[IC] —(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)— (Page 20)

Callan | Marcus | Siena | Ernest | Emma

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔻: 𝔻𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝   / /   ~𝟙𝟡𝟚𝟘
Collab with @Baklava@Chasers115@PapiTan@banjoanjo@Diggerton

Callan briefly considered asking Marcus and Siena if they planned on eating dinner as they were all led out of the building, but the deafening screech and sudden shuffling of soldiers left her standing outside the entrance to Ground Zero in complete befuddlement. Fredric had been so curt just now-- and Rosa had seemed really upset. 

"What was that all about," she muttered to noone in particular. Out of the corner of her eye, Callan noticed Siena. In all the commotion, she'd hardly paid any attention to who she ended up next to. "Did you see what happened?" she asked, sparring a curious look back at the soldiers who now barred the way. 

Marcus strolled out of the observation room, stretching and yawning. This whole thing had been a bit of a mess - what with the destruction, and the injuries. Nobody really seemed happy about the situation, and while he couldn't blame them, he tried to look at it from the logical side. On one hand, that had been brutal. On the other, maybe everyone had figured out the limitations of their powers. He'd certainly learned a lesson about fighting someone head-on. He rotated his shoulder again, surprised at the effectivenss of the healing. He'd have to thank the kid if he ever caught sight of him.

He nearly jumped a foot out of his skin when an alarm started blaring. He slapped his hands to his ears and whirled around, trying to figure out the source of it all over the commotion. By the time his eyes scanned the area, he'd only seen a circle of guards forming. As quickly as the alarm sounded, it ceased its cacophany, and Marcus lowered his arms.

"The hell was that?" he said out loud, to nobody in particular. His heart was beating quickly in his chest, and he shook slightly - both from the cold and the startled shock.

Under most circumstances, Siena would have happily invited her dragon-shifting friend along with her, but normal circumstances didn't generally include a mind full of hypotheticals and concerns. The brunette had, by all means, allowed herself to lose herself in her thoughts as the students filed out of the observation room, a schedule trying to fall in place. Was she supposed to be aggressive? It felt wrong considering hurting her peers, but with what she'd witnessed, it might have--

'What?!'

Her heart started to thunder heavily, grey eyes shooting to the source of the shriek that had so rudely ripped Siena out of her inner thoughts. What was? A cuff? She'd barely had time to register the flash of familiar pink hair, the sound of footsteps, shouting. So familiar.

What...?

"Why would..." The question never got a chance to complete itself as the guards fell into place, barring her view of everything. Was that Rain? Nobody else had been wearing anything pink--maybe another student? But nobody else would be around there. Her mind was thrown into such a rapid series of contorted thoughts that Callan's voice had caused the brunette to physically flinch at the surprise. Slight, an involuntary widening of the eyes that escaped her before she could filter it, and the name that was on her mind. "R-Rain..." Wasn't it? A breath as she processed the question. "I didn't see what...I mean, I...her cuff? I think her cuff was off, but I don't know why she--she didn't seem like the type that would..." Unpleasant memories. It had barely been a week since the last time she'd seen guards forming up like that. But last time...

"Oh no."

Rain? Callan glanced at the sky, considering the weather for a moment before realizing Siena seemed to be talking about a person. "Who?" 

"Wait, Rain?" Marcus said, echoing Callan and wandering up to his roommates. He'd tried to get a closer look, but when the guards started shooing people away, he abandoned the cause and left. The telltale aquamarine hair had served as a sort of beacon to him - indicating familiarity in a situation where he was a little wary of being by himself. Strength in numbers and all that. "That new girl?

He hadn't even gotten a chance to ask what her power had been; he was so focused on the fight that was happening. For her to be able to slip a cuff like that - the only person he'd seen do it was Kusari, and a lot of people had gotten shot for it. With that many guards, someone would have needed a hell of an esape plan to not get killed.

Or, someone would have to be foolish enough to try it without an escape plan. That wasn't a situation he imagined would end very well.

"I...I don't know." With a bit of conscious effort, Siena gathered herself enough to press back the onslaught of questions and confusion. Don't you want to know? A shaken breath, two to steady before she finally spoke again. "I just...I saw something pink. It might have been her." Another breath, this one calmer. Sending a worried glance behind her, Siena couldn't help but start to pull at the ends of her hair. "D-Do you think the training s-scared her into...?" 

Marcus thought for a moment noticing Siena's worried looks. "I'm sure she's fine..." he said, reassuringly. He perked up for a moment, before looking back the same direction. "I mean, I didn't hear a gunshot, did you?" he said, his brain wracking over the last few moments.

"Hell, if she slipped the cuff and didn't get shot at, that puts her leagues ahead of us!" he said, trying giving a nonchalant shrug and unsure smile. Part of him felt guilty - here he was making jokes about their arrival, when he was pretty sure some of those students had been killed. Still, the fact rang true in his head: Rain was probably okay - maybe just going to get a scolding and a few days in time-out, but probably okay.

"Y-You're right. I...we would have heard one if..." If there was a repeat of their arrival. Memories again. Uncomfortable, vivid memories. Taking another breath, the girl tried to tear her thoughts away from the events that had played out. "M-Maybe we should get further away just...just in case."

Callan listened quietly. This felt eerily familiar. She was tired, hungry, and felt like she should probably be more concerned than she was. Apparently some new girl had slipped her cuff. But Marcus was right-- there weren't any gunshots. So perhaps it was alright not to worry about it too much? 

"I was gonna head over to the dining hall?" Callan ventured. 

"Yeah, probably ought to keep moving..." Marcus said. "You got room for one more?" he directed his question at Callan, turning to her. "I was gonna see about dropping my stuff off in the dorm, but it probably won't get stolen while I eat. Probably." he said, adding the last statement as an afterthought.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she chuckled reassuringly. "Siena, you hungry?" 

At least Callan and Marcus seemed like they were willing to veer from the topic. At least there was still a place for some optimistic hope that nothing would really happen to Rain. Giving a weary smile, Siena would have responded to the question. Would have, if not for the thought of food combined with her now largely empty stomach making her body answer for her. 

Grrrwwrrr...

Siena felt the heat rush to her cheeks before her mind registered the embarrassment. Covering her face briefly to hide the flush from how very improper it was, the girl gave a muffled answer. "Apparently I am..."

Marcus chuckled as Siena's stomach gave a small cry of anger, followed by a wide grin as she attempted to hide her crimson face. "Guess that answers that question, doesn't it?" he said. He gave one last unsure look back to where he'd heard the cuff blaring, before shaking his head slightly.

She was probably fine. Students don't just disappear.

"Forward! Dinner ho!" he said excitedly, shoving his own doubts down into the recesses of his mind.

Callan laughed, "Glad we're all on the same page." 

Starting their walk towards the cafeteria, Callan broke the initial silence with a heavy sigh. "Things got pretty intense with those last two groups, didn't they?" She inwardly cringed, remembering some of the more gruesome injuries. She hoped it wasn't a topic that would make anyone uncomfortable, but she needed to know that she wasn't the only one who found it wrong. Marcus had touched on the subject earlier. 'Feral animals' seemed to perfectly describe the behavior of several people from the last two teams.

With the mood growing lighter before their trek to the cafeteria, Siena couldn't help but feel a vague sense of relief. It was unpleasant, trying to think of 'maybes' and 'what ifs' in their situation. Unfortunately, a brief silence allowed the girl to stew in her thoughts. Thoughts about who might have been Rain. Thoughts about her match. The second match. 

Thoughts about the pieces of her that didn't seem to quite fit in again. 

Bringing up the second match wrought recollections of brutal injuries and almost reckless combat. Giving a faint nod, Siena found her next words coming out softer than she'd intended. "Y-yeah..." She flicked her gaze down and away. "I didn't think anyone would really try and fight like..." Letting the sentence trail off, Siena moved to tug at the ends of her hair again--more gently this time than before. Unpleasant memories, both vivid and hazy. Wasn't that why she came?

"I know...it was brutal." Marcus said, trailing behind. "Hell, I thought the first match was taking it a bit far...but jeeze. he added. Sure, Kusari had snapped his arm like a stick -  but he was pretty sure it hadn't been on purpose. He didn't really want to think about what her actual goal was going to be, but it all seemed so trivial compared to the second half.

He thought back to the sewers, where he'd had plenty of time to think. She'd broken his arm, and he still felt bad for punching her - but these kids didn't even hesitate to tear into eachother. Between the two half-dressed girls and Ernie, there had been a lot of unnecessary violence. It was scary, honestly. To think he might have to rely on these people. It didn't exactly fill him with confidence, that was for sure.

"I still can't believe Sander bit you!" he said, turning to Callan and half-chuckling. "How'd that one happen?"

"Uggh," Callan visibly bristled, groaning at the question. "I don't know," she sighed, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her neck where the bite mark had once been, "He seemed pretty out of control."

"I guess that might be a drawback for his power...?" At least, there hadn't been anyone that seemed unhinged during their classes earlier, so Siena assumed it was the boy's power. "I...I can't believe he lost all his clothes..."

"God. I'm sorry." Marcus said to Siena. That had been an experience for his two roommates for sure. All just because 'someone took his clothes'. He was still a little bit miffed at the completely unapologetic way Sander had answered the question - as if he'd done nothing wrong.

He snickered a little bit as something else came to his mind, cutting through the slow anger that was boiling again. "Between him and that dragon kid, I've seen more than enough pasty white ass for a fair while." He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. What was this group? They had the bloodthirsty bruisers of the second team, but all of the cameras had been mooned at least twice with the first team.

Partially out of habit, Callan laughed, but really she was trying her best to forget. Her efforts weren't proving to be very effective, in no small part thanks to Marcus. "Team 3 and 4 couldn't seem to keep their clothes on either," she said, playing a little more attention to Marcus as she tacked on the last part, "Did you see what happened to Emma?"

Marcus's face immediately turned a slight shade of pink, and all he could do was cough awkwardly and hope the dim light didn't show it off as much as he felt it was being shown off. "Yeah...that was rough..." he said, as tactfully as he could muster the words. "As if the giant-hand-slap wasn't bad enough."

Emma was entirely unsure of what to do after they were let out. She wasn’t exactly eager to head back to her dorm where Hazel would surely be waiting. There wasn’t anywhere else she could sleep, even though weariness made the prospect of a bed very attractive. She was left with few options but to wander the campus. A rumble from her stomach left her with a good idea of the general direction she should head in. 

It didn’t take long before she caught notice of the fact that the Suite 430 trio was also on the path to the dining hall. She awkwardly lagged behind them for a moment, ruminating on whether or not to say something. On the one hand, it would be weird if she didn’t, but on the other she wasn’t sure if she had wanted to talk to anyone right now. 

Especially now that she was wearing hospital pajamas. 

She sighed, resolving herself. I should really say hi to them, shouldn’t I? She quickened her pace a bit, ”Hey!” she called out to the group with a surprisingly chipper voice as she came up behind them.

Before she could respond, Emma's sudden appearance nearly made her jump. Hoping beyond hope that Emma hadn't overheard what they were just talking about, Callan managed half a smile. "Oh, hey Emma," she said quickly, tensing her shoulders forward. 

Marcus's heart nearly lept out of his chest to continue a life of its own when Emma appeared out of nowhere. The sudden start probably didn't do anything for his already pink face, but he quickly settled himself and greeted her with his trademark chipperness. "Oh hey Em! How're you feeling after that?" he said, immediately silenced when Callan jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

Much like her roommates, the appearance another member of their motley lunch crew had startled Siena, her steps faltering as one foot stopped too short in its motions, as if trying to lock her in place. What a terrible instinct. The girl found it almost frightening that Emma could be sounding as chipper as she was given what had just happened, but who was she to judge? The brunette could hardly say that she was any better. Giving a faint motion to acknowledge Emma's presence, Siena kept herself quiet, once again keen on observing her fellow peers.

Emma’s smile turned to a slight frown after Marcus’ question. The realization hit her: They had all seen her in the nude. There was a slight pause as she tried to formulate her words. ”I’m…” another pause came, the frown on her face trying to reformulate itself into a smile and almost succeeding, ”I’m fine.” she said unconvincingly.

"We're gonna go eat," Callan said quickly, eager to move away from that topic, "You wanna come with?" 

Emma considered for a moment. She still wasn’t sure she was eager to deal with people right now, and the last time she had lunch with them it had turned out awkward. But at the same time she did enjoy their company, and it would provide a welcome excuse to avoid returning to the dorm. She nodded, ”Sure, if you guys don’t mind the company.” she said, a slight tinge of hesitation bleeding into her otherwise lively voice

"The more the merrier!" Marcus said, slowly taking a step away from Callan in an effort to remain out of range.

'She's slipping.' She wasn't entirely certain whether those words were her own or words that Maya would have said. The thought fell away beneath the myriad of additional lessons and reminders that came crashing over the brunette as she painted a smile on her face. Hollow, hollow smile, was it even passing? "After dinner, maybe we could go through a catalogue and uh...I could replace the clothes I ruined. Or that got ruined. Or uh..." Huh...maybe she should have brought more clothes if this was what she had to expect from their training exercises.

"Oooh, you got anything fancy?" Marcus said, putting his hands below his chin. "I could really use a nice skirt or a blouse. Something to make me feel pretty!" he said, fluttering his eyelashes and chuckling. 

"God," Callan chuckled at Marcus's performance. "People still buy things from catalogues?" she asked curiously, turning to Siena.

Emma wasn’t quite sure if Siena’s proposition was offered at her too, so she decided to merely smile politely and let the other two talk for her. She wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know the others better, so she had hoped that it had been a suggestion directed her way, but for now she was content to listen to the conversation.  

Something that might have been a (badly) restrainted giggle tried to eke its way out of Siena's throat. She caught it, but not in time to prevent the start, leading to some breathy abomination of a laugh. Ew. Terrible. Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought. Before she had time to dwell on that sound, Siena was presented with an entirely different conundrum. "Oh, well I suppose it's a little behind the times. I don't think it's really easy to keep in vogue here though." Fewer opportunities, and apparently more ways to shred designs that were painstakingly pored over. She could only imagine the heart attacks that Maya would have had over what had happened in the previous matches. "It's usually less of a hassle than trying to dig through a web store until you buy, I guess?" 

She twisted a lock of hair around a finger and pulled. 

"But if you're worried about gendered clothing, Burberry always has a nice selection of both spectrums."

Marcus cocked an eyebrow at Siena and tilted his head slightly. "Burberry? Is that a brand?" he asked, wracking his brain for the keyword. It was nothing he'd ever heard of - it was equally possible that Siena was calling him some mean foreign name as it was she was suggesting clothing.

The name didn't ring any bells for Callan either, who resigned herself to rethinking her shopping habits. Over half her wardrobe was bought online. 

Emma raised an eyebrow at Siena’s suggestion. Emma, for one, was familiar with that name. Rich girl, huh? Emma knew the type. She also knew that Siena probably didn’t realize the fault in what she just said. At least, she hoped she didn’t. Emma wanted to think that she was a good person, she had seemed nice enough. How do I put this diplomatically…. Emma wondered. Maybe it was best to say nothing at all? No, otherwise she might innocently show them a catalog and have to deal with a fair bit of embarrassment. Emma rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, ”Maybe a Sears catalog would be a better idea?” Emma said cheerfully. Hopefully Siena would take that hint.

What?

The confusion evident on her rooommate's faces was enough to send about twelve alarms off in the back of Siena's head. Burberry had been a staple--almost as much of one as Coach--and aside from Gerwulf's frequently less than stellar casualwear choices (at least, according to Maya. Siena had rarely seen him for long enough to judge when he wasn't in something painstakingly selected for his build), men's fashion was just a bit beyond her scope of recognition. And wasn't Burberry the closest to the casualwear she'd seen around campus? How had something as simple as picking clothes out become so complicated...?

"That's the...department store?" Uncertainty laced the ends of Siena's words. She'd never really paid attention to it, having had all the necessities in reach. Desperately grasping at the slipping grains of memory from her last (and only) jaunt through a similarly themed store, Siena struggled to remember the shapes and colors of what she'd seen there. They were amorphous splotches of colors at best. "I...suppose? I-I er...I'm not very familiar with stores my caretakers don't approve of." A pause. Maybe didn't was a better word.

"Wait. Caretakers?" Came Marcus's almost shocked reply. He'd figured that Siena was one of the wealthier people here from their first night - the almost literal pile of things she'd had waiting when they got shoved into their room had alerted him to that fact. It was only now that he was starting to get a grasp of how much wealthier she was. Caretakers, not knowing what Sears was? They were all wildly abstract concepts to him, at least.

"Oh, y-yeah. Since my parents were pretty busy, I think." At least, that was what she was convinced of. That had been the easiest explanation for the brunette to process about her living situation, and she certainly believed it. The memories she did have of both had been fond enough, but work made money, right? "Er...is that really weird...?"

"I mean-- when I was younger, my parents would drop my brother and I off at our grandparents house all day while they went to work. So it's probably not that weird?" Callan did her best to relate, but the way Siena was talking about her caretakers did seem a little strange. Firstly, that she seemed to have more than one. Secondly, that she was talking in present tense. Nannies and babysitters weren't anything new, but wasn't Siena a little old for that? How busy were her parents exactly? 

Emma did her best to make her smiler bigger. This was... awkward. She'd tried to save Siena any further embarrasment, but had inadvertently dug her deeper. "It's fine, Siena." Emma said in an astonishingly sincere tone. "We're all coming from different places, so it's not very surprising that we've had different experiences, right?" Emma had known a lot of people like Siena in the past. It's easy for people like her to accidently offend others, but Emma knew it was out of ignorance, not malice. Well, sometimes it was out of malice, but this didn't appear to be the case here. 

A careful smile. It was different out of the estate. "Certainly. I suppose I'm still getting used to the idea of being out here." She should have stopped there, but the next words came out before the filter could catch them. "I guess I still have to get used to seeing more than two faces every day though."

Marcus pondered for a bit; only seeing two faces every day? That certainly didn't seem...healthy. Pointing that out, however, would probably not be the greatest of ideas. His aching rib reminded him that he needed to choose his words carefully, and he stole a quick glance at Callan. And what, exactly, did she mean by 'being out here'?

"Two...?" Callan couldn't make sense of that. "You mean, uh... like you were homeschooled?"

"Oh, sort of." The realization was catching up to her just a fraction of a second too late. She should have just agreed to "homeschooled" as an explanation. "I wasn't really allowed away from home. My parents were really overprotective, I guess?"

"Siena...." Marcus started, the words coming out slowly. "How much experience do you have being away from home? Like, before you got here? Did you ever get to go out and explore?"

"Er..." It took a moment to think of the answer. After a moment of contemplation, Siena resigned herself to at least part of the truth. "I didn't really ever have to. Gerwulf always took care of things if we ever had to...'explore' anywhere."

Marcus didn't say anything, only looking to the rest of the group. If Siena was that sheltered...this was going to be an interesing experience for Suite 430.

Emma gave a subtle sigh. She had tried to toss poor Siena a rope twice, and it seemed to only be causing her more embarassment. "Well, that means you have a lot of stuff to see, doesn't it? We'll have to get you out into the town so you can take a look at what you've been missing. That'd be kind of fun, wouldn't it?" Emma said, looking across the group. Hopefully that would be good enough.

"Yeah," Callan smiled encouragingly, "I've been meaning to explore the town a bit more. If you ever need someone to go with you, I'd be down." Part of her was excited to see Siena's take on Crimen Culpae. It wasn't nearly as big as Atlanta, but it was probably huge to someone like Siena. She remembered Siena had said she lived at a 'big estate'. Callan assumed that was something bigger than a mansion-- but probably not bigger than a small town, right? Her imagination was running away with her. She could hardly wrap her head around how awesome it sounded. 

But then again, if it came with overly protective parents... nah. Who was she kidding? All that space to herself? It sounded like heaven. She bit back the urge to erupt into a series of questions. Did Siena have her own private pool? An in-home theater? Drinking fountains filled with hawaiian punch?

"I.D. please."

The voice brought her train of thought screeching to a halt. Fishing around in her pocket, she found her I.D. card and handed it over. 

Despite it all, Siena gave a smile that broke through the haze that had settled over her. It felt oddly genuine despite the anxiety that had caused it, but that was a good thing...right? Before she could formulate an answer, they were halted by the demand for identification. Quickly sliding the thinner of her wallets from its confines, Siena ventured a cautious idea as she handed the card to the...cafeteria guard. What a sad job.

"Maybe instead of catalogue shopping, we can make it a g--" Siena's eyes darted surreptitiously towards Marcus, as if remembering suddenly that he was there. "Day trip. It'll be my treat."

Marcus handed his own ID over to the guard as they walked into the cafeteria. Day trip sounded like it could be a fun idea - get out and explore the town with his roommates. Course, being the only guy during a shopping trip meant that he'd inevitably end up either napping on one of the seats provided, or crushed under a mountain of shit. Or both.

"Hey, you know me: I'm always up for a day around the town! Adventure! Woo!"

Emma nodded. ”Yeah, it’ll be nice to get off of the campus and see the town.” Emma said as she handed her card to the guard. Emma gave herself a mental pat on the back- it took three tries, but she managed to turn the conversation away from Siena’s past.

Callan glanced over her shoulder as the staff member handed back her card. She hadn't seen Sander since the commotion back at Ground Zero. He would probably get hungry and need his card, right? Maybe he'd find a way to get in without it.  

Returning her card to the pocket of her hoodie, Callan grabbed a plate and headed towards the section with an assortment of different pizzas, letting the conversation hang there until they got their food and found a table. She wasn't reluctant to have Emma join them-- or rather, she shouldn't have been. The more she saw of Emma, the more she thought she seemed like a good person. She had no reason to harbor any bad feelings towards her-- aberration or no. So what if she and Marcus exchanged numbers? So what if Emma liked him? Callan hardly knew the guy anyway. So what?

She reached to grab the last remaining slice of pepperoni pizza from the once freshly refilled pan, catching the stare of a younger looking boy with thick black hair and wide brown eyes. He gawked at the tower of pizza on her plate, eyes flickering fearfully to her face when he noticed her looking at him. 

"What are you looking at?" she asked, much more harshly than intended. The boy jumped, completely reconsidering his craving for pizza as he meandered over to the chicken wings. She sighed to herself, snatching three cartons of chocolate milk before heading towards the nearest table. Fortunately, it was late and, as a result, not very busy. 

"Nice to see you too, Jason. Geez," Ernie rolled his eyes as the cafeteria doorman brusquely handed his card back. Asshat.

Ernie entered the cafeteria, hair still damp and eyes roaming the room. He hadn't seen his West friends all day, maybe he should try to seek them out and catch up. No such luck. The only familiar faces he could find were the guys he had lunch with earlier in the day. Eh, guess they would do for the time being. Sure, they seemed nice, but Ernie wasn't sure if he felt like talking with them specifically. Whatever happened at lunch could've still been hanging in the air. Whatever happened in the game would probably make things really awkward between them. And Emma was there. Urgh. But he wasn't going to spend a meal sitting alone again, not if he could help it. He needed noise to erase the Rain stuff in his head.

"Hey, guys!" Ernie strolled over to the group, giving the boy behind him an apologetic wave as he cut in line. He looked the group up and down, searching for an icebreaker, "Cal, are those the pants that..."

Mid-gulp, Callan choked on her chocolate milk. Her fist closed tightly around the thankfully empty milk carton and she coughed violently into the back of her hand. Her eyes watered as she tried to regain her breath and composure, heat rushing to her face. 

Marcus chuckled at the exchange as he tried to precariously balance a poorly made cafeteria burger on his tray, along with a small glass of soda. He looked Ernie over, sparing a passing glance at Callan as she recovered. On one hand - he wasn't too sure about Ernie after the whole Capture the Flag moment he had with the girl, but he did still feel a little bad for his peacocking at lunch earlier.

"Oh hey, Ernie! How're yo-" he stopped suddenly, forcing the words to stop before they could leave his mouth. "W-what's up?"

Emma had also returned with her own plate of food. All that was on it was a cheese quesadilla alongside a glass of water- despite her hunger she didn’t feel much like eating after the fight. Her expression soured when she noticed Ernie. She let her frown settle, not saying anything to him. Instead she looked towards Callan, having noticed her small coughing fit, letting her usual smile grow back onto her face once again, ”You alright, Cal?”

"Yeah," Callan croaked, wiping at her eyes as her fit subsided, "I'm fine." Hoping the pants wouldn't be brought up again, she slid them off the table and into her lap. 

Cautiously nibbling on what was probably a piece of fried...cheese? It tasted like cheese. Maya would have killed her, but that was a point lost in the wake of what was happening before her. Most notably, the pants that were slid off the table. There was a faint sense of uneasiness about Ernie's presence, but Siena did her best to try and not remember the eye incident. Instead, she grasped at straws for something that wasn't related to pants, eyes, or really anything related to the matches. "Um, s-so...what electives did you guys end up picking?"

Urgh, at least the feeling was mutual. Ernie raised an eyebrow at Emma's frosty reception but didn't chase it up. This girl who barely qualified as an Aberration wouldn't have been worth it. Ernie did note her eerily quick switch between her disapproval towards him and concern for Cal though. Interesting.

Marc's hesitance was... weird too, but again, probably nothing important.

"Ah, nothin' much," Ernie shrugged, digging into a slice of turkey, "Recovering from that monster of a first day. Chose Home Ec for electives. Snacks and zero textbooks? Easiest decision I've made here!"

It seemed everyone was content to avoid the topic of Ernie's behavior during the flag and seek game. Callan wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. If he was going to waltz over here and try to eat with them, she would've very much liked to know why he thought shoving a table leg through Allison's eye socket was necessary. Fortunately she was still reeling from the sudden influx of attention Ernie's precipitous question had awarded her. She'd play along for now, but she definitely wasn't letting anything go. 

"Film Study was my first choice. I don't know about here, but at my old school you literally just sat and watched videos all class. Great for naps."

"I picked photography, but it also had art attached to it, so that'll be interesting!" Photography had always been an interest to Marcus - he'd grown up a sentimental sort, and taking pictures was the easiest way to capture the things you didn't want to forget about! The unfortunate part was that he didn't have an artistic bone in his body, so the other half of that elective was going to be huge pain in the backside.

Emma’s face lit up a little when Marcus mentioned photography. ”Oh, I picked photography too!” photography stood as one of Emma’s few actual interests, although she never considered herself particularly good at it. Something always seemed to get lost in translation between the picture she saw in her head and the picture that actually came out, although there was an undeniable romance in being able to capture something as she saw it and distill it into something other people could see.

WIth the conversation inching away from the less-than-pleasant thoughts Siena harbored towards the matches, the brunette felt a faint sense of relief spread over the bitter feeling over the pit of her stomach. The breath of relief she wanted to release was washed away by a dim smile and an answer to her own question. "Looks like I'll be on my own in creative writing then." ...that was what she had chosen, right? Though it had only been a few hours ago, selecting her electives had seemed like an event lost to unclear memories. Well...she was pretty sure that wasn't a lie.

Marcus gave Emma a grin as she mentioned that she took photography too. "Oooh, guess we'll be competing for top dog in that class then, huh?" he added, shooting a playful smirk at her. He looked back to Callan and Siena, before he opened his mouth again. "Just try not to break the desks if you fall asleep; there seems to be a running trend between you napping and structural damage!" 

"Tch" Callan answered, almost too late. Emma and Marcus would probably be in the same class. That would be good. For them. "As long as I don't have someone trying to scare me awake," she scoffed, taking another large bite of pizza to busy herself.

Emma was quick to get her quip in, "It won't be much of a competition, but whatever you say." she said with a slight wink. 

"Oooh, damn," Ernie eyed the pair with a cheeky grin, "Hope you're not gonna take that kinda smacktalk lying down, Marc."

"I mean, I can sneak in and and shout at you if that would make you feel a little bett-" Marcus said, interrupted as his brain registered the diss coming from Emma. He turned slowly to look at her, pausing a moment to let the audible silence run its course before waggling a finger as he started loading the double-barreled sass.

"Oh no you di'int." he said, bobbing his head in the manner of a brazen high-school girl. "Sounds like you need to develop a better attitiude, sistah. Because right now, yours is a negative." He finished, throwing in an imaginary hair flip and stopping just short of snapping in a z-formation. 

At the conclusion of her roommate's performance, Callan set down her slice of pizza. Covering her mouth, it became all too clear all too quickly that her efforts were going to be futile. The voice, the hair flip... it was hilarious. Laughing was the last thing she wanted to do as she watched Marcus flirt with Emma, but... it was too late. 

Despite her best efforts, she let out a restrained snort.  Biting her lip, she tried to stop, but laughter bubbled up through her nose until she couldn't hold it in any longer. She laughed hard into back of her hand, eyes tightly closed as they started to water. 

"Please--" she gasped in between giggles, "Don't-- don't do that again."  

Emma seemed far less impressed. She raised an eyebrow in response to Marcus' display, suppressing any laughter that may have came, "That...  just, wow. I knew that you were bad, but that's a whole new level." she took a desperate sip from her glass of water, eyes still staring down Marcus. As she set down her glass she began again. "Seriously, I don't know if I can take anymore after that." she said, taking a quick glance at the door. 

"Pfft! Dude, what even?"

Ernie smiled widely at the display. The joke itself had gone over his head (something about photo-taking, probably) but Marcus' sass was absolutely flawless. The reactions from the others were just as hilarious, if not more. He looked to Cal, who seemed to be going through some sort of laughing fit. Good thing she wasn't drinking any of that chocolate milk when she snorted, or he probably would have fallen over trying to avoid the spray. Nose juice, not pretty at all. 

"You alright there?" Ernie asked Cal, tentatively picking a few napkins for her from the pile on his tray. Better safe than sorry.

Callan nodded, waving away the napkins as her laughter finally subsided. 

"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week" Marcus said with a slight bow, looking to all the occupants at the table and grinning at the snorting Callan. His eyes darted over to Emma, and he spoke in between chuckles of his own. "I'm sorry; if you have to leave, I completely understand. I won't feel bad, I promise!"

"Hmmmmm... very tempting, but I am hungry, so I guess I don't have a choice but to endure." she said, capping off her sentence with a quick bite from her quesadilla. 

The conversation from there continued pleasantly enough. Despite the violent Flag and Seek game, the group seemed keen on avoiding the topic. Discussing the lengthy list of electives, time flew by quicker than expected. During the conversation, someone brought up the idea of exchanging phone numbers: that way they could easily get in touch instead of hunting them down if needed. It wasn't long before full tummies and fatigue urged everyone back to their rooms.

Marcus | Emma

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕟 ℂ𝕦𝕝𝕡𝕒𝕖 𝟙   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕗𝕖   / /   ~𝟙𝟞𝟘𝟘
Collab with @Chasers115@Diggerton

4:03. Marcus had effectively spent the last half hour trying to distract himself from the upcoming 'date'. Now that it had actually rolled around, his calm and collected demenor was quickly slipping out of his grasp. He'd read over the text conversation once more, so he knew which door he was knocking on, and the utter shame that washed over him in viewing that exchange was basically palpable. "Sounds like a plan, Stan?" For christ's sake. Good thing he was charming; or this would be a reletively short day.

He hadn't really dressed up that much. Another choice that he had mentally fretted over. It was just two pals getting a couple drinks and chatting - no need to rent a tuxedo or something dumb like that. He had brushed his hair down a little bit, upgrading it from 'terrible sawblade nightmare' to 'slightly unruly spiked mess'. He figured he looked presentable, having given himself the once-over in the mirror beforehand. Hopefully Emma thought the same thing.

He gulped once. 318 was right in front of him. He was Marcus; cool guy extrodinare! Nothing to worry about! 

With a quick breath, he knocked on the door.

Emma was as 'dressed up' as her wardrobe allowed, which was to say not very. She had paid particular attention to her hair and makeup though, which made her look damn good.

At least, that's what she thought. Maybe Marcus would too, she had hoped. 

She had spent the past half an hour pacing around the room nervously, shifting between checking her phone, look at herself in the mirror, and glancing out the dorm's window. Far too nervous for a first not-even-date. she admonished herself mentally. When Marcus finally did knock she moved to the door quickly, but not too quickly. She allowed herself a small pause before the door, taking a quick breath.

Any nerves slipped away as Emma opened the door. The mask was still good for this, at least. "Hey Marcus, how's it goin'?" Her usual smile slipped its way onto her face.

"Well, better now that I know you didn't trick me into knocking on a stranger's door!" he said, returning her grin. She definitely looked nice; which meant that he probably looked like an utter slob next to her. Already, he was nervous again - worried about how much effort he had put into his appearance. Although, it's not like he would have been able to put much effort into it - besides fighting the losing battle that was his mop of a hairdo. He'd neglected to get anything nice while he was out gathering essentials; the nicest thing he owned was probably the torn hoodie he left hanging back at the dorm. 

Still, maybe it was best to just not be so worried about it; there wasn't anything he could do now - for better or for worse.

"Shall we away?" he said, giving a slight bow and a flourish of the hand, in the universal 'lead the way' motion.

Emma laughed a little at Marcus’ exaggerated manner. He was a total dork, she had decided, but maybe she liked that. ”Alright then, let’s go.” she said, stepping out the door and closing it behind her. 

She hovered for a moment after locking the door behind her, glancing at him. What the hell do you talk about on a first date at a place like this? she quickly realized that she had paused for a moment too long, and was now veering into the territory of awkwardly staring at Marcus. It looked like the nerves weren’t quite all gone.

She quickly grasped at the first conversation topic she could think of as she started walking down the hallway. ”So, how’s superhero life treating you?” not a great opener, she decided, but at least she had said something.

"Oh, you know..." Marcus said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Between getting Bruce-Lee kicked by Kusari and dunked by Siena, it's not exactly how I pictured it going. Not the glamourous, rockstar life I thought might come with it!" he said, following Emma down the hallway.

Thank goodness she had been the first one to say anything, because he had been desperately trying to think of a conversation starter...to no avail.

"How about you? You feeling alright after...yesterday?" he said, the slight pause hanging longer than he intended. 'Oh yeah, how're you doing after all your friends tried to squash you?' Good choice, dumbass. he thought to himself.

Emma rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. ”Uhhhh…” the noise came out awkwardly. Yeah, that wasn’t a great conversation topic. She had to say something, she realized, so she didn’t look like an idiot. ”I’m… fine. Things got to violent, but I’m fine.” she lied. 

To be perfectly honest even though the violence was concerning, the thing that had her worried the most was her inability to summon Determination. Not just during her last encounter with Hazel, ever since the fight she’d been completely unable to summon any of her Tulpas. She knew that her power relied on her emotional state, so something like this didn’t bode well for her. 

She moved her mind off it, and quickly tried to change the subject, ”How’s Cal and Sienna? I’m sure living with a pair of girls isn’t easy.” she realized that the question made her a little jealous, but at least she wasn’t thinking about flag football.

"It's...interesting, to say the least." Marcus said, jumping along with the quick conversation shift. It was obivous that the game wasn't a good topic, so he was more than happy to try and move away from it. "I don't know what's going on with Callan, but I'm pretty sure she got angry and did some landscaping last night, or something." he said, remembering the tree that had been haphazardly tossed to the side last night.

"Siena's...I'm not sure. I can't quite get a read on her, but she seems friendly enough." Marcus said, shrugging. He contemplated making a joke about the white-haired boy's infatuation (not to mention allowing Siena to feed him snacks), but decided against it. If that sort of rumour spread, he was all to sure it'd work around to screw him over.

"And there's the dog. That's a treat." Marcus said, a slight snort of derision punctuating his sentance.

Emma gave Marcus a slight look of befuddlement. ”Not a dog fan?” she said curiously, Lizzy’s near-cartoonish antics on her mind. She quickly forgot about that, realizing something, ”We should probably grab a bus. It’s a bit of a walk into CC1, isn’t it…”

"More of a cat person myself." Marcus said, relieved when Emma's mind switched over to their destination. "Little bit. And I'm willing to bet you wouldn't even offer to carry me!" he said with a chuckle, following along.

It wasn’t a long ride before the duo arrived at the town. Emma had been doing her utmost to keep up the conversation with Marcus. After all it wouldn’t do her well to look boring, would it? The citizens of CC1, as they tended to do, side eyed the pair when they noticed their marks. Emma did her best to ignore it. As the pair stepped off the bus Emma produced a map of the town from her back pocket. ”The café should be roughly two blocks…” she spun around and pointed off into the distance, ”That way!” she declared.

Marcus returned the side-eyes as Emma pulled out a map. He hadn't noticed this much attention from the populace the first time he'd come through here, but he hadn't honestly been paying attention then either. He supposed it made sense; couple of subhumans came walking around the place, you keep your eye one them. Seemed like it'd be daily routine with a town this close to a subhuman base, but what did he know?

He took a small step backwards as Emma whirled around dramatically, looking off into the horizon she was pointing at. He grinned slightly at her, before speaking up himself.

"Well then, I suppose we shouldn't tarry! Onwards! That way!" he said, giving his own point and declaration. He grinned some more, walking slowly down the sidewalk. "So what else does that map have on it? Anything interesting?" he said, leaning over slightly to try and get a look at it.

Emma followed Marcus, glancing over the map. ”Town… stuff. Plenty of places to eat, cafes, etcetera. The most notable thing is probably the Institute. Crimen Culpae is a pretty big town though, and a pretty hip one at that…” Emma mused aloud. ”Plenty of places like the one we’re going to, but from what I’ve seen this is the most popular. Would be a pretty nice place to live if not for our current… circumstances.” Emma paused for a moment, thinking, ”Although for regular people I can’t really imagine why the hell they’d stay in a place like this. I guess they figure that USARILN will keep them safe, but… well, I think we just attract danger.”

"Yeah...I bet the insurance rates are crazy high here. Kids who can pull out trees and crystal bomb a football field sized area? Must be hell on deductibles." Marcus said, looking from the map to his surroundings. It was a quaint little place, he wasn't sure how to feel about the people populating it yet, but the town itself seemed nice.

"I guess when burglars come to your door, you want the house right next to the PD. Must be the same type of logic with these guys - if they're gonna get hit, then we really have no choice but to intervene!" he said, shrugging. "Or maybe they're all actors hired to make us feel less imprisoned. Who knows?"

Emma gestured offhandedly to one of the leering citizens, ”If that’s the case they’re not doing a great job. If they’re here for our benefit you think they’d be less… weird.” Emma said the last part a little quieter so none of them would hear her. ”But anyways, I don’t think we’re really your average PD. A better analogy would be living next to a military base in a warzone, I think. We all saw how close Menagerie’s monsters came to town last time. You’d think events like that would scare them off.” Emma gave a small shrug, ”Their gamble, I guess. Maybe they’d just rather take us than DC’s monsters.”

We are DC’s monsters, a voice echoed in her head.

”Either way, the locals aren’t really what Zhang is concerned with, are they? She seems a little too pragmatic to worry about a few civilian casualties.” there was a hint of bitterness in Emma’s voice.

"Ah, you see; it's their complete inability to remain inconspicious that makes you less suspicious of them!" Marcus said, chuckling slightly. "But yeah; they might just think us being close is somewhat of a protection. She might not care about the civilians, but this is probably close enough to the school to consider it a threat and send us out to save them."

There was a thought that crossed his mind as he went over this in his head: "How public do you think that knowledge is? Like, do you think the citizens actually know there were monsters knocking on their front doors? It'd be hard to cover up normally, but you could attribute literally anything to some students." Marcus said, pondering it out loud.

Emma folded the map back up, returning it to its place in her pocket. ”I guess that would work out pretty well for them, huh? Zhang seems like the type to have all her angles covered, so I’m sure she has something figured out.” Emma considered the thought, ”I’m sure she’d have to balance it out though. If you blame too much on the students they’ll start calling for our blood. They want them to hate us, but not enough to actually do anything about it themselves.” Emma had already realized this reality, but it sounded especially shitty coming out of her mouth.

”But, uh, maybe we should talk about something a little lighter than that? Like… where are you from, Marcus? Y’know, before this whole subnatural nonsense.” She was quick to change the subject as soon as the thought came to her head. Best not to get bogged up in the details of their confinement, she decided.

Although Emma seemed perfectly content with the second change in topic thus far, Marcus's own feelings were slightly different. Easy question, but not one he really wanted to think about too hard. A smoking hole in the ground, now. crossed his mind, but he kept that downer of a thought from slipping through.

"New York originally. The state, not the city. And no, I do not say things like 'Capiche' or 'Fuhgettabout it'." he said, emphasizing the local accent as he spoke. "But I was basically in Vermont, so I never picked up the accent." he said, kicking a loose stone across the sidewalk. "Shittiest little suburb you'd ever see though. How about yourself?"

Emma returned Marcus’ answer with a small laugh, not picking up on any discomfort he may have had. ”No kidding? I’m from New York too. The city, actually. Lived in Tribeca pretty much my whole life, at least until I got here. And I’m a little ashamed to admit that the New York accent shows when I get angry.” Emma intentionally avoided the accent as she spoke. 

"Really!? Marcus said, turning fully to look at her. "Small world, I guess!" he said, chuckling as he walked along with her. "Maybe there's something about New York that just makes us more receptive to powers and shit. Something about the fresh, city air and clean, city water! Or maybe DC just loves New York for some godawful reason!"

”Well, if by fresh city air you mean the distinct smell of garbage, sure.” Emma quipped. By now they had arrived at the café, and Emma pushed open the door in front of her, holding it open behind her for Marcus. Emma walked up to the line that formed before the counter. The place sure was busy, but Emma supposed that wasn’t too surprising given it’s apparent reputation. She considered the menu as she spoke to Marcus, ”You much of a coffee drinker?” she spoke up a little so she could be heard over the bustle of the café’s patrons.

"I'm pretty much an anything drinker, as long as it's not toxic." Marcus said, looking over the menu. The place certainly did seem to be crowded, and he caught himself looking around at some of the other patrons more than the actual menu itself. He wondered to himself if there would be any other students here; it was a big town, but he just wanted to know how dispersed they were.

He looked back to the menu, having grown bored of people-watching, and ruminated over the options in his head. There were a couple of things with weird little names that he wasn't super confident about trying. Instead - he decided to go with something plain, boring, and safe. A mocha - hopefully 'mocha' was pretty universal around these parts, and not some fancy perversion of a basic drink.

By the time they reached the front of the line Emma had finally decided on a drink, ”I’ll have a macchiato, please.” she politely asked the wide-eyed cashier. He, like most of CC1, was still somehow enchanted with the ideas of subnaturals before his very eyes. Emma glanced at Marcus, now his turn to order.

"Caffe Mocha for me." Marcus said, glancing back at Emma. "So, Tribeca; that's practically straight in the middle of the city, huh? What was that like?" he said, trying to keep the conversation going. "I never was a fan of large crowds, so I didn't go into that area if I could help it. Just the relative peace and quiet of middle-of-nowhere for me, thanks!" he added.

Emma shook her head, ”Tribeca’s on the southern tip of Manhattan, so not really in the middle. At least, not in the geographic sense. Population wise, sure. I got to be right by SoHo, Chinatown, Little Italy, all that. Nice place.” ‘nice place where rich people live’ was what she didn’t say. 

”The city has its charms and its challenges. As long as you avoid the rough parts it isn’t too bad. It can be hard being around all those people… all those very rude people. And it’s loud, and I’m pretty sure I already said it smells bad… buuuut I wouldn’t really want to live anywhere else.” Emma did indeed miss the city, but that was something she’d rather not think about. ”Plenty of places to get food, which is nice.” she clarified.

"And that's really the only critera you need!" Marcus said, grinning. If he had his drink, now would be the time to toast it - but he didn't, and he certainly wasn't going to embarass himself by going for the air-toast.

Emma nodded in agreement. ”Yeah… I guess it also help that family is there.” yeah, she realized, it wasn’t the city she missed. That stung a little. ”Speaking of, what’s yours like? Your family, that is.”

The question hit Marcus like a truck, and he turned his head to nonchalantly look over the crowd and avoid betraying his thoughts to Emma. His hand twitched involuntarily, wanting desperately to fidget with the dogtags under his shirt, but he didn't allow himself to give it away that easily. "They're...distant." Marcus said, his words unsure as he tried to come up with an excuse.

He turned casually back to Emma, having brought himself back to status-quo. "The only one I'm really close to is my sister, but she's a pain in the ass." he said, feeling the pit in his stomach simmer away as he grinned awkwardly. 

There was a pause as Marcus thought over his own response, lost in his thoughts for just the slightest of moments. "How about yours?" Marcus asked, suddenly becoming aware of the silence and hurrying to fill the empty air.

Emma wasn’t dense enough to miss the awkwardness that her last question brought. Whoops, she remarked internally, trying to figure out how to best get things back on track during his pause. Luckily, he had offered a solution for her. ”Standard stuff. Mom…” there was a small but noticeable enough pause as she seemed to consider something for a second, ”Dad, sister.” there was a hint of sadness in her voice when she mentioned her sister. Val still never texted her back. It looked like the topic was a little awkward for both of them.

Well, it appeared that talking about the past was getting the two of them absolutely nowhere, and fast. Marcus certainly didn't want to revisit that baggage, and had been purposefully trying to avoid thinking about basically since it happened. He wasn't sure what Emma was feeling, but he recognized the down-tone of her voice.

"I still can't believe they have us doing classes." Marcus said, shaking his head. "Here I was, thinking that I'd never have to worry about Math again! But nope, first thing they make you do in superhero camp? Math." he said, trying to bring the conversation back up with humor.

Emma shrugged slightly, ”I’d say we’re better off for it. Classes are a good distraction from…” Emma waved off in the distance, ”Everything, I guess. I’d rather think about Calc than being killed prematurely by some monster.” the sadness in Emma’s voice had disappeared, now replaced once again by her usual chipperness. ”Plus I was always good at the whole ‘school’ thing.”

"And that's where we differ, dear Emma." Marcus said. "I was never a huge fan of it myself. Boring, boring, read garbage, high-school drama, yadda yadda." he said, dimissively rolling his wrist.

"And if they were going to distract us with anything, why school? Why not something cool like an arcade?" he said, chuckling. Complaining about a little thing like school; it almost seemed like they were two normal teenagers just having a chat. Maybe Emma had a point after all - just a good distraction from what the world had become and a little bit of help to make everything seem like it was the same as always.

At Marcus’ suggestion of an arcade Emma gave a slight shrug, ”Zhang’s probably not a big gamer, if I had to take a guess.” Emma heard the barista call out for a mocha and macchiato. ”Sounds like our drinks are ready.” Emma walked towards the counter and picked up her macchiato. She thanked the barista, who gave her a small wink.  When she looked down at her drink a slight frown crossed her face. An ‘X’ was etched into the milk foam. Latte art was usually cute but… Emma wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be flattering or threatening. She turned to Marcus quickly, handing him his drink, ”Let’s find a seat.” she said quickly,

Marcus eagerly eyed his drink as Emma grabbed it, not quite noticing the little exchange she had, but noticing her looking at her drink with a frown of displeasure. He cocked his eyebrow, moving closer to get a look over her arm and at the offending beverage. "What? Not what you ordered? he asked, before he caught sight of the foam art.

He gave a lighthearted huff at the little 'X' drawn in the foam, the likeness clearly meant to resemble the 'X' across his date's throat. His drink seemed to lack the similar marking - whether it was his little paint splatter being too plain, or he just wasn't worth the barista in-joke was unknown to him. Either way, Marcus grinned as he snagged the beverage and moved over to one of the empty tables.

"Want me to get 'im for you?" he said, jerking his thumb back towards the counter. "I can probably move fast enough to bop him and nobody'll notice." he added, taking a sip and jerking it back quickly. He quietly nursed his burnt tongue, looking to Emma - he wasn't sure how the X's felt about their marks (because he'd never really asked), so he wasn't sure if the foam drawing was actually irritating her or not.

Emma sat down, rubbing the X mark on her throat for a moment. ”It’s fine. Forget about it.” Emma grabbed a stirrer from the bin on the table, taking a moment to break up the foam on the top of her drink before taking a careful sip, the X dispersing quickly.

”It’s just… you know, the ‘X’ isn’t really a great thing. We made the wrong choice, y’know? There’s something about it that makes me uncomfortable,” she’d rather forget about it, truth be told, ”Maybe it’s just a desire to avoid being defined by it or reminded of it… or maybe it’s just because the way these CC1 guys act creeps me out.” Emma shook her head slightly, ”It doesn’t matter. Guy probably thought it would be cute or something.”

"Well, I don't know enough about it to really say anything with any sort of confidence." Marcus said, leaning back and sipping his own drink more gingerly this time. "I'd like to imagine I didn't pick the right choice any more than you picked the wrong one." Marcus said, lowering his voice and putting air quotations around 'right' and 'wrong'. "Just two different choices."

He didn't say anything about Emma's 'being defined by it' comment. He of all people knew what it was like to have a bad memory in the reflection. That was certainly something he didn't need to talk about, and he was eager to bring the conversation back around (having to redirect the conversation being something that seemed to be happening a lot, he noted to himself). 

"And hey, if there's one thing I know for certain, from many years of testing, it's that being cute doesn't automatically save you from getting bopped. Trust me" he said, sipping his drink through a wide grin.

Emma raised her eyebrows slightly at that, ”Sounds like someone has a story to tell. I’m waiting.” she said playfully, taking another sip of her drink.

"Oh no, not a story. Just experience. I've gotten bopped plenty of times for being a pain in the ass, so clearly just being cute isn't working out for me!" he said, chuckling softly.

”Mhhhhhm…” Emma mulled over a witty retort in her head through a sip of her drink before finally deciding that a little flattery wouldn’t hurt, ”Well, it’s working out pretty well for you right now, eh? You’re on a date with a pretty girl, so things aren’t going that badly.” Emma trailed her sentence with a slight laugh. Hopefully that wasn’t too bold.

"This is true! Marcus said, smiling and giving a joking wink. "The lovely company of a strikingly pretty girl, having a grand ol' time, and I got a halfway decent cup of coffee! Surely, life doesn't get any better than this!" he added, before looking down at an invisible watch on his wrist. "Which means that a semi-truck will come straight through that wall at any moment." he said, nodding to the wall behind her.

Marcus almost made Emma forget about their current situation. But then she thought to herself that ‘life doesn’t get any better than this’ seemed a bit of a silly thing to say given the fact that they were imprisoned against their will, forced to fight monsters and each other. In a lot of ways, she felt like the optimism was just a way to make it easier to hang on but… well, she appreciated it. Marcus’ cheery attitude and the fact that he wasn’t constantly losing his shit definitely gave him a leg up on the rest of their party. Plus, he called her pretty. 

Overall, he was likeable guy.

And that in itself was very concerning. Emma was conscious of the fact that she had a tendency to get caught up on people, and she was also conscious of the fact that this was happening right now with Marcus. ”Well, either that or our cuffs are about to beep and we’re in for a tazing.” she mentally reprimanded herself for saying that. She had no doubt Marcus would rather not think about their confinement right after he was just done talking about how great life is. She took another sip of her Macchiato only to find that it was worryingly low, ”I probably shouldn’t mention that. Things almost feel normal right now, which is nice.” Emma said, shifting slightly in her seat, small smile etched on her face.

"What, you're telling me that you don't enjoy a million volts straight to the leg?" Marcus said, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "But yeah; it's nice to just get out and not worry, isn't it? Almost makes this place feel like home, if you're willing to blissfully ignore everything that would have you believe otherwise."

He sat for a moment, sipping his drink, before he spoke again. "I suppose I should thank you for that. For making this all seem ordinary - for a wonderful afternoon out, where we can just sit, chat, and be people. So; thanks, Emma." he finished, putting his cup down on the table. It was the honest truth; no matter how cheesy it came out. It had been ages since he'd been able to relax like an average teenager, and he didn't realize how much he truly missed it until just now. 

Emma rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. That was certainly an unexpected declaration.  ”You’re welcome, I suppose. But it goes both ways, y’know?” she thought about Hector and Miranda, Clark, the hit she took from Hazel, falling off roofs, sneaking around the medical building with Brent, watching Sparrow and Prism fight Menagerie’s monsters, fighting those very same monsters themselves, watching Allison get stabbed in the eye… the past week’s event cycled past in her mind, and it was all so much. What Marcus said was true, this was the first time she really got to be a normal person for quite a while. There was a small sense of peace that came with that. 

”Things… I don’t things will ever be normal again, but stuff like this makes it easier to handle.” she remembered her conversation with Lawrence, about relying on others to make survival easier. Maybe there was a chance for that, even if he didn’t think leaning   on them was a good idea. ”With the way that last fight with I’m not sure how much we can count on everyone getting along, but maybe we can carve out a nice little slice of this Hell to enjoy if we do.” she gave a little laugh at herself, ”Or something like that, not trying to sound overly dramatic.”

"You know what? Maybe we can." Marcus said, chuckling and tilting his cup back. "Eyuck. Now I feel all warm and bubbly inside. Like my heart grew three sizes or some silly thing like that. Gross." he said, making an exaggerated shudder. "Don't go telling people about this feel good crap now, you hear? Can't have people thinking that I'm anything but a yuuuuuge pain in the backside." he said, emphasizing the New York accent and giving her a mischevious grin.

Emma nodded, ”If anyone asks I’ll tell the you just made a bunch of dumb jokes the whole time and that none of them landed.” she took another sip to see her drink empty, ”And that you made fun of my accent.” she said with an exaggeratedly hurt accent that matched his own.

"Wait, can't we say that some of them landed?" Marcus said, putting his hands up in the 'slow down' motion. "I've got some jokester cred to keep going." he added, chuckling at her. He made a big pouty face, and continued. "Sorry, didn't realize that one was too far. Tell you what," he said, reverting back to normal talk and leaning one arm on the table, "next time I'll buy you a drink to make up for it. Sound good?"

Emma performed an exaggerated double take. ”You can’t just go and change the script on me like this. If I’m going to lie for you we should at least make it convincing because let’s be honest, no one expects a lot from your quips,” she stated matter-of-factly. ”But the drink is a tempting offer. I’ll consider it, but I can’t guarantee that I can pull off such a bad lie.”

"Oh. Viscious. That hurts me right here." Marcus said, tapping his chest. "You're just full of venom, ready to snap back, huh?" he said, pulling out an imaginary notebook and checking something off. "Alright. Note to self: don't joke about accent unless you want dangerous levels of sass." he said outloud, shooting a quick look to Emma.

"Only fair that I can take a few jabs of my own with that bottomless pool of sass you carry around." the girl joked, "But I'll lay off for your sake. I'm sure you don't want someone moving in on your niche and doing it better than you." she teased.

"No. As a matter of fact I don't." Marcus said, with all the sass of a highschool girl. "Don't need other people muscling in on my turf, especially not people who are better than me!"

Emma nodded, ”Of course, of course…” she let a small pause settle before gently tapping her empty drink against the table, ”Well, I’m done. Maybe we should start heading back? Don’t want to be absent if Zhang has some crazy suicide mission for us.” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

"Oh yeah, gotta be the first one in line for that!" Marcus said, scoffing and rolling his eyes, before standing up and stretching. Although Emma meant it as a joke, the thought settled uneasily in his mind. He had no doubt in his mind that they'd get sent out on a mission like that; one where all the odds were stacked against them, and they were somehow supposed to not die during the course of it. It wasn't a thought he was too comfortable letting rest.

"I suppose a fun, happy mission is out of the question, huh? he said, smirking. "Like, go talk to the cake monsters and politely ask them to keep it down? Or convince the fluffy bunny creature that he should devote his life to charity work? Just something that doesn't try to eat us would be nice."

Emma followed suit, rising from her seat. ”We can hope, but I doubt she’ll make things that easy for us. It’s a safe bet that whether we’re dealing with Menagerie or DC whatever we’re fighting is bound to try to eat us…” a thought suddenly crossed Emma’s mind as she was started walking towards the door, something that she had been mulling over last night, ”By the by, how likely do you think it is that those monsters actually were Menagerie? I mean, sure they looked like it, but wouldn’t it explain a lot if that was a lie? After all, he’s been off the grid for so long, and suddenly he shows up and attacks the school? By all accounts Menagerie is a good person, so him trying to kill a bunch of kids… doesn’t something about that seem kind of weird?” Maybe part of Emma just wanted to believe that it wasn’t really Menagerie that tried to kill them, after all she had always been a fan of the Precursors. Still, she had been uneasy with the prospect since they had gotten back from the field.

Marcus sighed, pondering what little information he had. After a slight moment of silence, he answered, his voice strained and uneasy. "Honestly...I don't know. They're supposed to be the 'heroes', but how much do you see them doing out of the goodness of their hearts?" he said, the words bitter in his mouth. "Hell, Benediction was here; but I haven't seen Padma or that other girl walking around, have you?"

He paused again, inwardly worrying. Maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe he was letting his feelings towards them color his opinion of the current situation. They were the good guys, the people they were supposed to look up to, but it seemed like they didn't do anything to deserve it other than develop powers. The potential they had, and yet they still neglected the little people. The people who were left to rot because they weren't important enough.

"We hold them on pillars, but they're just people. People change. Like you said, he was gone for a while - who knows what happened during that time? As for him showing up here of all places - well, what better place to find volunteers if you're trying to set up something big?"

Emma frowned a little as Marcus spoke. Truthfully, she had always idolized the Precursors but she couldn’t exactly disagree… still, it didn’t feel like things were that simple. And as for mention of Padma and Alexis, well, Emma knew exactly what had happened to them, but she wasn’t sure that she was comfortable sharing that quite yet.

”I get where you’re coming from, but… there’s too much that’s unclear to judge them either way. For all we know Benediction may have wanted to revive Padma or Alexis… Precursors have always been on the institute’s leash, just like we are now. Maybe there’s a limit to his power. Maybe they made him go somewhere else. Maybe they have some use for the bodies…” indeed they did, but Emma was unwilling to elaborate. ”I dunno, maybe you’re right about Menagerie but something about it feels weird… and even if he is trying to ‘set up something big’… well, I’m not sure I can exactly blame him for moving against Zhang after what we’ve seen.” Emma’s voice was filled with trepidation. She was hoping that she would be rid of the conspiracy theories after her trip underneath the hospital, but here she was entertaining yet another journey into USARILN’s darker side.

"Like I said; I don't know. Until Menagerie kicks down the door and strolls in, there's really not much we can do except sit back and guess. Be ready for whatever gets thrown at us, I suppose. Cursor, DC, whatever it is." Marcus said. "Unless you want to go up and ask the Director herself, but I doubt she'll have much to say on the matter." he added, shrugging. It was a fairly nonchalant attitude to have, he thought, but there really was no point in trying to figure it out. There was a whole web of misinformation at this point, and trying to pick the truth from the fiction was a useless endevor.

Emma sighed. ”Yeah, you’re right. I doubt Zhang or Freddie or Rosa or anyone from USARILN will let anything slip, so it is all speculation…” something in Emma’s voice sounded unconvinced. She started walking for the door, ”Either way, we’ve got a bus to catch.” she said, shrugging slightly.

"Hope you brought a big enough net!"

Oh for fu-

"Ahem." Marcus said clearing his throat immediately after one of the stupidest things he'd ever said. "Y-yeah. Let's go." he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and following her out the door.

Emma raised her eyebrows, mouth opening slightly in surprise as a laugh escaped her mouth. ”Wow, I didn’t expect something that bad, even from you. Impressive, really.” she said as she turned down the street towards the bus, a mocking clap following her statement.

Marcus let out a noise that could be considered a cross between complaint and distress, giving a confused shrug as he did so. "Let's...let's just forget about that one." he said quietly, walking behind her, seeming to try and slouch into himself with embarrassment.

Emma let out a small giggle, "I dunno, that's going to take a while for me to forget."

When the duo arrived back on campus Emma gave a slight pause at the bus stop. "Well... that was fun... we should do that again." she suggest hesiantly. This was always the most awkward part of a first date, wasn't it?

"Oh yeah! Definitely! Marcus said with his trademarked chipperness. He'd actually enjoyed himself; managed to get out into the town and explore a little bit, hadn't embarassed himself too much, and he'd had a pretty good time with Emma! All in all, he considered that a successful date! Now, he was following along as they walked back to their dorms, playing the 'gentleman' role of making sure the lady got home safely. Sure, they might've been in the same building, and she could definitely destroy him if it came down to it, but that wasn't going to stop him.

"You've got my number, so whenever you feel the need to punish yourself by hanging out with me, I'm available!" he said, smiling widely.

Emma nodded to him. ”Sure thing, I’ll let you skip out on taking the initiative.” she said coyly with a small wink.

"I mean, I figured me contacting you again was a given. I need to make sure that you're willing to put up with me a second time." Marcus said, responding with an equally coy wink.

Emma smiled, ”I’d be delighted to have to put up with you again. After all, this has been a good distraction from…” she thought for a moment, ”Well, take your pick. My roommate broke my ribs, I helped Ernie stab a girl in the face, I’m pretty sure th-“ Emma stopped herself. ”Sorry, I’m venting. I probably shouldn’t blast all my problems at you. We’re all struggling here, aren’t we?” she said laughing slightly.

Oh! So the crazy girl was Emma's roommate? That was a nice piece of trivia to remember; if only for the reason of 'never go into Emma's dorm ever'. "Oh no, it's fine! We all need some time to vent every now and then! And hell, just because other people have problems doesn't mean your own personal issues are less important." Marcus said with a shrug.

"But hey, I am more than willing to be a distraction for you!" Marcus said, chuckling.

Emma raised an eyebrow, ”Woah there cowboy, that almost sounds like innuendo. Girl can’t be doing stuff like that on the first date.” she joked, wanting to forget about what she was going to say.

Marcus's face immediately flushed. "Nonono. I just meant that...you said this was a nice distraction and...I didn't mean to imply that you were..." he said, shaking his head and furiously trying to stammer out an explanation.

Emma gave a hearty laugh at that. ”I’m only joking, Marcus. You’re fine.” she accentuated her statement by giving him a small pat on the back. ”You’d think that a prolific jokester like yourself would be better at picking up on that, huh?” she teased with a slight smile.

"You'd think..." Marcus said as a forced grin came across his face. "But the first time I play along with a joke like that is the time that you're not kidding, and I get a nice handprint tattoo right across the face. And I'm perfectly fine without your palm marring my glourious appearance!" he punctuated this sentence with a showgirl style flip of the hair, directing a smoldering gaze a Emma, before blinking his eyes a few time to drive the beauty home.

”Mhhhhhm. Whatever you say. Wouldn’t want to mess up your good looks, if you weren’t so cute people might get tired of putting up with you.” Emma delivered deadpan. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, particularly the scars that covered it. She was almost half tempted to segue the point of his appearance into a conversation about them, but she was far too courteous to try something like that. Still, she was damn curious. 

"Hey, it's hard being funny and cute! Marcus said. He watched her gaze as it fell upon his face, still grinning like an idiot. He didn't quite realize that she was eyeing up the gashes across his face; there were times when he forget they were there, and immediately after a date like this was one of those times. In this case, the newer additions to his portrait didn't cross his mind.

"But hey, work hard and you might get it yourself; you've got cute down - and you've got sass at least, which is...close." he added.

Emma nodded, ”How sweet. Maybe if you keep up the compliments I’ll let you be a… distraction after all.” she said, her small smile playing its way across her face. 

"Well, I guess I'll keep that in mind!" Marcus said, his face very faintly flushing again. "But, I do believe this is your stop." he said, jerking his finger to the big '318' that designated the room they were outside. "I appreciate the day out, Emma - it was nice to just...sit and chat."

Emma glanced at the door, and then back at Marcus. ”Yeah, it was… thanks. For listening and everything. There aren’t a lot of people to talk to around here…” Emma squirmed uncomfortably for a moment. This was always the most awkward part. Mulling over all the dating advice she’d always gotten from her sister, from Riley, from her friends, trying to decide what was the appropriate way to end the evening. But that advice didn’t really matter because honestly Emma simply felt like kissing him, so she leaned in and did just that. 

Marcus also squirmed a little bit, trying to assess the situation. Was he supposed to lean in at this point? What if she didn't feel the same way? Should he just go for a handshake? Nono, handshake was way too awkward. A hug then? Would that be too weird?

Fortunately, his questions were answered when Emma's lips pressed against his. 

After a moment that Marcus wished wouldn't end, their first kiss was over, and Marcus found himself yet again burning a nice shade of crimson. "Well, then..." Marcus said awkwardly, a bit unsure how to respond to the situation. "...have a good...night?.

Emma giggled at Marcus’ bashfulness. ”It wasn’t that awkward was it?” Emma thought for a moment, before a look of concern crossed her face. ”Wait, that wasn’t your first, was it?” she said, in a tone that crossed somewhere between concern and sarcasm. 

"Nono....I just..." Marcus said, rubbing his head. "I'm never sure what to say. 'Thank you' would be super creepy, and last time I said something like 'wowzers', I got dumped at the door." he said, deflecting his awkward attitude with humor. "But yeah. Have a goodnight, Emma."

Emma laughed again, ”Yeah, I’d probably have turned around and slammed that door if you said ‘wowzers’. Or thank you, for that matter.” Emma tapped her foot on the ground, ”But, uh, goodnight… I guess I’ll see you later.” she said, smiling. She turned around, unlocking the door to her apartment and heading in.

Marcus gave a little wave, before turning around and walking back towards his room. A fairly successful date, if he did say so himself! Despite the couple of opportunities that he threatened to completely ruin everything of course. It was weird, he'd been awkward during this date, sure; but most of the other dates he went on had left him a quivering bundle of nerves. Hell, maybe he was just more confident now that he had time-travel powers, or maybe he was just less worried about everything after what he'd been through. He was certainly more outgoing than he had been before. That was something to ponder some other time though.

Emma | Hector

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕄𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘   / /   ~𝟡𝟘𝟘
Collab with @Diggerton@January

This kind of weather meant rain on the horizon, and Hector hated the thought of puddles and wet everything ruining his fun--that is, if they let him out at all after Wednesday. Clark's stunt had earned the mage a second bed in Hector's containment unit, and he had invited the frail student out today, because maybe Clark would find some of the homemade food at the stalls appealing, but a wet cough had answered him that morning, so Hector had left the issue alone.

Not his fault if Clark missed a good opportunity to hang around outside.

Also not his fault that Clark's power made him that weak.

He would feel bad about it, but there was a point where he just didn't care because nothing could be done, so here he was in front of that same old stall with the caramel candies wrapped in wax paper and carefully decorated with pastel-colored art. He liked the candies. But that wasn't all. The cheery brunette about his age who helped her parents manage the stall and set out the sweets liked talking to him. He couldn't mess around with her the way he did with other mages, but she at least was fun to talk to. Hector kept Miranda at a distance when she was around, because her company was more comforting than the nightmare of a creature he confided in.

Except she wasn't here today.

"Sorry, sweetie." Brown hair the same shade, but longer and flecked with gray. Her mother had answered him when he had asked. "She's feeling a little under the weather these days. I'll let her know you said 'Hi.' "

He was on his way back to the hospital building, escorted (or corraled) by three guards, hands tucked in the pockets of his red parka--pockets now refilled with candy as substitution for friends. Miranda slid along the ground near him, compressed into an average, human-sized female with a vertical mouth for a face. Most of the students nearby eyed him warily, but left him alone. A few waved, but Hector wasn't in the mood for it, so he had Miranda wave back. 

They stopped waving.

Emma had been prepared for Hector. She took care to wake up early, knowing there were still questions she had and answers that only the young boy could provide. Despite what was an unusually early morning for her, or perhaps because of it, she felt no small degree of lethargy as she rested on a lone bench near the hospital building. It didn’t take long for her to spot Hector and his retinue. She should’ve expected the entourage, but she didn’t. The guards were the least of her worries with that monster escorting him. Miranda was her name, but she thought of it as ‘that gross thing that ate my classmates’.

Do or die. she resolved herself. She was tempted to back down, but she’d put in all this effort hadn’t she? Before she had decided to approach that boy her voice seemingly called out on its own, ”Hector!” she had begun to get up from her bench, approaching the boy. 

The guards turned to look just as Hector did, tensing as Emma moved.

"Oh, hey! You're that one girl!" The boy waved and the guards stood ready for a moment longer before the foremost of them moved aside, giving Hector a clearer view of Emma.

Emma glanced at the guards with a hint of nervousness. She glanced at Miranda with more than a hint of nervousness. Looking at Hector it was easy to forget that he wasn't a normal child. Far from normal, in fact. She kept in mind what Sarah had told her- 'Hector the Heartless'. Could a kid really be all that bad? 

Emma supposed that she was about to find out. 

"Yeah, Emma..." she gulped, acutely aware once again of the tension between her and the guards, "I was hoping to ask you about what you said... about your stigma." once again she paused, considering, before she blurted out, "You're an Animus, aren't you?"

"No." The boy laughed as he said it, pulling out a candy and toying with it in his hands.

Emma tapped her foot on the ground. That was a little surprising. She figured that the lack of a stigma implied Animus status, but... well, if there was an alternative, that was good thing, wasn't it? Based on the theorizing of D&T becoming an Animus wasn't a pretty process. But what was the other path, than? "I... I was under the impression that being an Animus was the only way to get rid of your stigma. So, if you're not what is it?" Emma asked plainly.

"Dunno." The fingers spinning the wrapped candy picked up speed twirling the tail ends of the wax paper.

Emma gave him a look of befuddlement. "So, uh, just to be clear, you don't know how you lost your stigma?" Talk about an incredibly unsatifying answer.

Hector shrugged, looking towards the hospital building. "Supposed to be inside soon." He poked one of his escorts in the arm. "Miranda says she wants sunlight." The voice was suddenly petulant.

"That's...fine." The man had paused to watch Hector's eyes flicker into solid black, but nothing changed from Miranda, so a moment of tense silence passed before the guards stepped back around him and the group walked off without so much as a farewell to Emma. Miranda remained where she was, though.

Well, shit. I guess that’s what I get for dealing with a kid…

She was about to turn around and leave until she noticed that Miranda didn’t leave with the group. Hector said that Miranda wanted sunlight but… well, she didn’t expect them to just leave her lying around. Could that mean she wasn’t as dangerous as she looked? They wouldn’t let someone who would eat people wander around without an escort, would they?

Fuck it, Emma decided. She came for answer, and she wanted them. Unlike Hector, Miranda wasn’t a kid, or at least didn’t seem to be. Maybe she would know more. Emma approached her slowly. ”You… uh, you don’t happen to know more about Hector’s stigma or lack thereof, do you?” She said cautiously.

The creature leaned in close and placed a finger against its face, where a mouth would be if a regular person's face was there. Then it hissed in short bursts at quick intervals. After a few seconds, it sounded like warped laughter.

Honestly, Emma didn’t know what she had expected. She responded to whatever Miranda just did with a small nod. ”Well, I guess not than… I guess, uh, have a nice day, Miranda?” what should've came out as a statement was more of a question. Emma turned to leave, highly discouraged after that incredibly pointless diversion. 

More hissing laughter, but the creature slid along after Emma silently.

It didn’t take long for Emma to realize she was being followed. She turned around slowly to look at Miranda. Okay, this is a little scary. Emma decided quickly. She gave the creature a puzzled look, ”Is there, uh, something else you need?”

A hand darted to her throat, the fingers long and tapered to a point. But it was the palm of it that pressed against the mark on Emma's neck.

The hand retracted slowly, fingers curling into a loose fist like it was holding something before Miranda pantomined putting something into its mouth. More hissing laughter and it raised both hands to its face, palm outward, fingers snapping wide. The hands then spaced themselves further apart gradually until the gestures stopped.

It reached out again, tapping gently against the mark on Emma's neck and placing that same gesture against its mouth again. One finger across a human mouth that wasn't there.

Emma instinctively recoiled as Miranda reached out to her, but let her proceed with whatever it was that she was doing. She considered her gestures. Clearly she was trying to tell her something, but what? Emma thought for a moment, then remembered something that Sarah had told her. "Are you... talking about Clark's power? Sarah told me that he was a 'stigma eater'... is that how Hector lost his stigma?" It made sense when Emma thought about it, but did were the effects permanent?

A shake of its head and the monstrosity's body seemed to blur like paint smearing across a canvas before the colors and lines solidified again. It looked like Emma now, though the face hadn't changed. The thing twitched and flickered briefly, freezing for a moment. With that, it waved at Emma and slid back towards the hospital buildings, now imitating her form.

Emma called after Miranda, but she didn't turn around. It seemed the monster was intent on returning home and left her with more questions than anything else. If not Clark than she had not a clue as to what she was trying to get across to her.

Emma rubbed the mark on her neck as she watched Miranda disappear into the distance.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Chasers115

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Chasers115 The FatCat

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Chasers115

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Marcus | Siena

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /  𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣  / /   𝟚𝟚𝟛𝟘
Collab with @Chasers115@PapiTan

It was later that night when Marcus excused himself from Suite 430. While he wasn’t too concerned about Siena and Callan eavesdropping, there were other reasons that he didn’t want to have his roommates privy to his conversation. Max was family, probably the closest he had anymore, and there were just some things that he wasn’t willing to talk about to anybody else. Questions he didn’t want to have to answer – and he wasn’t sure if he just wasn’t ready, or he was actively avoiding them.

He sat on one of the couches in the library, typing out a quick message on his phone:

Alright! Long night, but I’m free for a call now!
He sat there for a few moments, thinking, before mentally kicking himself in the head. He’d meant to ask Emma about drinks at dinner, but it had completely slipped his mind. Wouldn’t hurt to send out another message while he waited on Max.

So, I'm willing to bet you'd really be appreciating that drink right about now; got any place and any time that you prefer over any other?
…

Should he have mentioned who he was, just to be clear? Would it seem weird to text twice in a row? All he was doing was clarifying his identity, so it wouldn’t be super awkward? Right?

 This is Marcus, by the way. The super not-smooth one. Just in case you have a million guys knocking down your door for drinks!
It had been an eventful day. Siena couldn't lie about that to herself, much less convince herself otherwise. She'd trailed after her roommate's exit shortly after, bringing her phone, the wallet containing her I.D., and the smallest of her e-readers, tucked safely away in one of the carefully stitched pockets of the beige coat that she'd decided was more comfortable and distinctly less smelly. Opting for a pair of flats that hadn't been dipped in sewage, the girl had settled in a spot of her own. Too tired and too overwhelmed to check the blog, but at the same time too occupied to do the smart thing and just sleep.

So she settled, flicking through the applications on her phone despite not having any reason to. Contacts, music, call history, then in reverse, then back. 

The girl barely even realized her eyes flicking away from the screen whenever her "call history" came up. 

It wasn’t too much longer before his phone started vibrating. The number on it was one he recognized, but he’d neglected to actually put a name to it in his haste to punch it in before something terrible happened to his only method of contacting Max. 

“Howell residence, Marcus speaking!” He said, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Marc! What’s been going on you little dork? Gain super powers and suddenly you’re too good to talk to your big sister?” came the familiar female voice. Upbeat and cheerful, much like his own, with a slight firmness to it that would be expected from her background.

“Oh, you know, abducted by the government, put into a special little school facade, same old same old!”

“Oh yeah, business as usual, I bet. Alright you sarcastic little punk, serious talk: what happened since last time we talked?”

So, Marcus explained everything that had occurred over the last week or two, about the ride over, the little escapade that had happened upon arrival and his two roommates.

“Ooooh, little Markie’s stuck with two girls! Are they cute?”

“You can shut up right now, you hear?” came the reply, and although Max wouldn’t be able to see it, his face did flush slightly. He paused for a moment, as one of his aforementioned roommates came walking through the building with impeccable timing. Callan, with Sander in tow, shortly followed by Kusari. This was not a safe place for him.

“Hang on a second, an ass-kicking conga line just went past, and I’d like to move before it gains momentum.”

He stood up, zipped up his hoodie and strolled out the door. Callan and Sander stood in the courtyard, which meant that Marcus was going to walk in the opposite direction. Curiously – Kusari was nowhere in sight. Probably a good thing, considering the righteous beating he assumed was about to happen.

It was Marcus's voice that snapped her out of the mechanical daze that Siena had let herself settle into, a sidelong glance enough to tell her that he was on the phone. On the phone and she probably shouldn't be eavesdropping. 

But didn't she want to know with whom?

It would have been easier to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut if the procession of other students hadn't come and gone. If there wasn't a curiosity that started to burn hot enough to sear the edges of her usual rationality. Maybe just for a moment--just until she knew it wasn't something fishy! No...that was a poor excuse, but that didn't seem to matter to the bookworm as her feet took her after Marcus, ears straining to catch even the faintest traces of her roommate's conversation. Probably someone familiar with him? The thought buzzed faintly, like thin vibration that tried to make itself noticeable.

He continued telling Max about the week; the battle they’d been shipped out on the first day, the horror that had been Padma – a topic that brought only sullen silence from both of them – and the raw power some of the other kids had. 

“See!? I knew that teaching you how to shoot was going to be a good idea! Bet you’re happy I gave you those lessons now, huh?”

“I was perfectly fine with the lessons when you gave them. Of course, you did bribe me…”

And finally, Marcus told her about the training game: How he’d been savagely beaten by Kusari, and dropped into sewage (accidentally!) by Siena.

“You know, I expected a little bit of sympathy from you!”

Nothing on the other end but stifled laughter. Why didn’t anybody show any compassion for the poor sewage lad?

“Well…” came the reply after a long pause and the sound of Max collecting herself. “…sounds like you’ve had quite the eventful few weeks!”

“More exciting than that shithole town of ours, that’s for sure.” Marcus said, a slight hint of sadness in his voice.

“You been feeling better, Marc?” There was no humor in this statement, just a slightly softer tone.

Marcus paused for a moment, trying to find the words. He certainly thought he felt better, but his inability to get a good night’s sleep, and the realization that he was still anxious around Siena’s dog had shaken that thought. Still…it was nice to have people around him again, a chance to socialize and get back onto his feet, supporting himself on the others that surrounded him.. He felt like he could count on Callan and Siena wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon – probably the reason he’d grown emotionally invested so quickly. They could certainly take care of themselves, but he still wanted to be able to help; just to make sure nothing would happen.

“Marc?”

“Yeah. I’m…I’m okay.”

Another long pause, before Marcus spoke up.

“But hey! What about you? Have you done anything interesting lately?”

'You shouldn't be here.' And she knew it was true. She shouldn't have followed as far as she had. It wasn't just how wrong it was to eavesdrop to begin with (it was, wasn't it?), but the feeling of a weight pushing in her gut. Of something dangerously close to pain as she caught the tones, if not the words. 

He was probably talking to family, and the thought left a gaping burn in the pit of Siena's stomach when it gave way to comprehension.

She hadn't listened because she was curious, she had because she was desperate. 

So Siena turned on her heel, less cautious about hiding her presence as she beelined her way back to the dorm, her mind suddenly catching fire from the flash of lightning, her hands buried deep into her pockets, slender fingers gripping her phone until the buttons were sure to leave deep grooves in her flesh. 

“God no. DC isn’t interested in dog-fighting; at least not the ones we’ve been sent after. Hit the thing a couple times, make sure it stays down, and then we go back to the hangers! Been pretty quiet around here, at least.”

“Hey, no news is better than bad news, right?” he said after a moment. He'd thought for sure that he'd saw something out of the corner of his eye, but there was nothing when he turned to look at it. A trick of the breeze, he convinced himself.

“Yeah, whoever made up that phrase never had to listen to their copilot bitch about ‘wanting to see some action’ every time we go out.”

“Tell Sammie she needs to shut up before she jinxes you guys into biting off more than you can chew!”

“I’ll make sure to pass along the message! But, it’s getting to be late here and people are going to start complaining. It was good to hear from you again, snot! I expect weekly updates from now on!”

Marcus chuckled, turning around and heading back for the dorm. “Oh don’t worry, you’ll get more than that!”

A moment passed as they both laughed, before a thought crossed Marcus’s mind.

“Hey sis, can you do me a favor? Do you remember that picture we took at the beach?”

“Oh; you know I hate that picture!”

“Yeah, only because I actually look older than you in that one! I think it’s cute, so suck it up and send it to me, you pain in my backside!”

Pictures. The easiest way to store memories, and the little things that you didn’t want to forget about.

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that. Talk to you later, then?”

“Count on it!”

He lowered the phone from his ear and looked up at the sky. It was nice to talk about some of that stuff at least – made him feel better than he thought it would, at least. He missed Max, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it – he’d started to grow homesick. This little chat was enough to at least alleviate that problem, for the time being.

He looked down to his phone, realizing that he’d gotten a text message sometime during his conversation with Max:

 Oh, hey Marcus. I sure do have tons of guys flooding me after a week in this hell hole, but I guess I can make time for you. /s

I haven’t really been into CC1, so I don’t really know any places… aaaaand I don’t really have anything going on, so I can go pretty much whenever… 

 Hell, wanna do tomorrow night? Gotta capitalize on those free in-between days they're giving us! I don't know anywhere on-site other than the cafe, unfortunately.
No sooner had he sent the message to Emma than his phone buzzed again. This time it was from Max: a single image attachment.

Little things that you didn’t want to forget about.

The room was empty, bar for the presence of Chief Tater Tot, when Siena returned, blood pulsing in her ears and her grip on her phone tight enough by then that she could feel her case trying to give way. 

'Shouldn't have eavesdropped, stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid...!' But still she tore the phone from her pocket flicking through her cycle again. Contacts, call history, music, camera, then all the way back until she hit call history the third time around. All outgoing. Maya, Gerwulf, Maya, Gerwulf.  Then four more to Gerwulf. She tapped the number to send another call to him, a sense of dread and trepidation washing over her as a faint static filled her ears, an now-familiar tone, and then...

"We're sorry, that number is no longer in service."

She tried three times more, as if trying to overwhelm that simple fact with effort was going to change anything. When the words taunted her the fourth time, Siena took a deep breath. It was fine. Gerwulf lost his number all the time, and Maya didn't even like to answer her phone. It was fine. Absolutely fine.

She whipped the phone across the room, only feeling a faint twinge of satisfaction when it crashed against the wall by her bed before falling out of sight. 

'Temper, temper, Siena. You really shouldn't be taking names like that anymore...'

Chief Tater Tot gave another whine, this one piercing through the frustration and bringing the appropriate levels of guilt to the surface. Releasing a soft breath, the brunette knelt to pick the canine up. Soft and warm. "Sorry, Chief Tater Tot...I didn't mean to scare you." A whine and a small tongue that reminded her where she was. More real than disconnected numbers and radio silence. 

Just as real as the exhaustion that was relentlessly trying to eat away at her. 

"C'mon, Chief. Let's just go to bed."

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by BayRat

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BayRat Oh No

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BayRat

Oh No

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Chris|Siena

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸   / /  𝟙𝟞𝟘𝟘

Collab with @Papitan

Chris let out a sigh as he approached Siena's dorm. He had been sure to wear his black trim suit with a blue shirt that matched his eyes, and for once he even combed his white hair back for sake of formality. His blue eyes looked to his phone to confirm this was the right room number. He was nervous, he still didn't quiet understand this girl or her attention. Perhaps though, this could be the start of making connections with people again for once. Hopefully it doesn't end up like...last time. Numerous times he thought how likely it was for any friends he'd make here would just die, he's seen enough death already. However, he had finally realized that at the very least, companionship can make the present a bit more enjoyable. He didn't have much to lose either. After having built some confidence, the youth knocked on the door three times and awaiting patiently.

After an eventful week, Siena was satisfied to remain in her dorm until her planned excursion with Chris. In fact, she'd spent most of it updating her blog or simply browsing through a few fresh releases from her preferred publishers. Part of her made mental earmarks on titles and summaries that struck her as potentially useful in a combat situation--should she have felt so comfortable with the idea of combat already?--while she consciously made the effort to pick out a few to add to the ever-growing "things to read later" list. There was a comfort in the familiarity of a slow day that the brunette did her best not to acknowledge, her eyes glued to the words on the screen. 

Was this why she'd come?

The sound of a knock pulled the girl from her inner world, causing her to sit up in her seat, eyes darting for the door. A moment passed before Siena realized that she should have answered it. No Maya, no Gerwulf. Grounding herself, Siena brushed out the superficial wrinkles of the beaded halterneck dress she'd chosen before opening the door. As expected, Chris was there. 

And he was...very nicely dressed? 

Shoving the faint level of confusion that threatened to rise down to the furthest pits of her thoughts, Siena masked the uncertainty with a faint smile. "Oh, that's a nice fit for you." The hazy image of a memory came to mind. Familiar. Uncomfortable, but familiar. She pushed it away in favor of the present. "Let me just grab my purse, and we can go."

Chris nodded once in agreeance, the book she had given him was held casually in his left hand. "Alright." He mimicked a small, barely noticeable smile. With the youth left to his own thoughts again, he was once again reminded of one of the scars in his past. For a moment, he thought Siena had sounded like a small blonde girl he once knew. 

Jesus Christ Chris, keep it together. He had thought to himself. While waiting for Siena to return he placed a hand on his forehand as if to comfort a headache.

Fortunately, Siena had thought well ahead of time on preparations for an outing--courtesy of a lecture she remembered about foresight from Maya--and had her purse prepared a few hours prior. Taking the moment to slip a bolero over her shoulders to ward off the potential cold--it wouldn't be enough if there was an actual chill, but there was pain in beauty--the brunette stepped out, her eyes trailing towards the book in Chris's hand even as her mind registered something else entirely--the position of his free hand. To the forehead--the same kind of motion that Gerwulf would make when warding off either a headache or unwanted topics of discussion. A conditioned response reached her lips before the mental filters could stop it. "Is something wrong...?"

Chris Shuddered when he heard Siena's voice again. As if he was surprised she was there. "Y-yeah, I'm just...Still caught up with whats been happening lately.." He muttered towards the end of his sentence, his tone as broken as his spirit seemed to be. "What part of town did you want to go to specifically?" Chris immediately asked, as if cutting himself off of his own thoughts. He couldn't allow his issues to catch up on him here, hell if all things went well this could be the best thing to happen for once. His dress shoe was tapping on the hallway floor, either from mere impatience or to continue to distract himself. EIther way it was clear he was eager to leave these dorms with her.

'Not okay.'

The thought fired off like a signal flare, telling Siena the obvious at Chris's reaction. She knew she should have expected as much, given the events since their arrival. Logic dared to present her with two options, but already she was moving away from the topic of the past. There would be time enough to look back on it with a level head. "Hm...well it seems like a waste to be dressed this nicely and then go to a diner..." Not that she would have known, but she assumed that a suit wasn't typical fare for most. "Maybe we can find somewhere a bit classier than what we'd get at the cafeteria." 

"I don't mind the idea, do you know any in town?" He inquired, the conversation had seemed to cause him to relax a bit. Already he had stopped tapping his foot, and his hands had slid into the pockets of his dress pants.

"Hm...I've only been to a few places in town, unfortunately..." And none of them had been especially classy if the general attire had been any indication. "I guess that means we'll have to do some exploring, then." Despite herself, Siena could feel the mischievous tint leak into her voice. She berated herself mentally, but allowed her smile to lean towards the tone. She had been curious about town...

Chris didn't mind the thought of that, he really hadn't been to the town that much himself either. This was a good opportunity to be more acquainted with it. "Sounds good to me." Chris agreed, already he had turned to the hall and began to walk. He looked back to make sure Siena had started to follow, as to avoid seeming rude. He thought for a moment that it may have been polite to hold her hand, but upon further thought that was probably a bit much.

Making sure that the door was properly closed behind her, Siena only had to take a few strides faster than her typical pace to catch up with her fellow mage, her mind suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that she still wasn't accustomed to the idea of heading into town. A pang of anxiety echoed in the pit of her stomach briefly, and for a moment, the would-be heiress wished that either of her caretakers were there. 'Stop that. You're here now.' It had been her choice. Her problems, not theirs. Once again, the girl pushed herself away from the past with a smile for the present. "Any preference on dining? Or um...preferences on not dining?" ...that sounded a lot less clumsy in her head. She felt her arm twitch towards her hair, and with a surge of conscious effort, disguised the action as simply brushing a few stray locks behind her ear. 

Chris continued to move down the hall as he looked to her. "Not exactly. I'd imagine if you wanted something fitting for our attires we'd go to some cliche italian restaurant. However, since neither of us seem to know a good place, why not just have a little adventure in finding something exotic or interesting?" Chris suggested, though a moment ago he had been dreading this very situation with anxiety and past scars, but now he had the chance to loosen up for once, and being a bit more open on his opinions. His casual tone was made apparent with the way he moved his right hand as he had spoke.

"Sounds like a plan!" The words were more genuine than expected, and Siena wasn't entirely certain that she liked that. She did appreciate it, there was no doubt of that, but it was the fact that it was comfortable that made the girl uneasy. A faint, fluttering feeling of anxiety--the same type she got when she knew she'd done something to disappoint Maya. But why...? "Hmmm, well I don't remember anything exotic that way." Here, a quick motion of her hand in the general direction that she'd followed the last time she'd wandered into town. "So any other direction seems like a good bet."

"Well you know this place better then me." He said as he followed the motion of her hand. He took a moment to think before he spoke again. "So how have you been holding up, y'know with all this hell going on?" Chris asked his excitement died down a bit as it shifted into a bit of melancholy. He didn't need to go into detail, and he was thankful of that. Perhaps seeing someone else who's going through the same shit he is to some degree, and being able to smile through it, could have given him some encouragement of his own.

How have you been holding up?

She should have expected as much, really, but that didn't make the question any easier to answer. Countless answers threatened to make themselves the first. Badly. Not well. Okay, she supposed. 'Exceedingly well?'

"Honestly, I'm not sure." A more honest answer than most. Since their flag-and-seek excursion, Siena had found that her emotions had been difficult to categorize--Serena was a mistake--and that had left her with more on her mind than she'd really been prepared for. Aaron was missing, Rain was gone. "I've never had to process quite so much at once. Not with other people, at least." Truth. "What about you?"

Chris didn't answer at first. He had now been looking straight ahead, and one could sweat he had the expression of a soldier's 'Thousand yard stare.' The returned question briefly reminded him of the dead students, the missing students, and.."Tara..." The word barely escaped his lips, as if he was mumbling to himself just for a moment. The trance was broken when he was immediately brought back to reality. "Well, in all honesty I just hope tonight cures me of something thats been itching on the back of my head for a while now." he answered, honesty in his words despite the vague meaning. He did not want to go into detail, such could drag this whole night down into flames. "I don't say this often but..."He had bitten his lip, as he was trying to choose his words carefully. "I'm..happy you invited me to hang out today."

A mutter that she didn't quite catch. Too short to be more than a word, but too soft for Siena to understand. Curiosity sparked in the back of the girl's head, threatening to use every thought as kindling for an inferno she knew would not be stopped. Control snuffed the ember out before it had the chance to catch, replacing it instead with the concern Siena expected to feel. "Well, I hope I can help you with whatever you need."

Because you can't help otherwise? Or because you want to feel better about yourself?

"I guess falling down some stairs was a happy coincidence for us then." Something felt off. The familiarity was fading. The comfort that made her uneasy slipped through her fingers like sand, and with its absence, a different sensation threatened to fall into place. Relief and dread created a thick concoction that tried to clog her throat, but she smiled through it all. Her problems, not his.

Chris..laughed. Yes he laughed, it was a small chuckle, nothing special to most.  How long has it been since I had.. He shook the thought away. It didn't matter. He couldn't let that drag him, he was being happy. "Maybe this school is good for something after all." He mused, thinking that could have been something Gary would have said. 

Gary...

The youth tried to look around to see anything of interest, or perhaps think of something else to say to keep him from those damned memories. "Eh..See anything interesting yet?" 

'Well, his laugh is a little better than his smile, at least.' An oddly light thought graced the reader's mind as she sent a preliminary glance around the area. There weren't any particularly overpowering smells, as far as she could tell, but there were a few restaurants--no, not really. Cafes and coffee houses, maybe, but not actual--

"Oh?" Grey eyes trailed over a faded name that would have been brighter in the dark. Unlike most of the surrounding establishments, there was a sense of decor that stood out even without the need for flashy nighttime lights. "How's...Rio Grande sound?"

Chris followed her attention to the restaurant. "Seems like a good idea." He had a smile on his face, this time it was less strained, and seemed natural. Though it was a small facial expression, Chris felt light. He couldn't remember the last time he let himself truly smile.. "Lets check it out!" 
Having slarted to slowly lose his fears of the pasts in the moment, Chris lead the way into the building. His eyes slowly traced the array of lights and decor the building offered.

At such an early hour, the restaurant wasn't exactly crowded, but that wasn't entirely unusual for Siena. On the rare occasion that she did head to a dining establishment, it was typically done through private rooms and reservations that kept immediate company to a minimum. Part of her was aware that those weren't normal circumstances, but it had never really been a concern. The restaurant was dimmer than the outdoors, providing an atmosphere that felt almost closed off from the outside world. The decorations were vibrant, the furnishing giving an almost premium aura...a voice in the back of Siena's head told her that while it was no Michelin star restaurant, it was not somewhere that just anyone went. Maya might even have approved.

Though the scenery seemed a bit overkill and expensive, Chris didn't mind spending his money. Still he could feel an awkward tension that the scenery provided, as if this was the start of some overly romantic date. Even though Chris figured this was technically a 'date', or at least a friend-date or whatever, what was implied with there little meet up definitely did not fit the atmosphere of the establishment. The teenager dreaded that this may influence awkward interactions just as when they were at that tower where they watched flag football. Chris hoped for a less uncertain event.

He had politely pulled out Siena's chair once the waiter directed them to the table, before having taken a seat himself, and then proceeded to observe the menu as the waiter poured water for the two well dressed arbiters. 

With a small nod of thanks in her companion's direction, Siena took a moment to glance over the menu. Nothing entirely familiar, but at least she could recognize enough to come to a quick decision. 'Nothing too difficult to eat. Definitely never chicken, and no messy food like pasta.' Allowing the silence to linger a bit longer, the brunette glanced at her white-haired companion, eyes drawn to the telltale mark on his cheek for an instant. While she hadn't done anything to cover hers since arriving at USARILN East, Siena couldn't help but feel the faintest sense of unease. Gerwulf and Maya would never have allowed her out without taking a cosmetic kit to her face. The former was atrocious with a brush for all his other skills.To see it on other faces was interesting. To think that there was no need to cover it up was unnerving.

But that wasn't what they were there for. 

"Were there places like this where you came from?" 

