Search found 13 matches for 90

Least seen of her small collective of clothes is the sorceress’ “official” uniform, worn only during “formal” occasions, when performing dangerous magic , or when the witch knows she will be heading into battle- a modified version of the Saint’s traditional garb uniquely tailored to her personal needs and stylistic desires. Made of a nylon and cotton blend, the outfit consists of a sleeveless rich black and gold qipao variant with hip high (rather than thigh high) splits on all sides and long, thigh length heeled boots of white and gold. Stylized silver “V” is emblazoned upon the front of the dress, pushed into the air by the woman’s bust, while her arms are covered by a pair of fingerless black gloves, trimmed with gold like the rest of the piece. Three red sashes adorn her waist, completing the outfit with just the right touch of vibrancy need to make it stand out from the crowd.

These alterations allow for an increased mobility while sacrificing none of the uniforms intended purpose to protect and declare the identity of the wearer to all who lay eyes on her- that of a sorceress of the highest caliber, yet one who has not lost sight of what makes her so dangerous, or so alluring.
Body Language & Posture: There are some things a woman can never quite get away from, and somewhere close to the top amongst them is their body. Regardless of form, shape, or size, women over the centuries have obsessed over their physical form, going to great (and often times insane) lengths to improve their looks just that tiny bit more, hoping beyond hope that this time it will be enough, that this one final alteration will somehow make them feel as beautiful as people say they are. This frenzied desire for beauty is something Clara has done her best to avoid and, ironically, the very disinterest with what others think of her is what grants the woman the appeal so many of her sex wish to attain; that of being comfortable in one’s own skin, no matter what anyone else says or thinks.

It is this comfortability with herself that defines all of the witch’s actions; whether walking down the street, dancing in a club, or beating down a Hollow with her bare hands, the woman always appears as if she is in control of herself, leading many to think that she has control of the world around her as well.

Though more than capable of expressing herself verbally should the need arise, much of what people notice about the sorceress comes from visual cues; the way she sits, the forceful (yet never forced) grace and fluidity of her stride, the ever present sense that, no matter where you are or what you are doing, she can see you, even through the back of her head.

Always looking towards the present, her gaze is often set less on the distant horizon than it is on what’s right in front of her; the people, the things, the sights, sounds, smells of her environment all filter into the woman’s mind, each sense painting a part of a larger picture than anyone could ever hope to make alone. Often mistaken for someone of high status or acclaim, the witch’s attitude almost never reflects her misconstrued social standing, as an open, inviting smile is her default expression, though only the most observant of people will notice that this smile is rarely reflected in her eyes.

One of the key aspects of her behavior is the distance she keeps between herself and others- even when in a crowd of bustling tourists, the woman still manages to keep everyone at least an arm’s length away, engaging those around her without ever letting them draw close. This distance is mirrored in both her speech and facial expressions, as those who attempt to draw closer without her approval are met with disapproval and scorn; or worse, anger and rejection.
Speech Patterns: Flirtatious and playful, Clara’s tone can range from that of an amused acquaintance to one of a jilted lover at a moment’s notice; though quiet when not aroused, her voice can take on a surprising enthusiasm when a topic peaks her interest, particularly when it has to do with magic or the spiritual world. Because of her innate distrust of authority, the woman’s temperament and speech rarely changes, regardless of where, when, or who she is speaking with. Few have ever heard the soft, quiet fury of her rage, slipping in between the cracks of a person’s defenses to hit their sore spots like a knife in the back. Even less have even seen the pain and fear the lies behind her hard, calloused eyes.
Aroma: Soft wafts of sweat mixed with the scents of the earth float around the woman, mixed with the smell of pine needles and wet moss. Distinctly earthen, and yet lacking any of the aroma’s that would turn one off, the witch’s distinct nasal signature is one that follows her everywhere, regardless of how long it has been since she was last at her woodland home- as if the very forest itself has seeped into her pores.
Reiatsu: Clara’s Reiatsu is somewhat of an unrestrained creature; flowing this way and that, most who sense its golden depths feel as it were lighter than a feather, dancing in the wind before their eyes one moment only to be gone in the next. It is only when she is truly angered, or driven to a point beyond desperation, that the witch’s Pressure takes on a more sinister feel- that of a crushing wave, suffocating all those who are too weak to resist beneath its horrifying pressure.

