathers as they dropped or she came across them, gently adding them to a spare pillowcase she'd found, or else she was singing or whistling something, her hand outstretched, patiently coaxing one of the brids to her like ~~a true Disney princess~~ one might expect a kid to try doing. In fact, she might've even taken on the appearance of a child again, to aid her efforts at it... and funny enough, she might've even been succeeding, in drawing them in. She was smiling, enjoying the chance to visit with and gently pet and even try feeding the wildlife, and it showed.

((Feel free to suggest a prompt, too! She is hiding nothing here, happy to play.))

From:

hotheadwarmheart

So... there were birds now. Far to many of the same kind of birds to be anything other than some sort of magical shenanigans going on. Still, they weren't literally coming out of the woodwork like the flowers had been, so they were at least somewhat easier to avoid.

Their feathers, however, were not. They were pretty and colorful, sure, but that didn't mean anyone wanted to be forever brushing them off their chair, picking them out of their laundry, or sweeping the floor clear of them. Lea did opt to keep a few of them; assuming they stuck around after the birds themselves left, there were a few things he wanted to try with them. But for the most part, they were just a minor nuisance, much like the their owners.

Somehow though, he wasn't entirely surprised when picking a feather out of the visor of a random suit of armor in the hallway resulted in the scene suddenly shifting. To a backroom workshop that- if not nearly as familiar as his old home- he still remembered well.

**********************************

"This is actually pretty cool," the twelve year old Lea of memory said, watching his father retrieve a clay crucible of molten metal from the workshop's small furnace with a pair of tongs.

"No actually it's very hot," his father- a man whose reddish hair was beginning to show the first traces of gray, but whose neatly trimmed moustache was as vibrant as ever- said, grinning when young Lea rolled his eyes at the joke, "so be careful. You got your gloves and safety goggles?"

"Yep," the tween said, pulling his goggles down into place from where they'd been partly hidden by his spikey hair and retrieving his protective gloves from the nearby table before putting them on. "What do you want me to do?"

"See that vial of blue powder there on the desk?" his father said, indicating a rack of what looked like sealed glass test tubes full of colored glitter with a nod of his own goggled head.

"This one?", Lea said selecting a vial whose contents were pale blue. Despite his father calling it a powder, a closer look would reveal the contents to be closer to fine sand, and the grains didn't just glitter, but gave off gleams of their own light. "What is it?"

"Powdered frost shards," Lea's father said, taking the crucible over to a worktable but not setting it down onto the rack meant for it just yet. A mold for what looked like a bracelet sat open on the table. "We're making a Blizzard Armlet. So do you know why I asked for your help with it?"

"Because any metal you're adding frost shard to is gonna cool off really quickly," little Lea said, bringing over the vial. "So you really need two people: one to add the powdered magicite to the metal, and the other one to poor the metal into the mold before it get too stiff."

"Got it in one," his father said with a smile. "I see you've been doing your homework."

"Not willingly, but yeah," little Lea said before taking the cap off of the vial and setting it aside. "I'm guessing you want me to pour the shard powder in?"

His father nodded. "Pour it in gradually," he said. "That's the secret to a well-made accessory; you need to give the magic time to permeate the metal."

Little Lea nodded and carefully began to pour the contents of the vial into the crucible of molten metal as his father instructed. At first, nothing seemed to happen aside from the grains of crystal melting away almost instantly. But after a moment, the metal in the crucible changed color from the red hot molten metal it had been to something that looked akin to mercury; still molten but taking on a lovely silvery color.

As soon as little Lea had poured the last of the contents into the crucible and moved his hand, his father carefully tipped the contents of the crucible into the waiting mold. Only when that was done and the mold set did his father put the crucible on its stand to cool and set down his tongs. "Now we just need to wait for it too cool and harden enough for me to put the details and the setting in," he said. Then turning to little Lea, he smiled. "Thanks, by the way. We make a good team."

Little Lea chuckled and made some sort of comment about 'helping the elderly' as the memory faded, adult Lea focusing on the sight of his father's smile until the last.

*******************************************

"Yeah...", he muttered once the last of the memory had faded, leaving him once more in the hallway. "A pretty good team..."

Edited Date: 2023-06-27 03:18 am (UTC)

From:

smilingarmor

After the last strange event and the dreams it had brought him, not to mention what he'd seen and heard from others Sylv had a fair idea what sort of things the sudden arrival of a flock of pheasants might portend. But while it was hardly something he was looking forward to, the birds did present an opportunity to enhance their food supply that he couldn't pass up. Thusly, he checked among the school's sports equipment and discovered that they did indeed have bows and arrows; while they'd been replaced on the battlefield by the crossbow, he'd still learned to hunt with a more standard bow in his youth, and now intended to bring those skills to bear.