The question had hit Chris like a truck. He had never talked about his hometown before, thinking about it only helped bad thoughts resurface. Although his face had been somewhat hidden by his opened menu, it didn't complete hide his expression. Once again, his eyes had grown distant to reality, as if they had been staring at an empty space where the menu was. It took Chris a few seconds to reply. "T-There was one sort of like this, but I never got the chance to go in." Even after having answered her question, the thought of abandoment still clawed in his head. "Have you been in a resturaunt like this before?"

"A few times, but never just to spend time with people." Brushing a few locks of hair behind her ear, Siena gave a faint smile, her mind churning through thoughts with an intensity that she refused to let surface. "It was always a big ordeal to arrange for it, so on a whim was never an option."

Chris gave a nod. "I have to thank you for picking out that book from the Library, This Savage Song, its been a good help in distracting me from..y'know." He had left the book on his lap while he considered what to order. The first thought was some type of pasta or steak. However he dismissed those choices as they were both a bit too messy and cliche for the evening.

"Oh, I'm...I'm glad you've liked it." A throb of anxiety sent a spire of ice into her chest. Nothing to be nervous about, she knew, but...

'Afraid you'll have to answer for it?'

She kept smiling. "It's a little cliche, but I used to read it just to get away from reality." At least until it had become too close to what was real for her. Siena left the statement out. Her problems, not his. "Any thoughts on it yet?"

"I haven't read a lot of novels so I am not sure exactly how to feel about it. I liked the dynamic between Kate and August. The plot itself however does seem to be well..I mean the monsters in the book seem more human compared to the monsters in reality." He mused, but there was a hint of uncomfort in his smile. 

'Plenty of monsters play at being human.'

"That's true...compared to what we've seen recently, the ones in the book aren't too intimidating." Putting some distance between thoughts of their first battle and thoughts of what might be next, Siena felt her energy flag for a moment. The smile she wore faded slightly, as if dimming with her focus on the present. "Unfortunately, we got the short end of the stick there." 

Chris sighed. "If you don't mind the question, What was life like for you before you became a mage?" He asked as he placed his menu down. He had now decided on what to order, and had taken a sip of water as he waited.

Siena should have been expecting it, but the forward nature of the question had taken her off guard. Long enough to let the mask slip by the faintest amount, a dim light of confusion peering through for an instant before Siena regained herself with a silent breath. No tricks, no turns. Just a question. It was a little offsetting. "Oh, um..." She ruminated over her answer for a moment. "Lonely, I guess? I wasn't a perfect darling, so I didn't get much spotlight." It was hard to leave out words about the sister that didn't exist. A hazy figure that she swore was more than just a construct made to alleviate not knowing why. Making a motion to the white mark on her own visage, Siena gave a faint smile. "Probably not as lonely as after this showed up though." 

Chris paused, having acknowledged that same feeling of loneliness. "At least all of us mages can hang out with each other here." He said returning a faint smile to try and lift mood a bit. Not long after the waiter had arrived for their orders. "I'll have the dozen steamed clams." 

"The ceviche for me." Not exactly the easiest dish to eat, but it sounded like it would be something familiar if the faint buzzing in the back of her head was accurate. Waiting for the waiter to leave, Siena returned her attention to the boy across from her. "I hope I'm not being too forward, but what was it like for you? Y-You know, before becoming a mage." It wasn't just the curiosity that drove her that time. As far as she could tell, most of the mages around her had grown up with a sense of normalcy, and with some sort of reference...well, at least her own fuzzy thoughts would be easier to parse through. 

Once again he had froze. Chris had expected to be asked this, and in a sense he wanted to tell someone of his burdens. However when he had finall gotten to that moment, all that pain had walled up his insides and caused him to reconsider his desire. "I-it was OK, I had a few friends..." He stammered. He had regretted asking her the previous question. 

Unease. Not hers. Perhaps she was too forward? Certain topics were best left untouched, certainly, but usually... 'Not everyone thinks like you do.' The thought berated her, not quite her own voice, but not quite Maya's either. Hiding her internal grimace, it occurred to Siena that she had made a mistake. She should have considered that avoidance might not have been how Chris kept unwelcome topics at bay. 

But still, she smiled. No teeth, just a smile.

"I bet they miss you, now that you're stuck here." 

At that moment, the world began to spin before Chris's eyes. He could hear there very words moaned by his dead friends, 'You left us.', repeating in his mind. His head and heart were pounding. Though he was already pale naturally, Chris's face looked more like snow. It was as if he had just seen a ghost. "I, uh." He corrected himself as he stood up. "Sorry I need to use the restroom." He explained before he fast-walked away and into the restroom in the back. 

He was gone. Siena barely had a chance to register his expression before he had vanished. She recognized it--of course she did. After so many mistakes, were there emotions she failed to?--and knew that she had made a mistake. The smile faded, dropped away as she watched the white-haired boy disappear into the back. 

And then she was alone again. 

'Stupid, stupid...should have said something else.' But what could she have said? Her fingers dug into her dress, past the layers and into her skin. A harsh, bruising sensation in five neat little points. Past tense. Had. That meant more than what she had assumed. The familiarity slipped, returned, slipped again--shaken. With a shaky breath, Siena tried to tame the storm again. One piece at a time. Baby steps. 

She told herself to feel worse.

Chris looked into the mirror, his breath was shaky. The youth rubbed away the sweat that had formed at his brows, and tried to bury the past back down into his subconscience.
 Its over now, its all over now. 
He took a deep breath. He couldn't let this get to him. This has been the happiest he's ever been since he was a child, despite the night itself being lackluster. After a few minutes of fixing his broken emotions, he was confident to return to his date. But not before washing his eyes.

 "Hey sorry about that." Chris returned with a faint smile on his face. 

After a few minutes of regaining herself, Siena was relieved to see that Chris had returned, looking no worse for the wear. She gave an apologetic look, but followed it with a faint smile.

This time, she left the topic alone.

"No worries." And I'm sorry. But she couldn't say such things without bringing the topic up again, could she? Instead, she moved forward to lighten the topic. Easier to make fun of other people than to think of one's self, right? Painting a nervous tone onto a light laugh, Siena took a lock of hair and twisted it around one of her fingers, finding satisfaction when she heard a few strands give way to the force. "I'm not the best at social convention, but I'll say that the fact you came back instead of climbing out a bathroom window is a good sign." 

He had let a bit of a blush from his embarrasment form on his face, which was made especially apparent from how white his complexion was. "I'm not gonna leave a friend behind." Chris said. 'I'm never leaving anyone behind again.'  
"Besides I am having a good time otherwise."

Through the haze of her typical thoughts, Siena felt a flash of concern when she saw the flush on Chris's face. Was he feeling alright? Before the words had a chance to form into a question, the boy was quick to respond. A friend...? The word felt almost clunky in her head. It wasn't really one that she'd used frequently. Callan and Marcus were her roommates, the others her peers and classmates."Friend" had never really crossed her mind as a word to describe her relationship with anyone on a personal level.

Perhaps it was a better word...? The edges of the word smoothed out as it rolled about her head. The concept was...nice.

'You haven't said anything in a bit.'

"O-Oh! I um..." Again her hand reached for her hair, and again she caught the motion before it completed. An awkward flick of a lock not really out of place was all that she could disguise the tic with. "Me too." And here, despite her usual reservations, Siena gave a reserved glance away. "It's nice having an actual conversation."

 "Yeah I have to thank Angelique later for inspiring me to being more social." Chris admitted, before changing the subject. "So your power is from reading books? Can you basically become any fictional character?" He asked, curious of the powers of his fellow mage.

The name of the familiar dark-haired arbiter brought a flurry of memories. Not hazy, but not comfortable ones. Siena brushed it aside and considered the question that her friend posed. "Just...just ones that I can understand." No, that was broader than the reality, but it was easier to declare. "Though I guess I don't really become the character either. Not...not in the same sense as your power, at least." 

"So its more or less gaining their abilities or skill?"  Not a moment later from his question did their food arrive. The waiter placed down the dishes of the two mages with delicate care. "Enjoy." The waiter bowed before leaving the two alone.

The stifled sound of a dish lightly appearing on the table wasn't enough to take Siena's attention off the conversation. With Gerwulf and Maya, conversations about Siena's abilities as a subnatural had been strained--mostly confined to how to hide her abilities. Both had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't supposed to flaunt it, but...that rule didn't apply with other mages, did it? Without so much as turning her gaze to the dish before her, the brunette gave a hesitant nod. "Something like that, yes. It's a little muddier than that, but that's the gist of it..." Giving a shadow of a nervous smile, the Arbiter tested the waters herself. "What about your abilities? Does the power only go one way?" 

Chris was just as drawn to the conversation, there was some interest in considering these abilities to be something more intriguing then being cursed. "Not exactly. In the state I'm in now, I can still breathe fire and even grow scales as a sort of armor, though I am in no way close to the power resulted from...transforming." He seemed to have a pause in thought as to what he'd call it.
 "I can't exactly explain the whole detail but there is a bit more to it then just transforming the body. Its...well, its almost as if it has a mind on its own, or rather my own conscience changes a complete perspective." He paused again. "Well maybe that's over dramatizing it, I'm not sure what it is, but I know that I tend to get dangerous in that state. I've been thinking about using that form less and perhaps start using the minor powers I already have. Though I'd need some kind of weapon for me to feel comfortable doing that." Once being finished with his explanation, he took a sip of water  Already he had emptied a single clam shell.

As Chris spoke, Siena allowed herself to eat, finding the flavors only slightly more overpowering than she had expected--given her current distraction, it was fine. "Oh I...I think I know what you mean." More than just thinking that, really. Siena thought about their brief training session, about the connection she'd borrowed, and about the faint storm that lingered beneath every thought and action. It had been familiar to her, but she didn't want to admit it. "I can understand preferring a transformation too. If it were me, I'd probably feel safer as a dragon than I would as a person." Or really, as anything that wasn't her, but that was another matter entirely. 

And then another thoughtful pause. 

"...er...speaking of our powers, um...about the other day..." There was a sense of discomfort that rose like bile. This wasn't a topic she'd really wanted to talk about, but...she had to know. "When I was using the connection, how...much could you really uh...feel?" It was hard to find the correct words for it. "I-I mean, emotionally. From my end. I...I hadn't really realized that using that kind of communication would go beyond forming words."

Chris paused, having thought of his words carefully. "W-well at first you felt really happy, when we were flying all that. After that though there were movements were you seemed stressed.." He bit his lip as he looked over to her. "D-did you feel anything from my end?"

So she was broadcasting more to Chris than she had been to the others. At least that was something she could confirm about the situation--but the question that the boy posed was...harder to answer. There were things she could have said, countless things that would have been at least partially the truth. That she had felt something there, and something familiar. That she'd had trouble figuring out what was coming from Chris and what was her own emotional comparmentalization failing her at the moment. That there had been...something that was unfamiliar, and that it had scared her more than the primal fury that simmered like a pot waiting to boil over in the background. 

But those were all too difficult to approach, so she lied. 

"W-well, I don't think it was quite as much. I got that you were excited, and I er...I think there was concern when I panicked a little." A pause here as she pushed her food around. "And at the same time, something else? It was...harder to figure out. It might be what you mean when you say you see things from a different perspective."

Chris hid a blush from his face as he had figured what she might have been talking about.  "Y-yeah, I guess? I don't think it was too important...I-if you don't mind me asking though, why do you get so nervous? If you don't want to talk about it that's fine but thoughts like that can distract you in dire situations, you know?"  He fumbled a bit with his words as he tried to grasp for confidence. Another empty clam shall stacked on his plate.

"Oh..." Well, she supposed that had to come around eventually. She pushed a pile of rice into the corner of her bowl before lightly flattening it with the back of her spoon. "Really, I don't know. I think I've always been anxious." A brazen lie, but nobody would have doubted that, right? The anxiety was what she remembered more than anything else, certainly, but it hadn't been present until...

...well, those were thoughts she knew were best left pushed to unknown depths. 

"I guess it's worse now that I'm not familiar with where we are or anything."

Chris nodded. "Well if you need help adapting to this new 'life', if we can even call it that, you can always ask me for company."  He gave a smile to Siena, the sound of it filled his emotions with a warming happiness, something he had never felt firsthand in a long time. 
After speaking he had consumed a couple more pieces of his seafood. It was delicious of course, though perhaps clams weren't the best option at this restaurant. He just figured that such a simple dish wouldn't be messy, and he was right.

"O-Oh, well...that sounds nice." 

Lie. That was a tremendous lie. 

She was relieved, on one hand, to know that Chris was a willing companion. A friend--the word still rolled through the mind at a clunky pace--that she could count on the presence of, and almost everything she had been trying to build since she'd surrendered herself, but at the same time, the knowledge fed into the fears she'd tried her hardest to ignore. That something that frightened her more than almost everything else that had happened in the week. Between her increasingly dampened emotions and her own thoughts, Siena was surprised that she was able to keep the mask on. All she'd wanted was something more familiar, but the only way she knew how to do that was to keep smiling. So she did, with warmth and familiarity bred from practice more than heartfelt emotion.

"The same goes for me, though...I guess a nervous wreck isn't exactly the best company you could ask for." 

He chuckled. "Well I suppose not, but despite that you're one of the few others here that I can genuinely enjoy spending time with. Don't know why exactly that is.." He shrugged, not wanting to spend too much thought on the idea of a 'crush'. "Its been a rough week anyhow, I don't blame you for being..well..in unfamiliar territory. I just hope that within some time we can get used to this whole ordeal. You and me both."  He had taken a small sip from his drink.

"I don't know if I want to get used to what we've been through, but...at least it'll be more bearable with a friend." Finally, she settled for another bite of food, her thoughts still churning like wildfire. This seemed about right--much more successful than her last several attempts, but perhaps it was because she knew there was something familiar lurking beneath the surface? "Who knows? Maybe we really will get used to it all."

"Lets hope so." 

After a short while of dining, the waiter brought the two their bill. Chris took out a 50 dollar bill from his pocket and placed it over the tab.  "You ready to go?"

As the bill came, Siena blinked in surprise when Chris set his own funds over it. "O-Oh, I invited you out, you shouldn't pay for this..." Giving a faint smile, the girl picked through her purse, fingers deftly removing a few bills from her wallet--best to avoid the long route of credit for the moment. "It's only fair since I chose the restaurant." Sort of. Good enough.

Chris retracted his cash at her protest. He wasn't one to argue. He had let out a sigh. "I suppose, I'll pay for next time then." He spoke as he stood up and adjusted his tie. "Shall we?" He had walked around the table and offered his hand to his fellow arbiter.

"Let's." 

There were plenty of thoughts that told her to get up on her own, countless more that told her that she was doing the right thing earlier. That Maya and Gerwulf would both have been displeased with something as innocuous as accepting a helping hand. Still, between the disconnected numbers and the anxiety at the unknown emotions, it was hard to keep playing both their games while trying desperately to upkeep her own. Smoothing out the skirt of her dress, Siena gave a careful smile to her companion. 

Then she took his hand.

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Baklava

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Baklava

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Baklava

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『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』 『𝕂𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕣𝕚』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@Baklava@Piercing Light
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸   / /  ~𝟚𝟚𝟛𝟘

ID card and pants in hand, Callan left. She caught Siena shooting her a curious look as she shot off the bed and pulled her shoes on, but offered no explanation beyond a quick "I'll be right back." Her legs carried her up the stairs and to the room number on the boy's ID. Suite 3-something. Her knuckles hovered over the door and she took a deep breath. It was late, but she didn't care. She had to ask now-- get it out of her system. 

She knocked three times, trying to keep it at a reasonable volume so as not to catch the attention of anyone other than Sander and whoever his roommates happened to be. She took a step back and waited. 

Kusari heard a knock on her dorm's door. She wondered who it could be this late. The guards knocked far louder than that, so it couldn't be them. She looked over to her roommate, Sander didn't look like he was going to answer it anytime soon. "Fine, I'll get it." She sighed and stood from her bed. Her right foot snagged on the carpet, nearly causing her to trip. She wondered if they'd make special shoes for her, something to stop her from slicing into things she stepped on. She scoffed and walked to the door. 

Opening the door, she saw that their visitor was Callan. She raised her right hand to wave hello, but quickly dropped it as she remembered what it currently looked like. "Oh, Callan. Why are you here so late?" She asked.

Callan blinked up at her in surprise. "Kusari? This is your room?" she asked needlessly. 

"That didn't answer my question, but whatever." Kusari hid her right hand behind her back, trying to make it look natural. "Yeah, this is my room. Since you aren't here for me, I'm guessing you're here to see Sander? I doubt you have any reason to see Christmas."

"Uh," Kusari's abruptness caught her off guard. Callan was still perturbed by her behavior during the game, but she apologized anyway. "Sorry," she said, averting her eyes, "Yeah... I want to talk to Sander." She considered asking about Kusari's arm-- about whether or not she was okay-- but decided against it.

Sander sat at his desk, scrolling through some random retail websites. His slightly slouched posture might suggest exhaustion, but his mind was still far too alert. Not to mention the fact that he had snagged a few hours of sleep earlier, so he imagined rest wouldn’t come anytime soon. He wished it would though. Another few hours of not thinking about anything sounded like heaven. It was just delaying the inevitable, he knew, but there were just so much to process right now, and he felt his nerves fraying.
 
The sound of knocking did reach him, but he paid it no mind. It was probably just another guard. Sometime later, the door was opened, and he heard soft voices behind him. He didn’t feel like socializing at the moment, but at the mention of his name, he half-turned, looking over his shoulder. It was the aquamarine-haired girl. Callan. 
 
The replay of the fight came back on the front of his mind, and for a brief moment, Sander looked almost similar to a deer in the headlight. He quickly schooled his face back into neutrality though, but didn’t make any move toward the door.    

Kusari noticed Callan break eye contact. She was being a bit pricklier than she needed to be, but her mood dictated that she not give a shit at the moment. Kusari left the door open and walked further into the room. "Hey Sander, a girl's here to see you. This is probably rare for you so I'll understand if you don't want to see her." She said, pointing her left thumb towards the door.

Perhaps her mood was worse than she thought.

Callan flinched as she was referred to as 'a girl'. She wasn't mad enough at Kusari for that not to sting. Where was this coming from? She looked past Kusari at Sander. She hadn't even considered the idea of Sander not wanting to see her. 

Sander held back a sigh as he rose from his seat. In a few quick steps, he was already at the door, standing before Callan. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Callan; he didn’t really want to see anyone at this time. It had been a long day, he was tired, and his nerves were chafing from the earlier events. Still, she had come all this way…It would be bad form to just turn her away. 
 
“Good evening, Callan” -He smiled, though the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes –“Can I help you?” 

Her gaze flickered between his eyes and the mark on his throat as he spoke-- being right in her line of sight, it was hard to miss. She quickly held the pants out for him to take, looking back up at his face. "You forgot these," she said, tentatively returning his smile. 

“Ah, those.” -Sander’s eyes widened momentarily as he accepted the item. He didn’t miss the way she eyed the Aberration mark, though it was a given. She had been at the receiving end of its power, after all –“Thank you.”

"Heh," she exhaled with relief, glad to finally be rid of them and that Sander didn't seem to be the gloating type. A moment passed as she began to question herself one final time. She didn't leave any room for the doubt to take root. The question spilled from her mouth clumsily. 

"Can I talk to you for a sec? O-outside?"

Sander spent a few moments watching Callan carefully, gauging her intention. Was he due for another round of questionings and accusations? Or something worse? Why did she wait until now? And yet, Callan didn’t seem to have the right attitude for that sort of thing. At least, he didn’t think so. Still, her purpose didn’t matter. He felt like he owed her as much, after all that happened. 
 
“Sure.” -He inhaled sharply, fighting the exhaustion –“Let me just get my coat.” 

"Yeah," she nodded simply, sticking her hands into her pockets with a stiff shrug. 

Leading the way down the hall and staircase once he'd grabbed his coat, she glanced up at Sander over her shoulder. She really wanted him to agree to what she was about to ask, so maybe she should try breaking the ice? Unfortunately, in order to do so she said the first thing that popped into her head. "Are you okay?" she asked, "You look kinda...." Her voice trailed off. 

It's late, idiot. What's wrong with you??

"I mean-- sorry it's so late. You're probably tired," she added quickly.

Sander followed quietly, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He kept his gaze on some random point at his feet, waiting for Callan to speak up first. And eventually, she did. 
 
“Yeah, it’s late. Almost curfew.” -Sander accepted Callan’s explanation easily with a shrug –“We shouldn’t take too long.”   

"Right," she nodded, feeling even worse. She didn't expect their conversation to take long, but she'd completely forgotten about curfew. Was he worried about getting in trouble with the guards? She fell silent as they passed through the lobby, spotting Marcus with his phone in hand. Could he be talking to Emma? Not important. Focus.

She led him outside into the courtyard, a good several meters away from the door towards a bench and a few trees. She stopped, but didn't sit down. "I think this is good" she commented. She turned to face him, eyes sweeping the area to make sure they were alone before falling back to him.

Sander remained standing as well, though he did move to lean slightly against the bench –“Alright.”-He nodded simply, eyes on Callan, waiting.

She took her hands out of her pockets and bit down on her lip as she took a deep breath. She didn't want to spend anymore time trying to figure out how to best phrase the question, so she simply said it-- eyes locked on Sander and fists clenched anxiously.

"I want a rematch."

"What the fuck!?" Kusari yelled involuntarily. She'd followed Sander and Callan, concerned that something stupid might happen. She didn't know what, but frankly she didn't have much else to do and she didn't trust Sander at all. With that in mind, color her surprised when she heard Callan's reason for wanting to speak to Sander. "Absolutely not!" She said, moving from behind a tree and storming over towards the two of them. "Why would you want to fight him again? you know how dangerous that can be! He can barely control his power as is, he doesn't need another excuse to go berserk."

Sander coughed lightly into a closed fist to hide his shivering, before wrapping arms around himself once more. He was only mildly surprised when Kusari appeared; he thought he caught her scent somewhere when they rounded a corner. He didn’t call her out then, seeing as how it wasn’t his place to do so, but now it seemed he wouldn’t have to. He merely stared as she spoke. 

Callan stiffened as Kusari suddenly appeared. Listening to what she had to say, her bold expression quickly became tinged with irritation directed at the white-haired girl. For the second time that night, she ignored Kusari's question-- this time on purpose. "Can you leave?" she retorted coldly, "I kinda want to talk to Sander alone about this."

"I... I can't" Kusari said through clenched teeth. She was doing it again. She was interested in Callan, so of course she didn't want her to be hurt, but it wasn't just that. She didn't want any of her fellow classmates to fight again. "You can... be as pissed of at me as you want, but I know this is a bad idea." She glanced at Sander, remembering the moment he drained her of nearly all her blood. "You shouldn't want to do this either, Sander. Fighting isn't pleasant to you, is it?

Callan stared hard at Kusari, her expression unreadable. She looked to Sander, waiting for his response.

There was just something sickeningly familiar about being talked over like he were not even there, and Sander wasn’t sure he appreciated the reminder. It was quite clear to him, for a while now, that Kusari looked at him and saw the monster. Not the boy who was doing the best that he could with what he had. And he couldn’t really fault her for that. Just like how he couldn’t fault them for what they did. Still, a flash of hot rage coiled at the pit of his stomach, just as tension nestled itself in a spot between his shoulder blades. He diverted his gaze, suddenly found the nearby tree especially fascinating. 
 
When Kusari finally turned to address him, he returned the eye contact, but his neutral mask had hardened into cold impassiveness. Even as she asked him the questions, his blank gaze remained steady, though the answers never left his lips. Kusari seemed like she already had that question figured out for him. He let her keep her assumptions. Less effort on his end. 

When it seemed obvious Sander wasn't going to say anything, Callan exhaled through her nose and looked between the two. This wasn't going at all like she'd hoped. Why? Why was Kusari of all people trying to interfere? Kusari, who couldn't make it through a flag football game without breaking someone's arm? The same girl who asked Callan to punch her with all her strength just to see if she could survive it? 

"Kusari," she said finally. Her voice softened, though not without some difficulty, "Please. Go."

Sander ignored her, and Callan insisted she leave. Kusari opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. Words weren't going to convince her, and it wasn't as if she would physically stop her. She grinded her teeth and looked down to the ground in frustration. "Fine... Just be careful. Enough of us have died already." Kusari didn't want to give up here, but all she was accomplishing was further hurting her standing with Callan. She turned around and began to walk back to her dorm room.

Sander watched his roommate’s retreating back, waiting for her scent to fade into cold night air. Eventually, he exhaled, pushing a fogged breath through the stinging cold before taking a seat on the bench. He leaned back, hands stuffed back in the pockets of his hoodie as tension bled out of his posture. However, he kept the blank expression. 
 
“…Sorry about that.” -He said, eyes focusing on Callan now, a stiff smile on his lips –“Let’s start again.”
 
“You want a rematch?” 

Relief washed over her as Kusari consented to leave. She was sure that conversation wasn't over, but Kusari was something she could deal with later. Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't sit down.

"Right," she said carefully, "But... without the flags this time. Just you and me."

Sander held Callan’s gaze for a moment, something that seemed like resignation flashed through his features –“You want it here? Now?” -He asked, suddenly began to unzip the front of his hoodie. 

Callan's serious expression suddenly shattered. Flustered, she threw her hands up, palms facing him and glanced away. "Oh! N-no!" she'd seen him without his hoodie on just minutes ago, but watching him unzip it like that... she didn't want a repeat of what happened during Flag and Seek.  Her cheeks burned at the thought as she continued, "You're not... ready, are you?" 

She noted the stormy blue shade of his eyes-- not red like before. Confused, she searched his expression for some hint that he was. He didn't actually agree to fight her without his powers just now, did he? 

“Oh.” -Sander raised his eyebrows, seemingly befuddled by Callan’s strange reactions –“Uh, now is actually a good time. I don’t have class this week, so…” 
 
“I’m quite ready. Don’t worry.”

She furrowed her brow and stared, bringing her hands together so she could anxiously twist her fingers into knots while she thought for a moment. He was ready? She didn't want to fight right now regardless, but... she needed to put this suspicion to rest. She dropped her hands to her side and stepped closer. 

"Prove it," she said, clenching her jaw as she pointed to her cheek. She was... basically calling him a liar. But she needed proof. "Punch me. Hard as you can." She had to will her voice not to shake as she clarified her request. While not being nearly as bad as having a giant bird-monster beak rip through her thigh, Sander's punches hadn't exactly been pleasant. She could feel the slightest pricklings of adrenaline as her body tensed in protest, but she didn't move.

Now Sander just stared at Calllan like she had just grown a third head. Her actions utterly confused him. She wanted to fight, yet wanted him to punch her? Shouldn't it be the other way around? –“W-Why?”- He balked –“I can’t do that.” 
 
“I thought you want to fight because of…what happened in the game?” -He asked again, tentatively.

"You... what?" she lowered her hand and blinked back at him stupidly. "Well... yeah, I mean... you're the only person I can really train with."

“Train…” -Sander furrowed his brow, repeating the word dumbly, as if he was having trouble with the rudimentary rules of the English language –“So you want me to…fight back?” -He asked, eyes wide, the calm mask broke into something between fear and disbelief. 

"Of course! That's how training works!" she could feel herself getting slightly frustrated as her previous suspicions crept back in, "You... you didn't think I just brought you out here to beat you up, did you?" This revelation made her all the more aware of his eyes and their color. Was that why...?

"You're not even powered up, are you?" she said, bewildered.

“You didn’t?” -Sander asked again, his tone softened significantly, suggesting both relief and disappointment in equal measure. He was ready for pain. Sure, there was fear and apprehension, but he knew he could take it.  
 
However, what Callan really wanted from him was far more terrifying. His gaze shifted to the ground as he answered her question –“No. Not really.” 

Did he just not know or understand? Or... "Do you have a death wish?" she half growled, clenching her fist. She turned her attention towards a thick cypress tree nearby. She glanced back at Sander as she strode towards it, readying her fist. He and Kusari must not talk very much. 

Thrusting her fist into the bark, there was a deafening CRACK! as the tree snapped from its rooted base. It crashed and tumbled across the courtyard, leaving a trail of broken branches in its wake. She turned back to Sander, brushing off her knuckles with a perplexed sigh. "You weren't gonna let me do that to your face, were you?"

Sander watched quietly from his spot in the bench, hands once again shove in his pockets. The display didn’t shock him. In fact, he found it quite… satisfying. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be in possession of such strength. He knew the freedom it offered. He knew the power it promised. To be able to use his power casually, without restraint like that… well, he didn’t dare to imagine. After all, there was no way he could. There was no point in dreaming the impossible. 
 
“They won’t let me die.” -Sander simply shrugged, finally tearing his gaze away from where the thrown tree had landed. 

His reaction was far more presumptuous than she'd been expecting-- she'd almost forgot about Sander's brazen behavior at the beginning of Flag and Seek game. He'd goaded her to come at him, but he was powered up then. She crossed her arms tightly and shifted her weight to one leg, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

“It means that you don’t have to worry about me.”-Sander said, eyeing her expectantly.  

"I'm... I'm not gonna just hit you," she frowned, looking somewhat hurt. "I want a rematch-- a fair fight."

“Oh.” -Sander narrowed his eyes then, his mind slowly backtracked to what Callan had spoken before –“Right. That’s—um—that’s what you want. Training.” 
 
He lowered his gaze, staring off into a random point at his feet for a few moments. Again, he was asked to use his power outside of combat. Well, this was combat, in a way, but it wasn’t real combat. This wasn’t how he expected his power would be used for. And he was not sure how he felt about that. He could lose control. He would. 

But he didn’t, last time. Was that enough to at least hope? 
 
“Did it hurt?” -Sander suddenly asked, breaking the silence.  

Callan tilted her head, "Did what hurt?"

"Your...face."-Sander looked up at her then, his eyes searching for something in her expression that could confirm his thoughts -"After the game."

She smiled uncomfortably, loosening her arms. "Yeah-- a bit," she chuckled sheepishly. 

"It could have been much worse." -Sander kept his voice light, but the serious undertone was there.

"Could've been a lot worse for you, too," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself, but she didn't like being underestimated. 

Sander wouldn't have minded, if that was the case. But that was not really relevant to the topic, and he didn't think Callan would appreciate it if he tried to sidetrack her. 

"Then you are aware of the risks."-He said instead.  

Unfolding her arms, she couldn't help but smile again. "I'm well aware," she said, moving her hands to her hips, "So you'll do it?"

Sander took the time to stare long and hard, his brows furrowed. Like he was trying to find out if she was serious or not. But so far, there was nothing to suggest the latter. Callan really wanted this ‘rematch’. She wanted to fight him. And to say he didn’t want to fight… well, that would be wrong. And pointless, because he needed to, regardless of what he thought was wise. 
 
He could just say no. He could just refuse outright then run back to his room. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.  

“Why?”- Eventually, he forced himself to ask, just so he could have something else to focus on. 

Her smiled widened. To test their limits? To have better control? Camaraderie? She had several reasons, but simply responded, "So we can get stronger."

"You're trying to learn how to control your ability, too, right?" she added, remembering what Kusari had said, "We can help each other."

Control. A word he had been hearing a lot, lately. He had been trying for years, and it was still so far out of his grasp. Until recently, though, but he was trying not to think about that. Instead, he considered why would Callan need more control? She was an Arbiter. Everything she did suggest perfect control of her power.  
 
“Do you really think training can make us stronger?” -His tone was even as he asked, just simple questions with no hidden note of mockery –“Help us gain better control?” 

"Yeah... why else would they put us in this special group and go through all the extra effort to train us? Practice makes perfect, right?" She shrugged. 

“Right.”- Sander mumbled, seemingly distracted. Then what had he been doing for those 5 years? Did any of that help? He couldn’t tell, but he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to consider the possibility that those 5 years were for naught. Once again, he let the conversation fall into silence as he mulled things over. 

Her smile faded at Sander's expression. The silence didn't bode well. Was it something she said? Hesitantly, she stepped forward and sat down on the bench, leaving a good deal of room between them as she leaned forward and looked up into his face. Was it the control thing? Instinctively, she rose her hand towards where he'd bit her before, but caught herself at the last moment. Instead she rested her cheek in her hand, propping her head up as she looked at him.

"How long have you been a mage?" she asked, having to stop herself from saying 'subnatural'. 

Sander turned abruptly at the question, apparently just noticed that Callan had sat down beside him. He blinked at her question a few times, before returning his gaze to a spot on the ground.
 
He should tell her. He knew the answer. Why hadn't he said anything yet? 
 
Between the fire and the pain, he counted the days. It was always the first thing he asked when he woke up, and the last thing he thought about before he slept. Without the rhythm at his feet, he needed something to measure his worth. To know how far he had gone.  
 
Not very far, if he was being honest with himself. 
 
Too long, and not very far.
 
“A while.”- He said instead, with a light jerk of his shoulders. The half-truth left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he found no better answer. He needed to get off this topic –“How about you?”

It wasn't much of an answer, but she'd take it. "One week today" she replied quickly. Callan took a moment to think before asking her next question. She'd read about how dreams and nightmares among mages were supposed to be private, but she hadn't seen anything mentioning an ocean. She'd most likely skimmed over it on accident. Oh, well. She could always chalk it up to her being a newbie if he decided to take offense.

"How many times have you seen the ocean?" she asked, as commonly as one might ask about the weather.

Sander glanced at her, blue eyes suddenly guarded –“Well, only a handful of times in person. I didn’t get to go to the beach that often.”-He knew perfectly that it wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was the only one he would give. 

Whoops. Callan averted her eyes. Either he didn't know what she was talking about or he didn't want to say.... She picked up her head and sandwiched her hands between her knees. So either she sounded crazy or super rude-- great. Suddenly her 'newbie' excuse seemed foolish. She shouldn't have asked. Finding her own place on the ground to stare at, she tensed her shoulders and took a breath. "S-sorry," she muttered, "Nevermind."

The silence stretched on for a few moments, but Sander knew he shouldn’t stall it any longer. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to give Callan the answer she wanted. At least, not yet –“Alright. Callan.” -He figured he might as well get into a topic she would like to talk about –“How would you like to do this? The rematch, I mean.”

Hearing her name, she perked up. She looked back at him, grateful to be off the ocean topic she'd so tactlessly tried to bring up. "Well... I think having some supervision would be a good idea. Just in case either of us go too far. You, uh-- you know Lawrence, right?"

Sander almost looked alarmed at the mention of Lawrence. Of course he remembered that name. Along with the white glow and the borrowed calm and the bitter reminder of his dependency on the twisted blood high –“There’s always supervision.” -He moved his leg, drawing attention to the ankle cuff. 
 
“I don’t think it's necessary to bother him, but if that is what you want…”-He trailed off, eyes on her, waiting. 

Extending her leg, Callan glanced down at her own cuff. She kept forgetting it was there. Looking back at Sander, she seemed surprised and slightly disappointed. "You think we'd be bothering him if we asked?" He'd seemed perfectly willing to help her out the day before. Hell, he'd even waited all that time for her to wake up. She didn't think Lawrence would mind, but the seeds of doubt were planted now. She nervously chewed her lip-- maybe Sander knew him better... and he was probably going to have his hands full with gun training or whatever.... 

"I didn't think he'd mind, but... it's fine. I don't... I mean, I don't need him. I think I'll be fine." She felt bad saying it. Now that she knew how to unsummon her shadow, there wasn't much else she was worried about. Maybe she didn't need him, but she'd liked the thought of him being there....

“Uh, sorry. That’s just my assumption.” -Sander shook his head, though he couldn’t hide the tingle of relief in his tone. He would gladly do without Lawrence’s power. His power did a good enough job messing with his head on its own –“I imagine watching two people going at it is hardly exciting, so yeah…”
 
He let the conversation lapsed into silence, guilt gnawing at his guts. It was selfish of him. He could have been putting Callan in even more danger. What if a taze couldn’t stop him? What if it couldn’t stop him long enough? He should just stand up, and do the right thing. Leave. 
 
But he was weak. And he was greedy. He couldn’t let go of that faint glimmer of hope. 
 
“I still think this is a bad idea.” 

She narrowed her eyes as he repeated Kusari's words. "Really?" she retorted, unconvinced, "I don't think so." She leaned back and stared up at the stars. 

“You might get hurt…It might scar…”-Sander began, grasping at whatever reason he could find. Maybe if he didn’t have it in him to say no, he could at least dissuade her –“…and I doubt you will learn much from training with me. I don’t know how to fight.”

What a dumb thing to be concerned about. He was just as likely to get hurt as she was. "You're the only person who's just as strong as me. I don't know how to fight either, so it'll be a fair match all around." She crossed her arms again and shot him a side-glance, still resting her head against the back of the bench. "If you're worried about scarring, why not talk to our healer? You're friends with Christmas, aren't you?"

The mention of Christmas brought a grimace to Sander’s features when it reminded him of the events earlier. “Yeah, but his power is…tricky. I don’t want to bother him. I can heal on my own. Can you?”

Didn't wanna bother Christmas either, huh? She pursed her lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine," she sighed. Not too long ago, she'd been willing to let her leg injury heal without Christmas's help (up until she'd remembered blood loss was a thing). A split lip and a few bruises weren't a big deal at all. She was starting to feel tired. It was probably getting late. "So..." she sat up slightly, staring at Sander with a deadpan expression, "Are we doin' this, or...?"

“Uh…” -Once again faced with the decisive question, Sander floundered –“I won’t—I can’t stay powered up for long. It’s only around 5 minutes or so. Not long enough to matter, if you want a proper training session.” 

"No, no-- that's great," she smiled at him, "That means you've gotta beat me in five minutes. Or try-- since I'm totally gonna win long before that happens." She scoffed at him with a playfully arrogant expression. Arms still crossed, she nudged him lightly with her elbow, "C'mon."

Sander just stared at her for almost a full minute, his mind working through the information as fast as it could. It took a while for him to finally quiet his doubts enough to make the decision. “Alright.” -He said, holding back a sigh. He caved, as he knew he would –“When is a good time for you?”

Oh, God. He didn't laugh. He was just staring. She'd hoped her attempt at a joke would make him feel better about agreeing to fight her, but... oh man. Still staring. She was tempted to look away, but couldn't. He hadn't immediately said no, so... that was a good sign? Holding his gaze, her smile faltered. Relieved when he finally spoke, her eyes flashed with excitement, though she tried not to let it leak into her reply.

"Uhh," she pretended like she hadn't already decided on exactly when she wanted to do it. "How about Thursday? Around... let's say... 6:30ish? Will that give you enough time to get the blood you need?"

Sander’s fingers twitched at the mention of blood, so he curled them into fists, digging dull nails into his palms –“…I don’t need that long.” -He mulled over his choice for a brief moment –“I can do it tomorrow, if you want.” 

"That soon?" her smiled faded, trying to decipher his reasoning. The corner of her mouth twitched up into a half grin. Maybe he was just as anxious to fight as she was? "Alright, sure. Same time? 6:30?"

“Sounds good.” -Sander returned the smile with one of his own, but he knew he didn’t look half as genuine. Slowly, he rose to his feet, the stiff bench did his back no favour –“So, I will see you then...at Ground Zero?”

"Yeah-- same place as our Flag and Seek game," Callan nodded, standing up as he did. There was a slight giddiness to her movements. She tried to keep her smile in check. It probably wasn't a good thing for her to be this excited about a fight-- this wasn't a basketball game, Cal. Someone could very well get hurt... But someone could always get hurt. She wasn't about to pass up sparing with the only person strong enough to give her a challenge. 

When she put it that way, it sounded so elfish. She reasoned further that if it helped her ability improve, it could save lives. Lives like Padma.... 

"Thanks for agreeing to do this with me," she said with a reserved smile and a sigh.

“Don’t worry about it.” -Sander hid his expression with a hasty turn of his head. He looked at the distant light emanating from the dorms, picturing the way back to his dorm. They shared a short walk –“It’s the least I can do.” 
 
“You are going back?”

"Aren't you? It's almost curfew," she said, raising an eyebrow at him as she motioned her head towards the dorms. 

“Yeah.”-Sander looked like he might have something else to say, but he changed his mind at the last minute –“Let’s go.”

With that said, he turned, heading back to his dorm with brisk steps. 

Callan kept her eyes on him as they moved. She'd caught that look.

"What?" she half chuckled. 

"Nothing." -Came Sander's quick reply as his steps hastened. 

She held her gaze for a few more seconds before relenting-- in no small part due to the fact that Sander was quickly speed-walking out of her scrutinizing line of sight. She wasn't one to pry.

『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』 『𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @Baklava@Chasers115
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟜𝟛𝟘   / /  ~𝟚𝟛𝟘𝟘

Looking quite pleased with herself, Callan made her way back to Suite 430 with the faintest traces of a smile playing at her expression. Back at her bed, which despite her best efforts to tame was still almost completely hidden by pillows, carved out a place to lay down. With Marcus nowhere to be seen, she quickly switched out her hoodie for a plain white T-shirt before grabbing her tablet and hopping into the mattress, not bothering with the covers. She was too excited to sleep. 

Marcus, meanwhile, had finished arranging plans with Emma, making himself feel like an absolute idiot in doing so.

Yeah, sure. We could always go in town and shop around for a place? I saw some neat looking cafe last time I was there, so there's always that.

Works for me! What time and where do you want to meet up?

How about you just come by my dorm and we can walk down there? At like four?

Sounds like a plan, Stan! Your dorm, Four o' clock!

All right, see you then.

Oh wait! Which one's your room? Might be a useful piece of info to have!

Oh? Don't want to get up and down the hallway knocking on doors until you get it? 318, Building A

'Sounds like a plan, Stan'? What was he, an idiot? Even now, he was mentally beating himself up for the stupidity of the comment. As he walked into the courtyard, he stopped his self loathing long enough to admire the shattered stump and thrown upper half of a tree. Or at least, what used to be a tree. Now it was just timber and splinters, and a testament to whatever had happened here between Callan and Sander. An event, he mused, that had apparently not been as violent as he expected, if the lack of bloodstains was evidence enough. Of course, she might have just hurled him into the sun or something.

He pondered over this as he entered his room, immediately spying the aquamarine hair nestled in among the numerous pillows that lined her bed.

"So...you doing a little impromptu landscaping? he said, pausing a moment as he got no response from her. He stood for a moment, wondering what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder, before spying the headphones. Not a cold shoulder after all - just a lack of awareness. One that he hoped to remedy by throwing a discarded pillow at her, aiming carefully to see if he could get her right in the head.

Mean? Yes. Hilarious? Also yes.

"Agh-- HEY!" Callan protested as the pillow shattered her concentration. Sitting up and pulling the pillow away from her face, she took out one earbud and looked away from the card game on her screen to see that it was Marcus-- though it wasn't much of a surprise. "I know you're not tryna' start a pillow fight with me," she smirked, looking back down and tapping away at the screen as she made her next move.

"Not trying, but if that's a consequence...oh well!" he said, shrugging and giving her a mischievous smile. She probably wouldn't be able to take his head off with just a pillow, would she? He thought about this for a moment, before repeating himself now that Callan was actually listening to him.

"I saw your impromptu landscaping out there! Seems interesting, but the juxtaposition's all off, and I doubt the groundskeeper is going to be super pleased with you!"

"Landscaping?" she repeated, forgetting all about the tree she'd destroyed for a moment. "Oh! That." she chuckled, unconcerned, "I mean-- I haven't gotten busted for any of the other stuff I've broken. Not yet anyway." 

She opened her mouth to continue speaking, but quickly closed it. Sander hadn't thought it was a good idea to invite Lawrence or Christmas, so he probably didn't want anyone else there but them. It was probably best she not tell Marcus, just in case he insisted on coming to watch. She kept her eyes on the screen, trying to come up with a decent excuse for why she decided to punch a tree across the courtyard. With any luck, he wouldn't ask. 

"Property damage is unbecoming of you, missy." Marcus said. The silence in the room was a bit of an indication of Callan's unwillingness to elaborate on the events, but Marcus was nothing if not super oblivious at times. "Any particular reason you decided to make the gardeners cry...?" he ventured.

"Uh... I, uh... There was a spider on it." Needless to say, lying was not one of Callan's strong suits. 

Marcus looked skeptically at Callan, almost daring to laugh out loud at her statement. "Yeah, that tends to happen outside. Where the spiders live." He took this moment to pause, wondering exactly how far he wanted to take this discussion. The answer, as he surmised to himself, was 'as far as it would go'.

"Did you manage to at least get it before it could harm you? Or Sander? Or Kusari?"

"Uhhh," Callan fell silent, chewing the inside of her cheek as she tried to think up another great lie. Dropping the tablet into her lap and hanging her head in defeat, she mentally apologized to Sander. But it was more to put her conscience at ease. Admittedly, she was eager to tell at least one person. Even if they might not be on board with her enthusiasm. 

She smiled and shook her head. "I was asking Sander for a rematch." She laughed to herself, cathartically pushing her bangs back.

"What!? Why?" Marcus said in disbelief. He'd expected to hear a tale of how she'd kicked his ass inside out for the little stunt he pulled, not a tale of how she asked him to fight her again.

"Uh, because he's the only person I can spar with without displacing their spine," she answered, as if it was obvious. 

Marcus immediately diffused back to his normal state, considering Callan's statement with a humbled "Oh...". He'd spent his time trying to figure out the limits of his own power, and it made sense that Callan would want to do the same - his was just easier to test without breaking things. Still though...Sander had straight-up lost control back in the game; using him to test strength seemed like an idea that could quickly spiral. But it certainly wasn't his place to tell Callan to choose her sparring partners better. 

"You sure? He seemed a little...wild." he asked after a moment, his mouth echoing the concern that he felt for the situation.

Pulling out her other earbud and turning to face him, Callan smiled. "I think it'll be fine," she shrugged, "I know what to expect this time. Besides, I think I'm a bit stronger than him over all." 

"Do you want someone to come along? Just in case?" he followed. He was of course referring to himself, despite the fact that there was zero he could do if things went wrong. Maybe throw a rock and run away, but that was about the extent of his capabilities, if the video ffeds had accurately shown off Sander's capabilities. He needed to offer though - even if Callan could protect herself perfectly fine without any help. Some inherent desire to keep the people around him safe, probably.

"Nah," she replied, tapping at the screen again, "But, uh," she looked up, "Could you do me a favor and not tell anyone? I don't want people bothering Sander about it, y'know?" The last thing Sander probably wanted was a huge audience of people. He already seemed skeptical about the rematch-- a fact that made her think she probably should have put more effort into not telling Marcus. But he seemed trustworthy enough-- she wanted to believe he was, anyway.

"I suppose your secret's safe with me. Yadda yadda cross my eye hope to perish, stuff like that." Marcus said. "What day is this anyway? Just so I know when to stock up on Precursor bandaids?" he added, sitting down at his desk and swiveling around in his chair to look at Cal.

She thought for a moment, deciding if she should tell. "Tomorrow," Callan answered finally. 

"Well that doesn't give me very much time at all! All I've got left is Kadabra, and you don't want his eyes staring at you while you go about your daily life!" came Marcus's exasperated tone.

"Heh," she returned her attention to the game, leaning up against the wall by her bed. Or, she would've if there hadn't been dozens of pillows in the way. "Keep your bandaids. If it's not Sparrow or Newton, I'm not touching it."

"Alright, if you say so; I just don't want to hear it when you get a boo-boo! Marcus said, grinning and swiveling back around in his chair. "Girl gets super-durability; suddenly she's too good for Kadabra band-aids." he jokingly muttered, deliberately loud enough for Callan to hear.

Callan laughed, drawing in her legs to start kicking back the generically lame blanket on her bed. She missed her old bedding. Maybe going into town tomorrow wouldn't be a bad idea. "I can't tell if you're joking or not. Kadabra bandaids?" she mused, reaching for her phone before settling in under the covers, hugging her hamburger plush to her chest. 

"Actually!" Marcus said, turning back around to give her his full attention. "I used to know a place that sold little band-aids like that. Cartoon characters, sports guys or something, and Precursors were right on the end. I never got any myself, but they exist somewhere!"

"Heh... my parents used to buy them all the time... before...," her voice trailed off. That probably wasn't a great topic. She smiled uncomfortably, "Well. It's cool they still exist, anyway...."

"Good to have some constants in the world, even if it's just novelty band-aids!" Marcus said, raising an imaginary glass. Right now, he wasn't super keen on talking about 'before' either. He'd gotten his fill of 'before' from Max, and he was content to stick with the present. "Should I leave you to deal with your Flaming Army, or whatever that game of yours is?" he said, thinking back to their conversation in the lobby a while ago.

"Yeah," she nodded, reminded of her parents. The screen of her phone lit up as she hit the home key, revealing that she still had no new notifications. With a reserved sigh, Callan glanced back down at the tablet--  "Defeat!" scrawled across the screen. She turned it over and shook her head. "Probably just gonna crash for the night, actually."

"Alright. I'm going to take a minute to get all my new goodies set up, and I'll probably be crashing myself." Marcus said, reaching over for the laptop box.

"Have fun," she smiled with a diffident laugh. She didn't move for several seconds, glancing between the back of his head and some distant corner of the room as she toyed with the idea of asking whether or not it had been Emma he was talking to downstairs. She couldn't come up with a way to find out without coming across as nosy, so she ultimately decided against it. It really wasn't any of her business anyway. 

"Goodnight!" she chimed before reaching across her bed to set her electronics on the desk, plugging them in to charge as she slept. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she laid down and faced the wall along with an ocean of thoughts. Doing everything she could to quiet the gnawing curiosity about Emma and Marcus, she mulled over the events of the day until she finally drifted off to sleep.

『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』 『𝕂𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕣𝕚』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @Baklava@Piercing Light
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔻: 𝔻𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝   / /  ~𝟙𝟘𝟘𝟘

Walking into the school cafeteria, Kusari swallowed a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak with Callan, but she couldn't think of any way it wouldn't be awkward after what happened last night. She decided not to think about it too much and simply go for it. After getting a plate filled with pancakes and bacon she looked around. Sure enough she found Callan sitting at a table, a stack of trays piled up in front of her. If she hadn't seen her eat so much on their date she'd have assumed a few other people had eaten here. Kusari sat the tray on the table and took a seat parallel to her. She cut a piece of pancake and chomped down on it. She twirled her fork around in her right hand, a stern, deathly serious expression on her face. Again, this was the face she made when she was embarrassed.

"I'm sorry." She said suddenly, laying the fork down and looking Callan in the eyes. "I shouldn't have followed you and Sander. I was so worried about what he might do that I didn't think about how you'd feel about it." Apologizing clearly wasn't something Kusari enjoyed doing, as evidenced by the fact that she looked as if someone were jabbing her in the back with a toothpick. 

"If you're going to do this can I be there? If things get out of hand..."

Looking up from her phone as Kusari sat down, Callan waited quietly for her to speak. The apology didn't surprise her. Kusari had been bizarrely curt and nosy the other day. She did, however, raise her eyebrows at the notion of her being worried-- and then proceeding to ask if she could be present for the fight. And for what? Protection??

Callan opened her mouth to speak but sighed instead, glancing away and back again. "I... appreciate the concern and all, but I can handle this myself." If things got out of hand, her shadow would make short work of Sander. She inwardly shuddered at the thought. No-- she could control her shadow better now and Sander had enough control to stop when she'd told him to last time. They'd both be fine. 

Kusari had expected Callan to reject her offer, but it still stung a little. She let out a sigh and fiddled with her braid. "Why are you doing this? If this is about us losing we'll have another chance to do something right." She was genuinely confused as to why she was so insistent on fighting Sander. They needed to be avoiding any unnecessary dangers. "If anything it was Grant that cost you the match. You were outnumbered and the rules of the game favored them." 

Callan pursed her lips and leaned back in her seat, tightly crossing her arms. "Why did you ask me to punch you as hard as I can?" she countered quickly. The question had been on her mind since Kusari mentioned her qualms with the rematch the other night. "I need to know my limits-- and I need to train so I can push them. It's likely I'll live through another fight. I get to make mistakes and not die-- same as you. But not everyone is so lucky." 

Her steady gaze had become a resolute glare, which she turned towards the window beside them. "I'm responsible... someone has to hold the line for them," she added. Observing the people outside, her eyes softened. "They can't afford for me to lose."

Kusari followed the gaze of Callan, she was looking outside, watching the students. The look in Callan's eyes changed, and Kusari instantly understood why she wanted to do this. "You've... got it figured out, huh?" She muttered, just barely audible to Callan. However, Callan was wrong about one thing. While the both of them put their body on the line in order to test their limits, Kusari's purpose was still unclear. Callan knew exactly why she was fighting, it was spelled as clear as crystal in her eyes. But herself? She had no idea. 

Protecting her friends? No. She hardly knew them, and she was never one to be so selfless. Getting stronger to protect herself? No. She was immortal as far as she knew, dying wasn't something she had to worry about. So why was she pushing herself to keep going? She had no right to dictate what Callan did when she was simply on auto-pilot.

Kusari moved her eyes back to her food. What was the girl in front of her to her anyway? They'd gone on one date, which was more of an outing. A piece of bacon was munched. She wanted Callan, as shameful as it was she'd had lustful thoughts about her. It was extremely irritating. She didn't own her, she wasn't an object to be locked in a safe like a precious jewel. But that was how infatuation worked, it didn't care about common sense.

"Alright. I won't... I'm not going to get in your way." Kusari muttered again, her hair blocking her eyes as she looked down.

Callan looked back to Kusari as she spoke. A tentative smile broke across her face. "Thanks, Kusari," she said. Unfolding her arms and leaning forward to grab her phone. She paused, sliding her phone off the table and into her lap instead of standing up. She noted Kusari's pensive tone and her eyes shifted from the exposed lower portion of Kusari's face to her newest monster limb.

"The game yesterday...," Callan started cautiously, looking away as she rubbed at an imaginary itch on her temple, "Things got pretty intense, huh? ...are you okay?" She almost didn't want to ask. A voice inside her argued that "What's wrong with you?" might've been a more effective choice of words, but she didn't want to go there.

"The game yesterday...," Kusari flinched slightly as she realized where this conversation was going. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't know how to answer for what she'd done to herself. But Callan was a good person, of course she would be worried about a fellow student that had willingly cut their own arms off. Kusari moved her clawed fingers around. 

"It's not exactly something you can ignore, is it?" She said, partly in jest, but there was a clear hint of self-derision in her voice. She didn't want to keep talking, but this was the same thing she'd chastised Callan for on their date. "No... Her face tensed. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, squeezing it tightly. "I don't know. I don't feel anything when I think about it. This body doesn't let me feel pain for long, and I hardly need to take care of myself in battle.  Just... Just what am I even becoming?" Kusari let out a breath, loosing the hold on her arm. "I doubt I'm making much sense, sorry."

Callan was silent for several moments, looking between Kusari's face and her claws. Mulling over what Kusari had just said, she exhaled slowly. Kusari's situation was a frightening concept for Callan to try and empathize with. She didn't rightly know how she would handle such a drastic appearance in exchange for the power to make a difference.

But then, it didn't seem like Kusari rightly knew how to handle it either. She didn't know what to say. She felt she should say something-- especially since she'd brought it up and Kusari was clearly entrusting her with the knowledge that she was indeed NOT 'okay'. 

She almost didn't notice that she'd fixed her eyes on Kusari's arm and sucked in a breath of air when she finally did. Biting down on her lower lip, she turned her eyes back to Kusari's face. The question that escaped her then had been one she'd explicitly told herself not to ask. But with no idea of what else to say and the sudden discomfort Kusari was likely feeling as a result of Callan's unscheduled staring contest with her monster arm... it was perhaps better than saying nothing at all... maybe.

"Can I see it?" As an afterthought, Callan held out her hand, palm facing upward.

Things were silent again after Kusari spoke. She busied herself eating, trying not to scream in embarrassment for speaking so candidly. It would be foolish to expect anyone to know what to say to her. She was midway to stuffing half a pancake in her mouth when Callan held out her hand. "See wh-" She didn't know what she meant for a moment, then it was rather obvious. "Why?" She felt uncomfortable, she didn't want the oddities of her body to matter to her fellow students, especially not Callan. That was naive, she supposed.

"Nevermind, sure. But can you answer something for me?" Kusari's ruby eyes pierced into Callan. "Could you ever see the two of us... Actually going out?  Somehow saying it aloud was harder than she thought, her piercing gaze faltered as she looked back down at the table. She toyed with her braid again. "I mean... I don't even know if you're.... you know?"

The question of why had almost been enough for Callan to withdraw her hand, along with her request. She was just curious. Did she need a better reason? Thankfully Kusari seemed keen on letting the question go unanswered in favor of another. Unfortunately, it was in favor of a question she was even less prepared for. 

Her fingers had just barely brushed against the smooth, steely texture of Kusari's claws before she completely froze. 

"Ah-- I... I--" Callan stammered, her burning cheeks accompanied by a cold sweat, "N-not really? I-- I mean... uh...." 

She slowly withdrew her hand, eyes darting between the ground and Kusari. "I d-don't know."

All semblance of composure had completely melted away beneath the intense flames of Kusari's question. She didn't know Kusari well enough to give her a solid answer. And she didn't know enough about these kinds of things to know that that was okay. 

"S-sorry-- I gotta--" Callan shot up from her seat so quickly her chair toppled backwards onto the floor. The clattering sound echoed loudly in the cafeteria, further fueling her embarrassment as it drew a few stares. "I gotta go!" She promptly turned and began to speed walk towards the nearest exit.

Kusari watched as Callan touched her hand. She didn't know why the girl wanted to see it so badly, perhaps morbid curiosity? Whatever the case, it didn't last long as her words caused Callan to become visibly flustered. Her hand was let go, and she quickly got up from the table. 

Ah, I just ruined something there, didn't I? She thought. Kusari watched with a blank expression as Callan rushed out of the cafeteria. Kusari ate the rest of her food, ignoring the sting in her chest. She'd been too direct, and it seemed Callan wasn't accustomed to being treated this way at all. It seemed she was only pushing herself farther and farther away from Callan. A more subtle approach would be needed.

At least she looks cute when she's embarrassed.

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕟 ℂ𝕦𝕝𝕡𝕒𝕖 𝟙   / /  𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / /  𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸 : 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟜𝟛𝟘  / /   𝟙𝟞𝟛𝟘

Why would the government delete all that stuff? How pointless and stupid. Callan had tried to reason with herself when she found out. She never really used any of her social media accounts anyway-- though it was a pain to lose all the contact information. Setting up the cloud had been too much of a chore-- a simple three minute chore that would've saved her the current headache. Creating a new facebook hadn't been hard. If USARILN East wanted to delete it again, that was fine. She just needed it up long enough for her mom to answer her message.

Opening the app, Callan adjusted her position in the half-moon pillow crater she had formed around her mattress. Her iPad continued cycling through her playlist of songs beside her. Since Monday's classes, Callan spent a good chunk of her remaining stipend on various supplies for her corner of the dorm. It turned out to be a very long, arduous endeavor, but it helped keep her mind off the fact that her mother had yet to respond. The results were phenomenal. She'd never been the artsy sort, but grabbing whatever random things caught her eye in town hadn't turned out as horribly as she'd originally anticipated. She'd taken a few pictures of her handiwork and could hardly wait to send them to her mother. 

A dark blue galaxy comforter engulfed the mattress while the pillows, now donning cases of similar design and varying colors, engulfed the outer edges of the bed itself. She'd managed to barely win the fight against the mountain of pillow, pawning some off on her roommates while strategically organizing the others (some of which she had to cram into empty kitchen cupboards). She'd managed to scavenge her mother's facebook account for some pictures and order prints that morning as well-- a frustrating task she could hardly believe she'd taken the time to do, but she needed to try and get out of this 'I'll be home soon' mindset. She missed her family and friends and thinking that way wasn't going to help remind her to keep in touch. 

She pinned the photos above her desk, above which she'd loosely hung a small string of lights. A photograph of her parents in front of the Skyview Ferris Wheel two Christmas' ago, one of her and Dom at a Hawk's game, another of her and her teammates at some restaurant she couldn't remember the name of, and, finally, a photograph of her and her grandmother on her 68th birthday. Huddled around a big, poorly decorated green birthday cake packed with candles, she couldn't help but smile whenever she saw it. That green cake had looked so horribly unappetizing, but it was Gram's favorite color. It was damn good, too-- on account of her insisting she make it herself. Unfortunately she'd also insisted Callan do the decorating.

A plain white mug reading "World's Best Boss" housed a few brand new pens and mechanical pencils, the casings of which she had brushed off the desk and kicked under the bed for her photoshoot. She'd forgotten to go back and pick them up. Of course, the first thing her mother would likely comment on is the deceiving cleanliness. 

"That's great, Cal. Now lift up that comforter and let's see its true form." She smiled at the thought, fondly remembering the days when a scolding for a messy room was an actual concern. 'The days'... heh... had that really only been a week ago? Callan hugged her hamburger plush tighter as the glow of her phone lit up her amethyst eyes, illuminating her face. It was getting late and the lightswitch was too far away. The room was cast in slowly fading golden glow. Alone on her bed, She felt Marcus and Siena's absence in that moment more than ever as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Maybe one of them could've told her what it meant-- confirmed her feelings of foreboding before she allowed herself to think of happier alternatives.

'This person isn't available right now.'

She tapped the screen a few more times, trying to select the response box so she could say something. Anything. The message to her mother had gone without a response and now it seemed she was... blocked? That couldn't be right. She tapped her father's name into the search bar: Travon Webb. No results. Had someone deleted their accounts? 

Next she tried her brother: Dominique Webb. With a small sigh of relief, she scrolled through and found his picture. It was a selfy he'd taken in front of some chain link fence on a cloudy day at school. Hood up, hat backwards, and with a serious, brooding expression-- she'd totally teased him for looking like a shrimpy thug. 

Send.

She buried her face in the plush as her mind started to wander towards the topic of food. Almost immediately, her phone pinged and vibrated, signaling a new message from Dom. It was just a phone number and the words 'call me'. 

She sat up in alarm, swinging her legs over the bed and gripping the corner of her mattress through the comforter as she stared at the screen. Was everyone okay? Were her parents in trouble? Were they hurt? She tried to brush the thoughts aside as she hurriedly started the call. No need to worry when it might be nothing....

She turned off the music and dialed the number. He answered halfway through the first ring. Not a good sign, right?

"Cal?"

She blinked, surprised by the urgency in his voice, "H-hey Dom. Everything okay? What's up?"

"What... what's up?"

"Yeah... uh." Why did he sound so confused? Wasn't something wrong? "You guys stayin' with grandpa?"

The line was quiet. She could hear the television blaring in the background. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dom finally spoke first, "Yeah... we're with grandpa... how are you?"

"Uh... good. I'm doin' good."

"Really? You're okay?"

"Yeah, sure," she nodded. More okay than most... Padma, Alexis, and Aaron came to mind, but she didn't want to freak him out with that sort of talk. 

"How's... uh... how's school?"

"Heh... well this place isn't as awful as I thought it might be. The food here is decent and they got wifi at least, y'know?" She chuckled and laid back on the bed, trying to force herself to feel less uncomfortable. She'd never spoken to her brother like this. It felt weirdly formal-- questions like 'how are you' and 'how's school?' It made her feel suspicious, but did little to prepare her.

Hesitant silence. "Nobody's contacted you... have they?" he said quietly. She tried to ignore the solemness of his tone.

"Nah, I lost my phone and all my contacts. They deleted all my accounts on everything, too. Didn't realize they could do that so quickly."

"They...?"

"The government, the school, the Director-- I dunno."

More unnerving silence. 

"Cal--"

She distantly heard the familiar creak of her grandfather's front door. Everything in his house creaked, she remembered. 

"Dom!" Her father's voice.

"Hey, lemme talk to--"

"Hang on," he cut her off in a hushed whisper. She sat up again, pulling her hamburger plush into her lap. Her free arm held it firmly against her gut. Something wasn't right....

As she listened to her brother rush up the creaky old stairs of the house, a heavy feeling of nostalgia cut through her uneasy premonitions. Dom was probably heading for the upstairs guest bedroom. She remembered sharing it with her brother every Christmas up until her grandmother passed away. They'd spent a lot of holidays there up until then. The house had always smelled like fresh baked cookies when she was alive... the sweet, vanilla scent managed to fade more and more with every visit after that. She vaguely wondered what it smelled like now. 

She heard the door bedroom slam shut on Dom's end and the creaking of the guest bed as he sat down.

"Dom, what the h--"

"Mom and Dad deleted everything," Dom blurted out quickly, his voice only slightly louder than his previous volume.

Callan was silent as she tried to make sense of that.

"They found your laptop in the debris and deleted all of it," he clarified slowly, anxious for a response.

"Wha..." She couldn't figure it out. "Why?"

"Callan... everybody thinks you're dead."

It felt like a heavy stone had suddenly been dropped into her stomach-- latched onto her breath, which hitched in her throat. 

"Why?" she asked again, suspecting the answer. She felt like she was drowning. The floor beneath her feet felt unsteady and warped. She stared at Siena's side of the room, searching without seeing. As Dom proceeded to explain everything, his voice slowly faded into oblivion. Steadily, it felt like water was flooding through her ears and into her skull-- submerging every thought and sound. 

"Idon'tknow!MomandDadtoldeveryoneyouweredeadafteryouleft.Theysaidamonsterdestroyedthehouseandthatyouwereinsideofitanditalmostkilledthatoneofficer.Theyhadavigilandeverythingattheschool.Idon'tknowwhatthefuck'sgottenintothem,sis.Dadwon'tfuckin'talktomeaboutit.Theyjust...calledeveryoneandtoldthem.Theysentafakelettertotheschoolandeverything.Eventalkedtosomeshadylawyertogetitfinalized.Theytoldthewholefamily.Evengrandpathinksyou'redead.He'ssotornupaboutit...everyoneis.Thisissofuckedup.Itisn'tright.I'msorry,Cal--Idon'tknowwhattodo.Itriedtotellthemthetruth,butDadjusttoldthemI'm'takingthelossreallyhard'....TheyallthinkI'mnuts,butyou'refamily.You'restillmysister,right?Theyshouldn'tbepullingthisshit.They'rebeingsuchassholes,Ihatethem.IhatethemsomuchIcan'tstandit.I'drathercomestaywithyou--Idon'tcareifit'samilitaryschoolforsubnaturals.You'renotamonster,you'remysister!"

Internally suspended in the sudden spate of information, she didn't physically move beyond the occasionally shallow breath until her father's voice pierced her trance like a knife in a life boat.

"Dom? DOM! I told you not to eat chips on the couch!" 

"I'll call you back, sis. I love you. B--"

The phone exploded in her palm, sending shards of glass and plastic all over her bed and the floor. She opened her hand and allowed the busted device to fall out of her grasp. 

They wouldn't... would they? The buzzing of the air conditioner, the humming of the fridge in the other room, the faraway chirping of birds outside... all of the sounds suddenly had weight to them. Everything was suddenly so loud-- amalgamating into a dense throbbing in her head, filling her so full it pushed the the tears out of her eyes at an alarming rate.

No... she looked over her shoulder at the small grouping of pictures she'd pinned up. No.... The sudden swelling in her head and chest, rising and blooming into a jagged and ugly bouquet of thoughts, threatened to make her sick all over the floor. No... no... no...  She scrambled to her feet, looking down at her shadow on the ground as it stretched across the floor. Her brain barely processed what was happening-- stuck in a loop. She felt like she was drowning.

They told... everyone... a monster destroyed the house.... and she... she was inside it...? They told everyone she was dead? Her eyes moved to the photograph of her grandmother. The faces smiling back at her grew fuzzy as another wave of tears gathered and tumbled over her cheeks. Dead?

She inhaled sharply, the sound coming out as a high pitched sob as her lips curled back over her teeth. Callan looked back down at her shadow. It bubbled angrily on the ground like something scalding hot. Suddenly it went still and she saw a the razor sharp claws snake their way out, finding purchase in the carpet by her bed. 

NO.

She swallowed hard and the claws carved deep grooves into the floor as they were sucked back in. Once there, the shadow continued bubbling. Her tears stung her eyes like hornets and she tried to blink them away as she moved forward at break neck speed. Not here. She had to leave. She reached for the doorknob, but never finished the motion. The door was smashed to splinters against her shoulder as she barreled through it, sprinting down the hall towards the stairs. Her steps faltered as she bound across the campus. The shadow, a roulette wheel of consistencies, continued trying to break free. Every so often tearing the strength away from her legs before she could complete a stride, she tripped and fell several times on her way.

Please-- I have to make it. I can't... I can't do this... I can't control it.

Like a beacon, she fixed her eyes on where she knew the Ground Zero Ghost to be-- watching until she could make out her figure in the day's fading light. She didn't have time to think about anyone else being there. She needed to just get there-- now. 

The ghost blurred and bounced in her sight with every step and swelling tear. In the intersection of a dilapidated street, shell-shocked people stopped and stared as Callan fell to her hands and knees, breathing so heavily she thought she might vomit. Terrified screams contributed to the incessant buzzing in her head as the shadow clawed its way out and bounded towards the nearest crowd of people. From there is went after the cars, and then the buildings. 

Callan wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees. Racked with sobs, her grief felt immeasurable. She wasn't sure how long she stayed in that position, but one thought compelled her in her decision to do so. 

Let go.

In that moment, nothing mattered anymore. She was a dangerous monster-- something to be used and feared and, ultimately, discarded. She wasn't some sort of 'chosen one'. She wasn't a 'hero'. She wasn't 'special'... just a byproduct of this fucked up world she called home. It was the same world she wanted to save, but also a world that didn't want to be saved. At least not by her. Her thoughts only grew darker as the screams and crashing persisted. She felt like she was drowning. As if the hands of God held her there in place-- cold and uncaring. Hatefully, she remembered the ocean of stars she'd seen. The droplet of power-- that unwanted 'gift'.

As the shadow dug its claws through the street, several small chunks of asphalt and cement rolled across the ground in front of her. Slamming her hands onto the concrete, her fingertips tingled from the force as she grabbed a large piece and stood up. 

Throwing it with all her natural strength, it landed several feet short of the shadow monstrosity. She screamed in frustration, grasping another rock and running closer. The creature ignored her as it rummaged through a small outlet store. Another scream, another throw. The third and fourth pieces of debris she threw were met with the same level of indifference, even as they rolled off of its back.

Why? Why did this thing exist? What was its purpose? Wasn't everything supposed to have purpose? All part of the fucking plan, right?? 

This thing... it was a thing for a villain. Not a hero. Not an arbiter. Not her. Not hers. This thing was in her way. It was a wall for her to break down, wasn't it? She needed to destroy it, but she couldn't.... Misery. That's all it was. It was an evil, ugly thing. Exhaustion quickly settled in as she kept throwing rock after rock with the feeble strength of a 17-year-old girl, once again falling to her hands and knees. 

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" she cried angrily-- accusingly. A broken whine in her voice as despair shook her shoulders. It didn't make sense. 

This wasn't right. 

This wasn't her.

『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』 『𝕃𝕒𝕨𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @Baklava@Snagglepuss89𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠   / /  ~𝟙𝟟𝟛𝟘

For Lawrence, it had been his favorite kind of day. Uneventful, relaxing, and entirely uninteresting. The kind of day that had become increasingly rare since he began his stay at USARILN East, and he was intent on cherishing it while it lasted. Cradled in his arm was the shotgun that had seen so much use these past few months, ready to be cleaned and packed away once more. He had spent the better part of the day at the shooting range, taking his time to refresh his skills with the gun. It was nearly impossible practice while trying to teach others- a position he was still a bit miffed at being saddled with out of the blue- so he had made his way out to the range alone today. To his complete lack of surprise- nobody else had been there when he arrived either.

Now, with a wave to the ghost who was hardly visible, he was making his way back to his dorm. Perhaps there would be some time left after his gun maintenance to pop by the library for awhile. He had been lucky thusfar today, and if that held he might even get to read without interruption until night hit. In high spirits for the first time in awhile, it was all the more devastating when the sound of screaming reached his ears and he realized his day was about to get a lot worse.

Cautiously, he tried to avoid the sound- and whatever raging Aberration was the source of it. With any luck- although he was beginning to doubt his for the day- Lawrence would be able to slip by without the temporary psychopath being any wiser as to his presence. However, as he began creeping around the side of a building whose purpose had long since been obscured by destruction a burst of panicked pedestrians suddenly crowded the street in front of him.

And right behind them, murdering pieces of the crowd with every step, was a creature he wished he wasn't familiar with.

"Oh, horseshit."

Luckily for him, the creature seemed to be more focused on the prey in front of it than the man with an unloaded shotgun behind it. Not that it made the Arbiter feel any more at ease at all to be ignored and ten feet away from the monster. There were three options he was about to work out in his head. One: Try to run and probably be noticed, and killed. Two: Stay where he was until he was noticed and killed. Three: Hunt down the girl from before and hope he can reach her before that creature could reach him.

None of them were promising. 

Still though, with a quick peak around the corner- and more death throes behind him, he saw her not too far away- on her hands and knees. She looked to be having a bad day to say the least, although not nearly as bad as him at that moment. None of that particularly mattered at that moment though. Resisting the urge to look behind him- knowing it wouldn't do him any good to know if the creature was focused on him yet- he took off towards the girl as if his life depended on it.

The fact that it actually did probably helped.

Behind him, he felt the bus-sized beast change direction- clearly having taken notice of his flight. Did it recognize him from the day before? Or was it simply bored of its current prey? Regardless of the reason it was now intent on adding him to its list of victims for the day, a plan that the Arbiter intended very much to foil. However, contrary to every life or death story ever told, it was all over in a blink for Lawrence. With a shake of the earth directly behind him, and the girl in front of him, he slid forward- scraping his leg across the pavement with a terrible burning sensation and grabbing her by the shoulder to stop and steady himself.

Then he was looking into the same eyes as the other day- just as intent on his death as before. Perhaps moreso this time. Lawrence, for his part, felt exactly the same.

"Hello."

He finally managed after a moment of catching his breath, although which of the two he was addressing was anyone's guess.

Despaired feelings still loomed overhead like an inescapable sea. The sound of nearing footsteps came through like a distant splash-- muffled as the screams and crashing had been since she collapsed. Callan blinked away some residual tears, still staring down at the ground between her hands before a hand on her shoulder jolted her attention to the young man connected to it. She was still out of breath from all the rock throwing, but managed to gasp out something other than a startled shout as she turned to face him, arm recoiling at his touch.

"Lawrence!" Her eyes widened and her free arm twisted and fumbled around in the air behind her before finding an unseen something to grasp on to. She turned the rest of the way into a seated posture and gripped the unseen reigns with both hands, weakly giving them a yank. The motion was so half-hearted, it barely had any affect on the staring contest. Misery's head jerked out of position for only a moment, eyes still trained on its target. 

Callan followed Misery's line of sight back to Lawrence, looking him up and down with concern. "I--" she inhaled sharply, the implications of his presence there finally setting in, "I didn't know you were h-here. Y-your leg...."

"Don't worry about things that don't matter."

He didn't bother to look down at his leg for confirmation: But he could imagine it looked like it was in pretty rough shape. Still, in spite of the pain there wasn't any way that the scrape could have done permanent damage to it- certainly not in comparison to what the beast in front of him would have done. Still- He'd need to wash it later before it got an infection. And buy another less torn up and bloody pair of pants.

As for not knowing he was there- that much was clearly obvious. Enough that he almost laughed in response, but settled for a grim smile. These were the risks one took when walking through Ground Zero, and forgetting that meant he had gotten too complacent in the last week. For now, the important thing is that she hadn't managed to get him killed, and by the look of it as long as he didn't move he'd be safe from her shadow. Same as the other day.

"If you can't force it to leave then gather your strength for a bit. I don't think anyone else is here right now."

Of course, "Anyone else" meant people from USARILN East, Ground Zero was still full of "People" for this thing to get its rocks off murdering, and with any luck it would eventually get bored of staring the Arbiter down in favor of chasing some meat it going get to.

"But...," she started, in protest to both his statements. She sniffled and frowned, turning her attention back to Misery. She didn't like it staring at him like that-- or even being that close. To either of them. Tearing her eyes away, she released the reigns and tucked her hands behind her knees. "Ok...," she trailed off again, swallowing hard. 

She opened her mouth to say something more, but clamped it shut. Staring holes into her shoes, her shoulders rolled forward sheepishly. She was embarrassed to have been caught out like this. Careless. Self-absorbed. Susceptible. These weren't things she wanted to be associated with. She'd made such great progress on Sunday. Now here she was, letting it run loose and do whatever the hell it wanted. 

Monster, she inwardly berated herself. It was lucky Lawrence had been the one to get caught up in her mess and not someone else. He at least knew what to do. She could've easily gotten someone killed. But then... maybe she already had. If Lawrence had been slashed to pieces, who's to say she would've even seen him among all the Ground Zero corpses. She pulled her legs close and leaned forward. 

The waterworks threatened to start up again at the thought and she didn't want to continue her gross sobbing in front of Lawrence. She took a breath to steady herself.

"Tch."

With that Lawrence tore his eyes away from the creature and tried to focus his attention elsewhere. If it was Elizabeth here instead of him, he had no doubt either she or that thing would already be dead- as dead as she was already, anyway. Lawrence though never had the luxury of choice when it came to when he could act. It irritated him. Perhaps his extremely recent brush of death was leaving him more susceptible to these thoughts than usual- but he didn't like it.

With a sigh of resignation to signal his acceptance of the current situation, he turned his back to the creature and set it against Callan's, laying his legs out in front of him to survey the damage. From what he could tell at a glance: Ugly as hell, but not something he would need to stop by the hospital for. Blood was beginning to soak through his pants around the limb, but not nearly enough to be worrying. Overall: He'd live, even if the sharp throbbing that was running through it was beginning to become a bitch.

Sure, today's a great day.

Trying to ignore his petty bitterness and worsening mood, he pulled his new copy of Meditations out of his jacket and stared at the cover- unsure of how to proceed with the current situation. He couldn't exactly ignore the mood of the girl he was leaning against, and he doubted one needed to be as perceptive as he was in order to pick up on that. Still, he also wasn't used to dealing with actual personal problems instead of stigmas, and he was far from what one would call socially acclimated. 

God only knew had he and Elizabeth had even-

No.

With a snarl he opened the book and tried to push that train of thought out of his mind. He didn't trust himself to make small talk at the moment, and if Callan had problems she wanted his help to sort through then she had a mouth she could speak up with- No different than if she had met him in the library like most of his other "clients". Besides.

It's not like Lawrence Ellison didn't have his own problems.

The sudden fluttering in her chest when she felt Lawrence's weight against her back felt horribly out of place. 

She'd sat like this with friends before-- friends who now thought she was dead. But Lawrence was a touch different. He was older, nice looking, and mature. Pretty smart, too. Teammates laying all over each other was a common occurrence back home. Especially in cramped buses. Buses she'd never get to ride in again. Because everyone thought she was dead. But then, if she always had a book in her hand and a fake desk plaque in the library, she'd probably seem pretty smart, too. 

She inwardly sighed, smoothing out her mess of fragmented thoughts as that particular notion crossed her mind. That wasn't fair. Lawrence wasn't the one she was upset with.

Misery stared on, tail flicking in anticipation. Almost like a cat, poised to strike at the first sign of movement. Callan knew better. It wouldn't risk hitting her. But it was still unnerving. And Lawrence was being awfully quiet. She set her jaw and readied herself for words.

"Sorry," she said, turning her head just enough to see the shoulder of his sleeve. "I don't-- usually have days this bad." She moved her hands up to the collar of her shirt, facing forward again as she pulled the fabric up over her nose and covered her eyes with her hands. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled. She couldn't keep the question from leaking out as her mind became more aware of her surroundings. Guilt and chagrin permeated her thoughts. She needed to make sure he was alright first. Then she could more fully focus on the latter. 

"Mmm."

Came the initial response from him. She didn't usually have days this bad? Even if he cared about her day to day mental state it's not like he had a way to prove or disprove her point, so he let it slip by. 

Besides, she's still brand new.

He had to remind himself, not everybody could adjust right away to life at USARILN East- he sure as hell couldn't without help. With a class of students as powerful as this new one- the adjustment phase was an unfortunately dangerous reality for their first few months here. One that his minor injury served as an excellent reminder for.

When she spoke a second time he almost responded with the exact same thing he had told the girl earlier: Don't worry about things that don't matter. If he wasn't alright then it would have mattered. Plain and simple: He was fine. However, talk of the present would serve as a good distraction from thoughts of the past- at least until he was able to push them aside on his own.

"Yeah- just a scrape. Not much worse than falling off a bike would do- how about you?"

She almost laughed. "I've been better." But she didn't really want to bother him with that-- no more than she already had, anyway. Letting her shirt fall off her nose, she sniffled one final time before seeing to her face. Trying to rub any bits of runaway mascara off her cheeks, she let the less favorable thoughts recede for now. He was okay-- mostly. Good. Now for some composure. 

"H-how've you been?" Her forced smile was audible in the form of a half hearted laugh, but some semblance of normalcy was better than nothing, right? 

"Alive- so far at least."

While Lawrence didn't sound angry, it was quite clearly a barb at the current situation. Normally he would welcome the chance at smalltalk when he was trying to sort through his own problems- but right now he had no intention of letting the conversation get so casual. He had almost died a few moments ago. Making sure he didn't have to worry about that again when he was around this girl was a bigger priority, even if it meant thoughts of the dead had to linger awhile longer in his mind.

"Look, normally I wouldn't pry, but on account of me just almost dying: Why are you here at Ground Zero letting that thing run loose? You're not an Aberration, you don't have to put up with the same mental bullshit they do, so what's going on?"

With a pause punctuated by him closing his book, he added:

"We may have to fight together- I'd rather not find out too late if this is an issue that's going to pop up again."

Callan tensed at his reply. She should've known Lawrence might ask. After all, he knew all about how her ability worked.

"N-no. It's not like that--" she stopped herself. Wasn't it, though? She'd thought she was stable enough to handle this problem of hers, but everything about the current situation screamed that she wasn't. No doubt Lawrence had caught on to this, having almost just died as a result.

Fumbling for an explanation, however, her issue suddenly seemed so small and inconsequential. Her friends and family thought she'd died, but at least nobody was actually dead. She'd only been here about a week and had already been present for the death of several people. Lawrence had presumably been here much longer than a week. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd seen. 

Faced with the triviality of her problem, she stared down at her knees. Honesty was typically her policy and she hadn't felt misguided by confiding in Lawrence so far. She wished that truth made her feel less like an idiot as she started to speak.

"I just... found out my folks told everyone I'm dead. Won't talk to me anymore. I... thought I could come here and... vent." She fell silent. 

"I understand."

It was a simple statement, and perhaps only half true. Lawrence had been raised in a family that greatly feared subnaturals and magic- not altogether an unwarranted fear from what Lawrence had witnessed over the last year. Particularly punctuated by the recent "Friendly Game" they had been involved with. As such, when his powers first manifested he had no desire to contact them for what he could do, and they had no desire to contact him for the same reasons. He couldn't say that he hadn't missed them at first- but by the time his anti-mage biases had begun to erode Lawrence had begun hardening himself to loss- and his family had since become one more footnote among a sea of other casualties over the past year.

So indeed he understood perfectly being dead to one's family- in fact he wouldn't be surprised to find that is exactly what his own family had said about him- but he couldn't relate to her emotional state over the issue. Lawrence had no urge to ever even try to contact his family again- and had no desire wasting time wondering what could have been. He couldn't change that part of his life now if he wanted to.

Did he want to?

"Sometimes we get to choose who to keep in our life- and sometimes that choice is made for us. There's... been times I've wanted to vent over some choices made for me. There's a bit of different in scale what 'Vent' means with your powers and mine though."

She blinked away a second wave of tears that threatened to recommence her ugly crying, validated in the sympathy she was leaning way too heavily on. Callan nodded in spite of Lawrence not being able to see her.

"It's not the end of the world," she shakily formed the words, speaking more to herself, "Actually... I probably should've seen this coming." She wasn't entirely sure she believed that-- most likely because she didn't want to. Her parents were never crazy about subnaturals, but they'd always spoken highly of the Precursors. No matter her good intentions, however, she wasn't a Precursor. She needed to remember that. Having their subnatural daughter demolish their home probably didn't help in changing their opinion either. She'd felt like they were a little standoffish when they came to say goodbye, but....

She pushed the thoughts aside. "Sorry," she muttered, her voice evening out, "I should be more careful."

“You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” 

With a sigh, Lawrence continued.

"Someone a lot smarter than me wrote that two thousand years ago. There comes a point at this place when you realize that happiness is a far off goal- unless you're the type who enjoys being thrown into a prison and forced to be used as a weapon to kill monsters. But, you can't control what you can't control. What you can do is survive and become stronger from the circumstances that you're in- and maybe one day that strength will turn events you can't change into events you can."

Survive and become stronger.

It was good advice. She wanted to get stronger, use her powers for goodness and merit, and prove her parents wrong. Maybe she could become strong enough to change things for the better? Not only for herself, but others, too. To really change things.... 

Thinking of her friends and family was still... upsetting. But she needed to hang on to that glimmer of hope-- no matter how small. Her thoughts turned to the upcoming fight with Sander. He stood to benefit from training just as much as she did. She'd considered skipping it, given her current mental state. But now she was eager to begin. Callan smiled, weak but sincere. Glancing at Misery, it flickered out of existent. 

"Okay, she exhaled before getting to her feet. The creature's ear twitched, but its eyes remained on Lawrence. Extending her arms, she gripped the reigns and sent it melting back into her shadow with a shake of her arms. She turned back to Lawrence, extenging a hand. "That's... really good advice," she said, her feeble grin restored, "I'll keep it in mind. Thanks." 

She couldn't keep that hint of sadness from sneaking into her eyes as she spoke, but she was sincerely grateful. Of course, committing to this goal and knowing it was a long term thing meant she would have to accept what had happened to some extent. Hopefully she'd be able to things up with her parents one day, but not now. Lawrence was right. You can't control what you can't control. 

Shoving the closed book back into the pocket of his jacket, Lawrence took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet- preferring not to give the lady with super strength time to tug his arm out of its socket. He winced as the wounds on his leg reopened with the movement, having barely begun to scab over, but being skin deep meant they wouldn't impede his ability to walk any. Through the tears in his pantleg more ink could be seen etched into his skin- but not enough to remotely make out what it looked like.  Running a hand through his hair, he responded to her final comment with:

"At least someone takes my advice."

His mind of course was on the recent game that had taken place. Particularly Allison deciding to ignore his idea to hole up and protect their fallen teammate in favor of a suicide attack against the other team. He hadn't felt bad at all about what had happened to her face in the aftermath as gruesome as it was. He had seen far worse happen to people in the field. Injuries that couldn't be recovered from.

Still, he didn't want the topic to shift to the other day if he could help it, so he turned back towards USARILN East and picked his shotgun off the ground. Beginning to walk with a small wave for the younger girl to follow behind him.

"We should probably get back before we run into an Aberration in the middle of a bad day. It'd be nice to not have to escape death twice in one afternoon."

With a hesitant nod, Callan followed. 

His expression as she helped him to his feet hadn't gone unnoticed. Neither had the markings on his leg. She'd noticed the tattoos peaking out of his sleeves before, but hadn't given them much thought at the time. He didn't strike her as the sort to get tattoos for no reason. But as much as she trusted Lawrence, she was all too aware that feeling likely wasn't mutual and opted not to mention it.
 
"You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you?" she asked. It probably wasn't too long now. She needed to meet up with Sander, but making sure Lawrence made it safely out of Ground Zero was the least she could do.

Lawrence shook his head in response, breaking the action on his shotgun as he walked and chambering a new shell. He didn't expect to be almost murdered twice that day- but it never hurt to prepare.

"I don't really keep the time unless I have somewhere to be. No real sense in it when it doesn't matter."

"Right," Callan chuckled half-heartedly. Perhaps that explained why he hadn't seemed too concerned about waiting on her Sunday night. Words she could live by. But unfortunately she did have somewhere to be. Sander's words still echoed in her head and she really didn't want to bother Lawrence further. "Thanks anyways."

When silence was all that followed, Callan's eyes fell on the shotgun in his hands. Her own knowledge of guns was shoddy at best-- ending at how to turn the safety off on the gun her father used to keep in a heavy case under his bed. A handgun with a name she never cared enough to remember. Supposedly her father had always meant to teach her and Dom how to properly use it, but it simply never happened in between sudden deadlines at work, basketball tournaments, and the general aura of lethargy that seemed to sabotage most weekend plans that didn't involve staying at home in the Webb house.

"How long have you been here, again?" Callan asked. 

"Mmm."

He responded at first, not quite sure if this was a conversation he wanted to get into. He'd spent enough time convincing himself that the past wasn't important that he was wary of bringing it up altogether. Reminiscence served no point if you already learned the lessons that you could from it. At the end of the day memory did more good buried than brought to the surface.

Still, he was honest if nothing else- perhaps too much so, and he'd rather answer than redirect for the time being.

"A little over a year now- give or take."

"Wow," she said without much thought. A year didn't seem like a very long time when she thought about how quickly her junior year seemed to fly by. But trying to think about the future and where she might be in a year's time made it seem like an eternity. She didn't want to think too hard about either at the moment. It was much easier to keep the focus on Lawrence.

 "Uh. You must know a lot about guns, huh? Since they made you special instructor and all." 
 
 He shook his head in response, idly shifting the safety between its on and of positions as he walked.

"Maybe out of all the students here I know the most- but that's because I don't exactly have magic that I can defend myself with. I'm sure the guards and actual military personelle around here know more than I ever can, but they probably jumped at the opportunity to use a student. Forging bonds and all that jazz."

"Yeah," she half laughed, "So... I guess you learned most of it while you were here, huh?" 

"If by most you mean all- then yeah. At least during the last six months. I was even less inclined towards getting myself killed at the beginning of my time here and wasn't really sent out much. I had the advantage of being too useless to deploy though unlike you guys this year."

Callan smiled at that, remarkably managing to ignore the less positive connotations of what he'd just said. It was nice to be considered useful... even if that was a term more appropriately used for tools and tank engines. Even if people who weren't necessarily any less useful than herself had died just a few days prior. It didn't take long for her expression to correct itself.  

"Did one of the guards teach you?"  she asked, wanting to steer away from the topic of usefulness. 

"No, someone I knew."

Dead names, dead faces, neither of which he wanted to think about. That was what the majority of the past, present, and future held at USARILN East. However, it's not like they were less lucky than anybody else since dreamcatcher vanished. Even for those not being forced to fight monsters there was always a chance of a category 3 showing up and destroying everything you knew.

That was the reality of the modern world, even if people tried to forget it.

"Mostly though I've taught myself, once the basics were underway. Research and practice- it's what I was doing before I stumbled into you just now."

Someone he knew. Past tense. She'd hoped to find some safety in this topic, but maybe that was a foolish venture. After all, he'd been here a year.  There was no telling what sort of things he'd seen. But if he was upset by her question, he was hiding it masterfully. A different thought crossed her mind then. A memory of something important that was said that she'd chosen to ignore in the moment in favor of more positive news.

"Were you in Unit A?" she asked suddenly. Maybe this was a question for another time-- or even another person. If her gun teaching question was bad, this might be even worse. "Mr. Francisco said it... 'fell through'?"

"Shane's unit?"

This conversation was starting to go exactly where he wanted to avoid, and his tone grew harder, with a clear undercurrent of hostility. He could forgive the curiosity, but she would need to learn eventually that some subject were best approached with caution amongst the 'Veterans' at USARILN East. Probably once her own memories were filled with corpses.

"That was reserved for the best of the best, and I wouldn't have been considered in a hundred years- I'm not even sure why I'm on this one. I knew someone who wanted to be on that team though, and threw their life away because of it. Let's drop the subject."

The vitriol churning behind his response wasn't entirely unexpected, but Callan recoiled nonetheless. Her eyes immediately focused on her shoes, dirty from her time spent on the ground. Tiny flecks of rock stuck to the laces and mesh-- something to stare to at while she apologized, heat rushing to her face. 

"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice just above a whisper. She furrowed her brow and chewed her lip with rising anxiety fueled by a sudden feeling of frustration. He'd shut her down so quickly. Didn't she deserve to know what happened to Unit A? From what she'd seen, Shane could level an entire battlefield. How could his team have been anything but a huge success? What could possibly be that strong?

Twisting her fingers into knots, she inwardly scolded herself for being so forward. It was inconsiderate to think she deserved anything from Lawrence-- he'd helped her so much already. She knew how strong Dreamcatcher's monsters could be-- perhaps not any better than someone who'd been fighting them for several months, but she'd seen the news. Knew people who knew people.

"Coach Walsh is such a fuckin' ass. Callan, don' you think Coach Walsh is an ass? Be real."

Callan's fingers slipped from the ankle brace she'd been unwrapping as her shoulder was nudged. The sound of the velcro was almost a good enough excuse to ignore her teammate, but Gaby wasn't the type to change the subject so easily. Hoping against hope, Callan glanced at her and shrugged.

"C'mon, what? You afraid? Cal, you've had double-doubles three games in a row. He's not about to bench our best power forward. Jus' tell me. He's an ass, right?"

Callan rolled her eyes and continued with the brace. "You think everyone's an ass," she chuckled, shaking her head. 

The others laughed, loud and boisterous despite the joke not being all that funny-- typical behavior right after a win. "Tell me, bitch!" Gaby chuckled, nudging her again. 

Yes, Callan thought her coach was an unbearable douchebag, but it was January and she'd just set resolutions to be more positive. 

"I'd be an ass, too, if I was old and ugly!" she joked, mentally kicking herself. Eh... close enough. The laughs continued. 

It was an old and pointless memory from two years ago. Why was she remembering it? The game preceeding that conversation had been a great one, sure, but no more noteworthy than any of the other several games she'd go on to play that year. She and all her teammates had gone out for dinner at some diner to celebrate their victory. While they were there, the restaurant became unusually quiet... it looked like they were airing a big DC monster attack on the news. Claiming some tables, she, her teammates, and everyone else momentarily forgot about their hunger and jobs long enough to watch before the video feed eventually stopped. Garrote vs the Precursors. 2018. Finally aired to the public several months after the operation.

"Shit, you see how strong that bitch was?!" Gaby exclaimed after the report ended, "Thought they were fightin' some DC monster!"