---

General Fighting Style: Clarai’s fighting style is one that is simple, yet effective; having received almost two-decades of hands-on-experience with hand-to-hand combat, the the witch’s use of both her fists and her spells is codified by controlling an opponent’s centerline in order to land hard, fast strikes against critical weak points, accentuated by unfathomably precise usage of magic in order to land the most effective blow in the weakest point possible.
Strengths: Strength, Reflexes, Reiryoku Control, Hakuda, Endurance, Spiritual Power (Reiryoku)
Weaknesses: Speed, Zanjutsu, Sensing, Spiritual Power, Agility,

---

Ability Name: The Grimoire of Babel
Description: A book of unnatural, but immense, power, the Grimoire is more than just a set of letters pressed onto paper and bound up in leather; it is a living being, or at least something close to it, with a mind and soul all its own, though, thanks to their bond, its soul and Clara’s have become indistinguishable from one another to all but the greatest of sensors. It is this bond that allows Clara to access not only the knowledge contained within the tome itself, but the very essence of what makes it so powerful; the voracious, never ending hunger for knowledge, glory, and (above all) power that lies within its depths.

By channeling her Reiryoku into and through the very heart of the book, Clara is able to unlock its power not only for herself, but the tome as well, as it, through her energy, gains a limited form of sentience, able to move, speak, and even fight with its user for a time, all the while chipping away at the very fabric of whatever is close at hand, breaking them down and weakening them until, at last, they are fully and completely subsumed into the depths of Grimoire.

This living form grants “Grimm”, as Clara calls it, has all the Spiritual power and abilities of its user, allowing to roam about the battlefield, assisting its master and/or wreaking havoc amongst any enemies that may be attempting to overwhelm its host.

Ability Name: Spell Craft
Ability Description: Being connected to an ancient, parasite Spell Book has its ups and downs; on the one hand, Clara has access to a powerful ally, but on the other, she is forever bound to an entity that continuously sucks the life from her very soul. However, because of their bond, Clara has a unique insight into the inner workings of the Grimoire which has allowed her to, over the course of many years, adapt and repurpose bits and pieces of the magic that makes up the tome in order to create her own spells.

These spells, though powerful, each carry an aspect of the Grimoire and, thusly, have a negative effect on whoever casts them, usually taking the form of a powerful (but temporary) psychological effect, a physical symptom, or a mixture of both, depending on the spell in question. However, these effect are not applied to the Grimoire when it casts a spell, as the imperfections in the adapted spell does not exist within its pages. Continued and repeated use of the Spells  can and will lead to crippling psychological and physiological ailments, requiring large gaps of time to recover from if used improperly.

Below is a list of all Clara’s Known Spells, along with their effects, side effects, and Incantations.

Known Spells:

Spoiler:

Boosts: 2x Spiritual power (Reiryoku), Strength

---

Ability Name: Magical Overdrive
Description: A skill developed through countless years of practice, Magical Overdrive is based around the idea that a fire, when given the proper fuel (such as gasoline) can burn brighter, hotter, and for longer than it would without it; by taking this principle and applying it to the souls of her familiars, Clara is able to, to with a bit of effort, synchronize her own soul with theirs, increasing her own power at the cost of destroying the familiar.

Once activated (this takes one action), Magical Overdrive enhances the users spells in a manner similar to the way a Shinigami’s Shunko enhances their physical strikes, but with one added benefit; due to the massive torrent of power flowing through the user while is active, any negative side effects connected to their spells are negated for as long as Magical Overdrive is active.
Boosts: 3x Spiritual Power (Reiryoku), Strength

---

History: The story of Clara von Brandt begins, like all stories, with a birth.

Born in a small hospital outside of Berlin on March 15th, 1991, the girl’s birth was a normal one, with her mother going into labor nine months after she became pregnant. In fact, everything about her seemed to be normal; she cried when she was born, peed on the doctor as he took her away, ate her formula, and slept just any other baby. Even her golden eyes were normal, as both her parents carried the same color orbs.

But unlike the dozens of other babies that had been born on that day, Clara had something special inside of her. For you see, hidden in in her soul was something no one in the hospital had; an over-abundance of Reiryoku which allowed her to see the Spiritual Realm from the very day she was born.