Given their numbers and relative lack of wariness around humans, it wasn't all that long before Sylv had several neatly shot braces of pheasant, ready for plucking and butchering. He wondered if he should go for an even dozen birds before packing in for the day and retiring to go dress his catch, absentmindedly plucking a stray feather from his hair. But that was all it took, and in a moment, the relative quiet of the school grounds was replaced by the cheering of a crowd, and the sights and smells of Auradon replaced by those of a Valorian courtyard in midsummer...

********************************

A ring of onlookers, many of them obviously knights, surrounded a sword arena where a match was taking place, cheering the two combatants on, their cheers not quite managing to drown out the sounds of the bout itself. One of the combatants was a tell and well muscled young man with light purple hair, wielding a large, two-handed sword. The other? A boy with short, dark hair and gray eyes, who couldn't possibly be older than twelve, wielding a slimmer, lighter one-handed sword. On paper, such a bout would seem to be a blatant mismatch, but surprisingly, not only was the by holding his own, but he seemed to have his older opponent on the back foot.

"Come on, Hendrick, pull it together!", one of the onlookers shouted. "That's it, Senorito Norberto! You've got him!", called another.

The boy danced lightly out of the way of his opponent's more ponderous strike before coming back with a a fluid riposte. The young man successfully parried it though, sending the boy skidding back from the sheer force of the blow, barely managing to keep his feet. "You've been holding out on me, Hendrick," the boy said in a Valorian accent, a rather familiar-looking smile spreading across his face. Though clearly exerting himself, he didn't look to be even close to out of breath. "I always got you with that one in training."

Hendrick smiled slightly himself as well. "I wouldn't dare to give you less than my best," he said. And though he was still breathing well too, it was clear the great weight if his sword was beginning to take its toll. "Not with your father watching."

They both stole a quick glance at Don Rodrigo, a burly man with dark hair the same shade as the boy's, though his was showing tinges of gray at the temples and was accompanied by a somewhat bristly moustache. He cut an imposing figure in chainmail and tabard, and stood on a raised dais with several other important-looking individuals, a bit apart from and above the general crowd.

"Well," the boy said. "Far be it from me not to give Papì a good show..." The bout went on for a little while longer, advantage shifting back and forth with each clash of blades, before it eventually ended decidedly in the boy's favor, Hendrick on the ground on his back with a slim sword pointed at his chest.

Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd and several pouches of coins surreptitiously changed hands. The boy, meanwhile, grinned down at his defeated opponent for a moment before moving his sword and offering him a hand up. Hendrick waved it off, but smiled as well, getting back to his feet on his own before both of them went to stand before the dais. In unison the two bowed, straightening back up to see a proud smile on the Don's face. "Well done, both of you," he said, "you'll make fine knights one day. Though there'll be none finer than my Norberto, I think!" He chuckled warmly before turning to one of the others on the dais. "What did I tell you, eh Paulo? A chip off the old block!"

Paulo himself chuckled as well, shrugging lightly in admittance of his apparent error. "I must admit, Rodrigo, I thought you were exaggerating. But the boy truly is a prodigy with the sword. I daresay his skills may eventually come to surpass your own one day."

At this, Don Rodrigo actually laughed for a moment. "Hah! My boy has a long way to go before he can can make that claim!", he said. "But it's good to know that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree. Norberto will make a fine Don for Puerto Valor one day, won't you boy?"

Norberto's previously happy and triumphant smile had been gradually growing more forced-looking all during his father's conversation with his friend, especially if one knew Sylvando and had put two and two together. But Don Rodrigo apparently didn't notice as Norberto replied, "Sì, Papì. A fine Don."

Norberto then cleared his throat and added, "Well then, I should go and wash up. I'll need to wash and change before the feast later, and it wouldn't do to keep Servantes waiting." Without waiting fir a reply he sketched another quick but elegant bow before turning and heading back toward a nearby villa. That, Don Rodrigio did seem to find odd, as he gazed at his son's retreating back for a moment, expression thoughtful, but then he shook his head as if dismissing some thought before turning back to his conversation with his friends.

Hendrick watched him go too, and kept staring at his friend's back for awhile after Don Rodrigo had turned away, thus being perhaps the only one present at the time to notice the way Norberto's shoulders briefly slumped as he paused at the gate of the sword arena's grounds. Those watching the memory play out could see the conflicted expression on the boy's face. But a moment later he shook himself, straightening up and continuing back the villa, the memory fading as he opened the door to go inside.

*************************************************

As the world around him return to its usual self, Sylv sighed seeming less chipper than his usual self. "Well it could be worse, I suppose," he said to himself. "It could have been the night I left..."

Edited Date: 2023-06-28 02:00 am (UTC)