Ah, yes. That's why she was remembering that evening right now. Her mind lingered on the idea that Gaby had never been wrong. Rabid squirrel people, massive two-headed quadrupeds, magical eyeball scorpions, subnaturals... who could say there was really all that much of a line between them? A monster was a monster-- that's what Dreamcatcher had wanted all along, wasn't it? By God's design, monsters now walked the earth. To teach us a lesson? To signify the end of the world? Or a bit of both? 

Callan wasn't sure she cared enough to figure it out, but the unknown was frightening. She wanted to take Lawrence's advice. To become strong enough to make a difference. To be useful. But if she wasn't useful enough... who would pay the price? Her teammates? People like Padma? 

Lawrence didn't say anything after that. Callan felt she'd done enough damage and stayed quiet until they finally reached the exit. 

"I've got to go meet someone," she said, stopping, "Uh... thanks for your help. I'll see you around."

Lawrence nodded in response, giving no indication that he was offended by the previous exchange as he walked away. With a backwards wave he added:

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll meet up someplace, ciao."

She waved back, trying not to think so much about how relieved she was that he didn't still seem upset at her for bringing up Unit A. His advice was what she needed to remember right now. She still had time before Sander arrived. While there wasn't much she could do to physically prepare, she could try to simmer down-- find something to do to keep her mind off of the phone call with Dom. 

Power over your own mind. Not outside events... right. 

She exhaled sharply before turning around, heading back into the mysterious Ground Zero.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Snagglepuss89

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Snagglepuss89

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Zoe Fletcher & "Doc" Ellison

Collab between: @Lasrever@Snagglepuss89

To the surprise of absolutely no-one, Zoe really wasn't much of a bookworm. There'd been more important things to worry about than stories over the past couple years, and she'd fallen out of the habit. Standing in the library, she looked and felt thoroughly out of place as she browsed the books, eventually plucking one out at random without even looking at the title, absentmindedly glancing at a couple of pages.

Obviously she wasn't here to join the reading society or whatever people did in these places. She'd have enough of that to deal with once they actually made her go to class. As it was, she'd come here looking for a conversation. To clear things up. Tucking the book under her arm, she glanced around the library, catching sight of Lawrence. And suddenly feeling a lot more worried about all this. Assuming he'd seen her already, she gave him a nod of greeting.

"Hey, Lawrence. You, uh, busy right now? I was hoping we could talk."

Lawrence hadn't seen her, in fact he was trying to ignore his surroundings and relax with his nose shoved into "The Founding of Byzantium, 600-1050", having just seen off an aberration who was in need of a quick fix. Had he not recognized the voice that had interrupted him so soon after his last meeting it would have been difficult to mask his irritation, but as it was one of his new classmates he closed the book and gave her his full attention. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at "Fists to Friendship - Anger Management for the Antisocial" that she was carrying, but decided to let her control the conversation.

After all, she came to him. He was sure she had a reason besides just wanting to talk.

"Take a seat if you want, I have some free time."

"What? Oh, right. sure." Zoe appeared slightly surprised at the lack of hostility. Then again, Lawrence did always seem like the levelheaded type, so maybe it wasn't so surprising after all. Nodding, Zoe grabbed a chair, sitting the book down in front of her. She wasn't sure where to start with this, honestly. Apologizing wasn't one of her strong points. In fact it was right up there with diplomacy on the list of 'things Zoe never liked doing'. Eventually, she looked across at him, speaking abruptly.

"Sorry." She paused for a second, trying to figure out how to put it. "I mean, for Monday. I screwed up, right? Seriously screwed up."

"Yeah, I'd say so."

Lawrence wasn't quite expecting this situation. If anything, he figured she'd come here to deal with her stigma- something she clearly seemed to have issues with. Monday had certainly irritated him, although he already had enough time to cool off. That, and he hadn't been particularly mad at any one participant- save maybe Allison- over every other member of both groups. It had been a clusterfuck by all involved. Still, even if he wasn't bothered by what had happened, it was clearly on her mind enough to seek him out.

"You already did it though, so there's no point in dwelling on it. Best apology would be trying to make sure it doesn't happen a second time. And it looks like you're already trying to make that happen."

He nodded towards the book she was holding for emphasis after he finished speaking.

"Huh?" Noting Lawrence's gesture, Zoe finally took the time to properly look at and read the cover of the book. "'Fists to Friendship'... You're kidding me." She muttered. That was certainly a title. Maybe she should have actually looked at it before she'd picked it up. "Gonna be honest, I did not look at this thing. Who names their book that?"

She laughed uncomfortably. "Anyway, not the point. Point is, I guess I wanted to - to explain myself, I don't know." She shrugged. Was that all of it? She wasn't sure. Part of her wanted to ask what she was meant to do about any of this, but that felt like admitting she couldn't deal with this on her own. Which people had been trying to tell her anyway, but she had her pride to think of.

"You didn't..."

She didn't look at the book she picked up? He had yet to encounter a woman from this class that he could call normal, and using magic and stigmas as an excuse was starting to sound a bit hollow. 

Still, she had finally gotten around to the reason she was here, so instead of pressing her on her poor library habits, he flipped down the plaque that read "Doc Ellison", and leaned his chair back until it rest against the corner of the book case behind him. Folding his hands behind he head, he offered:

"All right then, if you want to explain then I'll listen."

"Okay. Right. So," Zoe frowned, clearly not confident with the whole subject. "I've read up on the mental stuff. You know, with being an X-marked and all. We're all different or something, though, right? 'Cause the way it was all described sounded like stuff I could deal with." Her expression darkened. What had it said again? Bad memories, worst moments? Stuff to torment them? That would doubtless be completely awful, but she could deal with it.

"I guess I don't know how I'm supposed to fight mine. So I didn't, and I got carried away."

Lawrence nodded in response, not being told anything new but still listening attentively. That she hadn't found a way to control her stigma was pretty obvious from what had happened Monday. Still, this was the sort of thing that people came to him for regularly, and if he could be of help then Lawrence was going to try.

"Not to be a bearer of bad news- but I've never met an Aberration who was able to "deal with" it. What I can do for you-"

He didn't pause, but a glowing light enveloped them both mid sentence, beginning to affect Zoe almost immediately.

"Is only a temporary measure. Keeps a freakout from happening until the storm lessens. The only thing that will keep your stigma in check is destruction Zoe, for better or worse. It's not something you can fight with your mind alone. Ground Zero exists so you can do that safely, and I can provide some temporary relief."

With a sigh, he added:

"If there's anything else that works, it hasn't been found yet."

Calm washed over Zoe with the light, the girl visibly relaxing and suddenly a little less anxious about the discussion. "So that's it. I've been to Ground Zero, and it did help, but what happens if it starts to affect my normal mindset? I mean even when my issues aren't flaring up." It was probably irrational. Almost definitely. She wasn't worried about the whole idea of hurting people - certainly wouldn't hesitate if it was necessary. But the idea that she'd start to like doing so on her own, not for her stigma, scared her.

But there she went being selfish again. Her fears weren't Lawrence's problem. This was why she didn't like asking people for help. "I shouldn't bother you with this. You've probably got enough to deal with, I'm sure I can figure it out."

"I don't have any more to deal with than you do. We live and work in the same place. Probably less without a stigma breathing down my neck."

With that he set his chair on all four legs again and leaned forward on the table, hands clasped together in front of him. Serious for perhaps the first time in the conversation as the light faded from around both of them.

"So I think bothering me with this is exactly the sort of thing you should be doing right now- because if you can't figure it out, it could kill you. It could kill me. It could kill everyone on this team they've decided to put together, and I hope you don't want that to happen any more than I do."

"Of course I don't want that!" Zoe snapped, shooting out of her chair. What was that even supposed to mean? Part of her understood that it was just a statement of fact, that Lawrence was probably just trying to help, but she couldn't stop herself from taking things personally. It was a touchy subject, and a whole host of emotions sprung forth, but she clung to anger. Anger was easy, and let her ignore everything else.

She lowered her voice, glaring down at him. "Just because I've lost control before, doesn't mean I don't want to get a handle on it, Lawrence. Don't talk to me like I don't know how bad things can be if I screw up."

"Then don't hit me with the 'Shouldn't bother you with this' crap and act like you know. My point was that this is too serious for you to try and hole up and handle it alone. So if you do know how bad thing can be, you should let someone offer to try and help you."

Lawrence held her gaze with little difficulty. He, of course, didn't want to provoke a potentially unstable Aberration, but was pretty confident if she took this encounter to blows that he could fight or get away without too much of an issue. He certainly wasn't intimidated by her compared to the horrors he'd faced since arriving at USARILN East. 

It was simply a matter of being "too old for this shit". From their encounter on the streets after their first battle he expected Zoe to be more of a plain talker. Confident and direct with what she wanted. This conversation was taking a direction that was too wishy washy for the impossibly direct Lawrence. There were reasons he wasn't known for having friends.

Oh, so that was it. Just get everyone else to help with her problems! If only she hadn't been told that fifty times already! "So what, I let myself get close to all of you? Maybe sit around and talk about my feelings? Here's some news for you, you know-it-all prick, that makes it worse." Zoe practically snarled back at him, not really paying attention to what she was saying at this point. Her emotions had more than gotten the better of her judgement.

"A brush of my fingers and you're disfigured. A second of pushing, and you're dead. And I'll like - no, love every fucking moment. But sure, let's just make that more likely to happen."

"What do I care if I die because of your fingers when the alternative is being killed by a monster because you never figured out how to be stable enough to not botch a mission? "

Standing up himself, Lawrence hit Zoe with his power once more, this having gone far enough with giving her the courtesy to be an irrational bitch.

"I'll say this as plainly as I can, I want to help you, not get close to you. You think I want to get close to a bunch of people who are going to be ripped apart in front of me? I've been there Zoe, and I don't care for it. So you can keep your distance and I can keep mine and it'll be fucking dandy, but we're being forced into a partnership along with everyone else on this team and you need to work together with at least some of us. Whether it's me or not."

Zoe felt her anger fading as the light reappeared, the harsh words on the tip of her tongue disappearing to be replaced by a sigh of exhaustion. "Yeah, it's on me. I know that. People die. I know that too. That's why--" She almost appeared to crumple at the loss of her anger, sinking back into her seat. "I'm scared, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? I'm scared that I'll get one of you guys killed 'cause I lose it."

She chuckled drily. "And now here I am taking it out on you when you've been more generous to me than most anyone else here." So much for telling herself there wouldn't be any more tantrums.

With a sigh Lawrence ran a hand through his hair and took his seat as well. 

"Look, when I got here I felt the exact same way you do, even without a stigma stuck up my ass or the power to melt people's faces off. So I do get it, really. I don't want to hear that you're scared, what I want is to see you determined. Feelings are fine, and I'll lend an ear if you want to voice them, but what I want Zoe is to find a course of action to solve this problem before these fears of yours are realized. So will you let me?"

Zoe was silent for a long moment, trying to gauge how she felt about this. She had the feeling this would have gone a very different direction if he hadn't calmed her down. She was also pretty sure she wouldn't have admitted to feeling how she did about all of this either. Wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but it'd have to do for now. Whatever she felt about it, what he was telling her did seem to make sense. She nodded her head slowly. "Fine. I can do that. Or you can. I'll listen."

Lawrence nodded in response to her, pleased at making some progress. It always felt dirty using his power without consent, and probably always would, but practicality came before morality sometimes. He didn't want to have to kill Zoe for going psycho in the future if he could prevent it.

Or be killed by her.

For now though at least he had something he could work with even if it didn't lead to anything productive.

"Let's settle on "we" for now. What can you tell me about how often that bloodlust of yours spikes to what we saw on Monday? Or what we saw just now even? Was this an issue before your stigma became a thing?"

Whether it was to make a point or not, Lawrence flipped the plaque upright once more as he spoke. Still serious, but with an edge taken off his look.

"I've always been hotheaded, but the bloodlust is definitely a new development, if not a great combination. As for frequency," Zoe shrugged, thinking the question over. "It builds up, I suppose. Monday, I hadn't done anything to deal with it since we fought the monsters. So that was a pretty bad day. I went to Ground Zero yesterday - It wouldn't normally be doing anything at all yet."

But it was, if only a little. She would have probably still gotten annoyed without it, but maybe not quite to the same level. Kind of confirmed her suspicions about the vision after the fight, which wasn't exactly reassuring. If her stigma could get worse as her powers grew, then her chance to learn self-control was on a time limit.

"It sounds to me we have two issues then. You were hotheaded before the stigma, and now you have your stigma as well. There's no reason we can't try and tackle these problems separately before they become too hopelessly entangled."

After a short pause, he added:

"Do you have unrestricted access to Ground Zero yet? Not every Aberration needs it, but it sounds like a good idea in your case."

Shaking her head, Zoe replied. "Not yet. I just have to put in a request for that, right? Shouldn't be too difficult." She hadn't really thought about it too much. What with everything else that had been happening with the whole group, she guessed the idea had just slipped her mind.

"Well, do you have someplace to be?"

With that Lawrence picked up the plaque and set it on she shelf behind him before standing up and tucking his book into the pocket of his jacket. After this encounter he was done dealing with Aberrations for the day anyway. 

"I've had it for ages, so I can walk you through the process. I think it's a good idea for you to visit there a few times a week to keep that stigma of yours quiet while we try and work through your other anger issues. At the very least it'll reduce the chance we run into an emergency deployment before you've had a chance to let off steam."

"Nowhere else right now." Zoe smiled appreciatively. She figured Lawrence's actions were out of practicality more than anything, but she couldn't help but be thankful that he'd actually help her out like that. He would've been perfectly justified in not giving her the time of day after her outburst. Maybe he was just used to that kind of thing by now.

"I suppose me learning to keep a level head is probably best for everyone. Especially if we're some sort of unit. Lead the way."

With a nod he made his way around the table, before pausing and turning to Zoe, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. With that the light enveloping them vanished once more.

"Guess it's my turn to apologize- I prefer not to do that without consent. Even if it is a handy way of not getting punched in the face."

As the light faded, Zoe felt the strange calm disappear. Luckily she'd cooled off by this point anyway - if he'd stopped earlier the power usage would have probably made things worse. As it was, she frowned. "I'd rather you don't mess with my head without my permission, but I guess I did blow up on you there. Just don't do it again unless I make it necessary, alright?" She shrugged, looking away as a slight smile returned to her face.

"Let's just call it even for now. I owe you for sticking around after anyway."

"Yeah, but if I wait until the punch is already flying at my face it's a bit too late- We may have different perceptions of necessary is all I'm saying."

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by banjoanjo

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banjoanjo Still likes pistachios

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『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』  『𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕟』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔹   / /  𝟙𝟘𝟛𝟘
Collab with @VarionusNW and @banjoanjo

The week had been a pretty mixed bag for Ernie. Plenty of ups, thanks to new friends like Brent and Angel. Far too many downs though. Ernie was fine with forgetting those more negative moments. Completely erasing them wasn't possible, but drowning them out certainly was. So it was on this fine Saturday morning that Ernie plugged his Karcher CV 30/1 into his room's power socket and began his weekend cleaning routine.

Ah, what a calming yet powerful roar this machine produced. Ernie could feel his spirit lighten as dirt and grime werelifted from the disgusting berber carpet that occupied his dorm. Within minutes, the small dorm was freshly cleaned, with a stripe pattern decorating the carpet of the room once he finished. Good god, he really was in denial. Or he was just bored. He really needed to make some more friends. All these aimless days were going to get to him before long.

Ernie glanced at the power socket, lamenting the briefness of his cleaning time. Urgh, these East dorms were so stupidly small. There was barely anything to occupy his time. Unless...

The Aberration peeked out from behind his door. The hallway was empty. And carpeted. That was the important detail. Ernie felt anticipation build, an excited smile slowly creeping up his face. This would be a worthy time-waster.

The vacuum was quickly plugged into one of the hallway's outlets. His noise-blocking headphones were worn this time. Such lengthy tasks demanded some sweet jams.

He vacuumed as he sang, completely uncaring of anyone he would be disturbing. It was 10:40am anyway. What kinda loser would still be snoozing in their room at this time?

Allison mumbled in her groggy state, the sounds of the previous night replaying in her head. She had been up late into the night with Angel, re-learning how to play the guitar. Allison didn't remember when the stopped, just that she had walked back to her room tired, with aching fingers, and collapsed into her bed. She was now slowly waking up, the sound of the guitar still humming in her ears.

As the girl continued to lay in her half awake state, she began to notice that what she was hearing sounded less like the familiar miserable strumming of the guitar at her fingertips, and more like a constant hum, aided by some other loud, obnoxious noise. Someone was singing. The obnoxiousness grew louder and louder as she regained consciousness, finding it more unbearable as time passed. She threw her pillow over her head and tried to lull herself back to sleep to no avail. Allison's peaceful rest had been stolen from her, and there was only one thing to do.

Allison rose from the covers, mournfully wiping the sleep from her eyes. She put on the first clothes she could find, a sleeveless purple shirt and jeans, and shuffled her way to the door. She felt gross and uncomfortable in her lack of sleep, which only helped to worsen her mood. She was ready to destroy the property of whoever decided to vacuum the hallway of the aberration dorms. Who in their right minds would thing such a thing was a good idea? And whilst singing, no less. Allison threw open her door.

The obnoxious singing and constant hum of the vacuum cleaner only got louder once Allison stepped into the hallway, the culprit in clear view, though facing away from her. Long hair, relatively tall, and clearly smug despite his face not being visible. Ernie Mars. Of course it would be the guy who stabbed her in the eye, no one else one floor would have the complete lack of concern for others required to fill the halls with such pointless noise. She had half a mind to walk up and smash the machine, but the reasonable part of her told to at least give the monster that was Ernie a chance to prove himself to be not a complete asshole.

"Ernie!" She spoke up, too tired to force a full yell. "Hey Ernie, can you quiet down, please?"  Despite her attempt, Ernie kept on vacuuming, his music probably drowning out Allison's half-hearted call. "Ernie!"  She called again, her voice still not piercing the boy's ears. Allison, having given up on calling out to Ernest, walked over with all the grace of someone who had just woken up and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I tidy up your room! You tidy up my-- huh?"

At the sudden tap on the shoulder, Ernie turned to see a rather irritated girl. Allison, the girl he'd kinda accidentally stabbed on that first day. That 'accidentally' part was debatable. He'd definitely meant to stab someone, just not her. And he'd tried to apologise--uh, sort of. Okay, he might have been a bigger dick than he needed to be on Monday. Ernie tugged his headphones to his neck, shouting over the roar of the vacuum.

"Allison, right?" Ernie was barely audible, "Did you need something?"

"Could you not vacuum the hallway in the morning, or at least get a quieter vacuum? Actually, why are you vacuuming the halls in the first place?" Allison's assumption was that Ernie was just being a dick,  but there were much more affective ways of being a dick than vacuuming the hallway. Allison found herself both tired and confused.

"Uhh, cos it's super dirty and gross?" Ernie answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Dozens of Aberrations would have tread this hallway daily, and Ernie didn't trust anyone to keep things clean better than himself. Really, the school should be compensating him in some way, having him do the work for whatever poor excuse the USARILN janitorial team was. Besides, Allison's complaining made no sense. Ernie switched his machine off to better talk.

"What kinda slacker is asleep at almost 11 in the morning anyway? And no, I'm not gonna pull out the quieter one. It doesn't have the power to get the shit out of the carpets like this baby does," Ernie tapped the side of the vacuum fondly.

"Fair enough" Allison said to the comment on the floor, staring down at the ground around her. It really was rather gross. It wasn't cleaned all that regularly, and the janitorial staff was likely too underpaid to care. "It's 11 already? How late were we up?" Allison mumbled to herself. She stifled a laugh at Ernie's fondness for his vacuum. "Alright then, Ernie the janitor. To think there'd be a student here willing to vacuum the miserable floors, and the guy who stabbed me in the eye, no less." Though Allison was still angry about being stabbed in the eye, she mentioned it lightheartedly, her overall mood seeming to lift at the strangeness of Ernie's character.

"Oh yeah, that," Ernie cringed at the memory. Guess it had been too much to hope that she'd let go of it easily. Still, he'd prefer to minimise the number of people who hated him in this new environment. Now that his Stigma was cleared and he was lucid enough to think things over, Allison didn't seem like someone who deserved to get temporarily disfigured like that. She'd reacted reasonably enough to his cleaning ruckus. For starters, she didn't try to destroy his vacuum unlike some people he could name at West. He'd realised a lot of the wrong things he'd done this week. So even if he didn't mean it (though he probably did), a proper 'sorry' was what she deserved.

"That was a really shitty apology I did on Monday. I shoulda put a lot more effort into it," Ernie scratched his head. Apologising was... awkward, "Me with the table leg... That was just a really stupid overreaction and I got caught up in the fight and lost my cool. It's a pretty obvious rule to not stab classmates but..."

Geez, this sounded really bad out loud.

"It was a dick move. Way outta line. Sorry for hurting you like that."

"Thanks." Allison, though she didn't let it show, was shocked that Ernie could actually seem sincere, considering her last encounter with him. Of course, some part of her still thought he was lying, but she pushed that down as much as the thoughts that permeated the back of her mind. Maybe Ernie wasn't as bad as she originally assumed. She remembered her conversation with Zoe from Tuesday, how she had given Zoe a second chance in her mind, and refrained from just calling her a monster outright. How could she not give the same treatment to Ernie. Maybe there was some good to Ernie. Allison knew for certain that truly good people didn't exist, maybe the same held true for true evil. "I think I can understand why you did it, and while I'm still angry about being, you know, stabbed in the eye, I don't hate you. I certainly can't hate a guy who vacuums this disgusting floor, even if he does it without regard for people sleeping in late." She let off a light chuckle with the last line.

Ernie smiled gratefully. So Allison wasn't going to stab him in his sleep. Wonderful! He could definitely use more friends in this new environment. However, he had no sympathy for late sleepers. Ernie was tempted to call her out but settled for a milder approach.

"Yeah, you might wanna get that sleep schedule checked out. You never know when you might get sortied so you don't wanna be fighting monsters on only a few hours' sleep."

"Alright, alright. I'll tell Angel that I can't hang out with her at night by authority of a janitor." Allison remarked. After she said it, she wasn't sure if Ernie knew who Angel was, realizing it was probably dumb to drop her name.

"Oh hey, you're friends with Angelique too? We should all hang out sometime! There are still some places in town I wanna check out," Ernie beamed excitedly, "And yeah, janitor's orders. Don't want any pesky kids dirtying my floors at 3 am."

"I'm surprised you know her. Yea, I guess we'll have to hang out at some point." Allison laughed at Ernie's last comment. "Well, Ernie the Janitor, I guess I should leave you to your work. You don't get payed to stand around talking to people. Well, you also don't get payed to vacuum loudly and sing, but that's besides the point." Allison stretched her arms, realizing that she had completely failed at what she had come to do, and ended up completely awake as a result.  She wasn't getting her beauty sleep, it seemed. "Oh, and your singing is absolutely terrible. You sound like you're choking on a dying cat. You're not choking on a dying cat, are you?"

"Getting paid, huh?" Ernie rubbed his chin, considering the possibilities. He'd done something like that at West, helping people clean their dorms and such. Whether or not he had their approval was a different matter. But when they did ask him to do it, he usually got paid in snacks or cakes and such. It wasn't like he was short on cash or anything, but the thought of hoarding favours did appeal to him. Allison's next comment caught him off-guard, leaving that train of thought for another day.

"Aw man, you're hurting my feelings!" Ernie shook his head ruefully. He didn't know he sounded that bad. Ah well, he wasn't aiming for a music career or anything. It was all in good fun, "Ew. No cats here, they shed like crazy."

"Would just mean more for you to vacuum up." Allison shrugged.

"Not just vacuuming, clothing too! I don't wanna have to buy a bunch of lint rollers for my shirts just because of some nasty fluffball."

"Alright, second decree of the janitor, no cats allowed. Do you want me to write that down? How many decrees should I expect? Will it be 'Ernie's 10 Janitorial Commandments'?"

"What, like 'Thou shalt not leave your washing machine unattended'? Stuff like that?" Ernie laughed, "I could think of a lot more than ten in that case."

"Guess I should ask for a really big stone tablet, then."

"It'd be pretty easy for you, yeah? With your power and all," the boy nodded, "A really big rock. You'd have to update it often too."

"Alright, guess I'll carve it into the side of a mountain, then. Will Everest be big enough?"

Another round of laughter. "Hahaha! Hopefully!"

Man, this was an important lesson he learnt today. Don't stab people before you get to know them. He didn't think that Allison would've been so fun to talk to. He hadn't thought anything of her, really. He was glad to have been mistaken. Ernie glanced at the ground, reminded of his earlier chore.

"Yeah, guess I really should get back to work. I might do the other floors of this building too, if this one goes quickly. Talk again some other time?"

Ernie paused briefly, thinking.

"Can we swap numbers? I was serious about hanging out. You seem alright."

"Yea, sure." Allison said, realizing that her phone was still in her room. She had barely touched the device all week, spending very little time aclimatizing herself to the strange thing, and even less memorizing her own number. "I'll have to go get my phone, though, be right back." She went to grab her phone from her room as quickly as she could, returning just as fast. 

"Sweet!"

The two Aberrations exchanged contact details. While he could, Ernie snapped a picture of an offguard Allison for her contact page in his phone. Hm, he'd have to do the same for the others too.

"I'll see you around then?"

"Yea, see you around. I'll let you get back to work." Allison walked away, leaving the strange boy to his vacuuming.

Ernie waved the girl goodbye, getting back to work like Allison had suggested. Ah, he would have never expected mornings at East to be so refreshing. He restarted the vacuum, popped his headphones back on, and began singing again with even more vigor than earlier.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Vox Angelis

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Vox Angelis Dust in the wind

Banned Seen 9 mos ago

Vox Angelis

Dust in the wind

Banned

410 posts

in 3956 days

Seen 9 mos ago

Bio

Angélique's Week

Part 1

 | 
Angélique | Allison

 𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕆𝕦𝕥𝕡𝕠𝕤/ /  ~𝟙𝟡𝟘𝟘 
Collab by @Riffus Maximus [@Varionus NW]

Ah, the cracks began to appear on his mask. Seeing Fredric trying to maintain his calm and composed smile, Angélique somewhat enjoyed hearing the guy speak with a tone that betrayed his cool attitude. And that scowl by the end of his speech was the cherry on top of the cake. Sure, she was irritated by his words, calling her 'immature' and 'pampered', but she didn't want to say any more than needed. She didn't need to prove he was right. She knew more than anyone else how hard she worked to get where she had been. She wasn't born with a silver spoon in her hand, and she endured more than her fair share of stress and difficulties. Calling her 'pampered' just showed how much he didn't really know about her, how wrong it was to assume she was yet just another rich and sassy star. Granted, she was rebellious and somewhat immature, but it had always been in her nature to be as open and honest as she could be.

Even now, Angélique could remember the words spoken by her manager:
"There's a thin line between lacking maturity and being emotionally open. For the sake of your public image, don't cross that line. You can freely express your opinions and your feelings to the world, but do it so with a cool head. You are, after all, someone trying to represent a change of mentality in these dark times. Nobody will want to hear the words of a child throwing a tantrum whenever something isn't to her liking."

And yet there she was, throwing those teachings away. For what reason? She couldn't exactly tell. Maybe after all those years holding back for the sake of maintaining a decent public opinion, she decided to cast it all away now that she had nothing left to cling on. What good would holding it in do anymore? To become someone like Fredric? Just for once, Angel would've liked to see the man lose his calm, to show to everyone he actually was compassionate to his fellow Mages, demonstrate he still had that humanity that bonds humankind together when faced with disasters.

Moments later, the room was vacated. Everyone had been escorted to their respective buildings. A strange occurrence had happened on the way though. Screaming and alarms ringing in the air. Whatever was happening there, Angel couldn’t see anything but Rosa pushing through the swarm of guards that circled an area. Hopefully one of her classmates didn't do anything stupid that would warrant a trip to the hospital, again. Soon enough, after hearing someone crying, the distinct voice of Fredric barking out orders to get the students back to their dorms sounded a bit like music to the singer’s ears. Ah, just how enjoyable was it to hear this stupid calm voice of his turning this way.

When they had reached the Aberration dorms, Angel seek out her dorm neighbor. When she saw the brunette’s face relatively unscathed, aside from a few specks of blood and dirt, the raven-haired Mage sighed in relief. She quickly made her way through to meet Allison.

"Thank god we have someone like Christmas around! Are you alright, Alice?" the young Canadian woman said with a concerned look on her face, her hands reaching out for the girl's shoulders and her concealed eyes scanning her face for any sign of leftover wound or scar.

"Yea, I'm fine." Allison raised her hand to her eye as she spoke, tenderly touching the flesh around it, as if the wound could reappear at any moment. Once they were able to leave the observation room, Allison had moved as fast as she could back to the dorms. She hadn't expected Angel to come after her, but she was somewhat thankful to have someone to talk to. "You did great out there." Allison forced a smile.

"Ah... uh... thanks. I admit, taking down a Dragon was kind of cool. But... I let my team down afterwards. Shouldn't have taken this risk." Angel scratched the bandages around her shoulders, a ghostly itching from remembering Chris' claws digging into her skin. 

There was an awkward pause after Angélique finished speaking. She wanted to return the compliment, but the battle went downhill so fast, there wasn't really much to congratulate about the whole ordeal, except being alive. Even then, if it wasn't for Christmas, Allison probably would've died from the blood loss of this grievous injury.

"So, feeling hungry? I don't know for you, but it feels like I haven't eaten for a day."

"Now that you mention it... Yea, I guess I could use something to eat." After the chaos of the game, it was sort of odd for Allison to notice something that seemed so trivial in comparison. Allison welcomed that triviality, it would hopefully keep her mind on something a bit better than the world around her.

There was another awkward pause and Allison hesitated to fill the silence. Something deep down was yelling at her to say something, to tell Angel how much she appreciated talking to her, how great she was, and a myriad of other compliments that she was sure would seem odd, considering how little Allison and Angel had really interacted, and how little they knew about each other. Allison awkwardly motioned for Angel to lead the way.

"You know, we don't really know much about each other, do we?"

Angel nodded affirmatively as she took the lead forward, heading to the cafeteria area. "Yes, you're right. I suppose things have been going so fast since our arrival, we barely even have time to stop and get to know everyone."

Indeed. So far, every people she met was by pure coincidence. She interacted with a few of her classmates already, but never really did get to know them at all. It felt just like back in school. At first, one would meet their future friends as they get paired into group projects, then if everything went well, those partners would discover similar passions they share, then would become friends over time. As cruel as this 'school' was, could it be the staff had this kind of plan all along? A tight-knit group of Subnaturals who get along well with each-other surely was more efficient than simply throwing random Subnaturals together against monsters?

"I'm sure we'll have plenty more chances to catch up. I mean, I'd like to know more about you. You seem to be a likeable quiet person. Maybe it was fate that brought me to cry on your shoulder that night." Angel chuckled in slight embarrassment. Oh, just how much of a mess she must've looked like that night. Hardly the best of first impressions, she had to admit.

"Yea" Allison said with a slight chuckle. That night was an odd one, witnessing the deaths of strangers, and then hugging and crying with a stranger over it later. Allison doubted she would be able to forget it, not just for the sight of someone crumpling lifelessly to the floor in front of her, but for how captivating and odd Angel was. The girl who would cry into a stranger's shoulder, and befriend a complete nobody. "Huh, I don't think I've ever been called quiet before." Allison smiled. "And if there's anything you want to know about me, ask any time."

"Sure!" Angel smiled cheerfully in turn. 

Before they knew it, the Aberration neighbors reached the cafeteria and settled down with their plates of food somewhere not too crowded in the dining hall. Feeling particularly hungry after that much action, Angélique had chosen two slices of juicy steaks, accompanied with a large portion of steam-cooked vegetables. 

"So, did you think about what you'll be doing here, how to use your free week?" the raven-haired young woman asked after finishing her bite.

"No, not really. Haven't had the time to think about it, I guess. Any idea what you'll be doing?" Allison shoveled a forkful of rice and chicken into her face as soon as she finished her question. 

"I don't really know either. I've started a routine of morning jogging recently. I might stick to that. Maybe visit the gym afterwards, while I'm still warmed up from jogging? I guess trying to figure out what I can and can't do with my power would be something good to do. I'm still very new to the whole Mage deal, and I haven't got the time since... my awakening... to test how exactly it works." Angel spoke reluctantly when she came down to the 'awakening' part. Ever since the incident, she barely had the time to stop and think about all this. She was just shoved from one place to another until she arrived at USARILN.

"Figuring out I might as well try and occupy my thoughts at something. The less I think about this place, the better." Angélique finished before cutting another slice of meat and shoving it in her mouth.

"That sounds pretty good. Maybe I'll join you for a morning jog or two, if you'll have me, of course." Allison shoveled more food into her mouth before continuing. " Other than that, though, hmm... I could get back in to some old hobbies, I could probably find a guitar if I looked around..." Allison trailed off, her voice quieting to a low mutter as she thought aloud.

"I'll be glad to." Angel answered to Allison's proposal. At the mention of her friend thinking aloud about playing guitar being a hobby, the raven-haired musician's eyes beamed with joy.  "You play the guitar too? Girl, you're just, like, totally awesome!" Angel giggled excitedly at the possibility of having someone else to play music with. 

"I've bought one when we went on our shopping trip last time. Well, actually, Siena did when she saw me eyeing that limited edition Gibson electric and acoustic guitar hybrid model that just came out this summer. I'm telling you girl, the sound that comes from this thing is exquisite. I still can't believe Siena just gifted it to me as if it was a cheap toy. That guitar is super expensive. Like, totally what the most renowned guitarists can afford." The sonic Mage explained with an unusual brightness in her cheerful emerald eyes that could be seen from the cracks in her shades.

"If you feel like it, why not come into my room and give it a try? I'm eager to hear what you play."

"No, no!" Allison waved her hands in protest, forcing down a bite of food. "I barely know anything, and I haven't practiced in a long time."  It had been over a year since Allison had even touched the instrument, and she hadn't been taught much at the time. Allison couldn't recall Tommy ever being a good teacher.

Although it came a bit as a downer, Angélique's will remained undeterred towards a potential musician friend. Even though Allison might be a novice, it would be fun to have someone to play with in the future. Who knows, maybe they could even be a duo, playing in class. 

"Well, knowing we're going to be stuck in here for a while, now does seem to be a good time to learn more and get back into it." Angel chuckled slightly, realizing she was just repeating what the girl in front of her just said. "Maybe I could help you get back into it? Have a few evening lessons? I mean, if you want to. That could be pretty fun."

Allison's face lit up at the suggestion. Allison wasn't going to turn down hanging out with Angel, especially when it would give her a chance to get back into playing the guitar and possibly learn more about her friend.

"That sounds great! I guess you're some sort of guitar expert, or something then?" Allison joked. 

Midway from cutting what was left of her meal, Angel's silverware trailed off on the plate, letting out an unpleasant screech. As much as the fallen singer tried to keep a low profile on her identity here on the campus, it would seem her outgoing personality did quite the opposite. Already, she was giving out hints of her musical career. First to Brent, now to Allison. Soon, the whole campus would know if this was keeping up like this. The thought of having nosy Mages ask about her and the accident in Montréal was making her more than nervous. 

Angel chuckled nervously to her friend's joke. "M-maybe something like that?"

Angel's response seemed slightly off, but Allison didn't dwell on it. It was nice to know that they shared an interest, even if one of them was just a novice at it. The two of them sat in awkward silence for a moment, Allison picking at the remnants of her food.

"So," Allison said, diverting the conversation. "Anything you want to know about me?"

Nearly finishing up with her vegetables, Angel rose her head up in surprise. That discussion had just way too many awkward silences. Was she pushing too hard in trying to be friend with Allison? She wanted to know a bit more about the girl, but the raven-haired Aberration didn't want to make the brunette feel uncomfortable. 

"Well... hm,... What were you doing before coming here? I mean, were you working as a model or something?"

Bad. This kind of talk was just asking for Allison to return the question right back at Angel. She wasn't ready to tell her she had been a popular singer and guitarist before she ended up killing people with her powers. She had to find something else to ask about,

"No wait! That's too personal. Probably not something you'd want to discuss right now. How about the things you like? The hobbies you were speaking of earlier?"

Allison prepared to think on Angel's first question, and she blushed slightly at the question of if she worked as a model, but was somewhat relived when Angel changed her mind. Allison was fine with Angel thinking she was a model before coming here, it sure beat the truth.

"My hobbies, huh?" Allison leaned her head on her hand, resting her elbow on the table as she contemplated. "Well, I guess it's more like a bunch of things I did a few times before moving onto the next, especially when I was a kid." Her face fell into a frown for a moment with the thought of her childhood. "I was really into painting for a few years, to the point where my parents had hung up my terrible work on the walls." Her expression rose into a half-hearted smile. " After that I was obsessed with writing. I don't do that much anymore, but certainly more than painting." She let out a slight chuckle. " My biggest 'hobby' though? Probably dating. Don't know if there was a time in teens when I wasn't dating." She joked, though immediately contorted into surprise at what she just said, and she swiftly tried to change the subject "Anyway... anything else you want to know?"

Dating? That was an unusual kind of hobby. Was Allison the type of girl to swing from one guy to another? Well, she does have the looks to get the boys swooning at her feet. Angel wasn't sure what to think of that, but seeing just how Allison was quick to change the subject, the black-haired songstress wouldn't dig any deeper into the subject.

Angel pondered over what else there would be to ask about Allison. The more their talk went on, the more it felt like an interview, something Angel had been quite familiar with. "You said you learned a bit about playing guitar. What kind of music do you like? What genre made you want to pick up an instrument and play?"

"I guess I like a bit of everything? I've not got much of a preference. I don't think I was really inspired by a genre. More that it seemed like fun, and I had nothing but time to fill. I guess it helped that my girlfriend at the time was a bit obsessed with the guitar." Allison let old memories flow through her head for a moment, before realizing what she had said. She kept calm, her face relaxed, though she hoped that Angel wouldn't pry much on that aspect.

It took Angelique a bit by surprise to hear Allison had been going out with a girl before, but she looked overall unfazed by the sudden statement. After all, the now-infamous rockstar went to many places and met all kinds of people. In this day and age, homosexuality isn't as frowned upon as in the old days. Angel had her fair share of female fans flirting with her. Not that it bothered her much though, but having a relationship while traveling overseas was a bad idea at the time. Still, the obsidian-haired Mage respected those people for being so open about their sexuality despite all the nay say.

Realizing Allison was being this much honest, Angel did feel a bit ashamed to try and hide a lot of herself from her friend. "I see. I've been pretty much like that when I was younger. My parents were big music fans, of all genres. I suppose I got their love of music passed down on me." The musician chuckled slightly. "I started out listening, playing and singing about everything I liked. But then my tastes turned out to be a bit more specific as I grew older. Now? I like rock - both modern and classic - metal and a bit of blues and country from time to time." Angel explained with obvious passion about her musical preferences. Through the cracked lens of her shades, a small glint was shining brightly into her vivid green eyes.

Allison listened intently to her friend speak, absorbed by the obvious love she had for the topic. The brunette was almost envious of Angel's passion for music, being so easily absorbed in something. Allison liked music, sure, but not even close to the level that Angel did. Music clearly played a big part in her life, and the joy that seeped out from the girl seemed to crawl across the table and infect Allison a bit. 

"Classic rock... That's what my dad used to listen to. And when I say classic, I mean CLASSIC. He wouldn't listen to anything from after the 1980s. He would blare the stuff for hours on end while he worked, to the point where I would bang on the door to his studio until he turned it down." Allison giggled slightly as she spoke. "Often, I would wake up to find that I had fallen asleep at the door." It was a ridiculous set of memories, but some of the few truly fond ones of her father. "He was an odd man, my father. To this day I still don't know whether I love or hate classic rock." Her face glistened with fondness, her eyes glowing with nostalgia.  "I guess we're kind of opposites, then? You grew up listening to everything, but ended up liking mostly one genre. I grew up listening to one, and grew to like everything. An interesting coincidence."

In turn, as Allison spoke a bit of her past, Angélique was captivated by the tale. It did sounded like her parents alright. It was fun to have someone... she could relate to? Opposites in style they may be, but that's probably the reason Angel grew ever more interested in knowing about the other Aberration in front of her, this room neighbor of hers. Seeing Allison's face radiating of nostalgic fondness, the young singing woman couldn't help but keep on smiling cheerfully.

"Tell me about it! I remember my parents always playing the same damn saxophone song all evening long until I fell asleep. The Moment, from Kenny G, I believe it was called? It was something quite soothing to hear. Sometimes I wish I learnt to play the sax just so I could make a cover of this song." 

Angélique paused, giggling to herself from just how close those days seemed to be. And yet, they were from a long time ago, a time Angel didn't think her parents were simply just using her for fame and money. Reflecting upon Allison's words, it was indeed an interesting coincidence. Or was it? 

"Yes... it is. Perhaps not. Who knows? Do you think Dreamcatcher, or whatever gave us these powers, had a plan in mind?"

Allison smiled at Angel's story, and was immediately thrown into thought at her question. Was it all fate, Dreamcatcher hatching some great scheme by giving people powers, by unleashing monsters upon the world, by allowing such a chaotic world to exist? If Dreamcatcher really did have a plan with all of it, it wasn't a great one, at least not for those suffering because of it. Maybe it was better to think that there was no plan, no great design, to allow some faith in Dreamcatcher to remain, rather than solidifying the being as truly and wholly malevolent.

Though, if Dreamcatcher really did have a plan with all of this chaos, what could it be? What could justify the suffering and deaths of millions? Was the suffering itself the plan, was Dreamcatcher out to watch man suffer? And what of the nature of the powers? Why were they gained in the way that the were, a single choice determining everything about your curse of an ability. Why did people gain the abilities that they did? Why could Allison summon the shard, why could Angel scream death, why could Chris become a dragon, and Zoe rot flesh? Was it for some greater purpose? Some divine accident out of Dreamcatcher's hands? Were they all just part of some sick game? Allison only had one answer.

"I don't know." The truth was beyond all of them, as to the nature of the situation. "We can speculate on the idea of a great plan, on the idea of a grand fate, but it doesn't change that we don't know. It all depends on the nature of Dreamcatcher, I guess." Allison sat in silence for a moment, sipping from a glass of water. "Angel," She said, most of the previous warmth drained from her contemplative tone. "Do you believe in good and evil?"

Angel slid her plate aside as she was hearing out Allison's answer, setting her chin onto the back of her two hands. It was strange, to have shifted from memories of the past to speculations of an uncertain future. It had caught the singer by surprise to see her friend becoming so serious all of a sudden. She could feel a chill run down her spine as her name was called, and by the question that followed.

The raven-haired X-marked remained silent for a bit, pondering over the question. "I don't know for certain, but I believe not everything is black and white. Deeds of kindness against acts of villainy. In the end, those are choices, mostly for one's own benefits or satisfaction. No, I don't think I believe in those concepts."

Angélique paused, taking off her damaged shades and looking at the shadowy reflection of herself into the smoky lenses. Choices. That's what had made her who she was today. Could she say she was evil for having taken the wrong path and becoming an Aberration? Of course not. Beyond the desire to destroy , she had an ulterior motive to the destruction, some noble purpose she tried to convince herself of.

"Why this question all of a sudden? What do you think about it?"

"It's just... It's the sort of thing I've been asking myself for a while. Why do people act as they do? What motivates them? What are they working towards? It always comes back to the question of good and evil. I want so badly to believe that there is an ultimate good, that truly good people exist, but..." Allison paused, staring at the glass of water. She suddenly placed the glass down, shaking her head. "Sorry, I got carried away there, ruined the mood." She stared down at the empty plate before her.

Angel had quickly stumbled back into a less relaxed state when Allison seemingly loss herself into fervently speaking out her beliefs. In a sense, the ex-musician could understand what the brunette was saying. Who wouldn't wish for an existing greater good? It was an utopic belief, but that was something Angel believed people tried so hard to strive for, for their own moral satisfaction.

"Please, don't be. It's my fault for having brought up some philosophical discussion to our friendly talk." Angel looked at Allison, seeing only but a blurred visage with her now-dark forest green eyes before she realized she still had her shades in hands.

There was yet another silence that fell onto the two Aberration girls' discussion. After downing her glass of grape juice, the black-haired singer put back her shades in place and coughed slightly. "You must be tired, after what you been through today. How about returning to the dorms, to relax?"

"Sure. No reason to stay in the cafeteria, at least." Allison said, getting up from her seat. She looked down at her bare feet, still mourning the loss of her shoes. She would need to get those replaced in the morning.

Agreeing, Angel nodded and left her tray onto the table. Clerks would just clean that up, right? 

Soon enough, the two girls would find themselves on the third floor of the Aberration dorms, in-between the two doors that were Allison's and Angel's rooms.

"So, uh, do you want to call it a night? Or perhaps... we could hang out for a bit in my room, play a little bit of music while it's not too late?"

"That..." Allison hesitated for a moment. Half of Allison wanted to run back to her room and scream into a pillow, her emotions churning after the conversation, but the other half didn't want to pass up more time with Angel. "... Sure, hanging out sounds good." The brunette followed Angel into her room.

For a part of the evening, both girls quietly enjoyed the sound of the guitar playing from the expert hands of the raven-haired musician and a few passable parts from the brunette novice. Most of the discussions the two were having was about how to properly play one part, how to chain certain notes together, finger placements and other small pieces of advices Angélique shared with glee to her friend. 

After both enjoyed this enchanting musical session, Angel had placed her guitar back into its expensive case and escorted Allison back into the hallway.

"Thanks for keeping me company tonight. I... needed that, after what happened today. It was fun. we should do that more often, if you enjoyed yourself too."

"Definitely. Haven't had that much fun in a long time. Thank you." Allison smiled, looking at her friend, who's expression undoubtedly matched her own. She let silence take over for a moment, that night seemed to be full of moments like that, though this one much more happy than the previous. Allison felt her thoughts creeping up from the back of her mind, she had been holding herself back all night, her stigma gradually returning in strength over time, at least she assumed it was her stigma. She let that silence hang, fighting with herself over what to do. Just turning around and walking away wasn't an option. Allison leaned in to hug her friend.

Just as if it was a natural thing to do between friends, Angel reached out for the girl with open arms, embracing her softly. After taking this blissful moment of silence in each other's warmth, Angélique gave a delicate pat on her friend's back.

"If there's anything bothering you, or just want to talk, my door is always open for you." Angel whispered, not wanting to break the silence as she was enthralled by how quiet this cherished moment was.

Allison savored that moment for as long as she could, taking in every aspect of it. The quiet air, the warmth pressed against her, and the overwhelming happiness of the moment, it almost drowned out the depressing state of their situation. If only that moment could last forever.

"Thank you." Allison whispered, before letting go. "Goodnight." Allison walked back to her room, the warmth of the hug still clinging to her as she opened the door. Normal friends didn't hug sentimentally the first few times they hang out, Allison was sure of that. She was happy for that lack of normalcy though, she needed it just as much as she needed the mundane conversation. Though, Allison also needed sleep, which hit her with a wave of tiredness as soon she flopped onto her bed, leaving that night as a memory.

"Good night" Angélique replied in kind as she looked back at her friend going back to her room. For a few minutes, Angel stood there, pensive, before going back into her room. Looking at the clock on her phone, it was getting late, although there was still time before the curfew. There were things Angel wanted to do before heading off to sleep.

𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤   / / 	𝟚𝟙𝟘𝟘
 
About time this day’s over…

By now, the aching in her body and the pain were all but gone.  Inside her room, the black-haired young woman had removed the bloodied bandages wrapped around her shoulders to reveal smooth but dirtied skin, revealing nothing really out of the ordinary from her body, as if nothing ever happened in the first place. Truly, the healing powers of some of her classmates truly were astonishing. Remembering about the injuries she sustained today, she still hasn’t properly thanked Christmas for bringing her and the others back into shape.  Angel took a mental note of thanking him the next time the cross each other.

Removing the now lukewarm compresses from her sides, the screamer Mage figured that most of this probably would have been avoided if she had been smart like Brent had been and requested protective like her fellow classmate did. Thankfully, her newly purchased clothes were still intact, if only a bit dirtied from today’s events. However, the same could not be said of her shades, which got damaged from being thrown off her face so often. With a crack in the left lens and the mount askew, they were barely functional now. 

With that much in mind, Angel left her room to head towards the registrar’s office. Once, again, she was greeted by the same office lady who had taken care of her previous request forms and the letters she had sent to the other members of Green Team. Acknowledging the Subnatural’s presence in front of her desk, the woman raised her head from her paperwork.

“What would you require today?”

“I need to request more gear. Got any more of those papers they gave us?”

Without a word, the office lady opened a drawer next to her, browsing for a few seconds before retrieving a document and handing it to the raven-haired young woman.

“Bring it back whenever you are done if you want to get your request over earl-“

The secretary cut herself off when Angélique leaned over the desk and grabbed a pen from her metal case. She apparently tried her best to look unfazed by this display of rudeness. She silently watched as the X-marked on the other side of her desk swiftly filled out the request form and handed it back to the registrar staff woman. Looking over what had been requested, she looked towards the late teenager.

“For the first part of your request, you can expect it to be delivered to your room tomorrow. As for the second part, I can only point you towards the campus’ hospital. We do have an optometrist available, so you’d have to go there and get yourself an appointment. Lastly, expect your last request to be delivered by the end of the week.”

“Very well. Thanks.”

Angel nodded and left the registrar’s office. It was getting late, but surely the hospital staff was still around?  From what it looked like the first time she was brought in there, infirmaries looked busy at all time. 

Without hesitating much, the Aberration’s feet brought her to the hospital secretary’s office, located at the entrance of the institute. A blond woman dressed formally for office work simply stood there, looking bored as ever as she watched the mural clock ticking.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

The secretary almost jumped from her wheeled chair in surprise, spinning it around to face the X-marked that had arrived in front of her desk.

“No no! I… was just taking a break! Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. I’ve heard this hospital has an optometrist. I’d like an appointment with them, as soon as possible.”

Angélique emphasized much on the urgency as she took her shades off her face and deposited them on the desk, right in front of the secretary. At first, the blond woman was about to point out that this was no fashion store, until she noticed something peculiar about the sunglasses during her inspection. 

“I see… Well Dr. Spencer isn’t available for the rest of the day. I can however set up an appointment for…” The hospital office young lady trailed off as she searched through her personnel directory. “Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Would you like to meet him for an eyes check-up at 1 PM tomorrow? ”

“If it’s the earliest I can get, yeah.”

“Good. Appointment at 1 PM for Dr. Spencer for ocular examination for Miss…?”

“Angélique Lachance.”

“Miss Lachance it is then. You are one of the newest arrivals, aren’t you? Heard Benediction came personally to heal your group after your first mission. Is he as impressive as the rumors tell?”

Angel sighed and simply turned around after ushering a faint “Thanks.” She wasn’t interested talking about Benedick. She got what she came for, no point in staying around any further. Hospitals were places she’d rather keep her presence short anyways.

 | 
Angélique | Christopher

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔸𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤   / /   𝟚𝟙𝟛𝟘 
Collab by @Riffus Maximus @dragonmancer

It had been a long and exhausting day, mentally and physically. Angélique couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t want to remember the last time she attended a full day of classes, not to mention the grueling team battle simulation they went through just about a few hours earlier. Although her body and spirit yearned for some deserved rest at this late hour in the evening, Angel’s mind was still restless, thinking over the discussion she had with Fredric earlier today. His smug smile and his attitude was still getting under her skin, even more so than the blatant refusal of answering her questions about Aaron’s whereabouts. He didn’t attend any of today’s first classes, and he didn’t show up at the ‘game’ either. Hell, she didn’t even see the brown-haired boy at all throughout the day, which was even stranger considering the past few days they always crossed path and he always asked her if they could hang around. This whole situation reeked, and despite the tall overseer’s warning, she needed answers.

About an hour before curfew, a time when Subnaturals where pretty much all back into their dorms, Angel’s footsteps led her to the Arbiter dorms, in front of suite 225. Thankfully, everyone’s room and suite numbers were written on the papers she had received this morning, because she was no good with numbers and had forgotten about everyone’s room numbers that she had learnt a few days ago after the shopping trip. But she remembered well Aaron telling her about his roommates, having been Alexis and Chris. 

While she really didn’t want to talk to the white-haired young man after what had happened this afternoon, Angélique was willing to put her grudge aside for this situation. Right now, Christopher was the only viable source of information who may have actually seen Aaron for the last time. Perhaps he didn’t know anything, but he was the only lead she had so far.

Knocking on the door thrice, the black-haired X-marked hoped both Chris and his new roommate were not asleep at this time and would be able to hear her outside. Last thing she wanted before going to her room for the curfew was to spend an hour in front of an unresponsive door.

Chris opened the door slowly, his pale arm was the first thing that was visable from within the room, then later his face had partially come into view. A blue eye had focused its gaze on Angelique's.  "Yes?"He asked, though it resembled his typical standoffish tone, there was a hint of shaking within his voice. 

Angel wasn't sure if she had caught Chris at a bad time, considering how... shaky he sounded? Still, she needed answers tonight. "I was wondering if you had seen Aaron today. He didn't show up in class, neither did he at the 'game'. Hell, I didn't even see him at all all throughout the day. You're his roomate, right? Surely you must know something." the Aberration girl's voice seemed insistant, as if she was at wit's end,

Chris's face turned utterly white. His stubborn persona shattered which revealed a look of unresting concern and terror. The bags under his eyes had become more noticable. "N-no he was just..here one night, but he wasn't here the following morning." Chris hesitated. "If I recall the guards broke in to collect his stuff. I-I didn't ask or anything but..." His face turned even more grim. "F-first Alexis, then Aaron, and now Rain" There was another pause. "Angelique, I..Am I next?"

The raven-haired musician's expression had turned into a frown when she heard about what had happened this morning. So that's what all the commotion was about this morning. Just what were they hiding from everyone about Aaron's whereabouts?

Her face however quickly changed to concern as she saw the usually cold and distant Christopher turning into a broken down mess by the disappearance of all of his roomates. Rain? Was that the name of the pink-haired androgynous person that had been sitting with Chris earlier today during the game? Were they the cause of the commotion earlier when they were about to leave Ground Zero? That would explain all the guards, Daisy crying her soul out and Fredric snapping at everyone to leave.

Deciding it was not wise to push the matter any further, considering Chris' state, Angel tried to push aside the grudge she had against the silver-haired young man and put a comforting hand onto the shapeshifting Mage's shoulder.

"Easy there. Relax. It surely must be some sick twist of fate or coincidence." Angel paused, mustering all the calm and comfort she wanted to inspire, despite her own growing restlessness. "As long as you don't do anything stupid in here, cooperate with the others should we go back in battle one day and stay strong, you're not going anywhere. You're one of the strongest people there is in our class."

"You just need to remain calm and collected, like your usual self. Although we could make it without you being cold and pushing others away from you." Angelique chuckled sightly. "We don't need to be friends, but that doesn't mean we can't all get along and cooperate. We need to stay together, for everyone's sake."

Chris had taken a moment to absorb the reassurance Angel provided. With a deep breathe, he replied;  "You're right.." He paused.  "I-I'm sorry for acting rude before."  The realization had finally sunk into Chris. His previous strategy of pushing people away was damaging, the loneliness he now felt coupled with the death of his own roommates had caused him to feel terror. The same terror he felt the day he was cursed. It was Angel's reasoning that broke the camel's back. He wanted to survive. "I'm done running." He muttered under his breathe.

 "I won't push you guys away any more." Chris returned a determined look to Angelique. "With that out of the way, is there anything else I can help you with?" 

Hearing Chris get back into the right track of mind, Angélique offered a heartfelt smile at the shapeshifting Mage. She was glad he opened himself up like this, and accepted her advices in this way. This resolution, that's what they all needed to survive here, after all. Returning back to the matter for which she came for in the first place, her facial traits turned more a more serious expression, however hinting a softness that wasn't present when she had knocked on Chris' door.

"Well, you've said they took Aaron's stuff this morning? So something must've happened overnight. Wasn't he in your room that night? Or maybe you know where he went last time you saw him?"

Chris thought for a moment. "The memory is a bit fuzzy, he may have left the room by himself that night but I wasn't paying attention, to be honest." He shrugged. "I don't have a clue where he'd go, but I have a hunch he may have tried to escape or something...You asked around with the guards n shit right?" 

Angel remained silent, looking pensive. Aaron didn't strike her as someone who would try to escape just like that. The brown-haired boy was level-headed. There's no way he would've just tried to escape with his level of power and all the restrictions put on the students. This hypothesis brought back in mind the conversation she had managed to spark on the Death and Taxes chatroom. The theory that he would've managed to escape had been suggested there as well. And there was this Hector person who seemed to know about something, despite the warning that he liked to rile things up.

"I directly asked Fredric about it. I had no luck with him. Dickhead just wouldn't want to spill the beans. He knows. They know. But they don't want to say anything about it."

Chris shook his head. "Well regardless of what happened to him, I don't think he'll be coming back." He had another pause, it was hard to muster those words. "Still, whatever happened it happened because he wandered off on his own for whatever reason." 

"Still... that's a classmate we are talking about. Just how many disappearances will it take before we stand up to ourselves and act? I'll admit, we're far from being able to fend off for ourselves. Hell, even the Precursors can't escape from their grasp..." Angel trailed off, realizing her anger against this place was getting the best over her judgement. She should stop, before saying and doing things that she'd regret, end up disappearing like many did already. "Sorry... I'm just tired of all this shit. Seeing people disappear one after the other, wondering, like you did earlier, when will it be my turn. The stress of waking up one day and going to battle against monsters we are unprepared for, seeing more people die."

After a pause, Angel realized how much of a downer she was becoming. She just managed to somehow get Chris back up on his moral feet, it would be pointless to have done so if she just started showing weakness into her own resolve. 

"I should go. It's getting late, and I believe I'm not thinking clearly things through." the Aberration turned, looking somewhat sour. After taking a few steps forward, she stopped in her tracks.

"Having this talk doesn't make us friends." She spoke with an exaggerating attempt at imitating Chris during the dinner Angel made for Green Team. "If you ever want to talk about something, or get something off your system, my door is open to anyone." the girl gave a faint hint of a smile before walking away from Christopher's room.

Chris understood her worry, but had said nothing more to add to her fustration. However, when she imitated his words from before, the arbiter couldn't help but give a half-smile back to Angelique. "Sure, sure, I don't mind being friends though."  He spoke as she walked away. The conversation had lifted a burden Chris had been dragging. Her words had sunk into the fact that he can not continue to survive or be absolved of his sins if he lets himself rot away alone. He looked forward to the next time he'd seen her, while he had slowly closed the door.

 |  | 
Angélique | Ernest | Brent

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤 𝔾𝕪𝕞   / /  𝟙𝟘𝟛𝟘  
Collab by @Riffus Maximus @banjoanjo @ERode

While it may have been a free day of class for everybody in Experimental Unit B, Angélique had intended to make use of the privilege she had been granted for having won the supposed game of Flag n' Seek. After what she went through yesterday afternoon, she realized that it would be best for her to use a whole week free of classes to train her body and understand her new powers better instead of sitting around uselessly mopping about how her life sucked. For the sake of the new friends she had made, her partners and classmates, and those who had died, she needed to become stronger, both mentally and physically, become someone everyone could rely on and look up to once more so that she could protect them.

After taking a thirty minutes break from her jogging routine, Angélique headed towards the gym. While it may seemed quaint to delve into hand-to-hand combat training, considering they were up against monsters that could most likely shrug off such attacks, it had been an activity, like jogging, the raven haired- X-marked had grown fond of doing by force of habits. In the locker room, wrapping bandages around her feet and now bare feet, the young woman Mage remembered how she came to practice kickboxing.

It had all happened after one rough day at work. Back then, she had been about 15 years old, at the time she was just about starting giving shows and concerts. She had met her fair share of weirdos, but it never went as badly as that group of young adults who wanted to meet her backstage. She could remember the feeling of being cornered helplessly as they ganged up on her. Fortunately, the head of her security team had been searching for her, and found a crying Angel about to be assaulted by a group of teenagers-just-about-turning-up-adults. In a matter of a minute, the experienced bodyguard had kicked all of their asses in style just before calling the police and bringing the traumatized singer back into her room. 

After that incident, Angel had decided to learn about self-defense, so that anything of that sort would happen to herself, or anyone else for that matter. Since that time, her head of security personnel became a good friend and a mentor to her, until the time he had to resign from his position due to internal conflict with the band's management. She had always been grateful for his kindness, the patience to teach a completely newbie to the arts of kickboxing and his years of service in assuring her safety.

Now that things had become rough for her again, maybe it was time to return to this old habit of hers. At the back of the gym, there were punching bags and dummies to practice on. Heading there, Angélique readied herself into a fighting stance, before launching vicious strikes at the bags. At first, her strikes seemed dulled by lack of practice, but as time went on, her punches and kicks showed their previous experience, becoming more methodical. It was always the same motion for a while: one punch followed by one kick, always aimed at the same point until it changed into a more complex series of punches and kicks. A mix of hard rock and metal-esque music filled the atmosphere in this part of the gym as the fighting initiate's phone was set up nearby to broadcast her playlist during her training.

The gym was a lot fancier than anything West had ever offered. Guess students had to be in tip-top shape, with the constant monster attacks and all. Ernie had just gotten back from handing in his requisition form.
Ironing stuff. A nice iron for clothes, and a board. Or just one of those portable mats is fine too.
Pencils, pens and all that.
Mini fridge. Saw other people getting some. I want one too.
New work boots. Leather, non-slip, steel-toed. Buy me a fancy one please.
Rock-climbing equipment. Harnesses, carabiners, rope (lots of rope), belays (ascenders/descenders), ice axe. Grappling hook?? I copied all this down from a website so don't expect me to know how to use any of this, haha.

The office had been easy enough to find, thanks to the map he'd... acquired the day before. After that, he'd decided to explore the campus. If he was going to be living in this prison until a monster splashed his guts, he'd better get familiarized with it. After that mess of a first day, it seemed a good time as any to take a relaxing walk around the school. So he'd entered the building closest to his dorm, lured in by music reminiscent of the radio back in Reno. And wow, if he'd known who he was going to find in there, he would have prepared a speech or something. There was no doubt about her identity now, not like in the classroom yesterday. The video of the first game and a flip through the profile folder had confirmed it. Standing in the gym, expertly throttling a punching bag, was international rock star, Angelique Lachance. Ernie swallowed. Jesus crap, what was he gonna say?

"Your punches look really cool!" he blurted.

The black-haired girl stopped after delivered a high punch, interrupting her series as soon as she heard someone talking right behind her, amidst the loud music. She turned to her phone to shut pause the surrounding melodic noise to better hear the person standing next to her.

When her head came to face the young man who was speaking to her, a slight frown was etched on Angel's face as she realized who her speaker was. It was the guy who had clubbed Allison to the face during the game yesterday. In all honesty, Angélique was still holding a grudge deep inside for having done that to her friend, as much as she tried to put it past them and blame it on the higher-ups for putting so much Aberrations in the same matchup.

"Sorry, didn't hear you. You were saying?"

Ernie froze up. Was she angry at him? Why was she frowning? Did she usually frown? Resting bitch face was a thing, right? Maybe she didn't like that he interrupted her training. He tried again.

"Uh, I meant... Your kickboxing is really cool! I didn't know you knew how to do that."

“Oh, it’s no biggie. Simply a hobby I picked up from a friend of mine. You know, helps with venting out pent up stress and keep troublesome idiots at bay. Well, not that it would matter against monsters, in our current situation, but who knows. Might come in handy someday. That and it also keeps me in shape.”

Angélique replied openly, although leaving in the dark the real reason behind how she started taking kickboxing lessons from her so-called “friend”. Underneath her shades, her eyes analyzed her Aberration classmate. From the looks of it, he didn’t seem to be the kind of a guy to frequently train in the gym. 

“So, what brings you all the way here… Ernest, was it? Coming to train some more at targeting faces?”

"Oh. Just call me Ernie, everyone does that," he scratched his head and cringed at her last jab, "No, no more face smashings. That was a bad idea."

Only because he got tazed for it. If he were in that same situation with the same amount of information at that time, he would've stabbed her in the gut instead.

"I didn't really come here to train. I saw you in here and wanted to meet you."

"I see..."

Angel didn't really know what to reply to this. Sure, she was eager to meet her classmates and know a bit more about them. But right now, while she was training? It was hard for her to figure out what she could say in the middle of her things. Plus, it would be a lie to say she was looking forward to speak to a guy who bashed her friend's eyes voluntarily with a table leg.

Sighing, the sweaty young woman grabbed a water bottle she left behind on a nearby bench and sat on the ground, back against the wall. She might as well take the time to speak to her classmate while taking a deserved break.

"So, are you new around here? I don't think I saw you of the damned bus ride that led us here."

"I only got here yesterday. Got transferred from West," Ernie chuckled bitterly, "That was one heckuva first day for me."

"Transferred from West? Hmm... that's interesting. You wouldn't have heard anything about a boy from our class being transferred to West, would you?" Ernie's answer made Angel remember someone suggesting the possibility that Aaron might've been transferred in place of a new transfer student.

"I don't think East would be transferring anyone out. We only got shipped here cos of a shortage, after all. West has way too many kids to call for a transfer, even if it's only one dude."

Ernie walked around the nearest machines, idly examining the instruction plates. He recalled one person in the folder not being present during the games.

"The boy from our class. Was it that Aaron guy?"

Angélique once again sighed sadly. Was there really no clue as to where Aaron would've gone to, or what happened to him the night before yesterday? The more she tried to investigate, the more short-comings she was facing. It started to feel like a lost cause at some point.

"Yeah... I can't seem to find him anywhere anymore. We used to bump into each other every day. Since yesterday, not even his roommate knows where he is. His stuff isn't even in his room anymore."

He'd gotten a few days notice before his transfer. If Aaron was moved to Central or even West, people would have known about it.

"His stuff got taken? That only happens for dead kids back at West. Not that many people are dumb enough to get themselves killed over there. But who knows? Maybe his powers were super strong and they took him to a top secret facility. For experiments and stuff."

At the mention of the "being dead" part, Angel dropped her bottle of water, splashing the ground beneath her. No, it was impossible. How the hell would Aaron be killed without USARILN noticing it? Maybe they did it? No, that wasn't the case either. Aaron didn't seem to be the type of kid to just try and run away. He was a smart kid; he would've known trying to escape or get into troubles with the authority would have him end up in a terrible state. His powers weren't anything too special either. He was simply summoning clockwork machinery, hardly anything the higher-ups would lock the Arbiter for. 

The whispers inside Angélique's mind began tormenting her as they called out her friend a liar, a coward, a good-for-nothing, a meaningless piece of human trash, a worthless waste unfit to be worried for. Suffering this mental assault, the raven-haired Aberration clenched her teeth and kept repeating to herself.

"No... this can't be. This isn't the truth. He's not like that."

"Woah!" Ernie jumped back at the sound of Angelique's bottle hitting the ground. He scooped it up immediately and hurriedly made his way to the towel station. Refilled the bottle for good measure too. A towel was used to soak up the spilt liquid while the bottle was tentatively placed beside the singer, who he could only assume was going through some sort of breakdown. Because of him. Crap, he needed to learn to not be so casual about this 'serious' stuff. Ernie had to admit, he was a bit jealous of this Aaron character from getting so much attention from Angelique Lachance. But this wasn't the time for that.

"Hey c'mon, it might not be that bad! I was just throwing theories around!" Ernie tried desperately to fix the situation. His brain wasn't offering any alternatives. Having his things taken from the room meant that the authorities at East weren't expecting him to come back. Maybe he needed to change the subject. Ernie pointed to his own X-mark.

"Is your Stigma okay? You seem a bit..." High-strung. "...upset."

The distressed-looking young woman, who could pass as a schizophrenic lass at this point, looked up to Ernest as he tried to explain himself, obviously just trying to reassure her. But even in those theories, there were truths, things that Angel would like to deny, but her logic mind and the incessant voices in her head tried to take them for granted possibilities.

Her head tilted to the side as Ernie pointed out his own X mark. Truly, she had never truly thought much about it before. She had read about Stigma on the Death and Taxes archives, but for something like that to emerge from someone else's mouth was sort of confusing to the sonic wave-creating Mage; it confused her to be asked something like that all of a sudden.

"I... don't know?" was all she managed to blurt out in her confused state of mind.

"Uhh...um..."

Ernie racked his brains furiously, searching for something to say. Reassuring distressed girls was definitely one of his worst skills, if his time at West was anything to go by. Was he supposed to pat her shoulder? Offer a drink? Amidst all the sudden panic, Ernie couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of disdain. Angel was supposed to be a modern-day goddess, an invincible rockstar. Seeing her suddenly so worked up over one guy, so unsure of even her Stigma...

What a disappointment.

"Maybe you should be spending more time at the Release Zone than the gym," Ernie worked to keep the cheeriness in his voice. He coaxed her water bottle back into her hands. "Smashing windows always helps me loosen up."

"Maybe..."

Angel repeated after Ernest. Was it however all there was of it, however? Slowly regaining her composure after hearing out what her classmate was suggesting her, she couldn't help but feel anger directed at herself. Was it who she was doomed to become? Someone who needs to go vent at Ground Zero whenever she feels down by the whispers in her head? Someone too weak-willed to withstand her own issues and let down her classmates because of it?

Looking over the mental breakdown she just showed in front of a classmate, a future potential teammate in the battles to come, she felt ashamed of herself. So much for trying to be the one people would look up to. She was instead being patronized by a guy who had smashed a friend's face without second thoughts.

Feeling the bottle of water returning to her hands, Angel shook up her head and quickly stood back onto her two feet. 

"No... not maybe. You're wrong. Dead wrong. I don't need to fucking rely on such a place to kick myself back up. I just need to re-center myself, look back to my purpose."

Her stance flared up with some sort of renewed confidence. If only that train of thoughts would apply every time she felt herself being dragged down by her Stigma, she wouldn't look so miserable half the time. Maybe it was her own embarrassment to show that side of her to others that allowed herself to try and look more like a leader.

"I'm... sorry that you had to see this side of me. Sometimes, my Stigma, the never-ending whispers, are wearing me down. You should know, sharing this burden, however yours affect you."  Angélique sincerely apologized, pointing at her mark.

Ernie had been fucking ready to snap back at her with just as much fire. She thought she was better than the Stigma. In a way, it made Ernie feel like she was mocking him for all the ways his Stigma dictated his actions. 

It really pissed him off.

Part of him wanted to yell back and mock her for failing to find Aaron. Part of him wanted to goad her on, see how long she could go before losing it and crawling all the way to Ground Zero. He wanted to see her fail, come face to face with every aspect of her weakness. But then she stood, and Ernie was reminded of all the reasons he'd admired her in the first place. That reassuring confidence. It was like seeing her on stage again. Ernie had only seen a few videos on the internet but those were nothing compared to her presence in real life. His alarm at the sudden switch of her mood didn't matter. Her sincerity blew away any venom in his words. While he didn't agree with her views on Stigmas, he could respect her confidence.

"Um. Thanks. It's no problem, really. Us Aberrations gotta stick together, yeah? Gotta deal with the nonsense however we can."

"Yes, right you are. Not only us Aberrations. Us Subnaturals... no, Mages, got to stick together. Whatever this shitty school, or even Dreamcatcher itself, throws at us, we've got to watch each others' back and endure."

There were some hope in her words. Her days here might have been grim and dark for a few moments, but she had to remember the friends she had made here, those who also strived to protect. She wanted to be part of those people. Seeing Ernie agreeing with her mentality of sticking together made her see him in a new light. Perhaps he was simply misguided by pragmatism, but had a good soul? Who could blame him, living in a world such as theirs?

Ernie raised an eyebrow at her comment. Arbiters too? Sure, there were some cool Arbs like Brent out there. But there was a clear difference between the two mage types. The Senators had shown him that quite clearly. So fine, whatever. Ernie would just smile and nod. He didn't want to have to explain himself after spouting his beliefs.

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely."

Nodding affirmatively, Angel walked back to a training dummy, throwing a few punches aimed at various areas of the dummy's torso, more precisely towards the heart, the lungs and the stomach. "How long have you been in USARILN West? You seem to know a lot." Angel asked in-between two series of punches.

"Around seven months, I think. Got snagged in February."

Ernie was content to just sit on the bench for now. His eyes went distant at the mention of his past.

"You've only been here about a week, right? Like the others? The Montreal concert only happened recently, so I guess that makes sense."

At the sudden mention of the concert that changed everything in her life, Angel suddenly stopped. Her last punch had landed on the dummy's throat and stood there, immobilized dead it its track.

How the hell did he knew about that? Had news leaked into USARILN about this catastrophe? More importantly, Ernest had made the link between her name, her identity, and her popularity as a previously successful rockstar. And the most burning concern of hers, was he simply someone who had heard of her, or was he an actual fan?

The memories of the incident came flooding back into her mind, just like how she sometimes have nightmares at night about the whole gruesome scene. Angélique's face reddened, her body quivered, her teeth were chattering.

"I... Y-..." She tried to answer, to no avail. Her words were jammed in her throat from the intensity of the stress. Again, the whispers also came back full force, this time however insulting her with names like "murderer, butcher, psychopath" and the likes.

"Morning, Ernie, Angelic," Brent called out from across the room, as if he had just noticed them. Wiping the sweat off a bench with a towel, the Arbiter smiled at the familiar faces, ignored the mounting tension that the raven-haired x-girl was feeling and said, "How's it going? Didn't think you were the punch-y type and all."

"And geez, Ernie, you planning on actually lifting, or are you just going to take up space?"

He'd fucked up again. Ernie stiffened in his seat as he saw Angel visibly quiver. Fuck, why did he say that? He'd heard that the casualty count was alarming but he didn't think it'd be so severe to make her react like this. He made a mental note to never speak of the incident in front of her ever again. However, he couldn't help but feel the strange sense of delight from seeing the impact of just a few words. His Stigma felt better. But his conscience felt so much worse. This was one of his idols he accidentally triggered, after all.

"Angelique, are you--" He started, but was thankfully cut off by Brent's arrival. Thank god. He mustered a cheeky grin.

"Just exploring the school! Then I saw a classmate and wanted to chat. I'm not really a gym kind of guy."

Though he should start soon, considering his performance in the game yesterday.

Despite Brent’s arrival, Angélique was both blinded and deafened by her internal struggle. Her mind kept replaying the images of herself screaming a high-pitched note that was supposed to be the climax of her new song, only to watch in horror as the front row all dropping on the floor as if they were shot dead, and the ambient screams that filled the air of the horrified crowd. The silent ushering in the back of her head grew into a cacophonous symphony of accusations and guilt. 

The once-more distressed Aberration was struggling to keep this all hidden underneath a fragile mask of serenity. Things took a turn for the worse however when she swore the training dummy he was punching on a minute earlier seemed to come to live, taking on the shape of this vaguely familiar figure she keep seeing in her visions, grinning at how miserable she looked.

You poor thing. Still being traumatized at what you did back there? That was only a glimpse of what you are truly capable of.

“I didn’t want this kind of thing to happen. I didn’t wish to have any of this.”

Are you sure? You took that path, Miss Popularity. You are the one who decided to walk down the path of destruction.”

“This isn’t true. All I wanted was to make music to gather people together in harmony, bring some more joy to this bleak world.”

And yet there you are, murderer. You killed those people. This is your calling, killer. You have to live with it, embrace it, become the power. Erase from existence everything that stands in your way.

Denying it, Angel wanted to scream no, but instead it came out as a sonic wave. Everything standing in front of her was blown with a force equivalent to someone punching all the bags and the dummies with great strength.

"Exploring the school? Shoulda dropped me a line," the amethyst-eyed youth replied, "For better or worse, I know a whole bunch of sket..."

His words died in his throat as he realized that this time, Angelic wasn't able to move on and brush it off. Weaker now? Or was the call of her Stigma stronger? No, that didn't make any sense, not after the beating she gave the dragon boy yesterday. Something else, related to her past then, a past that had to do with the 'Montreal concert'. Brent filed that away for later, before giving Ernie a look.

A superpowered scream forced all the dummies and sandbags to sway, before they swung back, undamaged. Not one of her murderous screams then. Not that unstable yet.

Brent looked around to the rest of the gym, a difficult expression forming. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he asked, "...you wanna get some fresh air?"

If she was going to scream at him, he'd rather have a hand close enough to slap that mouth sideways.

Ernie had fallen off the bench when the scream sent the dummies flying. The talking to herself thing was worrying enough. He didn't think she'd break down that far to cause such damage.

'Dead wrong', my ass.

He should have felt worse. He should have been thinking up an apology, or at least tried to be understanding. But all he could think was how right he was. He fucking told her. And he was right. When it came to Stigmas, arrogance and 'willpower' were deadly mistakes. Ernie felt a shocked laugh bark its way out from his throat, but clamped his hand over his mouth and feebly tried to hide it with a fake coughing fit. He thought it was hilarious when he did it to other people. He never wanted it to happen to Angelique. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from the giddiness that came from causing a breakdown, nor the shame that came with the high.

Ernie stood up and found, to his great shame, that he had instinctively summoned his rope when he fell. A coward all the way, huh? He dissipated it immediately.

"F-fresh air sounds good," Ernie made sure to keep a small distance between him and Angel. He nodded to himself, "Yeah. Sounds good."

Angel just realized the grave situation she got herself in as her ankle cuff started beeping loudly. A reassuring hand on her shoulder did little to calm her down, although she was less inclined to scream anymore. The proposition to take some fresh air was tempting, but that would need to be done without the two.  Between Brent, whom Angel know for his "too honest for his own good" behavior and Ernest who constantly seems to be pushing her wrong buttons, this was a nightmare just waiting to happen, one that she didn't want to be part of.

Embarrassed enough to have mentally broke down twice, especially after giving a speech that she was able to handle it, she couldn't bear to look at her two classmates. She felt ashamed, disgraced even, as Ernie laughed his ass off his bench. She shouted a loud "FUCK" in frustration as she kicked the dummy with about the same intensity her shriek had given off before storming off the gym, never minding her phone and her shoes she left by the benches of the punching bags part of the gym.

Brent's gaze tracked Angelic until she left the gym.

"So...how's a guided tour sounding?"

Ernie watched as she left. If he followed now, he and his big mouth would only cause more trouble. Had he always been so conversationally stupid? Or was this what he and his Stigma had wanted all along? Whatever it was, it would be best for everyone if he just left it alone. He turned to Brent with a tired smile.

"Maybe another day, man. I think I should just... think things through right now."

And now Ernie was going down that hole as well. How did this happen, again, that every person he knew was either moody or x-marked or both? Brent shrugged and smiled. "Yeah, I get that. See you around then. You coming to the fight review thing tonight?"

"Tonight?" Ernie didn't have any plans besides sightseeing and Ground Zero that afternoon. His night was free. "Sounds good. I'll bring snacks then? I have my phone this time so lets just trade numbers. Text me the deets."

As he pulled his phone out, he noticed that Angelique had left her phone and shoes on the bench.

"Crap. We should get these back to her."

Brent glanced at the misplaced belongings as well, before nodding. "Wanna patch things up, Ernie?"

Ernie blinked and handed his unlocked phone to Brent. He leant down to pick up Angel's phone and shoes, careful to avoid the sweaty part and potentially dirty soles.

"Do you think I should?"

"Well, depends on whether or not you wanna be friends with her." Or if he just wanted to be immortalized by the screamer's anger. Waiting for an answer, Brent wiped the sweat-stained screen of his phone against his shirt, before tapping it against Ernie's phone.

"I can do it if you think it's too awkward."

"Friends?" Ernie echoed. Wasn't this the whole reason he entered the gym in the first place, to talk to Angelique Lachance? All he needed to do was shove his stupid Stigma aside for two seconds. He had a chance to actually become friends with someone he respected and he'd almost tossed his chance into the gutter with what happened just now. If the guys back at Reno could see him now, they'd be bashing his skull in. Ernie hurriedly pocketed his and Angel's phone and made a beeline to the exit.

"Nah, nah, I can do it! I'll see you tonight, then?"

"Yeah, go get em, dude! Give me good news tonight!" With a laugh, Brent saw Ernie off, grinning all the while.

Then, that smile faded. Brent closed his eyes, internalized the facts, and let out a deep breath.

The gym was quiet now.

Time to work.

Consumed by internal strife, there had been nothing in Angelique's mind but the desire to shut herself inside her room and let it all pass, until she would need to go out for lunch before going to her medical appointment set up for this afternoon.

The ball of fury reached her room with a noisy entrance as she slammed her door behind with a lot of strength. Angel paced around, at loss as to what to do to calm down. She never got this riled up before. The urge inside was getting harder to resist. 

In a fit, Angel punched the walls of her room, remaining undamaged while the knuckles of the angsty young woman grew red, almost bloody. When the pain was unbearable, Angel fell onto her bed, her shades flying off her face onto the mattress.

Ernest was right, in the end. She couldn't control it, and apparently the only thing sating her appetite for destruction was giving into violence. So much for being the unshakeable figure she always tried to maintain around others. Once, she had been a confident and successful musician. Now, she was simply a broken Subnatural, marked by past events and terrified of her ability to kill others with the sound of the voice that had brought her success before.

Thinking about music, Angel looked defeated towards the black guitar sitting at the corner of her room, next to her bed. Music always had been an important part of her life. It's what brought her to the heights she had achieved in her life, perhaps what caused her downfall too. When in doubt, she played music. When she was happy, she gladly wrote songs. When she was down, she made some more music. 

Maybe, just maybe, could she find some peace this way, instead of violently lashing out in a release safe one? Grabbing onto the neck of the guitar, Angel sat down on her bed and fiddled with the cords of the instrument. At first, it was some absent-minded notes being played, until those became more focused and less random. A strange melody, unknown yet familiar in the same time.

Before she knew it, Angelique was lost into the music, her mind drifted off as she tried to remember what that melody was.

Locating the girl had been less of a pain than Ernie had thought it would be. Turned out that shoeless goth Aberrations made quite lasting impressions on passersby. Everyone he asked pointed him towards Building B, then to Floor 3. Now all he had to do was find the specific room she was in. Again, it was a lot easier than expected. He could hear a gentle song playing from the closest room, 300. Ernie pressed his ear to the door. It was strange, but calming. A musician's release? Ernie sat himself by the door, placing Angel's footwear beside him. Useless. That sort of confidence was what had drawn Ernie to Angelique as a performer. But seeing it in real life, and seeing it so uninformed and misguided, made Ernie want to smash his head against a wall. Confidence in the wrong places was just stupidity. Why did she have to be so stubborn to not see it? Even after her outburst in the gym, Angelique refused to do the sensible thing and use the Release Zone. 

Ernie sighed.

Oh, how heroes fell. At least his idolization wasn't distracting him from the truth anymore. Ernie was tempted to just drop her things by the door and leave. But he needed (no, it was only a want sort of situation) to fix this. He had to at least try. So he waited for the song to finish. It sounded like Angelique needed it too.

It took not so much time for the musical girl to stop playing. The melody created by her guitar soon stopped just as quickly as it had begun. She had played it unconsciously, by instinct, but this part was now totally unknown to her. Strange, it didn't feel like the song should be stopping right there. And yet, nothing else came into mind.

Angélique was brought out from her trance as she heard the quiet rattling behind her door. More interruption? Today was definitively not a quiet day, it would seem. Sighing softly, the X-marked late teen placed the guitar on her mess of a bed and walked over to her door, opening it slowly to see who was standing beyond.

Ernest, again. That guy sure is a persistent fucker. Did he follow her all the way to her room to make her feel more miserable?

"What do you want?"

Crap, busted. He held her shoes and phone out in both hands. She was definitely angry at him. Ernie caught a glimpse of the mess of the room behind her, distaste curling his lip till he shoved the feeling aside.

"You forgot some things at the gym," Start off simple, no problem. Was he supposed to talk about his eavesdropping too? "And... your song was nice."

At the mention of her missing stuff, Angélique's frown turned to discernable embarrassment, apologetic too at some point. Now that she was thinking about it, she had indeed stormed off the gym without putting back on her sneakers and pocketing her phone.

Annoyed at herself for making those stupid mistakes and give the guy who kept bringing up things that messed her up morally more opportunities to meet her. At least he was diligent enough to bring up her stuff back to her room. She couldn't just take back her belongings and slam the door in his face, could she? 

Opening the door wider, she sighed and gestured the guy standing in front of her door to get inside. 

"Thanks... Come in. I think you deserve an apology for what happened back there."

"Uh, okay. Thanks for letting me in."

Ernie stepped in cautiously. The messed up bed and crooked desk stuck out like sore thumbs to him but he decided to ignore them both. Apparently cleaning people's rooms without permission was 'creepy' and bounds for kicking guests like him out of other people's rooms. Ernie stood by the door. It seemed inappropriate to casually drape himself onto whatever seat he could find in Angelique's place.

"I guess now would be a good time to talk, huh."

Letting Ernest enter her room, Angélique closed the door behind them before taking a seat onto her pulling out the chair resting beside her desk at the same occasion. She gently took the guitar and put it against the end of her bed, keeping it close without fearing of dropping it. She nodded slowly at the seaweed-haired boy.

"Yes..." she trailed off, mustering the courage to be as open as she could be without fucking up once more. "Look, I'm really sorry for what happened at the gym. You probably didn't have any ill thoughts. It's just... you know, that incident is still too fresh in my mind. With a stigma like mine, it's hard to let it go. Being reminded everything I have caused every single time of the day: the pain, the grief, the deaths, sometimes I just can't seem to deal with it."

Angel let out a snide, disgusted chuckle at herself. "I keep talking big. Tell myself how strong I am, how I can endure all of this without flinching. And yet, I loose myself, like pretty much every Aberration. Hell, I showed this... moment of weakness in front of you two." She paused, realizing little by little that perhaps the old Angélique Lachance was slowly dying the more she delved deeper into the world of Subnaturals. 

"I'm sorry you had to see this part of me. I don't believe I've always been like that. Perhaps I did, and this unfortunate event brought it out in the open. But sometimes I like to believe I'm still the same Angélique Lachance before becoming a Mage, with the same force of personality and confidence. I... don't want to let myself loose to whatever we Aberrations are fighting. I still want to believe I have freedom over my mind, even if it gets rough at times. That I am as strong and as capable as before."

Ernie's eyes narrowed at that last part.

" 'As before'. That's exactly the problem here!" he scowled, "You're not a Regular anymore. So stop using their guidelines to judge what you're meant to be, and deal with what you really are right now."

"You're the exact same person as you were before. Still international rock star Angelique Lachance. A few weeks with an X-mark isn't going to change that. I'd know that better than anyone else in this class. What's really changed is the rules you have to play by now. If you keep going on about 'endurance' and 'weakness', you're gonna end up hurting a lot more than just a bunch of dummies."

"So stop talking about freedom. We don't get that option anymore. Trying to get through your Stigma with just willpower is the kind of shit that ends up hurting you or other people a lot more than whatever you do to sate it in the first place. I've seen way too many Aberrations try that. It's never pretty. Or clean."

He suddenly realized that he was lecturing someone at least three years older than him. He scratched his head, his tone more sheepish than admonishing now.

"J-just think of it as medication or something. You don't have to like it. Actually, it's probably better if you don't. But it's something we all gotta do. Before stuff like the gym happens again, but worse. That's why they have release zones after all."

He wanted to laugh at his own hypocrisy. He, of all people, was the one lecturing about how to handle a Stigma? What garbage. He finished with a tired sigh.

"That's just what my advice. I've had my powers for a while, so I'd know a lot more about Stigmas than most people."

There were times Angel would have liked to snap back at Ernest for some of the things he said. But in the end, she kept her mouth shut and took it like a student being lectured by a teacher, or a teen being scolded by her parents. In some way, she felt like she owed him this moment of lecture after her own. What more, it felt actually good to hear him talk this much rather than the opposite. It felt like he actually cared and wasn't just there because of who she was. 

However, as much as she disliked the whole idea of 'sating her stigma' as if the violent release zones like Ground Zero were medicine, or even the whole deal about still being herself after all that had happened, she felt like there had to be something to be learned from her fellow Aberration's words. He was more experienced than her as a Mage, so of course he'd know more than a two weeks-old Subnatural. Was it all? Accepting her faith and try to keep her shit together by managing through her stigma? Oddly enough, that sounded vaguely something like Lawrence told her before.

"So what should I do, 'teach'? Just accept the stuff I did back in Canada? Remain the same old me despite that, except I'm stuck coping with this stigma like it's some kind of mental health problem that requires violence to sate it?" Angélique questioned, her mind somewhat confused about the whole 'being herself' and 'accepting all of this'.

"I get your point. It makes sense on a certain point of view. But to be honest, I'm not too sure about still being the same person. The only thing I had to worry when I was a musician was to make my performances look and sound good. I didn't... killed people before. Now, I got powers, I did horrible things, and I have voices in my head bitching me throughout the day. Just how am I the exact same person?"

" 'Teach'?" Ernie chuckled, "You're making me sound a lot smarter than I actually am, Angel."

"That's the nice thing about change, right? You can choose how you move forward. You can try to stay the same, if that's easier for you. Or you can let yourself become something better, stronger. Your power's crazy cool. You took down a dragon with it! Think of all the people you can save with that same power."

"I don't know anything about moving on from doing something terrible. I'm don't think I'm the person you should be talking to for most of this, really. All I can say is that all you, any of us, can do now is move forward. You hurt people, yeah. But you'll be protecting so many more with what you've become. Saving entire cities if you let your powers grow. I can't say if that'll ever fix what happened. Voices, mistakes, violence are just the trade-ups you'll have to give in exchange. Every Aberration needs to learn to deal with those."

"I don't know you well. I don't know how you have or will change because of this transformation. All I wanna say is that you're the only one who should choose who you are. Plus, the only thing that matters is that you're still trying to be  a good person, right? The fact that you're trying to avoid violence is proof of that."

Angélique's mood became progressively better as Ernest better explained his opinions on the matter. While he was rather vague as to what exactly she should be doing, he was actually giving her good guidelines and encouragement to forge her own view upon the whole Mage deal.  Hearing his advices, his counsels, his suggestions, Angel couldn't help but nod apprehensively as she brought a hand to her chin in as a thoughtful reflex. 

"That's... actually a lot to take in all at once. I'll definitively give it a lot of thoughts though. Can't guarantee you that it will happen overnight, but I'll try my best to make it better. Even though they are still some things I can't simply shake off right now, you are absolutely right about one thing. I will endeavor my best to strive for the welfare of others. It had always been a purpose and will always be. If it means I have to deal with my stigma to help others, then so be it."

She paused, reflecting on her stance about this whole ordeal. Truthfully, she will always remain the good-hearted person she had always been, and that wasn't something she'd want to change. The only problem was dealing with her stigma, her life here in USARILN, and the guilt of damage she had caused. If only it was that simple to move on just like that. Perhaps time will help healing this wound, and eventually she'll get around with handling her powers and their drawbacks, She could only wish and work to make it happen.

Angel reached for her guitar and began strumming its cords a few times. 

"Thank you for giving me counselling about all this, for lending your ear to my confused self. I... really needed to get that out of my chest."

Holy shit, it actually worked. Ernie let out a nervous laugh. He could do some good with his words after all, even if he was just making things up on the spot. Even if he didn't believe any of it. Aberrations, especially ones like him, were doomed to destroy. He'd learned to live with that fact years ago. And he was constantly relearning it, from his first days at West, to even yesterday's game. But ignorance was bliss. Helping newbie Abes like Angel see the bright side of their awakenings was the least he could do. It might not be the best way, but it was definitely the easiest, especially with so many new aspects of themselves to take in. They'd realize the reality of their situation in their own time. Hopefully Ernie wouldn't need to stick around when that time came.

"Hey, it's no problem! Awakenings are a big deal. If you ever need to talk some more, just hit me up! Do you want my phone number?"

"Sure." The girl replied as she went to her pocket, only to realize it was missing and that was the reason Ernest came to see her in the first place. She retrieved the phone laying on the bed and unlocked it, presenting it over her classmate.

Ernie entered his number quickly under the name 'Ernie Mars'. Angelique Lachance had his phone number now. Woah. He could feel childish awe swirl in his system. He needed to leave soon, before he embarrassed himself. The phone was tossed back to Angelique.

"There's my number. If you've still got questions, just send them my way. Guess I should leave you to your guitar and go then?"

Catching the phone back, Angelique looked at the time. "Ah... Yes. Actually, I have an appointment this afternoon. I should go get prepared." Angel got up from her bed and walked over to the door to open it, by general courtesy of opening the door to guests.

"I will. Thanks again for bringing my stuff back, and everything else."

"Yeah, no prob. It'll be nice working together. See you around!"

Ernie stepped back into the hallway and waved the musician goodbye, before speedwalking down the hall and taking the stairs back down three at a time. He'd really just talked to Angelique Lachcance. He'd really just gotten her phone number. His plans for the day, or lack thereof, were quickly forgotten as he walked aimlessly from Building B. He was going to be seeing his idol almost every day of the week. Even if her mindset was a bit immature, Ernie couldn't wait for the days to come. USARILN East didn't turn out to be so bad after all.

𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

  𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 / /  𝟙𝟛𝟘𝟘  

After Ernie’s visit into her room, Angel figured it was just about time she gets ready for her medical appointment. Just before going there, she took a shower to clean herself off from her morning workout. Dressed in belted pants and a quite revealing strapped tube top, she made a quick stop at the cafeteria to grab something light to eat, to sate her hunger, before going to the hospital.

Right on time, Angel met the same blonde secretary from the day before. They were quick to clear up the appointment and soon to be right in front of the doctor’s door, on the third floor of the hospital. The door was open, a graying-haired man in his mid-forties was sitting behind his desk reading a file.

Angel cleared up her throat audibly in a fake way, getting her desired response as the busy optometrist raised his head and looked to the doorframe.

“Ah, Miss Lachance. Please, come in and have a seat.”

Angel nodded and made her way to the doctor’s desk, noticing the file he had been reading just now was actually her apparent medical dossier. She rose an eyebrow, curious about how it came to be here in the first place. She then took a seat in front of Spencer’s desk.

“You must be wondering about your medical file, I presume. Despite the reputation USARILN East has, we do care about our students’ health. Every institute you Subnaturals had frequented, any private doctor, every bit of data the public sector has, we gather them into a dossier and provide the students’ needs should they arise.”