Although her parents had no way of knowing the girl would grow up seeing and believing that monsters walked the Earth, they treated her as if she was a precious piece of glass, handling her with utmost care and love, never once doing anything that might put her in harm’s way. And that was how she lived. At home with her mother day and night, the young girl grew and grew, taking her first steps at only five months old, and was speaking only three months after that. By the time Clara had turned one, she had already begun to show signs of her intelligence and natural ability; she could walk, talk, climb up chairs and sofas, say her own name, and even eat without getting food everywhere.

A bonafide savant in her parents eyes, the girl proved herself worthy of entering into a local day care agency , allowing her parents to return to their jobs, fully confident that their daughter would be well taken care of.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

Her first day at the new daycare started out just as any other day would have; she woke up to her smiling mother and was given a bath plus a fresh, new diaper. She ate breakfast, a simple bowl of instant oatmeal and, after spending nearly half an hour trying to stop her mother from putting her into a “pretty little girl dress”, the girl was taken to her daycare, crying once she realized she would be without her beloved parents who left for work, assuring their darling child that she would see them again in the afternoon.

They were wrong.

Ten minutes into her first day at daycare, the toddler was approached by one of the volunteers that frequented the daycare, a middle-aged man who, apart from his age, looked utterly unremarkable to the young girl. This man, known only to his fellow volunteers as “Carl”, was not at the daycare to take care of the children; no, his mission, such as it was, was to look for Spiritually gifted children and acquire them for his masters.

And so, the moment Carl set his gaze on the small, golden eyed child, the girls fate was sealed.

He could sense the power within her, and, with utmost speed, he picked her up on the pretext of “changing her diaper”. No one even noticed that she had disappeared until it was too late. Clara had been taken.

After lying low for a few days in order to evade the police, “Carl” immediately took Clara to the headquarters of his organization, known only as “The Saints of the Grimoire”, a secret society of Spiritually aware men and women who worshipped an ancient tome, rumored to have been written during the construction of the Tower of Babel. “Carl” had been sent out by the cult in order to find and kidnap Spiritually aware children, so that their souls might be sacrificed to the book in order to restore it to its former glory. And Clara was to be their latest sacrifice. Upon reaching the sacrificial chamber, “Carl” brought Clara to the leader of the cult, a woman by the name of Charlene. Charlene deemed Clara to be an extremely worthy sacrifice, and, after summoning the members necessary to perform the ritual, the cult began what they hoped would just another routine sacrifice. What actually happened, however, would alter the course of the lives of everyone involved forever.

The ritual began, much like the dozens of ones before it, with the drawing of a the incantation circle. Using the blood of a virgin lamb, Charlene and the highest members of the cult drew the incantation circle from memory, placing within and around it the items necessary to perform the sacrifice. Charlene began the ritual by cutting open the throat of a male chicken that had never given birth to any offspring, and begun the chant that would rip Clara’s soul out of her body, placing it within the Grimoire and strengthening its power. Or, at least, that is what they thought the ritual did. What it did in actuality, however, was far different. The ritual that the cult had performed time and again was not, as they had thought, a ritual that sacrificed the soul of a baby to empower the Grimoire. It was instead a ritual which BOUND the soul of whatever child was within the center of the circle, so long as said child had enough Spiritual power to compensate for the feedback of energy created by the bond.

In all previous attempts, the children that had been chosen weren’t powerful enough to handle the power feedback created by the bond, and were therefore fried from the inside out by their own overflowing Reiryoku. But for Clara It was different. Her spiritual power was greater than the other sacrifices; powerful enough that, when the Grimoire reached out to try and bond with her, the feedback created by the action did not burn her body into a crisp, but instead expanded her power beyond what it could have possibly been on her own. The effects of the newly created bond knocked Clara unconscious, her mind overflowing with new sensations as the Grimoire flared to life once again. The ritual would have ended there, had the cultists known of what had truly occurred. But they did not. So they continued, performing one depraved act after another, slaughtering female horses after taking their virginity, sodomizing Clara with the hilt of an ancient sword covered in goats blood, and so many more things.

Hours had passed since the ritual had begun, and Charlene’s cult of book worshippers had finally reached the final part of the ritual. Drawing forth a rust covered blade, Charlene approached the still unconscious Clara, bringing the weapon down as if to stab the poor girl in the skull. It was then that the Grimoire reacted. Blowing itself open, the Grimoire flung through pages of indecipherable script, calling forth it’s eldritch power by forcing Clara to utter a single word in a tongue so ancient that all who heard it knew what it meant, even they knew not how they knew. And so Clara spoke, drawing upon her newly enhanced powers to form a shield of pure Spiritual Energy that stopped Charlene’s blade just inches before it struck.

The ritual had ended. And Clara was still alive. Alive, awake, in pain, and terrified of the blade hanging just inches from her skull. The events that immediately followed the failed Ritual have largely been forgotten by all of those involved (mainly because the few that are still alive refuse to talk about it out of fear and/or regret), however, from what little information COULD be scraped together from the various eyewitness accounts and secondhand tales, the events that took place over the course of the next several months of Clara’s life are as follows:

Charlene, the leader of the Saints of the Grimoire, took Clara and the Grimoire away from the Ritual Chamber, her beliefs in scrambles as she felt the child's power grow and link itself to the book she had worshipped for two decades. Locking herself, the book, and Clara into a hidden chamber, Charlene sat inside the small room for hours on end, trying to decipher what had happened, while Clara, still terrified and in pain, cried her eyes out. Upset and confused, Charlene lashed out at the baby, her hand once more being blocked by a shield of magical energy that sent a jolt through Charlene’s arm. It was in that moment that she understood what she had done, what she had BEEN doing for the past thirty years. And so she wept. Wept for the children she had murdered, wept for the depraved things she had her colleagues had done. But most of all, she wept for the Grimoire. Not out of fear or sadness, but out of joy. For it had finally become whole again. It has finally found it’s host. Her cult had finally accomplished what it had set out to do nearly two hundred years ago.

Not soon after this, Charlene emerged from the chamber, Clara and Grimoire in hand. She and her cult had a new mission now. To raise the girl they had captured, raise her to become a weapon capable of bringing back the days of old, the days when the Spiritually Powerful ruled over the masses with an iron fist. When Charlene relayed the news to her fellow Saints, many of the rejoiced, celebrating their triumph over the world and the child that would herald their coming power. However, not everyone was pleased at this new revelation. Charlene’s husband, a man by the name of Albert, grew jealous of the young Clara, having long lusted after the power of the Grimoire. Unable to bear the thought of another wielding such power, Albert rose up against his wife, and, in a pitched battle, was defeated by the slimmest of margins. Albert escaped with his life, vowing to return for the Grimoire one day, and lay waste to the child that had stolen it from him.

After the battle, Charlene and what remained of her cult shored up their defenses, drawing all of their resources to themselves as they began to raise the young child, filling her mind with their beliefs and ideals until she became old enough to properly wield the magic that she had access to. And so, for the next eleven years, Charlene and her cultists raised Clara in this way, until the day she turned twelve. On that day, Charlene, who had taken over as Clara’s “Mother”, handed Clara the Grimoire, and, in a stunning move, took her out of the castle and into the wilderness that surrounded the castle. She left Clara there, forcing the young girl to learn how to survive and fight in a harsh and unforgiving environment for six entire months.

By the time Clara made it make to the cultists castle, she had gone from a curious, tough young tomboy into a battle hardened warrior capable of taking down an entire pack of wolves with her bare hands. Charlene, impressed with how Clara had grown, began sending the young spell caster out on Missions that furthered the cult’s goals, all the while making sure the young sorceress practiced learning and mastering the spells she had at her command, particularly those that revolved around offense.

And that was life for Clara. For eighteen months, she trained and practiced, occasionally venturing outside of the castle to steal from banks or kill people who opposed the cult’s power and got in their way. It seemed as if Charlene’s mental brainwashing had taken full effect; Clara was a loyal, powerful soldier willing to do everything and anything for the cult. Or at least, she would have been, had Charlene not missed a single, solitary detail in her brainwashing. She had forgotten to erase the memories of Clara’s parents, buried deep within her psyche. Normally, it wouldn't have mattered if Clara remembered them or not, as it was highly unlikely she would ever encounter them again. But the Grimoire had plans for Clara, plans that didn't involve her being a puppet to the Saints. And so it used its influence to make Charlene forget about the girl’s parents, causing the cult leader to send Clara on one last mission before she turned fourteen.