“Such delicate attention from our supposed caretakers. They need their soldiers at their top when sending them to die, huh?"

“I can’t argue you guys are going through rough situations. But those are orders from the higher-ups. Plus, whether you like it or not, someone has to defend and protect the world from the monsters, no? The Precursors can’t be everywhere at once, wouldn’t you agree.”

Angel slammed her hands on the desk and was just about to confront the presumably doctor when a nearby guard entered the room and ordered the Aberration to stand down or be shot if not complying. Clicking her tongue behind clenched teeth, Angel dropped back into her chair, glaring at the optometrist through her shades.

“Sorry if that ticked you off. Anyways, you’re not here to discuss about the philosophy of this campus so we’ll get straight to the point. I’ve read your medical file, and it states that you have a rare case of myopia and photophobia at the same time. Since you haven’t been under any medication that would cause light-sensitivity, I can only deduce that you are a natural photophobic. As for your short-sightedness, I have come to realize you are suffering from degenerative myopia, which will only get worse by the years. Is anything from what I learned true to your case?”

“No shit, doc.” Angel shrugged, removing her pair of shades and tossing them over the desk.  “I’ve always been light-sensitive. My parents didn’t know why, as a baby, I was always crying. Doctors conducted a series of testing and have come to realize that I was crying due to intense migraines and headaches at best. They tried everything, and then deduced I was photophobic as the only time I stopped crying was after long exposure to a dark environment.”

“About my ever-worsening sight, what the fuck can I say? It’s always the same damn thing every time I go for a medical check-up. I keep hearing that my sight is growing worse, and that I might turn blind at some point. Parents were at least smart enough to realize nothing was wrong of that part, as they seemed to catch up that I wasn’t able to see very clearly things far away.”

Throughout her explanation, Doctor Spencer was examining her new patient’s shades, which served, as a matter of fact, as functional glasses to counter myopia and were UV-proof to act as effective sunglasses. The way those shades had been made was clearly done by a specialist, an expert no less. Those had been made so that the patient wouldn’t need to wear a pair of sight-correcting glasses underneath another pair of shades. Ingenious, difficult to replicate and impossible to repair due to the crack in the lens.

“I see. Well then, you are overdue for a check-up, as your last visit to an optometrist dates from well over a year. Follow me, if you may please.”

The doctor reckoned the young Aberration to follow him with a motion of his hand as he got up and headed to the back of his office. With no shades to shield her eyes, she could already feel the burning bright artificial light going through her eyes, making its way to her brain. The blur made it difficult to navigate through the office without stumbling on anything, but slowly and eventually, she made it to the backroom. 

The room was vast, much akin to the any true optometrist lab she had seen so far. More furnished, even. 

“You know the drill; sit down behind the machine over there. We’ll start by sight distance test, then cornea examination.”

Angel slowly nodded as she slowly made her way to the seat. Once sit, the tests started. First, she was to tell about the assortments of varying sizes of letters on the wall at the other end of the room. Then, she was to use the machine in front of her to determine correctly certain shapes. Next, use that same machine to find the correct measurement of the lenses needed to be made. Lastly, the optometrist had been testing how her cornea reacted to light. Needless to say, that last part was very painful considering her condition. At some point, her eyes felt like igniting and the pain was so much that her tear ducts seemed to open like a dam. 

“Holy fuck! You done yet? I… can’t see anything!”

“Well yes, usually it takes someone normal a few seconds to recover from having light beamed straight into their eyes. In your case, it might take a few minutes to recover. Remain calm and seated while I bring down the numbers to you."

After a few minutes passed, Angel did effectively begin to see back into her glorious blurred state of sight. She searched the room for the Spencer guy, who seemed to have disappeared from the back testing room. She tapped her foot impatiently just as the middle-aged man came back from his office.

“Bad news, your sight has worsened again, compared to the results of your last examination.”

Angélique only sighed, somehow knowing that this wasn’t going to be for the better.

Back into the bright office, the raven-haired X-marked donned her shades back, feeling already more at ease the instant they were put back on.

“So, I believe we can make you some contact lenses within the week at our labs. I’m pretty sure they will be available just before the weekend. Of course, we can’t replicate your sunglasses’ method into contact lenses, so you’ll have to buy a new pair, or request them, at your discretion.”

“Now wait a minute. I don’t want fucking contact lenses anywhere near my eyes. I want something like what I currently have.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this from me, but listen. You no longer live the life of a rockstar in here anymore. You are a student, one who will see her fair share of battles in the coming months, years if you are lucky. You guys will have it rough, especially physically. Your bodies will suffer through it, and so will your gear and whatever it is you are wearing. That includes your eyewear. Whatever would happen if your glasses were to break or be lost in the middle of a fight? You’ll be fighting blind, and you will be jeopardizing not only your safety, but also the other members of your teams. Do you really want to take that risk by wearing glasses again?”

Angel stood silent for a moment. Who would’ve known an eye doctor, working for an institute she despised the most, would open her eyes as to how selfish and diva she still was. What Spencer was saying was the truth, nothing to argue about. If she would be part of a team, hell even lead one herself, she needed to have everything to ensure their survival.

With reluctance, she accepted, slowly nodding her head in defeat. In turn, the doctor affirmatively nodded and wrote down something on his notepad.

“Good. Alternatively, with the current level of technology we have, I could suggest you going through laser eye surgery to completely correct your myopia. But as I said, there’s no telling when you will be called upon the battlefield once more. You’ll have to get a special clearance for this surgery, as it would require you to recover for a week or two.”

“In any case, as I said previously, you can expect your contact lenses to be delivered to your room sometime this week.”

“Alright… Thanks. And uh… I’m sorry for earlier. I suppose you aren’t completely a dick. I may have gotten riled up for nothing.”

“Don’t worry too much about it.  We doctors here see our fair share of Subnaturals every day, we’ve somewhat gotten used to dealing with the Xs. Listen, I’m making suggestions based upon the same principles of effectiveness this institute has, but that doesn’t make us less human. If what we suggest can save the life of one or many of you guys, then we’ll be glad to provide. Not because you are weapons, but you are also still humans inside. You’ll soon learn that not everyone in this world sees you guys as you think they are.”

Angel remained speechless. Did she just got lectured by an optometrist? She didn’t know what to feel about all this, but there was one thing she did know about this encounter today. Not everyone appears to be out to simply hate on her and her fellow Mages. Perhaps being a doctor made the middle-aged man care more for his patients, whether Subnaturals or normal humans? Nevertheless, it felt good to know to know this, even if the people sharing this philosophy were numbering only a few.

With a silent nod and a wave of her hand, Angélique departed from Dr. Spencer’s office to return to her room, where she found out everything she had requested yesterday evening had been delivered during her appointment. Kevlar vest, knee and elbow pads, camo-styled shockproof clothing, steel-toed boots, shockproof gloves and a trusty helmet. As if on cue with her clothing style, it all came in black color. While that stuff might do no good against an actual monster, it was better than parading around with her skin exposed, as long as this equipment didn’t impair her ability to move around and use her powers.

 | 
Angélique | Callan

 𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕟 ℂ𝕦𝕝𝕡𝕒𝕖   / /  𝟙𝟞𝟘𝟘 
Collab by @Riffus Maximus @Baklava

With the medical appointment out of the way, it was now in the middle of the afternoon. As an X-marked Angel stepped out of the dorms to head towards Ground Zero to further experiment on her powers, the girl couldn’t help but notice how cold and cloudy it was outside. Indeed, it was mid-September, and the temperature had already begun to show signs of autumn coming. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have bought all those skin-revealing clothes she was so fond of wearing and hasty to fill her new wardrobe with.

Deciding Ground Zero training would have to wait as goosebumps and an unpleasant chill ran down her spine, Angélique instead took a bus ride to the nearby town of Crimen Culpae. She would head towards that store she had been shopping with the gang last week, as it had quite a lot of interesting articles of clothing.

On her way to the store, she however recognized one of her classmates. Aquamarine hair, dark tone of skin, carrying a plethora of shopping bags in her arms effortlessly as she was absent-mindedly looking at her phone. No mistake, it was the Super Girl of her class, Callan. Decidedly, she was bumping into a lot of her classmates today, which wasn’t a bad thing, in her opinion. Those were the people she had yet to properly meet and introduce herself to. 

“Heyo, Calla~n” Angel shouted at the superhuman girl on the other side of the street, waving at her cheerfully.

Eyes fixed on the screen, Callan's mind was far from what she was looking at. Her parent's lack of reply, her scheduled rematch with Sander that afternoon, lunch options and what she was going to do with all those goddamn pillows when she got home. She looked up from her phone, spotting her classmate, Angelique. Otherwise known as "that chick who can scream down a dragon." 

Purely out of habit, Callan shifted the weight of her bags to one shoulder and waved. She was certainly quite cheery. Out of the corner of her eye, Callan noticed the number of stares increase but did her best to ignore them. She offered Angel a brief smile.

Seeing Callan acknowledging her presence, the raven-haired Mage crossed the street separating the two after making sure no incoming car was heading her way. 

"Coming back from a shopping spree, are you? Shame, I missed my chance to join our resident Wonder Woman for a trip downtown."

Angel chuckled light-heartedly. Truly, she had no idea where she was heading with this small talk, but she hoped those steps would be enough to have the girl open to her a bit more, get to know her. After all, the only time she actually interacted with her was when they were both looking out for Lilianna on her hospital bed, and during yesterday's battle game.

F-flattery? Callan laughed along, glancing up at the taller girl before slipping her hands into her pockets. "You didn't miss much," she chuckled modestly, thinking about the contents of her bags. Most of what she'd bought that day had been pillow cases and other bedding items. She doubted Angel was as much of a sleep enthusiast. 

"Maybe next time?" she offered-- a somewhat empty promise since she barely knew anything about the girl. Her eyes flickered to the aberration's outfit, considering what a shopping trip with Angel would be like for the briefest moment. 

"Definitively. Perhaps with Siena and Allison next time, hm? I'm sure a shopping spree between girls would be cool, no?" Angel suggested, remembering the fun she had with the others.

"Uh, yeah. Totally," Callan smiled. She recognized at least one of those names. Who was Allison again? ...blade girl? She'd be lying to say she was thrilled by the suggestion, even if Siena was involved. But it couldn't be all bad. As much as she found clothes shopping for anything but comfy sportswear a dullful waste of time, camaraderie was important. Worst case scenario she comes out with a bangin' outfit that'll collect dusk in her dresser. She waited for Angel to continue. Surely the planning of future shopping sprees wasn't the only reason she'd come over to chat and small talk really wasn't her forte. 

While Angel was of an enthusiastic nature when meeting new people, she was no blind as to read the mood. Perhaps she caught her at a bad time, or perhaps Callan was not the talkative girl Angel thought she would be? From the answers she kept getting, she had the vibes that she should perhaps not push her luck any further and annoy the green blue-haired Arbiter any more than this. 

"Ah...  well... I guess I'll leave you to your things then. Gotta go fetch something to fight this cold temperature coming up, and replacement shades. Yesterday had not been kind to them. Well... it hadn't been for any of us." She chuckled nervously as she remembered yesterday's events. 

Confused and slightly disappointed, Callan managed a smile as Angel seemed to admit she didn't have anything more to add. At the mentioning of yesterday, her smile faded. "Oh," she blinked up at her apologetically, "I'm such an idiot. I completely forgot... are you alright?" Coupled with Siena, Angel had passed out during the game because of her injuries. 

"Sorry about what happened with Chris and--" a prickling sensation on the back of her neck brought the unwelcome memories of that morning as well as the game rushing back, "--Kusari. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Angel's face turned to a more serious expression when Callan turned apologetic about what happened during the game. In reply, she thrown her hand up in a dismissive manner. 

"Well, it sure did hurt like a bitch, but hey, at least I'm glad we have someone like Christmas to patch us up, even though his power is a bit... disturbing to say the least." Angélique flexed her arms and shoulders, remembering the pain she had went through that time. For a game, it sure went completely absurd. Physical injuries healed though, and she had the pride of saying her team won. The same couldn't be said for the other girl though. 

"To be completely honest with you, I'm more concerned about you. Injuries heal, but suffering defeat being blinded by a pair of pants wrapped around your face? Now that's the kind of embarrassment I don't think I could live with without blowing a fuse at the boys." Angel couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that situation, after which she apologized, not meaning to being disrespectful or anything like that.

Concern quickly melted into complete and total mortification, which manifested itself in the form of a forced smile that resembled more of a grimace. She saw that? Of course she saw that. Everyone and their mom saw that. 

"Yeah," Callan forced a laugh, "That, uh... that was p-pretty, uh... pretty embarrassing... I'll be alright, though." She slid her hand across her face, which by now was about as hot as it could possibly be without literally being on fire. "It's not like they recorded it all with cameras from like eight different angles or anything, right?" she muttered sarcastically, followed by a laugh that was a little more genuine. 

"Don't worry, I'm sure everyone is mature enough to look past it. Last thing you need is to be called "Pants Head" or something like that." The Aberration laughed in harmony with the Arbiter, feeling somewhat a bit relieved to have this sort of discussion for once. 

"Maybe that'd give you more reason to work double. Impress everyone, make them forget about that." She chuckled, her expression however turning somber as she recalled what happened earlier. "Even I will need to work double to regain the impression and trust I lost..."

"Oh God," Callan lamented, "If I end up with that as my nickname, I'm going into hiding." The thought was truly terrifying, but she doubted Director Zhang would ever release the footage of that disaster to the public. Almost as much as she doubted a bunch of high schoolers would be 'mature' about anything. But, then again, she hadn't thought a bunch of high schoolers were capable of being as violent as they were during the Flag and Seek game, so what did she know? 

"Well, we've got nothin' but time for now," Callan smiled reassuringly, "I'm sure we'll all make some progress soon enough." She kept her reassurances vague. X-marks, or, aberrations were a topic she was still unsure about, but she wanted to believe people like Angel and Sander were just as capable of successfully controlling their powers as she was-- or would be. 

Angel nodded silently in approval. True, the time they had to mingle together was everything they had now, until their next suicide mission. Her sudden shift of mood began leaking, and the Aberration young woman started to acknowledge it. This time though, she won't let it go downhill like this morning with Brent and Ernest. Last thing she needed was to have yet another classmate thinking she had a few loose screws and was unreliable.

"Well, I won't hold you any further. I'm pretty sure you have things to do. Been fun to actually have some time to speak with you."

Callan offered yet another smile and wave. "Same," she answered rather lamely, "See ya around."

Angélique nodded, returning the friendly wave before both girls took off in opposite direction.

The shopping trip was indeed quite short for the fallen rockstar. She went back to the shop she had previously visited with her newly made friends and indeed found what she was looking for. Comfortable sweaters, T-shirts sporting her favorite bands, warm vests, a leathery trench coat and even a new pair of stylish glasses. By the end of the trip, the cashier told the shopping Subnatural that she had no more money left available to her student ID, and so she had to pay the rest of the expenses with the small amount of money Angel had in her wallet.

After returning from her shopping spree, the black haired Angel stayed put in her room after grabbing dinner at the cafeteria. She would remain in her room for the remainder of the evening, trying to put some music she had in her mind to paper, play some more guitar riffs and listen to her playlist before going to sleep.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Vox Angelis

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Vox Angelis Dust in the wind

Banned Seen 9 mos ago

Vox Angelis

Dust in the wind

Banned

410 posts

in 3956 days

Seen 9 mos ago

Bio

Angélique's Week

Part 2

𝒜𝓃ℊℯ𝓁𝒾𝓆𝓊ℯ ℒ𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ

  𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔸𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤 - ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟘 / /  𝟘𝟞𝟛𝟘  

This night had been quite unusual compared to the others so far. One thing was constant though. It would seem she will never get a peaceful night of sleep, as her dreams still were plagued by nightmares, no matter how different they were. Instead of the usual sight of someone looking very much like a twisted version of herself laying waste a city by supersonic screams, she was now facing a very familiar scene, one that she wished to never see ever again.

She woke up one morning after a very troubling night. Her sleep had been assaulted by very realistic dreams, visited by a seemingly invisible creature that seemed to offer her two choices. In one path, she was showed a way to bring harmony all around her through the use of her voice. On the other path, she was promised to walk the road of a destroyer, one who would bring an end to all conflict between humankind and put down the ravaging monsters. It had been a conflicting choice, in all of her sleepy haze. Bringer of Harmony or Destroyer of Dissonance? Many before her, artists and musicians alike, tried in vain to bring people together with music. How would she be any different from all those singers? Only through magic she could achieve change. But not any kind of magic. It needed to be strong, powerful beyond words. It needed to bring an utter end to threats.

Fortunately for Angélique, she noticed something changed about herself before anyone got to see it first. When she went to the bathroom for her morning beauty care, she shouted in both horror and surprise when she found that infamous “X” mark drawn onto her throat. At first, she was in disbelief, and tried to wash it down, pretending to herself someone pulled a prank on her during the night. She soon faced the truth when, no matter how hard she tried, the mark would never come off her neck.

Fearing for her career and herself, Angel hid that mark as best as she could. Makeup was used as a temporary solution, until she got her hands on a large leather collar that would cover up the mark on her throat. She wasn’t ready to tell her fans about her sudden transformation into a Subnatural. If that secret come into light, her whole life would radically change, many fans would reject her due to the poor popular opinion about Subnaturals and especially X-marked. 

Despite this sudden twist of fate, the now-rising Canadian rockstar tried to live her life as normally as she could. Some questioned that new addition to her look, but with her convincing personality, it was quickly dismissed as part of her punkish style. 

However, things changed over the next days. During her singing rehearsals, she found out it had become easier for her vocal cords to achieve high-pitched notes. She was even able to reach peaks with her voice she had never explored before. Members of her band were impressed, and some even suggested catching the audience of their next homecoming concert by surprise by working on that new note for a song Angel had been working on as a surprise gift for her beloved Montréal’s fans.

Then it all came down to that fateful day. Angel was standing on stage, stress knotted in her stomach, as it was the first time she would give a concert as a Subnatural. She was a transparent person, she hoped she could simply tell the crowd who she had become, but she feared change, as much as she preached about it in her songs and interviews. In the end, she was a coward and a hypocrite, just like all the others before.

It was at the climax of the concert, as she sang her newest song and the crowd was shouting and whistling loudly in approval, she activated her power to its maximum extent. Lost in the heat of the moment, she let out this inhumane shriek that was supposed to be that high-pitched note she had been working on days ago. 

It was chaos. 

The crowd at the front rows was decimated by the sonic wave unleashed from the newly-awakened Subnatural singer. Not because of her voice, but because of the high-tech gear surrounding the front row that blew from the sheer vibration of the intense scream they were broadcasting, sending plastic shrapnel to the poor souls standing there. The rest of the crowd suffered light damage; some were deafened because of their eardrums gave out from the intensity of the shriek, and the lucky ones felt nauseated as their brain couldn’t fully withstand the sonic assault.

Just like that, the career Angélique Lachance tried so hard to build crumbled before her eyes. Caught in panic, the singer choked on her tears and collapsed in the middle of the stage like a crying mess, until the police came to take her into custody.

Angélique woke up with a panicked shout, tears trailing down her cheeks. It had been a nightmare, a very realistic one. As a matter of fact, it was no mere nightmare. It was a vivid memory of what had happened three weeks ago, just before she was convicted to be sent at USARILN for being an unstable X-marked. 

How she came to suddenly dream about that day was unknown to her, much like how dreaming never really made sense to her. For days, ever since she had become an Aberration, she always dreamt about bringing relieving destruction to the monsters plaguing her nightmares. Why did it changed now? Was it because of Ernest bringing up what had happened in Montréal and made her lose control of her emotions? 

Angel had a hard time figuring just how that mind of hers worked anymore. She was fucked up, ever since that mark on her throat appeared. She wished she just could be the normal girl she had been back then. How laughable was it now to think that being one popular lead singer was something to be considered 'normal' now that she knew what it was like to be a Subnatural.

Still, today was the start of a new day. She'd be damned if she would let nightmares drag her down and isolate her into her room all day long. She needed to get out, get some fresh air, train some more, anything than staying alone in the goddamned room. Putting on some leggings and a tight-fit T-shirt, she was off to do her morning jogging.

 | 
Zoe | Angélique

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠  / /  𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟘
Collab by @Lasrever @Riffus Maximus

Zoe had been at Ground Zero for a while. Not long, but long enough to figure out that she was a hell of a lot stronger. Her hands tore through flesh like it was barely even substantial. Her range had improved as well - she'd kept breaking things down much further away than she used to. And then there was the new ability that she wasn't even sure how to describe yet. Yeah, she was a lot stronger.

Either way, the bloodlust had faded for the moment, so she was looking for something else now. Specifically, one of her classmates. She'd caught sight of the singer when she'd walked in, but figured it made sense to deal with her own issues first. Now that she'd done that, she figured they might have some things to talk about. Deciding to stay a fair distance back for safety's sake, she took a moment to watch what the other subnatural was doing before she called out.

"Spend a lot of time out here, or was it just a bad morning?"

When Angélique arrived at Ground Zero, she was in a foul mood. Her morning had been troubled by her stigma, and she couldn't keep up with her daily training routine in such a state of mind. After enduring her ever-growing frustration and working out half-heartedly, she came here to vent out all this anger and grief she was keeping inside. At first, the ex-rockstar had been screaming shrieks of primal fury out of her system, but as she kept on screaming her lungs out, the intensity of her shouts seemed to diminish. Until she was standing still, silent, seemingly contemplating the damage she had done to the building in front of her. Glass shards from broken windows littered the floor along blown out doors and trails of displaced dirt in the wake of her sonic waves was what stood in front of the screamer mage.

Clearing out her throat a few times to get the benign itching in her vocal cords out of the way, Angel almost jumped in surprise when she heard someone call out to her. Turning her heard, she recognized Zoe. The black-haired Mage saw her earlier, when Angel arrived at Ground Zero, chasing down the "ghosts" of this town's past and melting them down with frightening efficiency. But for once, Angel didn't want to engage in talking. She hadn't been in the mood to cross other people's way.

However, now that she was done venting and her mind felt clearer, she somewhat welcomed this surprise arrival. As a matter of fact, Angélique wanted to speak to Zoe about some things, ever since the Flags n' Seek matchup she had witnessed. She wanted to set things straight, confirm some things.

"Both, actually. As hard as it is to admit, I've been coming here more often than I would've liked. To get this pent up frustration out of my system and to train with my powers." Angel answered with surprising honesty about her whereabouts. She was however curious if Zoe was here for the same reasons. "How about you? Have you come to douse this fiery aggression out of your system? Or did you have something else in mind?"

"Self control, I guess. Figured I wasn't helping anyone by putting it off any longer. After all, I've got more than enough aggression to go around without making things any worse, right?" Zoe grinned, glancing around the area. Despite her words, she seemed to be remarkably unbothered by the statement. It wasn't like the knowledge of how she operated was new, after all. 

"Other than that, I wanted to find out my limits. Don't know about you, but my powers have been changing, and I'd rather know how much. Can't exactly go around testing them on you guys."

"Yeah..." Angel trailed off, seemingly caught in her thoughts about her growing powers. She too noticed things seemed to have been changing about her screaming abilities as of late. And there were those waking nightmares she kept having, happening randomly.

"So you have noticed as well? It seems the more it goes on, the more potent my powers are. I haven't had the chance to fully understand them yet. It's just that... I don't know how you can manage to use your abilities on... them." Angel glanced towards the fake people, seemingly running about in panic because of the visiting subnaturals wreaking havoc on both buildings and people alike. "I know they aren't supposed to be here, but still, they feel too humans, too real. In reality, it's like those people are trapped inside a time loop. It... just doesn't feel right for me to go around and scream their eardrums off."

Angel's gaze slowly turned back to Zoe. "Well, I was just about trying to figure out my limits too, now that I'm feeling better."

"Yeah. Can't say I'm not thankful for it - If my powers didn't start changing when they did, I'd be some monster's lunch right now. Gotta wonder how far it goes, though. I don't get the feeling it's anywhere close to done changing, and I don't know about you, but my limits are already a whole lot harder to reach." That felt like an understatement. If Zoe's powers had been on this level even during the game, she doubted everyone would have made it back. 

Zoe grimaced, her expression darkening for a moment. "As for the rest, I'll get back to you when I figure out how to kill a building. Not like I've got many other options here, and trying to pretend I do just means I snap on people that actually matter. As you've seen." And she couldn't afford to do that again. From everything she'd done out here, she knew she couldn't. Or maybe that was a convenient excuse to avoid thinking about how much she enjoyed it.

After a moment's pause, Zoe sighed in irritation. Seemed like something was on the singer's mind. "Listen, if there's something you wanna say to me, say it. Don't dance around the subject, it's a waste of both our time."

Angel was caught off-guard at Zoe's sudden approach. The young woman knew she was emotionally transparent, but not that much. In turn, Angel sighed exasperatedly. "Look, I'm new to this whole Mage thing. There are times I wish I had more control over myself. I'd like to say I've got nothing against you for acting the way you do, but that would be a lie. What you did to Aaron on that night, to Gregory Monday, that's what I have a problem with. You remember what you said on that night after we fought and lost some of our classmates? About protecting friends? Just how can you expect people to believe those words and look up to you when you act like this? You might not give a damn, that much you made it clear to me, but teamwork is based on trust. We won't survive out there by simply relying on our individual powers."

"Didn't have you down as the bleeding heart type." Zoe snapped, before realizing she probably wasn't helping her case with that. "And I'm certainly not looking to be a role model. As for the violence, well... It doesn't contradict what I'm trying to do as much as you'd think. But it definitely went further than I wanted it to."

She paused, strolling over to a nearby pile of rubble and taking a seat. "If you want an explanation, you'll have to be willing to hear me out. You can ask questions, but leave calling me a dumbass or whatever until the end." She smiled slightly. "Deal?"

"Hmph, that's not the first time I'm hearing that." Angelique grumpily replied. She heard those kinds of remarks enough times already from her entourage that she finally accepted being soft as part of herself.

Imitating Zoe, Angel pulled an unhinged door she blew earlier and set it on the ground near to where Zoe had been sitting. 

"Deal! I'm all ears." She agreed, rather enthusiastic. Truth be told, she didn't expect her classmate to explain anything to Angel. It made her the more eager to listen to what the berserk Mage had to say. See her point of view, her side of her story.

"Don't get too enthusiastic, I'll get stage fright." Zoe chuckled, amused for a brief second before growing serious. "Okay, first thing. Assuming you're not a moron, you've probably guessed that part of it's down to what goes on up here." She tapped her head. "I'm not gonna go into detail, 'cause frankly that shit's personal. But for now, let's just say mine gets worse the closer I get to people. Which is where the issue comes in."

"You know how long it takes me to kill someone?" Zoe's eyes stayed fixed on the ground as she spoke. "A second, maybe two. Then boom, dead as a doornail. Even the strongest person needs time to react. You with me so far?"

At first, Angel frowned at the redhead's coarse language as she talked, but she could hardly say anything about, considering she was the same at times. It sure was an inconvenient Stigma though. She silently nodded at Zoe's predicament.

"I-I see. That sucks, big time. Does that mean you were holding back on Gregory, or you power grew since then? It felt more than two seconds at that time. But fuck, bone began showing just before you got shocked..."

"A little of both. My ability's gotten faster, but it didn't take too long before, either. As for Gregory... I can tell you that I didn't plan on killing him, but also that I knew exactly what I was doing. How you take that is up to you." She remembered it pretty clearly, of course. Flesh tearing, bone brushing her fingertips. Visceral, stigma-driven joy. It was difficult to forget that kind of rush, for better or worse. "Mind if I continue?"

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry. Please do." Angel apologized for the interruption. She wasn't too sure how to react to Zoe's reply, but the ex-rockstar figured that an Aberration's thought process was more complex, due to dealing with the Stigma.

"Fact is I've always had a temper, even without magic messing with my head. It's unsafe. Lashing out's an easy way to make sure you guys don't come close enough to make it an issue." She smiled bitterly. "No-one wants to hang around the psychopathic bitch, right? So there. Reason number one." She finally looked up, curious to see her classmate's reaction.

Hearing out what Zoe had to say, Angel's thoughtful traits turned into something more compassionate. There was no way Zoe would indulge herself into making herself into a martyr, right? She looked like a strong woman, who could get what she wanted if she willed it. As a matter of fact, Angel thought she was seeing a bit of herself in front of her. The same damn stubbornness she had before.

Upon realizing this, Angélique's serene face showed a smile. "I'm no psychologist, far from it even. But from what I've been hearing, you sound like you are doing this to yourself. You may have a temper and some issues, but no one is going to approach you if you chase them away by lashing out."

Angel paused, wondering if she was just about to cause more problems by speaking out what's on her mind. But then again, Zoe seemed to be one to seek the harsh truth, and Angel was one to usually be as honest as she could be.

"What I mean to say is... perhaps you are making your own solitude. I can't speak for others about not wanting to hang around with you, but I'm sure there are at least people in our class who would like to get to know you."

"Well, yeah, that was kind of the point. It's not a question of whether they'd like to know me, it's a question of my own control. You know, so I don't go killing anyone during lunch. Not that it's as selfless as all that - I'm pretty sure that'd get me put down as well, special group or not." Zoe scowled, sharpness creeping into her tone. It wasn't as though she wasn't trying to fix things, but she had to be cautious about it, and she could do without lecturing.

"Frankly, I'd rather not murder someone who I'm meant to be looking out for just 'cause everybody wants to prove a point about the power of friendship."

Seemed like Angel stepped on a landmine, just as she somewhat expected it. Her smile returned to a neutral state, thinking she tried to take the situation too lightly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Look, you seem self-conscious to know what's wrong and what needs to get better, and I'm glad you are working on getting this under control. I just wanted to know for myself. Not because I want to try and prove a point, but because I want to know more about the people I'm working with. Even if you aren't looking to make a friend, I'd rather just talk directly to you and get things straight than just look from afar and make false assumptions." By now, Angel's enthusiastic tone faded into a more down-to-earth and serious voice. Truth be told, she would very much like to get along with the red-haired girl. It would've made things easier. But if Zoe was adamant about having no friends, for both their and her own safety, then the singing Mage would just have to suck it up and accept the rotting Mage's wishes.

Zoe shook her head, making an effort to get a rein on her anger. "It's not like that. You're not the first person to say I need to work on the whole 'friends' thing. Hell, I appreciate the honesty." For a moment she appeared almost conflicted about what to say. She knew why she had such a problem with it, but saying it out loud meant she had to think about everything else.

"What I want to do isn't really the main issue here. It's not as though I like spending all day training or hiding in my room." She sighed. "But I know all too well what I'm capable of doing. If I can't even shield you guys from that, then--" She broke off, her brow furrowed in uncharacteristic distress. Okay, too deep. Too close to home. Still aware of Angel's presence, she forced a casual expression after a few seconds, but it wasn't exactly convincing.

Angel flinched back onto her seat that was the broken down door and carefully eyed the troubled young woman. Getting too friendly or too intimate about her feelings was causing her issues to flare up, Angélique now realized. Now she truly knew what Zoe meant when the cracks began appearing in the Mage's behavior. When the redhead seemed to try to force a neutral expression, the raven-haired girl held her hands up.

"Woah there, easy. I'm very sorry if I'm ticking you off like that. I shouldn't be pushing it too much on you, As much as I'd like to continue talking to you, I think we need a break, before something happens. How about training, together or not? We're both here for the same reasons after all, right? Or... perhaps would you prefer some more alone time, get things off you system?"  Angel tried to defuse the situation. She felt bad for pushing Zoe around like that. Despite all the warnings and the explanation, she was a stubborn one and tried too hard at convincing Zoe that if they couldn't be friends, then they could at least be more open to each other. Obviously it backfired, taking too lightly Zoe's Stigma, or whatever mental issues she was having.

The other girl's reaction almost surprised Zoe. Almost. It probably made sense how fast her classmate backed off, considering how volatile Zoe had been lately. "Sorry. Got a little caught up there, but yeah. Yeah, I think training would be good." The statement she hadn't quite been able to finish still lingered at the back of her mind, but she could ignore it for now. As she stood up, facing away, she spoke again. Didn't want to give the completely wrong impression.

"I'm not angry at you, you know." She started to walk off before pausing and looking back at the other aberration questioningly. "Well?"

"Ah..." Angel watched as Zoe got up and started walking away after agreeing to some training. "Well, I'm glad to hear it." Angel was at a loss of what to say for now. She'd feel like saying she admired her tenacity and how strong she appeared to be, but Zoe probably wouldn't want to hear any of that for now. When the red-haired mage turned to her with a questioning look, Angel looked dumbfound for a moment as she pointed herself. 
"Together? You sure I won't be in the way?" she asked as she got up from her makeshift seat.

"Yes, I'm inviting you 'cause I think you'll be in the way. What can I say, I just love inconvenience." Zoe replied sarcastically before breaking into a smile - a much more genuine one, this time. "You did just tell me to get better with people, didn't you? So let's call this one a compromise. Unless you're worried I'll show you up, that is." She glanced back at the black haired subnatural with a challenging grin. 

The sonic Mage's clueless expression turning into a grin as she started walking towards her now training partner. "If I can take down a Dragon, puny Regular remnants of a town's past will just be small fries." Angel let out a sinister chuckle before her eyes went wide and slapped a hand to her mouth. Did she really just say that now?

"'Puny'?" Zoe burst out laughing at the look on Angel's face. Apparently that was as unexpected for her as it was for Zoe. "If it makes you feel any better I don't think they're paying attention." Zoe looked at Angel with an expression that was equal parts surprise and amusement. 

"A-are they? I don't even know now. I've read they were some sort of... real illusions? I mean, if you're willing to compromise, then I should follow the lead and get out of my comfort zone too, right?" The embarrassed singing Aberration chuckled nervously, doubled over by Zoe's laughing. "So, what's the plan? Should I just start yelling at them before you dive in for the 'kill'? Test ways to synergize our attacks?"

"Figuring out how to work as a unit sounds like as good a plan as any. Fair warning, though - I wouldn't look too close when I'm using my power, especially if Monday bothered you. Even though they're not exactly normal people, it's not a pretty sight." It sort of went without saying, but giving the warning seemed fair. "Other than that, whenever you're ready."

"Thanks for the heads-up. Likewise, don't stand in front of me when I shout. I wouldn't know how it feels like, neither Chris nor Kusari told me, but you saw it. It can somehow knock back and put down a Dragon for a few seconds." 

Angel walked took the lead and walked towards a nearby bystander. Putting herself into an angle that she would not have Zoe into her area of effect, she opened her mouth to start screaming. However, she felt her throat jam, and nothing but a wheeze came out. They were not 'normal' people, but the possibility of them being just as real, combined with the scene of what happened during her last concert that kept repeating itself over in her head, it was hard for her to overcome the trauma.

Real or not, one day you will have to get over it. You have chosen the path of a Destroyer, for the survival of mankind. There is no backing down now.

"What good is saving humanity if I'm destroying it in the process."

Sacrifices will be made, just as some already sacrificed their lives. Are you thinking those were made in vain? Or are you just pitying yourself over worthless lives because of your weakness?

"I...I don't-"

"You're not a Regular anymore. So stop using their guidelines to judge what you're meant to be, and deal with what you really are right now. What's really changed is the rules you have to play by now." 

Ernest's words echoed into Angel's mind. The discussion they had yesterday in her room, how he tried to make her open her eyes about what she was and what was expected of her. She knew he was right. She was still Angélique Lachance, but not an international rockstar anymore. She had been made into an Angel of Destruction by Dreamcatcher, or whatever granted her powers. Perhaps it was her destiny to one day cause great pain to others, to bring back order to this chaotic world by screaming at it into submission. 

Once again, Angel opened her mouth, and the knot inside her throat began to untie as her voice gradually rose in intensity. What sounded like a muffled cry grew into a raging scream, until it grew again into an ear-splitting inhumane shriek. The bystander, looking curiously at Angel, was blown back a few feet backwards, as if he had received a powerful punch, before crumbling to the ground, holding his ears and quivering into a confused mess.

As soon as Angel stopped screaming, Zoe rushed forward. She'd been slightly concerned about the other girl's apparent fear of using her powers, but the hesitation her classmate had shown wasn't something she shared. The power to kill didn't give much room for half-measures, and no matter how much you dressed it up that was the basic nature of what she did. When it came down to it, they needed someone that wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and it might as well be her.

She reached the man quickly, black snaking across her hand as she drove it into the back of his skull. True to her word, it was fast, her hand driving through to his brain like the man's flesh was barely even solid at all. He collapsed to the ground as she withdrew her hand, twitching but otherwise lifeless. She glanced back at Angel and called out, wondering if the aberration had taken her advice and looked the other way."Done."

Zoe walked back over to Angel. If the stun usually lasted as long as that, then their powers actually did seem useful together. "I'd say that worked out alright. Makes sense, anyway. You put them down, I make sure they stay there. Not too complicated, right?"

Morbid curiosity had gotten the best of the screaming Aberration as she peeked a few glances, much to the singer's dismay, towards the macabre scene that was Zoe's doing. It was surprising just how quick she was to deal the killing blow, how easy it seemed for the other Aberration. Yet, for a strange reason, having shouted deaf this bystander felt... good? It somehow felt more relieving that simply screaming at windows and doors. 

"Yeah. I figured my powers weren't meant to directly deal a fatal blow to opponents. I guess that would make me something like... an attack support?" Angel felt somewhat glad that, in the end, her power could synergize well enough with anyone able to inflict heavy damage.

Walking off towards yet another real illusionary group of people, Angélique glanced at her training partner. "It doesn't take you long to kill someone, but... I wonder just how long someone can recover from my screams. How much time we can afford before they get back up in action, if worse comes to be."

One more time, Angel let her out a devastating shriek as she was standing a few meters away from the group of bystanders. This time, she was able to do so without any complication. Her sonic wave caught them unaware; some fell to the ground from being 'punched' from behind. The result remained the same for all of them. They all recoiled a few feet back from the force of the scream, then they simply stood immobilized, in a haze, for a little less than half-a-minute.

"So, thirty seconds. Maybe say twenty-five, to be safe." Zoe appeared lost in thought for a second, concern crossing her features as she watched the people scramble for safety. Angelique's sudden willingness to attack the townspeople was definitely practical, but something about it bothered the red-haired girl. She wasn't sure what it was yet. Having someone to back up her attacks wasn't a negative, after all. She shook her head.

"Okay, one more thing. If I grab one of them for a second, think you can knock them into a few of their buddies as soon as I'm out of range? It'll make sense in a minute."

Curious as to what Zoe had in mind, Angel nodded in agreement. "Very well. I'll get a head start and try to position myself as soon as you get one."

As soon as she was finished, the raven-haired Aberration started off running, with an eerie glint shining bright in her emerald eyes beyond the cracked lens of her shades. In battle, speed was the key to winning, she was taught by her mentor. As soon as her partner would grab one of the imaginary folk, Angélique would spring the plan Zoe suggested.

After waiting a couple seconds to make sure her teammate had time, Zoe started off herself, running straight for the nearest group. Her victim saw her coming, but only had time to start turning away before she grabbed the collar of his shirt and, in a move that was much more street fighting than martial arts, head-butted him right in the face.

As the man staggered backwards, Zoe backed off. She'd already hit him - that was all she needed to do. Giving Angel a nod, she just focused on maintaining her power's effects, black specks rising from the man's body.

With her head start, Angel was already ahead of the group when Zoe grabbed of them. When they started running from their assailant, Angel was ready for them, waiting. As she angled herself so that her sonic wave won't hit Zoe, it did not take long for the screaming mage to take position and let out a forceful shout that pushed the front row backwards into the others behind, not too far away from where the redhead had been. As soon as they tumbled down on each other into a body pile, Angélique stopped and raised a clenched fist to her partner.

As soon as the people collided, Zoe started to let her power spread from person to person. It was slower than direct contact, of course, but they weren't exactly in a position to fight back either way. More importantly, it had actually worked - more black rose from the pile of people as the power spread between them, although the noise they made was disconcerting even by her standards. She'd never gone for so many before. 

Once it was done, Zoe grinned at Angel, turning to head back over as the noise finally went quiet. As much as anything else, that had more than sated her stigma. It was a relief not to want to punch anyone in the throat for a while. "In case you were wondering, that's kind of a new one."

Seeing the new trick Zoe had up her sleeve, the winged-tattooed singer slapped a hand to her mouth when she saw the body pile turning black and slowly rotting away, like a spreading disease. The sight was too much for Angel. She turned her head away and even backed off a few meters away, feeling somewhat insecure to stand near the contagious plague her training partner seemed to have caused. 

"I-I see... That's quite... deadly." Angel stuttered, feeling a bit nauseated by the sight and the wailing that came with it. She didn't know how Zoe could live with doing that on a whim. The two of them were quite different, she figured. She somewhat understood now why the red-haired girl didn't want to take any chances letting her power go rampant on others should she lose control. Seeing it with her own eyes now, it was clear to her that Zoe was probably one of the deadliest ticking bombs in their class. Which reminded Angel of the failsafe powers of her other classmates she had begun thinking of recently in light of the total loss of control that was the Flags n' Seek game.

"We're making quite a team, when we're putting our minds into it. There may yet be hope for us." Angel chuckled uncomfortably, trying to shake off the uneasiness that had began to creep into her.

Zoe chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far, but it's definitely one hell of a combination. And the power's under my control, you know. Won't hurt you. You're really not very good at pretending to be okay with this. The stuttering doesn't help your case, for the record." Zoe said, oddly relieved by the horrified reaction of her teammate. Honestly, part of her was sickened by it too. But she couldn't change her power, couldn't hold back because of misplaced fears. All she could do was try her hardest to aim it at the right place and hope no-one was in the way.

That didn't mean it had to be the same for everyone.

"Can you do me a favour?"

She sure doesn't speak with her boxing gloves on, Angel figured as she flinched from Zoe's statement. Of course she wasn't good at pretending, given how easy she was to figure out. It didn't really even cross her mind to hide she was disturbed by the sickening show. Even the girl manipulating that kind of power would be aware of that. Surely by now she grew accustomed to what her power was capable of doing. Just how Angélique wished she could say the same about herself right now though.

"Sure, what is it?

"Hold on to that. Caring." Zoe raised her head, looking determinedly at her teammate. "None of us wanted this. One bad choice, and you're fucked in the head for the rest of your days. The other path still gets you locked up like a dog. I'm not saying to cry every time you hit a monster, and I'd rather all of you guys were willing to kill if you had to-"

She paused, letting out a quick laugh as she struggled to put the words together. "Sorry, give me a minute, I'm not good at this." Her expression darkened. "I guess what I'm saying is that this shit already took almost everything. Don't get so caught up in being a weapon that you let it take away who you are, too." Zoe looked away, keenly aware that she could do a whole lot better with that herself. But she'd always been willing to do bad things to an extent - the singer didn't give her the same impression. At least if she was on the mark.

For a moment, as Angel listened intently to Zoe, she looked somewhat conflicted. Deep inside, she knew she was expected to become someone to comply with orders, pull the trigger without hesitation, else her life and the others' would be in danger. She needed to be resolute in facing her fears and discarding her worries away for the sake of everyone's survival. And yet, the red-haired Mage's speech brought back what Angelique prized the most. Her humanity, her love for others. Without it, she probably wouldn't have been the popular singing icon she was in the past, one who had had a vast influence on people for trying to sympathize with the Subnaturals and their predicament. Without it, she would probably be a remorseless killing machine today.

What uneasiness that seemed to have stiffened Angel disappeared, some sort of burden seemed to have been removed from her shoulders as Zoe finished. A smile etched itself onto a more serene and friendlier face. "I will. Despite what the others say, despite what the voices tell me to do, Ì will try to cling onto what little humanity may be left inside me. For our sake, for my sanity, for those I had let down.“ She looked back at her training partner, wondering if the girl was feeling just as eased as she was after sating their appetite for destruction, assuming it was the universal way to ease their burden as Aberrations. It somehow felt easier to open her heart and soul now that the voices inside her head seemed to have quieted down.

"However, that doesn't mean I will hold back on monsters. After all, part of me wanted this. This power to destroy. To tear down what had been demolishing what we built and killed many of us. It's just... I'd rather be using what I have been given on monsters than our own. I... still can't get over the deaths I caused..." At the mention of her last statement, Angel trailed off into a more sorrowful tone. 

"Shall we continue to where you left off earlier? Or would you like to talk about something else?" The raven-haired musician tried to redirect the discussion, feeling uncomfortable about pouring out her own issues onto others. 

Voices? Zoe wasn't sure the other aberration meant to let that one slip, surprise crossing her face as she listened to the rest of the talk. Apparently the singer was still hung up on what had happened with the concert. Zoe didn't know much detail about the incident - only what she'd heard from others. Keeping up with current events hadn't exactly been a priority at the time. Still, she gave the other girl a look.

"I don't get the impression you're the type to do that on purpose. You're more of a 'helping old ladies cross the road' type. Maybe not that far, but you know - a lot closer than I am. As for what I'm doing..." Well, Zoe assumed Angel would've figured out why she was scared of losing it - Not that she'd say she was scared, exactly, but the point stood.

"The way you guys have acted. I don't know you well, any of you, and that's on me. But from the fights when we got here, from seeing your reactions on Monday... I'll just say that I've decided it's better for me to be the one pulling the trigger if it becomes necessary. Leave it at that."

As much as Angel wanted to scream that it had been an accident, she stood silent. There wasn't need to find excuses. She took the lives of a handful of people, accident or not, and she was the one to blame for the grieving she had caused. But it was somehow good to know Zoe looked at her this way.

"Perhaps you're right. We do need someone with your kind of resolve." The ex-rockstar paused, feeling however disgusted by her lack of resolve. "I'll sound corny and you're probably tired of hearing me talk like that, but I believe you shouldn't be the only one the bear that burden, of dirtying your hands like that. If it's not for the others, then it's over for us. I remember what you said that night. Even if we have people like you protecting us, once we are caught alone with our lack of resolve, then it's all over."

"Eventually. But right now, making that choice - I think it'd break some of them. They've got themselves convinced that we're heroes. That we're the good guys, that we're better than that. That if we just keep believing in each other, everything will work out." Aaron sprung to mind, but she decided not to name names. At least unless he turned up again. "If I'm the one doing it, then it's easy to explain away as 'Zoe losing it again'. It's not ideal, but it'll do for now. Sucks to be you - you get to be the good example."

She laughed lightly, a little uncomfortable with that level of openness. "You're right, that was corny. I think I'm done."

"I'm still not totally agreeing with the whole 'you did it' scheme, but I'm sure you wouldn't care even if I protest." Angel chuckled light-heartedly to Zoe's comment. Sighing in satisfaction to have a decent discussion with a person she initially thought was too aggressive to talk to, the black-haired singer contemplated the sight of the landscape around her.

"Well... I suppose if you're done, then we should return to training? I have some limits I have yet to test myself."

"Sure, why not? Just make sure you can keep up." Zoe smirked, looking back out at their surroundings. She'd opened up enough - more than enough. Talking was fine, but only as long as she was ready to back it up. There was still a long way to go. "Oh, and if anyone asks, I told you I punch people for a living. I've got a reputation to uphold, you know."

"A reputation to uphold?" Angel laughed at the request. Still, it was whole-hearted, even though the infamous singer found the deal quite silly. "Very well. I mean, you did punch a guy's brains out after all. Can't be any more metal than that." The raven-haired Mage felt a chill creeping up her spine when she remembered Zoe's fist ramming into the illusory person's skull.

***

The two Aberrations spent part of the afternoon chasing down illusions of citizens throughout the ruined city. Slowly, Angélique had begun showing less restraint and was becoming more assertive in the use of her powers. The two managed to work well together by combining the uses of their power into synergic tactics. Throughout the training, both began to truly understand the use of their powers, their range and duration limitations by trial-and-errors tests. 

Much to her dismay, Angel had signaled the end of their training session. The two X-marked girls were at it for so long that the screaming Mage’s vocal cords had begun to give out, making the young woman barely able to speak. It would appear Angel was limited to about two dozen screams before her voice was completely exhausted. She looked disappointed in herself, but shrugged to Zoe. If that was all what she was able to do, then there was no point in continuing. 

Eventually, the two went on their own ways as their training was over and talking with someone practically mute wasn't ideal for both of them.

  𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠  / /  𝟙𝟠𝟛𝟘

It had been quite an exhausting afternoon for Angélique. Spending half of it training with Zoe until her voice gave out; the other half was spent doing conditioning training organized the school’s staff. Obviously, being good with their powers wasn’t sufficient for them. The students had to be physically primed, the ex-rockstar figured. 

Throughout the mandatory session, Angel had been absent-minded, lost in her thoughts as she was thinking over what she had been discussing with Zoe earlier today. If she wanted to get stronger, build up that resolve to use her powers, she’d need to train more, adapt, and perhaps even embrace it. Angel had the whole week free of classes. Maybe it was time to put Ground Zero to a better use than simply venting out there.

So far, she had trained with Siena, Allison and Zoe in here. Already, she felt it was most beneficial, as it helped the raven-haired musician better understand her classmates’ powers, and even peek a bit into their personalities. Perhaps having another training session focused solely on their powers would be a good thing? See how well they could cooperate the four of them together?

But then, thinking about what Zoe told her, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to invite Zoe to that event. Angel had a hard time to get Zoe to somewhat open herself to her, she figured red-haired Aberration would flat-out refuse training with three other people around. 

Baby steps. Let her get accustomed to the others.

When the mandatory training class was over with, Angel went to ask Siena, with great pain considering her voice was but a faint strained whisper, if she was interested for another trip at Ground Zero to train with their powers on Thursday. Likewise for Allison, she found the girl at dinner and asked her if she would like to join them. 

Hopefully they’d show up tomorrow.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Vox Angelis

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Vox Angelis Dust in the wind

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Vox Angelis

Dust in the wind

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Bio

Angélique's Week

Part 3

 | 
Brent | Angélique

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤 𝔾𝕪𝕞   / /  𝟘𝟡𝟛𝟘  
Collab by @Riffus Maximus @ERode

Today, he had an excess of energy. Was it because of getting enough sleep? Because of the excitement and anticipation of learning new things? Or because of whatever meaningless epiphany he made up to stay positive? No, it was none of those things.

He had an excess of energy because he had yet to burn any of it away.

Brent sat on a bench, scrolling absentmindedly through international news on his phone. More monsters, more assholes, more misery. It seemed like every day, the world was getting worse and worse, but at the same time...heh. All these tragedies, all these numbers, and he still felt detached from it, removed from it. Same with Montreal, huh? He could read all about how Angelic turned the front row into a slaughterhouse, but at the same time...here he was, apathetic to the possibility of her being a psychopath that'd kill her own fans.

Because really, there was no way in hell it was an 'accident'.

His eyes flicked towards the clock. If Angelic didn't show up today, it could just be a rest day. But if this was her routine, then she should be coming any second now.

Just as Brent expected, the young woman passed through the gym's door during the morning. Dressed in her training wear, it was not hard to figure out Angelique was coming back from her morning jogging routine by the faint glistening of sweat her skin showed. Earbuds blasting music in her ears, she quickly made her way into the locker room, whence she came back a few minutes later with her shoes in her now-bandaged hands 

Making her way to the back of the gym, where the training dummies and punching bag were located, Angel spotted the Overclocking Mage sitting on a nearby bench. Remembering he was also at the gym Tuesday, the X-marked girl figured Brent must've been a gym enthusiast. Perhaps, just like her, it was a routine to come to the gym?

Acknowledging his presence, Angel lifted a hand in a small gesture of greeting towards Brent's direction before settling her stuff down on a nearby bench and preparing herself for another training session.

There was a bit of deviation, but her appearance was still like clockwork. Looked like there was a routine setting in place after all, at least compared to Zoe and Callan. "Morning Angelic," he said with a smile, "Kickboxing again?"

Just as Angel was putting away her earbuds and about to put some music from her playlist, her head perked up from her phone's screen, looking towards Brent.

"Ah, 'morning Brent. Yes, I am. And you? Taking a break from... lifting? What are you doing here usually this early?"

"Yeah, usually I'd be going through all the machines here, but after yesterday..." He paused, recalling the minor despair that was having a class dedicated to working out...that did basically nothing for him. "...I was thinking of trying something new, actually. Mind if I joined you today for your punching stuff?"

"Figured I was lacking skills instead of stats."

"Something new? Hmm... perhaps that wouldn't be a bad idea. That could break the monotony of being here..." Angel muttered to herself, snapping back to reality when Brent asked to join her. "Sure. Wouldn't hurt to have someone to practice with." 

Angélique looked back to her phone and set up some songs, however far less noisy than when she is training by her usual lonesome self. She gently put the phone on the nearby bench where her towel and shoes were resting. 

"Have you ever learned about boxing before?"

"I learned about it, and I know the whole concept of stepping in, as well as bodily rotation," Brent replied, "Basically understand how the techniques themselves are supposed to function as well, but as for actual lessons? Naw."

As he spoke, he began to do his stretches. Arms, legs, sides, neck. The hardcore music Angelic's phone blared out didn't do any miracles for setting the proper tone for such a thing, but angry people screaming would probably nicer when he started whaling at the sandbags.

"That's good then. I guess that makes you good to go for at least half of what the whole thing is. Let's start up with the punches, shall we?"

Angel set up herself next to one of the nearby punching bags, looking at Brent and waiting for him to get started. She was curious as to how experienced he was. From what he said, it sounded like he knew the technical, but perhaps not the practical part.

"Sure," was Brent's reply. His wrists cracked and popped as he rotated them, before he formed a fist, one finger at a time. Raising up his fists, he angled his body slightly so his right shoulder was leading, before extending his right fist to lightly tap the surface of the sandbag. Optimal distance should be just before his arm was fully extended, and more power could be generated with a pulley system, where one fist went in while the other went out. Just a one-two motion. A one-TWO!

A 'whump' sounded as his left fist bounced off the side of the punching bag.

"...think that hurt me more than that hurt it."

"Yeah, you might want to watch out for a broken wrist. Pulling a weird punch could strain it, as the wrist is one of the weakest place on your hand when it comes to absorbing impacts. If you do not tighten your punches correctly, the impact of your fist transfers into your wrist instead of your arm."

Angélique stepped in, flexing her arm upward, some veins and muscles bulging out to show how tight her grip was. "Your stance isn't so bad, You face your target right up front and slightly shift your body towards your lead punching arm. Lead arm should be the one you use for jabs."

As she explained, Angel took on her fighting stance, her body slightly shifting to her right shoulder. "However, you don't need to punch using a one-two strike. It works for combo, yes, but that's when you first have gotten the feel of your punches first."

She began with a swift jab from her right fist, quickly extending the arm in a rapid and straight punch all the while her body pushed slightly up front, at the dead center of the bag.

"When you extend your arm, keep it tight, straight and steady. Feel like digging your fist into the bag for a split-second before pulling back. That'll keep your hand from bouncing away."

"Ah, so that's what the spiraling motion is for," Brent nodded, before bringing out his own right fist, tightening it until it felt like his skin was going to break open from his knuckles. Too much? Hm...

"Let me see your arm for a bit."

 Angel wasn't really sure what Brent had in mind, but she complied, extending her arm to the Arbiter "Uh, sure..."

"Hmm..." Experimentally, he began to press his fingers against it, before stroking up and down, bobbing his head up and down. Still elastic, but that was due more to fat than lax muscles, wasn't it? He went back to his own forearm, comparing the two with that same focused stare of his. "Is there a balance between how taut your forearms should be? Or is it always a case of 'the harder the better'? Feels like the tenser it is, the slower it'd be."

Feeling creeped out by Brent's physical analysis on her arm, Angélique yanked her arm away from the intruding guy's probing, revealing a slightly annoyed expression creeping up into a frown. Rubbing her arm as if to shake off the feeling of being touched like that, Angélique shot up a concealed glare behind her cracked shades.

"Unless you want to break through concrete, no. If you tense up your muscles too hard, you won't get that swift flow of movement from your arm. Powerful it may be, but recovering and backing up after landing the blow will be much slower. Timing and swiftness is precisely what you want to get the most when throwing your punches and kicks."

So it all went back to speed again, huh? Made sense. He had come to that conclusion as well, but it was nice to get some actual confirmation for it. Brent closed his eyes, visualizing the sequences once more. Efficiency and speed, with the bare minimum required to keep his fist from folding over his wrist. These weren't bullets. Maximizing the value out of each strike wasn't necessary. He wasn't intending on learning how to punch and kick for the sake of killing monsters anyways.

"Cool," the arbiter said, pointing to himself, "Mind showing me a normal punch then?"

Angel nodded, turning back to the punching bag. Doubt crept up in her mind by his request. What kind of 'normal punch' did he wanted to see? A jab? A hook? An uppercut? A cross? There were so many punches it was hard to tell what he meant. Deciding to spice things up with a little variety, the fighting girl fell into her stance. This time, however, she used her left arm as an attack, bringing a straight punch after executing a small pivot with her body. Not too powerful, just quick enough to ingrain what she was teaching into Brent's mind.

Well...it definitely looked good, but he had already seen a whole bunch of her punches Tuesday morning. Brent scratched the back of his head. This was going to get a bit awkward, huh? And from what he recalled, last time someone tried this (Callan and Kusari), it turned into a hilariously traumatizing event. Did he really have to clarify this? Or was she intentionally ignoring his actual meaning?

Ah, it could always be worse.

"Meant for you to punch me, actually," he laughed awkwardly, "Feel the force of a normal punch with my own body, to gauge how much is enough? You know?"

Did she know? Hopefully she did.

Angel's face turned to disbelief when she heard Brent explaining himself over the meaning of his request. Why were everyone so fixated on getting themselves hit? She was no Callan of course, so she had no fear of killing anyone with a single punch. But still, she felt uneasy to simply just throw a punch at someone who didn't provoke her into doing so. All she learned was for the sake of self-defense, not injure others without a good reason to.

"What the fuck? What would you even gain from feeling that?"

"It's like that whole thing where when tazers were first brought out to law enforcement, they'd have officers shoot each other with it," Brent replied. "Think the lesson there was more to teach them to be more careful before shooting someone, but I'm more interested in getting a general idea of how disruptive a single punch would be."

He paused.

"Can totally see why this is a weird ass request, but you're the only one that I can ask, Angelic. Don't want false impressions to screw me over like it did with my thing with Hazel."

"Underestimated her, huh? I admit, I did not foresee such destructive powers coming from someone like her. It just goes to show you how deceiving appearances can be, how powers work in ways we can't even try to imagine. And especially, how freaking awful those powers are in the hands of an Aberration..."

The black-haired girl remained silent for a few seconds. True, he could use a bit of experience to see where all this training was going, but the way martial arts worked, even a ridiculous blow could potentially be very harmful. That was the reason why instructors wore pads and such when teaching their students with a more physical approach.

Just like that, Angel's face beamed with realization. Of course! The pads were the solution. She would be damned if there weren't boxing gear in this gym with all these sandbags and dummies around. 

"Hang on a second here will ya?" Angel told, more like an order than a request as she darted off to the back of the gym, where some of the facility's gear was stored. After a minute, she came back with several kinds of pads into her arms, dropping them near the bench Brent and her were training at.

"I don't know anything about testing tazers, but we do have stuff in martial arts classes that can make you 'feel' the impact of a punch without bringing a real physical contact directly on the body. We'll start up with that. Then, if you really want to go all the way with this. I can try to muster the will to actually give you a beating. Put up with my request, then I'll grant yours. Fair deal?"

"Well, who would have thought she'd be able to steamroll through a building and flatten everyone after taking a hit that the mods thought was lethal?" Brent shook his head. "If I was really underestimating her, I would have been trying to snatch her flags or something like that."

When Angel brought back all the pads, providing a happy medium for the not-masochist and the not-sadist, the Arbiter nodded and began strapping the pads on. Compromise was losing, perhaps, but if Angelic turned out to be capable of cracking bones with well-placed punches...well, he wasn't adverse to Christmas's healing, but he didn't really want to owe that kid too many debts.

"More than fair. Thanks for putting up with my requests. If you need me to Overclock a TV episode or something, just call me. Worked out pretty well during movie night."

Angel perked up an eyebrow in interest as Brent merrily proposed his services as a token of thanks for making her go along with his stupid antics. Truth be told, she could always learn more about her classmates' powers, and there was a certain something she wanted to test out considering his powers.

"Sounds like an interesting offer. I might take you up on that for this afternoon, if you are free."

"Cashing in already?" Brent laughed, "Sure, I'll toss over as many free Overclocks as you want, as long as you also teach me how to shoot."

"Aren't you the bargaining one now?" Angel replied with a chuckle of her own. "I don't think I'm the one you should be seeing for that though. I only ever learned the basics from Lawrence. I have yet to practice whatever I self-studied."

Seeing Brent was just about done strapping the pads onto his torso and hands, Angel readied herself into her fighting stance. "Place your hands up, palms facing me. I'll show you the feeling of an impact behind a series of jabs and crosses."

"Lawrence, huh?" The blond that basically did nothing outside of clean up the mess his team made? Brent stored away that chunk of information in his head for a later time, before raising up his hands. "Come at me, brah."

Angel grinned slightly before launching a series of punches at Brent's arms. The padding offered good protection against the impact of the varying intensities of the blows. For a prepared mind, one would notice how small the force was behind each strikes, the weakest being the jabs and the strongest by the cross punches. 

It seemed quaint and rather boring to just watch the girl offer seemingly unimpressive combinations of punches at the Arbiter's hands. But just as the pacing of the strikes became steady, Angel broke it by delivering a sudden staggering cross punch with her left strong arm directly against Brent's padded chest. Compared to the previous punches, this one packed an impact powerful enough to make the guy recoil a few steps back and send a slight shockwave throughout his torso.

"Oof," Brent said, surprised at the impact of the final strike, "Definitely felt that. That last one your actual 'normal' punch, Angelic?"

"Sort of. The padding around your hands don't make you feel much, combined with the fact I was aiming at the hands, which isn't the place you'd usually try to aim a punch at. They don't look impressive for sure, but those were normal. I will admit I've put a bit more strength to the last one to try and make up a bit for the padding. Trying to make you feel a bit what it's like to receive a 'normal' punch when you aren't expecting one."

Angel huffed, quickly re-catching her breath. "Well, despite that, are you sure you want to receive one without padding? That kind of punch can potentially crack ribs, not that I actually would like to cause that, or cause quite a bruise."

"Yeah, figured that the head would be a better focus for fisting." The point she brought was interesting though. So the potential was indeed there, that of cracking one's ribs, or at least cause a colorful bruise, but at the same time...stomachs didn't have bones. And, more importantly, fractured bones weren't lethal, at least compared to a bash to the head.

Brent removed the pads one by one, before rolling his shoulders once more. Stomp the back of the knee, pull hair backwards, punch down in her face, and snatch at flags? Was that a possibility?

He recalled the speed of Angelic's punches, a speed that was definitely achievable with enough practice. Enough practice and no need for talent.

"Alright, enough faffing about. Got the Rocky theme song, Angelic?"

As much as Angel wanted the situation to not have come down to this, she couldn't help but let a nervous laughter escape her mouth from Brent's joke. She really hoped that last punch would've been enough to dissuade him from getting the real deal. Obviously, he was too stubborn to simply let it go. 

"No talking you out of this, eh? God you can be such a pain in the ass some times. Cortana, play Eye of the Tiger."

Angélique's smartphone beeped twice, ending abruptly the song that had been playing, changing to the iconic theme song that had been made popular thanks to that old movie. The raven-haired Canadian fighting adept was shifting uncomfortably on her feet, getting the feeling she will regret her decision as soon as she would land the punch. 

She eyed out the possible targets. His sides were out of the question, a fractured rib could be lethal. The thorax's bones were dense, the heart and the lungs were located there, she couldn't allow a punctured lung to happen, and although it was unlikely she could pull a Bruce Lee's "heart stopper", she didn't want to take any chance either. One area remained, the stomach. At worse, he'd get the wind knocked out of his guts for a minute.

Readying herself back into fighting stance, Angel tried to breathe normally, but it was obvious stress was gripping her from how sluggish her form appeared to be, and how quick her breaths were. She just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, without any grave injuries. 

Without warning, she threw a punch at Brent's stomach, fully bringing her body into momentum with a pivot as she extended her strong punching arm into Brent's guts. The intensity of the punch was on par, if not slightly stronger than when she hit her living punching dummy with the padding on.

As familiar, iconic instrumentals played, Brent brought up his own arms, turning to face one of the dummies. He more or less had an idea of how impactful blunt force generated by one's fists were now, and if Angelic's punches could crack ribs or other bones, then with enough training, he could as well. And hey, she DID say something about being able to punch through concrete, right? It wasn't exactly going to be on par with Ms. Pulvernize-Spines or Ms. Eradicate-Property, but it was definitely something, especially if he overclocked gloves to protect his hands as well.

He tightened his fists once more, trying to find a good balance between tension and looseness, before an unexpected impact spiralled into the side of his stomach.

The first sensation was the burning in his solid abs, muscles tightening to absorb the blow. Then, there was a sensation of breathless, his lungs struggling to bring in all the air that had been knocked out. And finally, that all dulled as his amethyst eyes sharpened, Brent taking three steps back and bringing his fists up once more, this time fully prepared to receive his assailant.

The assailant which was Angelic.

The agony was secondary to the comedy and Brent laughed, spikes of pain causing his 'hahahas' to transform into 'owowows'.

Realizing Brent totally didn't prepare himself for that punch, Angel gasped as she brought her hands to her mouth in a horrified manner. Didn't he wanted to get punched firsthand? Gosh, what had she done? Did she entirely missed the point due to the stress? Or was that because she was simply an idiot? She recalled having done the same thing to Marcus a few days ago after their Flags n' Seek match-up. 

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I thought you were ready for this!"

She didn't want to make herself more of an idiot by asking him if it hurt. It very much looked like so, but she was still impressed by how he was still standing after receiving that unprepared. She did feel for a split-second how firm his abs was, as if bunching through a wood plank. 

Eventually, the pain had faded, but Brent was still laughing, unable to tell if this was actually funny or if the surprise made him go stupid for a moment there. After a minute or two had passed, the youth eventually calmed down, a smile still on his face as he wiped the tears out of his eyes. 

"Well," he said, standing upright and lifting up his shirt to inspect the quickly-forming bruise, "definitely wasn't expecting that, but hey, worked out. You totes coulda followed through with more strikes afterwards, right?"

He gingerly touched the bruise next, wincing slightly. He'll ice it later. It'd be a good opportunity to learn how to fight through some injury right now. "Nice punch though. Shall we get to the rest of the program then, Angelic? Was thinking we'd go through a training montage once the Eye of the Tiger, started, but..."

Brent chuckled once more.

By now, Angel's head had turned into an embarrassed tomato, from how much crimson dominated the usual pale tone of her skin. She felt so stupid, she was left motionless and speechless for a moment. Although some harm had been done, it was reassuring to see Brent took it with a laugh, or at least appeared to be. Is it even possible for an Arbiter to cope with this kind of airhead without boiling with rage deep inside? She knew for certain she wouldn't herself.

"I-I'm sorry! If I wasn't such an idiot, I would've confirmed with you before throwing that punch. I'm really, really sorry." Angel apologized, fiddling sheepishly with her fingers.

If you weren't such an idiot, perhaps you wouldn't have become an Aberration in the first place.

Just like that, her apologetic face unconsciously turned into a frown.

"And if I weren't such an idiot, I would have made it clear that Rocky theme was for actual punching," Brent replied, "So really, it's more of a 90-10, with 90 being me. Wouldn't have happened at all if I didn't mention it to begin with, so yeah! Less faffing more punching, Angelic!"

"Still gotta eat lunch and then overclock Desperate Housewives for you, after all."

"Y-yeah.", Angel nodded then turned to one of the training dummy. "What do you mean 'Desperate Housewives'? Is that some kind of subliminal message?" Angel exaggeratedly answered, remaining silent for a moment with a clearly forced pout before chuckling. "Nah, I'm kidding. Actually, I needed your powers to test out mine, see if we can somehow make our powers work just as well together as Siena and I."

"Only a subliminal message if you want it to be," Brent cheekily winked. "It's really just a TV drama popular with mid-aged women. And as for the whole power thing...you want me to overclock a megaphone or something?"

Angel chuckled slightly, unsure if she should take that answer as him flirting with her or whatever. "Basically. I've acquired a microphone and some speakers recently. But I now know my shouts are powerful enough to break the mic and blow the speakers in smoke from the sheer sound output. If I could somehow manage to make the microphone and the speakers more durable, as well as making them better distribute sound waves, that might amp up the screams. Might be an interesting useful tool next time we get out fighting, wouldn't you say?"

Oh, interesting. He had expected Angelic's screams to be capable of destroying objects, but to think she was ardent about it regardless. "Sounds like artillery," he grinned, "If it's just amplifying durability, it should definitely be possible, but at the same time...if magic only goes through your voice, it doesn't sound like a machine making the noise louder would really help out?"

"Definitely worth experimenting with though. If things work out, perhaps it's possible to set phone-nukes the same way."

"Yeah, I'm thinking the same. I'd rather test new possibilities with my powers whenever I go to Ground Zero than just go there alone for the sake of venting out, you know?"

She had already done that yesterday. But while she was venting, she was experimenting with her powers at the same time, try and figure out the finer details of her abilities. It was not done in vain, as she had learned the maximum range of her full blown screams, the effect it had on objects and even the limit to how much she could scream before her voice was giving out. The only thing she had yet to know was how her screams affected people, as she couldn't muster the courage to scream at the "fake" people inside Ground Zero. She had an idea about that last detail however when she was replaying what had happened when she managed to shriek at both Chris in his Dragon form and at Kusari.

"How about we wrap this up in a jiffy, grab a bite at the cafeteria, then meet at Ground Zero for 1 PM? I have already invited Siena and Allison for a 'Powers Workout' over there too. Maybe we can figure new ways to make all of our abilities work together while we're at it. Sounds interesting?"

Was that the decision Angelic came to after being pacified by Ernie? Well, Brent had intended on abusing the existence of Ground Zero in the same way regardless, so having an acquaintance or two join along for the ride wasn't too bad. It wasn't like his power's usages were strictly destructive, after all, but at the same time, its usages were limited to his imagination.

Wouldn't be a bad trade-off, figuring out the extent of his own powers while helping others get a better handle over their own.

"Shouldn't be wrapping things up in a jiffy," Brent remarked. "Still got a whole hour of actual training to go through if you want results, Angelic. But yeah, 1 PM, bring all the gear you want me to Overclock, and hopefully it doesn't explode!"

"Only if someone brings up that infamous Galaxy Note S7 and you rig it to explode." Angel giggled. "You're still good to go despite that punch? Such resilience! We'll make a MMA fighter out of you yet! Let's continue with the punches then. Next time, if there's any, we'll go with the kicks."

"Gotta be holding it to maintain it though, so it's less 'stealthy phone bomb' and more 'explode it into someone's face when I punch them, while simultaneously exploding my hand'." Brent smiled at Angelic's compliment, thumping a fist against his chest. "And yeah, pretty used to these sort of hijinks. Don't think I'll be asking for a kick tomorrow though."

He wasn't that depraved yet, after all.

Angel only nodded in silent agreement, discovering a bit more of Brent’s nature of his ability. So he couldn't overclock someone's gear and go his separate way afterwards? This was a huge let-down team effort-wise, still very useful and plenty varied depending on the situation.

This morning, she won't be practicing with her kicks. If both were to train together, she would need to set up her pace to match Brent's. Only punches it would be for now. If he was still interesting after today's lessons, maybe they would move on to the kicking part. The training duo did so for about an hour, just before it was time for lunch.

Wiping the sweat off her face with her towel, Angélique looked towards her training partner, a smile creeping up after the workout they accomplished together. 

"That's it for today, I guess? Don't know for you, but I think that's pretty much all I can handle right now. Gotta go grab lunch before meeting the girls."

"Yeah," Brent replied, wiping his brow, "That's enough. I'll see you there then, Angelic."

"Yes, see you later." The girl answered, gathering up her things before heading to the locker room, then to the cafeteria afterwards. As she was passing the gym's doors, she glanced back and saw Brent still training inside. Would he take no break? The Arbiter sure was conditioned, probably way more than herself, Angel figured.

 |  |  | 
Angélique | Brent | Siena | Christopher

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠    / /  𝟙𝟛𝟘𝟘 
Collab by @Riffus Maximus @ERode @PapiTan @dragonmancer

After eating a well-deserved lunch after her daily morning exercises, Angel soon found herself at Ground Zero with a pair of speakers and microphone in hand. Earlier this morning, she had bumped into Brent, and as they trained kickboxing together, she had invited the guy to train this afternoon. She was glad he accepted. She had an idea in mind, but only the over-clocking Mage could potentially help her realize this idea. 

She was a bit early ahead of time, but she figured it would only be common sense for the one to organize it all to be there earlier. In the meantime, she was fooling around on her phone while waiting for the others to arrive.

Ultimately, the gear he had lugged over was much less than expected. His vest, his machete, his gun, a box of ammo, his phone, and a bag full of knick knacks. Ground Zero may have been a place where x-marked subnaturals were allowed to let loose and make things explode, but the amethyst-eyed youth was a white smear instead, and he had every intention of utilizing his time effectively.

His power was not his own, and it grew in ways that he could not understand, so really...

"Should have done this earlier," he muttered to himself. The weather was overcast with no rain in sight. Perfect. Alongside Siena, who's powers were apparently 'anything' and Allison, who was basically a better Savannah? Would definitely be interesting 'training' alongside them. He'd probably also have to apologize to the bookworm about losing the rollerblades she bought for him in less than a month.

But not yet. Spotting only the homicidal rock star thus far, Brent picked up the pace and called out, "Yo ho, Angelic! Eager to get started?"

"Yes, I am. Good to see you joining us." Angel waved at Brent's arrival. She perked up an eyebrow as she saw her training partner arrive with equipment fit for someone going to war, especially the machete. It brought back some unpleasant memories of Monday's game. "I hope you're not intending to use any of that on us today?"

She was tired, but that wasn't new for the week. Siena's self-enforced training schedule had been brutal on her body, to say the least. Physically, her muscles were still throbbing with an ache that spread like dye through water, and given the jog that she'd had to take from the training grounds to the appointed meeting place of Ground Zero to meet with her teammates, the brunette wasn't exactly at her prime. Not really a concern, but if she were to be thrown into another combat exercise, there was no doubt that she wouldn't be performing at her best. 

Slipping her arms through the sleeves of a caramel coat too thick to be comfortable, Siena wondered if she should have postponed her own training for after her engagement with Angel. Now she was, to say the least, mildly unkempt and probably not smelling as fresh as when she'd started the day. Too late then. Checking the pockets of her coat for the faint weight within each pocket, the brunette took a few moments to groom herself appropriately before making her way to the duo already gathered. 

Her eyes trailed over the vest. To the machete. 

"...er. Should I have brought more than this...?" More than Fendi clothes for protection and her own "equipment" of books and e-readers? Certainly, she'd been practicing what she could remember from Gerwulf's lessons, but without the actual trench knife (she should have picked it up. There was still guilt over such a small item) or opponents, there wasn't any way to really mark her improvement. 

"Hey Siena! No no, you look perfect. At least, if that coat hides books or whatever you use to read." Angélique cheerfully waved a greeting hand at the newcomer.

On that Thursday afternoon, Chris had been walking down to Ground Zero for his own training. Flag football had taught him that his dragon form might not be best for every situation. On the other hand however, he still needed to 'tame' his transformation, as he had felt it still wasn't under his complete control. As such, he wanted to practice both what he can do without transforming, and if he had time to spare, test out his transformation a second time.

The group of three students had caught the attention of the Arbiter's blue eyes. Angelique was the first he noticed, and seeing her brought back the memory of their conversation that one night.   I shouldn't do this alone. 

Chris closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. However after a short pause, he walked over to the group with his brown work-boots. His hands were in the pockets of his warm blue coat.  "Hey you guys training?"  He spoke out as he approached. His eyes however were focused on Angelique, and he had given her a hint of a confident grin.

Smiling in turn, Angel somehow felt good to see Chris joining them. If it wasn't for the discussion they had Monday night, she would've been extremely surprised to see him coming up just like that. In the end, he really seemed to be trying to get along with other people.

"Yes we are. I figured it would be nice if we could train in using our powers more efficiently. Moreover, see if we can find ways to combine our abilities or find tactics." Angel explained with a hint of excitement in her voice. She was looking forward to train with other people, have actually her classmates band together and take a step forward to unity.

"Want to join us?" the raven-haired singer returned the dragon-transforming Mage's confident grin.

 "I was just about to test out some more of my abilities myself, its better if I work together with you guys."  He accepted her offer, and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked to the other two. He wasnt too familiar with Brent, but he remembered Siena well enough. "Hey Siena, you're training too?" 

"Oh, er...there were some things I wanted to try..." Siena gave a nervous smile. "It'll be good to practice with actual teammates too."

Oh, dragon boy was joining them? Must have enjoyed the beating he got from Angelic, huh. Well, hardly knew the guy outside of the fact that he let a victory slip at a crucial point, so ultimately, Brent simply waved at him, before turning to Siena. Fancy clothes, but then again, she was the teleporting, body-manipulating, human-tracking jack-of-all-trades, that probably had a myriad of other abilities.

An apologetic smile surfaced as he squashed down his jealousy.

"Heyo Siena, sorry for losing those rollerblades you bought me so quickly. Really should have kept them on me, but..." Then Hazel bisected the roof and buried those sleek blades under rubble. "...anyways, how we gonna do this? Brought some equipment with me, and I know that Angelic wants to try some megaphone hijinks, but yeah, we just here to think up sick team combo moves or something?"

"Oh, don't worry about it." Giving a faint smile, Siena brushed a few stray bangs from her face. "I don't think anyone was er...well expecting that." Giving the latter part of the question some thought, Siena paused. What had she been expecting? WIth what she saw in the matches before, the mage had been considering counters to anyone that came for her, but...teamwork was lacking. "I can support most of your abilities, and um..." Hesitation. She could, in theory, find a way to communicate with Chris if he needed to use that dragon form, but...she pushed the thoughts down. No, that could be something she tried later. When she was using a defensive ability...with resistance to sharp, pointy teeth.

Chris returned a wave to Brent. He hadn't really talk to him yet, but Angelique had inspired him to try and be a bit more social. hopefully things would work out this session.
Chris had given a nod to Siena before speaking to the group. "Well seeing were working on teamwork I'll go ahead and transform." The white-haired subnatural started to look at their surroundings. "I'll find somewhere to hide and transform since I dont want to strip infront of you guys, should take me a few minutes, however I won't be able to speak to any of you in that state. I can still hear you though, don't worry, but if you want to discuss any specific ideas involving my power now is the time.."

"I do. Why don't you request for some clothes that would actually stick on you before and after you transform?" Angélique sneaked a snicker. "Well, I was thinking the same way Siena and Brent did. Siena can basically act as the team's rounder. She can cover up any area of expertise we are lacking due to her vast amount of possibilities, going from supporting anyone's powers to taking more offensive and defensive roles. As for Brent, he's basically the same, except it all goes equipment-wise. Whatever gear you bring to the table, he can make it better. That's quite supportive, but he can also cover both attack and defense bases, depending on what he's working with." 

Angel paused, thinking about where she was going with the plans she had thought up until now. Chris as a new addition caught her off-guard, but that simply meant she had to think and adapt. Being solely focused on being aggressive, basically what would work well with the Dragon was Allison's nullifying blade should he lose control and have long-range attackers covering him from afar. 

"Personally, let's try to get the basics out first. As Brent explained, I wanted to see if I could increase my powers via using an augmented microphone and speakers, a bit like how Siena and I already succeeded in doing so. Maybe Brent could enhance Siena's reading tablets, make it faster for her to get the names she is looking for? Siena could probably borrow a power that can increase a Dragon's potency, or flames maybe?"

"Actually, now that I think about it, we've been hearing about how rare Healers are. Is it safe to assume you could borrow the powers of a Healer without having those awful drawbacks like what Lily and Christmas are subjected to?" the black-haired Aberration gazed towards Siena with a look of curiosity, wondering if her classmate's power could extend to that level of usefulness.

"We already went through this before," Brent added, "but I can only do the whole equipment enhancement thing if I'm touching it. Of course, if it turns out that you can go become a healer, Siena..."

"Could cut a piece of myself off and see if we can do long range enhancements that way. If it doesn't work, just heal it up, I suppose?"

"Hmm...healing..." The brunette paused to give it some thought. "I don't know for certain. I've never tried it with magic, so I don't know how permanent it would be. Some of the powers I borrow don't have permanent effects." Her mind went back to the Luxin constructs she'd used in the first fight. They'd disappeared, even when they should have stayed after she'd sealed it. "I might be able to imitate Lily's healing or do something temporary, but I don't think we should jump to cutting anything off. If we're concerned about contact, I can try and see if there's a range enhancer somewhere..."

Slowly, her eyes trailed towards Chris. There was a lot that could be done with the power of an entire dragon on their side. Finding her courage, the brunette gave a nervous smile. He wouldn't eat her if she could talk to him...r-right? "Um, if we're concerned about communication with your dragon form, I could probably borrow someone that could speak directly to that form." 

The dracomancer picked up his attention when Siena mentioned him. "I suppose it might be effecient to have a translator, but transforming into someone that can just speak to dragons might be a waste. Isn't there some story where some guy can ride and talk to dragons or something? If you can then I can easily take you and maybe someone else across the battlefield to suffice for range."  Chris turned to Brent. "So if you can overclock tools n shit, could you fashion out some kind of gear for a dragon-saddle or something? If so i can probably run into the city part and take some shit like chairs and parts to help craft it."  Chris offered. The idea of using his form for something that is more then just some evil monster appealed to him.

Oh, so her power was 'borrowing', huh? Not something based off copying the abilities of others, but...actually, why the hell was he wasting his time thinking about all this?

"Mmh, we can hold off on cutting off my ears and taping them onto objects for now," he nodded, "Was never super keen on that idea to begin with. That being said though...what exactly is your power to begin with, Siena? Never got the memo myself."

Chris was next on the chopping block, and upon his own request, Brent smiled confidently. "Yeah, don't even need to craft it. I'll just chop off the legs and we can go from there. Going full dark lord would be a fun time, even if the dragon's just a giant lizard."

"Oh, uh..." She supposed her powers weren't quite so obvious to someone that didn't know what they were looking at. "I take names from writing and can usually borrow a skill or ability from them. It's...easier to show than explain." Siena was surprised to find that she was still uneasy with explaining it or trying to get into what limitations she could understand. "I guess we should probably have an actual objective in mind with what we're doing here before we get too far. Like...a target or something?"

 "Well while you guys decide on that I will go ahead and find a spot to transform at, and get a chair from some part of the city while I'm there."  Chris turned and had begun to walk away further into ground zero.  "Shouldn't take me too long, I trust you guys will have this training planned out then." 

While the rest of the group discussed and set up the details of their training, Chris looked around the urban enviorment for a good spot to let loose. Even though he believed the city and its populous to be illusions, it still felt strange for him to just strip down in public and use his powers.  The eyes of the arbiter had spotted a worn out apartment that seemed to be foreclosed.Perfect

"Eh..." Brent mused as Siena explained her power. Names from writing? Like...books? And then...borrow their skills and abilities? Couldn't she just channel Jesus then, and resurrect all the dead? Or channel her inner Hulk and smash all of DC's monsters into outer space? Sure, he might be stretching it a bit, but wow...it wasn't the omnipotence that he had imagined, but it was pretty close.

He scratched his head at her question, before gesturing towards all the buildings just loitering about in Ground Zero. "Like, there's buildings here? Can you make them explode? Just demonstrate your power and all. What does it have to do with e-readers, by the way?"

"Er, I suppose I could...?" Well, exploding buildings, demolishing buildings...it was about the same, right? And fast enough to allow someone strong enough to demolish one to come through...she supposed. "Um...it's easier if I show you. Y-You may want to stand er...behind me." 

"Yeah, sure," Brent replied, taking a couple steps back. Heh, was she planning on turning into a lvl 99 Wizard or something and calling a meteor from the sky?

...

Silver blood flowed into his vest, fibers exploding to expose a muscled chest, before reforming into a suit similar to what one would wear when disarming bombs, the black material making the white, painted brand all the more obvious. Who knew what sort of god of destruction Siena was going to borrow from?

With a soft breath, Siena shot an apologetic look towards the others present before slipping a tablet from her pocket. Destroying things wasn't really what she expected herself to be doing, but... She flicked through a few volumes. Too early. Too late. Too strong. Not strong enough....there. Her eyes locked onto the screen as the telltale signs of her magic took place. Faint, purple circles, letters peeling from the screen and onto her neck. If she had been able to look into a mirror, Siena would have seen the grey bleed out of her eyes in favor of a brilliant pink, the tips of her hair darkening faintly in the potency of her choice.

Really, now. Just for a demonstration?

'Only one shot at this, Siena. Make it count.' Thankfully, Nanoha was less of a struggle to control in personality than most of her arsenal. The bookworm didn't necessarily have to control the mage in order to use her. As if in response to the thought, a radiant light formed before her--the same pink as her temporary eye color. One shot. Only one shot. The magic continued to pool, charging in place for a long enough time that for a moment, Siena wasn't certain she'd get to fire it off in time. Still, she pressed forward. 

"Starlight...Breaker..." Muttering the words under her breath, she could feel everything fall into place. It felt right. "SHOOT!" 

On command, a thin, pink beam fired in the direction that Siena gestured, piercing without any immediate form of damage. And then came condensed destruction. The beam seemed to thicken from its source, drowning one of the smaller buildings in light before the name slipped away, and all at once, the magic stopped. The beam vanished, the light faded, and Siena was exhausted.

But in the place of the building was a smoldering shadow of a manmade construct--what had been surrounded by light had been largely broken down. Not as strong as her source...the fault of lacking the weapon? Where the blast had been most concentrated was obvious--the only places where the building's sturdy frame had fully started to crumble--but the damage was obvious. It was a shame that the attack was so impractical for actual combat, really.

Brent let out a low whistle from within the thickly padded suit, before cutting off his magical influence over the overclocked object. Immediately, it turned silver once more, the amorphous matter reforming into the shame of the bulletproof vest as he applauded his fellow mage. Judging by appearances, it was clear that taking the powers of a god meant she consumed a fair amount of energy in return, but still...

"Super cool, Siena," the amethyst-eyed youth said, pulling out an energy bar from his pockets, "Thanks for indulging my request. I can sorta see why Angelic wanted me to overclock your tablet now, but...let me confirm this first. Do you need the entire book that features the character? Or do you just need their profile in particular?"

As he spoke, he offered the peanut-butter-and-raisins bar to her, wondering once again why her team thought it was a good idea to waste such combat potential on lost puppy hunting.

'C-Cool...?' Accepting compliments--an art that Siena was still not the best at. Giving a nervous-but-weary smile, Siena gave a brief nod before accepting the energy bar from her training companion. "H-hah...if I k-know the source well enough, a page with the name seems to be okay. It d-depends on what point in the source material too though." Certainly, the Nanoha of page one would not have been able to conjure the strength of the Nanoha she had taken from the pages. But she was so tired. Maybe indulging was a bit excessive. "I-I've never tried just a page, b-but with the way digital content works...i-it might be an option." Her breathing hadn't evened out yet, and it was painfully evident in the broken lapses between words. 

"I-I've been working on getting more names, so I don't have to feel like I ran a marathon for one action..."

"Mm, out of curiousity, do you actually need to be able to read the text in order to borrow a name? While digital content maybe be good for carrying many characters, it seems to me that you might be better getting to know a small set of people very well, and being able to borrow them with just a scrap of literature attached, while reserving the thousands in your tablet for niche situations that you have time to prepare for."

Brent's brow furrowed, a finger tapping on his machete.

"Have your Avengers as the one-page gang that you're accustomed to using for most ordinary situations, and then have your army of differing Shield Agents as your Plan B for other situations? And for your Avengers, I can probably print out one page of text in near microscopic levels and slot it into a ring or something, so you don't have to fumble with a tablet every time."

Wait, could he even do that? Eh, probably. Giving up before the first step is for losers.

Despite her best efforts, Siena was quickly feeling an overwhelming sense of urgency. She didn't really know how to explain most of her abilities, but that was really a matter of less concern than the general unease she felt over its effects. Masking the moment she needed to consider her answer as a moment to catch her breath, Siena busied her hand by turning the energy bar over in it. "I...I'm not sure. I never really go anywhere without a source I can see, s-so..." Nor had she really had a reason to test whatever rules her power decided to set in place, or a reason to use it for something like combat. 

"I um...I don't really have a lot of extra knowledge on my power. Just a lot of guesswork, r-really."

Angélique watched silently as her little training group gathered and began planning what they should be doing. It felt good, to see some of her classmates here today, brainstorming and figuring out ideas to cooperate. Angel was proud of having thought of organizing this training session, even more so to have more people joining them in the end. It was a nice change from the mess they’ve been in on Monday. Slowly, Angel could feel the gears of teamwork starting to move. Maybe the reason the Flags n’ Seek game was such a disaster in the first place is because everyone barely knew each other. Things probably would’ve been different if the entire class had the time, like this week, to get along together.

Shook from her thoughts as Siena fired off a pink beam that wrecked an entire building, the black-haired female Mage turned her now-focused gaze to her training group. Walking up to Siena after hearing her words, she put a comforting hand onto the brunette’s shoulder.

“And that’s exactly what we’re here for. Perhaps not every single one of us, but at least I know I have my own limits and whatnot to figure out. When the time will come to return back to the battlefield, we shouldn’t have any doubt or have to make guesses concerning our powers. What will decide our survival is how well we can work together and how proficient we are in using our abilities. Now that we have free time, I believe it’s the best moment to learn of our limits, our flaws, what we can do and what we can’t, so we can compensate, fix or work with those facts taken in consideration.”

Chris had started to strip from his attire when he noticed a great shine of light and a massive explosion that followed. Seems one of them had blown up some buildings somewhere in ground zero.  "Jesus I hope they aren't trying to kill me." Chris muttered to himself as his jacket and pants fell to the floor.  
Chris, with the rest of his clothes now tripped away and folded to the side in his hidden spot, sat onto the ground to prepare his transformation.

Once the mental state kicked in, the familiar sense of pain flushed his body as he saw his skin already had started to turn green. His hands were vaguely shaping into claws and his overall body began to shift as it as done before. The arbiter had thought that he could try to meditate to reduce the pain, concentrate on thought alone to power through. At first it did help, despite his shaking body his state of mind was calmed as he had experienced this before, but a new sensation put him back in unfamiliar territory. Having opened his eyes to investigate he noticed that the tips of his clawed fingers were turning black. His whole body was turning from his previous emerald green hue into the shade of utter darkness. The pain had stopped. Or rather, it was replaced.

He had felt heavy, and more over, he had felt like he was being burned. His breathing starting to increase as he saw his flesh begin to drip. It was as if his whole body had become tar, a pool of black liquid had started to grow beneath his legs and waist. Uncertain terror coupled with this new pain had caused Chris to shriek in terror. He screamed as some of his fingers had fallen off his hands to join the growing pool.  The mage then watched himself become closer and closer to the ground and puddle of black.  The metal cuff at his ankle seemed to have merge with his body breaking down. 

He had figured that his new ability might have altered the transformation process, but he did not expect this. Had something gone wrong? Was he going to die? The thought and fear of death only heightened the volume of his screams. With what was left of his hands he had desperately clawed at the walls and furniture of the building he entered. He wasn't able to move from the waist down, but he tried to at least pull himself up to prevent his body from joining the rest of the pool. All for knot, however, as he just continued to sink to the ground like quicksand. 

Once his legs were gone, his body started to spread out faster. His arms had grown more numb as they dripped and fused with his liquefied body. His head, still screaming, became distorted with whatever features were still distinguishable. His vision had gone black, his hearing fading from him, and sensation of touch and taste were long gone at that point. From there it didn't take long for his head to vanish into the puddle,  the fingers of a hand that had tried to reach for assistance, that was the last of his solid body, fell apart as well. Internal organs such as the heart and liver floated briefly in the thick biomass before submerging with the pool, the bones had broken apart but were still solid.

He was still conscience. But everything was black, or rather, void. He couldn't see, couldn't smell or touch. He could only imagine, contemplate, think. His mind was racing with terror, thinking that at any moment his conscience would cease with the coming death. But it didn't, instead he had felt the growing 'shift' in instincts as he had always did with his transformation. In the oblivion-like state of consciousness, he was left to his fears. He could hear the faint voices of his long dead friends, his recently deceased roommates, and a laugh. The laugh of that damned monster that started it all. Gnarled teeth and savage eyes. Fear was slowly being replaced with anger. Pure and utter rage.

Fire burned from the liquid biomass. The fire mimicked the growing malice of Chris's wrath. It writhed and coiled in the air, flicked the air with crackling heat. The flames rose and carrying with it both the substance that was once Chris's human body and the fragmented bones of his skeleton. The skeletal structure followed the pattern of fire, having risen and collected itself into a new and larger skeletal structure that dripped with the liquid remains it rose from.  With the creation of its new outlined figure, its size tore parts of the room. Completed, the skeleton resembled an amalgamated, natural-looking, structure of what could have been various museum exhibited dinosaur fossils put together. The body was saurian, its claws were sharp and almost talon-like. The head of the still-forming creature could have been mistaken for a prehistoric predator with horns. Most abnormal was the inclusion of massive wings with elongated finger joints like that of a bat, only with more pronounced claws.

 The skeletal mass was still loosely covered in the black liquid, the puddle of the same substance began to collect over the beast starting at its feat. Carrying with it the organs that were kept intact. As the liquid bio substance spread over the skeleton, it started to became more detailed, solid. Red veins had ran through the shaping mass. The white and pink colors of muscle and tissue began to shape over the skeletal body.  The still skeletal creature began to move, letting out a roar as flesh started to cover its face. The body was finished with solid, thick black scales, the same hue as the tar that formed it. A yellow scaled below and skin membrane on the wings of the same hue stood out from the rest of the black-scaled body. The eyes, still burning for a moment with the remnants of his burning rage, were slits like that of a snake. A forked tongue slithered from the snout, before the monster let out another roar. The left ankle of its back legs had a metallic grey discoloration to it, as if the metal cuff worn by the arbiter had fused with the transformed flesh.