It was an assassination mission, one that was of the utmost importance to the Saints. Two members of the elected government of Germany, a husband and wife duo that had stormed the polls in a landslide victory, had slowly but surely opposed the Saints agenda, working behind the scenes to take down the cult and strip it of any power that it had. They had become a major thorn in the cults side, and had managed to survive multiple assassination attempts. But Charlene had never sent Clara to kill them. And now she was. Travelling out from the castle, Clara followed her two targets for over a week, determining the absolute perfect time to strike would be in the middle of the night on Thursday, as it was a day when both the husband and the wife returned late enough to be unaware of any danger.

Thursday night came, and, like the perfect soldier she was, Clara struck just as the couple was at their most vulnerable; the pair were crying over what appeared to be a portrait of a young, green haired baby. Clara killed the husband and wife with ease, setting the crime scene up to look like a murder-suicide that occurred over a fight about the family’s baby. However, before Clara could leave the scene of the crime and inform Charlene of her success, something odd happened. The wife, whom should have been dead, had crawled up to Clara’s legs, grasping her ankle and choking out a single sentence before she bleed out onto the carpet. “Clara” She said, “Clara, why did you do this... to us..”. Those words, coupled with the picture clasped within her other hand, unleashed a flood of memories that shattered Clara’s mind, and washed away nearly all of the brainwashing that had been done to her over the years.

She had killed her parents. The parents had searched for her everyday since she had disappeared, the parents that had run for office and won in order to make sure no one else would experience the pain and loss of having their child taken. The parents that had stood against the Saints, knowing them to be evil and corrupt to the bone. The parents that hadn’t fought back, even as their beloved daughter had killed them without thought or remorse. The parents that had died because Charlene and her cult had ordered her to kill them. Clara didn't know what she was going to do, but, as she sat on the blood soaked carpet of her childhood home, Clara did know one thing. She was in pain. And so she cried. For the first time in nearly a decade, Clara cried, screaming and flailing as she let loose the pain and suffering of nearly thirteen years of abuse, torture, and mental conditioning. She cried for hours, until, finally, they simply stopped. She cried herself out. there was nothing left in her but emptiness now.

Emptiness, and a desire to become the child that her parents had never had.

But first, she needed to escape the Saints. Clara knew she couldn't just run from them; not with the influence they had throughout Germany. No, she would have to find a way to kill them, or, barring that, trick them into believing she had died, and taken the Grimoire with her. However, as Clara returned to the Saints’s castle, she caught sight of something that would change her life forever. A man, hooded and cloaked, was approaching the castle, chanting a spell in a language she did not recognize. But she recognized the spells effect. A massive ball of fire plowed into the castle, killing dozens of people, even as Clara rushed inside, knowing she would have to grab whatever clothes, money, and weapons she could find before the hooded man with a Crow tattooed on his tongue and his group of sword wielding men killed everyone in the Castle. And of course, she needed to take the Grimoire away from Charlene.

Clara gathered her belongings, stuffing them and anything else found useful into a brown burlap sack, including a pair of knives, modified so that they had brass knuckles attached to the grips, an extra set of clothes, and nearly twelve thousand american dollars. With these things in hand, Clara headed deep into the Castle, knowing she would find Charlene and whoever else was still alive within the Grimoire’s chambers, defending the book with their last breath. Clara reached the chamber swiftly, finding Charlene and one of the strange man's companions locked in a desperate struggle that Charlene seemed close to winning. Clara, knowing that this would be her one and only chance to free herself from Charlene, threw herself into the fight, pushing the sword wielder away as she fought against her adopted mother. Charlene, however, was still too much for Clara to handle on her own, and, would have lost to Charlene had it not been for some timely intervention from the sword wielding man.

Working together (despite Clara’s protests), the pair managed to overwhelm Charlene, and, as Clara landed the final, killing blow on her captor, she felt the last of Charlene’s influence leave her mind. Without even thanking her ally for the assist, Clara left, taking the Grimoire with her as she wandered away from the burning castle with only the few things she could carry inside her brown burlap sack. Now, she had no one. Clara was on her own, running through the countryside of Germany and living off the land.

Nearly a week after she had escaped from the clutches of the Saints, Clara “met” the same man who had helped her fight off Charlene in the Saints’ Castle. He was badly wounded, and although Clara had little supplies, she took him in anyway, doing her best to heal him with her magical abilities. During this time, Clara got to know the man, who was apparently barely older than her, and quickly grew to like him, even if he was utterly infuriating (what kind of person berates someone for stealing after said person saves their life anyway). She asked his name, and, saying he didn't have one anymore, Clara dubbed him “Charlie”. Thus began would Clara believes to be a healthy, stable relationship. However, what Clara didn't realize is that, despite Charlie being completely real to her, he was in fact just an illusion, a manifestation of her childhood innocence that she had only just recently rediscovered. It was bloody, wounded, distorted and utterly weak, and so her mind had responded by projecting it outwards, in the form of the man that had saved her from Charlene and the Saints.

So, for the next eight years, Clara and her friend Charlie travelled the countryside of Europe and Asia, scrounging off the land and doing what they could to stay healthy, and meeting many Spiritually aware men and women along the way. Clara, of course, studied the Grimoire as much as possible, gleaning little more about offensive magic than what she already had from it’s eldritch spells and incantations (although her skills with Defensive and Healing spells increased greatly during this time). Eventually, Clara and Charlie made their way off of the mainland of Asia, landing on the coast of Japan, and travelling through the mountains until she reached a small forested area in the middle of the country, where she encountered a powerful Plus Soul that attacked her for no apparent reason. He was quickly defeated, and, just as she was about to purify his soul and send him to the next life, he disappeared, and Clara, not knowing what to do, simply carried on, travelling to the Spiritual hotbed of Tokyo, for reasons unknown...

Roleplay Sample: It was a cold, wintry morning that greeted the still waking woman; her chocolate gaze, blurred from a hard night’s sleep, drifted lazily about the dim cave, settling on the form of her companion only after she had given their current abode a quick visual search. Charlie would have called it paranoia, but she knew better. Even with Drakey and Grimm out on night patrol, it paid to make certain that the Saints didn’t get the drop on the in the middle of the night. Especially now that they were back in Germany.

Rubbing the weariness out of her eyes as best she could, Clara let loose a long, relaxing yawn, the muscles in her back and neck protesting at the movement despite the bulky sleeping bag that had been between them and the hard cave floor throughout most of the night. The woman felt her cheeks grow hot at the thought of what had transpired before she had gone to bed – even after four years together, she still couldn’t quite get over how embarrassing it was to be with him like that.

It was just so… weird. But in a good way. He made her feel happy, made her feel safe even when they slept together in a dark cave in the middle of nowhere. She could be vulnerable with him. Could trust him. She did trust him. She loved him, in a way she hadn’t loved anyone else in her entire life. He made her whole. Like a soul mate, as cliché as that sounded.

Shifting her gaze towards the front of the cave, the sorceress stared out into the pre-dawn morning, her ears picking up nothing but the faint crackling of what remained of last night’s campfire. Off in the distance, she could feel Grimm and Drakey (who was, despite being summoned by the book, still connected to her tangentially) stalking through opposite ends of the forest. For a creature the size of a small building, it could be surprisingly stealthy when it wanted to be- the green-haired woman hadn’t heard a single tree fall, bend, or creak the entire night.

With the way your companion was making you scream, it is a miracle you managed to get any rest at all last night child. The Grimoire’s cold, metallic voice rattled through her head as she looked out into the forest, her cheeks growing hotter and more luminescent as she scrambled to unzip her sleeping bag. Did he always have to bring up her night time proclivities the moment she woke up?

Shut UP Grimm! Honestly! She did not need this right now- it wasn’t even dawn yet and he was already acting like his usual, saucy asshole self. There was too much at stake today for her to have to put up with his stress inducing barbs and the weight of what she had planned. I don’t need any of your shit today! I’ve got too much stress as is and-

I know, child. The words came at her soft, their simulated concern almost convincing enough to be considered the real thing, had they not bled through her mind like some kind of poisonous ooze. I only wished for you to know that you were indeed quite loud the previous night, and that you ought to take the time between now and when your lover awakens to sleep a little longer. Today will be a difficult day.