The black dragon allowed its wings to stretch and flap,  as he was adjusting himself to his new body. Chris looked to an old dusty chair that had fallen over. Having tried to be as gentle as possible the beast picked up the chair with his mouth. He then looked to his folded pile of clothes, and took them with the chair in his teeth. Once more did his wings stretch as he shot himself out of the building. The structure collapsed as the dragon flew out and into the air.

When he got to the group the dragon flew in a circle around the group before looping in the air, as if he was showing off. The arbiter dropped the chair and somewhat-torned clothing infront of Brent as his gaze looked to both Siena and Angelique. The white mark was still under its eye as before, which stood out more as it contrasted with the black scales that surrounded it. 

The shaking ground as one nearby building collapsed from a Dragon flying through it alarmed the black-haired Aberration. At first, she thought that maybe it was Christopher, but she then remembered the transformed Mage’s form to be green and wingless. This Dragon was a bigger and meaner looking black shade of those legendary winged creatures.

Fearing this may have been an actual monster that somehow managed to enter the school, Angélique stood on guard. Whether it was being protective of her friend, overconfident from having defeated Dragon Chris before or simply being her usual recklessness, she put herself in front of her training partners, between them and the incoming flying Dragon.

The sonic Mage nervously waited as the Dragon circled above their heads, but as the creature landed near them with a chair in its mouth, Angel sighed in relief. Her fears were immediately dissipated as she saw the trademark of an Arbiter smearing its jet-black scales.

“Wow, you’ve been holding back on us, Chris. I got scared for a moment. Could’ve told us you had a new trick up your sleeve before leaving.” The raven-haired singer replaced her loose shades back on her face.

Wow. When did that upgrade happen? Letting out a low whistle as Chris descended from the cloudy skys, the first thing that Brent noticed were the spines that jutted out of the black reptile's back. That was going to be a problem, wasn't it? Not a problem that he couldn't work around though. Rolling up the torn-up clothing and taking the chair in his hands, he said, "Damn dude. Badass form right there. Want to kneel down so I can actually, like, get up onto your back?"

The legs of the chair was going to be important after all, huh? First function would be to make it even usable on his back. Second would be to extend the number of seats on it. Would he need a third? No, should be fine.

"Looks like we can put this off til later, Siena," Brent smiled, "Now who wants to ride Chris?"

Chris had wings?!

The reptilian beast that had touched down was definitely Chris if Angel and Brent were right. He certainly didn't match up with the memories of either the footage of the match or the night of their first combat assessment, but given that the dragon wasn't trying to eat anyone...it was a pretty safe bet. As the surprise washed aside, Siena couldn't help but stare. 

And stare.

And quietly, as if volume could hide the hope that dared to break past every emotional filter Siena had in place, the girl spoke. "C-Can we really...?"

Chris was sastisfied that his new form was impressive to his comrades. He tried to deliver a toothy grin, but being a mere beast, the expression only displayed his large monstrous teeth and maw. He folded and lowered his wings while he lowered his legs. His body leaned on his left, and his left lwing lowered to an arc like a ramp to a plane as he awaited Brent's adjustments. His neck had lowered too. The tail of the beast slithered and flicked about as Chris was just as excited to fly as the rest of his team were. 

Angelique grimaced at Brent's question. She may be referred as Angel by many fans and friends, but she was ironically far from being someone at ease with heights. Plane trips always did make her nervous.

"I-I'll pass. I'm not too good with heights. Sorry."

"You sure about that? Gotta face your fears before you're faced with a life-and-death situation featuring it."

Angel had got to admit it, Brent did make a point. It would be quite hypocritical of her to have told her teammates earlier about being prepared for future encounters and refuse to face her own fears. 

"Fuck... you got me there. Alright... I'll give it a try." Angelique nodded slowly, nervosity obviously showing up. "You better hold me tight should I fall unconscious!" she joked, trying to ease up.

"Don't worry," he grinned, slapping the jittery Angelic on the back, "It'll be like a roller coaster: conceptually terrifying but actually hella fun!"

With that, the brunette took the chair and took his first experimental step on Chris's wing ramp. There was a bit of slack, but it was definitely taut enough to hold his weight. Really, tougher than expected. A part of the arbiter wanted to bring out his machete and see if he could cut through it like a ship sail, but...

Yeah, not now.

Grabbing one of the spine-spikes for balance, Brent placed the chair roughly over Chris's back, before letting out a deep breath. Silver blood flowed and the chair exploded, a kaleidoscope of illuminated pieces. They expanded, a saddle forming around the dragon's torso, before the material 'cooled'. A single seat saddle made of synthetic wood, complete with stirrups for the feet and a horn to grasp in lieu of proper reins.

Another deep breath, another pulse of that silver energy within his core, and this time, the saddle screeched, twisting and controrting violently, erractically. It extended further, dark wood now turned into a sleek silver with 'N0 NAME' etched on the side as three seats were made. Now appearing to be more like a fusion between saddles and booster seats, it had the impression of a roller coaster car, elevated a foot above Chris's back.

Man, sucks for Angelic.

Careful to keep one hand on the ride from hell, Brent gestured towards the two down below. "All aboard!"

hesitantly, Angel stepped forward, walking unevenly on the dragon-transformed Chris' wing. she was surprised his new appendage would be so tough as to allow one to walk on it What surprised her most though was just how easy he was willing to let people ride him. Wasn't that supposed to be something Dragon highly despised, or at least honored few of this privilege? At least, that's what she heard from stories, movies and books, back when Dragons were but creatures of the mind and not the ravaging beasts in flesh and blood that basically destroyed the eastern world countries.

Joining Brent, Angel settled for the middle seat. Somehow, it put her mind at ease to have someone both in front and behind her

"Er...give me one second..." Though really, Siena wanted nothing more than to hop onto the dragon's back, she was aware that Chris being able to hear them didn't mean much if they couldn't get actual words out of their mouths at higher altitudes and speeds. If the words were lost on the winds...well, that was at least easily fixed. Quickly, the girl brought up a volume she wanted, hoping that her plan would work the way that she wanted it to. 

Hopefully. 

After allowing the name to settle over her, Siena quickly made way to the seats that Brent had made for their next little experiment, eyes now a brilliant green instead of their usual grey, the sense of fatigue making her almost regret working her magic as she steadied herself using any handholds she could get until she reached her comrades. 

"Hope this works..." She gave a nervous smile as the words escaped her lips, before taking a quiet breath, focusing her thoughts on communicating with the dragon.

"Chris? Can you hear this at all...?"

Chris was shocked to hear a voice unlike his own to vibrate within his conscience. The sensation Siena's magic gave him was calming, he had no longer felt so alone in this beastual form. 

  "H-hello? I can hear you....You can hear me too right?"   The dragon's tail had become stationary., his head lifted and turned to see the three. 

"Oh, good...! I can hear you too." Siena gave a small wave to Chris as he turned to glance at the trio. "I guess we'll be able to communicate with each other this way then." A pause. Perhaps it was a good idea to let the others know too. 

"Er...well it looks like I can communicate with Chris while we're up there, so if we need to land for some reason, we should be okay."

"This seat will last for ten minutes, after which we can stay around for another ten minutes," Brent said, "Or land. Guess if things get sketchy, I'll...tap Angelic on the shoulder, and then she can tap you on the shoulder?"

Well, that was under the assumption Angelic had even guts to let go of the handles during flight...

"Be counting on you, Angelic!"

With everyone onboard, Chris raised both wings as he let out a roar of pride. His forked tongue tasted the air as his eyes grew excited. The black dragon began to move its wings in flight motion, each slow beat whisked a gust of air beneath the yellow membrane. The beast then sprang upwards. As he gained height, his wings would beat at steady interval like a large bird. Once he had attained a height of about 500 feet, Chris looked to the ground in awe. 

Confident, Chris let out another monstrous cry as flames began to flicker out of his maw. He had started to get carried away in his newfound mobility, and to show off, he performed a loop in the air in a similar arc that a roller coster would have. When the loop ended the dragon had darted itself on a downward angle. He had released the flames in his mouth to graze the earth below as he drew closer to it. By the time his sustained attack diminished, he was merely 50 feet away from crashing into the now burning field before he steered right and upwards. 

Seated uncomfortably into this damned oversized chair without even a single seatbelt to hold her steady, Angel kept muttering lowly “Fuck, this is a bad idea.” Her knuckled were white from holding so tightly the handle bars. She was far gone in her mind, preparing herself for the worst, she barely heard Brent calling out to her about the plan, to which she only blurted out “A-aye” in reply.

When Chris roared, it made Angel jump from her seat, the ball of condensed anxiety that would be the only Aberration in the group however tensed up and firmly held onto dear life as the Dragon took off from the ground, letting out a yelp of surprise.

During Chris mid-air tricks, Angel couldn’t help but scream like a frightened little girl on her first roller-coaster ride. As a matter of fact, she never dared ride one of those things. To now experience the thing on the back of a Dragon at five hundred meters off the ground, she was just about losing it. 

Muted by the wind force, she kept yelling “OH MY GOD I’M GOING DIE ON THIS STUPID DRAGON!” as her hands were quivering violently from the sheer pressure she was gripping the handle bars. Then the worse happened. The fiery dive bomb of doom. Thinking Chris had gone mad, and seeing the ground coming down so quickly, Angel unleashed an ear-piercing shriek upwards. As much as Angel tried to not scream, in fear of accidentally using her power, she managed to dampen the intensity of the shout, barely affecting her comrades’ senses, but their hearing would suffer for a little while. 

By the time Chris steered upwards, Angélique was a crying mess, still clutching her seat and pleading her life to return to the ground below. Her eyes were now closed, unwilling to witness anything more until they returned to her beloved earth.

While Angelic was busy screaming her lungs out, Brent was busying screaming his lungs out as well. Two hands raised up towards the sky, with only his feet locked against the bars that kept him from flying right off the dragon, the amethyst-eyed youth screamed in exhiliration as Chris showed off his full aerial potential, jets of flame spouting about everywhere.

Holy shit, this was great!

"HELL YEAH!!! ISN'T THIS FUN, ANGELIC?!?!"

Clearly, somewhere between getting up in the morning and that exact moment, Siena had lost her mind. While the flight was exhilerating in ways that Siena had never experienced before, she was also suddenly made acutely aware that there was nothing holding her in place. Gripping onto anything she could wrap her hands around, Siena wondered briefly if her heart could physically explode then fly out of her throat. it certainly felt like it could happen, especially with the rushing air making her ears pulse and her eyes water, robbing her of two of the senses that she relied on most in most circumstances. Wind whipped the chocolate braid of hair from its place over Siena's shoulder, flinging it at an angle only possible because of their velocity, and all logic pointed at the fact that she should have been screaming for dear life.

What escaped from her mouth instead, was a laugh that was ripped away by the wind before it could even fully reach Siena's ears. 

"This might be a bit much for us now, but I think you can get less resistance if you fold your wings a little more for a dive." A pause Between the thrill and Chris's own excitement, Siena was starting to sort her own emotions and her dragon companion's. Something...wild was lingering in their connection. It was familiar, and yet entirely primal. Rough around the edges, indeed. "But not right now! I think we should get more secure seating if we want to try this again." Without the aid of her usual mental filters, it was harder to hide the traces of glee that she would have kept from physically speaking--the connection was...different from typical communication. Harder to mask anything. It should have scared her.

But instead, she laughed.

As Siena had started to speak to him, Chris leveled himself in the air and slowed his speed to a more comfortable sustained flight. His head had once again glanced back to the crew to see a thrilled Brent and a weeping Angel. With less wind resistance it was easier to hear Angelique's screaming.
The dragon seemed to give a nod towards Siena.

 "Right, make sure you tell Angelique I'm sorry, got a bit carried away."  

The dragon steered to the left, towards the city. His tongue once again slithered out of his maw briefly. 

"I don't think I've seen you so happy before." Chris's voice showed a hint of enjoyment.

With the speed reduced and her senses no longer trying to adjust, Siena was left with a light feeling. While she was aware that it had to have been from the name she'd chosen, that didn't stop the mage from feeling a sense of ease while riding a dragon. Taking a breath of air, she glanced back at her fellow mages, the smile on her face muted compared to the one in her head. "H-He says sorry about that. Got carried awa--"

And her thoughts came to a dead stop. 

"O-Oh! I uh. I mean." A surge of emotions came forth, the embarrassment cutting to the front of the pack. Right. There were no real filters between her head and Chris's, and that was probably both ways. She'd been able to sense something from his end, so it wasn't entirelyunreasonable for that to go both ways. Pushing aside most of the thoughts to recollect herself before trying the communication again, she gave a sheepish smile on both fronts. "W-Well, I mean...I never thought I'd get to ride a dragon before."

C-close enough, right?

  "No reason to be flustered about it. I'm having a good time too."  

The dragon steered down, having grazed the side of an office building with his claws. He'd then darted downwards, and had extended his wings fully to slow down his momentum. He had landed on the city street with a crashing thud that bore a small crater into the pavement, however he did not stumble in his stance.

"What else should we try?" 

Oh, over already? Running a hand through his now horrendously wind-swept hair, Brent let out a deep breath. Practically speaking, it was basically useless because no one could focus enough to, say, bombard any surface-dwelling enemies with a long range attack, but that just meant he needed to use his Overclocks more effectively. If he didn't have to worry about multiple individuals, that single saddle could have been overclocked to better keep people ON the saddle. After that, it was just a matter of being able to swallow your fear and shoot shit down.

But still...he shook his head and let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

"Well, how bout that? Slow yourself down a bit and we can go for the whole mobile aerial fortress of death here."

Despite Chris having landed, Angélique wouldn't even notice the group were now back on land. Still clutching the handbars tightly, the raven-haired young woman had her head lowered, quivering, seemingly lost within her obvious fear. If one would pay close attention to her face, they would notice Angel was no longer sporting her shades, and faint wet trails on her cheeks suggested not so completly dried tears fell from her eyes.

"Chris, wing ramp, please?"

The dragon had lowered his left wing to the same ramping arc in response to Brent. He once more turned his long neck to watch the three mages.

"Angelic, can you walk?"

Shook from her panicked state by hearing her name being called, Angélique slowly opened her eyes towards the source where Brent's voice came from. Immediately, her eyes were assaulted by the ambient light. Lucky for her, it was cloudy today, but her eyes still squinted from a slight pain in her eyes.

Sniffing loudly and wiping her face, Angel tried to hide the mess she had been throughout the ride. "J-just give me a moment... to pick myself up." 

Wobbly on her legs, Angel nearly tripped over the supposed saddle for three, her sight blurry and hard to distinguish where she was going. Groaning in frustration, Angel shamefully turned her head away and handed her arm to Brent. "Guide me... okay?"

Her shades were that important? Light-sensitive, maybe? He brushed aside his assumptions for now, turning briefly to Siena. "That saddle's gonna become a chair real soon. Mind bringing it down with you?"

With that, he hooked Angelic's arm with his own. Clammy and cold from the terror of Chris's little twirl through the sky, but still solid enough, more muscle than fat. "One step at a time," he said, slowly guiding her down, "Did well, Angelic."

Legs still shaking, it took great mental efforts for Angel to be able to slowly get down from the Dragon. It also took every last shred of dignity left in her to not give to the unpleasant feeling churning in her stomach. But as soon as they reached the ground, Angelique's legs gave out,the girl slumping in an awkward sitting position on the ground.

"You've got to be shitting me. It'll be a wonder if I ever take the plane again after that."

"Planes don't do backflips though," Brent replied, "After Chris's performance, would've thought that anything else would pale in comparison."

"Maybe that works for some people. But scaring shitless someone who's afraid of heights will help them much." Angel sighed in exhasperation. This riding trip somehow left her tired and drained, surely by the intensity of her emotions.

Complaining like a little girl was unbecoming for the raven-haired singer. She figured she'd need to take a breather and get her shit back together before continuing without being a bother. Her legs moved to cross each other, taking a more relaxed sitting stance.

"Give me some time to get over it. Anyway, it's not like I can be of much use right now. I can barely see anything." Angélique squinted so much it seemed she was closing her eyes when looking towards the others.

While Brent made his way to ground level with Angelique, Siena picked up what was once their saddle, hefting its mass awkwardly as she picked her way down Chris's wing. Angel seemed less than ecstatic at the preceding events, and...well, that made perfect sense. Throwing someone directly at their fears wasn't always the best way to help them overcome them. Setting the chair down, she turned her attention back to the winged dragon. While flying wasn't really an option without Brent's ability to make an actual place to sit, there were other things they could do...right?

"If we can't fly with you, there are some other things we could test." Well...there was one thing Siena was certain she wanted to try. "I think there's another name I'd like to try using as long as you're in this form, but it'll take me a bit to get it. In the meantime, maybe we can see if this telepathy can contact you at a range...?" More importantly, at a range with two different names printed across her neck. There had definitely been a few limitations on her usual prowess with familiar names when she had been in the match before, but with enhanced control, it might have been a better option. 

"Sure thing, I'll fly some distance away and see if he still have a link." Once the three had gotten off of him safely, the dragon stood upright. Having turned away from the group, Chris sprinted down the road for a few meters before he had leaped off of the ground and  allowed his wings to carry him in the air. 

After he had risen above the city, he tried to see if there was still a telepathic connection with Siena. "You still there?" Chris had leveled himself and hovered in a single position, his wings were beating twice as fast to sustain his position.

"...Yeah, I can still hear you..." The words came to mind more clearly than she expected, given the distance. Perhaps distance wasn't a factor in it? "I guess if we have combat, I can keep in contact with you and vice versa." And that aside, there was one more name she wanted to try as long as there were other mages around her. "I've got one more thing I want to test, but I don't think there's much range to this."

Turning to glance back to Angel and Brent, Siena paused. Or...maybe she could try it with them...later. Yep.

 "So any ideas on what we should try now? What do Angelique and Brent think?" 

Looked like Angelic's microphone adventures were going to be taking a backseat for now, what with the singer's inability to even stand properly. Ultimately shrugging at her problems, Brent made a mental note not to bring up heights alongside Montreal and flipped out his phone once more. It was a fun diversion, flying on Chris, but while the draconic transformation and the fire-breathing was fun, it was still Siena's power that warranted the most research.

"Right, now that we're done..." he pulled up a word document and began making adjustments to a PDF, "...Siena, can you read this?"

At a font size smaller even than bullshit fine print, with the text being light gray against a white background, Brent didn't expect her to...but then again, maybe literary girl had god-like reading capabilities as well.

"Well, if you come back here, I had an--oops!"

The brunette jumped when she heard her name cut through her thoughts, eyes widening a fraction as she instinctively took half a step away from the source. "O-oh, um..." Cautiously, Siena brushed her bangs out of her face as her eyes darted briefly to the document before her. "I er...don't think I'd be able to read it, but I don't know if I could grab a name that way." Unease settled over her stomach again, and despite her best efforts, the girl couldn't stop the surge of distress that rolled over her. "I-I actually wanted to try something while Chris was still in dragon form, b-but I...er I mean..."

"Siena, calm down. You're f--wait." C-Could Chris hear that? Another wave of distress that threatened to drown the girl. Maybe she should have grabbed the name earlier.

 "Hey Siena, you alright?" Chris asked, the sudden unease in her telepathic connection made Chris worry a bit. He had already started to fly back down towards the group. Once again he tried to slow his descent to avoid accidentally falling onto a teammate. 

"Hey listen its ok if you're stressed out about this, it isn't easy planning on taking monsters." He paused. "D-do you want to talk about it?" 

So she couldn't read it after all. Sorta expected, but also...sorta disappointing?

Not that super-reading was too useful against monsters anyways. Eyes bouncing from Chris flying over once more, and Siena's own stuttered statements about her plans, Brent said, "Oh, alright, go ahead. Just sorta had no idea if you were doing nothing because you had nothing to do, or if you were telepathically speaking with him."

"But huh, how long does his transformation last anyways?"

"S-sorry, I'm fine. I'll be okay," Siena lied, forgetting once more that the filters she relied so heavily on weren't working like she wanted them to. Remembering sent yet another weak wave of nausea over her. How long would the connection last? Maybe with another name, the connection would weaken...but that wasn't the only thing that was making her feel such drastic levels of distress. She took a breath, slipping her tablet out of her pocket again. 

"I uh...I could ask him." Despite her words, Siena darted down to the pages she'd used earlier, a few breaths calming her down as her eyes took in the sight of her mark's name. "Just...give me a moment..." The magic started again, a faint purple light as she reached for the name. 

"You're not alone Siena, remember that." Chris was a bit nervous of having such a strange connection to Siena, his mild feelings for her was apparent with his concern, but he knew that today at the very least was not the time to press on such issues. The beast landed with a thud near the group. His wings stretched around him which balanced the pressure that had formed from his ldescent. He stood upright on his four legs, neck upright with a still posture. His tail had helped balance his stance. Chris awaited for whatever Siena wanted to try next, curious of what name she was calling.

"Actually, Chris, can you understand what I'm saying? Nod if yes." Siena was probably the one running dry on juice the most. Why on earth was he letting her burn out before moving onto his own experiments?

The dragon looked to Brent and nodded his head. 

"Does your transformation last only minutes?"

He shook his head.  "Tell Brent that my form lasts about 2 hours. It's difficult for me to transform back now. It's easier for me to just wait for the transformation to wear out on its own. So whatever you guys want to do with it, now's the time. 

"Alright..."

As she felt the second name settle over her, there was yet another sense of control. More control over the abilities that weren't really hers. More control over the emotions that she couldn't block out. Another breath, and the brunette turned her attention to Brent again. "Chris's form lasts about two hours. Apparently he can't change back to human until the time's up, so now's the time if we want to do anything with it." A pause. "I would guess that it's pretty tiring to transform too, so I guess we don't have a second chance at this for a while too. I'd better see if this name's support works on er...well, us."

With a faint smile, Siena glanced over at the dragon, her left eye stained with flecks of pastel pink like splotches of ink in a forest. "Actually, this could probably work with anyone, but I wanted to see if I could boost those flames. After that, I can see if the other variations work with everyone else." 

Chris turned his body to the building behind him. He rose up to his hind legs as flames once again began to trickle from his slowly-widening maw. When he stood in a bipedal stance with his tail to further balance in his new stance, he released the build up of fire like a giant flamethrower. 

"Woah," Brent applauded as Chris just casually spewed out concrete-blackening flames. A part of him wanted to try Overclocking his vest towards fire resistance and bathing in the giant flamethrower, but Siena had first dibs. And other parts of him didn't want to try dying yet.

"Whoa, whoa...!" That was sooner than she expected. Quickly adjusting her position and turning her attention to Chris, Siena tapped into the Caro's abilities. Softly, the brunette released a breath as she felt her magic leaving her, a faint pink wisp reaching the dragon in question. "Boost up, barret power...!" In theory, the support should have bolstered the destructive capabilities of a mage's ranged spells. WIth everyone's abilities falling under what Siena assumed was a blanket spectrum of "magic", it was at least worth a shot.

Once Siena's magic enchanted the dragon, Chris's eyes had sharpened its gaze from wild excitement. The encompassing buff sparked a sensation not unlike an adrenaline rush. The flames themselves suddenly bursted into a larger spread, the hue had become a more brilliant crimson as fire tore through the wall of the building. Having sustained the breathe, he slowly tilted his head with a lust for destruction as the flames carved a massive line through the apartment building. Once his maw closed and ceased the jet of sizzling flames, the burning apartment caved in. The ground beneath the black dragon sizzled with heat and fragments of intense embers.

Hm...he could definitely see it now. As Siena and Chris fused their powers together to create flames capable of physically blasting through a building, Brent could see just what sort of formation Angelic envisioned with inviting them here. Siena had the ability to play as a hyper flexible support, either buffing or providing her own magical onslaught. Chris appeared to be growing only stronger and larger as a dragon, with his own ranged flames to scorch the enemies. Angelic was also capable of long-ranged assault, while Brent had the ability to more or less create the platform that they would be standing on.

This was similar to Shane's bird of death, huh? Raining destruction from above utilizing Siena's ability to increase the power and range of their breath attacks. While the 'main' team's barrier-and-battery combo allowed for mitigation in its own way, this...this could work out as well.

An aerial fortress from which mages can safely attack out of the reach of DC's monsters.

But the size limitation...that was still a problem.

"How you feeling after that, Siena? Less tiring than your pink death-ray?"

"Whoa..." She'd expected a good boost, but Siena was still impressed at what just a bit of support could do. With the connection muted, the odd primal sensation she'd felt earlier was dimmed, but still present. Still, the girl set the thought aside. "I guess that works."

"Y-Yeah, it's not all me, so this is easier." That and Caro was significantly weaker than Nanoha, so the strain wasn't nearly as intense. "WIth the variations, I could make us faster and stronger too, I think. It's probably more energy efficient this way."

Sastified with his destruction, the Black dragon screamed its monstrous note. Siena's voice had quelled the monster's instincts. "That felt good, just to note I won't be able to breathe fire until another five minutes for it to charge up." 

The dragon fell back onto its four legs. He turned his body halfway to watch his teammates plan on their next idea. 

Brent nodded. "And can you buff multiple people at once? Or no?"

"That's okay, I think we got what we needed." Glancing at Brent, the girl gave a brief nod. "I should be able to, though I don't think the number is very high in this state." Considering the early form of the mage she'd taken, it wasn't entirely surprising. "The three of you shouldn't be too difficult to support, but Chris might take more out of me as a dragon than...er...normal people."

"Oh, no" the Arbiter waved, "Considering what I remember from Flag-and-Seek, there really are only three ranged attackers in class. Anyways, picture this...platform on the dragon, you buffing the three of us up, and then all of us raining empowered death-screams, breaths, and shots down below from the relative safety of high altitude. If things are sketchy, we can bring forth Hazel 'Literally a Team of Her Own' Baker to deal with flying threats too!"

Brent gestured energetically as he spoke, before stopping suddenly, like a conductor at a climatic finish.

"...but that's future talk, considering my current size limitations."

While she was simply sitting there, wincing from the small amount of ambient light that made it through the clouds, Angélique was listening to her training partners. Once more, she was glad they were sorting this out nicely. Using Siena as a support to the others was a good thing, although she would’ve liked if they could somehow find a use for Siena to go on the aggressive combined with the abilities of their other teammates. 

The idea of a ‘Flying Fortress of Death’ was appealing to Angel, even though she despised the height involved. That was indeed one hell of a way to stay on the move while blasting down monsters. Logically, if they could manage to figure out a squad of long-ranged fighting Dragon-riders, that would be quite a deadly combination to use on the field.

As the talk went to the matter of boosting everyone all at once, Angel managed to get up on her feet. Her legs were still a bit shaky, but she would manage to walk up to the others. One arm brought on her forehead to shield her eyes as much as she could from the light, the other reaching out forward to make sure she wouldn’t be bumping into anyone. 

“Don’t overexert yourself by using your powers on me, Siena. We already had a successful test about this the other day. You better focus on the others.” Angel remembered the time she trained alone with Siena. The girl went overboard by taking up too many names, she assumed. They both lost control of their powers as a result, and the ending part was quite a pitiful sight, Angel recalled both girls being on their knees, herself hugging the brunette to somehow bring what little comfort she could give.

"Actually, it's a shame Allison isn't here today. I had thought up of her digging a hole with her blade, attract some targets into that pit, and have you iron-maiden'ing them by using earth-control abilities. Speaking of Hazel, she might just be able to do that too." 

The conversation went faster than expected, but with Caro's emotions helping to even out the usual turmoil, Siena found that she was able to mentally compose herself to at least a reasonable state. The unease still refused to leave. "Y-Yeah, that...does sound like it'd be a safer tactic." Though that didn't keep the soft, mocking voice in the back of Siena's voice from sounding off. Relegated to something less aggressive and safely tucked away--wasn't that what she wanted? It was getting hard to tell--but at least useful. "I think...my biggest concern is that I'm better off when I have preparation. If we get more fights like that first one, I won't always have a good source available. Like...things that can negate our ranged abilities...or worse." What "or worse" meant, Siena wasn't entirely certain. "If it's monsters we're talking about, we never know what might happen, right?"

"Well," Brent replied lightheartedly, "At least you can keep all your preparations tucked away in a tablet. I gotta carry all my gear with me, and if it turns out that said gear can't be used at all..."

He tapped the butt of his machete with one finger.

"...Eh, you can make most of your preparations just through having decent categorization and bookmarks, right, Siena? As far as flexibility goes, there's never going to be a situation where you aren't useful, provided you pace yourself."

'There's never going to be a situation where you aren't useful.

The words hit her harder than she thought they would. WIth everything that had happened in the week, Siena had been trying to set aside the less pleasant memories since her arrival. The shooting, the fight. 

Fangs that tore through flesh as a stranger went down with a scream.

Not a stranger. Siena painted the best eager smile she could on her face even with the flurry of images trying to overwhelm her. She certainly hadn't been useful there. Hadn't been useful when it meant anything. If she'd been faster, or even picked a name before they had filed out of the truck, maybe Padma would have been training with them.

But still, she smiled. 

"Yeah, I guess you have a point."

Ah.

That dislikeable smile.

His own smile faded as Siena reacted, replied. He had picked the wrong words again, hadn't he? Recall, what was her expression after that battle with not-Menagerie's menagerie?

He couldn't recall, and he suppressed the grimace. It didn't matter if he couldn't remember the details, remember who had been close to the dead. This was like Emma all over again. This was just what Angelic and Aaron warned him about. A whole fuckton of landmines due to a single incident that he couldn't sympathize or empathize with, because he hadn't witnessed any of it.

What could he say here? What would the correct response be? Why did he even care about Siena's feelings? Because he wanted to be on friendly terms with her? Or because she was useful, both finanically and magically?

Was silence the answer? What about brushing it aside? Pretending he didn't notice that obvious shift? Spout off another speech without thinking? Get emotionally involved and then get tazed?

Brent took a deep breath.

"Sorry."

God, he was blanking.

Sorry?

Another swell of panic, and Siena almost wished she could cut herself off from the name she'd used to communicate to Chris. Was she slipping? No, no, no. She felt the smile falter, scolded herself mentally for it. Everything was going wrong, and all she had wanted to do was prove herself, right?

No, not prove yourself. Train.

Wasn't she supposed to be good at pretending? That was all that Maya had ever had praise for when it came down to it. 'You'd never guess there's so much going on in that precious little head of yours. Good job.' She rationalized it all into a momentary lapse. That was all--she wasn't used to the connection she'd forged with Chris. Not used to having vivid memories that she knew were real. Not used to disconnected numbers and other people.

"What do you have to be sorry about?" She flicked her braid behind her shoulder, her voice picking up to its typical tone again. "In any case, I think we just have to consider that most of what we'll probably get pit against won't have detailed files or anything of the sort. Trial and error is a little draining for me, but I guess if Chris is able to keep us at a safe distance, I don't have to worry about all the lights and...other stuff from my power."

A crack in the mask, and Brent knew that his foot was, indeed, on a landmine.

Takes one to know one, huh?

Viewed as a short answer problem, it was fairly clear now, how things went for Siena in that battle. She wielded a highly versatile power, and yet, due to being a sheltered rich girl, had no real experience in situations as dangerous as the one she found herself in. As mages died around her, she put the blame on herself for being too useless to leverage her power effectively. And thus, when he had mentioned that she was useful in any situation...

Ah, and now she was faking it. She must have known that he knew, and was now just trying to make sure that Chris and Angelic didn't worry themselves over her state too.

Fair enough.

If readjusting her mask is what she was going to do, Brent had no intention of pushing further. So he smiled in return.

"Oh, just apologizing for all the expectations I'm piling up on you and how you've been the one who's done the most magical stuff thus far. Was that a bit out-of-the-blue?"

Let's move on.

"In terms of the whole trial-and-error thing, we do have a couple of physically durable people as well, to do a bunch of the testing for us. Wasn't Sander basically invincible? And Kusari immortal? Might be a bit macabre, but I'm seeing frontline-backline mechanics myself. Gotta keep our VIP topped up on MP before going for the kill, after all."

Angel shifted uncomfortably during Brent and Siena’s talk. She felt some kind of… unease between the two. She may not be able to clearly see their blurred face, but she could hear the hesitation in their voices. Oddly enough, the raven-haired Mage kept quiet during that time, letting the two settle what they had in mind. If need be, she would step in, before Brent shoots himself in foot, again.

Surprisingly, he fumbled less with his words than before. Maybe he was finally learning to hold back his tongue? Seeing the discussion began to shift towards a more comfortable subject, Angélique stepped in to completely shook off that uneasiness that had built up.

“I wouldn’t try my luck with those two, to be honest. From what I learned from Sander, he needs to ingest a large amount of blood to reach that state, and you saw what happened during the game and when he went against Shane that night. He lost it, twice. I won’t take a chance of relying on someone who could just as easily forget all parts of the plans we set and turn on us.” Angel pausing, reflecting on both his old teammate and opponent during the flags match. “Kusari may be masochist, but I’d rather want her to sustain as little pain as possible. She’s practically immortal, but I noticed she isn’t impervious to pain. Too much pain can break someone’s mind, as brutal interrogations taught us.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t all be perfectly prepared beforehand. Hell, I’m dreading the day we’ll face a monster capable of completely ignoring sound waves. Only thing to do is to keep our options open and varied.” Angel looked towards Siena, who had been so far the most versatile Mage she had met. “When faced against the unknown, you’ve got to ‘see the bigger picture’, as someone told me before. Don’t prepare names for specific situations. Keep powers that have a broad range of effects, like generally enhancing others’ abilities or temporary healing. If you go for aggressive purposes, think of powers that can generally affect anything. Something like air or earth manipulating powers? Or explosions, because you know, everybody seems to love those.” Angélique giggled at the last statement, figuring it wouldn’t do harm to bring to light-hearted humor into her matter-of-fact suggestions.

“Same goes for you. You’re actually pretty much like Siena. You’ve got the same variety, except you work with what you have and can have a more spontaneous approach on situations. With that in mind, keep the gear you have on yourself for a broad range of situations. But seeing what you came up with, I think you already know that. Beside the rollerblades. Those are probably unneeded, as you just never know if the ground on which you step will simply allow you to roll on it." Angel's gaze shifted towards Brent.

"Please," Brent laughed, "Just wait until I can start turning rollerblades into hoverblades."

Angel rolled her eyes over with a sigh. "Better get to it fast instead of borrowing other people's boots. Who knows, maybe I could vanquish my fear of heights with those kinds of flying wear."  Angel laughed in turn.

"Long as you don't mind having pieces of my ear taped onto them."

"Gotta stay positive man. One day, maybe you will finally be able to Overclock stuff without having to keep a grip on 'em."

For the rest of the afternoon, the quarto of Mages continued on testing out their potential. For a while, Brent had been throwing questions and speculations to Siena about her powers, to which she simply gave vague answers and negative replies. While they were testing out some things to ease up the brunette’s way of selecting her names, Angélique and Christopher were seen fooling around the buildings of Ground Zero. Despite not being able to see all that much, Chris was diligent enough to help her navigate around and test out their combined powers. It turned out, sonic waves and a fiery breath didn’t go along well. The scream either dispersed the flame in its area of effect or altered its range. However, for stunning and burning imaginary citizens to a crisp, they worked well enough together as long one didn’t get in the other’s way.

Seeing they weren’t going anywhere at this rate, Siena had proposed Brent if he could Overclock melee weapons. Finally things seemed to unblock as the amethyst-eyed youth demonstrated his power on his own machete, turning the edge of the weapon’s blade into a vicious chainsaw blade. Seeing how both were adepts at using bladed weapons, the two Arbiters concluded they should meet up on another day for knifing lessons.

Shortly after Angel and Chris came back from their rampage across town, the training session was about to be brought to an end. The raven-haired rockstar was covered in bruises and dirt from having tripped on too many times because of her poor eyesight, despite Chris’ many attempts to catch her as she fell. Brent and Siena were awkwardly silent as whatever they tried to bring up ended in creating more unease.

Just as everyone were saying their goodbyes and were about to leave, Allison showed up at the reunion of training Mages. The girl’s messed up schedule apparently was the cause of her arriving so late at the training Angélique has suggested her to come. Obviously concerned by her friend’s pitiful appearance, Allison offered to bring the blinded Aberration back to her room. 

Siena was quick to follow in taking her leave, then Brent. Only Chris was now left in Ground Zero. Figuring out there was still time until he would return to being Human again, Chris resumed his earlier training, before he had joined his classmates.

𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔸𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤 - ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟘   / / 𝟙𝟟𝟛𝟘
 
This morning was quite uneventful compared to the other days. Having been left along to do her daily routine, Angélique returned to her room after coming back from Ground Zero, late in the afternoon. Today, there had been some additions to her room while she had been away for the day. As soon as her door opened, she was greeted by the lovely sound of a bird happily chirping. With a look of glee, Angel entered her room to find a bird inside its cage at the corner of the room, next to the window. It was so small, yet so lively and fluffy-like. When the black bird saw the young woman approaching the cage to greet it, it approached in turn from its perch and let out a few seemingly happy chirps.

Immediately, the singer’s heart fluttered to hear something so lovely inside her room. She could already feel a degree of added liveliness and happiness inside her bleak room from the small thing’s singing. As the Aberration turned around to make sure everything was closed, she noticed there were a small black case and an envelope left on her desk. Curious, Angélique opened the envelope, finding a handwritten letter inside:
Good afternoon, Ms. Lachance!

I hope you had a refreshing time at Ground Zero. Rosa managed to get your request all squared away on time, as I'm sure you've noticed. Unfortunately she's feeling a bit under the weather, so the task of writing a chipper letter full of sunshine and rainbows has fallen to me! As you can see, I've attached several of Rosa's stickers to the parchment. Only the best for our resident rock star!

Indeed, Freddy had attached several vibrantly colorful Lisa Frank stickers. An array of smiling blue pug puppies, pink cats, rainbow unicorns, and butterflies decorated the entire lower half of the letter along with words and phrases like "You're awesome!", "Cool!", and "Party!"

You didn't specify what type of bird you wanted, so after several hours of rigorous research, we've obtained an American Singer breed of canary just for you. They said it was brown, but it looks black to me. I'm sure you'll like that. Seems like your style, eh? 

I wanted to get the one named Angel. I thought it seemed appropriate since birds are generally so noisy, but Rosa didn't like that. Something about the name being too common. There was another one named Rose, but she didn't like that either-- something about it being a terrible name for a canary. No, she was quite insistent that we get the one named Pavarotti. Even though it's a girl. 

Anyway, we were told she has a very friendly temperament and, because she's still young, she'll be really receptive to learning all sorts of new things. She already seems to recognize her name, though I've learned she also responds well to 'Pav'. She's awfully cute, I have to admit. Even though she did get poo on my suit.... Take good care of her.

Also, your contact lenses have arrived. You'll find them in the little black case. Dr. Spencer included a pamphlet on how to use and care for them properly. Don't fall asleep with them on! Wouldn't want your eye balls to fall out, now would we?

Only kidding.

Have a nice weekend, Ms. Lachance!

Sincerely,

Fredric Francisco

Simply by reading the first few lines, Angélique had a foreboding feeling about the letter. The way she was addressed as “Ms. Lachance” brought an annoying smiling jerk to mind. The more she read on about the letter, the worse her frown was becoming. The happy child-like stickers felt somewhat insulting to her when combined by the wording that was referring to her. Were they testing her patience by treating her like a toddler?  It only got worse when the sender throwed an obvious jab at how noisy she was. By that point, the Aberration was boiling in fury deep inside. Then came the bird’s name.

“Pavarotti!?” The small bird chirped jolly in its cage in reply. “Who in their fucking mind had the idea of naming a canary after a dead opera tenor? I swear to god, this got to be a fucking joke. Assholes casually taking turn in fucking around.”

The part about the bird taking a crap on Fredric’s clothes however did feel like justice. Even if poor Pav got a weird name, the raven-haired rockstar already felt a connection with the bird. Too bad they didn’t give her something like a parrot though. Angel could already imagine teaching words to the bird like “Fredric is a dick”. Well, maybe if she tried hard enough, Pav could perhaps sing something close to that. Maybe that’s why they didn’t consider giving her a talking bird in the first place.

Confirming it was Fredric’s letter when reading the signature at the end of the letter, Angel crumpled the paper in her hands before throwing it in the bin sitting next to her desk. Would it kill the guy to simply write a formal letter with plain details, instead of trying to get under her skin? She swore to God, that guy surely MUST have a grudge or something against her. She can’t believe someone to be such a jackass to everyone in here, else he would’ve got something happening to him all the time. Well, now that she was thinking about it; perhaps that was the reason he is always surrounded by guards whenever he’s out. One day, he’ll get what’s coming to him…

Removing her new shades she had the use ahead of time because of losing her old ones during yesterday’s training session while air-riding Chris with Brent and Siena, Angel opened the black casing to reveal a small container shaped like the number eight and a folded paper. There was one round part labeled “R” and the other labeled “L”. Unfolding the paper, Angel was surprised to see a printed schema of how to put contact lenses the correct way, along handwritten side notes. Who knew the optometrist would be so caring as to provide her with that? Remembering the discussion they had by the end of their meeting, she should’ve known that the old man only had his patients’ welfare in mind. Once more, she was grateful for being considerate. 

Putting the lenses were however easier explained that done, for a novice like her. It took some time to actually put them dead center on her cornea, but she managed. She felt like an annoying itching as she blinked a few times, but she was warned that it would take some time to get used to it, much like someone wearing glasses will adapt to the feeling of the eyewear poking their nose ridge and their ears. Afterwards, she replaced her shades onto her face, letting the comforting darkness shield her eyes from the harmful light.

Already, she could see much clearer, even better than before. Finally, it seemed as if a burden was lifted off from her eyes and her brain. Needless to say, new eyewear was much overdue for her. Being rushed from one place to another as a successful musician, she had neglected her eyes care for too long. 

Returning to the desk, Angel sat down and took one stack of papers that had been left there untouched ever since Wednesday. For quite some time, she had thought of finally getting to read what everyone thought of that fight and the suggested improvements to be made, but she never got the chance to sit down in a relaxed state and review the whole thing. Perhaps, now that she was at ease, she could get down to it?

Retrieving her phone from her jeans and setting it on the table, the late teen musician listened to the jam of guitar riffs and drums beat while reading over what her peers had to say about this match.

Overall, as she expected, self-control was the most common theme used to describe the second battle. She felt somewhat ashamed though when she read over the last part, about her not being able to deliver her evaluation. But what was there more to say than “Learn about self-control. This fight was a mess.”? At least, she had put her thoughts about both games into her own personal files, even though those noted were for her eyes only. Perhaps it would’ve been best to at least try to find and give some constructive criticism? She blew up big time by acting like a child, Angel finally admitted.

However, interestingly, lack of teamwork was the main issue in the first matchup, the fight she was part of. Some praised the strategy of combining Grant’s ability with Sander’s to take down Callan. She felt humbled by those opinions. She was the one who had ordered Grant to help Sander in taking down Super Girl, but it was their execution that made the thing possible. But as much as she was glad that her strategy-making ability was honored, she felt disappointed in herself when faced against the comments of how poor of an idea it was to go and fight alone. After all, if it wasn’t for being patched up, she would’ve died of fighting against Chris, potentially lose even if Chris wasn’t so mindful about getting her flags without injuring her. 

If there was one thing she learned from all this, it was to stop being so damned reckless. It was the second - maybe third time - ever since she got here that she put herself in the face of danger to pull out efficient but dangerous maneuvers. If her gamble wouldn’t pay off, she’d be gone. She realized she had to stop doing that, for both her sake and her teammates’. She needed to be able to see the bigger picture, with herself included in it. She was good at managing resources, a skill she had picked up from working so often with her manager the past. But what good would it be if she was lost in the process? What good is the girl with the plans if she ends up killing herself? She can potentially jeopardize missions if she kept putting herself in harm’s way.

After coming to this analysis, Angélique neatly stacked the papers back in order and set it aside on her desk. It would be a good reminder in the future.  With nothing else to do, the ex-rockstar decided to take the rest of the day off. After a quick shower and dinner, she’d whip her guitar out and play and sing melodies next to her new pet, music that was far from what she’d been known for in her career.

The weekend had been quiet for Angélique. She kept on working out in the gym after her morning jogging, then go to Ground Zero for keeping her stigma under control and train with the use of her abilities. By then, she exactly knew the limits of her power, how they affect her surrounding, and even managed to separate the physical-affecting knockback aspect of her power from the brain-affecting stun effects. Angel found out it all came down to pitches. Deep sounding pitches like “o” helped in producing knockback, while “e” pitches were better used for stunning, and “a” combined both. This was a very useful knowledge about her power usage, something Angel was proud of having learned.

Throughout the weekend, whenever Angel was in her room, it was common for the residents of the Aberration dorms and the students passing by under her open window to hear the girl singing in a soothing and melodic voice. It wasn’t anything hardcore like how she used to. Instead, they were mainly melodies, folkloric ballads and softer-toned music, as if she was a bird singing to another. Eventually, her singing was followed by some chirpings, imitating parts of what Angélique had been playing or singing. 

𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟛 , 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔸𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤 - ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟘  / / 𝟙𝟟𝟛𝟘
 
On this Sunday afternoon, Angel felt a bit under the weather all day long. Sure, she wasn’t feeling as bad as she was before she went to Ground Zero for a good fix of blowing up doors and windows with her voice, but she was somehow a bit tired of having to deal with this issue by visiting Ground Zero every day. Actually, it sickened her deep inside. She felt like a junkie needing her fix, before doing anything she’d regret later on. It was infuriating, to not be able to keep her head up high and confront this Stigma with simply sheer willpower. 

Ernest was right, in the end. She couldn’t play the act of being that strong-appearing figure. Already, throughout the whole week, she showed multiple signs of weakness and lack of self-control. She was getting better by the day, as she got to meet new people and hang out with them. But still, there were those voices in her head that kept harassing her. It mentally exhausted her. There were times she’d just want to yell at people, like Ernie who kept poking her Tuesday or Brent who was seemingly trying to test her limits. Angélique was glad she still had some restraint left deep inside. Things would’ve turned out worse than how they were right now if she completely caved-in to the burden of her Stigma.

The black-haired Aberration took more time in the shower today. As the warm water rained on her body, she was lost in thoughts. Music filled her mind. That same strange and unknown rhythm she kept hearing in the visions she had before; the same melody that she had strangely tried to reproduce on her guitar. But today, it wasn’t only a rhythm she was humming. There were lyrics, or at least a random assembly of words Angel tried to piece together. 

Eventually, the light-skinned Mage came out the shower and headed to her room swiftly. She pulled out a chair from her desk and a blank sheet from her one of her drawers.  For a few hours, Angélique busied herself with writing down a song that came from her head, skipping dinner at the same time to work some more onto that song she began to be obsessed with. There were a lot of words crossed, arrangements, edits, arrows indicating which verse should be placed at some point in the song.

After quite some time, a few hours before curfew, the musician was finally done with her newest creation. It was handwritten down neatly on one of the few blank pages she hadn’t scrapped.
I hear voices in my head
They council me
They understand
They talk to me

You got your rules and your religion
All designed to keep you safe
But when rules start getting broken
You start questioning your faith

I have a voice that is my savior
Hates to love and loves to hate
I have the voice that has the knowledge
And the power to rule your fate

I hear voices crying
I see heroes dying
I taste blood that's drying
I feel tension rising

I hear voices in my head
They council me
They understand
They talk to me, they talk to me
They tell me things that I will do
They show me things I'll do to you
They talk to me
They talk to me

I see darkness rising
I hear voices calling
I feel justice fading
I see faith has fallen

I hear voices in my head
They council me
They understand
They talk to me, they talk to me
They tell me things that I will do
They show me things I'll do to you
They talk to me

I hear voices crying
I see heroes dying
I taste blood that's drying
I feel tension rising

I hear voices in my head
They council me
They understand
They talk to me, they talk to me
They tell me things that I will do
They show me things I'll do to you
They talk to me
They talk to me

Sitting down with her guitar in hands, Angélique tried to play along the rhythm stuck in her head along with the song she had just finished writing down. Oddly enough, both rhythm and lyrics strangely fit well together, although there were parts she was still unsure of. Mostly because what she was playing was from an unknown memory, by instinct, and the musician girl knew the thing wasn’t quite completed. Be it the guitar rhythm or the lyrics, something felt amiss. 

But those additions would have to wait. For now, Angel had no idea what else could be done about it. Right now, she felt sleepy, and went to bed early that evening.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by banjoanjo

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banjoanjo Still likes pistachios

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『𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥』 『𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕥』 『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』 『𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕠𝕣𝕪』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸   / /  ~𝟚𝟘𝟘𝟘
Collab with @ERode @Deathmyster @banjoanjo and @Zombehs

Was five pounds worth of wings enough for three people? Though he had already finished cooking at this point, with five different platters of wings arranged on styrofoam plates, Brent couldn't help but wonder if they were better off with ten pounds instead. Or maybe he should toss up a salad...but who even ate salad? The arbiter tapped the back of the knife against the counter. The 'buy big save big' package of chicken wings he had purchased from the supermarket looked big, but now that they were crispy, sauced up, or what have you...

"Too small."

A part of him wanted to cheat and just steal a ton of wings from the cafeteria, but cheating was for losers. Maybe the problem here was not taking advantage of those party-size bags of Lays that were on promotion? That would be something nice to munch on after the real meat ran out. But fries were a nice option as well. Would give him a chance to practice julienning potatoes as well, and the batter shouldn't take too long to prepare. Salt and pepper were in abundance anyways. Hm...

"Yo, Grant," Brent called, turning to face his perpetually bedridden roommate, "Chips or chips?"

While Brent was busy struggling over his enigma, Grant had been spending his own downtime comfortable in his bed, his back turned toward his roommate. Only when his name was called did Brent elict any movement from Grant, who turned his head just enough to look back at him for his question. The said question was met with silence as his mind chugged along before he finally just answered simply with, "...Chips." After giving his answer, Grant laid his head back where it was previously, closing his eyes once more.

...well, that was awkward. Expected of Grant, but still, awkward. And now even more awkward was trying to explain the joke to the ever-impassive youth. "I'll rephrase that. Potato chips or french fries?"

Another question from his roommate, but Grant didn't turn around again. Just as it seemed as if he had probably just fallen asleep, the eternally tired boy spoke up. "Chips. They'll last longer." Was what he answered with.

"Practical," Brent remarked, "I like it." Made sense as well, having food that didn't go bad once it got cold. Same logic as popcorn and all: if you were in for the long haul, it's better to have temperature-neutral food. "By the way, couple of classmates are coming over tonight. Movies and chill and all that. Think you can sleep through that?"

With Brent's remark, Grant shifted to get into a more comfortable position, thinking that'd be the last of his questions. Little did he know, his roommate asked another question just a little after that. "Don't worry about me." As long as there was no direct disturbance to him, he'd be just fine with the coming company.

"Cool, give me a shout if you want something to eat." Brent paused. Grant shouting? What alternate dimension was this? "Or just say something."

"Understood." Grant said lastly to that before going back to his usual silence, but he still couldn't bring himself to fall asleep at the time.

A loud knock sounded from the door. "Brent?" Ernie called out, "This is your dorm, right?"

"No," Brent replied flatly, "It's Bob's. I just tied him up and tossed him in the closet. Dude's got a killer kitchen."

A pause.

"Door's unlocked, by the way."

Ernie peered in, glancing around the room. Once he noticed Brent, he exhaled a sigh of relief. The Aberration walked in, carrying a rather noticeable canvas bag with the top full of chip packets, the ones you could get from vending machines. He looked ready for a sleepover, trackpants and a comfy jacket worn for maximum comfort. His hair was also tied up.

"Let's hope Bob won't be making too much noise in the closet tonight," Ernie quipped. He noticed another boy in one of the beds, sending a small "Hi" his way.

"Spent all morning practicing how to gag people. Shouldn't fail me now," Brent grinned, glad that he didn't trigger some PTSD episode from Ernie with that joke. Motioning towards the granite counter on the kitchen, the amethyst-eyed youth grabbed a large plastic bowl, intending on popping open all the bags that Ernie brought and tossing them in.

"Hopefully Greg brings soda or something. All I have stocked up is milk."

"We could make smoothies or something. You can do a lotta stuff with milk." Ernie opened the packets one by one, flattening and folding the emptied ones as he went along. They created a neat pile when they went into the bin. "So where we sitting?"

How neat. Mimicking Ernie's meticulous chip-packet disposal method, Brent glanced over to the living room.  "Probably by the TV. Already got food prepped over there, as well as movies other than 'Hazel vs The World'."

The bowl was rapidly filling up. Perhaps another one was needed.

"By the by, didja smooth things over with Angelic?"

Ernie spun to meet Brent with a dazzling smile. The goofy expression of innocent delight seemed so deeply engraved on the boy's face that it seemed that he'd forgotten to answer. When he finally did, his tone was quite excited.

"More than smooth, bro! We talked things out and I think we're kinda friends now. I even got her number!"

"Dude?" Brent raised out his fist. "Niceeeee."

Ernie completed the fistbump with a laugh. "Right? This is, like, a dream! I didn't think I'd ever be in the same class or even the same school as Angel. I've been having some kinda weird, happy freakout all day."

"She used to be a rock star or something, yeah? Guess you can live the fanboy dream now." Brent emptied another bag in the slowly-growing pile of assorted chips, before looking up at Ernie once more. "So, what's up with Montreal anyways?"

Was it a smart thing to do, to gossip about another person's trauma behind their back? It wasn't really the moral complications Ernie was worried about, rather the chance that Brent would do the same thing as he did and go blabbing it right to her face. Sounded like a recipe for scream-scrambled brains, for both boys. But in the end, Ernie decided to just go for it. Brent was a cool guy, right? Plus, all the information was there on the internet. Anyone with the sense to google the name would have easily found an article on the concert, probably as one of the first results.

"Her last concert on some Homecoming event thing. She kinda outed herself as a Subnatural during a song and well, you know how her power works. Didn't get to hear the close details but a lotta people got messed up."

A pause.

"Guess it's a sore point for her. Makes sense. Definitely a can of worms to avoid, when we hang out again. Don't wanna be scream-shouted across campus, yeah?"

"Ah..." So that was the landmine he had avoided when he went shopping with her. Considering all the other bombs he totally stepped on, that was probably a good thing. Still, a lot of people got messed up? How strong WAS Angelic back then? Gained her powers a couple weeks ago, but the scream she had there in the gym, during her breakdown of sorts, didn't even manage to knock over any of the objects, while the screams she had against the dragon were meant to intentionally damage.

Huh, what the hell happened during that concert? Brent visualized the chain of events. Gained powers before the concert, KNEW about how her powers worked, and then went on for her concert regardless? He narrowed his eyes slightly, before nodding.

"Yup. Definitely wouldn't want to get blasted by our resident dragon-slayer." He dusted off his hands, before lifting up the almost-overflowing bowl, a couple of chips tumbling onto the counter. "At least subnatural life means a second chance, eh? Can only go up from here!"

Debatable. For Ernie, 'subnatural life' had consumed the last seven years of his existence. Everything before that...

Ernie frowned. He hated thinking about these things. Hated thinking about-- wishing for-- things that could've been. What was the point? He was here now, at USARILN East. Far from the safety and casual luxury of West. Far, far from Reno too. His subnatural life was likely to end within the next few weeks. Then nothing could go up. Nothing would matter. Memories flickered in the corner of his thoughts. Despite having his Stigma sated by his morning encounter with Angelique, Ernie couldn't help but feel a longing for home, whatever that meant these days.

He hated it. Hated feeling this way, hated having to think, having to remember. So he stopped thinking. He shoved the intrusive thoughts into the back of his mind once more, far too eager to put it behind him.

Subnatural life, huh? It didn't go up. Not for, well...

Ernie wanted to say Aberrations, but he knew it would only be a part of the truth. He had known formidable X-marks, mages who were stronger than he ever would or could be. Aberrations weren't the missing part of that statement. Subnatural life didn't go up for people like Ernie. That was the answer.

"Well, y'know," the longer-haired boy responded vaguely, "Life's what you make of it. Going up is... something we gotta work for, I guess. But if there's anything that helps with that work, it's optimism."

He took a chip and ate it, ignoring the hypocrisy of his words. A memorised smile worked itself back onto Ernie's face.

"That, and knowing how to handle yourself and your powers. But that's a buncha stuff for some other bummier time. What are we watching tonight?"

Tink. It sounded like a rock had thunked against the kitchen window. Tink. Tink. If anyone bothered to look outside, they'd notice Gregory standing below with a few more rocks in hand and his phone in the other. 

A few moments later, and the text showed up on Brent's phone. "Guards won't let me in without one of you vouching for me."

That smile. Dislikeable. Brent suppressed the bitter taste in his mouth, really wishing that he had something sinfully sweet to drink now. Thoughts drifted towards that drugged up x-girl that he had met in the hospital during his first 'real' day in USARILN, but he found himself nodding to Ernie's words anyways. As the topic of movies came up though, he chuckled.

"Yeah, sounds like a topic that'd be better brought up while getting hammered," he replied, "And I got a whole bunch of nature documentaries lined up tonight. The entire uncut, uncensored, remastered version of Planet Earth: Awoken! Education and entertainment, all documented in super high risk environments! Also got stuff like Mad Flaps: Yuri Road and the live action for Metal Smear Avengeance, but think we're set f-"

A tink on the window, and then Gregory's text, brought Brent out of his own bit of gushing.

Kk, I'll pick you up from the lobby then.
"Looks like Grego's here already. I'll go fetch him."

Ten minutes later, the door to the dorm opened up once more, revealing Brent. "Welcome to Bob's place," he gestured with a grin.

Blinking a few times as he took off his shoes, Gregory wasn't too surprised at the difference in living accomodations he supposed. The dorms here were supposed to be shared right? "Huh? Your roommate's name?" If there was a joke to be got, it cleared his head without any trouble. A few metallic clinks came from his backpack as he finally noticed Ernie and raised his hand in greeting.

"How many others are coming?" he asked as he unzipped the backpack and began to pull cans of soda out.

Man, what a weirdishly convenient turn of events. First with Ernie bringing in chips and now with Gregory bringing in drinks? Was there some sort of cosmic force influencing everyone's decisions, ensuring that no one had any sort of overlap despite the fact that there had been zero communication? How strange. Maybe subnaturals had some sort of sixth sense for these events.

"Bob's the dude in the closet," Brent replied, bringing the cans to the table by the TV, "And naw, everyone's here now. Only bothered inviting team 4 peeps. Sav was PMSing and Emma was 'busy'."

One by one, those assorted soda cans formed a pyramid.

"Ooh. We haven't met yet," Ernie chirped, extending his hand, "Ernest, but everyone calls me Ernie. You were hardcore in the game, man."

Blinking a few times, Gregory glanced towards the closet with a dubious expression before he muttered, "Riiight." Tossing aside the backpack once it was emptied, he turned his attention to the other boy in the room. He frowned a bit at the mention of yesterday's shitshow, but otherwise didn't seem to let it bother him too much as he shook Ernie's hand. "That's one way to put it... Gregory, but Greg is fine."

"Yeah, your power was hella interesting. Just that Hazel hard-counters literally everyone else here," Brent replied, before motioning for the blond to sit down, "Anyways, I got like, one disc for every continent for Planet Earth. Where y'all wanna start?"

"I'm voting Africa," the dark-haired Aberration plopped himself on the far end of the couch, "I wanna see those crazy giraffe-lion fights!"

'Wasn't that the truth...' Clicking his tongue, he took a seat on the other end of the couch and then shrugged. "Sure, let's go with Africa. Australlia afterwards?"

"Oho, Australia with the illegal kangaroo baiting rings?" the arbiter nodded with approval, "Sounds like we got the first three hours lined up!"

With that, he slid the disk in, before popping back onto the floor. As cameras panned over desolate landscapes and drones flew over mutated monstrosities, a baritone voice waxed poetic on the glories of the landscape and the savagery of DC's creatures. Soon, the orchestra crescendoed, 'Africa' popping out from the screen.

Brent grabbed a chip.

"So, one-line impressions of Hazel vs Everyone?"

Ernie began working through a chicken wing. "Kinda glad I was too tazed out to get strip-smacked by her. Looked rough."

The can hissed before Gregory took a sip, and it was hard to tell if he was frowning from the burn or question. "A shitshow of bad decisions?"

"Yeah," Brent laughed, "Doomed from the start."

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by VampireOracle

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Sophia Lemane
Building A: Suite 226, USARILN East
September 9th, 2020 - 8:00 am
Opening her eyes, Sophia wondered what had woken her up, for her alarm clock was silent. Grabbing the clock from off the floor, her eyes widened. She had overslept a lot, and she didn't even remember turning the alarm off. But at least... it wasn't past nine yet. Even though she didn't have to go to class, she still wanted to. She needed to learn that stuff, for it seemed that she was pretty much the youngest. Everyone else probably already knew what was being taught. 

Though she had less time than she would have liked, she didn't exactly hurry. An hour was plenty of time to eat and get dressed, she'd done it in less than half the time before.Ten minutes before nine, Sophia was seated at the same desk as on Monday. The materials provided for her that she had forgotten to bring back to her room were still there, waiting for her to use. She had the electives sheet with her, so she was all set for class. 

Or maybe... she wasn't set for class. She felt tired even though she had overslept, and though she normally liked math, it didn't seem so appealing today. Physics didn't seem appealing at all either. One could say that she was missing her motivation. She was telling herself that she needed to know that stuff, but for what? Her future, at the moment, was feeling very uncertain. How did education exactly work around here? Class was only every other day, and half the class had been allowed to just ditch class for winning that game. It didn't seem that the "school" cared too much about the students learning things. Just from the three classes she had taken so far, Sophia hadn't been liking it much. The first teacher had seemed far from eager to teach. The second hadn't explained things clear enough for her, and the way that man had talked had just bored her. The third hadn't been any better.

Interrupting her thoughts, the math teacher entered, looking no more enthusiastic as she had been on the first day. Class began.

Though she tried her best to pay attention throughout all the classes, Sophia was rapidly failing. Math, done by self-studying, went slowly and the section she was working on wasn't easy. By the time the physics teacher arrived, Sophia was frustrated and beginning to feel drowsy. The droning on about one of her least favorite subjects didn't help, and she found herself tuning the teacher out for almost all of class. And then by the time it was time for English, Sophia just wanted to go and sleep. English was a subject that she liked sometimes, especially if it was writing, but she wasn't in the mood for all this stuff about grammar and specific little details. That class, she tuned out too. By the time the last class before lunch ended, all she just wanted to was go lay down and rest.

Picking up the elective sheet, she handed it in on her way out. 
4 Art/Photography
2 Creative Writing
6 Woodworking
7 P.E.
8 Film Study
3 Music Theory
5 Home Ec
1 Computer Science
She would not be coming back into class that day. Sometime during the morning, she had decided to skip the rest of the classes after lunch. None of them seemed like they would be spectacular anyways. Okay, she did feel a little guilty. But she probably wouldn't be able to pay much attention with how off she was feeling today. So it would just be wasted time sitting in class, right? Really, she didn't need to attend class anyway. Even though she really hadn't done anything during the game, luck had assigned her to the team that won. 

She exited the room for lunch.6:45 pm
Sophia came back from combat training exhausted. She wasn't exactly out of shape, but she was far from strong. She hadn't been able to do all that the exercises set out for them required, especially when it came to using weights. She rarely had used them when exercising back at home, for her parents hadn't let her lift more than a few pounds. Something about not being fully developed yet. 

Glancing around her room, she sighed. There were still items lying around from what she had been doing before a guard had come to fetch her to the training, for she had totally forgotten about it after skipping the second half of class. She'd lost track of the time and it had slipped her mind, being occupied with setting up her phone to her liking (something that had been done with much trial and error due to her lack of experience), looking through the evaluation packet that had been brought to her room, and working on training Heidi.

Ignoring the stuff around the room, she made a little list in her head. First, shower. Then, put away the stuff. Feed Heidi, write in her journal, then go have dinner.8:35 pm
Sophia was having another one of those silent debates inside her head. Though she had been trying her best to keep herself from thinking about her family, it was hard. She missed them. She had never been very capable of talking to any of them, but they had always been there. Now, all she had for a companion was Heidi.

But when she thought about her family, she wasn't just missing them. She was worried especially about how her siblings were doing after she was gone. Her little sister would be alone at night, with no one to read her a bedtime story or reassure her that no monsters or ghosts were going to come while she was asleep. Her older sister would have no one who would be able to listen to her and actually understand, or give her advice or reassure her... 

Sophia looked down at the phone laying beside her. Should she call? What if her sister hung up on her once she found out who was calling? Matilda had never struck Sophia as that sort of person, but how would Sophia know? What would Matilda think if Sophia called her now? Would she be relived upon getting the call? What if Matilda broke down and Sophia couldn't cheer her up? What if Sophia accidentally showed how she didn't like it here, and Matilda began worrying about her? Something like this had never happened before. 

Call Matilda now.

Call another day instead.

Call another family member instead.

Never call and forget about it all. 

There were so many pros and cons that she could come up with for each of the options. She could feel herself begin to overheat, her palms became sweaty, her heart was beating so fast. She didn't know. She couldn't decide. It was so hard. Her head seemed to be ringing faintly. She felt detached from everything around her.

She sat there for what seemed like ages, unable to get a good enough grip on herself to draw herself back to the room she sat in. A few minutes later, she became aware that something warm and heavy was in her lap. Slowly, she moved her head to look down. Her right hand came up to gently stroke Heidi, feeling the vibrations as the cat purred. Her left hand released its grip on the arm of the chair.

Running her hand over her face, she let out a long breath. She hated when she got so worked up over such little things. Except it wasn't a little thing... anyway. She made up her mind to call another day. She certainly would call, but not when she was feeling like this. She needed to be happy when she called her older sister, to show her that everything was okay and that she was doing fine.

Deciding to go to bed early, she got dressed then crawled under the covers. Hopefully, sleep would come soon. 

But probably not.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by VarionusNW

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VarionusNW Nobody In Particular

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VarionusNW

Nobody In Particular

1813 posts

in 3940 days

Seen 2 mos ago

『ℤ𝕠𝕖』  『𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕟』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔹   / /  ~𝟙𝟠𝟛𝟘
Collab with @Lasrever and @VarionusNW

Standing outside Allison's dorm room, Zoe was surprised by how uneasy she felt about this. Honesty was always something she stuck by, but there was a difference between that and actually... Well, actually looking for the discussion. But maybe Fred had a point this morning, about needing to trust the others, needing them to trust her. Didn't change the fact that it was a massive pain in the ass. And that she wasn't sure about being strong enough for it. But trying to fix things a little seemed like a good middle ground.

Still, she wasn't too bothered by what this one thought of her. Well, she was, but she figured it couldn't get too much worse in terms of making an impression. When she thought of it like that, it really wasn't too tough to deal with. After all, out of all her classmates, Allison had ended up in the same group as her twice when she'd lost it, even if she had barely been conscious the first time. So it made sense that Zoe owed her an explanation. That, and being in the same building meant that she was easy enough to find. Her expression serious, Zoe knocked firmly on the door and waited for the girl to answer.

Allison sat quietly at her desk, staring intently at the small brown notebook, worn with age and full of ripped and torn pages. She re-read the section she had just added over and over again, as if trying to eek out some secret meaning from the series of words. She closed the notebook suddenly, placing it on top of a similar small notebook, though with a black cover, next to her phone in the middle of the desk. Her eyes glanced down beside her, to where a box sat, containing the new pair of shoes she had bought earlier. They were cheap, and much the same as the pair she had before. It was a shame that her shoes had been destroyed by Hazel's power, but at least getting a replacement pair came cheap. Allison could've probably requisitioned a new pair, but by the time she thought about that, she had already bought the shoes. A knock at the door interrupted Allison, who quickly got up to answer it. Allison had no clue who it could be.

Allison opened the door slowly to see Zoe standing in front of her. Images flashed in her head of the girl unconscious on top of Gregory, who's face she had melted. Why was Zoe here? The sensible part of Allison said that Zoe was probably just here to talk, though somewhere in her mind she cooked up the idea that Zoe could possibly be here to melt her face off. As dumb and unlikely as the latter prospect was, Allison was afraid of it. She looked visibly nervous, giving herself a moment to compose herself before speaking.

"Oh, hey Zoe. What's up?" 

"I'm not here to attempt a murder, so you can stop that." Zoe looked slightly irritated at Allison's apparent fear, though most of it was just frustration. Zoe realized that it was probably a reasonable reaction, but was she that much of a loose cannon? Well, probably, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying. She sighed. "I just wanted to talk things out. After Monday, and I guess the first day too. You know, 'cause I keep flying off the handle."

After a moment, she gave Allison a questioning look, sharpness returning. "So can I come in, or would you rather I just stand out here and do it?"

"Oh, right, of course." Allison moved to the side, ushering the other girl into the disorderly room. She shut the door as soon as Zoe entered, and offered Zoe the chair by the desk, before taking a seat on the bed herself. "Alright, what's up?"

Taking a seat, Zoe frowned. Part of her figured the girl wouldn't bother confronting her about anything, so she decided to just get straight into it. "First thing's first, I'm here to apologize. Which isn't something I do often. I screwed up yesterday, so I'm making an exception." Leaning back in the chair, she glanced over at Allison, seeming almost irritated as she continued.

"That, and apparently I need to trust you guys more or help you trust me - something like that. So here I am. If there's anything you want to ask about, I'll answer. To an extent." She looked away from the other girl - considering they weren't friends, this whole idea wasn't exactly comfortable for Zoe.

Allison wasn't sure what to make of the girl. She seemed irritated, uncomfortable in the situation. Allison assumed that her guest wasn't exactly used to apologizing, and respected the gesture, despite the strained air she felt still lay between them. She knew that Zoe didn't hate her, but Allison still felt nervous talking to the girl, not because of what Zoe was capable of, no, but just some odd feeling. 

"I'm not really the one you need to apologize to, but thank you." Allison looked Zoe over, trying to figure out something else to say, letting the room fill with silence for a moment. "For those first few moments yesterday, I thought you were a monster. Something unfeeling and horrible, willing to kill anything and anyone for any reason. Exactly what USARILN would want, right? I don't know when I realized I was wrong, but I think it had something to do with Ernie stabbing me in the eye. At that time I thought we were all monsters, ready and willing to play a sick game for selfish reasons, justifying anything we did. But... maybe I was wrong on that, too. Maybe there is something redeemable about us. We aren't just tools for killing. We're people, and that alone makes me hopeful. I don't know why you did what you did to Greg, and I don't think I want to know, but I think I can understand on some level."Her hand rose, fingers brushing against the X marking on her neck as she spoke. "I want to trust you, and I think I can. I know you're capable, and I don't think you're a bad person. Even then, I don't really know much about you. The only times we've been around each other has been in battle. Not too great for first impressions. I guess what I want is to know you better, Zoe."Allison looked into Zoe's eyes, staring intently, unwavering. "The you that isn't fighting."

Zoe watched Allison with a wary expression as the other girl started to speak. The first part was what she'd expected, and to a certain extent what she'd wanted, but still wasn't exactly nice to hear from somebody else. More because of the idea that she was what these people wanted her to be - though maybe there was an element of truth to it. It was the last part that gave her pause.

"Me? Okay, not what I was expecting." Well, she had said she'd be honest. Couldn't really take that back after making the offer. "I wouldn't mind. Ask away. Don't know that you'll get all the answers you're looking for, but I'll try."

She shrugged, figuring she may as well attempt. Wasn't sure where to start. "I'm not sure the me that's not fighting is that different. Well, I am, but not-" Zoe frowned again. Yeah, she really sucked at this. For someone that thought of herself as honest, it was almost embarrassing how bad she was at being open with people. "I've got a pretty short fuse anyway. And I won't lie, I've done some things I'm not exactly proud of before this. Obviously never melted anyone's face... Listen, is there anything specific you want to know about me? Or do I just, like, ramble until you're happy?"

Allison looked on as Zoe tried to speak. The girl clearly wasn't used to talking about herself. Allison guessed that she wasn't much of a people person. "No, no, sorry, that's not what I meant." Allison shook her head as she spoke. "I don't want to force you to tell me your life story, or anything. especially if you don't want to." Allison spoke tenderly, aware of Zoe's clear short temper. She came her to work things out, and setting her off was the last thing that Allison wanted to do. "I just..." She paused, thinking on her words. "I want to get to know you, slowly.  Maybe we could hang out and talk, or something? I don't want to force anything on you, obviously, and I don't want you to be more open than you want to, but maybe we could be friends?" Allison stared down, kneading her hands as she spoke. "When I say I want to get to know you, I don't mean just having you list off facts about yourself. I want to talk to you, and learn more about you through interacting with you. This is the longest conversation we've ever had, and the second time we've actually spoken to each other, right? We are strangers." She rose her head, looking at Zoe, letting silence hang for a moment. "You know what.? You're definitely a better fighter than me, maybe we could do some training at some point, teach me what you know, make me a little less incompetent, or something." Allison added that last line suddenly, though she felt good suggesting some way to hang out with Zoe.

"So that's it." Ah. Zoe wasn't sure if she'd been hoping she could just answer a couple questions and that would be it. Not that she particularly minded the idea, but it wasn't the easy, immediate solution she'd been hoping for. And there was always the risk of losing it which was just as terrifying as ever. After a moment, she nodded, smiling slightly. "Okay. I think I could deal with that, on one condition. If I tell you I'm having a bad day with the whole stigma thing and I want you to back off, you do it. For your own safety and mine, especially if you actually plan on being friends. That sound fair?"

"Sounds fair." Allison let out a sigh of relief, happy to have established a chance at friendship with Zoe. "I guess we can out some time later this week, or something, maybe? Whenever you want."

"Sometime, anyway. I'm kinda trying to figure some things out this week for, uh, obvious reasons." Zoe paused, still conflicted. Turning down a chance at friendship seemed like it'd raise more questions than answers, but she couldn't help worrying about her own control. Had to be cautious about this. "Pretty sure I might need to go into town and get stuff at some point, so I can tell you whenever I decide to do that." Town was safer. There were people there, enough that she'd be stopped quick if she lost it. But until Zoe was sure of herself, she didn't want to risk it quite yet.

"Alright, sounds good." The room returned to silence, and Allison made a half-hearted attempt to fill it. "Well... anything else you want you talk about?"

"I was going to offer you some advice. About the fights." Zoe paused for a second, before continuing. "It's gonna sound like stuff I need to learn for myself, too, but there's some subtle differences. I'd wait, but you never know when we're gonna get dragged out again. Shouldn't take long." She looked straight at Allison, appearing confident for the first time since entering the room as she tried to gauge whether the other girl was willing to listen.

"I definitely need some advice. Advise away." Allison leaned forward, listening intently.

"At the start of both fights you've not really been doing much. You look around the battlefield, see everything that's going wrong, and it seems like you're not sure what to do. Experience fighting should help with that, but you could stand to keep it simple." Zoe sounded matter-of-fact as she spoke, although most of it was only based on what little she'd seen of the girl. Two fights didn't make a strong base for any argument, really, so there was a pretty good chance she'd be completely off the mark.

"Don't try to sort out everything at once, you won't get anywhere. One thing at a time. Be aware of what's going on around you obviously, but focus on doing your job properly first. Better to do one thing well than to try and do ten and fail every one of them. Make sense so far?" From what Zoe had seen, Allison took a while to do anything in their fights - most of this was based off of the first one. She'd had a lot of time to actually think about what went on out there.

"Yea." Allison kept listening. She didn't have any reason to interject, and was enthralled by Zoe's advice so far.

"Second thing. Stop running off alone. In the first fight, you ran off and almost got eaten - which isn't fun, speaking from experience - and from what I saw on the video of the second fight, you jumped down by yourself at two people whose powers you didn't even know. If that was a real fight, you would've gotten yourself killed." It took a lot of effort for Zoe to try and be civil about this kind of thing. Just had to think about it a little more. Seeing how close the others came to getting hurt frustrated her, knowing that there wasn't much she could do about it.

"You're reckless. I get that it sucks feeling like you can't do anything, but the solution isn't to give up on self-preservation just to try and make a difference. Again, it's a case of actually thinking things through. Your ability can be useful without throwing your life away." Zoe was aware that this all made her sound like a massive hypocrite, but she ignored it. Wasn't quite the same situation anyway. "That's all I've got for now. Any questions?"

"No. You have some good points there." Zoe was right, and her advice definitely made Allison think. Allison had been reckless in those fights, and in her attempts to do something, she ended up nearly getting herself killed. She acted in the same pattern, standing around panicking, and then almost dying trying to actually do something.  

Though she tried to focus on the advice, Allison's mind suddenly began to drift to the items she had left on the desk.

"Thanks for the advice, really. Though, I've got some things I need to get back to." Allison stood up, slowly moving towards the door. "Talk more later?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll leave you to it for now." Zoe grinned, standing and turning to walk out of the door. As she opened the door to leave, she glanced back. "Thanks for hearing me out, by the way. I didn't really expect it."

With that, Zoe walked out, her smile fading as she headed back to her own dorm. For now she still had to be careful, and there were too many things she didn't understand about herself. But if nothing else, at least that had gone a lot better than she'd hoped.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

761 posts

in 3943 days

Seen 3 yrs ago

Bio

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕤   / /   @RedDusk@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤   / /  ~𝟚𝟚𝟚𝟘

Christmas sat on a bench outside the student center building, shivering in the frosty weather. The extra towels given to him earlier were now wrapped around his shoulders in imitation of a jacket. His second set of clothes were piled in a heap on his lap in a further attempt to keep warm. The pocket knife was still folded in his right hand.

He couldn't go back to the suite. That one decision wrapped around itself and spun endlessly in the white noise of his mind, collecting and devouring the flecks of conscious thought around it like a black hole. He had been staring at the ground ever since Fredric had hastily sent everyone away. Some commotion and a screaming cuff alarm. The woman--Daisy--had been screaming as well, but he hadn't pulled himself together enough to piece any of the information into the proper logical connections. He had just walked away as the soldiers commanded, letting the blank sounds of meaningless thoughts consume him.

Ground. Ground. Floor. Floor. Walk. Walk. Walk. Floor. Floor. Ground.

Easy to not think. So easy. Like running into his mind and never coming back.

Time didn't seem to register properly to him, and for hours he had sat and watched the ground, ground, ground, waiting for a directive from his own mind.

By the time curfew came around, he had still only found the one thought--the one aversion to returning that he now clung to in the crumbs of his stalled awareness.

A guard came up to him, announcing something loudly, but he couldn't put the sounds together into any meaningful pattern. His head nearly ached every time he tried. Easy not to think. The man wasn't saying any of the words looping in his mind--ground, ground, ground--and he looked at the gray sleeve of the guard's uniform, expressionless. Just sounds and more sounds and he couldn't understand, but the sounds kept coming and increasing in volume.

"--back to--suite!"

But he was missing so many pieces because he had dropped them and he thought they were right there but they weren't and he had blinked and now he didn't know where they were and he was scared but he wasn't even there to be scared and--just gray--can't, gray--go back, gray.

The sounds were quieter now. Not directed at him. Something in the man's hand and he was still watching the gray gray gray.

A heavy hand pulled him to his feet (but he couldn't find the thought that matched the feeling of not--...not--not...?)--and the guard dragged him along the ground, ground, ground--walk walk walk. The building loomed before him, brightly lit in the night, and even then he still wanted to confirm the ground was the ground.

Glass doors parted and a sheet of white fluttered in front of him. Not a sheet; not a sheet. Coat. Coat. White. Coat.

His brows furrowed briefly in confusion as they pulled him along more ground and into a room with a simple, white bed, an empty, metal pole and unfamiliar machines. No, not unfamiliar. He was in a room. In a place. In a somewhere--but it was easy to not think. His head throbbed as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, flittering thoughts firing off weakly in response. But the static that was all he could make of himself drew the smallest particles of reason back together, and it was hard and his head ached but he was trying to be here.

Hospital.

Sander turned his head when the scent hit him. Only darkness in that direction, blurry outlines of trees and buildings loomed for as far as his eyes could see. But he knew. He didn’t really need eyes to tell that it was Christmas. The boy was moving. Somewhere. But not in the right direction. Not the direction Sander hoped he would. His steps faltered briefly, the memories of their last interactions suddenly at the front of his mind. He worked through them carefully in his mind, but he stayed on his course. 

There was little he could do. 
 
It was not his place. Never was. 
 
After parting ways with his would-be sparring partner, Sander returned to his suite, the vivid images of shaky shoulders and pale hand reaching for a knife played on the repeat in his head. They reminded him of incompetence and helplessness, and his haggard mind was far too weak to keep them at bay. He tasted anger, raising from somewhere deep in his chest, but it was the rage of the defeated. Its teeth were turned inward. There was fear too, in there somewhere, but with his Stigma brought so low, anger prevailed. Its battering force crashed into his thoughts like waves, suggesting, no, demanding action. 

Do something.
 
He was so tired. He just wanted to drown them all.
 
The first thing he did as soon as he got back was grabbing the red canister from the fridge. It was cold in his hands, the lazy sloshing promised relief, and his heart fluttered in anticipation as he searched through the duffle bag for the bundle of straws. He just needed a little bit. He needed to drown out the noises. Just as he was heading into the bathroom, canister and straw in hand, he caught sight of Christmas’ Vita again. It sat alone in the middle of the unmade bed, and somehow, the sight only spurred Sander deeper into his empty rage. 
 
He was alone, a fresh patch of gauze on the inside of his arm. 
 
They were both blond. That was where the similarities ended. Yet his feelings were the same. 
 
They were both wasted on him. 
 
Sander released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He couldn’t let it happen again.  
 
But how? 
 
By the time Sander had gathered up a bag of his personal effects and made it through the front door of his suite, he still didn’t have an answer. That was nothing new. But at least, he was doing something. 
 
So he forced himself to walk. He remembered the way to the hospital, and once he arrived, he let the scent lead. It didn’t take long for him to find the room. He stopped himself just at the doorway, trying to calm his ragged breaths. A flurry of people in white coats were just leaving. He stepped aside, watching them just as they watched him. One of them eyed him and pulled out a phone, messaging someone on the other end. Several seconds of staring passed with eyes looking between the phone and him. After a momentary blink of surprise at some unknown response, they finally walked away, shooting him wary glances. But they didn’t give him any trouble, so he tried not to overthink too much. The scent told him there was no bleeding. 
 
Christmas was sitting on the white hospital bed, bandaged hand at his side. On his other hand was the knife. Sander spent the first moments just watching the blond boy, noting the movements of his chest and sorting out his thoughts. 
 
Another ghost. No. Alive. For now.
 
Sander gritted his teeth, forced his heavy legs to move, taking him to the nearest table, where he could drop off the bundle in his arms: the red canister, a balled-up shirt and a small zip up bag. He then reached into his pocket for the black Vita. The device felt heavy in his hand as he placed it on Christmas' lap, where he hoped the blond boy’s gaze would catch. 

Christmas had been watching the knife in his hand, eyes running back and forth along the length of the black, palm-contoured grip. Choices. The word jittered in his mind with every repeat, and he found it a little more effective in pulling the static back together into more elastic thoughts. Far and stretched thin, but palpable. As much as the knife in his hand. The white coats and sounds had been there for some time, but he hadn't been counting the seconds or the minutes.

When several more lengths of rubbery thoughts had condensed enough for him to really feel the cold on his skin and remember that it was cold, the loud, white coats had left. He thought he heard more quiet noises, but not sounds. Not blurry words he couldn't put together. Still waiting for a directive from a him that was only barely here.

His Vita slid into view. And so did a bit more of him. A current in the static. A thought discharged.

I'm here.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Squeezed his eyes shut again and held that darkness for as long as he dared. 

I'm here.

When he opened them, he felt the console's steady weight against his leg and his shivering hand trailed across it, touch as faint as his mental presence.

I'm here.

His roommate barely responded, which only tightened the knot in Sander’s stomach. Another ghost. But he was fine. He looked fine. He should be fine. But the blond boy really wasn’t. Cold dread crawled up his back as Sander stood there, stiff words stuck in his throat. His rage failed him then. For all its roaring fervor, it didn't offer an answer. Just a chance at the solution. A chance that wasn't sure he wanted to take. 
 
The silence dragged on, until Sander turned around and grabbed the chair. He moved it to the other end of the room, then returned to the desk for the canister and straw. He wanted to leave the room, but he didn’t want to leave the blond boy alone. He couldn't fall asleep on his feet either, which he likely would, if this kept up. He had to do this. It would only take a while. Christmas didn’t seem like he was watching, and he knew they were. They would stop him, should anything happened. 

It was easier this way too. When he narrowed his choice down to just one, it was easy to go through with it. Easy to pretend that he never had a choice to begin with.
 
The canister opened with a quiet pop, and he stuck the straw in. There was no hesitation this time. 
 
The water rose to meet him, its embrace soft and forgiving. He was warm again.  

Christmas squinted at the Vita, the slow, unsteady slide of his hand across the black screen stopping at the presence of more noises. His brow creased in thought. Trying to find the rest of him. Bring it all back to here.

Blinking forced his eyes to push sight through the fuzz of noise and dust in his mind as he broke his own habitual attempts to stare and fade away again. Why was he here? Finally a question. Finally another conscious thought. And he sucked in a sudden breath when his body shook a fraction of that daze away.

The clatter of aluminum on the hard floor shattered the bulwark of breathing and blinking that threatened to lull him back into his stupor. He stared dumbly at the rolling cylinder, watching as its travel stopped at the closed, wooden door. Of the hospital room. That he was in.

A seated figure in the corner of his vision jumpstarted his heart when his mind finally drove the image home. Sparks and small currents before. Now an electric burst. 

Christmas jerked forward, breathing rapidly, his stare not quite focused on the floor for several seconds before he turned a fearful gaze towards the person in the corner, eyes tracking a scattered, automatic pattern across the pale, lanky figure hunched over on a chair, elbows braced against his knees while tapered fingers clasped together in front of a downturned head. He was slow to find his reactions, even slower to find thoughts to link together. So he just let his eyes roam, taking in details and turning them over and over in his head while he waited for more of himself to draw back together.

Simple, white sneakers almost lost in the color of the flooring, toned calves taut with tension and nearly as white, darkened only by a thin smattering of faded brown hair. Black shorts contrasted with the figure's light complexion, paired with a white tank top underneath an open, blue hoodie that was the only significant color on the ensemble of monochrome. He blinked again, staring now at the head of carefully layered hair, brown tips thinning past the ears and angled fringe just long and uneven enough to look messy without seeming slovenly. He almost missed it at first in the fluorescent light glancing off the dark hazelnut strands, but there was another shade in there. Sandy blond, an uneven patch of it around the clockwise whorl of the figure's hair, spreading from the roots.

Sandy blond. An intellection followed, crinkling on the elastic strands of his thoughts. Sandy. Sandy. No. Another syllable.

"Sander." The humming of the heater pushing warm air through the ceiling vents nearly drowned out the name.

Someone called his name. It was barely above a breath, but Sander heard it, loud and clear. 
 
He lifted his head, a slight movement, but it was the biggest he dared to make. He didn’t have too much. Just enough to keep him from wanting more, to melt away the edge of his thoughts, but far too little to replace said thoughts with the illusion of freedom. Once again, he fought the urge to move. Not yet. From the other side of the room, faint blue eyes stared back at him. Sander just watched, his gaze fell slowly, first at the white expanse of skin just above the collar then to the neatly bandaged hand.
 
Golden hair, matted. Red. So red. 
 
She smelled like lavender. Not the twisted scent. That was his, and his alone.
 
Sander kept his breaths slow and deliberate. He counted a few, before he forgot and found himself looking at the gauze again. Not good. He didn’t stop, though. Couldn't. But at least that was all he did. 

The fire climbed higher, its beats rattled his ribcage. He slipped off the hoodie, letting it fall to the floor. He wasn’t cold anymore. Staying still felt like holding his breath; his lungs was burning up and his fingers twitched. Resolve straining.

“You are not okay.” -He broke the silence before he could remember why doing so was a bad idea. But spoken words were not meant to be taken back. He let them hang. 

The words were slow to glue themselves together and Christmas felt like he was failing again at those elementary school art projects, doing his best to slap the pieces in the right places. But they linked together. It took a long silence and a lot of glue, but they linked as his eyes trailed over the heap of blue on the ground.

"Ah--" the noise came out on reflex, but he had to remember what words were supposed to be there in the missing blanks. I'm here. I'm here.

"--I'm sorry."

“Tell me I am wrong.” -The words mimicked his breathing, slow, but forced and heavy. Sander hold onto the steady rhythm; his fingers bone white as they entwined. 
 
“Please.” -He added, a few seconds too late. The politeness felt tackled on now, a half-hearted afterthought. 

A little faster now. Putting things together. Still too much glue and the shapes were off the lines, but no one was correcting him here. Christmas obeyed the command easily, though another mismatched feeling simmered with a word he couldn't place.

"You're wrong," he replied automatically, whispers from his mouth and confusion on his face as he looked down at the Vita and the knife. Choices that didn't matter and choices that did. I'm here.

“But I am not.” -Sander’s hands came apart, one reached up to claw at the thin fabric around his torso. The heat was persistent, but he had to stay put. He fought it, his wavering will against the scorching flame –“Tell me the truth.”

He didn't know how. Christmas pressed "truth" against several shapes, trying to find one that would fit his mouth. His breath. His nerve. He settled for the truth still lingering in the room.

"I'm..." 

The words "not" and "okay" had never come together before and he didn't have shapes to place the letters. But "not" and something else always did.

"...not nice."

The tips of his fingers dug into the flesh, but blood and cloth dulled the pain. Sander focused on the sensation instead, putting more strength behind his hand, like he was trying to pry open his own ribcage and snuff the rising flame –“You are.” -He mumbled, suddenly too soft. So he repeated it, louder this time around –“You are.” 
 
“They say…I am the same thing…as this.” -His speech began to come apart, distorting as his thoughts scattered and dove into that place of red, red, and stained gold, slick and shiny. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eye shut for a moment. 
 
Focus.
 
“You never…like her. Like Callan.” -He forced his eyes open, because he must. He didn’t think he could stand the sight of matted golden hair again, so he had to keep watch. But it was hard. His fear was dull thing now –“That’s why…you are wrong.”  

Christmas didn't recognize the name, but the fragments of Sander's thoughts filled in the spaces between his own. He glued over the shapes with his mismatched words, trying to fit them inside the lines as much as he could. He had always been terrible at it. I'm here. His injured hand covered his eyes, the movement bringing the neat bandages between them.

"...I'm not nice," he repeated softly, peering through the gaps in his fingers at the predatory red irises that gleamed back at him. "...I'm the same thing." He pried the words from Sander and fit them to himself.

Sander shook his head, the action so controlled and rigid it seemed more like a twitch –“You are. To me. That’s enough.”- He kept the words curt this time, so they wouldn’t break –“I won’t…lose again.”
 
The ache of old wounds. Golden strands of lavender. Tainted. Like his dream. The dream he chose. 
 
This was what he chose.
 
“No.”-He grunted, the words tumbling out. There was a note of desperation in them –“I’m trying. I’m not…letting go. Don’t go.” 

The bandaged hand fell to his mouth as he watched Sander talk at something or someone else. And he already knew Sander would hear him over the attempt to stymie quiet words, the ones he didn't need to prepare.

"I'm here."

“No.” -Sander mumbled, rising from his chair. Which he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but his resolve was slipping –“…you are not.” 
 
He crossed the room in barely two strides. Standing at his full height, he loomed over the blond boy, his breathing finally matched his pounding heart –“Don’t leave.”
 
“I don’t know how…” –His burning gaze dropped to the black knife, to the bandaged hand, then back to knife again –“…when you do this.”

Christmas followed the gaze to the folded knife in his right hand. Choices. He had never made good ones. Not with his family, not with Alvin. But they were still his choices. And he had heard the desperation. Sander was trying. It had taken him 18 years to even begin trying, and here he sat with his indecision despite all the bravado that had moved his footsteps beyond the threshold of his bedroom door that August evening.

It would be easier not to think. And he was sure the rest of that static untouched by the elastic, uncatchable even with the glue, would have chosen for him one more round of misery if it had put itself together in time. But he was here and it had taken him 18 years to realize he had choices beyond a rock and a hard place.

He held the folded knife up to Sander in an open hand, without insistence.

"I'm here," he repeated, standing his ground, perhaps for once in his life.

Sander looked at the offering hand, red eyes searching for something. A gleam of a blade, perhaps? Pain? Fire? Was he waiting for a piece of memory to come back to life? Did he want it to? 
 
No. The answer was no. He was here to make sure of that. He had to remember. 
 
Sander reached out, catching both the knife and the hand, but his grip was far laxer than what he was capable of. Christmas’ hand felt cold in his –“You scare me.” -He said, forming the words clearly this time. But the flesh felt real enough. He wanted to be convinced –“I don’t know how to fix that.”

The predator towering over him was afraid of a coward who had chosen to run from every successive wrong in his life, until he had chosen to run from all of that as well.

Christmas looked up at Sander's face, at the eyes brimming with the promise of death. Scared of him. The brute strength on the cameras flickered through a weak line into the forefront of his mind and the cowering boy in the sewers on the screen beside it. Scared of the boy who still cried over nightmares. If he had been all there, he wondered if he would feel proud of that. Pride at a slant. Like petty retaliation for stepping over his bad choices in the security room.

So he was glad to be fragmented here, where his mind was half-missing and in just the right parts that he couldn't tie his own tongue all the way back to his thoughts. Messy words glued onto his mouth and they barely connected, but he decided that was okay. Whatever he was right now, fragile and nascent, it was still more than the sum of his patchwork parts.

"You don't have to," he held Sander's stare. "I'm not nice," he said for a third time, and something caught on the lines, "but I want to be. ...Not strong. ...And want to be." He looked at Sander's hand, feeling now the unnatural body heat. One more grain of static drawing back in, but he put it closer to the right place this time. "I'm trying, too." Blurry letters fell off the end, and he squinted like he could make them out. But the two unspoken words scattered back into static before he could even pull them into focus.

Sander blinked, the flurry of words settled into his muddled mind. Everything was crisp and clear, whirling in slow motion, like looking through a magnifying glass. But that was all he could do: looking. He didn’t really see. He was missing the big picture. 
 
“I…can’t.” -He mumbled, and it would have sounded almost apologetic, had the line of his jaws softer and the look in his eyes milder. His grip alternated between steel and silk, pulsing with the same rhythm of the silent war in his veins. Blue eyes drew him, and he was leaning in, tethering on the brink before he caught himself –“Yours.” -He pushed the knife toward Christmas, the decision breathy on his lips. Then he plucked the knife from the blond boy’s hand –“…But…later.” 

Christmas didn't know if he could find this part of himself later. Would the static sea coalesce and bury this again? Moments of clarity that had taken him his entire short lifetime to find, drowning in specks of thoughts he had and didn't want, actions he wished for but never performed, dreams he saw but closed his eyes to.

But right now he was here and he hadn't left everything behind to keep drowning. Sander's grip caught and released his hand and the knife to a laborious rhythm. Struggling. And Christmas didn't need to know the what for when he understood the trying. The scarlet eyes were closer now, shining in front of him and promising death like that day on the battlefield. He had thought this at first. And it was still true. But he was casting his hopes on the strength behind it. The Sander that was trying as much as he was.

"Promise." A lifeline.

"Later. I promise." -Sander nodded, almost too eager, ready to move on from the decision before he had a chance to regret. Before the liquid courage faded. But the uncertainty was still there -"But...don't go." -He repeated. A few more time, and it might as well be a prayer. Maybe later, when he was more lucid, the comparison would be a twisted sort of irony. Prayers were for the hopeful. He didn't know hope. Hadn't known that for a while. It made sense, sometimes, to question what he was really holding onto all this time. But the blood high didn’t let his thoughts branch out enough to really matter. Another small mercy that he didn’t always feel thankful for.  

Who the command was directed at didn't fully matter to Christmas. It would have under any other circumstances--under any other collection of himself that didn't really fit together. But he had always tried cramming every single piece into the same here, even when it strained everything else. He was missing just the right mistakes in this moment, and it nearly scared him how well everything else could align.

Smoothed down. And everything that worked was compelling and clear. Here.

Except for one thing. And he knew better--just for now, just for now, but it would be enough to part the sea when later came--than to ignore insurance against himself.

He had read in a visual novel at one point that the mind finalized decisions in electrical signals before even the conscious thoughts processed them. How accurate a video game could be about neurobiology, he wasn't sure, but he believed it now. 

Because he hadn't fully realized his right hand had already pulled the ribbon free from his hair.

The cornflower blue strip of fabric--nicked and bloodstained from the first day's battle--was several shades lighter than the heap of blue jacket on the floor, and he looped a loose ring of it thrice around Sander's left wrist, eyes straying to the folded knife clutched in his roommate's left hand.

"I'm here," he hooked a finger into the loops and tugged once. Weak. But he was here. A here in case he faltered at later because Christmas knew his pieces. (Just for now, just for now. But maybe it was enough.) Knew himself. "Are you?"

Sander took his time just staring at the blue ribbon around his left wrist, noting every nick and every stain on the fabric. It felt so light, the touch barely there, and he didn’t dare to move, even after Christmas had withdrawn his hand, afraid of tearing the flimsy ribbon apart. He briefly wondered what it meant, but the blood high had other agenda. His chest constricted, a firm reminder that his borrowed strength was running out, and it wanted its due. Soon. His breath hitched, filling his lungs with the coffee scent, and the thrumming in his head suddenly grew loud. He leaned further in, one knee bracing on mattress. 
 
But his hands remained stiff and unmoving. He gripped the knife hard, no flesh in the way this time.
 
“I want to be.” -He whispered his answer, but red eyes had begun to grow glassy and unfocused –“I—I think I can. I am more than…this.” -More and more, it felt like he was trying to convince himself. He might as well be. Who else would?

Sander wanted to be. Just like he wanted to be.

Christmas stared back at the fading gaze, no longer as sharp as the eyes just several minutes ago. Fuzzy at the edges and he wondered if Sander broke apart into static sometimes, too.

"I believe you."

Sander blinked slowly, trying to clear the blur at the edge of his vision. The scent drew him in further still, and he felt himself obliging. A tiny part of his mind told him he shouldn’t. Was he more than just this? 
 
“Thanks.” -He was vaguely aware of his mouth moving, forming the words. Suddenly, the white of his roommate’s shirt was so close. It was rushing up to meet him. He turned his head at the last minute, letting the side of his head take the impact, jaws clenched shut. The coffee scent was overwhelming now, but he spent all his shattered resolve on forcing his limbs to stay still. It wasn’t too hard, fortunately, since they already felt leaden to begin with. Black spots danced in front of him, and he could focus on nothing but the fading light reflecting off the white walls across the room.  
 
He had to keep an eye on Christmas. But maybe…he could rest for a little bit. Just a few minutes.
 
His eyes drifted shut, the warmth beneath lulled him further into unconsciousness. 

The weight on Christmas’s body was heavy, the pressure familiar, even if the faint, sweet-and-sour scent of green apple shampoo was all wrong (Alvin was tea tree mint). The distinct pressure of bony ribs on his chest was all wrong (Alvin was steady muscle). The rapid heartbeat slowing down gradually was all wrong (Alvin was measured and even—always). The heady body heat was all wrong (Alvin was colder).

Because it was Sander. 

Who didn't know him and still brought his Vita to the hospital. Who didn't know him but still didn't leave him alone.

For a cowardly boy named Christmas who could only hold on to every piece of himself because he had too little to lose and everything to want, what was he most afraid to let go of? Could he? He didn't know yet. Lily was right. He was bad at letting go. How does a coward survive, after all? Selfishly.

And that wasn't "good" or "nice." But here he was and here Sander was and he didn't know what he could and couldn't let go of yet--but he would try.

Sander’s slow breaths wisped across his throat and collarbone with every exhale and Christmas watched the ceiling without moving a muscle, mind ticking slowly through the haze of static as he noted uselessly the Vita Sander had brought (again) fallen to the side, the knife beneath Sander’s loose grip, the ribbon still wrapped around Sander’s wrist, the bandaged left hand caught between Sander’s stomach and his, the two pairs of legs hanging past the bed at the knees, and the solid, unbearably human presence of someone with him.

In all of it, he just hadn’t wanted to be alone. 

But he had never once asked properly.

Uneven breaths as he rested his right hand over Sander's bare arm fallen across the length of his torso. Minutes that he didn't count ticking by. Tears down the side of his face and the missing words from before finally falling into place with the parts of him that remembered exhaustion and every tattered remnant of the day’s weariness.

Help me, he mouthed to the fluorescent lights above as unrelenting fatigue pulled him away from the shallows of his consciousness.

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ   / /  ~𝟙𝟙𝟘𝟘

He was down at the riptide again. 
 
The dark water danced around in his peripheral vision, every twist and turn a beckoning. A promise of power and freedom. One he had believed. One he would, all over again. 
 
The tyrant wave coiled, but it didn’t close in. Something was holding it back, something as strong as the beyond. He cranked his head to look, but there were things that the eyes couldn’t comprehend. He wanted to scream. He wanted to claw down the walls, to drown in the crazed currents. To pry the truth of its empty promises. There was nothing he could do but want, in this world of dreams where he was stripped down to just fear and hate and raw, aching desires. 
 
The sparks reached him. Just scraps of power; pale, pitiful shadow compared to what he could have had. But he lapped it all up. He took it all. It was all he had left. All that he could rightfully call his.
 
“…I’d still take it.” 
 
But it didn’t have to be all he was.
 
Sander couldn’t remember the last time he woke up to the smell of coffee. The containment chambers had always been cold and sterile and hard. Never this soft. Never this…warm? 
 
Strange. It was warm beneath him, across the side of his face, along his bare arm and through thin fabric around his torso. Softness pressed against his chest. It shouldn’t. He remembered this warmth, and it shouldn’t be here. He opened his eyes, blinking into the white of a t-shirt. Not his. 
 
A heartbeat. 
 
Sander pushed himself up on his arms. Everything came into focus.
 
Another. 
 
“Shit.” -The curse word fell from his tongue, hushed, almost foreign in its disuse. He straightened himself up from his awkward position, stumbling a few steps back as his body adjusted. 
 
Last night came crashing back into his mind like icy waves. He remembered half-spoken words and steady gaze. Promises so soft he strained to catch through the haze of the blood high. His eyes fell to the blue ribbon looped loosely around his left wrist. Oh. A promise. But what was he promising? Was it even him? There was a later, but not his. Or was it? He frowned at the fragmented memories, shaking them from his mind. The pieces were too shattered for him to even consider sorting them out. He wouldn’t. All he needed to know was that he promised. And he always kept his word. 
 
His gaze turned to Christmas’ sleeping form; the blond boy still sprawled out uncomfortably on the hospital bed, legs still hanging off the mattress at the knees. Last night nagged at his thoughts again, prompting him to sniff the air gingerly. No blood. No more than usual. Which meant nothing happened. He let himself relax slightly, the tension slowly eased out of his shoulders as he drew closer, hooking an arm underneath the crooks of Christmas’ legs to move him into a more comfortable position. The crumpled sheet beneath the boy drew his attention, but he didn’t want to risk waking his roommate. His eyes flitted around the room, and he caught sight of the balled-up shirt from last night. He grabbed the T-shirt off the desk, a slight look of hesitation passed through his features before he decided to walk over and used the shirt as a make-shift blanket for Christmas. The shirt covered all of the smaller boy’s torso, so he figured it would do for now. With that done, Sander began to retrieve his things from the room in silence, including the empty canister on the floor. Only then did he notice the pocket knife still on the bed. Grabbing both the weapon and the black Vita, he placed them on the desk, before heading out back to the suite.
 
It was already late morning when Sander finally made it back. His neck ached if he just so much turned a little to the side, courtesy of last night’s awkward position, but the spring in his steps was still quite apparent. It hadn’t changed that much, if he were being honest with himself. There was still a lot to think about. A lot to do, and a whole lot of fixing, but he felt like he had finally made some sustainable progress for the first time in years. Small mercy. He would take that. 
 
As the door closed softly behind him, Sander made a beeline for his bed, started digging through his duffle bag for fresh clothes. 

As the door to her dorm opened Kusari flinched. Her backside scooted on her bed towards the wall as she quickly hid her sketchbook behind her. She had no idea how it came back, all she knew was that it was stained with blood, and that someone had left a note for her inside. the note confused her, it was a message of gratitude, but for what? Did they enjoy her drawings that much? Perish the thought, she forced the topic out of her mind, and focused instead on the boy that had just walked in.

She watched as Sander walked towards his bed, not word spoken. He looked more cheerful than usual, which wasn't saying much, but still. "Sander." She stood from her bed, and glared at him. "You didn't come back last night, Where were you?" She asked, her tone oddly neutral. She looked up for a moment, as if contemplating something. "Nevermind, I doubt it matters. What I do want to know, is if you actually agreed to fight Callan. 

“Kusari. Morning.” -Sander spoke, mildly surprised. It seemed as if he noticed just now. A weak smile stretched his lips and Sander straightened up, a guarded look in his eyes as he subtly glanced over her monster limbs. The answer for her previous question was already on his lips, but seeing as how she wasn’t interested in pursuing that particular topic, he let it go and moved onto the new line of questioning –“Callan as—Yes. Yes I did.” -He cut his own words short, deciding to keep them curt. 

Kusari stared at Sander. Her crimson eyes hardly blinking. "Oh?" She slowly walked towards him, not entirely sure what she was about to do herself. "Knowing how dangerous it will be, you said yes..." She stopped just a foot away from him. She raised her right hand, and placed the tip of her pointer finger to his neck. With her claws as sharp as they were, she'd only need to gently swipe to cut open his throat. "If she ends up seriously hurt, I am going to return every injury on her body tenfold to you." She lowered her hand. "Understand?"

“Uh.” -Sander blinked, eyes flitting between the clawed arm and his roommate’s red irises. He took a step back –“Yeah…I don’t want Callan getting hurt too.”

"You can say that now, but can you say that while you're high on blood? You are a totally different person when you drink it."

“I’m trying.” -Sander furrowed his brows, tone uncharacteristically defensive –“And I’m getting better.”

"Are you now?" Kusari huffed, slightly amused. "Well that would make one of us, if it's true. She waved her right hand, wiggling her clawed fingers. She turned around, and headed for the door. "I'm going to get something to eat. Remember what I said, I'll be watching." She said, exiting the room.
 
Sander let out a heavy sigh, the bathroom door behind him closing a touch too loud. He swallowed the black rage that threatened to overtake his mind. He was more than this. He was trying. Was that enough? They couldn’t see past the things he couldn’t help and he—no, he couldn’t really blame them for that. He really couldn’t. He stared at the ribbon in his hand. At least he was getting better. He could be better. 
 
He made a promise. Which he would break, like everything else. 
 
Sander threw his head back against the door, hitting the hard material with a dull thud. He got better. The ocean finally gave something he could work with, this time. He would not fail her. He would not fail Callan. He looked back at the ribbon again. Here. 
 
The morning routine’s steady rhythm calmed the sparks that threatened to combust in his head. By the time he finished with the shower and changed into an outfit that he wouldn’t miss, Sander slipped on the pair of white sneakers from the other night and headed out, pondering his schedule for the day as he fumbled with the clumsy knot around his left wrist. He had thought to tie it like shoelaces at first…but he didn’t think that was how ribbons were supposed to be tied. She had never shown him how to tie a ribbon before. Frustrated, he tugged on a strand, tightening the knot into an unsightly clump. It was stuck now. He frowned deeply, tucking the knot under the sleeve of his sweater. 
 
His next stop was the cafeteria. He didn’t eat breakfast as a habit, but it was quite late now, so he supposed he should get some food anyhow. His thoughts went to Christmas, and he wondered if he should check back to see if his roommate had awakened yet. Food first, but then he remembered Kusari’s words. He thought he could do without his other roommate’s presence at this time. So he made up his mind and grabbed a sandwich for himself, along with a hefty stack of pancake. His gaze lingered on the beverage display, picking out the heady scent of coffee. But he didn’t need it. He didn’t really need it. 
 
Drink up. 
 
He hastily gathered the two boxes into his arms and made a beeline for the hospital. 
 
Christmas was still sleeping by the time Sander returned. He decided to leave his roommate be, grabbing the sandwich so his stomach would stop bothering him. The blue ribbon dropped down on his sleeve when he did though, and Sander hesitated. He placed the food item down, before starting to fiddle with the stubborn strand of fabric some more.  

Help me.

The storm above had ebbed. Still present, but now laced with sky like thick swaths of thunderclouds woven with fine threads of golden orange twilight. It was a blanket over the field of parched yellow, and dampened the ferocity of the wind. The long stalks of grass were no longer pressing him into the earth below and Christmas took his breaths one at a time, pushing himself into an awkward seat and bracing his arms against the dry, crumbling dirt beneath. More breaths and he was standing, gripping the frame of the rusty swing set for balance.

The dirt and grass shifted against the soles of his bare feet, sometimes caressing, sometimes prickling, but always there. Firm ground under him, but he had needed to step down first.

The swing he had been sitting on was still broken, the rectangular seat dangling vertically at the end of a brittle chain a bit past his head. And...that was okay. Somehow, it was okay. The wind was still strong, though it no longer battered against him and threatened to shove him off his feet.

In the swaying of the grass and the slow creak of the swinging chains, the second seat remained perfectly still. Like it was weighted down by something. If he tilted his head and squinted, Christmas thought he could make out the barest outline of a figure. So faint he could blink and think he had never seen it at all.

He took a step towards it and it became only barely more visible. For a split second, he thought he saw a ribbon on its wrist, but another blink and the faint image was gone again.

It had a ribbon, too. How strange.

He reached for the ribbon on his head, only to find it wasn't there.

Christmas awoke with a start and a gasp, hand against his head as his fingers raked through his hair, looking for his ribbon. It really wasn't there. And that feeling of something different in his power was swirling in the eddies of his mind. The field and the almost invisible figure on the swing shimmered into view against the confusion, but he wasn't interested in that at the moment. 

Where was his ribbon? He always put it on before sleepin--

Oh. 

God.

What. What.

What.

...What.

His mind repeated the word rapid-fire as yesterday night's events rolled back into his head with perfect clarity. Except it was like watching someone almost entirely different processing everything and acting out thoughts he hadn't even realized were his (he couldn't even convince himself it was a dream) and what what what why had he--

I'm an idiot.

But that was nothing new. What was new was his missing ribbon and the large, gray shirt draped carefully across his torso, smelling faintly of cologne: crisp, fresh notes (like a burst of fruit, but just the barest touches--and he couldn't catch it fully but it was strong and bright) with a deeper undertone--subtle wafts of a refined, woody trail and natural, understated sweetness. Raw and noble. So different from the sharp, calculated spice of Alvin's scents (peppermint and eucalyptus, he thought--though he had never asked). The lingering abstractions of the morning comparison flicked at the more concrete memories of recent events, scattering them across his focus again.

What was I even thinkin--

Sander was right there and his whirling mind screeched to a halt, not stopping fast enough because the too vivid recollections of Sander's body heat and soft breaths were battering rams against orderly thoughts, and his hadn't even been organized to begin with. The words collided with his mouth and tumbled out in a mess of sounds as he processed all at once the ribbon around Sander's wrist and the taller boy picking at the knot (definitely not his knot--he didn't tie it yesterday, he remembered--oh, god, he remembered).

"Huh--'m--gh...?"

Sander turned his head at the curious noises, only to find a wide-eyed Christmas staring right back at him. His brows went upward and his fingers halted their futile task, courtesies rolled off his tongue like a startled reflex –“Uh…Morning?” 

"H-huh?" the blond boy stammered back, blinking at the ribbon, blinking at Sander, and then that train wreck of his thoughts again as he tried to think beyond the weight of Sander's body and--wait, did Sander sleep on him? "S-sleep?" he squeaked out about a sixth of the question before he could stop himself. A short, quiet wail followed before he finally remembered that Sander had said something to him. "Huh--uh--m-morning? Morning? It's--it's morning?" The word he finally managed to grasp rotated in and out of the revolving door of his mouth as he sat up and looked around the hospital room, suddenly acutely aware of Sander and trying to think about "morning" and not "last night." The soft, gray shirt falling off his chest and onto his legs did not help that effort.

“Yeah. Morning.” -Sander jerked his head, gesturing at the midday light filtering through the half-opened curtain. He wasn’t sure if this was standard behaviours for the blond boy or not, because honestly, he hadn’t seen it before. He was unsure what to do about, so he decided to just move onto another topic. It worked for him before –“…Sorry about last night. I wasn’t thinking…Did I—Your hand is okay?”

Christmas shook his head rapidly to protest Sander's apology, then nodded to the concern about his hand, trying to figure out what order words were supposed to go in.

"Huh--no, I, uh, no--it's okay. M-my hand," he threw it up like a stiff greeting before dropping it just as rigidly, "s'okay. Uh--s-sorry. I'm sorry."

Sander blinked as he worked through the fragmented speech of his roommate, his right hand absent-mindedly returned to work on the tangled knot on his wrist –“Uh. Okay. You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything.”

"N--" he zeroed in on the ribbon as Sander's hand plucked at it again. Right. He had thought something ridiculous like hopes and leaving them with someone more trustworthy than himself and even knowing that he hadn't quite understood why the Christmas of last night had decided to foist them on Sander. He had barely become acquianted with his roommate, even if they certainly had their fair share of intense conversations in just five days. His mental petrification lasted another few seconds while his brain once again pulled out last night and put it on display. Betting his hopes on a kind stranger, because a part of him gambled with despair and thought it could win.

And no. Here he was, adrift without a guide again.

Of course Sander wanted the ribbon off. Who puts ribbons on people randomly? He did. That's who. Christmas sucked in a deep breath, shunting away the sudden disappointment and melancholy of realizing Sander didn't want the silly thing and focusing on Sander's repeated attempts to pull it off. But he hadn't tied it. He remembered that (Augh). Or maybe he had and didn't remember, but he wouldn't tie it like that. And all of the extraneous thoughts were piling on each other to hide away the distress--he couldn't very well cry after behaving so inconsiderately the night before. The burden of someone else's wishes wasn't Sander's to bear. Obviously, he couldn't and shouldn't have forced them on his roommate who was struggling just as much as he was (he remembered that--he did--and the reminder of that parallel quickened his heartbeat).

But for all his self-distraction, the sight of Sander trying to pull it off was crushing. Like being thrown away.

"...I-I'm sorry," he finished instead, looking at the ribbon nervously. "I can--I can help you take it off. I'm sorry."

Please don't throw it away.

A blip of static. A small correction.

No. This is okay. It's okay.

Sander turned to face Christmas, considering the blond boy’s offer for only a brief second – “Sure.” -He straightened up and quickly made his way toward the bed. His roommate's unusual demeanour still gave him a slight pause, but he just charted it up to a morning thing. It wasn't like he knew Christmas very well. When he was standing right before Christmas, he offered up his left wrist, his fingers still hadn’t made any progress on the failed knot –“I’m just…uh…not sure how to tie it. It’s kinda stuck now.”

"Sor--sorry," Christmas mumbled, hands snatching at the uneven lengths of the two loose strands. The knot was incredibly tight now and Christmas took his time slowly teasing out the twists and turns without further damaging the fabric. The ribbon was sturdy, at least, and the cloth was heavy enough that even the small nicks and cuts could be tugged on safely as long as he did it carefully. 

So he worked at untying it, focusing only on that and not on Sander's hand near his and that faint perfume of Sander's clothes. He didn't think about the shirt now crumpled across his legs, hoping it wasn't Sander's but already certain it was. Didn't think about what he had said and done the night before. And definitely didn't think about Sander lying on top of him, reminding him too much of someone he wasn't sure he missed entirely. But he at least missed--so terribly--that warmth and presence, no matter how intermittent.

No. It's okay. It's okay.

Just the ribbon. And untying it. And then...maybe he'd just hold onto it for a bit. Tying it back into his hair would be strange if he did it immediately, right? Like offering and being rejected and then putting it back in place, still fresh from a mistake. Never made good choices. Apparently never will.

It's okay.

The length of fabric came free, falling off Sander's wrist and into a small pile of stained cornflower blue above the gray of Sander's shirt on his lap.

Christmas hadn't realized he had almost been holding his breath. He let out the stifled air and stared at the strip of blue for a moment before setting it aside. It's okay.

His hands set to neatly folding up the shirt on his lap, instead, the motions quick and easy from habit--though he hadn't developed the habit for himself.

"Um..." he held the square of shirt in his hands without looking up, "is it--this is yours...?"

Sander watched Christmas untwine the ribbon around his wrist with keen interest. However, he grew confused when the blond boy set the strip of fabric aside instead of tying it back on. He held out his left hand for a few moments after that, before letting it drop uselessly to his side with a puzzled expression. Didn’t Christmas give him that ribbon last night? Was he misunderstanding something here? 
 
Had he offended the blond boy in some way? 
 
“Yeah. It’s mine. Thanks.” -Sander frowned as he accepted the folded shirt back from his roommate. He held it in his hands, staring mindlessly at the grey fabric for a few moments before turning back to Christmas. The blond boy was still refusing him eye contact. Sander huffed out a clipped breath, once again feeling out of his depth. Maybe Christmas was just too tired of his ignorance…Or it could have been something far worse. 
 
Stained gold. He closed his hands around a strand. Wrong. Wrong. 
 
Sander pushed the image out of his mind with another quick exhale, before kneeling down before Christmas. He glanced up at the blond boy’s face, seeking eye contact. 
 
“Uh…Are you sure you are fine?” -His left hand reached out again, until he caught himself and braced it against the matress instead –“Did I—Are you hurt anywhere?” 

Christmas had been expecting Sander to leave, or maybe even reprimand him for putting ribbons on wrists that didn't want them. He was under no illusions about his particular preference: it was weird. Even weirder when he considered the circumstances that had led up to the loops of blue around Sander's wrist.

And suddenly pale blue eyes were there in his lowered field of vision, and he couldn't help but look back at them because for a split second he was afraid of cold, blue-gray eyes measuring his worth again. But it wasn't. It wasn't. Sander was still there. It wasn't terse conversations on a bad day and silence in the air while Alvin's cold stare reminded him how insignificant he was. Sander's gaze was gentle and he couldn't hold it for long, so he looked towards the shoulder instead.

The questions caught him off guard. He was never sure if he was fine. He just told himself he was until he thought it was believable. But at least to the second question, he could give an answer.

"N-no," his surprise snuck into the slightly raised voice, unable to fully piece together exactly why Sander seemed concerned. "I'm--you didn't, um--I'm fine." His eyes strayed to Sander's left wrist again, before he fixed them back at Sander's shoulder. "I, uh, I'm sorry about...um..." he looked at the ribbon, curled into overlapping loops on the mattress, "not asking you."

“Asking me about what?” -Sander raised an eyebrow, reaching for the limp ribbon. He looped it around his left wrist again, but didn’t attempt the knot this time around. Instead, he held it up for Christmas –“I would like to keep this, if you don’t—uh, if you haven’t changed your mind. I’m sorry, I just…didn’t know how to tie it.”

The static buzzed in his head again, but this time there was something behind it. Like it was veiling a reason or some part of him that was crowing victory over the depths. Was it okay to be happy?

He didn't move for several seconds, staring at the ribbon on Sander's wrist again like it could, at any moment, disappear. And maybe he was giving Sander a chance to retract that offer. Because he was so used to failure, it felt like success itself was wrong.

"...You--you want to keep it?" he looked back at Sander's face properly, eyes guarded in case he was misunderstanding or had somehow misheard. "But I--I didn't ask if you...if it was okay to--" he reached for the uneven loops tentatively, ready for Sander to move it away at any second. "...Is it okay to?"

“You gave it to me.” -Sander just offered Christmas a smile. It felt natural enough, yet there was a tingle of melancholy in its depth.
 
Friends and family had been a distant memory for him. Ties he loved and lost. Pieces of him they stripped away. It didn’t bother him much; he couldn’t miss what he barely remembered. But even with these fragmented, half-forgotten parts of him, he knew enough to care. He knew enough to hold on to what he could still have, even when the feelings were so foreign he couldn’t even put a name to them. But that was good enough.  

"I would like to keep it." -He continued after a short pause. 

It was a tender smile. A touch of sorrow on the edges. But still comforting. Christmas couldn't remember the last time someone had directed a smile like that at him. He took too long to realize he was smiling back, the expression spreading to his face as well when Sander asked to keep the ribbon. He turned away, coughing quietly and grasping the ribbon's ends, ducking his face to hide happiness because it wasn't normal and he didn't want to show it to anyone--afraid they would judge him for it and take it away.

Sander's wrist was warm where his fingers brushed against it to undo the ribbon and wrap it again properly. He just focused on that heat, letting it blanket all the tiny bursts of emotions that he didn't want to show. The scatters of a smile he was still trying to hide were clearing equally tiny fragments of static fog and he was afraid of the clarity behind it. Strong and bright. Like the sun, but not garishly so. Like the scent of the shirt. Like placing unwavering hopes on kind strangers. He blinked rapidly, mind trailing back to that open field in his dreams and the gentle twilight sun slipping in through gaps in the thunderclouds.

But what if he was still wrong?

A haphazard blur of regrets and anxiety obscured the landscape in his mind and he fixated again on the words he had learned to accept.

I'm okay.

Tie a simple knot first. Loop the ends over the index fingers, then behind and around the next finger. Weave it multiple times over and under the fingers of one hand. Pull the end through. Small loop. Weave one more time. One more loop. Tighten.

The motions were fluid, because he had performed it a thousand times and more.

A ribbon knotted with two bows decorated Sander's wrist and Christmas's fingers lingered a bit on the fabric before he dropped his hands, fiddling with the rough texture of his shorts.

"Thank you," he mumbled to the sheets on the hospital bed.

Sander watched Christmas’ fingers working through the loops, his mind struggled to memorize every twist and turn of the ribbon. When the blond boy was finally done, he offered another smile, but before his mouth could open to form the words ‘Thank you’, Christmas already beat him to it. 
 
“What for? I should be thanking you.” -Sander let out a small huff of laughter, though his gaze remained fixed on the blue strand of fabric –“Thanks.”

Christmas coughed feebly in response, the sound of laughter pleasant in its unexpected appearance. He liked hearing it, even if he couldn't join in.
 
After a few seconds of dissecting the knot with his eyes, Sander eventually reached for it and began to unravel the strand with his right hand. Then he set to work on recreating the knot as much as he could. It didn’t seem that hard, given the similarities between this and some of the shoelace knots he had worked with. However, tying a knot onehandedly had its own difficulties. After a short moment of struggle though, Sander managed, though his knot looked slightly lopsided. He frowned, tugging on it in an attempt at fixing, but it only seemed to make things worse. 
 
“Urgh.” – Sander made a frustrated noise in his throat, once again unwounding the ribbon and trying again. 

"...Um," Christmas watched Sander fight a losing battle with the ribbon, "I..." the words caught in his throat as he wondered if it was okay to interrupt Sander's attempts, "...if--if you want help...?"

“Yeah. I suppose I do.” -Sander let out a soft sigh, once again offering his arm to the blond boy –“Would you mind doing it slower this time?”

He nodded quickly, looking down at the wrist. "S-sorry."

Christmas was careful not to tug too quickly on the ribbon this time, looping the ends slowly over and around his fingers and angling his hands so Sander could see where to pull the loops through and how far before tightening the knot again, leaving behind the bows once more.

He rubbed the end of the ribbon's tail with his thumb and index finger, staring at it in front of him like he had never seen it before. In a way, wrapped around someone else's wrist like this, he really never had.

"Thank you," he whispered to Sander's hand, the words scarcely audible. He let go, hands falling back down to his lap.

Like an eager child, Sander undid the ribbon and tried again. It turned out better this time around, and he spent a few moments just looking at his handiwork with a small smile on his lips. Then his gaze fell on the dark stains on the blue fabric. Oh. Stains. He couldn’t stain this. His fingers froze. He couldn’t wear this. At least not now. Not yet. 
 
Supressing a sigh, he slipped the ribbon off, clutching it tightly in his hand. 

Christmas watched the motions, looking at the pale, slender fingers slowly wrapping the blue cloth around themselves, bending gently to hook a fingertip into a loop and curling inward on a pull. Delicate movements, and at the same time he remembered the iron grip on the battlefield and the feverish grip in the forest. Hands that could do anything. He recalled thinking that of someone else, too, but nudged his thoughts elsewhere, concentrating instead on the ribbon coming loose once more, lost inside Sander's firm grip.

He glanced up briefly, a question ready on his open mouth, but stopped in time and returned his gaze to the hospital bed. Sander wanted to keep it. That was the important thing. It didn't matter if he wore it or not.

“Uh. Christmas. May I?” -Sander suddenly broke the silence. He extended a hand toward the blond boy, palm upward –“…Your hand, I mean.” -He added after a short pause, his mind seemingly just finished processing his own thoughts then.   

His mind blanked out at the request. No static, no dreams. Just a blank.

Christmas extended his unbandaged hand on reflex, mirroring Sander's supine gesture, eyes wide as he finally blinked himself back into proper thoughts. It took a few seconds before he finally nodded, the bobbing of his head faster than he had intended. He had no idea what Sander wanted, but his hand was already held out. Hoping against hope.

Sander moved then, taking Christmas’ hand in his and pulling it toward himself.

Warm. That was the first thing he noticed about Sander's hand. Warm and steady and large enough to envelope his. Stronger. How long had it been since he last felt someone's hand this gently against his? He cherished soft touches and warm fingers, the reminder that he had no one like that here flickering across his face as regret--and something like grief for feelings left behind, however rocky.

With the hand close enough, Sander then proceeded to loop the ribbon around the blond boy’s wrist and tied it the way he had just learnt minutes ago. The knot was still far from perfection, but it looked like it would hold. That was good enough.
 
“Maybe you should keep this safe for me.” -He said, voice sounded almost hesitant in its softness. Like he was afraid of something –“I have…a thing. Later. Might not be good to wear a ribbon there.” 

"A thing?" Christmas repeated before he could stop himself. He shook his head rapidly afterwards, still feeling the lingering warmth of Sander's hand and trying not to lose himself in that comfort. The ribbon looked strange, tied by someone else onto his wrist, and he didn't dare equate that to anything more. "N-no, I'm sorry. I didn't--didn't mean to ask."

“No. It’s fine.” -Sander sighed, turning his head sideway. He stayed silent for a brief moment, the cogs in his mind turned sluggishly as he pondered on his options. Then again, there was no harm in telling Christmas. He didn’t think the blond boy would stop him, unlike his other roommate –“I have a…duel with Callan later.” -Still, he couldn’t help staring at the blond boy’s expression, searching. 

Blinking was the order of the day, because Christmas repeated the action several times at the announcement of a duel. It didn't sound strange to test powers in a practice fight, but it was surprising to be told that someone he relatively knew was going to be participating. Frightening to think of actual powers in a sparring match when all he had seen were powers directed to kill on the news--the ones cornered and shot down after leaving a trail of death in their wake. It wasn't like watching Alan spar with others in the karate classes he had only enrolled for on an off-handed suggestion. This was deadly powers and a deadlier match, even if it was just for training. 

Whoever Sander was fighting had to be strong. Was it a USARILN thing? The information about the "schools" had never gone much into detail--it wasn't advertising to anyone, after all--and he had seen enough on the news to know there were far too many dangers on the horizon for them to not prepare. He had tried to avoid thinking about it, but East's reputation was no secret. Fighting would worm its way into their daily lives sooner or later. The first night's battle and his terror flashed to mind again and Christmas furrowed his brow, worry for the future etched into every line as his body tensed at the memory of glitter and sharp wires. He shuddered briefly, a little glad that he couldn't remember the rest of the battle.

The room of cameras slid into his thoughts next, and he remembered what his role was here in this place where lives only mattered if the Director deemed them important enough. His eyes darted around the room, finding the folded knife on the nearby table, beside his Vita. Choices, and the stormy field had only given him more.

"I--" he stopped, wondering if it sounded pretentious to say what he had originally intended, "Can I...uh...g-good luck with the match." He mumbled, eyes on the bed and hand clutching at the loose end of the ribbon Sander had tied to his wrist. "I...um...I hope you win."

“Strange. I sure don’t.” -Sander grinned this time, though it seemed more like a show of teeth than a display of humour. There was a bitter quality to that forced smile, a touch of anger even, but he didn’t elaborate, ducking his head to look down at the ribbon instead. 

"O-oh," Christmas didn't look up, the too-light tone jarring with the comment and tapping at his instinctive fear. It sounded a bit like Alvin on a bad day. "S-sorry."

Silence stretched out between them afterward, and it was getting to the point of being uncomfortable. Sander’s throat suddenly felt thick, the line of his jaws hardened as his mind went back to the toppled tree that night. She did that just to prove a point. Then why couldn’t he do that too? 
 
Because he chose this.
 
Sander exhaled. That was a pointless question. Feelings he better off without. He shook the thoughts off. 
 
“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything.” -Sander just shrugged, the correction came out casually now that he was far too used to his roommate’s constant apologizes. He didn’t know what for; he never did, but if that was what the blond boy wanted to do, he wouldn’t object –“She will be alright. I will make sure of that.” -He said, clear and certain, as if he was making a promise. 

As selfish as it was, as not nice as it was, Christmas wasn't concerned about someone he didn't really know--knew less than Sander, at least. He worried, but with only a vague name and nothing more, he couldn't find the person behind it to think about. So he focused on what did concern him at the moment.

"W-will you be...?"

Sander stood up, movements loose and relaxed, but he turned his head a touch too hasty, killing any chance for eye contact. Again, he knew the answer for that question. He had felt Callan’s strength first hand, and he knew which point to stop, so that she could overpower him. He did that, and he knew the risks. But it was fine. It was him. He could take this. 
 
“Don’t worry. They won’t let me die.” -He said, shoulders stiff as he walked over to the desk, where two boxes of food were waiting –“Anyway, I brought us some food. Are you hungry?”

"I--um...I am..." Christmas followed Sander's footsteps towards the desk, relieved that his initial fears about Sander's mood were mostly (he hoped) wrong, but concerned all the same. Who were "they"? The people who--bullets were really loud and his ears still remembered the pain of the first day's sounds and the blur of fear and blood afterwards. He stiffened, taking in a deep breath. Didn't trust whoever "they" were. Nowhere really felt safe in this place, and he was only glad that someone like Sander was keeping him company. Somehow always running into him when he didn't really want to be alone. The hospital, the forest, the classroom, and now the hospital again.

"Th-thank you," he whispered to Sander's back, gratitude for more than just the food, but he couldn't put the rest into words properly. Not yet.

Sander took his sandwich and sat down on the chair, leaving the box open in his lap to catch all the crumbs. He worked through his meal slowly, biting into the roll and chewing thoughtfully, occasionally sneaking glances at his roommate. The blond boy seemed quite focused on his food, so Sander didn’t think to strike up a conversation. He just turned his gaze to the window instead, watching the light danced across the clear panes of glass. It reminded him of quiet afternoons and blistering heat, of brick-coloured tracks and aching legs, and suddenly, the taste of corned beef grew thick in his mouth. He hastily choked it down, forcing his gaze down to the vinyl flooring. 
 
He would run later. He felt fine today. Later. 
 
When Sander finally finished with his meal, he rose and put the empty box on the desk, before glancing Christmas’ way. The blond boy seemed fixated on his box for some reason, but he had been behaving normally after last night, so he didn’t see any reason to remain. 
 
Sander casted another glance at the window. Maybe he should go…clear his head. He needed to, before the fight. 
 
“Well, I think I will go now. Rest up.” -He turned then, walking toward the door –“I will see you later, okay?”
 
He barely heard Christmas returning the gesture as the door clicked shut behind him. Jagged thoughts began to fill his head once more, and he could only let out a sigh. 
 
He really needed to run.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

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『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@Baklava
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠   / /  ~𝟙𝟠𝟛𝟘

Callan didn't know what time it was, but it felt like Sander should be here by now. She idly thought back to her broken phone as she crossed her legs and turned, beginning another stretch as she waited. Hopefully Marcus or Siena wouldn't step on any of the sharp pieces. She'd have to request another phone. What was she supposed to do now? Ask Dom for everyone's phone number? Call them up and tell them she isn't dead? No. She should leave it alone. 

What's done is done. Lawrence was right. Calling up all her old friends wouldn't change anything anyway. She should focus on the future. On making friends here and now. On this fight.

She sighed defeatedly. Pulling one leg into her chest, she rested her chin and hands on her knee. What sort of mess would that make for her parents, though? If she called everyone? And, more importantly, why did she care? She threw her head back and groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled her other leg in for a butterfly stretch. It was time to focus on the fight with Sander-- not that she should, but there would be plenty of time to mull over that problem later. Bouncing her legs as she held her feet, Callan opened her amethyst eyes and glanced around the plaza. 

Unlike the Flag and Seek game, it had been full of people. All of the people who had been shot dead the day before had returned-- just like she'd read they would. At least, she thought they were the same people. She'd easily allowed herself to ignore the nearby corpses during the game. With how much awkward  tumbling around she'd managed to do with Sander the other day, it was fortunate they managed not to bump into any. The idea of accidentally crashing into a live one seemed just as unpleasant, so she used her extra prep time to go around telling people to clear the area. It was fun and weird at the same time. In the back of her mind, she knew they weren't real people, but they sure seemed like it. Just out of curiosity, she'd tapped one woman on the shoulder to get her attention, half expecting her hand to phase through as if she might be a hyper-realistic hologram. 

Finished with her ground stretches, Callan stood up and tightened her pony tail. Her fingers interlocked behind her head and she stifled another sigh. Where was he? 

Sander double-checked the shoelaces on his white sneakers, making sure they would hold. An old habit he hadn’t had the chance to do in a while. It felt nice to finally be able to it with a clear mind, but this situation he found himself in was high…unideal. Just as he strode through the broken streets of GZ with a cooler full of blood in hands, hesitation still griped at his thoughts, and occasionally, the Stigma would flare up, dripping fear and paranoia into his mind. He shrugged them off to the best of his ability. He had already made up his mind. Callan wanted a duel, so he would give it to her. But he never said he would go all out… It was better this way, really. Callan was strong, but so was he. 
 
He could take it. They wouldn’t let him die. 
 
All there left to do, was to go through with it. He could do it. He just had to be here. 
 
Her scent reached him, and soon enough, Sander found himself navigating through the crooked grounds led by his nose. Disturbing, how this had become almost second nature for him. But he digressed. 
 
The jagged landscape fell away as he stepped into the open field that hosted their Flag and Seek game just a day earlier. Callan was already there. He made his way over, finally stopping when he was just a few feet in front of her. 
 
“Good evening, Callan.” -Dropping the cooler at his feet, Sander offered her a faint smile, eyes briefly brushed over her outfit, before returning to her face. 

"Yo," she responded with a casual wave. There was a clear difference in Callan's demeanor compared to her giddy excitement the night before. Crossing her arms, she observed Sander's attire in turn. "You're fighting in that?" she asked curiously with a slight frown. Jeans and a sweater hardly seemed like something she would want to fight in, but then... she'd never truly been in a fight before. Not with another person anyway. Suddenly she felt overdressed. Something she found comical considering her current get up, which consisted of white and gray tennis shoes, black leggings with fuchsia galaxy print, and a matching sports bra beneath a long, swoop necked black T-shirt with loose sleeves.

“I don’t think there is anything wrong with this.” -Sander said, slowly rolling his sleeves up, stormy blue eyes watching Callan carefully –“Is there?” 

Callan shrugged, "Whatever you're most comfortable in." She looked away suddenly as he eyed her, remembering his lack of clothing during yesterday's game. Purge, purge, purge.

She took a breath before nodding at his cooler. "I'm ready whenever you are."

Whatever Sander was looking for, he didn’t find it in Callan’s eyes. There wasn’t that naïve eagerness from last night, but there was no hesitation either. No fear. She wouldn’t back down. He swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat and opened the cooler. Rows of canister once again greeted him. 
 
“How long do you need? I can do 10 minutes.” -He picked up a canister, fiddling with its latch, a weak excuse to avoid eye contact. 

She narrowed her eyes at him with a half hearted smile. How long did she need? She exhaled sharply through her nose. Taking Sander's question as a sign of hubris, a tinge of yesterday night's avidity returned in the form of an adamant stare. 

"How long do you think I'll need?" she laughed faintly.

“Uh.” -Sander furrowed his brows –“I don’t know...That's why I am asking.”

"You... wha?" she laughed again, this time nervously, a touch of her missing warmth restored. "I... I don't know. Fight ends when one of us taps out or blacks out. Whichever comes first. You think it'll take longer than 5 minutes for one of us to win?" 

Her smile turned into a half-grimace as her eyebrows knit together with sympathy. She thought he'd been talking smack, but remembering his reaction to her joke the other night, she should've known better. Note to self: teach Sander how to take and make a joke. It was that or she really needed to work on her delivery.

As confident as she felt, she really wasn't sure exactly how long the fight might last. "Lets shoot for 10 then. Just in case...?" she decided, shrugging as she tucked a rogue strand of aquamarine hair behind her ear.

Sander’s lips twitched into a smile out of reflex, though the pit of his stomach sank. Callan wanted 10 minutes. And she would get it. Still, he was uneasy. He knew what was going to come, and he had worked through it too many times before. But knowing didn’t make it even remotely easier. His heart began to pick up the pace, even without the blood high spurring it on. No. He was not backing out. Callan would get the fight she wanted. He had better control now. The only thing left to do was to hold on. He could do it. 
 
He could take it. 
 
“Ten minutes.” -Sander nodded, his blue eyes solemn.
 
The canister popped open quietly, and he tilted his head back, not bothering with straws this time. The liquid went down easy and quick. Like doused with gasoline, the fire burst to life with a horrible roar, just as his heart began to hammer against the wall of his ribcage. Aluminum colliding with concrete as he let the canister fall, hands coming to grip the fabric of his sweater. It was still there; the thirst, the rage, the primal urge to kill and main and drink remained as strong as ever. Yet, it was more…contained, somehow. Focused. Like he could just will the heat into his chest, leaving his limbs free and his mind clear. He put it back there, and he felt he could let it out anytime. But only if he wanted. 
 
So was this what control felt like? 
 
He exhaled slowly, hiding his smile in the dive forward for another canister. 
 
“Callan.” -He spoke as he twisted open the container, the barest wisps of red smoke began to twist around his forearms –“Please, do not hold back.” 

Callan watched with reserved intrigue as Sander rapidly downed the first canister of human blood. She only smiled roguishly at his question. Of course she wasn't going to hold back. That was the plan, right? Callan watched canister after canister fall to the ground. So many.... Donated by the good people of Crimen Culpae no doubt....

She unfolded her arms as she watched Sander retrieve the last canister from the cooler. As the metal left his lips, red eyes fell on her and she knew the fight was begun even before he dropped it on the ground and surged forward. Balling up her fists, Callan shifted one leg back to steady her stance as she swung her furthest arm across her body, aiming her knuckles towards Sander's jaw. No holding back!

Sander knew what he was getting himself into the moment he set foot into GZ. And he was ready. 
 
The world died down to just steady rhythms as he rushed forward, the thirst for violence as fresh as the day he first tasted blood. 
 
No. This was wrong. This wasn’t control. Panic bubbled up somewhere at the back of his throat, but it drown amidst the stirring blood. This was restraint, at most. Not the control he wanted. But right now, he couldn’t really care. 
 
Callan’s fist closed on him, too fast to dodge, so he braced his feet. He felt its impact just moments later, then pain bloomed and copper filled his mouth. His vision swerved sideways, blurring, but he gritted his teeth, the fire propelled him through the pain. His left arm thrust forward, making a grab for Callan’s shirt while his right hand tried to catch her left wrist.  

He was just as strong as before. She'd expected her punch to more effectively halt his charge, but his grit teeth and the incoming hands served as a fresh reminder not to underestimate him again. Gritting her teeth in turn, she did her best to react.

Callan didn't retract her arm in time, allowing him to easily grasp the wrist connected to her assailing right fist without any trouble. She managed to grab his left wrist before it came into contact with her shirt, arms now crossed. Callan gripped his left wrist tighter, twisting it sharply inward while trying to sharply twist and pull her own wrist out of Sander's grip. Her right hand remained balled up into a fist, prepared to deliver a powerful upward blow to his chin if she could only yank it free.

Sander loomed over Callan all the while, fiery red fixed on her, hungry. But she was stronger still. 

Just like how he wanted. She would be alright. 
 
Callan’s fist broke free after moments of struggle, and he felt the impact again, this time on his lower jaw. Copper again. He stumbled backward, inhaling sharply while his feet worked to keep the balance. He recovered though, and he resumed his relentless assault, flinging his right fist toward Callan again.  

He was so damn resilient. Need to hit him harder, she mused, watching him stumble. Callan crouched and sprang forward as he recovered and came at her again, right fist flying towards her head. At the last moment, she ducked the punch, tucked her shoulder and pushed hard off the ground. Raising her right arm across her body, she drove her right shoulder into his gut.

Another blow connected, and Sander grunted, the force shook his ribcage. He gasped for shallow breaths of air, a quick fix for his burning lungs. His right fist came loose and he clamped it down on Callan’s back, steadying himself and grabbing his opponent in one motion. He then brought his left knee up as hard as he could, while simultaneously dragging her down. 

Frustration bubbled up inside her. Sander's lanky frame was so deceivingly solid. She balled up her fists again, fully expecting him to stagger so she could go in for another punch before she suddenly felt his hand on her back. His knee connected sharply with her chin and she bit down hard on her tongue. Her mouth filled with a coppery taste and her fists unfurled, threatening to baby the sudden throbbing in her mouth, but she clenched her teeth and tried to swallow the pain. Straightening herself up quickly, she cocked her right arm back and swung it upwards towards Sander's face.

Another sharp lance of pain shot through Sander’s frayed nerves. His head was knocked backward, teeth clattered together painfully. Something was loose. Fluid suddenly filled his mouth, causing him to cough and sputter as he struggled to regain from the second stumble. His right grip wavered, but he tried to hold on, clawing at Callan’s back. 

Her frustration reached its peak as Callan processed Sander's hand clawing at her shirt. The skin on her lower back met the open air. She couldn't stand jersey grabbing. Kicking off the ground again, she moved with him as he stumbled backwards, preventing her shirt from tearing any further. Grabbing a fistful of Sander's sweater with her right hand, she took a lesson from Kusari and hooked her right foot behind Sander's left ankle. Instead of merely grabbing his throat and pushing, however, she cocked her left arm back and drove her fist into his nose. Doing her best to ignore the blood running down his chin from her last hit, she released his sweater to let him fall. 

Again, she'd hoped her attack would be more effective than it was. Before she could so much as take a step back and reassess, he was already starting to get up. Leaving another small crater in her wake, she burst forward. Swinging her leg forward, she forced her knee into his nose before he could continue getting to his feet.

Callan’s latest blow sent him tumbling on the hard concrete, where he finally ended up on his stomach. The fire roared, still, and it compelled him to get up. But it hurt. It hurt so much. He forced himself on his hands and knees, mouth open to choke down uneven breaths, spots of red appearing rapidly on the grey beneath him. His head was a cacophony of pain, his chest tightened every time he so much as flinched, and he could taste nothing but cold copper that refused to burn. 
 
God. It was his blood.
 
But he could take this. He just had to…get up first. Get up. 
 
The fire groaned in his ears, begging for substance. He ignored it, focusing on getting back up instead.

Callan took several steps back following her kick. She furrowed her brow as she watched him struggle back to his feet, red wisps still rising from his body. The smart thing to do would be to rush him now-- just like she had before. But something about that felt wrong, especially with how painful his movements looked. How many hits to the head had he taken now? Four? Five?

She waited until he was back on his feet before rushing him again, prepping for yet another right hook to the face.

Sander lowered himself at the last moment, then lunged forward, charging at Callan’s midsection. She'd grown too confident in the repeated success of her punches, coupled with Sander's sluggish movements just seconds ago. The air loudly fled from her lungs in the form of a grunt. His arms moved downward, gripping the back of her thighs and shoving his weight behind the tackle until Callan finally gave and landed on her back. As soon as she did, he drove a knee into her stomach and raised his right fist, ready to rain blows down on her. 

From apprehension and the uncomfortable pressure being applied by Sander's knee, her stomach twisted itself into a tight knot. "Shit," she grimaced and hissed, the second half of the word getting lost as she frantically tried to fix her mistake. Here she was-- same position, different day. Only now there was no Grant to blame her carelessness on. She didn't want to get punched in the face, but she didn't want to get bitten on the neck again either. Her arms flew up, catching his fist with her left hand while the right flew up punch Sander in the jaw, hoping that would deter him from getting any ideas.

The blow hit Sander’s jaws with an audible crack. But he held fast. Her forearm was right in front of him, and the sweet scent was so close, like an offer, so Sander took it. His right arm kept pressing against her while he gripped her right upper to hold it in place. His jaws ached as he opened them, but the thirst prevailed and he sank his teeth into Callan’s forearm. 

Biting me. BITING ME. Her breath caught in her throat as his teeth sank into the underside of her forearm, almost at her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his head followed, jaws clamped down tight. He wasn't strong enough to mess with her artery, was he? Uncertainty fueled the panic that was frying her brain and she jerked her arm away harder, twisting and pulling until it was free. Her left hand abandoned its task of deflecting Sander's punch in favor of grasping his hair.

Fingers firmly interlocking with the sandy brown locks, she yanked his head sideways away from her forearm.

Sander’s jaws loosened then, and he let go. However, his left arm still held firm, and his now-free right hand was reaching for exposed neck. The flesh was warm beneath his touch, thrumming with life. He dug his fingers in like claws. Callan winced at the pressure, her heart pounding in her ears as adrenaline compelled her to act. The knee driving itself into her stomach hadn't exactly made breathing a breeze and now... well, actually she could breath just about the same. Was he only threatening to choke her? Why could she still breath? 

Her brain didn't let her linger on such questions. A hand was closed around a vulnerable place and she needed to stop that. Her shadow would surely make an appearance-- or try to-- if this continued. It was more likely that Sander would instantly crush her throat in his hand if Misery stole her strength now.

He might bite her again (a thought that still somehow terrified her), but she had to do it. Releasing his hair, she drove her fist into the side of his head with all her strength, twisting her hips to get out from under his body as it moved with his head into the ground.

A wet thud, and Sander’s world titled sideways. He hit the ground awkwardly, the concrete cracked underneath him as he sprawled out, eyes glassy. His head throbbed, muddled thoughts scattered. 
 
It hurt to even think. He couldn’t do this. But she told him he could. Drink up. But he didn’t. His grip on the flame remained firm, and he watched as it writhed and crackled, exhaling embers. 
 
He turned to his side, then on his stomach. Steadily, he pushed himself up. He was still getting up. No. He couldn’t have that –“Scared?” -He heard himself said, voice thick and nasal, the glee almost palpable. 

Callan quickly scrambled to her feet, running her hand over the phantom twinges of discomfort his feverishly warm fingers had left on her neck. She heard Sander's question just as she looked down at her arm. She didn't respond for a moment, her mind too busy flitting between memories of yesterday and the present. On her arm there was merely a mark-- an indentation where his teeth had been. He'd definitely broken the skin yesterday. And then there was the matter of his grip around her throat. 

Cutting off her air supply would have made for an easy win. At the very least, he should've activated his blood draining ability.

Her expression darkened. She clenched her fists tightly, eyes focused on the splash of Sander's blood across her knuckles before falling on the sorry form of her opponent himself. 

"You're not holding back, are you?" she asked, her words slow and deliberate and dripping with bitterness. 

Sander made a sound between a wheeze and a breathy laugh at the question, though the throbs of pain cut it short. But his red grin was answer enough.

Slowly, he straightened himself up on his knees, unfocused gaze turning her way. 

Her glare softened into a concerned wince at his feeble response-- he was hurt. Badly. She'd hit him so many times she'd lost count. But he just kept getting up... just kept fighting... no. This wasn't a fight, was it? Had he been letting her hit him this whole time? Her shoulders started to quake, feeling as though time was moving in slow motion as a droplet of blood fell from Sander's chin. 

She needed to train. She needed to get better. Stronger-- at least enough to shape her future, like Lawrence said. She needed to prove to everyone that she could do this, too. That she could be something other than the monster that destroyed her home... the monster that destroyed herself. Everyone thought she was dead. How could she possibly dream of protecting everyone if she was dead? And if Sander wouldn't fight her seriously, she might never improve. More people would die. People would die because of her.

Despairing thoughts from earlier churned confusingly inside her mind. Mixed with uncertainties and regret about this rematch with Sander, she felt a dull ache in her head as she looked back at her bloody knuckles. Look at all that blood... had she done that to him? The only other person who was supposed to be strong enough to fight her? It was like she was staring through the hole in Kusari's abdomen all over again. 

Scared? He wasn't trying his best and asking if she was scared? For what? Just for show? To make her feel like this fight was real? A streak of anger drove itself into her feelings of despair. There it took root and sprouted into new thoughts. Embarrassingly irrational and sad. What was the point? Why bother with this rematch? Why bother trying to improve herself? ...why bother controlling her shadow at all?

Her eyes glistened with tears that threatening to spill over her cheeks once more, but she held them in-- barely. She grit her teeth and the glare towards Sander returned, though it was full of excruciating torment and somber frustration. She rose her fists in a weak fighter's stance. Her breaths became uneven as she felt her emotions slipping out of place. Keep it together... finish the fight... it'll all be over soon enough....

Sander made it back on his feet. He wobbled, but eventually steeled himself, waiting for Callan to make her move. He didn’t think he could move first this time. 

Let go.

Oh no....

Callan staggered back as a weakness overcame her. Her shadow extended sharply forward, reaching towards Sander and allowing one of Misery's massive black claws to come shooting out of Callan's now inky black shadow. It slashed across Sander's figure with unbridled strength. A heavy splash of blood coated the concrete before the claw flexed its wrist inward and backhanded him across the plaza. 

The rest of Misery's body was soon to follow, moving with swiftness and an insatiable rage as it rapidly began to close the newly made gap between itself and Sander. Its jaws opened wide as it charged, ready to tear him apart. There wasn't enough time. She couldn't reel it back quickly enough. It would kill him...!

But she had to try.

Just as her hands wrapped around the invisible reigns, her entire body suddenly convulsed and she fell forward onto her hands and knees. The painful sensation pulsed powerfully from the cuff around her ankle, accompanied by a short, loud beep. She couldn't unlock her jaw to so much as cry out as the edges of her vision darkened. There was a flash of heat while electricity scorched her skin beneath the cuff. She fell forward onto her face as unconsciousness claimed her. Misery dissipated into black, smoky wisps while her shadow snapped back into its original shape and size. 

The shadow shot toward him, and for a brief moment, Sander knew fear. He always had, really, but it was hard to recall when fire and power flooded his veins and nothing could hurt him. But he knew pain. He could never forget it, burning or not.
 
He took a step back, a hair breadth too late. A slight pressure against the skin of his torso, and he knew well enough to recognize it for what it was: the feeling of parted flesh. It didn’t hurt at first, just an odd sensation. Then it burst into searing fire. He barely had enough mind left to lift an arm as the shadow moved, cushioning the blow that sent him flying. 
 
He cried out sharply, the pained sound drowned out by the groan of concrete as it split apart beneath him. He didn’t get up this time. The fire was burning still. But it hurt. God, it hurt, and he couldn’t stand the pain. 
 
Stay with me, she had said. 
 
One more, she had said. But not to him. 
 
But back then, the fire within burned brighter than the fire without. 
 
Not now. He needed more. Drink up, the fire tempted with her voice, and he wanted to comply so much it was disgusting. He could hate it all he wanted, but without the fire, he was nothing. He couldn't do anything. Another ghost waiting to fade, and that was all. 
 
Why couldn’t he be more? He promised he would try, didn’t he? 
 
He was trying. It hurt so much, but he was trying. 
 
Sander let out a quivering breath, waiting for the black dots in his vision to finally dissipate. Each breath brought pain and tasted like blood, but it didn’t burn, so that was a good thing? He couldn’t be sure. He would think more about that when his thoughts were more than fire and cold blades and warm touches. Some other time. 
 
He focused on moving instead. The hungry flame hissed at him as he leaned on its power, the refusal to feed fresh in its primitive mind. His hands were slippery and his vision swam, but he got to his feet. He turned to look at Callan’ prone form. No more raging shadows. No more promise of pain. And the scent of carbonated sweetness was still strong. He relaxed his shoulders. A touch of dread set into his mind, but he was far too distracted to properly care. His eyes kept coming out of focus every so often, like something was broken, and he found himself watching a patch of slick red on the ground for the longest of time. 
 
He forced a new goal into his shattered thoughts. Get her back.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』 『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』 『𝕂𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕣𝕚』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@January@Baklava@Piercing Light
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤   / /  ~𝟚𝟙𝟘𝟘

Warmth soaked into his tattered sweater. Somewhere in his mind, between the throbbing pain and the steely resolve, Sander was mildly concerned. Too much blood, and it wouldn’t come off. He should stop and…take it off. But his arms were occupied with the weight of Callan’s body, and he had to get her back. He just had to not think about cold, sugary drinks on hot summer days, when mother would sneak in a splash of wine and it would go perfect with the carbonated sweetness . No. He would not think about that. Coffee, rich and deep and nutty with a hint of chocolate, now. Focus. Christmas could help him fix this. He would just have to get to the blond boy first. Easy. Just follow the scent. 
 
It was a straight forward walk. Sander kept his steps light and brisk, because she might be hurt and he didn’t want to hurt her even more. Her body pressed against the open slashes on his torso, pulling on the wounds, but he didn't mind. They would heal. He couldn’t keep the blood from dripping onto her though. Should’ve carried her on his back. But he didn’t think then, and he didn’t really want to risk trying now. Not when the ground blurred every so often and he had to stop, drawing shallow breaths to blink away the black spots. 
 
He found himself in front of the elevator doors soon enough. The button was right there, and he only had to lift a hand…which was being weighed down by a body. He stared at the smooth metal for a few moments, laboured breaths slowed as he processed the information. 
 
So, stairs. 
 
Eyes dogged his steps as he ascended the steps, but no one got in his way. Small mercy? He supposed. Talking didn't seem comfortable right now, since he was quite sure there was something loose in his jaws. The way to his suite seemed longer, but maybe that was because he needed a break every few steps just to focus and keep the wrong thoughts away. The borrowed strength helped. At least something good came out of it. Maybe he should borrow more; taking the stairs one step at a time was not very efficient. But he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. 
 
He arrived, eventually. Once again, he stood in front of the closed door, wading through a murky lake of thoughts to find the ones he needed. No hands. So...head? He slammed his forehead against hard surface in one swift motion before his more rational side could tell him that was a horrible idea. It did though, by a fresh wave of pain that crashed into his consciousness moments later. He almost stumbled, but the flame held him upright.    

Hearing a loud bang on the door to her dorm room, Kusari shot up from her bed. She wasn't quite tired yet, but she'd just wanted to lay down and not think about anything for a while. She moved her sprawled hair from her face and glanced towards Christmas. Right, as if he'd be the one to investigate the suspicious noise at the door. She let out an annoyed huff and hopped off her bed. Her right foot's claw snagged on her covers, causing her to trip and fall on her face. She shot back to her feet and glared at Christmas as if to say "Forget what you just saw or I'll make you." 

She walked to the door and swung it open. "Who the heck is messing..." Her body froze as she saw the scene before her. "W-what?" She stammered as she saw what looked to be Sander holding Callan's bloodied body. She forced herself to move, running back into the room and yanking Christmas up from his bed. She was shaking, and had broken out into a cold sweat. She knew this would happen, she should have tried harder to stop them. She should have, but she just cared too much about appeasing Callan, making her like her. 

Having dragged Christmas forcefully to the door she examined Callan. She blinked in confusion for a moment, as the girl appeared to not have many injuries on her body. However, seeing the burnt skin around her ankle made it clear why she was unconscious right now. "Christmas, I need some of your blood, now!" She demanded from the boy, but he didn't respond to her, in fact he looked as if he wanted to jump out the dorm window. If he refused, which she doubted he would, she would take it by force. The idea wasn't pleasent to her, but she needed to do something.

She turned back to Sander. "What the hell happened? You look like you were thrown into a blender. Why did she get shocked?" She berated him with questions, her voice shaking and panicked. 

Christmas had jumped at the sound of the singular impact against the door, the heavy thud whipping his attention from mindless daydreams about fields and swings to the tiny bubble of panic beginning to build in his stomach. Were they going to be taken somewhere again? But the schedule had said there were no classes today and--

So much blood.

Kusari had opened the door to a sight that made him blanch. Sander and an unconscious (Dead...? The thought tightened his throat.) girl with a head of startling aquamarine, streaked in thick swatches of dark red and an off-white powder like a giant brush had painted and dusted them over. And he wished that was the case. But there were rivulets of blood running down Sander's front from injuries he couldn't clearly make out in the mutilation that was Sander's torso, seeping into the gray of the ruined sweater and darkening the fabric as it spread further. Downward. Seeping into a wet shine on the girl's black top where more of the light gray dust clung.

Christmas was hardly aware of his breaths quickening to a ragged pace. What happened? Red liquid and scatters of particles masked Sander's face in gritty splotches and sprays, and the healer hoped it was just his imagination that more blood seemed to be dripping from Sander's nose. Oh god, his nose.

So much blood. And someone he could claim to know. 

His head was blurring again, because he couldn't take this, not this close to him, not on someone he had become acquainted with. And the blood seemed to rise from Sander's arms and shoulders in thin wisps--rising up while more splashed down. Everything was so wrong. Topsy-turvy and he wanted to just blink and make it all go away because he didn't want this.

Sander merely stared forward as the door opened before him. He didn’t move a muscle, far too occupied with keeping himself upright. 
 
Kusari’s words barely cut through the haze that was wrapping itself around his thoughts. Even then, he took his time putting the words together, mulling over strings of letters while his mind was drawing blank. A head of blond hair appeared in his line of sight moments later as the scent of coffee intensified. He remembered. He was trying to get her back. Now to...heal. He watched Kusari’s hand on the blond boy absentmindedly, his thoughts wandered back to that night before. Something about promises and being here. He squinted at the words, before they escaped him. 
 
“…c-choices…” -But he forced them out, regardless. His jaws creaked in protest, but he leaned on the fire and he made them move. The words were garbled at best, interrupted by short breaths and dripping blood –“…yours…”

Kusari narrowed her eyes at Sander. He was speaking nonsense, and now that she got a better look at him she realized his eyes were red, and there was an unfamilar red aura around him. Looking at his body she could see where all the blood came from. There were slashes on his body, which she thought was a little odd. Callan didn't bring a weapon to their fight, did she? And she doubted he'd gotten the injuries from something like debris, after all even Shane had trouble piercing his skin.

His power still being active was likely the only thing keeping him on his feet. He probably needed help just as much as Callan, but she didn't have the knowledge to tell with just a glance. "Just put her down on my bed..." She said, her head felt as if it was going to implode, she wasn't quite sure what to do. She turned back to Christmas, and saw that he was still just standing in place. "What the hell are you doing?" She grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt with her left hand. "Wake up! What happened to you wanting to help people so badly? You see a little blood and you suddenly can't move. I'm not going to tell you again. Help. Them." She let go of his shirt.

Christmas had never wanted to help people this badly. It all looked so wrong like this and he couldn't stop staring at the steady trickling of blood down Sander's front and side, the vertical lines of red shuddering with every haggard breath Sander took.

Sander stood still, unmoving save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. But words seemed to have reach him now, where he slowly turned his head to Kusari as she spoke. However, he stood his ground, eyes lowered momentarily to look at Kusari’s hand on Christmas, before moving right back up. He stared into firey orbs that mirrored his own, expression suddenly intense –“…his choice…” -The words themselves so strained it almost sounded as if he were growling –“…I…fine…take this…”

Christmas was scared. It was always the same. Wanting to be nice but never actually a nice person and for all he tried it was easier to simply not. It was the blurry gaze of lambent crimson again, the static on the edges, and the soft, pained insistence that it was his choice. But with all things, it wasn't a simple one-way street. He knew that in every blue-gray gaze leveled his way, the eyes daunting in their superiority and mocking expectations.

His heart beat to the clamor of panic and adrenaline, and it hurt to breathe.

Kusari was loud. Her words screeching against his ears, but it was clumsy knots and stained blue fabric that his mind finally fell back on. So much blood. So much.

"...Sh-shou--d-do--" He couldn't get the words out through the trembling and short breaths, but he had to ask Sander. Had to ask. Had to try. Loud voices and even louder fear and the painful thunder of bullets and blood he had stammered over and failed to--so much blood. He barely caught the tail end of Sander's words. "I--San--" So much blood.

Neither of them were listening to her. Sander was still saying nonsense, whatever he was trying to convey she wasn't understanding. Who's choice? What choice? Was he talking about Christmas? As if, the boy was terrible at making decisions for himself. The only time she'd seen him put his foot down he was begging for Lily to give him a wound back. 

And Sander, what was he doing? Was he actually out of his mind? He bothered to bring her all the way here, she figured it was so Christmas could help. They were wasting time. "I said do something!" She screamed. She raised her right hand, intent on slapping him. But she stopped. She was about to break the promise she'd made to Marcus, to all of them. If she forced Christmas to bleed then she was no better than the people that worked in this school. She slowly lowered her hand. "I can't... I can't help them Christmas. Only you can do that. Please."

Sander saw the raised hand, and for a brief moment, his entire body tensed and his shoulders shifted, despite the immediate protest from his leaking wounds. Violence called out to the fire in him, and he remembered the night after the arboretum and the flag football game. More than anything, he remembered the feel of sharp claws against his neck. His feet moved, just a half step forward before he could steady himself. She lowered her hand. There was nothing he could do. Or should do. So he watched, and he waited. 

But it wasn't a one-way street. At least, not here, not now. 

They're not yours to take, he had whispered to Lily. It was like standing on live coals to be on the other side of that now. Again.

He just wanted to run. Make this someone else's problem, because this was too much for him. And god it was so hard to try. From a scream and a taloned hand that terrified him beyond words and the pain it promised that he didn't want but knew (Alvin was never so loud) to a request that was still the same thing in a different guise, he thought something like hornets were buzzing. The claws promised death like predatory red eyes gleaming in the hospital, but there was nothing behind them to hold on to. Just fear. Just pain. Just the reminder of choices he didn't have and expectations that didn't even pretend to humor him. Please, she had voiced like the request in the woods, but the claws remained clear as day, poised to strike. Had been poised to strike. Not just his fears projected beyond himself. Clear as day. Please...or...?

And he couldn't after all when the choice was solely his. Didn't want to take responsibility for this--and an entire future of that responsibility flashed in his mind--when it was this close. This visceral. Not a room full of mostly unknown faces and orders from authority to heal people. This was a face and a name--Sander and one other person who he could hardly tell was alive in all the blood and terror. And the screaming talons and pleading words of someone who had never offered the choice at all (even Alvin pretended to offer). 

This was closer to home. This was all him. This was the weight of people asking for help--but the ones who needed it hadn't, and he was afraid of exposing his own choices, because he didn't know if he was strong enough to carry that weight. Just selfish and weak because he didn't want to bear it alone.

Help me.

A shaking hand reached out to the faint trails of red vapor peeling off Sander's bloody hand. He hesitated as the scarlet smoke wrapped around his fingers, then touched his fingertips to Sander's hand clutching the girl's upper arm. The touch was barely present and he withdrew his fingers slightly after contact. A shadow of a tap.

It took several swallows to get his mouth working properly.

"Y-yours--yours, too." Right? He didn't know. He never did. But this was all he could try here, because he remembered Lily and how loud he had to be for her to hear him. Didn't want that again. Never wanted it again. His choice and her choice colliding, but he hadn't wanted the fight in the first place. In this, he could still grasp at trying to be better than he was.

Sander glanced at the blond boy now, raising his eyebrows slightly. Didn’t he make it clear? The fire spat out sparks of rage, but he crushed them. He was still here–“…fine…” -He repeated the word, tone softer now –“…her first…”

Callan wanted to groan, but it was too much effort. Everything hurt. Her head was swimming and through it swam the unfamiliar voice of-- she opened her eyes a sliver-- Christmas. The boy flinched and stepped back at the sudden movement from the girl he thought was basically dead. Bits and pieces of consciousness tried to properly arrange themselves as she came to. Christmas stood before her... and Kusari. She was at their suite. She was here, but... no, she was here, but she wasn't. She was.... 

Her head tilted upward to see the battered jaw of Sander looming over head. He was carrying her. He was alive. Her eyes fell to the gashes in his chest and everything came rushing back. She reacted with little more than a weak gulp. Her shirt clung uncomfortably to her body, having soaked up a copious amount of the boy's blood. Oh, God....

"Sander," she croaked, lifting her head up and gripping his arm to try and signal she was awake and could be let down now. 

Sander blinked at the slight pressure on his arm, which then prompted him to look down. Callan was awake. That caught him off guard. He blinked again and looked at her, waiting. 

She blinked up at him, brow furrowing in frustration when he didn't move. Her mouth was dry and it hurt to speak. Why did this need clarifying? she thought irritably. "Put me down," she mumbled. 

The request was simple, so Sander complied. He lowered his shoulders then bent his knees, moving Callan toward the ground, feet first, ignoring his hitched breaths when the movements pulled at his wounds. Christmas stepped back even further in response.

Her head reeled as her feet hit the ground and she braced herself on the doorframe, pressing her free hand to her forehead to stop the world from spinning. Exhaustion hit her and it hit her hard. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to ask Sander to set her down... but.... She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in bad shape. Real bad shape....

Her cheeks flushed with guilt and embarrassment. Sander hadn't even been trying to win and she'd beat him up like he was. He saw Misery and it almost killed him. And then, apparently, he'd just carried her all the way back to the dorms. Why'd he do that? He could've called for help. Called Christmas on the phone, maybe? Why was he so... weird. She pressed her lips together firmly and looked down at the floor as her face grew warmer still. 

Kusari didn't know what to say. She was angry that this had happened when she believed it could have been avoided easily. Yet she was glad beyond measure that neither of them had died. 

"Callan..." She started, not yet knowing what to say. "Were you two attacked by a creature?" She asked, wanting to avoid expressing one of the many feelings going through her at the moment.

Sander merely stared at a spot on the ground now, floundering in the depth of his tangled thoughts now that his current objective was finally achieved. With his arms free from their burden, he let them fall awkwardly to his sides. 

Callan's eyes flitted up to Kusari and back down again. "No," she replied, firmly as she could. Her shoulders stiffened, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that Sander might tell everyone. A moment passed without him saying anything, so perhaps she was safe... for now. 

Eager to leave Kusari's question behind, Callan lifted her head with a shallow sigh. Looking between Sander and Christmas, her eyes ultimately fell on the short blonde boy she knew to be their healer. Christmas recoiled slightly at her gaze and looked down at her feet instead.

"He's.. uhm," she gripped the bottom of her shirt and looked away as well, "He's pretty hurt...."

Sander shook his head, a tiny movement to avoid aggravating his wounds further –“…fine…” -He mumbled the word one more time, though with far less conviction. 

Christmas breathed heavily, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl's dirty tennis shoes. Sander had said to heal her first. Even with those injuries. But she wasn't asking to be healed. His eyes flicked to Sander's white sneakers, stained red and powdery white, and he sucked in a breath when more drops of blood splattered to the ground inches away.

He didn't know what to do. He never did when it really mattered. He had asked and still, still, still he didn't know. Someone demanding he heal, but the others not, and what was he supposed to do? Still wished he could run, but at the same time a bit of him held his ground.

Callan's expression hardened and she whipped her head towards Sander, her look somewhat scathing. "You can't--" she sighed with confused frustration, "You can't even talk." Her expression softened upon seeing the damage again, "You're not fine."

Callan's swift answer to her question nearly made her flinch. Apparently even a neutral question wasn't safe. If it wasn't a creature, then what was it? She wanted to know, but the fact that Callan hadn't given her an answer made her think that it was best to leave it alone for the moment. There were more important matters at hand, like the boy that looked like a leaking tomato insisting he was fine. "I don't know why you're trying to act so tough, but it's not working Sander. You look like you're literally about to die. No, seriously. I'd rather not see you kick the bucket over some misguided bravado."

Sander just let out a breathy laugh in response, leaning slightly against the doorframe. His gaze turned to Christmas then, red eyes falling on the blue ribbon. He remembered. The promise. Whose promise though? He frowned, struggling to rearrange his thoughts.
 
“…have it back…” -He reached toward Christmas, extending his left hand, before noticing the smears of blood on the limb. His frown deepened as he half-heartedly wiped the congealing blood on his tattered top.

Christmas looked up at the soft-spoken words and followed the hand's motion with his eyes, but he didn't understand them at first between too many thoughts of too many things beyond his control (or were they?). Easy to get lost in his mind; it would be just that easy all over again. He just had to hide in the static and let it pull him into particles. But what was Sander saying--

It clicked. A lifeline in the blur of panic: faint and blue and damaged, but it was there. He remembered the clumsy knots and sincere attempts--putting hopes in strangers. Trying, trying, and he couldn't foist this decision on others. Not his part of it, at least. He had tried already, but Sander wasn't okay. Half on him, half on Sander. He didn't know if rationing it out like that was right, but it felt better than wavering in indecision and waiting for heaven, hell, and Dreamcatcher to make the choice for him because he wasn't strong enough to. He wanted to be here. But just wanting wasn't enough. He, of all people, knew this like the back of his hand.

"You are not okay."
Christmas breathed in, scared of every passing second but he had to be more than this. A him that was more than the sum of his parts had believed in something ridiculous, but the small victory of the morning had vindicated that absurd faith. Clumsy knots and threads of twilight through the thunderclouds. Strong and bright. He remembered that. But most of all warm hands, and his breath caught in his throat again but this time he found the words around it. Borrowed words, but they helped more than the buzzing in his ears. Borrowed strength as well.

"...You are not okay," he whispered the words back to Sander, finally looking up again at his roommate's battered face.

Callan flinched at Sander's laugh, the memory of his response when she'd asked if he'd been holding back still fresh in her mind. "Sander..." Callan protested. She was concerned for him and trying to be nice, but... she was also tired. So tired... and, by default, irritable. She watched him reach for Christmas, look at the blood on his hand and wipe it off. What was he doing??

In his own words, Christmas seemed to agree that Sander was in need of some assistance. She looked to him expectantly. 

Sander looked down at his hands, eyes glazing over the drying blood, brows furrowed. That was a lot of blood. It didn’t smell like blood though. Just…metallic. Wrong. Maybe because it was his blood? Quite a lot of it too. Christmas’ words reached him then, and he began to seriously consider his wounds. He couldn’t think properly, with the fire gnawing at the back of his mind, demanding its due. Borrowed strength, with a very steep interest rate. But he didn’t have to take this. He didn’t. 
 
He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply. He could do this now. He was getting better. 
 
The flame weakened under his hold, and not the other way around. His lips cracked into a lopsided smile. 
 
He swallowed it as soon as the waves of pain rushed in. He grimaced, one arm came up to wrap gingerly around himself as he coughed, hacking splatters of blood onto his sneakers. No saving those now. But at least he had enough clarity of mind now to admit to himself that he didn’t really have to take the long way around this time. He had a solution. 
 
“…yeah…” -He admitted, leaning more heavily into the doorframe now. His gaze lifted, and once again he was staring into Christmas’ blue eyes. Extending the hand once more, he beckoned.   

Relief warred with the residual panic and fear, and Christmas's eyes skittered between the room's (and door threshold's) occupants briefly like he was afraid the aquamarine hair would move to block him or Kusari would raise her claws again. Nonsensical fears (were they?), but he felt them all the same in the space between the terrible depths and relatively safe harbor. Sander's coughing fit had nearly driven him out of his skin with fear, panicked at the thought that Sander would die right there.

But the beckoning hand was safe. Had become safe. He saw that motion again on the battlefield. Remembered the burning grip and looking death in the eyes for a brief moment. And even so the small weight of tiny gestures and steady company built up in his hands until they overflowed, washing over the primal fear he had felt that day until it became a memory of dread too weak to drive away his gratitude for someone he could...three loops around Sander's wrist and a hope wound into the damaged blue. He was scared of Sander, but there was more than just that.

Three loops for three words: I trust you.

Sander always seemed to find him. And in this dark place that companionship was the evening sun, all soft light and muted colors tinged golden orange. Gentle. Not the garish midday blaze.

Ridiculous, to put hopes in a stranger. But that was okay for now. He thought he meant it this time.

Sander's unspoken request aligned here. Just right, between the beckoning hand and how much he had wanted to help but was too afraid to step past himself. Half and half, and he could stand it. Just a little, and just for now, but maybe it was enough of a foothold. Nothing was sure for him.

He moved towards Sander, realizing quite belatedly that he had left the pocket knife on his desk when he was once again in front of the taller boy and trying not to stare too carefully at the grisly sight of severed flesh on Sander's torso. His head turned towards the table, catching sight of the folded blade.

"U-um," he looked back at Sander, like stepping away now for that small thing would be a crime.

Sander took Christmas’ hand in his then, realizing too late that his was still sticky with blood. His attempt at cleaning it hadn’t been successful. But there was a bit too late for that now. 
 
“…not…hurt…” -He breathed out the mangled words, his grip tightened. He could do this. He had done bigger things.
 
Warmth seeped into him, and only then did he realize how cold he was. The red glow engulfed him now, along with Christmas’ more translucent one. The current of pain ebbed, if just a hair breadth. 

Warm. That body temperature again that wasn't normal but still so warm and the blood-slicked hand that didn't let go--just held fast, quelling the trembling in his own hand. Christmas breathed in shudders and shallow breaths, finding his bearings in that reassuring warmth. Not a screaming hand. Not a threatening hand. A warm one. The tingling of his power activating confirmed that Sander had somehow taken his blood without making a cut. He watched the transparent, glassy mist surround the two of them with eyes wide and mouth ajar. It didn't have to hurt. He could barely believe it. It didn't have to hurt and it didn't have to be someone else holding the hurt that was supposed to be inflicted only on him. 

Christmas turned slightly, his eyes darting to Kusari's feet again in fear at the reminder of near pain, tracking along the carpet and stopping at the red talon. Poised to strike, but he tried blinking the thought away and looked instead to the unknown girl with her bright hair stained red and chalky white. Could she do that, too? He was hoping, but didn't know how to ask.

Callan recognized the luminescence enveloping each boy; Sander's red glow from when he'd been taking her blood during the flag football game and Christmas's healing light. This was the fourth time she'd seen his healing in action. Their abilites made for an interesting coalition, but what mattered to her was Sander. He finally agreed to let Christmas heal him. Good. She leaned her head against the doorframe, tightly gripping her upper arms. Sighing in relief, she rested her eyes and tried not to think about how badly she just wanted to sit down. 

Now that the most pressing issue was out of the way, a wave of other concerns assaulted her attention. Sander had let her win, hadn't he? She wanted to bring this up with him, but... not in front of Kusari. Their conversation from earlier was still fresh in her head. She squeezed herself tighter, digging her nails into her arm and wiling her eyes to remain shut. She didn't want to open them to see if Kusari was staring at her. She didn't want to broach the creature topic, let alone her hasty retreat at breakfast that morning. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to keep her focus on staying lucid. 

Christmas watched the bloodstained girl hug herself and lean away and he chewed briefly on the inside of his lower lip. Sander had said to heal her first, but he wasn't sure if that still applied now that Sander was currently convalescing.

He knew it'd be easier to just ignore it until maybe Sander or the girl herself brought it up, but his hand was warm and steady in that heated grip and he had already borrowed that strength. It came a bit easier now when panic and screams and claws weren't accompanying the din in his head. He just focused on the warmth anchoring him in place and the static bits arranged themselves a bit closer to that better part of him.

"Uh..." He didn't know her name. "Ex-excuse..." the last words floated off into a mumble as he looked down at the girl's shoes again, "...me...? Um. Sor--sorry."

When silence followed the statement, Callan opened her eyes. Christmas was staring down at her shoes. Was he talking to her? "Hm?" she said, not moving. 

"S-Sander said to he-heal you first."

"I'm not hurt," she replied, turning her head to stare accusingly at Sander. It wasn't entirely true, but it might as well have been. More than the discomfort in her ankle and dull ache of her tongue, she was tired. Tired and frustrated.
 
"O-oh. Sorry." Christmas stared at the singe on the girl's ankle, but didn't protest. 

Kusari watched confounded as Christmas's healing light enveloped his body, somehow working in tandem with Sander's own aura. Since when was this a thing? As far as she knew Christmas needed to bleed for his healing to work. Was Sander taking it in some other way? The blood mage didn't seem to be losing control either. Whatever the case Sander wasn't about to bleed out in their dorm anymore. Good.

She looked over towards Callan, she needed to be healed as well. Christmas turned to her and brought just that subject up. Callan refused. Kusari literally facepalmed. Did they really need to go over this again? "What are you talking about? You may not be bleeding all over the place like Sander, but you're still hurt." She glanced down at Callan's ankle. She still wanted to know what happened that caused her to get a shock. "That's going to scar you know? Are you alright with that?"

The image of Christmas driving the knife into his arm at the security outpost flashed through her mind and Callan shrugged, not meeting Kusari's eyes. Of all the injuries she'd gotten over the last week, she felt the most responsible for this one. Sander hadn't made her lose control. That was on her. Stupid. It didn't feel right to make Christmas pay for it.

"He'll scar just as easily... Not worth trading a burn for a cut," Callan muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably under the girl's gaze.

Christmas blinked at that, disappointed that her power couldn't bypass the bit of pain. Glad--immeasurably so--that she remembered him despite the ring of angry red skin around her ankle. Of course it hurt. Of course it wasn't pleasant. Not for him, not for her. But besides the small breaks that it seemed Sander could offer, he still remembered very clearly his role.

They had said to make good choices, the nice lady and the tall man. They hadn't told him how, and he floundered his way through enough fear and indecision for twenty people just wondering where his choices began and ended. But the warmth around his right hand held firm and it reminded him of small things he could look back on. Memories to rely on in the storm. Someone holding him steady.

So it was okay for now.

"If--" he hesitated, knowing what came next if she accepted, so he just breathed in deep and squeezed Sander's hand, the action almost reflex with the balancing breath, "--if you want. I'll..." he relaxed his grip, "...be okay."

Hearing it from Christmas himself instead of Kusari definitely made the offer more tempting, but Callan shook her head. "Thanks, but--" she attempted a reassuring smile, but her mood wouldn't abide it for longer than a second, "I'd like to keep this one. I earned it." A morbid reminder of what a monster she was, perhaps. Or the monster she wasn't. Didn't want to be? 

Christmas coughed quietly into the crook of his elbow, nodding his acknowledgment of the girl's decision. In a skewed way, like looking through a kaleidoscope, he kind of understood. It was similar to keeping his injuries, but he didn't think it was exactly the same for her. He turned back to Sander and waited, eyes flicking between the various wounds as they slowly knit back together.

Kusari hoped Christmas insisting would convince Callan to let him heal her, but she still refused. She decided it wasn't worth arguing over, it was a minor injury anyway. However, she raised a brow at the last thing she said. "What do you mean you earned it?" She asked. But before Callan would have the chance to answer Kusari shook her head. "Nevermind, you obviously don't want to tell me." She pointed her thumb behind her head. "Do you want to use our bathroom to clean yourself? you should at least clean those cuts."

Callan tensed at Kusari's first question. Over the panicked static in her head, she almost didn't catch what she said after that. Kusari seemed to have a habit of asking questions that made her heart drop into her stomach. "N-no," Callan raked her hand through the strands of her hair that had broken free of her ponytail, "That's alright." The invitation was eerily familiar. 

Had Kusari felt just as strongly back then? Remembering Kusari without her top on, the image took on a whole new meaning. More than ever, Callan wanted to leave. But she still needed to talk to Sander. Entirely out of patience, she decided there had been enough standing around. "I'm gonna walk over to the hospital," she said, regaining her composure. She straightened herself up and turned to leave, stopping before she passed Sander. She pinched the hem of his sweater and gave a light tug to grab his attention.

"I need to talk to you," she told him, her voice slightly lower. Her amethyst gaze locked with his, an aggrieved look in her eye. "Now." This wasn't up for discussion. 

Sander closed his eyes, his mind keeping its restless vigil over the raging flame in him. But it was different now. The fire didn’t flare. It didn’t crackle and burst out of control at the slightest touch of red. It didn’t burn him when he reached for it. 
 
The high remained the same, raw and visceral and uncontrollable, but at least he had this. He had something. 
 
As the glow wrapped around him, he doused the fire slowly, watching as it grew weaker and weaker still. But he couldn’t snuff it out completely. It threatened to expose him to the full brunt of his wounds, and he didn’t think he could face the full consequences of his recklessness without the protective haze of the blood high. 
 
She would laugh. But she wasn’t here. 
 
He let the conversation went on around him, his grip on Christmas’ hand eventually grew slack, but he didn’t let go. The slight touch was comforting, and he wanted it. Maybe when this was all over, he would go lie down somewhere. Somewhere soft and warm and smelled faintly of coffee. 
 
A slight movement yanked him back into reality, and he blinked, staring down at dirty tennis shoes. Then words finally filtered through his tired thoughts enough to have meanings. He looked up at her face then, holding the steady amethyst gaze. The force of her tone alone told him what she wanted, and he knew she wouldn’t take no for answer. Not that he would give her that answer anyway. He was meaning to go back there. He didn’t want blood on his sheet, and there were still parts of his addled brain brazen enough to miss the soft warmth beneath him, despite the fears and uncertainties that gnawed at his every waking moments. 
 
“Okay.” -He mumbled softly, then nodded, just in case Callan didn’t catch his breathy words. 
 
He looked at Christmas, then at Kusari. A slight frown creased his brows as he tugged on the blond boy’s hand –“…come with?” -The question was clipped, but the voice behind it seemed far less strained now.

Kusari frowned when Callan didn't take her up on her offer. She was kinda hoping to see the girl borrowing one of her shirts, as Kusari had done. Her size was clearly too small, but that was clearly the point. She shrugged. "Alright then." She was about to walk back to her bed when she heard Callan ask to speak to Sander. She hoped whatever they talked about this time didn't lead to them coming back bloodied again. 

Sander looked her way, and seemed to ask if she wanted to come. "Yeah... gonna pass on that one." She wasn't going to try and nudge her way into their conversation for the second time. She looked at Christmas, then to his hand which was joined with Sander's. "After he's done healing you Christmas should stay too."

Christmas's grip on Sander's hand tightened visibly, his knuckles white. His eyes jumped meaninglessly over the walls and floor and even through the gentle warmth of Sander's hand--the unnatural temperature lessened suddenly but the human heat remained and his breaths stuttered--he heard the rising tide boiling again and the distant hornet's nest.

His bandaged hand rose to grip Sander's as well, clasping around the larger hand like a prayer--flimsy and thin and it would take a miracle for any god that mattered to hear it, but it was there. He was shaking again, and he looked at anywhere but Kusari's claws until his mind couldn't help itself and his fearful eyes fixed on the hand that had promised only pain and nothing more. Even now, not even pretending to offer.

"Sander--I-I'll go--" Christmas whispered to the ground, then to the mark on his roommate's neck. He opened his mouth to say more but the words hooked barbs on his tongue and wouldn't come out.

He shook his head instead, both hands tight enough to shiver around Sander's.

"I'll go," he just repeated the agreement, the sharp sting of yesterday's light cut agitated by the trembling pressure of his hold still drowned in the panic that threatened to catch him by the ankles.

Sander looked down the blond boy’s shaky grip on his hand. This, he knew. Cold grips reminded him of fear, and he knew how to fix this. He might not know about the demons that haunted Christmas still, but this, he knew. He would fix it, at least he would try, when the fire held and he was still bold enough to be sure of his limbs. 
 
“…not safe here…” -He leveled a gaze at Kusari, rage stiffened his features –“H-He’s…with me.” 

The vise grip on Sander's hand relaxed marginally, but Christmas remained staring downward now that his eyes had finally drifted back to the ground and feet in front of him.

Kusari raised a brow in confusion as Christmas stated that he would go with Sander. She didn't understand why he wanted to stick to Sander so much. It was getting late, soon enough curfew would kick in. Was she missing something? Callan simply wanted to speak with Sander alone, at least it seemed that way. There was no reason he had to tag along. 

She received some semblance of an explanation from Sander. What he said didn't quite register for a moment, because it was completely absurd to her. "Excuse me?" She said, her expression was like a geyser ready to burst. "What the fuck do you mean it's not safe here? There must be a ghost in this room I'm unaware of because I know you sure as hell aren't talking to me." Her right eye twitched, she was holding back from screaming at the top of her lungs.

Christmas inhaled sharply and his hands grew white again on Sander's. He stared almost singularly at a small splash of blood on the ground now.

The flame tugged once, firmly, and this time, Sander gave. Its heat bled into his thoughts again, searching for bits and pieces of memories that validated the sudden surge of rage. And it didn’t come up empty handed. The corners of Sander’s mouth curled up into a snarl as he gave Christmas’ hand a slight tug, to which the blond boy responded by moving toward him. 
 
“You…” -Sander loosened the line of his jaws, waiting a beat for the throbbing to pass before he continued –“…are dangerous. Unstable. You would hurt him.” -He motioned at Christmas with his free hand. 
 
“You said you would hurt me, didn’t you?”

Kusari let out a derisive scoff. "I sure did. But it looks like someone did a number on you already." She noticed him pull Christmas closer to his body. Whatever their relationship was, she couldn't help but believe Christmas was being used. "You of all people calling someone unstable... I've lost count of how many times you've lost it. And let's not forget who in this room has ever actually hurt Christmas. What would have happened if Shane didn't stop you, Sander?" She glanced at Christmas, she wasn't sure if he was even awake back then. 

Christmas didn't recognize the new name nor the accusation, and he didn't know what Kusari was referring to, but it had happened without his knowledge. So either in his sleep or when he was otherwise unaware. Trickles of doubt, but he had already looked at the death in those red eyes and decided he was more than fear and Sander was more than slaughter. Three loops and he held on to that damaged, blue lifeline. Little things overflowing and small words catching. A warm hand holding him in place. I trust you. He flinched at her words, their implications stirring the heat and hornets again, but didn't move away from Sander. 

Callan's restlessness was temporarily put on hold as the argument broke out. She carefully looked between the three roommates, but remained silent while trying to piece together the bits of information. She wasn't entirely sure what this was all about just yet, but... it didn't seem like it was anything good. 

Sander grinned at that. A full grin, all teeth and solid confidence, almost a tinge of madness at the edges. The blood went right to his head, and he snapped off the siphon, letting the red glow around him and Christmas fade. Just because he could. And he actually could. But agitation and rage washed over his small moment of victory.
 
“I got better.” -He said then, the crooked smile remained, but his voice was thick and low, traces of anger hidden within the words.“Did you?” 
 
“I am more than this” -He tapped a finger on the X on his throat –“Are you?”

Kusari was silent for a moment. She looked at her open right hand. It was a hand that could never do anything but hurt others. That's what she'd kept thinking to herself, but she wanted it to mean more than that. She thought back to one of the waking dreams she'd had. Her leg had sunk into the depths of that ocean, but when she pulled it out her leg wasn't filthy, it had become beautiful. It made her believe that perhaps the dream that turned her into a mage wasn't just a fantasy. Just as beauty was in the eyes of the beholder, her power used right could be a blessing. She lowered her hand and looked to Sander. 

"Better? Yes, I have. And as far as I know you have been improving as well. But it's never going to stop, is it? I've heard about it, the ever present devil hanging over your shoulder. Can you resist your stigma forever?" Kusari shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "I'm not rooting against you, in fact I'd much prefer it if you stopped going berserk." 

Everything had been simmering and droning for a while in the background ever since the fight had started and Christmas's hands were cold, still clutching Sander's hand and still trying to shuffle thoughts into words that could fit his feeble voice and failing fortitude. He always failed when it mattered, because he just stood on the precipice of decisions he could clearly see, but couldn't follow through with. Burdening people with hopes he barely understood because he was too weak to carry them alone--he had asked Lily to let him do something right, but he had never explained what, just like not knowing how to make good choices. For now--for now and he didn't know how long he could keep telling himself that--he didn't want the humming panic. He had believed Sander yesterday. Doubts and fears and things he didn't know pulled at that faith, but it was Sander's strength he was borrowing. He decided to still believe.