A sigh escaped the witch’s lips at that, and with it went the anger that had begun to bubble up to the surface. It was too early in the morning for her to get angry at the damn floating menace, even if he did deserve it. Whatever Grimm. Whatever. The woman didn’t bother addressing his other point about sleeping in; once she was awake, she was awake, not matter how poorly she’d slept the night before. It was a habit she’d picked up during her thirteen years under the Saints’ thumb, one that she’d kept in spite of how bad it might seem to others. You never knew when being able to wake up whenever you wanted and stay up for as long as you needed to would come in handy.

Anything happen while we were asleep?

No, no. Nothing out of the ordinary. The tome’s response was immediate, but swimming with artificial mirth. Something had happened, but nothing that would have caused her any concern; he’d have told her if it was important (probably). Which left only one alternatively.

A moment of silence passed as Clara finally managed to undo her sleeping bag’s zipper, but she broke it the second her feet were free of the nylon contraptions web. God but it felt good to get some fresh air on her toes, even if it was cold. What did you do Grimm? The question had to be asked, even if she had a pretty good general idea of what had happened. Paranoia didn’t exist when it came to the Saints.

There was an audible pause in the back of the woman’s mind, almost as if the book was contemplating telling her at all, but it didn’t last long, a few seconds at most, and before she could push the issue, Grimm had responded. Your pet stumbled upon a group of campers two-thousands and sixteen cubits inside the perimeter- rather than have it kill them, I decided to have it instill a measure of fear in their mortals hearts. It was quite amusing to watch them give into their primal instincts and turn on one another.

Tch. Typical Grimm. It was a wonder she’d even asked- the witch knew his tendency for cruelty all too well, having been on the receiving end of his biting wit and sarcasm for as long as she could remember. Lately she’d been giving almost as much as she got, but still. She ought to have left the matter well enough alone, especially since she’d known his answer was going to be along those lines. As long as none of them died, I really don’t care what you did to them. He had his orders, but that meant little to the floating bastard. In the heat of the moment, he was liable to do what he pleased rather than do what she had told him to.

That was why she had given him free reign to do what he wanted to any of the Saints they came across, so long as he told her he’d found one of them first. Torture could bring out such useful information form even the toughest of people…

“Clara…?” The voice hit her ears like a feather against a still pond, its groggy intonations sending ripples of emotion through the woman’s mind. “You ‘wake?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled back, her gaze shifting back to her companion’s bare form as he slithered out of his sleeping bag. Every morning for the past four years had gone by in the same manner- she would rise first, sometimes starting a new fire for them, sometimes not, then Charlie would get up and get dressed, peppering her with questions about the day ahead while he did so. She would answer sarcastically, then in truth, and then proceed to make breakfast while he drew water from whatever source was nearby.

Then they’d eat, pack up the camp, and go about their day. That was how it had gone ever since she had confessed and, if she had it her way, it would keep going on like that for a long while. Forever. If we can manage it.

They rose as one, greeting each other with a tender kiss before splitting up to their normal tasks- she to the (now dead) fire, he to the other half of the cave to change. All was as it should have been and, though the weight of the day was already heavy upon the green-haired woman’s shoulders, she knew that once the deed had been done, that too would return to normal.

I have never understood why you insist on risking everything to visit a pair of decaying bodies. The Fools have been waiting for you there every year. You will not be able to escape their traps forever. They will catch you one day, child, if you are not careful.

Even Grimm’s speech was routine. He had given her the same one, almost verbatim, last year. I’ve told you this a thousand time already- they aren’t just “decaying bodies”, they’re my parents. The least I can do is visit their graves once a year. Clara didn’t have to mention why her progenitors were taking the colloquial dirt nap; he had been there with her when they died, when the Saints assassin had cut them down in cold blood without a second thought. When she had staged her crime to look like a lovers quarrel gone horribly wrong, forever staining the reputation of two good people who had never deserved death. They had never given up on her, never stopped looking, never stopped searching even after thirteen years. It was the least she could do just to visit their graves on her birthday. The least I can do indeed.