“Better? Don’t give me that.” -Sander almost spat, but his tone was steady. Or strained, though that remained to be interpreted –“Your actions clashed with your words, Kusari. And you don’t even need a Stigma for that.”
 
He stopped for a quick huff of breath, red eyes still gleaming and fixed on the white-haired girl. The fire crackled loudly in the back of his mind, and his heart hammered, as if spurring him on. It was getting dangerously hot, searing like white fire, so he shifted his shoulders, pulling on the healing gashes. It only ached, the pain too dull for comfort. He gasped in another quick breath. 

A Christmas that wasn't wholly pathetic sighed somewhere inside that white noise haze and the words were out of his mouth and falling to the ground, so quiet he could hardly hear himself.

"I trust you."
 
Then Christmas’ voice cut through his thoughts. He blinked then, turning down to look at the blond boy. Something tightened in his chest, and he suddenly grew very still before his thoughts caught up with him.

He was here. He had to be here.  
 
“Oh.” -He raised his eyebrows, before mumbled a quick ‘thank you’. With eyes still slightly widened in shock, he turned to Callan, motioning with a thumb –“Do you still want to…?” -He trailed off, letting her fill the blank.   

"That's real rich, Sander." Kusari said, letting out an annoyed sigh. "For someone with such tough skin  it sure is thin. As if I'd attack Christmas, no matter how much of a shaky dog he acts. Who the hell do you think I am?" She'd almost slapped him, but she knew better. They needed to be better than those that kept them in captivity. "I'm going outside." She walked past them, her eyes catching the burnt skin on Callan's leg. She couldn't possibly have been the one to hurt Sander, it didn't make sense. The girl didn't seem the type to lose her cool and try to tear someone apart. She needed to take a walk to calm down.

Christmas didn't believe her between the screaming and the threatening claws (Had Sander said she wanted to hurt him, too? And had she confirmed it?), but he just focused on Sander's hand instead, caught between his own--one bandaged and one pale, but whole. Sander was trying. He had seen it in the forest and had seen it at the hospital. But he didn't know Kusari, who only had accusations, insults, and threats to direct at others as if she was above them. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't want to be sure. 

So Christmas looked to other thoughts. She had helped him once in that blurry beginning where everything went so wrong all at once, but was that her? Was that how she tried? He didn't know and it was selfish of him because he could have thought on it more, but he'd rather not remember screeching demands and claws poised to strike.

In desperation, he knew who he was. A coward. In desperation, he had seen Sander press a knife into his own chest. And in desperation he had seen Kusari raise her hand to strike. Not even pretending to offer.

No. He didn't believe her. He held Sander's hand and trusted that strength behind the glowing eyes of a monster. Because he trusted Sander.

Christmas's breaths only slowed down at last when Kusari's footsteps faded away.

Nosy was something Callan had never considered herself to be, but with so much being laid raw before her, she couldn't help but hang on every word. Callan stepped out of the way to let Kusari pass, feeling the girl's gaze on her burn. She averted her eyes until she was far down the hall, lost in thoughts that couldn't seem to solidify themselves. Too many missing pieces-- for now. But she had enough for a few inklings. Blinking them away, she glanced briefly at Sander before moving forward. 

"Yeah. Come on."

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

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『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』 『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕤   / /   @RedDusk@January@Baklava
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤   / /  ~𝟚𝟙𝟚𝟘

The three teenagers had fallen into a simple, unspoken accord of temporary silence during their walk, each of them mulling over their own thoughts in their own different ways. There would be time enough to discuss things later, but for every heated fight, even the strongest combatants needed time to cool down, to decompress and collect themselves into more civilized conduct--rebuild the boundaries of their calm. The short, blond healer, for one, was grateful for the moments of quiet peace after the screams and the insidious words.

Christmas had held on to Sander's hand the entire walk to the hospital, barely aware that he could be making Sander uncomfortable because he was trying so hard to hold on to every last vestige of calm. Bits and pieces of it had dropped into the fear like tiny spots of clarity, but he couldn't find enough of the rest. Now the shuddering adrenaline was wearing off and everything that had happened, from the slam on the door to the argument where cruel words had been fired back and forth, was rushing back in clear as day. And there had been claws poised to strike.

The doctors and nurses had taken one look at them and had ushered them quickly into a large room with five empty beds spaced far from each other, but when one of them confirmed Christmas was a healer and Sander was now physically fine despite the blood, it was a simple matter of checking with a higher authority on their phones for confirmation before allowing Callan her request to keep the light singe on her ankle. 

Still, a nurse had come in later with several large ice packs for Callan and a quiet reminder before leaving that the superhuman girl could ask for help if there were any injuries she hadn't yet noticed.

During the entire session--it had to have been at least 20 minutes--Christmas still hadn't let go of Sander's hand, staring quietly at the floor and trying hard to keep himself together as all the emotions that sheer panic had kept at bay earlier pummeled his weakened mental endurance. He would never have claimed that endurance to be strong in the first place.

When the door closed behind the nurse and another five or so minutes passed without any further staff coming in and checking on them, Christmas stumbled over to the nearest bed, body shaking violently now as he fell into a seat on the thin, white sheets. His hand still clutched Sander's, and the taller boy simply obliged the movement, sitting down beside the trembling healer without protest.

The cool ice pack against her skin brought as much nostalgia as it did relief. A sprained ankle and a high school trainer's room. Some thin boy with thick curly brown hair wrapped it carefully while she leaned back on her hands and listened while her teammates chatted and laughed about whatever. It felt so long ago, but she knew it wasn't. Either way, she was dead to them now. And the occupants of this room she found herself in tonight were so very different. Herself included.

Her burned leg was folded in front of her on the hospital bed while the other dangled off the side. The idea of laying down was dubbed a bad one. She knew she'd fall asleep if she did. She needed to speak to Sander, but once the room had cleared, she allowed silence to fully encase it. Last thing she needed was some nurse or doctor barging in and interrupting.

Her train of thought momentarily derailed as she observed Christmas collapse onto the mattress two beds away-- with Sander in tow. The lanky, blood-soaked vampire took a seat beside him. The lingering traces of uncertainty finally bled out of her supposition. Ohhh... okay. Callan concluded, I suppose that... makes sense." Hand holding and body language aside, Christmas was shaking like a leaf. Was that because of Kusari? 

Good questions, wrong time. Sander seemed to be very close with Christmas and he wasn't freaking out, so she had to assume he was okay. There would be time to ask about Kusari later, but for now... the single question she'd been holding in was like a boulder-- unbearably heavy and exhausting to ignore. She braced herself with a breath and looked at Sander. 

"Why'd you do it?" she asked, foolishly non-specific. If he and Christmas were something like an item, it was likely he already knew about the fight they'd scheduled. But even if he didn't, Callan decided she didn't care. The question was out and needed answering-- and so she clarified. "Why'd you let me win?"

For what seemed like hours, Sander watched the fire. He riled it to deal with Kusari, but with her gone, he was left to deal with the aftermath. It was far harder to calm the flame than to rouse it. Harder still to keep it at an acceptable level, because as much as he would like to snuff it completely, he needed its heat to keep going. Christmas’ blood would fix his wounds, but the blond boy could do nothing to help with the withdrawal. And he had kept going for so long…

He was afraid of the fall. 

The heat in his ribcage felt like ember now. Occasional flame. It was easier to think, but the craving was miserable. At least he was sober enough to keep it rein in. But for how long? The crumbled confidence tasted like ashes in his mouth. He was so sure of himself then, so certain that he had got better. Looking back now, it seemed more like a dog raising its hackles to hide leaking wounds and bony ribs. Doubts crept back into his mind now that the fire and the rage had abated. But without the strength of the Stigma behind them, he could still keep them at bay. He just shoved all those unpleasant thoughts in the back of his mind. Some day, they might just come crashing down on him like an avalanche. But he chose not to think about that, too. 

He decided to think about other things instead. Like the cold, slender hand clutching his bloody one. Like the whispered trust and cornflower blue eyes. Christmas said he trusted him. Trusted Sander Lorraine. The violent X. The monster. And the blond boy had showed him that trust, time and time again. She trusted him, too. But she knew, even better than he knew himself. Always had. She had no uncertainties, and she took no risk. All Christmas had was faith. Pure and unwavering. It reminded him of a simpler time, when everything was untainted, and he didn’t dream of dark waves and darker desires. It allowed him to entertain the silly notion that maybe, just maybe, there was still bits and pieces of him that was undeniably human.

Because he was. And Christmas let him believe that.

He settled down next to the shivering boy, his gaze careful but laced with concern. Christmas didn’t look fine, and Sander was once again trying to fix that. Was it because of what happened with Kusari? The white-haired girl had almost struck the boy with her clawed hand, and he figured that would be rather traumatizing. But he had no solution for that. His rage-addled mind couldn’t comprehend fear right. He knew split second panics. The primal instincts to lunge and to leap out of the way. The sudden tension when black claws flicked and red ones raised. But those went away. The fear that plagued the shaking boy next to him did not. He didn't know what to do about that. There was no Kusari here for him to snap at. No claws for him to break. 

So he looked for other things to do. 

Maybe it was cold. Fear often was, at least when he was sober. So he did the only logical thing at the moment. He scooted closer to the shaking boy, pressing his shoulder and thigh into Christmas' smaller form and sharing what body heat he could. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe he should ask first. But doing things had always been easier than thinking about them, so he decided not to think about that, too. 

Callan’s questions called his attention to her, so he turned to her. He watched the girl first, considering his answer. She looked fine. She was fine. He knew her scent, and it indicated no abnormal bleeding. And that was a good thing. Wasn’t that a good thing? She won, and she was unharmed. So why did she make it sound like a bad thing? He narrowed his eyes, puzzled. 

“I didn’t.” -He answered truthfully –“You’re just…stronger.”   

Vague voices, but Christmas didn't process the words, straining to sift through the aftermath of emotions as painlessly as possible.

The warmth that pressed against the side of his body was just a bit hotter than a person should be. Like a mild fever. The thin, red wisps of smoke were still curling off Sander's upper body, fainter now and less vivid, spilling across Christmas's right shoulder and leg where Sander's arm and thigh pressed against his. He had stiffened initially at the movement, afraid for a split second Sander would leave and take his hand away, but now there was steady heat against the right side of his body.

So warm. His shivering remained the same, but he leaned into that small comfort instinctively like he was looking for a twilight sun in that field again, pressing against Sander and turning his face towards the safety of that presence, remembering a similar person beside him over a month ago. Intermittent and colder, but at least present enough to be something like trustworthy. It was different though. He recognized that immediately in the iron tang of bloodstains and the chalky scent of that grayish dust. But that didn't matter so much when it was so warm. Some of the blood smeared on his hair and face where he grasped weakly at strength that wasn't his, but it felt safe enough here that he could stop clutching that cornflower blue lifeline in his mind. His left hand found a spot on Sander's arm to hold onto and he braced himself against his roommate for seconds he didn't keep track of.

The ribbon was still on his right wrist, where Sander had tied it, and he didn't feel like he was solid enough to think about that when he could barely hold his emotions in order.

He didn't know--and god, he wished he had more instances of knowing something--when the shaking breaths turned into quiet sobs, but the tears running down his face diluted a thin path through the red smears. Christmas remained like that, crying onto Sander's arm and vaguely remembering he wasn't supposed to. Automatic words, instead. He couldn't find that calm haven right now. 

He was just scared.

"S-s--" He waited for a short break in the shuddering gasps. "--'m sorry."

Callan's anger flared at Sander's response, but was just as quickly extinguished when Christmas burst into tears. Concern and a tinge of vicarious embarrassment etched itself on her face as she watched. She balled up the front of her shirt in her free hand and turned her attention to the ice pack on her ankle. She'd never been the sort who was good with tears. Briefly, she was reminded of Lawrence catching her at the tail end of her ghastly blubbering and her embarrassment turned inward.

She didn't say anything as Sander proceeded to try and comfort him. It wasn't her business, but once again she found herself unable to keep from listening. Out of the corner of her eye, she remained aware of the pair's movements. The short boy with a holiday for a name and blonde hair. Sad eyes. Sander's long, gangly form, still coated in blood she'd caused him to spill. Had she inadvertently caused this whole mess?

The sudden movements caught Sander’s eyes, and he diverted his attention to the blond boy next to him. Christmas was crying now, quiet sobs wracking the blond boy’s shoulders. Sander raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised at this recent turn of events. Almost without thinking, he lifted his free hand toward his roommate, fingers brushing a lock of golden hair right above the curve of his ear. But the flecks of dried blood clung to the strand, and red was so prominent on gold so his hand froze, before he let it fall onto his lap.

The light touch on his hair reminded him again--much more vividly this time--that he needed to stop sniveling on someone else's arm and Christmas fumbled for the sleeve of his T-shirt with his left hand, wiping his face with the bloody shirt and sitting up a bit straighter. The sobs still ran their course, though, and he finally worked through enough of the storm to release Sander's hand, gripping the hem of his shorts instead and waiting for the aftermath of too many fears to finally pass.

"S-sorry," he mumbled again, syllables sticking in his throat and coming out crooked.

Red eyes blinked again, the words repeated to Sander so often it might have lost its meaning. Just another quirk his roommate had. But it was not like other times. Even he knew as much. This was the security outpost all over again. 

“What’s wrong?” -He craned his head, leaning down to the blond boy.

Christmas didn't know what to say to that. He wanted to tell Sander he was okay again, but now that he had cried on his roommate he wasn't sure if that was even on the table as an option. But he had decided--without telling Sander because he didn't know how to articulate it but he would when he could figure it out--that he was splitting things into two. Half and half, right? For now he didn't have the words he truly wanted, so he settled for the meager flotsam on the surface.

"C-can I?"

Another blink, and Sander titled his head slightly, but pressed on –“Yes.” 

He trusted Sander, even if the facets that made up his mind shouted so loudly he couldn't hear what he wanted sometimes, but he said it. He had. He trusted Sander.

"I--" Christmas swallowed, trying not to say he was okay. But he didn't know if it was all right to say he wasn't okay. Wasn't sure if it was all right to burden Sander with his fears and he held on to the fabric of his shorts tighter, not looking up. "--s-scared. I'm sorry."

“Can you tell me how to fix it?” -Sander lowered his voice then, still had enough sense left to keep this moment private –“I can…do something.” -His tone was firm, but hollow at best. All liquid courage and drunken bravado. But he meant every word. 

Christmas turned to find Sander's face a bit closer to his, and muted blue eyes met burning red. He stared, caught in the startling gaze where looking away felt like it would be wrong until he had answered the question. Fix? How would Sander fix it? What was he fixing? Or offering to?

What did he want Sander to fix?

He didn't want the world set right--not on any personal level. He didn't care about the oft-mentioned "state of the war." He wasn't a nice person because at the end of the day he didn't honestly want to help everyone--even if that was the "good" thing. So what was it that he wanted here in this dark place where a setting sun offered its tiny comfort?

No, not the right question. What didn't he want?

Screaming hands and threatening claws. Words like strikes against the hornet's nest and terrible accusations dragging hardness into Sander's voice, dredging up ugly things in response. He didn't want that. It was another kind of monster, and it called out to something pitch-black in him.

"I'm scared of Kusari," he said to that fire in Sander's eyes, surprised the words had come out at all. They had been pushed, he realized as the feeling settled, by something in him he didn't want to see. Christmas blinked rapidly at Sander before turning to his hands, uncertain if saying that answered Sander's question. The words had felt off, like something else was supposed to have substituted for "scared of." He just couldn't identify what, because it was true. He was scared of her. And...?

The name reminded him of restrained anger and seething words and false confidence. Sander slightly stiffened at the memories, remnants of rage like sparks from a dying fire. He waited for them to fade away before he opened his mouth. 

“…What do you want me to do?” -He asked, waiting on the clarification before he dared to interpret a course of action for himself. The fire whispered still, and it only knew violence. He wasn't sure Christmas wanted that. 

Christmas waited for that murky feeling to settle back down into the depths, afraid to open his mouth when the words came out that easily. A flurry of emotions had disturbed the silt, but he wasn't sure that was the right thing to look for.

It wasn't warm like Sander's hand, and he felt like it might cut him if he tried to hold it.

Instead he breathed quietly and looked at the ribbon on his wrist. He remembered what he had thought that night. Insurance against himself. But it only worked if someone else could bear trust.

"If...if you want..." he held out the ribboned wrist instead, "um...it'll be okay if..." Christmas lowered his hand back down, remembering Sander beckoning him forward at the suite. "...if you just hold...hold onto the--it."

Sander reached out for the blue strip of fabric, because it was a promise and even though he didn’t remember whose or what, he would keep it anyway. Because Christmas trusted him with it and he would try to do at least this. But he stopped once he noticed the red smears that stained his hands. He wiped them against his tattered shirt first, then again on the faded blue of his jeans. That helped, somewhat, though flakes of dull red and concrete dust remained.

But it would do.

With a firm tug, the ribbon came loose and Sander took it into his hand. He held it aloft, but gaze still turned to Christmas expectantly. The weight of a promise was heavier than it looked. But borrowed strength and liquid courage was a blessing in these moments. A small mercy.

“I-I still don’t know what to do.” -He began, racking his mind for something of substance. Something that was not red. The words stacked upon themselves as he forcefully cut off thoughts before they could bloom into action –“I can--No--That’s not right--But she can’t run--No--Not right.” -The words did come out anyway, but they were harsher than he intended. Or not. He wasn’t quite sure himself –“…Do you want me to make her…go away?”

Christmas paled at the words, shaking his head. Two beds away, Callan quickly lifted her head to look, eyes wide with surprise. 

Sander's mind flickered to that cold night after the arboretum then. Back when he looked for answers next to a loaded stag gun.

“Or do you want to go away?” 

Christmas caught the bloody hand, the one holding the ribbon limply between its fingers, bringing it down to rest on Sander's lap, hoping it would bring other things to rest as well and mumbled out a soft apology again, Sander's question still lingering in the air.

"I can...I can tie it, i-if you want," he said instead, still running through what Sander was implying. He saw the nod, and turned back to the ribbon, tying it swiftly around Sander's wrist, the new bloodstains brighter against the old ones. Trying not to think about things like "running away" which inevitably led to bad ends.

Christmas tugged the knot into place and let go of the ribbon, something in him suddenly quite...happy about it there. But he hid those thoughts somewhere safe and pulled out the scary words again.

"...Go away?" he repeated quietly, afraid they'd all be in trouble for that kind of suggestion.

“You don’t have to be…with her. With Kusari” -Sander said, his gaze still lingered on the blue knot, eyes tracing every twist and loops. His thoughts flickered to the choices he didn't make, and it didn't seem so bad this time. Not bad at all –“They have...the forms. You can ask to leave.”

Christmas was thrown for another loop that day, between Sander healing without hurting him and the news that he could actually ask for something like that. He stared, wide-eyed, at his roommate.

"W-what about you?"

What about him?

That gave Sander a pause. Because it conflicted. It's not necessary to care about him. He could take it. Fear and pain couldn’t hurt him the same way they hurt people. Couldn’t hurt him the way they hurt Christmas. 

“Can’t hurt me.” -So he voiced that broken off bit of his thoughts. The rest was quiet admittance of something inhuman. But he was trying. He had to remind himself that.

Christmas didn't agree, and roughly half an hour ago he would definitely not have agreed. But he didn't protest that.

Sander had asked what Christmas had wanted him to do, and it was that strange dynamic again where he wasn't offering and nothing was evenly split, and he could take both halves if he wanted to. But that wasn't what he wanted. It was easiest, and maybe several days ago he would have chosen to hold both halves, but a small, almost imperceptible part of him had rearranged itself in that buzzing fog and he wanted to try. Not nice, but wanting to be.

So he tapped Sander's hand. That shadow of a tap again. Bold, for him, in this situation where he could simply give in and take the easiest path openly offered. But he wanted to be here. Wanted the better part of himself to be here.

"...Do you want to go away?"

“Where?” -Sander asked, because he couldn’t think of the answer right away. It was in there somewhere; he had an inkling. But he had to ask.

Christmas looked down at the ribbon, wondering if he had the nerve. A part of him might, but he didn't know where it was right now.

"What if...what if I said something 'not nice'?"

“I’ll be here.” -Sander moved his wrist, just a slight flick, as if to remind him of the ribbon. Of the here. Theirs –“…Promise.”

"H-he's...with me."

And a cornflower blue lifeline threaded with hope.

"Is it okay to...if I said I was with you?"

“Yeah.” -Sander nodded, simple and easy. He took the words as they were, and that was good enough –“You’re with me.”

The easy admittance like there was no doubt about the question gave Christmas that last, gentle nudge, even if he was starkly aware that Sander was answering only the surface. Even that was so much more than he had dared to want.

"...Can I...ask you to--" Unbearably human and unbearably selfish. Not nice. But Sander said he would be there, so the words found their way out in the wake of something like wanting more than he should be asking for. Christmas swallowed again, suddenly hyper-aware of the ribbon and what it could be if he messed up. What it could be if he didn't. Too thin a difference to balance out alone. Had to be half him and half Sander. 

"Do you want to come with me?"

Sander looked up into blue eyes then, mulling over the words; his and Christmas’. A moment of clarity then. His thoughts were scattered still, but he found what he was looking for: blue eyes. His and Christmas. This was what he wanted. Not the fire. Not them. It was all him. Because he was more than this. More than the nothing that waited to die. More than what she drew and shaped in the fire.

It might be just another instance of false courage, bound to crumble first thing in the morning. But it was enough, in that moment alone. 

“Okay. I’m with you.” -He nodded again.

Christmas couldn't hide the grateful smile in time, but he ducked his head down anyway. Better late than never. He just nodded to Sander's words, hiding the lower half of his face behind a bandaged hand and pretending like he was wiping his nose. For an extended period of time.

Eventually, a tiny "Thank you" petered out from behind the hand, a smile on the voice even if the hand was obscuring it from sight.

The conversation had taken a turn Callan wasn't expecting. Her gaze quickly fell back down to the ice pack, face burning. She couldn't stop listening. For a moment she wanted to melt away into the hospital bed, but it was over soon enough. She supposed it was nice. Seeing two people being happy together despite the bleakness of her day. With a hesitant glance to make sure she wasn't interrupting anything, she decided it was safe to speak up again.

Callan cleared her throat. "Is Kusari really that bad?" she asked, looking between both of them. 

“She’s dangerous.” -Sander glanced up at Callan then, the irony of the statement lost on him –“You were there.”

Christmas looked up and forward at the girl whose name he still didn't know, though his hand still covered his mouth. She was sitting two beds away and a good four or five meters from them, and he had vaguely registered someone there but hadn't deemed it important enough to look--just trying to sort his words and his thoughts all at once while Sander was there and she had been so quiet for almost the entire time. He thought she had said something earlier, too, but he had been...panicking and crying...then.

Uh.

It finally dawned on him, completely and without question, that she had just watched everything from there. If it was possible for a person to collapse in on themselves without magic, Christmas would have been the prime example, because he practically shrank where he sat and would have stopped breathing if he had that option.

Callan was quiet for a moment, trying to arrange the memory of what she'd heard into a question. "Why do you think that?" she asked, already thinking of more than a few reasons herself. Kusari breaking Marcus's arm. Ripping her limbs off. And Sander had said she would "hurt" Christmas... and that she'd said she would hurt him....

“I know…monsters.” -Sander lifted the corner of his lips into a bitter smile –“Kusari doesn’t even try.” 

Callan flinched at the word.

"Did she... really say she'd hurt you?" she asked, remembering how Kusari had owned up to that accusation so easily. "When did that happen?" She felt bad asking Sander. Normally she'd prefer to ask Kusari herself, but after the conversation they'd had in the cafeteria....

Christmas snuck glances at both Sander and the girl with aquamarine hair when she brought up that topic, embarrassment briefly submerged at the memory of half-heard words in the storm of that panic. His gaze settled on Sander's bloody shoes, waiting for the answer as well.

Sander stared off into a patch of wall behind Callan, finding the right word. Promise wasn’t it, the memory wasn’t tinged with warmth and wrapped around his wrist in a cornflower blue. And he knew threats, or at least, he thought he did. Threats were red circles on plain calendars. Threats were his name spoken backward in robotic voices. And at the end, they always came through. While these were false words that served no purpose. Hollow, because she didn’t go through with them.

“If she ends up seriously hurt, I am going to return every injury on her body tenfold to you.” -Sander settled for a simple repetition then. Kusari didn’t earn any of his words –“That was what she said.”

"It was...before the fight."

The explanation made Christmas tremble again and he wasn't sure if he was glad to know his fears were justified or only more worried now that they were. So that was why Sander had suggested something like making her "go away." He had thought it extreme, but wasn't sure if the sentiment was completely correct anymore. Still an outrageous solution, and one he would never have agreed to in this situation, but he at least understood why it had come about. He glanced up at Sander quickly, but looked back down, a tense frown on his face now as his hand fell away and returned to his lap.

Her face blanked as Sander spoke, processing what he'd said... or what she'd said, rather.

"Just... Just what am I even becoming?"

Sander didn't have any reason to lie, did he? No... with what Callan had seen on those monitors, it wasn't a stretch to believe she was capable of this. Sympathy and gratitude were nowhere to be seen. The hand that held the cold compress to her ankle tightened and she had to stop herself from bursting the bag.

She exhaled a long, shaky breath. "Is that why you let me win?" she asked, managing to keep her voice even in spite of the anger that deluged her mind.

“No.” -Again, another simple answer with a simple truth. Or at least, half of it. Callan didn't ask for the other half –“I didn’t let you win.”

Callan exhaled sharply through her nose. "You weren't fighting like you did yesterday," she protested.

Sander paused a bit at that statement, but he pressed on, eventually. It was not a lie, but not the full truth either –“I did the best I could.” 

Feet kicked out from under her fervor, Callan opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Clamping her mouth shut she dropped her gaze and stared at the corner of the room while the remnants of her anger leaked out, replaced by chilling dejection. He'd tried his best? That couldn't have been true... could it?

She tugged at the collar of her shirt, bringing it up over her chin. She almost put the fabric to her lips before remembering how much of Sander's blood was on it. "I'm sorry" she muttered, a bit harshly, "I thought we were more evenly matched...."

“You wanted a fight. You got it.” -Sander creased his brows, confused –“Isn’t that…enough?”

“You didn’t ask me…match you.”

Callan stared at the ice pack again. She tilted it just enough to see the burn mark underneath. She still didn't fully believe him. She'd never expected them to be perfectly matched, but... she also hadn't expected to be the one who would lose control.

"Sorry," she repeated, with less bite and more sincerity this time.

The phone call with Dom had started replaying in her head as regret set in. She looked up then, glancing from Sander to Christmas. Sander would probably tell Christmas all about her shadow and what had happened. She looked back to the taller boy. She should've canceled the fight. She should've known she wasn't in the right state of mind to control Misery.

"It was a stupid idea," she said finally. A small, defeated smile passed over her lips.

Christmas processed the conversation slowly, remembering at last that there had been a duel mentioned at some point. Sander had brought it up earlier in the day, but the recent frenzy of events had shoved it from his mind until now. So that meant this girl was...he couldn't really recall the name. Kelly? It sounded off in his head. But she had asked for a match and from the sounds of it, wasn't satisfied with whatever had happened.

A quick grimace passed over his features as he recalled--not fully because he blinked the thought away before the fine details came back to mind--the moment when the door had opened to reveal all that blood. Dueling with magic was as deadly as he had thought. 

But that was what he was for, wasn't it? So things like that could happen without any real consequences. Christmas looked away, towards the far end of the bed. He was too weak to shoulder that responsibility, but he didn't know any way of becoming stronger (something felt like disagreement for a second). Other than borrowing someone else's strength.

“It was.” -Sander shrugged, tone suddenly stiff. But his expression softened as he continued, something like relief laced his features –“But you are okay. So that’s good.” -His eyes shifted to the burn marks around her ankle, but only for a moment.

She nodded once, feeling even worse than before. Of course he agreed. Right. Good thing she wasn't hurt-- or the chick who had a crush on her might've just about killed him. Callan remembered his warnings the night before. Kusari had said it was a bad idea, too. Perhaps she should've listened....

Callan felt undeserving of Sander's concern. Or maybe she simply didn't want it. She could handle herself. She didn't need other people looking after her... fighting her battles. Kusari had said it might scar, too. So stupid... nothing was turning out the way she'd wanted. She'd almost killed him. While he....

She was so caught up in self-loathing, she almost didn't catch it.

That glimmer of hope.

"I... I am okay," Callan said slowly, new thoughts seeping into her brain. Something in her expression changed. She was okay. He hadn't hurt her.

"You--" she tripped over the word in her eagerness to get the sentence out. She moved the ice pack away and slid her burned leg off the bed, bracing her hands against he mattress as she leaned forward, "You were able to control yourself this time!"

Her eyes lit up and she smiled, excited but somewhat hesitant. She half expected him to tell her he could always do that. To assure her that no progress had been made-- that her 'hope' was a sham. But she had to try. Not because she wanted to prove Sander and Kusari wrong to protect her own veneer, but because she just wanted to believe.

Christmas looked back at the sudden shift in the girl's tone, surprise and recognition on his face as she mentioned that recurring topic of "control" again. Sander's words from the early morning of the flag football game came to mind, questions about oceans and control floating back to him in half-formed shapes. Kusari's barbs in the camera room about control. Sander's determination to be here. The accusations in the air less than an hour ago.

He had only been vaguely aware of it, because his mind ran away with his thoughts into furtive corners that projected and hoped and dreamed and trusted, but it was an issue, wasn't it? For all he believed, it was a problem that everyone but him had fully recognized.

But there was nothing he could do, weak as he was, so the realization of the obvious gave him nothing more than he already had.

Sander looked mildly surprised when Callan mentioned ‘control’. But it wasn’t to mock him with matters that were beyond him. Wasn’t to point out things he had been aware of his entire life. And he honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. He had scarcely believed it when the flame gave before him; he might think it a dream first thing tomorrow. But hearing Callan said that, it felt almost real.

Because it was. Real as the wisps of smoke rising from his arms. Intangible, but undeniably there.

“I—um…” -He averted his gaze, stumbling just to find the simple words –“…Thank you.”

It was never a topic he would bring up with people. Only faceless voices behind glass before. But that shimmering hope in his chest bloomed into something bright and foolish and enhanced by a touch of lingering madness from the blood high that cause him to almost smiled as he talked.

“I got…better. This time.”

The look on Sander's face had her smiling full force. With a sigh heavy with exhilaration, Callan tried, with some effort to force a more serious expression onto her mouth. She seemed to be the only one grinning and she didn't want what she said next to be misconstrued as a joke.

"Maybe we should... do it again sometime?" she queried. She spared a glance at Christmas, realizing how that sounded. She chuckled nervously, but a good deal of her relief and excitement leaked into the sound. "Sparring matches, I mean. If... if you don't think it's too much of a bad idea?"

The question was directed at both of them. She didn't want to make Christmas uncomfortable, asking to spend more time with his brand new boyfriend like she was. Not to mention it was more than likely they'd be in need of his healing ability again-- though hopefully not to such an extent as today.

Then, of course, there was Sander, who hopefully was now well aware of exactly how dangerous SHE was. She wouldn't blame him for saying no, but... she hoped he wouldn't. She was confident she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Christmas caught the glance his way and looked back down at his feet, because he had been staring and the girl might not have liked that.

She didn't comment on it, though, and he didn't have the nerve to talk on matters that involved people who could actually do something. He remembered now the splash of aquamarine hair on the monitors and her strength. Both were strong. Both had an endless expanse of sky and ground to traverse, nearly limitless. He, on the other hand, didn't even know if the ground was there.

Would be easier to ignore it. Hide away, let them handle it and...come back bloody again and near death. He had a role. The ribbon on Sander's wrist wound its way through his mind and told him to try, because it would be damned if it became an excuse instead of a promise.

The murky depths stirred, promising to tear him apart, but he did his best to pat down the silt, picking out just one small grain of that dirt and even that was scary. Try.. Out of place. Like a speck of dust talking to titans. But he decided if they didn't hear this time it would be okay.

"If...if you want..." the words were already out, and he gripped his own weak hand to look for strength he didn't have, "...can...I can come next--next time. S-sorry. T-to heal." He appended the last two words of explanation so the titans would know he wasn't trying to overstep his place. Half of him hoped they'd just laugh and ignore it, because that half already expected a gentle laugh that mocked with every intonation, that always let him fall back on easier options when it was done.

The other half wanted to be a part of something more. Even the coattails of strength was more than enough.

The answer was on Sander’s lips like a bad habit, even in these instances when he was braver than he could ever be and the Stigma quieted enough for him to hear reasons. But he caught himself just in time and he swallowed the no. Because he got better. Because he was trying. He stepped out the confinement chambers, and it worked. It really did.

The thought of another fight scared him a bit. The claws had hurt, and he didn’t like pain. But it was alright. He could take it.

“Okay.” -He nodded, answering both of them –“If that’s what you want.”

Half disappointment and half anticipation--with a dash of fear. Christmas stared at his hands. One had let him in. And he had no idea where to be now that he was here. The girl could still refuse. And now he wasn't sure if he wanted her to or not.

She stood up, excitement about ready to bubble over capacity. She was blowing Sander's success a little out of proportion in her mind and wasn't entirely sure why given her typical temperament. Perhaps to combat the low that had manifested itself into the biggest mental pit she'd ever clawed her way out of... was still trying to claw her way out of. With hope so clearly in view, however, she wanted to feel like she was almost out. It was better than focusing on the sudden darkness she felt around her. Darkness in the space that family and friends had once occupied....

Warning bells brought her enthusiasm screeching to a halt as she folded herself over the bed in front of her, crossing her arms and propping herself up on her elbows. She'd hoped he wouldn't say no, but... he'd almost said yes a little too quickly.

Her amethyst eyes flickered to the bloody gash in his shirt.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice level. Careful not to pressure him.

Sander saw the shift in her gaze, and he knew. The hand in his lap reached up to touch the corner of the ragged tear on his sweater gingerly, before he let it drop again. The memory burned star-bright and white hot in the back of his mind again, but he didn't want to think about it. So he didn't –“It’s okay. I can take it.” -He kept his gaze steady, just like how she told him to. It always made them move onto the next question.

That's what Sander had partially mumbled in the bloody doorway, too. Christmas peeked at the hand touching the bloody tatters of the sweater, watching it drop down again. He wondered if it was just his presumptions and projections desperately grasping for another connection, but it sounded like his "okay"s. He didn't know how to help with that. He barely knew how to help himself.

So he just tapped the ribbon on Sander's wrist--that touch weaker than a sigh--and held on to words that weren't his in a voice he could hardly make out. Just for now.

" 'I'll be here.' "

He glanced at the girl again and pulled his hand back, worried she would say something about it.

"S-sorry."

The overconfidence Callan sensed in Sander's response was an element she herself felt well-versed in. Unfortunately-- or, perhaps, fortunately!-- it was that very same element that allowed her to so easily accept it. She'd be able to control herself. If Sander could do it, why couldn't she? Of course, she still felt awful about Misery hurting him as badly as it did, but she wouldn't let that diminish the brightness of the future she was envisioning. The look from Christmas pulled her from her thoughts, unintentionally nudging her with that "third wheel" feeling. They probably wanted to be alone. She should bow out soon.

She smiled apologetically at the small blonde boy and averted her eyes. The tallest ones always got with the shortest ones, didn't they? She inwardly chuckled, remembering how her old team's center had always said that. She'd been about as tall as Sander. Remembering that Jocelyn now knew her to be dead, she snapped back to the matter at hand. No time to linger on the past now.

"Alright, then. It's decided." Her eyes rose to meet Sander's.

Sander offered Christmas a small smile, before turning back to Callan. He nodded then, making the decision before fear and paranoia could undo all of his efforts.

A quick knock on the door preceded a middle-aged doctor coming in several seconds later, with a nametag displaying "Dr. Patel" on his white coat. The man's dark hair was neatly parted in the center and his large, brown eyes and bronze skin suggested someone of Middle Eastern descent. Several guards followed him in. Callan quickly stood up from her casual position draped over the bed.

"Need anything else here, folks?" he eyed the ice pack on Callan's ankle.  "I know you said you wanted to keep the injury, and it's been--strangely enough--cleared by the administrative office, but I really do recommend having the healer take care of it. That's what he's there for, after all."

The doctor reached into the coat's inner pocket and pulled out a single-use scalpel in an individually wrapped plastic package, the blade retracted in the handle. He left it on the nearby table and nodded encouragingly at Callan.

"Here if you need it."

With that, he looked to the two boys sitting beside each other on the bed, pursing his lips at the sight of Sander's bloodied clothes.

"Let's see," he pulled out his phone from the pocket of his pants, checking something before looking back up, "Sander Lorraine. Doesn't look like you've got any injuries despite all that blood, but that's not surprising if we're considering your power. If you're well enough to leave, you're cleared to go."

Sander directed his gaze at his ruined sneakers now, jaws twitching ever so slightly. Another one of them. But the anger had cooled and tempered into hatred, and it was colder thing now. Easier to not think about. So he thought Kusari instead, and he decided that he really didn’t want to return to the suite right now –“Can I stay here?” -He asked the man in white coat –“I don’t want to go.”

The doctor raised both eyebrows before he narrowed his eyes.

"If they wanted you to stay in the hospital, they would have given you a room here. Just because we allow the injured to stay as long as they need to doesn't mean anyone gets to stay as long as they want to. You're clearly not injured enough to--"

He stopped, looking at something right next to Sander and slightly lower. At first, it seemed he was looking at Christmas, but his gaze was fixed on a black card in the boy's hand, tentatively pulled from a pocket while he had been lecturing the vampire. It was held weakly towards the man, but his glare made the hand retract.

"...Why did you pull that out?" he directed the question at the healer, who almost flinched at the cutting tone.

"U-um..." Christmas held the card in his lap, reading the name "Fredric Francisco" on it several times while he tried to figure out a way to answer the man's question. He had remembered the nurse's reaction to the card when he had asked to stay before, and was hoping something similar would occur here. The doctor actually questioning it wasn't something he had seen coming. "H-he said to call," he tried explaining, looking at the card and swallowing.

The doctor paused for a long moment, but eventually flicked and tapped on his phone, starting a call with the subnatural terror to the normal staff known as Fredric Francisco. The staff had the man's number, so the card was unnecessary as anything other than the signal that Fredric had someone under his watch. He would have preferred talking to the bumbling Rosa Schur instead, but he had heard some incident had occurred earlier and the woman was indisposed for a while.

The phone rang just once before Fredric picked up.

"Evening, Dr. Patel! What's the occasion!"

The other prominent subnatural staff member was clearly not as outwardly affected by whatever had transpired.

"You tell me, Mr. Francisco. A vampire asks to stay in the hospital and the healer pulls out your card to defend him. We're here to treat the injured, not offer students a damn bed-and-breakfast."

Sander coughed into a closed fist at the doctor’s mention of his nickname, but he didn’t say anything, simply focused back on his dirty shoes.

"Hmmmmm," some clicking and tapping on the other end and a period of silence followed before Fredric responded. "This is Mr. Lorraine and Mr. Halvost, I see. And Ms. Webb, too. Put me on speaker, my good man."

"What? I thought you knew what was going on."

"Of course I know--the gist of it--but what did I just tell you to do?"

Reluctantly, the doctor changed the setting and held the phone out.

"So! You three! I was just checking that little fight from the hallway cameras there and wow! Talk about verbal warfare! The surveillance team did ping me a notice about it, but that is some venom there. Now tell good ol' Freddy here what's up with this hospital request."

Sander looked up at the phone, his gaze going back and forth between the phone and the one holding it before he finally answered, tone stiff and curt –“I don’t want to go back to my suite. I want to stay here instead.”

"I see. And why?"

“Kusari is not safe.” -Sander glanced back at Christmas –“For both of us.”

"Well, if that's true, you two certainly can't hide in the hospital forever. You wouldn't want to anyway. Smells terrible in there. And I don't think you'd like to request guards standing inside your suite at all times of the day--though I can certainly make that happen." The tone was teasing, like the man already knew what they wanted, but was intentionally playing coy.

“The Director told me I can request another suite.” 

"And did you?"

“I will.”

"Just for you?" That humorous tone of voice was back, and it was easy to picture the person on the other end grinning ear-to-ear.

Again with the slow blink as Sander processed the information. He turned back to Christmas then –“You want to come too, right?”

Christmas nodded quickly, then remembered he needed to let Fredric know about it. He hadn't yet caught on that the man was probably already watching them from a screen.

"I want to go...um...with Sander."

"Then you'll each need to turn in a request form to me. And it needs to say so. Usually, I'd tell you guys to turn all this in to the registrar's office, but I'm already in charge of this little group so why not. I'll take 'em. Have the forms in my hands early enough tomorrow and I'll see if I can't pester the Director to get it approved in the same day. I'm betting she'll make some concessions for her special team.

But I do have to ask the two of you, since this isn't something frivolous and changing your minds won't be so easy if you decide the new accommodations aren't to your liking: you're sure about this?"

Christmas looked to Sander, like he was asking the taller boy the same question, but for different reasons.

The words ‘special team’ raised a red flag for Sander, and he paused, the question on his lips. But it was not something he wanted to think about right now, so he bit it down and moved on –“Yes, I’m sure.”

"Then I expect to see Mr. Halvost with those forms sometime tomorrow. Let's see here... who is wandering near the office and the dorms..." rapid clicking and typing emanated from the phone for several seconds. "Looks like Wesley and Lyndon. I'll have guards over with those forms and your stuff within the next...let's say within 15 to 20 minutes. You're both cleared to stay in the hospital until the room transfer goes through. Dr. Patel, set them up with a room--" a snort of laughter followed and something sounded like a hand had been placed on the receiver of Fredric's phone. Several seconds later, the voice returned, brimming with laughter still. "Do you want two rooms or one?" He chuckled again.

“Just a room would be fine.” -Sander said, didn’t quite understand the point of the question. They had shared room before, hadn’t they? –“If that’s no trouble.” -He glanced back at Christmas.

Christmas's eyes had gone wide at the question, but Sander hadn't seemed at all fazed so he simply nodded again and looked back down.

"No--haha--no trouble at all. You heard him, Dr. Patel. Go get one single room cleaned out for them, sometime now would be great. Ah, I needed that laugh after today."

The phone clicked into silence and the doctor looked ready to murder someone. Without another word, the man turned on his heels and left.

Callan folded her arms across her chest and stared at the door as it closed. A single room... she didn't know much hospitals, but that sounded like a room with only one bed. She waved the idea away as best she could. Maybe they'd stick two beds in there or maybe there was a couch or, more likely, it just wasn't any of her business and she should really stop thinking about it like now. She glanced at the scalpel. She really shouldn't be keeping injuries for valiant symbolism. Marcus crossed her mind then. He probably would've been upset if he'd heard what she said about keeping it....

Not that that mattered.

"Uhm," she glanced down at her ankle before looking at Christmas. She felt a bit foolish for backpedaling on her decision. Not to mention she still couldn't get that image out of her head-- Christmas, blood dripping down his arm, in the room with all those monitors.. And that image of him from that first night. She nearly shuddered at the thought. What a fate-- to have a power so indispensable with such a steep price. Not all that different from Sander's, really. It was a strange comfort-- knowing she wasn't the only one with problems. Made her feel a little less alone.

"How does your healing work, Christmas? It... does it hurt quite a bit?" she winced at her second question, knowing the intent behind her asking it was clear. 

The question surprised him in the aftermath of the doctor and the phone call. But Christmas chalked it up to the doctor's comment finally convincing the girl otherwise. A moment of surprise when she called him by name, but he remembered his name had come up in the argument, so of course she knew. He felt worse when he realized he couldn't remember if her name had come up.

He mulled it over, eyes flicking to the scalpel on the desk anxiously before he finally looked back at her shoes.

"Um...I just...have to--" he remembered the doctors injecting his blood into several injured, unconscious patients and revised his explanation. "My, uh, blood needs to...g-get into your body...sor-sorry." The second part of her question he knew on that same instinct that taught him every change like he had always been privy to the information. Frightening, in a way. "It probably--f-for that, it won't really, um, hurt much."

Callan chewed the inside of her cheek. 'Get into' her body... right. She'd expected his answer to be different-- for him to pull that red mist trick again. That method was probably the more painful one, though. And she already felt bad enough for asking. Gross. She remembered the crystal cup and the back of Shane's arm as it moved to keep refilling it. Gross. Gross. Gross. It wasn't his fault or anything, but... Gross.

"Okay," she said quickly-- before she could change her mind a third time. Something she was slowly wishing she'd done as the thought of what she was asking, and therefore agreeing to, became more and more clear. "I'd appreciate it. If that's cool with you?" Her subsequent smile was a touch dour as she squeezed herself tighter, rocking back on her heels. Maybe he'd say no. That would give her the perfect excuse to back out, wouldn't it? She recalled Sander downing canister after canister of blood before the match. Perhaps, in a way, it was only fair. She'd have to get used to Christmas's form of healing sometime anyway, wouldn't she? "What should I...? she asked him, unsure of how to go about it. 

Christmas stared at the wrapped scalpel, nodding shakily to her request before walking over and picking it up. The thin, clear plastic crinkled quietly as he unwrapped the medical tool, and it wasn't long before slow clicking heralded the retractable blade being pushed up from the sheath.

He remembered Sander's advice to cut on the outside and knew from that strange instinct that a tiny amount would do. His right hand peeled off a few wraps of the bandage around his left, just near the base of his palm, exposing the skin on the back of his hand, above the wrist.

He didn't make the mistake of thinking about it too long in this moment where the pressure of authority wasn't present to force his hand. If he quailed now, he'd never get it done.

The scalpel was mercifully sharp and slit a thin, shallow line barely longer than a few centimeters on the back of his wrist, the blood dotting out slowly in the aftermath as he winced from the small pain.

Red liquid unfurled into vapor again, and that dissipated into the white mist, though the cut was tiny and he knew it would be incredibly slow to reach the girl from where he stood, so Christmas walked back, standing beside her tentatively as the mist spread from the light wound. After stabbing himself the day before, he wondered if he was getting used to hurting himself, as much as he disliked pain. The thought scared him, but even so he retracted the blade and slid the scalpel into his pocket.

Shimmering white glass with no physicality eventually enveloped both of them, and her injuries faded away within a few minutes. But Christmas maintained the effect for a bit longer than he thought he needed, thinking it would clear up any wounds he might not be able to see. When the white glow finally vanished, he noted the faint touch of lightheadedness and mumbled another "Sorry" before sitting back down beside Sander, clumsily taping the bit of gauze back into place on his hand.

Callan winced and she gripped her arms tighter as Christmas pressed the blade to the back of his wrist. Her posture immediately relaxed when she saw the red mist turn to white, however. She watched the wound curiously, already noticing as the pain in her ankle began to subside, as well as the dull throbbing of her tongue.

"Oh--" she smiled and sighed out a nervous laugh, bringing the palm of her hand up to her temple, where beads of sweat had started to form. "I thought-- I thought I'd have to drink it," she chuckled again nervously, utterly relieved.

"Thanks," she nodded, looking down at her ankle and turning it so she could see all sides. "That feels much better."  She looked back up at him. "Oh geez-- I haven't even introduced myself, have I?"

"I'm Callan," she smiled, "I meant to thank you for the other times, too, but you were... busy. So..." Another nervous sigh of laughter. "Thanks."

"O-oh, um. I--um, I'm Christmas--" he stopped at the memory that she had already called him by name. "Uh...I...I don't remember the, um, other times...sorry." Probably just the camera room, but he hadn't meant to heal everyone so much as avoid failure. It wasn't something he thought she should be grateful for, all the same.

Paying no mind to his unnecessary introduction, Callan shrugged. If Christmas didn't already know about exactly how he'd helped heal everyone with Lily that night, she sure as hell wasn't about to be the one to tell him. She would leave those blanks for Sander to fill out later, if he really wanted to know. Just then she remembered Sander's crazed run towards Shane. Had he really been gunning for Christmas?

Thoughts for later. Willing or not, Christmas had saved her life. "Well, more than a few of us would've been in pretty bad shape if you hadn't been there that first night. Me included. But anyway--" Grateful though she was, it wasn't a topic she wanted to linger on.

Christmas was fairly certain he'd heard something about Benediction being at the hospital a few days ago, and certainly someone had healed him as he veered his thoughts away--hard--from the memory of wires slicing into his leg. He wasn't sure if he had done much notably other than the brief healing for Sander on the battlefield, in the camera room, and Lily, if Callan was counting that particular encounter. 

All he really remembered from that horrible night was screaming and crying and pain. He was both afraid and ashamed, but he didn't know how to explain it all in the right way, so he remained quiet in the face of someone he wasn't sure he could speak openly with.

Sander sat silently through the entire procedure. He hated to see his roommate hurt himself like that, but…it wasn’t his place. He said it himself: it was Christmas’ choice. So he looked at his feet, and tried not to breathe too much. Even when the coffee scent exploded in the air, and the red on his shoes looked almost desirable.

"Oh--um--" a knock on the door interrupted Christmas's response.

A nurse came in to let them know room 302 of the hospital building was cleared for the two boys' use and that the guards had deposited some items for them there.

"Um, to a Mr. Lorraine," she recited from memory, "they said your refrigerator and its contents won't be moved until a new suite's been set up."

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ: ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟚   / /  𝟚𝟙𝟝𝟘

Just as the nurse left, Sander saw the wisps of smoke flickered and paled, the frost slowly found purchase in his flesh. Before the questions could come from either Callan or Christmas, he rose from his seat and began walking toward the door, a mumbled ‘goodbye’ over his shoulder aimed at Callan. He waited for Christmas at the doorway, who followed with a quick glance at Callan and a small wave, then began to walk briskly toward their destination.

Halfway there, the flame fizzled, then died. His breath hitched, and he stopped in his track, bracing one hand against the wall for support as everything slowed and went out of focus around him. Not yet, he reminded himself with a sharp inhale, chasing the fog out of his mind. The number on the nearby doors was close to what the nurse told them, so it shouldn’t be far. He would manage. Eventually, he did. Number 302 was shiny against the wooden surface, and he squinted as he looked at it, hand fumbling with the knob. It opened inward after a few moments, but Sander remained standing by the doorway, eyes glazing over the room’s interior.

"A-are you...um..." Christmas stepped closer, having maintained a small, steady distance between them the entire walk, fumbling with that heat rising to his shoulders and the back of his neck. It had been there since the walk started.

“I’m fine.” -Sander seemingly broke out of his daze, moving inside and out of the way so the blond boy could enter. He waited until his roommate did, before closing the door behind them. Or at least he hoped he did. He stood there for a few more minutes, looking back and forth between his hand and the door knob. Thoughts moved sluggishly through his mind. He needed a shower. But he needed to get rid of the ruined shirts first. The crumbled thoughts clicked, and Sander grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head in a swift motion. He discarded the torn sweater in a pile at his feet, leaving his sneakers there as well.

Christmas looked down at the ground as Sander undressed, focusing on the well-lit, vinyl wood flooring instead.

With that done, he turned and ambled over to a duffle bag, kneeling down while digging through its content –“Just gonna…” -He trailed off, piling clothes and a towel into his arm –“…shower first. That’s okay?”

"Okay," he answered softly, noting the presence of only one bed. Luckily, a sofa stretched against two curtained windows nearby. He decided to wait for Sander to finish entering the bathroom, its door open down a short hallway inside the room.

Sander fumbled through his routine until he finally decided to give up after spilling copious amount of shampoo down the drain. The scorching water did nothing to help with the temperature, or at least, that what it felt. So he finished up quickly and got dressed, slipping on shorts and a simple T-shirt before exiting the bathroom, towel draped around his shoulders. The feeling of clean skin was exhilarating, but he couldn’t really enjoy it properly when everything in his head felt mushed. He still had things to do though. After sitting down first, of course.

“We should…uh…fill the forms.” -He half-mumbled from the spot on the bed. However, he didn’t move, glassy eyes staring at his hands instead.

Christmas had relocated his bag and stuffed manatee to the sofa while Sander showered, and just when the water had been running for too long and he was worried about how unsteady Sander had seemed on the way there, his roommate emerged from the bathroom, smelling of crisp green apples, tart and fresh. He still looked just as bad even with his skin red-hued from the long shower. The fiery glow was now gone from his eyes and that only heightened the fatigue lining his face, when the magic was no longer there to add the menacing touch.

"Um...is it...uh..." he recalled the same unsteady Sander from the forest and the request for blood. "Is it...the blood, again?"

“It happens.” -Sander shrugged, the movements of his shoulders barely there. His gaze was still glued to his hands though, and he made no move to back his words up –“I’ll be fine.”

" 'I'll be here,' " Christmas repeated, though the words were so faint from where he sat on the sofa that he wasn't sure Sander would hear it. He meant it, though. If Sander needed blood again, he had already decided he would, though hopefully he'd still remember Sander's advice from the observation room. Cut on the outside, and definitely not his right palm anymore. A brief flash of memory concerning Lily and things he wouldn't let go of ran through his mind, just following the sequence of events his thoughts naturally tried to remember. He swallowed and kept his mind on the room change instead.

The forms in question had been left on the table against the opposite wall and Christmas made his way over, picking them up and sighing in relief to find two pens had come with them. He brought them to where Sander sat, but didn't move further, standing nearby with the sheets of paper and the pens in his hands as Sander continued looking down.

The scent of coffee stirred his senses, so Sander shrugged off the incessant craving before turning his head to look at the pair of hands holding sheets of paper. He held out a hand for them, mumbling a quick ‘thank you’ under his breath. The blond boy quickly gave him a form and a pen, which he took, but didn’t work with them right away. Instead, he scooted over, leaving space for Christmas on the bed.

Christmas sat down beside him, tentatively, but with a bit more ease now that he had grown more accustomed to Sander's presence, a bit more comfortable now that his roommate had decided to stay with him--had clearly said so. Christmas believed him. He also recognized the motion as an invitation, even if a tiny part still wondered if he was misinterpreting that. When Sander didn't shoo him away after several seconds, he reached for the attached food tray of the hospital bed, swiveling the long surface towards them and adjusting it so it hovered at the height of their elbows.

Glancing at Sander, he set to writing on the form, his minute penmanship barely legible from afar, with words scratched out as he thought it over.

A rRoom change request. I'd like to stay with Sander

He looked up then, wondering if he needed to include last names. But they had recognized the other request with just Lawrence's first name, so he added the last period to the sentence and put his pen down, unsure what to do next other than take care of hygiene and sleep. His hand combed through his hair again on habit, ready to pull the ribbon out before a shower, but stopped as he remembered its new location.

A surface swerved into his field of vision, and Sander placed the sheet on top, body already on semi auto-pilot. He fiddled with the pen for a few seconds, before settling it down the sheet. His eyes glazed over every so often, so he just picked the biggest blank spot on the paper and began writing. The exhaustion did quite a number on his handwriting though, which wasn’t really that comprehensible to begin with. But he had passed the point of caring, merely scratched keywords like change room and Christmas on the sheet. Afterward, he leaned back into headboard, letting the pen clatter onto the vinyl floor. 

Christmas peeked at the page, then peered at it because he really couldn't make out the words. But he didn't know if he was allowed to write on Sander's form so he didn't say anything further as the other boy let the pen drop and settled into the sheets.

He slid off the bed, collecting the papers and Sander's pen from where it had rolled a short distance away and put them back on the far table before turning back around. The pile of clothes on the floor looked like it would be trouble if someone tripped on them (namely someone who seemed unsteady and tired), so he turned to Sander, checking if the taller boy was still awake, stretched out as he was now on the bed like a convalescent. In all honesty, he probably was.

"D-do you, um...I, uh, I can put your clothes away if--if you want?"

“Huh?” -Sander blinked out of his daze, tired eyes focused on Christmas as the boy spoke –“Why? They are not—I can’t wear those anymore.”

"O-oh. Um...I, uh, I can move them away if...?"

“…Okay.” -Came the simple response before Sander looked back down at his hands, seemingly lost in some corner of his mind again. But he suddenly looked back up, eyes narrowed -"But why?"

Christmas stopped, already reaching down for the ruined sweater and shoes. "Um...y-you might trip."

“Okay.” -Sander bobbed his head once –“You can do…uh…do whatever.”

"Sander?" the voice was quiet, followed by the rustling of clothes as Christmas piled the large sweater into his arms and hooked his fingers into the backs of the shoes to pick them up.

“Huh?”

"Thank you." He smiled as he watched Sander's barely coherent response, his roommate's eyes hardly open at this point, so he was in no danger of being seen. "Good night."

Sander let his head drop slightly, whatever response he managed wasn’t intelligible. 

Christmas turned off the lights after locating the panel of switches, leaving one glowing, but significantly dimmed above the bathroom door. He cleared the clothes away to a corner of the table, pulling the papers closer to the edge of the desk. Another stolen look at the ribbon on Sander's wrist and he headed into the bathroom, finding an absolute mess of shampoo streaks decorating the shower's non-slip floor and water puddling across the tiles. To his right, a pair of pants had been thrown onto the counter beside the sink, topped with a pair of boxers.

The clothes first, but the lower body garments still looked salvageable so he gave them a quick wash in the shower, using some of the spilled shampoo to get the worst of the stains out. The blood wasn't going anywhere, unfortunately, so he did what he could and wrung the clothes from sopping to damp and hung them from the towel rack nearby. He couldn't recall what Sander had done to the bloodstained shirt from the night in the woods, but he left the pants and boxers there anyway in case Sander needed them.

The shampoo on the floor was a bit tougher to deal with, since he had to wipe a few rounds to get rid of all the slippery suds, but with that done he retrieved a change of clothes from the duffel bag outside and a bottle of shampoo, then finally pulled off his clothes and the bandages around his hand and stepped into the shower, keeping it quick in case Sander needed the bathroom again.

It was a good fifteen minutes or so before all that was done and Christmas sighed in relief as he finally exited the hospital's bathroom with a badly wrapped left hand, walking quietly on bare feet over to the sofa to avoid waking Sander. He wasn't sure if his roommate had actually fallen asleep, but it was better to be safe anyway.

“It’s cold.” -Sander said suddenly, blue eyes at Christmas from his spot on the bed.

"H-huh?" Christmas stopped, already seated on the sofa and ready to turn in for the night, the day's excitement finally catching up to him completely, from the blood to the argument to the storm of emotions afterwards. He didn't quite understand the comment. "I, um, I think there are--there are sheets on the bed? I--sorry if I, um, woke you."

“You are…cold.” -The statement was flat, but it was supposed to be a question. At least in Sander’s mind –“I don’t mind if you…come.”

Christmas blinked at him, still not fully--oh.

OH.

He looked down at the ground, unsure how to respond, because that kind of offer was a lot more intimate than he was used to from...anyone, really. It was different from Sander falling asleep on him the night before, different from temporary warmth on Alvin's bed, where he wasn't allowed to spend the night afterwards because Alvin didn't like to share his sleeping space.

"...Really?" he looked at Sander warily, like the offer might be a joke that he was the punch line for.

“Yeah.” -Sander nodded sheepishly, once again scooting over and shifting slightly to move the sheet out from under him –“It’s warmer…with you…’m cold.”

The heat tickled his shoulders and the back of his neck again, and Christmas didn't respond for several seconds as he breathed in and out carefully, convincing his heartbeat to stay steady.

He approached the side of the bed, one hand on the mattress and eyes running over the small space Sander had made for him there.

"Really?" he asked again, looking at Sander's half-lidded eyes and tired face. He wanted it, too, the heat of a person beside him, the comfort of their presence, but of all people to ask, Sander was insisting on him. It was strange to him, something like this coming without strings. Or were there strings? And what about the ones he was trying so hard to avoid pulling? Thoughts clawed at each other in his mind, but his hand on the mattress clutched it a bit harder to drive them away.

“Cold…” -Sander only mumbled, reaching out with his left hand to grab Christmas’ wrist and gave it a slight tug, before letting the arm falling back into his side of the bed. The blond boy was warmer than him now. 

"San--" he looked at the ribbon wrapped around Sander's wrist again, on the clammy hand that had reached out to his. Try. So he breathed in deep of the green apple scent and crawled onto the bed and under the covers, reaching out for Sander's hand in return. It had been so warm the entire time he had needed it, and now it was like he had used up all that strength and Sander was paying the price. It wasn't a sensible thought, but he felt responsible all the same. Or maybe that was too vain, to think he mattered to that degree. But he still wanted to be here. So much all of a sudden, but so aware it wasn't what some selfish part of him was hoping for.

Sander was simply so nice to him it hurt. A similar feeling to a person he didn't want to think about. Whatever the reason he was afraid to acknowledge, he wrapped both hands around Sander's cold one, bringing it up to his chest and holding it there, hoping his paltry body's heat would help.

The heat drew Sander in as his limbs grew heavy. He thought of something to say and his mind helpfully supplied the words, but he was walking on quicksand, the darkness swallowed him up faster than he thought. So he just gave the blond boy’s hand a quick squeeze instead, before drifting off into a deep sleep.

Christmas watched his resting roommate for a moment longer before closing his eyes, holding on to the hand that was warming up slowly between his.

『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ: ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟚   / /  𝟚𝟚𝟛𝟝

Ahh, solitude at last. Left alone in the room, Callan was finally able to focus on the crippling exhaustion that had been nagging at the back of her head ever since she woke up in Christmas's boyfriend's arms with an irate Kusari just a few feet away. Boy, now that she thought it all through like that, her night really hadn't ended at all like she thought it would. She glanced around at all the beds. The doctor's words from earlier were a distant echo as she pulled back the sheets and allowed herself to collapse onto the nearest one. Bloodstains and rules be damned, she couldn't honestly foresee herself making the walk back to her suite in this condition. 

Besides, if she waited long enough, maybe she could avoid a repeat of that day she ran into Siena after gutting Kusari. Once again, she was covered in someone else's blood. Joy. The thoughts she'd been trying to keep at bay since her run in with Lawrence threatening to creep back into the forefront of her mind. Fortunately, fatigue won that race. Curled up under the sheets, her eyes shut and sleep claimed her. 

Not long after, she was awoken by a rough shove. A spindly tall nurse with a dirty blonde bun jumped back in alarm as Callan's eyes snapped open, crashing into two other nurses behind her with a loud "Eep!"

"We--we need to clean the sheets and prep the bed."

Callan narrowed her eyes and frowned, eliciting another frightened look from the nurse. As Callan slowly sat up, the woman seemed to regain some composure. "You aren't injured--the doctor said the healer took care of you. So you have to leave. Now," she said needlessly, though with more conviction.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm moving," Callan muttered irritably. Glancing around the room, she noted that all the beds were still empty. It didn't seem like they were going to be filled anytime soon, but whatever. She'd didn't fancy getting shocked again because some doctor was in a bad mood. "What time is it?"

"2235," the nurse said curtly.

"Oh man," she sighed, "Alright. Thanks." Everyone back at her dorm might be asleep by now. Hopefully someone fixed their door. The nurses followed her out of the room and partway down the hall. Just before nearing the front doors, she stopped. Room 302. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the nurses weren't looking, she quickly changed directions, heading for the elevator.

She should run and grab Sander's phone number real quick. Christmas's, too. If they were still awake, that is. No harm in checking. 

The elevator door slid open to a high pitched chime and she stepped out. The door to their room was cracked open just barely. Surely they would've shut it if they wanted privacy. But, of course, that didn't mean she was about to barge right in. Better knock first, just to be safe.

Her knuckles hit the door once and she blinked in horror as it creaked wide open. Too hard. As soon as she overcame the initial shock, her hand quickly moved down to the doorknob, ready to swing the door back to its original position. Maybe they wouldn't no--

--tice.

Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' and she froze just long enough to take in the scene. How cute. How nice. How-- the door swung shut-- none of her business. Face burning at the thought of how embarrassing that would've been if either of them had woken up and seen her, she speed walked back over to the elevator, punching the button so quickly she heard an unpleasant crunch. She winced as the lighted button went dim. Thankfully, the doors still slid open, allowing her to rush inside. With a relieved sigh, she slumped against the wall of the elevator.

What a day this was turning out to be....

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Baklava

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Baklava

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Baklava

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in 3954 days

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『𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕤』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟜𝟛𝟘   / /  ~𝟙𝟠𝟘𝟘

The mood he was in had been completely ruined.

When he had begun his journey back into his own dorm, the sight that met him was unnerving to say the least. The 430 door (and he knew it was 430 because he'd looked to the number three times desperately hoping it wasn't his) had apparently exploded. The door that he was pretty sure was strong enough to keep the young subnaturals inside. He approached cautiously, peeking his head in to see what the situation was like.

"Hey cuff guy...we've got a little bit of a situation at Suite 430." Marcus said quietly. "The door's in like, a million pieces right now, but I don't know if anybody's inside."

He bent down to the rubble, picking up one of the larger splinters and standing with his back flat against the wall. He strained his ears to see if he could hear anything but the blood that was thumping in his ears. He tried to ignore the cold, empty feeling of fear as he looked back into the room, holding the splinter of wood in one hand, and flicking on the flashlight on his phone with the other.

The shadows that he cast across the floor were silent, twisting and turning as Marcus nervously stepped into the room, looking around and illuminating the corners and crevices first. He stopped, flipping the light switch next to the empty door frame, eyes darting around as the rest of the room lit up. The living room seemed to be fine - which made Marcus relax a little bit. Maybe Callan had just sleep-walked out the door or something, or maybe Siena took a strong name and underestimated herself when she was leaving.

His calm immediately shot back to hesitation as he walked into the rest of the suite. His gaze immediately focused on the deep claw marks in the carpet. Those were a little harder for his brain to rationalize, and he wracked his mind trying to figure out what could have possibly made them. Not either of his roommates...and as furious as he thought Siena's dog was, there was no way it could have done this.

A quick look over the rest of the room showed that everything was still in its proper place - at least, all of his stuff was. None of Callan or Siena's things looked like it had been moved, it even looked like one of them had got some new things, but he didn't memorize the layout of the room well enough to know for sure. The only other thing of note were the shattered bits on the floor near Callan's bed. They looked electronic, whatever they used to be.

What he didn't see was signs of a struggle. Besides the door, the claw marks, and the shattered thing, there was nothing to suggest anything bad had happened here. He wasn't quite sure how to take the bit of logical deduction - it was either a good thing, or a very bad thing. He sat down on his own bed for a moment, trying to gather himself as he involuntarily began to panic slightly. He pulled out his phone, quickly selecting both Callan and Siena.

Hey...quick question: where are you right now?

Hopefully, if they both responded, there was nothing really to worry about. Apart from the clawed intruder, of course.

His phone buzzed, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Heading back now. Did you need something?

That was at least one accounted for.

"Hey there, Mr. Howell!" Fredric's familiar voice chimed from Marcus's cuff, prefaced by a loud beep, "Sorry for the late response. Pretty busy today! Uhh, don't worry about the door there! We'll have it fixed in a jiffy!" Beep.

His good buddy Freddy. The guy who he could count on to always irritate him when that cuff beeped. As far as Marcus recollected, Freddy had not been helpful once during all their lovely conversations. Even now, it seemed like he was missing the point by a mile.

"While I appreciate that Fred, there was definitely an intruder in here. Something tore up the carpet, and I've only been able to get a hold of Siena so far."

Saying it outloud certainly didn't help him to calm down. Some big monster was roaming around somewhere on campus, and he couldn't get ahold of one of his roommates. By this time, he was starting to slowly pace around the room, his brain already coming up with worst case scenarios that he had to actively try and ignore.

Several more seconds passed before Fredric answered again. "Nope! No reports of any intruders in Suite 430, Mr. Howell. Which is remarkable considering how long your door's been like that, huh? Really gotta fix that. Anyway, I can assure you that both your roommates are perfectly fine." 

Both his roommates were fine. That much was enough to alleviate his worry. Normally, he'd be kind of creeped out that Fredric could tell him that so quickly, but right now he was more converned about other matters.

"You're positive? And what do you mean, 'no intruders'? There's huge claw marks in the carpet, Fred...did the dog do that? Does he have super powers too?" Marcus said, a hint of bitterness surfacing to replace the anxiety. Something here wasn't adding up, and the gears in his mind hadn't even skipped a step between worry and trying to solve this enigma.

When the cuff beeped again, Fredric could be heard sighing into the reciever, "Mr. Howell, forgive me if I sound discourteous, but I am quite busy. I don't have time to entertain your weird questions or repeat myself."

"You're right. My bad. Didn't mean to take up so much of your time. It's obvious, isn't it? Should have figured out that the huge beast marks came from one of my roommates." Marcus said, rolling his eyes despite the fact that he doubted Fred could see it. "Thanks for your help, Freddie." While delivered in a sarcastic tone, the statement was half-genuine at least; Fred had answered fifty percent of his worries, but now he had more questions than answers.

『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』 『𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @Baklava@Chasers115
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟘𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟜𝟛𝟘   / /  ~𝟚𝟛𝟛𝟘

It was cold and bizarrely lonely outside the hospital-- in spite of the hope promised by Sander's progress during the fight or the advice from Lawrence about strength and control. Without anything to distract herself, the thoughts from earlier crept back into the forefront of her mind. Her parents were out of the picture. That much was clear. Fond memories of family outings, celebrations, and holidays, now tainted by Dom's news, were suddenly a lot less fond and a lot more confusing. She couldn't understand why they would cut her off like this, but... for now, she'd just have to cope. 

Callan didn't want to cause any more trouble for her folks, so calling her other family members and friends was off the table as far as ideas went. The anger that consumed her earlier had subsided, leaving a dull sort of ache in its place. 

Trying to move her mind elsewhere, she pulled at the front of her blood soaked shirt, which had stuck to her skin again for the umpteenth time. Gross. Pherhaps the blood would wash out. She really liked this top. Feeling the back, she ran her hand along the tear in the fabric. "Damn it, she muttered. At least it wasn't as bad as the first day-- fighting that massive two-headed thing with acidic blood. She paused for a moment, in front of what remained of the tree she'd punched yesterday. The streetlamps around the courtyard buzzed noisily in the surrounding silence, each hosting its own little soiree for the surrounding moths and mosquitos.

What would her parents say if she told them about everything she'd done so far?

Maybe they'd be dissappointed since she'd managed to kill exactly none of the several monsters they were up against. Or dissappointed that she hadn't helped her team win the Flag and Seek game. "A waste of talent!" her father used to say after a bad game diluted by more hesitation than action. He'd been a real hardass sometimes, but it'd made her a better player. They'd always been supportive. And she'd always done her best. 

But circumstances change. She could adapt. She had to. 

No longer assaulted by the cold outdoor wind, Callan let her air down as she entered the lobby of Building A. Making her way up the stairs, she lost herself in thought as she tousled her hair. Exhaustion nipping at her heals, she found it harder to focus on any single thought the closer she got to her suite and therefore bed. Approaching her door on the fourth floor, which had been repaired since her departure earlier that afternoon, she forgot all about the demolition work her roommates may have seen. It took several lazy swipes with her I.D. card before the door finally unlocked. Turning the doorknob, she pushed the door open with her shoulder. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the drastic change in lighting, she first noticed the blue glow from the television set adjacent to the door. It illuminated the couch, whereupon her amethyst eyes noticed the dimly lit figure of a person sitting there.

It had been a long night for Marcus, despite the assurances that Callan was fine, he still wanted to go out and check on her. Curfew had rolled around though, and a veiled threat of being electrocuted had been exchanged before he agreed to stay in the room. Now, he lay on the couch in front of the TV. Some news station, no doubt talking about some more DC activity, or the lastest defenses, or something like that. Marcus wouldn't know, as he stared at the TV, but lost in his own thoughts.

The familiar click of the door alerted him, however. He sat up quickly, squinting as his TV-strained eyes adjusted enough to see the figure standing there. He let go a breath he didn't realize he was holding, before scooting over on the couch to make room. Her ragged appearance, the blood that covered her shirt and hands. Something had certainly gone down with Callan, and he had a pretty good idea of what...or rather, who was to blame here. Right now was not the time for it though; he just wanted to make sure she was okay.

"Are you alright?" No joking, no silly tone, just a straight question.

Marcus. What was he doing up so late? Callan glanced at the spot on the couch, noting with clarity that he seemed to expect her to sit down. It was tempting, but dirt and blood were hardly attractive. She was grateful for the dim lighting as she quickly shut the door behind her. Maybe she could pretend she didn't see him move over.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine," she replied, turning back to face him. She did her best to keep the exhaustion out of her voice, but the words came out as more of a sigh. Relatively speaking, she didn't feel very fine. "You're up late," she noted, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself as she headed towards her bed; she was in dire need of a shower. 

"The place was in a bit of a mess, and Freddy said you will still okay; but I wanted to make sure for myself." He stretched as he said this, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Now that Callan was back, he could certainly rest easy. He had questions though, questions that he didn't exactly want to press, however.

She remembered now. The broken phone, the claw marks, the door.... But her brain didn't want to focus on any of that. "You were waiting for me?" she asked, stopping. She stared at him, concerned but also kind of... happy? 

"Well yeah." Marcus said, as if Callan's question was obvious. "I'm not just going to sleep tight if there's a chance one of you guys is in trouble. I honestly doubt I could have if I wanted to. he said, a tired grin illuminated by the television.

Of course. Callan paused. 'One of you guys'. He would've done it for either of his roommates. But it was so much nicer to think otherwise, she decided to let that happy feeling linger just a little longer. "Thanks," she smiled, glancing down at his shoes, "But... I'm fine. You should get some sleep." 

"I should, but it can wait if needed." Marcus said, standing up and stretching again. As far as he knew, there were only a few people who walked around at midnight; most of them were usually people who were lost in thought, or just troubled and needing the fresh air. People who needed someone to talk to, or at least a reassuring hug or something.

"Are you sure everything's alright in Callan World?" he ventured, probably being a little more nosey than he needed to be.

She knew she probably shouldn't bother him with it. He was obviously tired and she'd imposed enough by worrying him. She'd already vented. But when it came time to respond, the defenses didn't come up like they should. Maybe she was too tired. Maybe because it was Marcus. For whatever reason, she sighed, tightly hugging herself as her posture tensed. 

"Things have been better in Callan World," she admitted with a half hearted chuckle.

"Do you want to talk about it? he asked.

Looking between Marcus and the floor she finally shook her head. "It wouldn't change anything," she answered, "I'll be alright, though."

"Alright." Marcus said, after a short pause. "Do you need like, a reassuring hug or something? Shoulder to cry on? I can go make a suit out of your pillows and have you throw me across the room if that'd make you feel better!" he added, trying to at least bring the mood up a little.

Callan laughed nervously.  "Tempting. I'm a mess though. Really just need to shower and go to bed, I think." 

"Before you do that..." Marcus interrupted, his tone nearly apologetic. He was at least determined to try and answer one of these mysteries tonight, and even if Callan wasn't willing to talk about whatever it was that was going on with her, something big had been in the room - a circumstance that he felt warranted questioning.

"...when I walked in, there were these giant claw marks in the ground. I was worried that one of DC's boys had been in...do you...do you know anything about those?" 

She froze, fingers digging into her arms as her mind raced for an answer. For a moment she'd almost thought Marcus wouldn't ask or had somehow managed not to see the claw marks. Wishful thinking. Lawrence and Sander knew-- and what was stopping them from spreading the news? Why not just tell him? Lawrence and Sander... niether of them had made her feel bad about it. They hadn't made it seem like they were going to avoid her or mark her as a monster... not like.... 

The sudden image of her parents scared the truth out of her mouth. She couldn't tell anyone else-- least of all Marcus. Not yet. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered unconvincingly. Callan quickly turned away, walking towards her bed and gathering up a set of clean clothes from the floor. Noticing Siena asleep at her desk, she lowered her voice, "Maybe it was the dog."

Well, that was his answer then. Callan's lie hadn't gone unnoticed by Marcus, especially since she pulled the 'blame it on the dog' card. His eyes searched her expression, thinking for a moment about pushing to get a real explanation, before he sighed quietly to himself. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't conviced, but there was no reason to pursue the issue, especially if she wasn't willing to talk about it. His roommates were safe, and he'd figured out where the claw marks had come from - that was all had wanted to find out, and he still felt unsatisfied with his answers.

"Alright/ he repeated. "Get yourself cleaned up; I'll probably be asleep when you get out." He walked towards his own bed, pulling back the covers, but stopping and looking over his shoulder before he crawled in. "Get a good night's sleep, Cal, and..."

don't forget that there are people here who care about you.

Words he'd heard before, that hung heavy on the tip of his tongue. Good advice, but the burning taste of hypocricy that accompanied the thought.

"...Siena and I are here if you need us." he decided on.

She couldn't delude herself into thinking Marcus would believe what she'd said. He was suspicious, but that's how it had to be. She'd tell everyone eventually. Hopefully sooner than later, but still. Lingering in the bathroom doorway, she watched Marcus settle into bed, still convincing herself that keeping Misery a secret was the better idea. It felt wrong, worsening that evergrowing feeling of unpleasant solitude as she silently surveyed her roomates. Honesty had always come so easily-- so why was this so hard?

She closed the bathroom door before flipping the light on. The answer stared back at her in the mirror with blood caked knuckles and a blood soaked shirt. She still felt awful about what happened with Sander-- and what almost happened with Lawrence. Back at the hospital, Sander hadn't brought it up. but he probably had just as many questions as Marcus. From what she'd seen of him, he didn't seem to talk to very many people, so perhaps she didn't have to worry about him telling anyone. Of course, she'd still have to bring it up sometime soon-- as much as she wasn't looking forward to that discussion.

There was a good chance he'd already told Christmas, but he seemed like a kinda quiet guy. Kusari had obviously been suspiscious of the marks on Sander, but as long as she avoided her, she wouldn't have to worry about answering too many questions. Beneath a steady stream of hot water, Callan covered her face and groaned into her palm. This was turning into a bigger headache than she'd expected. She couldn't keep it up forever. If she didn't learn how to control Misery soon, someone was going to find out. 

By the time Callan emerged from the bathroom, dawning a fresh pair of shorts and a clean shirt while still toweling off her hair, she felt even worse than before. Grabbing her iPad, she used the dim light of the screen to look over the floor. Grabbing the largely unused wastebin from beside her desk, she quickly scooped up the broken pieces of plastic that were once her phone. With that done, she turned her attention to the scars in the floor. Running her hands over them, it was obvious there would be no quick fix. She covered it with the aquamarine beanbag and two pillows. Perhaps she'd pick up a rug in town for a more permanent solution later, but this would have to do for now. 

Quietly setting her tablet back on her desk, she stopped to look at the pictures she'd pinned up earlier that day. They were barely visible in the dark room, but she could make out the one of her parents. Reaching out to catch the corner of the photograph, she stayed like that for a good minute, lost in thought. She couldn't make out their faces now, but she remembered what they looked like. Their smiles, the way they held each other, and the lights. The scent of funnel cake and chilly Christmas air. 

It was a good memory and she wanted it to stay that way. She didn't understand now... but perhaps one day she would. Maybe they'd understand, too. With a heavy sigh, she left the picture alone. Crawling into bed, she tried her best to linger on the positives of the day. Crying wouldn't do her any good-- she couldn't afford to get worked up again. Her body seemed to agree. With sleep came relief from all the new worries, making the solitude feel welcome as her world faded to black.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

761 posts

in 3943 days

Seen 3 yrs ago

Bio

『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』 『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕃𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℤ   / /  𝟙𝟚𝟘𝟘

Morning had been a quickly silenced alarm clock and some towels thrown over Sander in place of extra blankets (and dialing up the thermostat in the hospital room with careful placement of Mr. Chair beside his sleeping roommate for good measure). Satisfied that Sander wouldn't be cold, Christmas had enough time to fearfully ask for a toothbrush and toothpaste from a passing nurse, and hurried through his morning routine, emerging from the hospital room just in time to find two guards approaching the door because he was nearly late for class. He let them escort him to the lecture building and then into the classroom, sitting down at his previous seat while Fredric handed out packets of stapled paper to everyone. He blinked stupidly at the evaluation forms, faintly remembering something like that on Monday, though he had been occupied with mentally escaping.

A sheet of class electives was tucked behind his packet, and Christmas left off reading all the evaluations for later, fumbling for his pen inside the desk drawer and relieved to find it still there. He didn't feel strongly about any of the subjects and marked physical education as his first choice, thinking he wouldn't mind getting a little in shape after a month of staying home--and trying not to think about a glittery battlefield where wires had cut into his leg. He didn't want to die. At the very least, he didn't want to run out of breath quickly when fleeing from more monsters. The thought quickened his breath and heartbeat, but he swallowed down the fear with memories of warm hands and quiet assurances. 

The rest of the form he filled out without really thinking, marking art/photography as his next choice, film study next, then home economics, creative writing, music theory, woodworking, and computer science. That done, he peeked at the evaluation forms in-between classes, reading through them all by the time lunch came around and Fredric returned to check in on them.

Christmas's handed in his elective form and the two request forms then, and the lanky man (was he taller than Sander?) briefly assured the boy that it'd be taken care of before the day ended. They now had a generous hour of lunch before classes resumed, so Christmas returned to his desk, closing the notebook so the edge of the open page didn't hang over the desk where it could get caught on someone moving past. It would have been nice if he had done that because he cared about the people walking past and not about the notebook falling to the floor. Always not nice. Always wanting to be.

He turned for the door, wondering what to get in the dining hall and already making his way towards the exit.

"Hey Christmas! Hold up!" Callan called out, leaning over her desk and not looking at him as she spoke. She quickly stuck her pen in her mouth and ripped a sheet of paper out of her notebook. Retrieving her pen, which she'd carefully stuck between her teeth by the clicker-end, she held it out, along with the paper, for him to take.

"Is it cool if I get your number?" she asked clicking the pen for him, "For that thing." 

Christmas finally blinked, having turned around and frozen up at the sound of his name and the command to "Hold up" from a familiar voice. Callan. From yesterday. He let out the breath he was holding and looked between her hands and her chin for several seconds, then nodded, taking the pen and page from her carefully. It didn't make sense to him why she wanted his number, but he didn't want to linger in the classroom long. She seemed to get along with Sander, so he banked on that safety.

"919-453-4628" took up minimal room in the paper's top left corner, the handwriting minute.

Christmas handed the page back to her, worried about writing so little on an entire sheet, but he hadn't known what else to include.

"S-sorry."

"Thanks," Callan quirked an eyebrow at the tiny numbers before slipping it into the pocket of her hoodie. He sure said 'sorry' a lot, didn't he? But for what? His apology was met with a confused grin and nervously laughed out "Uhm...."

"My phone sorta broke, but I'll text you when I get a new one."

Christmas nodded quickly, half-turning to look at the exit. 

"Um. D-did you need...a-anything else?"

"Nope! See ya around, Christmas," she stuffed both of her hands into her pockets and, with a brief wave goodbye, eagerly scampered ahead towards the cafeteria.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ   / /  ~𝟙𝟚𝟙𝟘

A tiny room with white walls and shiny vinyl floor, with a bed and a bathroom. Sterile and metallic. 
 
A place for the end. 
 
He looked at the ceiling, and nowhere else. 
 
“Where are you from, anyway?” 
 
His mind went back to that place he called home, and he thought of golden heads and warm meals. Of summer days and fruit punch. Of smoke and fire and pools of glistering red. It was dark, and he didn’t want to think about it. But he did, anyway. 
 
His fingers dug into the loose bandage, dragging out the red, so it hurt, and he didn’t think. The fire without burnt brighter. 
 
“It’s okay. I don’t think about it too.” 
 
A black dot at the edge of vision. The lady in white told him it could make him hurt less. But he didn’t want it. Clouded thoughts were still thoughts, and he didn’t want to have them. They only went to one place. It hurt, and he couldn’t take it. 
 
He dug them out. Days after days, but he was still here. Still stuck. 
 
“Don’t think about the past, Sandy. You are not going back there.” 
 
“It will be alright.” 
 
He wanted to be believe that. He wanted something. He needed the strength that he didn’t have. 
 
So he borrowed the spark to light his own pyre. 
 
It burnt, and it was burning still.
 
Sander’s eyes snapped open, bringing him back to the hospital room with white walls and shiny vinyl floor. But it was not the same room. He knew this, yet his fingers still went to the left side of his ribs, where he found no bandages or leaking wounds. Just old scars, and memories he didn’t think about anymore. He exhaled, fingers loosened around the fabric of his shirt. 
 
Right. Just a dream. Not real. Not anymore. 
 
He sat upright slowly, noting the layers of towels on his torso as he did. No wonder his back felt clammy. He shoved them all into a pile beside him, before grabbing one to wipe the droplets of sweat on the back of his neck. Memories of fire and golden hair nagged at him, so he swung his legs off the bed and decided on a cold shower instead. 
 
Speaking of showers…Sander glanced to the left side of the bed, where he came face-to-face with a round stuffed…creature, instead of his blond roommate. He blinked, but beady eyes didn’t blink back. Wasn’t this Christmas’? He reached out to touch the creature’s blue coat gently, an idle gesture as he looked around the room, looking for the blond boy. 

Four boxes of food teetered in Christmas's arms as he found that tricky balance to lean down and shove an elbow against the lever knob of the door to room 302. A guard had opened the hospital's main doors for him, luckily enough, and he had managed to sneak into an elevator after a bit of waiting, grateful for the boxes to stare at instead of the nurses and doctors staring at him.

The room was quite toasty when he entered, courtesy of the thermostat he had dialed up to 76 degrees Fahrenheit before leaving that morning, worried that Sander might be cold. He nearly stumbled inside, but regained his balance and, more importantly, held on to the food, only to find Sander awake and sweating buckets. 

Too warm. Oh no.

"I-I'm sorry," he looked fearfully at the thermostat panel on the wall near the bed.

“Hey…” -Sander brought the towel to his face, dabbing at the dampness on his brows. Christmas looked rather uncomfortable though, so he followed the blond boy’s gaze to a thermostat on the wall –“Oh. Is it too hot?” -He stood up from the bed and walked toward the panel, looking at the temperature.

"Uh...that--um--it was my fault. I-I'm sorry."

“It’s fine.” -Sander shrugged, adjusting the number on the screen before heading back to the bed. He put a hand on the stuffed creature again –“Isn’t this yours?”

Christmas looked at the damp shirt clinging to Sander's torso and the towel that was used to wipe more sweat away, feeling doubly ashamed of himself now, the boxes of food in his arms just dead weights after that mistake.

"I'm sorry. I thought you--I thought you might be cold."

“Oh…” -Sander gave the stuffed animal one tentative squeeze, ignoring the prickling sensation on his arms –“So that’s why you put towels here?” 
 
“Thanks.” -He smiled then –“I didn’t bother you last night, did I?”

The blond boy shook his head quickly, remembering to clarify, "N-no, no, I liked it--"

His brain couldn't cancel the words coming out of his mouth fast enough and Christmas dropped his gaze immediately, hurrying to the table and putting the boxes of food down instead, some stupid--really stupid--part of his mind repeating the image of Sander squeezing Mr. Chair and wanting to smile about it. He didn't turn around as he took apart the small tower of wide, rectangular food packs, setting the brown boxes side by side.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, pulling open the flaps on the box furthest to the right: a foot-long sandwich cut into two halves was tucked neatly in the box. 

He turned around and placed the sandwich box on the bed's attached food tray, not looking up. "I-If you don't...um...I brought chicken and steak and pasta if..."

“Nice.” -Sander glanced the assortment of food boxes, the savory scents reminding him of his light dinner yesterday. But the dampness of his shirt reminded him of his morning routine, so he turned to his duffle bag instead –“I will just take a shower first. You go ahead and eat.” 

Christmas nodded again, but he left the boxes alone until Sander had closed the bathroom door behind him.

He heaved out a slow breath when the sound of running water petered towards him, petting the spot on Mr. Chair that Sander had squeezed. He had never been close enough with anyone who he could share that stuffed animal with and the sight of Sander (maybe) enjoying it was thrilling. But he didn't let the happy smile linger long on his face, quelling it with other thoughts--less pleasant thoughts. 

He was afraid of so many things, and happiness was one of them.

Despair, well, at least he knew it. Was used to it, however much he didn't like it. But he didn't know what to do with the better end of his emotions so he just decided to put them away instead. Somewhere safe, somewhere nice. Somewhere away from the dark corners of his mind. A sunlit field of yellowed grass and the amber glow of dusk. A rusty swing set someone had left behind that was more than enough for him. All he could ask for.

He parted the curtains and sat down on the sofa, clutching a cushion because some insignificant part of him hoped Sander might hug Mr. Chair again if he left it there. On that easy reflex, he was already staring out towards the scattering of trees that dotted the campus, a distant city jutting out against the foliage where the flag football game had taken place. It wasn't long before Christmas was lost in that field again, imagining scents and sounds and company he didn't deserve.

Sander took a cold shower. The heat reminded him too much of stuffy rooms with white walls, and he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about many things. The Stigma would bring them up again, later, but at least he could have the now and here. It had been getting worse these days, along with dreams. He wondered why. The mark of his throat had been there for years, but this was the first time the dreams came so rapidly. Did this have anything to do with the ‘special team’ he heard about? Did they do something to him? To all the people in that classroom? He looked at his reflection in the mirror, free of fog this time, and searched.
 
Nothing seemed out place. Nothing had changed. Blue eyes stared back at him, but he caught another shade of blue around his left wrist. Oh, but something had changed.
 
He smiled, watching face in the mirror smiled back. 
 
Sander exited the bathroom about 30 minutes later, once again with a dried towel draped around his shoulders to catch any dripping from his damp hair. He had a bundle of dirty clothes in his hands, which he put in a corner of their shared room. With that done, he headed over to the bed where the food was waiting. Christmas, however, was on the sofa, seemingly distracted. 
 
“Uh…You are not hungry?” -Sander aimed the question at the blond boy, while reaching for the sandwich. 

A voice he liked was talking to him, so Christmas blinked himself back in time to hear the last part of the question but not quite catching the intonation. Sander had finished showering, and looked like he wanted the sandwich after all. A flutter of blue on Sander's pale wrist reminded Christmas that this place wasn't as hellish as he had first thought, and he marveled at how things had changed in just a few days, the lingering vestiges of his daydream still soft on his mind.

"...Huh?" he looked at Sander, figuring it was a comment about the other boy being hungry.

Sander took a large bite out of his sandwich, chewed it thoroughly and swallowed before speaking up again –“Are you going to eat?” 

"Oh, I--yeah," Christmas blinked away a bit of the lingering confusion and made his way back to the remaining three boxes of food. "Sorry."

He picked out the pasta and curled back up on the sofa, pulling the greasy plastic fork from where he had stuffed it inside the box and tucking small forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth, eyes on his food.

Threads of sleep pulled at Sander, the withdrawal lingered in him still. It wasn’t that bad though, and since the hospital staff had been giving him whatever he asked, he figured they wouldn’t refuse this time. Christmas had class later, right? The blond boy wouldn’t be here. He bit into the sandwich again, watching his roommate from his spot on the bed. 
 
“What’s your favorite food?” -He asked suddenly, something random and casual to break the silence.

Surprise draped across his face and a noodle hung from the corner of his mouth as Christmas looked back up, pulling the noodle in and swallowing his mouthful.

"Um, spaghetti," he answered before adding, "what--what about you?"

“Okay.” -Sander leaned back into the headboard and pulled his legs back on the bed, settling into a more comfortable position –“Sandwiches.” 

"Drinks?"

Christmas put his fork down.

"...Soda. ...You?"

“Uh…” -Sander looked at the ceiling, flipping through half-forgotten names –“Lots of things.” 
 
“They have a bar here, you know. Lots of things there.”

"You're...you're old enough to drink?"

“No. Not really.” 

"Oh, um. Neither am I."

“How old are you anyway?” -Sander looked back down at the blond boy –“If you don’t mind me asking.”

Christmas shook his head. "Eighteen. Um, how about you? If...you...yeah..."

“Oh? Then you are older than me.” -Sander looked slightly amused –“I’m seventeen.”

That was a shocker for someone so tall. It wasn't logical, but Christmas had always thought taller people were somehow older by default. He turned his head away, coughing a half-laugh into his elbow for a second before looking back.

"Uh, how, um, how old did you think I was?"

“Not eighteen.” -Sander shrugged –“Sorry. But, yeah, you look younger. Most people I met had their power since they were very young…” -He trailed off suddenly, going back to his sandwich.

Christmas looked down, thoughts on the first month of his power seeping into the soft daydreams. But he trusted Sander. He really did, for nothing more than just the consistent reason that Sander was always nice to him, when he had no reason to be, in a place that did its best to never give them any reason to be. 

It would have been easy for Sander to give in to the emotions that seemed to fuel Kusari, and easy for him to give in to the lurking dependency on others. But Sander hadn't. Somehow, he hadn't. And Christmas fueled his dwindling courage with a bit of that brazen strength.

"...I've only had my power for...a month and a bit more. ...You?"

Sander took his time working through another bite, gaze lowered to the blue ribbon around his wrist. After a moment, he finally answered –“Five years. Give or take a few months.” 

That was a long time. Ever since Cat's Cradle had destroyed nearly half of Chicago and introduced themselves to the world. The event that highlighted 2015. Christmas ate a bit more, letting the silence fill in between them before he spoke again, quiet in the aftermath of his thoughts.

"Is it okay to ask?"

“Ask about what?”

"...Even just a month was...not nice. Five years..."

“Not nice.” -Sander echoed the blond boy’s words. 

Christmas nodded quietly. It didn't seem like something he could ask at the moment, because five years to one month seemed such a large gap. A fundamental disconnect in suffering. He couldn't even match anyone's pain and fear, for all that he lamented. Couldn't even stake a claim on sorrow.

Something else, then.

"Has it...has it always been like this? Your, uh, your power, I mean...and the..." he didn't know how to describe it properly, that gaunt and harrowed look he had seen on Sander in the forest, but Sander's words came to mind. "...the demand."

Sander didn’t answer right away. He spent a few moments just staring at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands, eyes blank. But Christmas had trusted him. The blond boy had been there to see all the facets of his power, and he still chose to trust him. This was the least he could do. 
 
He suddenly stood up and moved over to the couch where Christmas was sitting, sandwich left behind on the plastic tray of the bed. Settling down next to the blond boy, he stared straight ahead, then began –“No. It hasn’t.” -He threaded his fingers together, then braced his elbows on his knees –“It has…changed. A lot. Lately.”
 
“The…demand hasn’t changed though. I get tired after using it, but I have to. I don’t…I don’t think I really need to drink, but if I don’t, it’s…uh” -He paused, jaws working as he looked for the words –“…not nice.”    

Another shocker. He had thought Sander's vampiric qualities extended to life-or-death when it came to drinking blood. But if he only needed it for his power, why did it always look so bad for him without it? Not nice, Sander had clarified without truly explaining, and if he was using that phrase they had both decided would mean far too much for just two little words....

Christmas saw the starving predator in the forest again, the knife breaking fabric and flesh with his hand and Sander's hands wrapped around its grip.

"...Was it also not nice of me to ask? ...I'm sorry."

“…Not nice of me to hide it from you.” -Sander’s lips stretched into a lopsided smile –“If you put it like that, we are both…not nice, in a way.”

"...It's okay. I'm...I'm hiding things, too. And I--Do you still...want to stay here?"

“Where else will I go?”

"...Can I say something not nice?"

“Yeah.”

"I'm not nice. And I still...don't want you to go. ...I'm sorry."

“I’m not leaving.” -Blue eyes turned to Christmas now –“As long as you don’t.”

Christmas looked at the ribbon first, then at Sander's eyes, and he wondered if he felt that sunset field or some unnamed terror. He supposed, in that small moment, it was his choice. One he could keep bearing if Sander remained.

"I'm...scared that I'll...." What could he say that would fit his weak words and weaker heart? All the words he knew to be true were wrong, because they would come out missing a piece here and there and he couldn't describe why. The haven in his mind found the words for him, placing them down like puzzle pieces on a board so large he didn't know where the edges were. "That I'll take you for granted."

“Why?”

"...B-Because I'm weak. ...And--And selfish. And a coward." And it didn't feel wrong to admit it all, because every word was true. "And if I..." he looked at the ribbon again, and this time kept his eyes there. Try. As much as possible. "...If I'm not careful, I'll...I'll use up all your strength for me." Sander's cold hands from the night before brought him there and back again and Christmas was afraid to hear his roommate's verdict. He trusted what Sander said, but it also meant he wouldn't reject what Sander could think of him. A chilling thought, to realize one word could dismantle all the gentle pieces that had fallen around him--that small, fragile haven.

“I don’t get it.” -Sander creased his brows, turning to face Christmas fully now –“You stayed with me, even though I’m…dangerous. You trusted me. I don’t get how you are a coward. You are not using my strength, Christmas. If anything, you are lending me yours.”

Christmas didn't think it was true, but he revised the thought, letting three loops and three words hold fast: it didn't matter if he thought it true or false, he'd still believe it, because Sander said it. Even if Sander didn't know all of it, even if it was probably just Sander's misguided belief in him (of all people!). He let that bit of pitch-black dust open his mouth, and he wondered if he would depend overmuch on that, too.

"What if I...rely on you too much? A-And hide behind you too much? ...Use...you too much? I'm not--I don't want to be that person again. I'm afraid. And I'm..." he trailed off for a moment, the strength of that small audacity fading, "...not nice, but I want to be."

“I…don’t know how to help you with that.” -Sander seemed almost crestfallen, his gaze fell to a spot on the couch. But he looked up eventually, blue eyes suddenly fierce –“But I will be here.”
 
“You will figure out a way. I trust you, too.”  

It might be as simple as that--just one person he trusted reciprocating. Christmas wasn't sure. Never was. But he decided to believe it.

Something like a laugh spilled from his mouth, and he coughed the ends of it away out of habit, but it continued to linger in a smile he left alone, even if his head bowed on reflex. Still afraid, but the fear couldn't win out this time.

"...You're crazy," but his tone was light, "...and you caught it from me." He didn't apologize for this one.

Again with the cough that sounded oddly like a laugh. But Sander simply offered a smile of his own, even when Christmas didn’t look up.
 
“I don’t mind.” -He said with a slight shake of his head –“I don’t mind at all.”

Christmas didn't respond to that. He didn't think he needed to, and--shameless as it was--he didn't think Sander wanted a response either. The several seconds that followed were quiet, and he let that peace remain, even as he stood up to retrieve Sander's sandwich and bring it back to the sofa, where they finished their lunches in the calm of the humming heater and the distant sounds of passing footsteps and muted voices.

He didn't know how long it would last, but right now, he was here, and it was nearly effortless.

The digital clock on the wall flicked to 1251, and Christmas almost considered letting the rest of the time tick away as well. Gentle stillness and Sander's steady presence tempted him to stay and the food was lulling him to sleep.

The thought of guards bursting in to the quiet hospital room and dragging him away left an acrid taste on his tongue and Christmas took a deep breath, standing up reluctantly, the smoothness of his thoughts broken up again by the rest of reality trickling back in.

"I'll, um, I'll see you later?" he asked quietly, looking at the clock and then back to Sander, who was still wiping the last traces of his lunch on a paper towel. 

"Yeah. See you." -Sander nodded, watching the blond boy leave with the empty boxes after throwing a quick glance his way.

『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』『𝔽𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕔』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @Baklava@banjoanjo
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕗𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕒   / /  𝟙𝟚𝟜𝟠

Lunch had been a casual jig for Ernie; a good one, even. Yesterday's encounter with Angelique had really lightened him up, Stigma-wise and for his general mood. His Stigma, while not completely cleared, was down to a manageable, ignorable level. He'd gotten Angelique Lachance's number and had a movie night with Brent. Classes weren't even that terrible either, since he had those terrible textbook illustrations to defigure. Things were really looking up! Way nicer than his first day at East for sure, not that it was particularly hard to beat. Ernie had chosen to spend lunchtime with his fellow transfers today. Catching up was a pleasant way to chill out. Low-effort conversation occupied him through the lunch hour, long enough to sustain his good mood for the time being. Unfortunately that line of thinking was derailed as he spotted Fredric surrounded by his escort crew, heading out from the cafeteria.

The memories hit him all at once, the alarm screeching and soldiers shouting and Rosa screaming. Why was she screaming? The uneasy feeling sank in his chest again as he thought back to the folder in his dorm. He shouldn't have been thinking about it so hard. It wasn't even his fault. He didn't need to go another round with that cycle of denial and self-assurance. Rain was just some classmate who decided to talk to him after the game. Ernie had no responsility to her. He didn't know anything besides her full name and height and weight, the only details on the profile in the folder. Rain wasn't important. But what happened on Monday was.

It was the same dilemma over and over. He should care. And maybe, hopefully, a part of him did. But not enough to matter. Not enough to prove to himself that he wasn't just like Owen.

Ernie grimaced. Anyway.

Rain wasn't in class today. Fredric was right there. And it would only take a minute or so. Ernie's conscience flared with questions, but as usual they were only about him. Did he even give a crap about Rain? Or that it was probably his fault? Did the effort put into pretending count as giving a shit? He answered himself since no one else could.

Pretending to care was better than not caring at all. ...Right?

But this was supposed to be about Rain. This was to find out what happened and put his stupid conscience at ease. With a nervous gulp and a strange, determined look on his face, Ernie jogged over to the towering staff mage.

"Hey! Fred!" the boy waved a hand as he approached.

Fredric stopped, waving away the guards so he had a clear view of the boy. "Hey there, Mr. Mars. How're ya holdin' up?" he grinned, casually slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Oh. Yeah, feeling fine, I guess," Ernie laughed awkwardly. Fredric's casual tone reassured him. He still needed to get to the point though and frankly, he didn't think neither him or Fred would like it. Ah well, the only way to do it was to charge headfirst. "I was just wondering, did you guys end up finding Rain? She slipped away pretty quickly but you guys must've had plans to deal with that, yeah?"

The boy eyed the guard detail. They would've been there too.

Fredric paused. The guards looked between the staff mage and young aberration-- similarly as curious to know what Fredric was going to say.

"Unfortunately, Rain didn't make it," he replied, his smile slipping. He watched Ernie carefully.

The young mage's eyes flickered between the guards and Fredric. It was the worst possible scenario. Ernie could feel the familiar tightness in his chest. Didn't make it? The cycle of guilt start spinning in his head again and he was desperate to get out of it. He found a way out through the staff mage. Someone else to blame. Guilt and uncertainty molded themselves into anger. Ernie stared at Fredric, hurt confusion in his eyes.

"The suppression cuff," the Aberration almost spat, "You're supposed to stop these things before these kids hurt themselves. You cuffed her with two, didn't you? How did this even happen?"

"You're right." Fredric's steely gaze was unwavering, "I am." Despite the noticable absence of his smile, he betrayed no emotion at all. He'd expected something like this to happen. It was only a matter of time. "It seems as though his cuff malfunctioned, causing him to lose control of his ability. It was a horrible accident. One Mr. Le Blanc paid for with his life."

Ernie's blood ran cold. Accident? No. This couldn't be real. The mention of "Mr." Le Blanc barely crossed Ernie's mind. There were too many other things to be concerned about. It couldn't be happening. Ernie needed more than just empty condolences.

"Did you find her-- him-- somewhere down there? Was he stuck in the ground? How can you even be sure Rain is..."

He couldn't even bring himself to admit it out loud.

"I'm sorry," the staff mage shook his head ruefully, "He's gone."

Ernie took a deep breath.

"Right. Thanks for telling me."

The boy turned and ran off, not bothering with any more pleasantries. Class was going to start again soon anyway, and he didn't want to have to get wrangled by the guards. The timetable indicated that it was an elective block but this week it was to be a free period. Still spent trapped in the classroom though, for reasons incomprehensible to him. Why couldn't he spend his days where he wanted? A place where he'd be alone with his thoughts?

Ernie rested his head on his folded arms and pretended to nap. He wasn't in the mood for conversation right now. How could he, when he'd just found out that he might have technically killed someone?

A heavy feeling bore its way into his heart. Fred implied that it wasn't anyone's fault. Just a horrible accident. Not his fault, not Fred's fault. Ernie willed the uncertainty to resolve itself. It could have happened anywhere. An inevitability. Ernie was just unlucky that day.

He ignored the voice telling him that it was his goading words that loosened the suppression cuff. He ignored the Stigma-ridden part that reminded him that maybe, probably--no, just maybe--, if he knew that Rain's death would be the end result, if he were able to see the extent of Rosa's guilt-ridden heartbreak, there was a chance he would've done the same thing. With a choked cough, he shoved that shameful part aside.

Ernie allowed himself the illusion of peace for now. Because he knew, he knew, that if he ever truly acknowledged his role in that horrible accident, the guilt would devour him alive. It already was.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @banjoanjo@RedDusk
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕣   / /  ~𝟚𝟙𝟙𝟘 

Dinner was a quiet affair as Sander found a seat in the far corner of the cafeteria. He paced himself, picking at his food while watching the crowd of gathered students absentmindedly, thoughts flickered back to the events of the previous days. And he felt…strangely contented, all things considered. What the water gave him wasn’t full control, but at least he wouldn’t lose completely anymore. Maybe that faint glimmer of hope wasn’t so far-fetched, after all.
 
For now. 
 
It might all come crashing down tomorrow, so he kept his mind in the here and now. Probably another bad choice, but he didn’t want to think about it right now. The Stigma had got stronger, feeding off his power, but its presence was more or less negligible then, after that session with Cal in GZ.  
 
His gaze caught the rows of bottles behind the bar, and he recalled the brief talk with the Director. She wasn’t there tonight though. No stag gun to promise him pain. No cold words that forced him to face the truth. Then again, maybe he didn’t need them at all. The blue ribbon on his left wrist did a far better job. 
 
Without much thought, Sander stood up and went over to the bar. He recognized the same bartender from before.
 
“Hello there.” -He greeted the man with a smile – “Can I get a mudslide? Bit heavy on the vodka, like before?”
 
But unlike before, he was actually in the mood to enjoy the drink this time, and not watching the condensation dry between his fingers. 
 
Soon enough, he found himself sipping from a cold glass, the sweet blend of Irish cream and vodka thrumming through his senses. But it lacked a bite. There was no heat pooling at the back his throat. The drink went down smooth, as if someone went far too easy on the vodka. All he had was memories half-buried, but he knew enough to tell that this wasn’t how alcohol worked. And when it didn’t really work at all, something was wrong. He blinked, looking at the now empty glass in his hand. Was this like how he turned on the track to start his fifth lap earlier, and it felt like he was still on his first? Was this like how they pumped syringes after syringes into his veins, and he could still feel the bite of the needle every time?
 
Another small mercy? 
 
He let out a quiet exhale, gaze lifting to look at the familiar glass bottle with the green label. Spirytus Rektyfikowany. The same one that Zhang claimed he could take it from his first night here. He thought she was lying then. Now, he wasn’t quite sure. But he wanted to be. 
 
“Can I--uh“ -He spoke before he could think better and change his mind –“…borrow that bottle?” -He gestured at the spirytus with a finger. 
 
To his credit, the bartender seemed hardly shocked at that request. He merely spared Sander a glace that was a touch too pointed, before retrieving the bottle for the boy, along with a new shot glass. 
 
Sander poured himself a shot, then downed it in one gulp. The liquid scorched his throat as it went down, the taste far from pleasant, but it was the same as before. Whatever heat the alcohol had, it dissipated as it went down. Nothing remained. Sander frowned at the bottle. Wasn’t this supposed to be very strong? Maybe that was too little. 
 
Sander grabbed the bottle then, tilting his head back as he took a larger gulp. It burnt like nothing else, but the flimsy heat from the alcohol found no purchase in him.  
 
Ernie stabbed at his dinner with a blank expression. He felt dirty, confused. He deserved to feel like this. He'd made it through the day without completely collapsing from the guilt and shame, but it ate away at him like corrosive acid. Soon there would be nothing left of him. Ernie shoved the remains of his meal away in disgust, before picking it up and scraping the scraps off into the bin. He wasn't quite dazed enough to leave a mess behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an upper level with a large bar. Perhaps a change of scenery would lessen his crankiness. Ernie made his way up to the bar and was only slightly alarmed to see the lanky figure of Berserker Boy sipping from a dessert-looking drink. His steps immediately slowed.
 
The brown-haired boy was one of the aberrations from the first game. And a freaking strong one at that. Ernie recalled the one on one the guy had with Cal, the taunts and the terrifying strength that had beaten the green-haired girl into submission. In all honesty, brutes like him were what had made the combat exercise so preemptively awful. Knowing that he was going to be in such proximity to a guy who could probably cave his skull in with a flick…
 
Not ideal. Bad vibes all over.
 
Still, ‘scared’ was a word Ernie didn’t like tossing around. All the people that truly frightened him were either dead or on the other side of the country. No worries here at East. He was being cautious, not scared. And even with all the shit he pulled, he still had some pride to preserve.
 
Ernie decided to sit three seats from the other student. No, what was he, some weenie? Two seats, then. As the longer-haired boy drank from a freshly ordered Hurricane, he occasionally stole glances at the sullen figure. Closer up, the guy was strangely unassuming. Disappointing, almost. His imposing height didn’t do much to downplay the sickly frame and all-around depressing vibes. Only when the classmate began downing a whole bottle of Spirytus did Ernie feel the urge to pipe up.
 
“W-woah… Y’know drinks don’t help with Stigmas, right?” he called nervously from his seat.
 
Ernie bit back the ‘buddy’ he tended to stick on the end of his sentences. It was too soon to gauge this guy’s openness to that sort of tone.

Sander spluttered a bit at the sudden question, hastily wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned to face the stranger, still hazy on whether the question had meant for him or not. But the other boy was looking straight at him, so it must be.  
 
“N-No…” -He grimaced slightly, traces of the strong drink still tingled on his tongue. He still felt nothing though, even when two third of the bottle was gone –“They really don’t.”

Ernie's eyes instinctively narrowed at the other boy's messy drinking. Urgh, nasty. He reached over the bar and grabbed a few napkins, leaving the pile at a tentative distance between the two.

"...So you like the taste?" he continued with a confused squint.

“Thanks.” -Sander plucked a few napkins from the pile, then began to dab at the drying liquid on his hands. Only then did he really look at the other boy. Dark hair and brown eyes, with a skinny frame. Sander thought he was rather…familiar, but he couldn’t  link a name to the face. So he didn’t, and just answered the question instead –“Uh…no. Not really. This tastes horrible.”

"Geez, there are better ways to drink than to do it straight from a bottle of toilet cleaner!" Ernie couldn't help but laugh, but he managed to choke it down quickly. Maybe that sort of caution wasn't going to be necessary. The guy seemed rather meek from what Ernie had seen. With an amused smile, he slid his own drink towards the boy and plucked a second straw from the bar. The bartender eyed him as he did so.

"Better give your tastebuds a break then," Ernie dropped a straw into the cocktail for the boy, "This won't get you shitfaced or anything but it tastes pretty fun. Whaddaya think?"

Sander raised an eyebrow at the black-haired boy’s comment. He turned to look at the green label once more, looking for the word ‘toilet cleaner’. They actually cleaned toilets with this? He didn’t know that, so he just took the friendly boy’s words as they were and pushed the almost empty bottle aside. Glancing down at the offered straw, he hesitated for a just a brief moment, before giving the drink a quick taste. It was sweet and tart, not unlike the fruity punch he used to have on hot summer days. He decided immediately that he didn’t want to drink anything like it again. 
 
“It’s a bit too sweet for me. Sorry.” -He gave the black-haired boy an apologetic smile –“But…would you recommend something else?” 

"You like it strong, huh?" Ernie racked his brains, "Well, if I remember my stuff correctly I'd give you..."

His eyes trailed over the expansive collection of liqueurs and spirits behind the bartender. Ernie swore his mouth began to water. Without another word, he hopped off the stool and went behind the bar.

"Could I borrow the bar for a bit?" he chirped.

The bartender looked up from a half polished martini glass and stared back silently. Ernie raised his hands, unperturbed.

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'll put everything back where it was. I'll even help you clean up when you're done."

With a curt nod, Ernie was allowed through. The boy began to scan the shelves, grabbing various coloured bottles in a seemingly random order. Ah, it was good to be back.

"So what's got you in a drinking mood?" Ernie chatted to Sander as he poured some gin into a measuring utensil. His movements made it clear that he was fairly skilled in this area.

Sander watched the black-haired boy basically ‘invaded’ the bartender’s working space, but he didn’t make any comments. It wasn’t really his place, after all –“Huh?” -He seemed mildly surprised when the boy asked, then pensive as he figured the answer for himself –“The drinks…aren’t working.” -He got it eventually, or rather, he got something that sounded similar enough to an actual answer. 

Ernie nodded. "That explains the toilet cleaner."

A martini glass with a vaguely green liquid was placed in front of Sander. Ernie didn't seem very satisfied with it.

"I think this one's called a London Fog. Anyway, there are way better ways to get hammered than permanently staining your throat with that fancy junk. Tell me how it tastes."

Sander took the drink and gave it a tentative sip. He made a face –“Bitter.” -But he still lifted the glass to his lips and finished everything. Would be rude, otherwise.  

The glass was swiftly replaced with another, consisting of a small mound of ice and a curious blue drink.

"No need to force yourself if you don't like it," Ernie muttered, "This one's a Frostbite. Not as strong as the Fog but you might like this one better."

A pause as Ernie examined his patron.

"Are you planning to drink a lot in the future? With a gut like yours, it might be hard to get into the mood you want."

“Yeah. I don’t think I can…get drunk.” -Sander looked at the blue drink curiously, tapping one finger against the cool glass before lifting it to his lips. Sweeter this time, minty and rich, with a deeper flavour, like…cocoa. He took his time with the drink this time, instead of downing it in one gulp. 
 
“This is nice.” -He smiled, looking up at the temporary bartender –“What is it?”

Ernie beamed in return.

"Tequila, cream, chocolate liqueur, caracao and ice," he listed carefully while counting off his fingers, "I, uh, saw you drinking that chocolate thing earlier so I thought you'd like this one. Wouldn't expect that flavour with all the blueness, yeah?"

"I just realised I never even asked your name."

“Oh. Yeah. I’m Sander.” -After a few initial blinks, Sander finally connected the question and motioned at himself –“You?”

"Ernest. But everyone calls me Ernie. Awesome meeting you, Sander!"

Sander wasn't much of a talker. And Ernie wasn't gonna spend the rest of the night talking to a guy who seemed to only be able to form three word sentences. This called for more drinks. He fixed another Frostbite to replace the one Sander was finishing.

"Guess the best way to do this is to count how many it takes before you get smashed. So we might be here a while," He nodded to the ribbon on Sander's wrist. That seemed like a good topic to start with. "What's that for? Did a nice girl give it to you?"

“You too.” -Sander nodded in greeting, his smiles started to come easier as he placed the empty glass on the side and took the new one between his fingers. The question came then, and his gaze flickered to his left wrist, where the stained blue was –“Oh? This? My roommate gave it to me. For a--uh...safekeeping.”

Wow, boring. This didn't seem like a topic worth pursuing, unless he actually wanted to hear Sander go on about some roommate who shared her accessories. But a pretty ribbon like that had to mean something, right?

"Sure. 'Safekeeping' " Ernie winked suggestively. Time to move on. "I watched you in that fight earlier. Do you always go nuts like..."

Images of Cal's thrashing were brought forth.

"...like that?"

Sander drew out the silence by sipping on his drink, holding onto the answer until he had finished the second glass of Frostbite –“You were there? I—ah, well, yeah. It…happens.”

"Does it happen a lot? In friendly games?" A skeptical eyebrow was raised.

“It shouldn’t.” -Came the quiet answer as Sander suddenly seemed to be interested in his empty glass.

"But it happens anyway," Ernie pushed some more, sliding another drink towards Sander, "Is it because you like it? Cos I think I'd get it with the whole..." he waved vaguely towards his own X-mark, "...Stigma thing."

Another question that begged for answers. Sander’s eyes flickered down at the new drink pushed his away, and he accepted easily, simple payments for the simple answers that he didn’t want to give. But he would. Because fair was fair, and he felt like it. Ernie was a stranger, but Sander couldn’t really bring himself to care about that. He was too occupied with reliving the moments of fire during that ‘game’, only to find some of its heat had found its way back into his chest. 

Did he like it? Of course he did. 

“…I shouldn’t.” -He gave the clipped answer instead, something simple enough for his mind at that moment.  

Ernie couldn't do much but nod. He was no shining example of self-control himself. At least Sander had the guts to tell right from wrong. A bellowing laugh echoed through his memory.

"If it's there, then just go for it! Liam's not here to make a fuss, so what are you waiting for, kid?"

It wasn't fair. It never had been.

"That's fair," Ernie sipped momentarily from his own drink. It didn't quench the sudden dryness in his mouth. "The release zones don't help much, do they? With all that junk pent up in you."

He shook off the sudden negativity and returned to his standard chipper self in an instant. One of them had to fight off that sulkiness, right?

"But hey! Big Stigma means big power, right? You're strong enough to use those crazy punches on the baddies. Fighting well with friends and not, well, with them. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Sander simply gave Ernie a blank look, before returning to his drink. Which he ended up knocking back in one gulp again –“Three.” -He put the recently empty glass on the side –“I think I’m good for few more, if you don’t mind.”

He wasn't sure what Ernie meant by 'Big power' and 'Big stigma', so he would reserve his comment on the subject.  

The smile dropped immediately. Although he obliged Sander with some more glasses, Ernie could feel the irritation bubbling upwards. Of course. It was always the strong ones who could afford this sort of attitude while small fries like him were left bleeding out on the sidewalk. Even so, the irritation was considerably overshadowed by the sheer boredom this one-sided conversation was generating. It was taking a ridiculous amount of alcohol to loosen this guy up.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" he said with a hollow chuckle.

Sander simply shrugged, the finer points of Ernie’s expression lost on him. With nothing else to answer for, he turned his attention fully to the glass in front of him, sipping from them and chasing the drops of condensations with the tips of his fingers. Ernie kept the drinks coming, to which Sander was grateful, but whatever line of conversation between them had long died. Not that Sander minded. Not much of a talker, or so Ernie said. He had to be, since they stopped talking to him long ago. What would be the point? He couldn't blame them. So he kept downing glass after glass, fuelling the feeble flame in his chest. It paled in comparison to whatever the water gave him, though he had to admit it was better than nothing. Not that he minded nothing, but this warmth was addicting all the same.  
 
And he wasn’t really beyond human, after all. It was…pleasant, to know. At least he still had this. 
 
By the time, Sander moved to stand up, he had lost count of how many glasses he pushed aside. He should ask. That was probably important. But it wasn’t his place, and he got what he came for anyway, so maybe it was time to leave. 
 
“Uh. Thanks for the…stuffs.” -He stumbled through his foggy mind and cobbled a few sentences, because it was simply the right thing to do. He couldn’t just…leave without saying anything. That was not right –“I’ll see you around.”

"Mm. Catch you later." Ernie didn't bother looking up from polishing glasses. Outside of those death matches, Sander was a total bore. He wouldn't be going out of his way to hang out with Emo Boy again. What a disappointing night. Ah well. At least he found something to keep him preoccupied while he was stuck in this prison.

Ernie placed the spotless glass by a marked napkin. The tally marks indicated eighteen Frostbites. Not enough to get the guy word-vomiting, sadly. The black-haired mage sighed and started on another glass. Guess he'd have to try a little harder next time.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚   / /  ~𝟚𝟚𝟜𝟘

Sander ambled down the empty hallway, a half-remembered number at the forefront of his mind as he did. The sweet taste of his last drinks was turning sour in his mouth, its sticky remnants between his fingers made him want to take a shower very much. And he would. As soon as he could find his new room. This would be much easier if he could just focus and stop his thoughts from interrupting each other. This…fire wasn’t what he used to. It didn’t dominate his mind with a sick craving; it distracted him instead, making him chase a million thoughts, and at the same time nothing at all. It was…curious, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t sure he cared at all. 

Christmas sat on his bed in his and Sander's new suite, reading--well, trying to read--the copy of Meditations Lawrence had loaned him in the ride before that first battle he was trying not to think much about. The book was small, and in the momentum of events from days prior, Christmas had felt more compelled to fall back on things that were familiar: his Vita, his plush manatee, his ribbon. Small things that he had needed to sort out with himself. He still hadn't managed to figure anything out (there was a quiet space at the bottom of his fears now, and he wondered if it meant anything), but at the very least he was calmer now.

A guard had found him shortly after the visit with Rosa, catching him as he returned to the hospital room, handing him a new backup room key with the suite number on it, and letting him know the card-reader lock had been set to his ID. "Everything's already been moved to the suite," the soldier had clarified when Christmas turned back to the door of his temporary hospital room. He had fumbled with a "Thank you" and waited until the man had turned and left before making his own way back to the dorm building. There was a flutter at the bottom of his chest--equal parts anticipation and fear in actually choosing to room with Sander. He didn't know if this was a huge mistake or a small miracle.

Now though, in this quiet room without Kusari's ire and with only Sander to expect back, he was feeling paced enough to venture into a book he had never heard of before, full of thoughts on a life he wasn't sure he could be interested in, and written in a manner of thinking he knew he would never replicate. Still, it was something new, and he had decided it would suit the occasion of a new suite and something like newfound resolve--or desperation. He was still figuring that one out.

But the mild confusion was dashed by the smell of alcohol wafting in before his roommate entered.
 
Room 202 came into view at last, and Sander fumbled for a moment before finally managing to get the door open. The new room greeted him then, with the interior and the same furniture and the same roommate. Said roommate gave him a small wave as he entered, though he didn’t wave back. His tacky fingers and the sour taste on his tongue suddenly felt too prominent, small inconveniences becoming unbearable. He really wanted a shower. So he did. After gathering all he needed from the duffle bag, he headed straight to bathroom. 
 
The heat from the shower clung to his skin still. It was getting far too warm. And he didn’t know what to do with this fire. Nothing for him to grasp at. Nothing for him to rein in. Better to just let it run its course for now. 
 
His own bed seemed tempting, but he didn’t want to sleep yet. His mind was still flitting between alertness and lethargy, so he figured he would do something else while it decided. Like talking. He felt like talking. So he headed over to where Christmas was, settling down on the carpeted floor next to the blond boy’s bed, his side leaning against the bedframe while he faced the healer. 
 
“Hey.” -He eyed the book, squinting slightly at the letters on the cover –“What are you reading?”   

Christmas had made little progress in the book during Sander's shower and he had stopped reading when his roommate sat down on the floor nearby, a bit relieved that Sander wasn't drunk to the point of danger. 

"Um..." 

The question needed answering, but Sander's seat seemed out of place when there were chairs and two other beds nearby.

"M-Meditations?" he answered, glancing at the cover to make sure he had remembered the name correctly. "Um...t-the floor..." He trailed off. Instead, Christmas slid towards the edge of the bed and off, sitting down beside Sander on the carpet with his book in hand. The smell of alcohol still lingered heavily in the air and he looked at his roommate curiously.

“That’s…” -Sander nodded, though ‘Meditations’ didn’t really ring a bell for him at all. Not that he read much to begin with –“…great.” 
 
“So…How are you?”  

"I'm...I'm okay. Um. Are you...?" He wanted to ask if Sander was drunk, but thought against it, letting the question end there.

“I’m great.” -Sander smiled sheepishly –“They…uh…took you though. What’s up with that?” 

"Oh, um. It was just to, uh, check on my power...I think. Um," he eyed Sander's neck again, at the flushed skin that was probably just the shower, but the thick smell of liquor told him it could be more, "d-do you need to lie--lie down?"

“Power…yeah…that” -The question registered then, and Sander shook his head slightly –“I’m fine. Too hot in here. Not gonna sleep.”
 
“Did you see the ocean again?” 

He didn't answer for several seconds, looking down at the floor instead and seeing the field and the swing in his mind again as Sander's question pulled the memory into vivid display.

Christmas just nodded, before asking in return, "What--um--what about you?"

“I think…there’s something in the water. Here.” -Sander suddenly lowered his voice, but his expression was nonchalant –“Too fast, if you ask me. That’s not normal.”

The blond boy just blinked at him with wide eyes.
 
“Special team, didn’t you hear? Back in the hospital…” -He grinned a little bit then, slowly trailing off as his thoughts derailed –“Wanna know a secret?” 

"H-huh?"

“You know why I can always find you?” 

"No...?"

“Don’t tell anyone, alright?” -Sander leaned in slightly as he spoke. Some lucid part of him, the part the feared and waited and hid, warned him of the consequences, but he couldn’t find it in him to care at that moment. The buzz was pleasant, and it loosened his tongue –“I like your smell.” 

Christmas stared at Sander's hazy, blue eyes, gauging the amount of awareness his roommate had at the moment. He didn't use cologne, or even any scents outside of his shampoo, but was Sander referring to that?

"M-my shampoo?" he asked, unsure if Sander was really "great" at the moment.

“No. No...Not that. Not normal.” -Sander mumbled –“Coffee, to me…You’re coffee.” 

Two empty cups of coffee on the dining hall table and a contradictory answer about tea came to mind and Christmas stared silently as the pieces sluggishly put themselves together. It took exactly five blinks and one surprised intake of breath before he finally understood the gist of it. Sander could smell him. And he apparently smelled like coffee?

"What--what kind of coffee?" he asked without thinking and immediately realizing how stupid a question that was, but his mind was coming up blank on how to respond to the news. It was all making sense now, how Sander kept running into him and why there had been two empty cups of coffee on the table when Sander said he liked tea. He didn't know if he was happy Sander liked his smell or confused about why he smelled like coffee to begin with. Did that mean Sander could smell everyone? 

Was that the only reason Sander kept finding him?

“The kind that smells like…you.” -The answer came quick and easy, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But a pensive look passed through Sander’s features as he paused and began again –“Sorry. That’s not normal. It’s…uh…weird.”  

"N-no, it's--it's fine, just...um...you said you liked tea...?"

“But I like you.” -Once again, quick and easy. The words didn’t really require much thoughts on Sander’s part.

"Wh--I...uh...t-thank you," Christmas mumbled the rest of the fragmented sentence into the floor as he suddenly grew all too aware that Sander was close, because he had seated himself nearby the taller boy without really thinking. He was afraid to ask why Sander liked him--afraid to hear a version of himself he didn't believe in at all. Afraid to think Sander might be sorely mistaken.

"...L-like you, too," his voice petered off and he looked away, a bit of heat rising to his shoulders and the back of his neck again, though he blamed it on the warm room and the heater he had left on. He knew Sander didn't mean anything by it, but the easy admittance was disarming.

“Thanks.” -Sander’s grin returned now, and he looked almost eager –“You don’t think I’m…weird? Not…uh…people?” 

"Huh? N-no, you're--um...you're...great," he repeated the word, at a loss for how to describe the amount of gratitude he had, even if Sander maybe liked some version of "Christmas" he didn't think he was, and even if Sander only found him because he liked the smell of coffee. It was okay.

The smile remained on Sander’s lips as he paused for a few seconds, thoughts still going back and forth in his head. But he chose to speak, in the end, because even a half truth was a lie, and Christmas didn’t deserve that. 
 
“There’s a…fire. Right here.” -Sander motioned at his chest with a finger –“It…gives me strength. Let me do a lot of things. But only if I…drink.” 

"...Your power?" Christmas replied quietly, watching Sander's hand. "...Does it--does it make you?"

“Doesn’t make me. Just makes everything…good. Warm. Powerful. If I drink enough, nothing can hurt me.” 

"Is it--um--d-do you like that, too?"

“I do.” -Sander spoke with a glint in his eyes –“Better than…anything, really.” – Then his expression darkened, the but left unsaid –“Have to…pay. After. Not cheap.” 

"...What happens?" Christmas whispered, the memories of hollow eyes and shaking hands hinting at the response.

“Not nice.” -Came the only response, the only words Sander could find. Not a half-truth if he didn’t know the right words. He racked fingers through his hair once, before shaking his head suddenly, shrugging the creeping fear off –“I can share, too…make you...like me for a while…nothing can hurt you.”

So strong. Christmas's thoughts ran around those two words. Sander was like Sparrow, but without the flight and with a harrowing price, and he marveled at how his roommate had shouldered that kind of consequence for so long. So strong, in more ways than just the power.

"The--the forest," he started, wondering if Sander could remember when he seemed a bit tipsy, but with his roommate's clarity of thought muddled by alcohol, Christmas's own thoughts slipped a bit more effectively from his mouth. "Was that...? Um. 'Not nice'?"

Sander simply nodded. Not a half-truth if he didn’t say anything.

"It doesn't make you..." Christmas repeated, "...but you said...you always needed...?"

“Always…want it. Not nice is when I…want it more.” -There was an edge in Sander's smile now -"I don't need it...Just feel like I do." 

"Told you...weird." -He motioned at himself. 

Christmas watched the ribbon on Sander's wrist for a moment, before nodding slowly. It wasn't the same sentiment. It wasn't even anywhere in the same league, but a tiny part of him--tiny compared to the monumental weight Sander bore--understood being "weird." Just not being the same, and it was more than just the marks that separated them from regular people.

A minute passed and he finally spoke, his voice hushed.

"It's okay," he looked up at Sander's eyes, wondering how much would remain after the drinks wore off, "I'm...I'm weird, too."

“Why?” -Sander titled his head.

"I--" Christmas's mouth thinned, trying to figure out a way to explain himself now that Sander had directly asked. They were in the same room now, and he didn't need to be a genius to figure out what most people thought of his preferences, even in this day and age. He had barely become friends with someone and already it was easy to scare them away. 

But he had lied before about this, in a different capacity, and he wasn't here to make that same mistake again. His eyes flicked between the carpet and the ribbon until he finally took a deep breath and spoke to his legs, wishing he had the power to just turn invisible at will.

"...I, um, I don't like girls..." he mumbled.

“Why is that…weird?” -Sander narrowed his eyes –“Some people don’t like…people.”
 
“I don’t like Kusari.” 

"N-no, um..." Christmas ducked his head down as far as he could, breathing slowly for several seconds. "I...like guys...in...that way..." he trailed off before the faintest whisper followed, "I'm sorry."

“Uh.” -Sander just stared at the blond boy now, hazy eyes blinking slowly –“That way?” 

"...L-like...ro-roman--romantically," he winced as he said it and looked away. "S-sorry--I...I'm sorry."

Sander was quiet for a few moments, realization formed and half-forgotten memories resurfaced, tangling with each other into a mess behind his tired eyes –“Oh. I see. That’s…not normal?” 

"U-um..." Christmas watched the ceiling light reflect on the wooden surface of his desk, eyes on anywhere but Sander and the space around Sander. "Not normal," but it was a question and he wasn't sure how to respond. For a lot of people, it wasn't. For him, it had been that way for a while...and he didn't know if that was normal, either. "A lot of people--um--" he chewed on his lower lip a moment "--d-don't think so." And he believed them, because there were so many more of them and he was so small in comparison.

“I…wouldn’t know.” -Sander pressed a hand against his forehead as if he could rearrange his thoughts with that simple gesture alone –“I can’t remember the last time I saw…people.”
 
Slowly, he braced his left hand against the mattress and rose to his feet, before letting himself fall fully into the soft embrace of the cushion –“Probably a good thing.” -He mumbled from his spot on the bed, sprawling out and gazing at the ceiling with empty eyes. 

Christmas watched the movements, eyes guarded, ready to be anywhere but here the moment Sander seemed uncomfortable, but his roommate just seemed tired and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Are you tired?" he asked softly from the floor, grateful for the chance to change topics.

“Shouldn’t be.” -Sander said, though his voice came out far too soft, barely above a whisper –“Shouldn’t be drunk, too…” -His eyes drifted shut then. 

"Good night," Christmas whispered back.

He waited there until Sander's breaths had evened out into the slow rise and fall of sleep before finally getting up from the floor. The guards had left Sander's stuff at the foot of the adjacent bed, and he had pegged that as "Sander's" in his head by now, so he left it alone and pulled the blanket from the unclaimed third mattress instead, carefully draping it over his roommate's sleeping form, stretched out above the pillow and sheets of his own bed.

The room was suddenly too warm and the vestiges of whatever cocktail of drinks Sander had downed continued to hang in the air, still prickling his nose lightly with every breath he took. It was too late to go out, though, and he didn't think he could make it to the hospital buildings with only ten minutes before curfew. He didn't think he even wanted to leave in all honesty.

As long as he could stay in the safe net of company Sander offered, there was little he would mind. That's what he had thought before, too, and now he was at USARILN East despite that belief. This wasn't the same, right?

He had checked his phone for messages earlier, disappointed and relieved to find none from Alvin. It made sense. Alvin had stopped communicating with him when he stupidly admitted he was a subnatural. No one normal wanted to associate with that kind of trouble--barely anyone normal had wanted to associate with him even before that. The last message was dated July 29, 2020, 7:12 PM. It was a simple, four-word sentence that spelled out so neatly how much he had ever mattered: "Don't contact me again."

Either a blessing in disguise or the penultimate nail in the coffin, and Christmas was still unsure if he was grateful for that small thing that had set his feet in motion a month later, well before his mind had caught up.

Sander wasn't like that--wasn't cold and calculating and all premeditated affections. In all honesty, he thought Sander was quite unaware of many things, and maybe that was why Sander had seemed such a comforting presence after such a short time. Someone who wasn't locked into the mire of mental schemas and preset notions that defined most people. Someone who had apparently not seen people for a long while, but those would be questions for another day and another time, when Christmas had found more of the words that fear and anxiety had always taken from him until now.

Mr. Chair and his phone joined him on the sofa in the other partition of the miniature apartment, where a living room of sorts would technically be. He wasn't sure how long he sat and stared at the name on his contacts list, reading "Alvin Hall" over and over until even the syllables in his head sounded distorted. 

At some point, and Christmas vaguely caught that it might have been hours, he nodded off, leaning heavily on the plush manatee's synthetic softness.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

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『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔹   / /  ~𝟘𝟝𝟘𝟘

He'd only ever seen the sea once in his life. When his family went on a trip to Santa Monica, a year or so after the Primordial attack. The real sea, not this place.

Ernest stood on the shore of a moonlit ocean, staring outwards. It was so serene. A mirror surface with the full face of the moon illuminating the water, hinting at its mysterious, clear depths. It was the calm he always wished he had, the kind for which he would do anything to obtain. Nothing but the moon, the sea, and the occasional breeze brushing past his face and through his hair. No one but him. Peace at last. Ernest could've enjoyed this silence for hours. But he didn't want to stay here. He couldn't. He was brought here for a reason.

On this night, he swore he couldn't even see the horizon line. The water drew him forward, beckoning for the piece of him that had changed those long seven years ago. It had only ever given him droplets before. It wanted to give him more. But he knew that he would fall right in if he took a step forward. So he didn't.

With a tentative, outstretched arm, Ernest received.

Golden ichor coated his hand. Power, strength, flowed forth. It was the same exhilaration he felt whenever his rope granted him that unbeatable endurance. Permanence, now. He could have enjoyed this strength forever. But it wouldn't allow him to. It never did.

It only took a drop of that inky filth to pollute the water, to stain it irreversably. With that, Ernie was stained too. He was tainted.

An eye for an eye.

Ernie jolted awake with a panicked gasp, clutching the shirt on his chest until his knuckles turned white. It had gotten worse.

He deserved this.

An inaudible cry, desperate and wordless, escaped his lips as comprehensible thoughts caught up to the fresh anguish that occupied his mind. The scratching in his chest felt more like beastly clawing now. Voices, intrusive pieces of garbage, announced their new, tyrannical presence. Tears threatened to spill and Ernie bundled his blanket close and tight. God, he just wanted to stay away from everything. Just wanted to go home. Aimless desperation paralysed him. He could do nothing but draw himself closer in a pathetic embrace and hope-- beg-- that the world would keep itself outside behind that locked door. 

He stayed like that for far too long. Nothing but him and his mind reeling and replaying every godawful moment of the last few days. Allison. Angelique. Rain. Names and faces taunting him, staring, berating him. Because he'd done all of it of his own volition. Because he deserved it. 

It was a vicious cycle. Doing these careless, bad things sated his Stigma. And in return, he received more power to do these awful acts. More reason to do them. And he just kept going on and on and on. Fucking terrible.

He needed a fix.

Ernie got dressed at an excruciating pace. He skipped his morning shower, skipped breakfast, skipped brushing his teeth. He needed to leave right now.

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

Ground Zero loomed before him and he felt like a child lost in that bright, uncaring metropolis all over again. Unlike Monday, he was armed with his pistol, a peashooter really, and his woodchopping axe rather than the tomahawk. There were already a few Aberrations in the area so Ernie avoided them and instead made his way to the furthest edge of the broken city. He couldn't have anyone seeing him like this.

He'd always sort of despised his power. Despite resulting from his nightmare, it had little to no destructive power. As useless as an Arbiter, only he still had that fucking Stigma to live with. So to get anything out of this Ground Zero outing, he'd have to rely on his wits and trusty axe. Ernie found himself on an open street, empty and bordered by stores and rows of telephone poles and trees. This is where his axe came into play. Tree chopping principles would work just as well on telephone poles.

The cacophony of crushed store fronts and fallen timber shook the fears and terrible thoughts out of his head. Better, much better. Ernie continued swinging, clearing the street within an hour. So much better. Shattered glass and bricks littered the sides of the road. Testaments to his calculated destruction. Crashes and sounds of fractured buildings cut through the relative silence, occupying the space around him. In this moment, he could pretend that he and his suffering weren't in some isolated world, far from any kind of help. Ernie was thankful.

But it wasn't enough.

There was a hunger, something that could only be filled by something he didn't want to acknowledge. The thing he absolutely loathed about himself because it made him exactly like the bastards he'd been ripped from in Reno. Perhaps even worse. Ernie sat to catch his breath, leaning against a wall. His arms were so tired but the nagging in his head refused to stop. It had been dampened by the sound of thunderous crashes but it was still there. No amount of casual property damage would make it leave.

He needed people.

The Aberration began trudging back towards the dorms, when a rustling noise from an alley caught his attention. A homeless man. An opportunity.

Ernie stretched his left hand outwards, using his splayed fingers like a gun sight. He could see the man past the tips.

Clasp.

The golden noose shot out from his palm and caught the man by the neck. He immediately choked and tried to run, only to be pulled back and off his feet by Ernie's strong grip. The Aberration frowned. This upgrade didn't have an auto-reel feature so he'd need to pull people back manually. How tedious. He couldn't even walk to his catch. His feet were totally anchored.

The victim's screams kept getting choked off by the rope around his neck. Irritating. But strangely realistic? Ernie gave another harsh yank on the rope, pulling the panicked man closer with every second. Maybe this would work.

"What's your name?" Ernie demanded.

Screaming that turned into blubbering. Then pathetic begging. Another tug of the rope coaxed an slurred reaction out of him but by then Ernie had confirmed that he would get no satisfaction from this senseless torment. These weren't real people. These weren't real emotions he was toying with. As soon as the realisation hit him, along with the disappointment that followed, he felt the carnal satisfaction in him come to a close.

Ernie brought his axe down.

"What the fuck!"

The three teens scrambled away from the fallen tree trunk that had missed them by mere inches. Two other boys were part of the scene; a meek, red-headed Arbiter who'd just been freed from the torment of the three bullies, and a dark-haired Aberration holding an axe and staring blankly at the trio of bullies. The Aberration, Ernest--no, Ernie now--, couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the terror that had darkened their faces when the fir barely missed them. Was there disappointment too, when he didn't see their brains splattered on the forest ground?

"Are you insane?" the leader hissed. Magic began to flare up between the trio, pathetic sigils and light shows. Ernie knew he could take all three of them. These kids were ants compared to the monsters he'd lived with in Reno.

"Woah. You're not... really threatening the guy with an axe, are you?" Ernie raised an eyebrow along with the two-handed felling instrument to indicate. And just to send the message home, he took a swing at the main boy's feet. Luckily for both of them, the kid had yelped and jumped back in time to avoid losing some toes. His friends grabbed their comrade by the arm.

"He's mental, we need to go!"

Ernie didn't follow. He remained still, revelling in the delight that had come from their terror. A shifting noise near him drew his attention to the ginger boy, the one the trio had taken to the forest to shove up a tree or whatever it was kids did these days. The ginger, Carlton from Geography class, was still on the ground, shaking. He'd soiled his pants during the commotion, the damp area spreading slowly down his pant leg. Ernie grimaced.

"That's gross as hell."

"Uh, I know... I..." the Arbiter stood hurriedly and clamped his legs shut, "Sorry... And, um, th-thank you."

Ernie looked to the waste of oxygen he'd inadvertently saved. On a normal day, the dark-haired boy would've just seen a loser to avoid talking to. But today, he saw future opportunities in this kid's jumpiness and meek manner. Efficiency. An escape from the fear in his mind. Release. It was a sustainable way to get the sating he needed. And he'd always been told to reuse or recycle when he had the chance. Ernie flashed the ginger a blinding smile.

"I think I'll be thanking you soon."

The memory ended as he walked past the security outpost. Ground Zero wasn't viable. He needed more than that. Something more real. Something in reach that would satisfy him whenever he needed it, which would be quite often if today was anything to go by. Ernie ignored the pang in his heart that told him that it wasn't a something he needed, but a someone. He would deal with that soon, maybe see if Carlton was free. But right now he was hungry. A glance at his phone told him it was around time for lunch. A brush of his dust-stained pants reminded him that he needed to restock on his cleaning supplies. 

Guess a shopping trip in town couldn't hurt.

『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @banjoanjo@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕟 ℂ𝕦𝕝𝕡𝕒𝕖 𝟙   / /  ~𝟙𝟝𝟘𝟘

Thursday was as dreary as most of the week and Christmas shivered on the way back to the bus stop, eager to be back in the warmth and coziness of the new suite with Sander after a quick bit of shopping for essentials that he had stupidly forgotten about until they had run out--shampoo being one of them. His thin, light gray jacket provided little heat insulation, something he hoped to fix with a new jacket tucked in the spacious shopping bag filled with other sets of cheap clothes and generic toiletries.

Sander hadn't offered to come along when he had mentioned heading into town earlier at lunch, but he hadn't faulted his roommate for that. With how inebriated the taller boy had seemed the night before, Christmas was surprised the hangover seemed practically nonexistent. But he was glad Sander was recuperating well compared to the last time his roommate had gone without blood. That had been a mixture of satisfaction--at being needed--and fear--of pain and hungry, red eyes. Now, he was a shade more certain he didn't need that kind of assurance to feel he was worth something. Charcoal smudges of selfish thoughts and wants weren't overpowering the small conviction that he truly didn't like seeing Sander so drawn and wearied. Something felt missing in the way his mind phrased that, but Christmas let his reflections drift again towards that carefree Sander who had whispered almost conspiratorially "I like your smell."

He was a bit embarrassed to admit that he preferred being near Sander and probably would have found more excuses to continue hovering around his roommate if he had stayed on campus that day.

The memory of warm hands and a steady voice brought the heat to his shoulders and the back of his neck again and Christmas breathed out carefully, trying not to feel happy about little things that only he ascribed any meaning to. They certainly meant nothing to Sander, who offered heat and easy words with the casual familiarity of someone who didn't think much about them. Natural actions, and that was all. Like Alan, with his conscientious concern that Christmas had let himself be drawn to, mistaking it for something like special consideration.

Little words and gestures meant too much to him, and he should have known better than to weigh every small thing like he could find its exact emotional value and validate himself through them.

The plastic bag in his hand crinkled as he moved, and Christmas opened it up, edging towards a nearby building so he wasn't stopped in the middle of the sidewalk while he pretended to rearrange some of the items inside to give himself something to do--something to occupy his idle thoughts until they went away. 

"Hey, you're a subnatural, right?" a girl's voice to his left pulled his attention away from the shampoo and several changes of clothing in the bag.

He blinked at her green eyes and parted, blonde hair, bangs tapering off to the side of her heart-shaped face. He didn't know her. He had never seen her before. He was somewhat terrified she was addressing him directly. Behind her, another girl with longer, brown hair and brown eyes watched with a bored expression on her face, lips smacking on gum as she offered a stick to the freckled boy beside her, who pulled out a thin strip of foil-wrapped rectangle and peeled it open, eyes on the scene in front of him.

When Christmas didn't respond, the girl in front poked at the white mark on his face and he recoiled in alarm, bumping into the wall behind him as she giggled, the laugh reminding him too much of mannequin smiles that held no joy or warmth behind them.

"Can you talk? Or is that like a power thing? Like you can't talk but you can do cool shit? So like Whisper?" she pressed on, stepping near him while her friends stepped a bit closer.

Christmas doubted she held the same level of regard for him as most people did for Whisper, famed terrorist or not. But he shook his head quickly to the questions anyway, hoping she would leave soon. He shouldn't have stopped walking.

"So, like, what do you even do...?" Her large eyes looked him up and down for a while, waiting for his response.

"N-nothing--" He tried to add the word "important" to the end, but the sentence ended there when the girl's eyes narrowed at him.

"Uh-huh..." She crossed her arms. "So you're, like, the weird gimpy shit at West?"

"Come on, Vi," the brunette spoke up, tilting her head slightly down the sidewalk's path, "we're gonna be late to the party. If you wanted to show off you had a subnatural date, you shoulda been looking earlier, anyway."

"But I didn't have time! And none of the other fuckwits wanted to help. Let's just grab him. Better than showing up without one now--that'd be so bad!"

"Yeah, but didn't you tell them your sub 'boyfriend' could totally wreck their shit? He doesn't look like he can even take a shit, let alone wreck one," the guy beside her said, chewing loudly on gum.

"Hey, you don't happen to have a friend nearby I can borrow for just a few hours, do you?" The girl they called "Vi" turned back to Christmas eagerly, looking around him in case a friend would pop up at her convenience.

"Oh? You want a friend?" Ernie's bemused face popped up from behind the teens.

He was carrying his own plastic bag of nondescript cleaning goods, on his way to the same nearby bus stop. The long-haired boy beamed at the group, taking in the appearances of every member. Just a bunch of nobody regulars, trying to lord their usual shit over anyone they could spot a mark on. Not worth his time. Most of his attention was spent on the Arbiter, the tiny one from the sewers. Ernie couldn't recall if the blond was always this pitiful or if the sudden gang-up was what was provoking it now.

"Whoa! What--h-hey...." The freckled boy had jumped at the intrusion, while the two girls had spun almost in unison to face Ernie. Now he stared at the X across Ernie's neck, backing away slowly. "Hey, these X guys are all fucking nuts, right?"

"Hey, Vi, let's just go--" The brunette was quickly interrupted by the group's ringleader.

"Wow, he did have a friend!" "Vi" chuckled nervously as her eyes bounced between Ernie's face and the mark on his throat. "...So did you like catch all that or what?"

"Vi! What the fuck!" the boy hissed at her, stepping a bit away.

"What?" The blonde girl turned back to him with a scowl. "They're not allowed to hurt us. We just need to scream for help and they'll get it from the Director, so who cares if it's an X?"

"Alright, no need to get cranky!" Ernie's tone was light but his smile had widened to something borderline maniacal. He raised his hands as some kind of peacekeeping gesture, "I caught the tail end, but that's not the part that's getting me. Are you really sure we can't hurt you?"

"W-well, even if you did, you'd get it, so..." the girl swallowed, but didn't back down.

"Right, right. But do you think you can hurt us?"

"It's not like the Director doesn't shoot half of you freaks every other day, right?" she spat back, her irritation clearly showing at subnaturals not following the whims of the population's better half.

"I wasn't talking about the Director, you fucking bimbo," Ernie stepped closer, his height and x-mark on full display. His bright expression hadn't budged, "How exactly were you going to take my friend here after I showed up? Did you think I was just gonna stand around and watch?"

"Back off, subnatural," the girl growled, though she had retreated a half-step at Ernie's approach. "I'll fucking scream."

Ernie leaned back slightly and scratched his head. He pointed at his ankle cuff, preparing his white lie.

"That's the one good thing about East, I guess. Someone's always listening in," He tapped his other foot against the cuff, "With all the bullshit you've been spouting at us, I doubt they're gonna send in a SWAT team."

The girl's eyes narrowed at the cuff before she looked between the two subnatural boys, finally rounding on Christmas instead.

"You! You're coming with me, right? They're not gonna stop you then, right?"

Christmas blinked back at her, eyes open as far as they could go. He didn't know this new person claiming to be his friend, either. If they had met him in the static that was his awareness following the flag football game or while he was unconscious from the first fight, he was sure he couldn't pick them out from memory. And he was afraid to shake his head, worried the girl would follow through on her threat to scream for help. He had seen on the news how people tended to react to that, and even if it was a misunderstanding, where the dangerous powers of mages were concerned, the method was usually shoot first and ask questions later. 

"Well?" she demanded.

The healer nodded slowly, trembling as he did.

Satisfied, the girl turned back to Ernie, a ready smirk on her face.

"See? He wants to go. And you can fuck off now."

Ernie's eyes narrowed at the boy's trembling. After all the shit he was putting up with for this kid...

"Did you forget about curfew?" he hissed the poor excuse, shoving himself between the girl and the Arbiter. He grabbed the blond by the shoulders, deadly intent clear in his voice. The boy inhaled sharply and stiffened at Ernie's gesture. With pansies like this, the only method would be something straightforward, "Go back so I can talk to these idiots. I mean it."

It took him several seconds of rapid breathing to respond, but Christmas glanced between the girl and the unknown Aberration boy before gulping and nodding again at the boy. He didn't know where "back" was, so he simply moved further away from the group.

"Curfew? We're not keeping him overnight or something--what the hell's your problem?" the girl was glaring at Ernie now, her fear forgotten in her indignation at everything not going the way she wanted.

Ernie whirled around and stepped to her again, this time much closer than before, to the point where he was treading slightly on the ends of the girl's shoes. She yelped in surprise and stepped back. He leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to her's, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes bored into hers.

"You want to get up close with one of those 'subs', yeah? Why don't I go and hang out with your friends instead?"

"VIVIAN!" the brunette shouted, grabbing her friend by the arm and pulling her away. "This isn't worth it! Let's go! Trey, help me out."

The freckled boy nodded eagerly, helping the brunette pull the blonde girl away even as she protested about the upcoming party.

"Aw, what?" Ernie cackled, "But we were getting to know each other so well!"

"Just leave us alone!" Trey shouted back, the three of them quickly leaving Christmas and Ernie behind.

"You first!"

The Aberration waved them goodbye with a sloppy salute. His other hand briefly tensed into a fist before relaxing once more. That was a close call. A few more snipes traded and he would've lassoed the three of them around a pole. Not an ideal outcome, even if those regular pricks had it coming. Public tazings were something he wanted to avoid as a principle. Ah well, it was all in the past now. There were more important things to deal with. With a small exhale, he turned back to the blond and flashed a radiant grin.

"What the fuck was that?" he seethed. The dissonance between Ernie's tone and expression was unholy. "A guy tries to help you out and this is the shit you pull?"

A "thank you" had been on the tip of his tongue when the black-haired mage spun around with that same horrifying smile that felt so much like everything that was wrong with home. The girl had been just traces and muted reminders, but this student was like plunging back into that icy terror and Christmas clutched his bag until his knuckles were white, eyes looking everywhere around Ernie for a way to run.

Realising that he'd snapped again, Ernie pulled back. He seemed tired now, and his smile shrunk down to an exhausted huff. This kid wasn't worth the fuss anyway.

"I mean... that wasn't what I..." he scratched his head awkwardly and started again, "Why didn't you just say no? Would've saved us both a real pain in the ass."

The shaking was mincing words for him and Christmas couldn't manage anything more than "So-s-s-sorry."

Oh. He was one of those guys. Ernie was in no mood for blubbering messes. He needed to get back to his dorm and restock.

"Whatever," he muttered and gestured at the other boy's plastic bag, "Are you done with shopping? If you're heading back, I'll tag along."

Christmas didn't want this student tagging along, but cold smiles and lonely rooms had him nodding before he even realized it. Ernie headed down the path, knowing that the wimp behind him would follow without needing more instruction.

"You're in my class, right? The experimental unit with Freddy and Rosa?" Ernie asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Another nod.

"Uh huh. What's your name?" Ernie was unsettled by the quiet response. Between this kid and Sander, he was starting to seriously doubt his small talk ability.

A beat of silence.

"Chr-Christmas."

"Mm. Ernest. Ernie, if you feel like it."

The same irritation from the night before stirred with the curt reply. Ernie could feel his veneer begin to crack with every failed attempt at conversation.

"You're the healer, right? With the blood? I saw you on Monday."

More nodding from the smaller boy.

How fucking tiresome. See, this was why he didn't like being the scary guy. Sometimes he just felt like having a light chat to pass the time. But that wasn't possible when your partner took an average of five seconds to stutter through every fucking word, if he even bothered to speak in the first place. God, even Carlton was never as bad as this.

"If it's there, then just go for it!

The reminder of the timid ginger gave Ernie pause. He was rarely ever this irritable during his time at West. And why was that? It was because he had the resources to take care of it. He could squash it down before outbursts like during the exercise ever happened, spend weeks at a time without the clawing in his chest and the nagging at the back of his head. Ernie was sick and tired of being sick and tired. If there was an option to put an end to it, he was going to grab it with both hands.

The Aberration eyed the blond. It was all too tempting. Ernie spied an alley he could turn into.

"There's a shortcut we can take up ahead," the warmth returning to his expression. "Let's turn here."

Christmas blinked in surprise, because they were only a few blocks away from the bus stop if he remembered the map correctly and it was just a straight walk. Little fears stirred at the bottom of his stomach, but he nodded again to Ernie, a small thought needling him as he did so, telling him to just go straight to the bus stop instead.

No matter how spotless a city was, an alley was an alley. Ernie's nose wrinkled from the numerous bins placed on the side of the dim clearing that the long alleyway opened into--clearly a deposit location for refuse and the city's squalid homeless, none of whom were around at the moment. He should do this quickly. He spun to face Christmas, staring for a moment. What was he hoping to see? Something that would spur his shriveled conscience into action? The boy's timid expression held nothing like that, in fact, he was staring at Ernie like he already knew what was coming. Ernie felt like laughing. This was the best decision he'd made all week. He needed this. The nagging in his head thought the same.

Without a word, Ernie viciously backhanded Christmas across the face, watching intently as the smaller boy cried out and fell to the ground from the sudden attack, clearly not as prepared as he had seemed. Then he paused, as if to gauge the reaction.

Christmas held a hand to his face, breaths coming in pained whimpers as he tried to figure out what was going on. He didn't understand. He hadn't said anything out of turn, he hadn't protested, but the biting sting across the right side of his face told him he had made a serious mistake. But he didn't know what he had done wrong. Was it just that he hadn't done anything right enough? Was it about earlier? When he hadn't refused the girl?

"S-sor--I'm sorry," he gasped out as the tears welled up.

He was grabbed roughly by the shirt and slammed against the wall, another shout of pain cut short by the impact knocking a bit of the wind from him. Ernie looked at him incredulously, a surprised laugh escaping his lips. What the fuck. Through the stammering and spilt tears he was the one apologising? Something was messed up with this kid.

Ernie's words emanated equal amounts of disbelief and disdain. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

With his other hand, Ernie gripped Christmas' chin like a vice, his fingers digging painfully inwards and forcing Christmas' gaze towards his tormentor.

Christmas squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling out as Ernie's grip tightened and aggravated the striking pain of the backhand into pulsing bruises. His silence was returned with another loud slap, on the other cheek this time, and a strangled whimper that couldn't make it past Ernie's hold.

"Hey. Look at me when I'm talking. Answer me. It's simple manners, buddy."

Panicked blue eyes stared at Ernie's face now.

"S--I-I'm s--s-sorry," he replied, the words coming out distorted between tears and Ernie's hand.

"Not an answer."

Christmas was released for a brief second, before a fist nailed him square in the nose. He reeled backwards, knocking his head against the wall behind him. Ernie grabbed him by the shirt again and another punch followed that one. Then another. Ernie loosened his hold on the battered Arbiter's shirt and let him drop to the ground. He could hear rapid breaths from his prone victim as the smaller boy clutched his bleeding nose. The sight made Ernie's heart skip a beat. He needed this. One voice in his head goaded him on. But something else, something inside that was more sensible but no more human than the first, seemed to frown upon Ernie's frenzied attacks. He ignored the second one.

"Blood already! You should heal yourself. It'd make things better for us both."

The continued whimpering in place of a proper response, as well as the bandage on Christmas' hand, tipped the X-marked mage off.

"You can't even do that, can you?" A delirious chuckle. "God, you're so SHIT!"

With that last word, Ernie launched a foot into Christmas' torso. The boy was thrown to his side, almost crashing into a corral of bins laid out by a large dumpster. Ernie stalked over and repeatedly brought his foot down onto the blond, relishing the choked screams. Words streamed from his mouth before his brain could even process them. It was like muscle memory by this point, a skill that he had honed to near perfection.

"Can't heal yourself, can't recognise someone helping you, can't read the fucking situation, can't fight back," Ernie listed rapidly and pulled Christmas back up by the shirt. He pulled back a fist, laughing, "Can't even act like a proper victim! Who the hell apologises when someone hits them for no reason?"

No reason? Christmas had been desperately searching for a reason through the blinding pain and the cold scraping of gravel and cement. Now he was just at a loss. Just another thing he couldn't fix, because he didn't know what he was supposed to do here to appease Ernie. He had thought it was about the girl earlier, and through the words blurred by the ringing in his ears, it seemed like that was a part of the issue, but he couldn't do anything about healing himself or fighting back or being a "proper" victim--nothing he came up with was going to fix anything here and the kicks and punches were drowning out the rest of his thoughts.

Ernie readied another punch before something harsh, the cold, disapproving sensation, snapped him to attention.

Nothing above the shoulders. Don't draw attention to this.

He opted to plant a foot in Christmas' chest instead, shoving him right into the bins.

The smaller boy fell into a heap of hollow metal cylinders and spilled trash, tears and wheezing gasps the only reactions he could muster now. Everything hurt too much for any sounds of pain to identify.

Ernie granted him a short break. He took the time to admire his handiwork, the sight of something he ripped apart with his own hands.

"It looks good on you," he smiled contentedly, referring to the filth that cushioned Christmas. Like a wreath of wilted, crumpled flowers. "You're right where you belong."

The compliment was in the wrong place and the wrong time, directed at him again by the wrong person and through the forming bruises all over his body, Christmas felt like something disconnected from the small comfort of the phrase's first iteration and relinked here, to this moment where he just wanted to be anywhere else. The trash looked good on him. Fixed in place because it lined up so well with everything he believed and then some. And there was no dusty blue lifeline here to save him.

His sobs continued, but he made no move to get up from the heap of garbage. Right where he belonged. Was that the reason?

"Y'know, I don't know how you're still here. You East guys get sent out at the drop of a dime. It's always there in the news, good kids dying for regulars like that skank earlier. Kids who were stronger than either of us will ever be. So how the fuck is a crippled mutt like you still here?"

He wished he knew the answer to that question, too. Was he here? Or was he just barely hanging on and pretending like he was? Christmas had never planned much in advance and in this moment he didn't know if he had anything to look forward to beyond more torment and a grisly death--the memory of wires cutting into his legs compounded the current aches and stings and he choked out a loud sob that dropped down to a ragged inhale.

His voice was muffled in garbage now and he wasn't worried anymore about the grime coating him.

"D-don't--don't kn-know," he whispered, the words broken up with shuddering gasps.

"Hey, I'm asking you, buddy!" Ernie kicked over another bin, intending to scare Christmas with the loud thump that resulted from the impact. He was rewarded with a jolt of movement as Christmas curled further into himself. More rubbish was scattered onto the boy.

"It's cos there's no answer, is there? Just look at the game on Monday! We had superhumans clobbering each other while shits like YOU were pissing their pants in the fucking sewers!" he continued. Ernie had taken to kicking even the bins that were tipped over, enjoying his victim's small jerks of fear that derived from the constant banging. He knelt slightly, a small distance from the pile to avoid any chance of contamination.

"You'd be better off dead," the Aberration whispered, "You should be dead. No one wants someone as fucked up as you."

"I-I'm--I'm s-s-sorry."

Ernie rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Caught that one the first fifteen times, buddy."

Only cracked, uneven breaths answered Ernie this time. The tormentor rose to his feet, observing the scene once more. These bins seemed to contain a strangely large amount of trash. A closer look showed him that a portion of the mess consisted of half-eaten burgers that were carelessly wrapped in greasy packaging. They had come loose during the one-sided fight. Ernie bounced on the balls of his feet as an idea came to mind.

"Are you hungry, Christmas?"

Nothing but quiet sobbing. Ernie nudged one of the rotting sandwiches towards Christmas with his foot.

"Eat it."

Christmas stared in horror at the molding bread and congealed sludge that was the sandwich's contents, the blood still dripping slowly from his nose. He didn't move at first, the command and its result so foreign to him. But he knew it wasn't negotiable. Right where he belonged and he didn't have any right to protest.

He held back a moment longer, hoping for some miracle like Ernie leaving or even the group from before returning, but when seconds passed and nothing seemed to change, he choked back another sob and reached for the putrid sandwich, crying out briefly as he sat up to his body's screaming nerves.

A bite had barely made its way into his mouth before he doubled back over, retching and coughing the burning scent of rancid food out of his throat. The sandwich dropped from his hand as he dry heaved.

"I said, eat it!" Ernie snapped, "Didn't your mom ever teach you not to waste food?"

The blond's pale hand reached for the sandwich again, only to be interrupted by another bout of retching.

"Fuck, you're useless," Ernie shot his foot through the pile, kicking a plume of moldy food into Christmas' face. The pathetic boy just coughed more and fell back onto the ground, rasping breaths the only indicator he was still conscious. He barely had the awareness to turn his head away from the pooling vomit and trash nearby. Ernie took a step back to avoid the vomit and scraped his sneaker against the concrete to remove any lingering scraps of rotten food. A plastic bag, one too clean to have originated from the tipped bins rested by his feet. Ernie picked it up, examining the bottle of shampoo inside. He giggled as he popped the cap and spurted its contents over the boy who had made the purchase.

"Gotta clean you up," he laughed innocently, "Only Marcus is allowed to stink up the school!"

Trash and shampoo didn't mix well and the new combination of odors only made Christmas gag reflexively. He tried to move off the garbage pile if only to separate the smells, but the heaving had left him with less strength than he had thought and he had barely pushed off the ground with an arm before he fell back down, the refuse now clinging to his head and torso with the shampoo as glue.

"Hahaha! You look great!" Ernie slapped his leg in raucous laughter as he saw the scraps sticking to Christmas from the shampoo. A sigh of contentment was exhaled before he turned around to pick up his own plastic bag.

"Ah, I'm gonna miss the next bus if we take too long. Let's pack up soon."

Ernie looked the boy head to toe, trying to conjure another method of torment. The smell was so awful now. He pinched his nose and gave another order.

"Yeah, you're not gonna be able to wear those clothes again. Get rid of them aaand..." Ernie stretched his words as he scanned the alley. The sight of the open dumpster sparked an idea, "Toss them into the dumpster. I don't want to have to see that shit on anyone."

The lack of response prompted Ernie to pick up one of the overturned bins and slam it onto Christmas, the barely audible gasp letting him know the waste of oxygen was still awake, at least.

"Come on, you're gross as hell! You need to go somewhere where no one has to see you!"

Christmas seemed to have lost his ability to take in his surroundings. As if he was collecting a piece of dog shit, Ernie threw out the contents of Christmas's bag and inserted his hand before turning it inside out to enfold his forearm. With the covered hand, he grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt and dragged him to the base of the dumpster.

"Even now, you're making me do all the work," Ernie sounded disappointed, "Come on, you're already there. Just do what I say and this can be finished."

Zero response. Ernie crouched down and repeated his command, enunciating every word.

"Dump. Your. Clothes." He gently shook Christmas with his plastic-covered hand. That seemed to rouse the other boy's fading awareness enough for Christmas to splutter several coughs and sobs, pained gasps with every movement as he braced himself against the dumpster's side and slowly removed his filthy jacket, followed by his T-shirt, shorts, and shoes. He shivered in the aftermath, wearing nothing now but a nosebleed, large bruises purpling across his face and torso, gray boxer briefs, and bits of trash, the cold air and colder concrete biting his bare skin. Ernie snatched the clothes and pitched them to the side of the rectangular bin with a grin.

"Maybe that was a bad idea," the Aberration stroked his chin, "You look chilly."

Ernie grabbed hold of a nearby garbage bin and propped it upside down, gesturing to it with a flourish.

"Come on. Get in the dumpster. Even if you're a subnatural, they're not gonna let you on the bus if you're pretty much naked. I had a pal from West who learnt that the hard way. Course I was the one that made him do it in the first place."

Christmas leaned on the upturned metal cylinder, tears and blood smearing into the remnants of shampoo and muck on his face. He took far too long to finally hoist himself into a flimsy crouch on the small surface of the trash can and far longer to finally stand up against the lip of the dumpster. Ernie grabbed the blond's spindly legs with his plastic-protected hand and flipped him in, the shout of surprise interrupted by a muted thud on the other side.

The bully slammed the lid shut in a hurry, ignoring the whimper crying out in response. Using the discarded contents of Christmas' shopping bag--a jacket, several pairs of shorts and boxer briefs, and some shirts--Ernie laid himself a clean spot to sit on the dumpster lid. He shifted in the impromptu seat, chuckling as he felt weak vibrations from below the lid he was using his body weight to keep shut. Just for good measure, he beat his closed fists onto the dumpster intermittently, the banging kept inconstant to maximise fear for his prisoner.

When it was clear the weight on the dumpster lid wasn't moving, and with his strength thoroughly exhausted, Christmas fell back into the dumpster's fetid contents, black bags and decomposing food partially illuminated by the slits of light where the lid had been damaged in the past and no longer sealed the bin up completely. He was coughing and crying in equal measure as he instinctively edged away from something that felt sharp and something else that felt disturbingly fresh. This was a mistake and he should've gone to the bus stop. He shouldn't have come with Ernie. What had he been expecting? Another talk like he had with Sander in the woods? Maybe another friend?

What a mistake.

He buried his face into his knees as much as he could to hide from the smell and the trash, flinching at the sporadic pounding on the rubber lid above him, letting it continue until Ernie's occasional hammering stopped.

It was only when the muffled thumps ceased that Ernie let himself relax. He breathed in the sudden stillness and dangled his legs off the edge, though he consciously avoided touching the dumpster itself. The voices, the nagging, the clawing. All of it was gone. It was like he'd woken from a coma, like he'd finally escaped a thick smog and could breathe clean air. And that silence...

Whenever his Stigma got bad, the absence of noise smothered him like a blanket. It protected him, but it chained him like a wounded animal. Silence during those times was more deafening than anything a battlefield could muster. But when his head was clear, he welcomed it with open arms. It wasn't craved, but it was appreciated. In those brief periods, he could believe in freedom.

Ernie leaned back onto his hands, soaking the moment in. Nothing but stillness and the distant, atmospheric bustle of city traffic. His heart began to settle once more. Of course, that sort of thing got boring after too long.

"Christmas?" he called and tapped softly on the surface.

No response. That was fine, he hadn't been expecting one anyway. Ernie continued, his voice mellow and calm. He didn't care if the boy could hear him.

"I'm glad we met today. I probably would've done something really bad down the road if you weren't there."

Silence. As he spoke, Ernie checked through his bag to make sure everything was in place.

"It's fine if you think I'm a bad person. I don't think it's really negotiable at this point. This was just... something I had to do. I don't have much of a choice nowadays."

There was always a choice. And Ernie knew that he always chose the most convenient one. Shame began creeping into his chest again, but not enough to kick his conscience into action.

"You caught me in a really nasty place. I usually top up pretty frequently but with the move and all, that wasn't really possible. I might have gone too far today. So I'm... sorry. Next time won't be nearly as bad as this, I promise."

The Aberration hopped down from the dumpster, leaving Christmas' clothes discarded on top. Fragments of gravel skipped towards the dumpster as he kicked the ground. They made small clanking noises as they hit.

"I'll let you use my shampoo sometime, yeah? It's the least I can do. And I shouldn't have to tell you this but..."

"You already know what I'll do if this gets out. Let's just keep things between us, right, buddy? Ah, bus is coming soon. I'll see you at school then. Later."

His footsteps were barely audible as he left.

Christmas barely heard Ernie's calm voice through the dumpster lid and his thundering heart beating panic and heat into the rest of his body, as if he could even do anything anymore. Catching only scraps of "it's fine," "bad person," "next time," "I promise," "just keep...between us," and "later," he choked through another quiet groan, shifting his position to try pushing on the lid again when silence passed and the lines of light grew a bit thicker as the weight on the lid lifted.

Strange.

He was telling himself to reach for that line of light and push the lid open. He was. But his body wasn't listening, and was it just him or was it getting darker already? It hadn't been that long--he didn't think so, at least. The smell of the trash was overwhelming now and he was having trouble keeping his head clear after barely breathing for too long. Cheap shampoo was drying on his hair and face, caking his features with the blood, mucus, and tears--and then the filth and trash still coated him while unknown textures of garbage and plastic surrounded him on all sides.

Every motion was a dull ache or a sharp pang, forcing him to inhale more of the foul air until he was dizzy with it--until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

Consciousness was stop-and-start for several long minutes afterwards and focusing on the juncture where lid met metal only made that line blur with tears. The mounting stress drained his mental presence dry and the pain held him in place, too afraid to move. He would have tried leaving the dumpster sooner, but the cold nicked at his senses worse than the smell did, so Christmas remained for a moment longer, thoughts crashing into each other between trying to remain here and Ernie's cutting words.

Exhausted sleep caught him mid-thought about a blue ribbon that was thankfully not there.

Cold. Freezing cold and soreness all over. Something was dried over his eyes.

Christmas breathed in and coughed violently at the rotting sting of trash, crying out when the aches exploded into raging agony with the sudden movements. Everything hurt and he didn't know where he--

One of his hands rubbed feverishly at his face, scraping away flakes of something dried all over him--shampoo and unknown grit. The hand bumped against his nose and he whimpered again, remembering the blow he had taken earlier. The many blows. It hurt. Even Alvin had held back, the brunt of his anger manifesting in ways other than physical. But this was--

He doubled over as he tried to sit up, sense of balance swamped by the waves of pain racking his body.

It hurt. It hurt. It--

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

The mantra ran through his mind, the words all he had left in the moment. 

He didn't count how many minutes it took him to finally regain steadiness. He didn't count how many tries it took his battered body to finally push the dumpster lid off. He didn't linger on the pain of colliding with the ground after falling out. It just hurt more and knocked the wind out of him, leaving him there for more long seconds he didn't count.

And of all the things to remember, it was Ernie's admonition about needing clothes to get on the bus that came to mind as he lay there gasping for air.

The thought of clothes reminded him he had gone shopping earlier in the day, and the thought of earlier finally tapped into the harsh reminder of curfew and hands on his shoulders.

He needed to go back before curfew. The sky was dark now and the alley darker, and he spent too long crawling around, looking for his clothes while his eyes adjusted to the traces of light from the dim lamp down the alleyway that he had walked down earlier.

Earlier when he could have just gone back to his suite and Sander. Earlier when he had been stupidly looking forward to going back and being around someone he wanted to call a friend. Earlier when he followed Ernie instead.

I'm okay.

Because he was, wasn't he? He was fine.

He was already pulling on his T-shirt and shorts crumpled in a dirty heap beside the dumpster. He didn't know or care if they were the ones he had bought earlier. He just needed to be back before curfew and he needed clothes to get on the bus. Shoes came as an afterthought and he painstakingly stood up when he had dressed himself.

Small blessing that he hadn't brought his phone along that day, and the pair of shorts seemed to be his previous ones, because he found the ID card still in the left pocket. That was enough to be grateful for. He would take what he could get.

Even the frigid night was helping, because it was so cold he wasn't feeling much of the pain anymore. Small things to be thankful for.

And he was fine. He was okay. He was.

Christmas didn't pay much attention to the way the bus driver shouted and looked at him, a disheveled, dirty subnatural stumbling onto the bus. He just stretched a filth-streaked hand towards the man, the dark smudges nearly obscuring his name and face on the ID card. The driver nodded him towards a seat anyway, exhaling sharply at the stench.

By the time he arrived back at campus, the usual milling of other students had long stopped and it took a hallway clock in the student center to tell him the time was 2127--nearly half past nine and an hour and a half from curfew. He had made it, in a way, but he couldn't--couldn't--

He was disgusting and he couldn't be--couldn't be inconsiderate to Sander. Tracking back trash and muck. A dim memory about Sander trying to keep his shirt clean in the forest tapped at him repeatedly until he nearly fell over on his way to the public restroom, following a wall map he only hazily recalled despite an empty stare at it just seconds earlier. 

The bathroom was empty and he let the water in the sink run while a blond-haired boy with swollen bruises across his face painted over with dried blood, shampoo, and dumpster scum stared back at him from the mirror above the sink. His clothes were just as dirty, and the drips of blood down his shirtfront meant he had indeed found his previous set of clothes.

He washed his face slowly, body numb enough that the pain from movement and contact were just small splashes in the sea of thoughts now. Something told him it would hurt a lot more later. He believed it, but for now he'd be grateful for just this small respite.

Ernie's grinning face surfaced as he closed his eyes, and he didn't know what that heavy, suffocating feeling was that drove a sudden pang into his stomach, but he didn't let it catch hold.

After all, he was okay.

And he didn't fault Ernie--no more than he faulted himself, at least. In the same way as always, he was the failure.

Nothing Ernie said had been wrong.

Nothing Ernie did had been undeserved.

So it was okay.

That was how he was still here. The belated answer to Ernie's question.

When most of the trash was gone from his body, and when his face and hair had been cleaned of enough scraps and blood to look less horrifying, Christmas walked--nearly limped--towards his suite, wondering whether Sander would mind if he took a bit longer in the bathroom that day. He didn't think he could shower quickly tonight.

But it was okay even if Sander did mind.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚   / /  ~𝟚𝟚𝟘𝟘

Some Aberration sated their Stigmas by smashing up buildings. Some other liked to go after people. Most could make do with both. 
 
With his power, it really didn’t take much to guess which one Sander preferred. They didn’t let him back then, for obvious reasons. No GZ with magical fake people back there. Just an empty room with metal walls, and if they were feeling generous, they would toss in an old piece of furniture or two. But that always took far too long, and he would prefer to just get it over with this time. He needed to get back to the suite. Christmas should be back anytime now. 
 
They were just fake people. It was alright. So he titled his head back and drank deeply from the canister, letting the liquid fire wash away any remaining reservation. 
 
His heart beat loud, but he could still hear theirs over the frantic rhythm. There were too many, all moving in chaotic patterns, the sounds they made buzzing around him like flies. He singled out one, then gave chase. It was easy to catch up. Easier to take the man down with a chair to the back of his head. The wood broke on contact, pieces still clung to his palms as he gripped the head of black hair and smashed it against the concrete. It was warm, blood and something more slick in the spaces between his fingers. But he didn’t want this. It was wrong. It smelled wrong, prickly like rusty iron and heavy on his sense. Unpleasant. Unappealing. 
 
The fire hissed, demanding sustenance. He had nothing to give. So it bled frustration into his veins, and he directed everything at the cooling body. Because it was not real. He wouldn’t even pretend that it was. Those were dangerous thoughts, emotions he didn’t even dare to acknowledge anymore, and he didn’t need to lapse back into old habits. He promised. 
 
Soon enough, the high ran its course, leaving him colder than the corpse at his feet. He peeled the red-stained shirt off, wiping at the sticky grime on his forearms, before throwing the article of clothing on the ground and turning to leave. 
 
He couldn’t walk fast enough. 
 
A quick stop at a public bathroom to wash away more dried blood, then he put his blue hoodie back on. It was the same one that got some of Christmas’ blood on the sleeve, though that mark had darkened beyond recognition. He figured a few more stains couldn’t hurt, since he would just throw it away when a new one arrived. Then again, since GZ was going to become a part of his routine (god knew he needed it, with his Stigma the way it was now), he might just keep this one around. After all, a few more stains couldn’t hurt. 
 
By the time he arrived at his suite, there was nothing left of GZ on his person. Just wet hands and damp hair and the usual chill of the withdrawal. Christmas wasn’t there yet, and he should be worried since the blond boy said he would be back soon, but Sander only felt relief. This was…not a good time. With nothing left to look out for, Sander collapsed onto his bed, only got one arm out of his hoodie before sleep claimed him. 

His hands were clean now. It was disturbing, sometimes, how easy dried blood washed off. 
 
But those weren’t real people. He was. Not people, but close. He could manage this. He was managing. It wasn’t that hard. He just had to…not think about that. Not think about how flesh gave beneath his fingers like sand and the shine of red was mesmerizing, even if it was cold and the smell was all wrong. 
 
He would not think about that. 
 
The short nap following his session in GZ had done much to elevate his mood. However, he wouldn’t be able to sleep early that evening, so as the curfew approached, Sander sat in the comfort of his own room, flicking casually through another retail website. He was running out of shirts at an alarming rate. As the week passed, it became clear to him that the custodians weren’t coming around any time soon to collect his dirty (and bloody) laundry. USARILN East was horribly inefficient in this aspect. Maybe he could send in a request form asking about this issue. Meanwhile, he would just have to make do with the allowance. Between the spars with Callan and his own sessions in GZ, he should probably stock up on things he wouldn’t miss. 
 
His gaze flickered to the blue ribbon on his wrist, and he thought of Christmas. The blond boy was out awfully late that evening, despite having said otherwise during lunch. It was rather concerning, but Sander wasn’t sure what he could do about it. Town meant people, and Sander really didn’t like to think about people. Fake ones and real ones. Maybe if he could ask one of the guards…
 
The door creaked open then, and Sander turned around, spotting the familiar head of blond hair. His lips curled up into a smile – “Hey, Christmas. How was your-- “-He trailed off at the unusual posture and dishevelled look of his shivering roommate. His gaze dropped to the dark stains on the front of the grey shirt, and he felt his nostrils flare. Coffee, the scent stronger than it should. 
 
He rose from his desk in a swift motion and walked over, steps brisk from the building panic. But he stopped himself soon enough, standing just two steps away from the healer –“Are you okay?”    

Christmas lifted his head as high as Sander's neck, relief and something like embarrassment on his face--not that most could discern behind the steady bruises decorating his face. The cold night air and quick wash at the sink had collapsed together into violent shaking and speaking was nearly impossible.

"I-I--" 

He was really glad to be back. More than he had thought and the words were all trying to come out at once, so he gave up on speaking and just nodded instead, pointing a trembling finger at the bathroom door to ask for permission.

Sander just stared at the purplish spots now, eyes wide and brows creased, confusion and concern and something far darker running rampant in the modest space of his ribcage. The scent of coffee became dangerously tempting; the cold ashes inside him calling out for substance, its promise of order and safety already lurking in the back of his mind. He clamped down on the scent, only to be greeted with the stench of rotten food and waste. It confused him even more. 
 
Towns weren’t supposed to be dangerous. People were in there. Danger were crimson eyes and clawed feet. Danger was shadowy monsters that moved faster than the eyes could see. Danger was the fire lurking in his chest. These were his to face. Not Christmas’. 
 
Then what was this? He was stumped. 
 
“What happened?” -He blinked, looking between the bathroom and his roommate’s outstretched hand, mind still racing to decipher the simple gesture as the hand lowered back down to Christmas' side.  

The healer's mouth just opened and closed repeatedly, trying to form words while his eyes strained to stay focused. Eventually, he nodded again, to no particular comment.

"T-tr-tr--" He swallowed and stared at the ribbon on Sander's wrist. "Tra-trash," he finally explained.

The blond boy’s words answered nothing and brought even more questions, amplifying Sander’s confusion tenfold –“W-what? Uh…Why are you—That’s blood…Are you hurt?” -He inhaled, the pungent stench was unpleasant, but he needed that small discomfort to keep his mind tethered to his resolve. 

Christmas nodded a third time, but what he said clashed.

"I-I--'m--'kay."

“But you are bruised…and there’s--uh--there is blood.” -Sander insisted, despite a small part of him that reminded him it wasn’t his place. But Christmas was hurt and it was the security room all over again and he didn’t know what to do. He shouldn’t be agitated, not when there was blood, but he didn’t know what to do –“That’s not okay.”

"S-s-so--sorry."

Words already on his lips, but Sander turned his head and exhaled instead. This was not how he was supposed to do it. He had to calm down. Stay calm. Breathe. He shouldn’t get agitated. He shouldn’t panic. The fire would tempt. He could do something stupid and it would be another bad choice that he couldn’t live with nor think about. 
 
He had to calm down. The wise thing was to leave. Come back later. But he couldn’t leave Christmas. He didn’t know what to do, because all he had was blood and bad choices. But he couldn’t leave Christmas. He promised. 
 
But what would he do? He didn’t know how to fix bruises. That wasn’t part of his power. 
 
He blinked at the matted head of blond hair then. But wasn’t he more than that? More than whatever burnt in his ribcage? 
 
What would she have done?
 
“C-Can I help?” -He began before he could stop himself. There was a quiver in his tone, but his gaze held firm as he stepped closer –“I…would like to help.”  

The tired, blue eyes focused now, a sudden dilation of the pupils at Sander's insistence. Christmas looked up properly, like he was waiting for a revision to the offer and at the same time hoping it was real.

But it wasn't something Sander had needed to offer. He had already helped. Wasn't it enough that he was there? 

Another nod and Christmas tried to breathe through the damp cold and dull ache of bruises. Tried to say something right. Enough to keep Sander from worrying, at least.

"A-al-already. Y-you--already," his mouth wasn't articulating well enough between pricks of pain from Ernie's vicious grip earlier settling into the muscle and flesh as dark spots.

He tried nodding again and looked towards the bathroom door. "Smell--I-I smell b-bad...s-sorry."

“I can help with that.” -Sander lifted a hand and touched Christmas’ upper arm gingerly. The touch was feather-light, but he left it there. Whatever bravery he had found, it stayed. His. Not borrowed –“Please.” 

Christmas stared at the hand on his arm and looked like he would cry for a moment. His lips curled inward briefly before he nodded, because that was all he could do right at the moment.

"Th-thank--th--" He didn't finish, so he reached for Sander's hand with his own trembling one and tapped at it once in agreement, the touch barely present.

Sander felt like he didn’t need to say much after that, so he didn’t. He simply moved toward the bathroom, the insistent touch on Christmas’ remained and the blond boy complied, albeit with a strange stagger. Soon enough, the bathroom door closed behind them, and Sander slid the frosted glass door open, gently ushering Christmas into the shower after the smaller boy had slowly removed his shoes and socks. With that done, he glanced at the nearby shelves and plucked out bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash (his, Christmas’ were nowhere to be found). 
 
He turned back at Christmas then, looking at the blond boy expectantly. 

Eyes blinked back at Sander, as confused as Sander was expectant.

“…Your clothes?” 

Several seconds passed before Christmas looked at the shower floor, unsure how he felt about being told to strip twice in the same day. Judging by the items in his roommate's hands, it wasn't a joke. He thought Sander had meant to just help him to the bathroom, but this was more than he dared.

"B-b-bother--bothering y-you?" he stammered out.

“I don’t mind.” -Sander offered a smile, and the truth –“I…want to help.”

Christmas hesitated a moment more before nodding, swallowing visibly. Sander already knew about how...how he was, so if his roommate didn't mind, then this was...okay.

It hurt to move his arms and he bit down on the small cries, pulling off the shirt first, where the same discoloration bloomed larger all around his torso and stomach. The shorts required hesitation, choked gasps as he leaned forward, and slow breathing before those came off, too. Christmas painstakingly righted himself, standing in the bathtub-and-shower fixture with only his underwear on, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor. He would finish taking off his underwear once Sander had put the bottles down and left the bathroom, he decided.

Sander took the bundle of dirty clothes and tossed them into the sink, but not without sparing a puzzled glance at Christmas’ remaining article of clothing. But he decided to say nothing, instead going into the shower himself and sliding the glass door close. The small boy only inhaled sharply at that, stunned beyond protest. He placed the bottles on the floor, then reached over to adjust the showerhead so it wouldn’t spray directly onto either of them. Only then did he twist the faucet and let hot water stream down. Stray droplets hit him then, leaving wet marks on his white T-shirt, but he paid them no mind.

Goosebumps prickled across Christmas's skin as the heat from the nearby stream of hot water woke his nerves and flared the bruises to life. He sucked in breath after breath while the temperature of his body acclimated, trying not to think too much about Sander in the shower with him. He hadn't accompanied anyone to a shower since he was a child, in memories he could barely place, with a motherly presence he had missed for most of his life. A silly thought crossed his mind, that if he moved or did anything, whatever was holding the moment together would disappear and Sander would suddenly leave. However strange and overly kind his roommate was at the moment, Christmas didn't want him to go. So he stayed as still as the vestiges of shivers would allow.
 
A touch of water first, to wet the hair. Like how she used to do. He could do this, too. With a soft inhale, Sander focused on the green apple scent. He started with the hair first. Cupping a handful of water, he wet the already matted golden strands, before reaching down for the shampoo and squeezing a healthy dollop onto his palm, which he proceeded to work into the healer’s hair with gentle fingers. As he did, his gaze fell onto the ugly bruises that marred the blond boy’s torso, and for just a brief moment, his fingers slowed. 
 
“I’m sorry.” -He sighed, picking up the pace again –“I don’t know how to help with that.” 

There was a slight pain on the back of his head, where Ernie's punch had thrown it against the wall, and Christmas winced slightly as Sander's hands nudged at it. The comfort of warm water and gentle fingers helped him bite down the whimper that threatened. The rest of his body sparked with pain, but he found if he remained still and took shallow breaths, he could manage most of it. Ernie had been vicious, and the impacts had been brutal, but none of them had been poised to kill. He wasn't sure if that was really something to take comfort in, but small things had to mean something or he would be lost.

"Th-thank--thank you," Christmas whispered. The fact that Sander was there had been more than enough. This was beyond him. He accepted trash and being told his worth. He didn't know how to take Sander's kindness, and he was embarrassed enough without adding tears to the mix. He didn't know how to make this up to Sander now, because this was so much and he could do so little.

Sander stayed silent afterward, lost in the rhythm of his own routine, though this time, he was doing it for another person. It was…strange, yet at the same, not really. His hands knew what they were doing, and he barely had to think at all. And he really didn’t. When he felt the shampoo had been sufficiently massaged into the strands, he reached up for the showerhead and swirled it so the spray would hit Christmas. The smaller boy closed his eyes refexively. Water splashed onto his shirt then, completely soaking it. It wasn’t a problem though. He would just change into something dry later. After rinsing all the shampoo off, he picked up the bottle of conditioner and repeated the same process, albeit slower. Then came another rinse, and it was done. 
 
He picked up the bottle of body wash next. As he placed a hand on Christmas’ shoulder, Sander’s eyes were once again drawn to the bruises. Hesitation set in, and he touched a careful finger to a particularly prominent mark on the healer’s chest. 
 
“Does this hurt a lot?”

Another hand on his shoulder and Christmas tensed briefly, eyes holding fast to the sight of his? Sander's? ...their? ribbon. But it was Sander's warm hand and he weathered the worst of that instinctive reaction before looking at the tentative fingers testing the bruises. It did sting, but no more than breathing and no more than the pangs from the sudden rush of hot water, so Christmas supposed it didn't hurt a lot.

He shook his head, still carefully holding his thoughts in a specific order, and it was easy to do when he could just think on a cruel smile and avoid paying attention to Sander's proximity to him in a shower. He had to remind himself, feeling the casual, fluid ease of how Sander proceeded through everything, that only he saw value in things other people did with as little thought as breathing. Melancholy hummed in the undercurrents of that belief, but it was enough to temper the warmth of the person so close to him. Enough to pull his wishes back to a safe distance.

Sander took the gesture at face value, because he didn’t really know any other way. Moving the showerhead aside first, then he worked the shampoo in his hands into a lather before applying it onto the blond boy’s skin. His touch remained tentatively even on the expanses of skin unmarred by bruises, yet thorough. He stopped at around the waist line though. Christmas wore his underwear in the shower, which he thought was rather strange, but he didn’t comment on it. He just kneeled down instead, and worked the shampoo from Christmas’ midthigh downward. 
 
If Sander noticed Christmas's unnatural stillness throughout the process, he didn't show it, and he would likely never realize exactly how grateful Christmas was that he had left his underwear on.
 
After all of that was another rinse, then Sander was finished. He left the faucet on though, leaving Christmas to stand under the spray for as long as he wanted. Personally, Sander had always found that relaxing. 
 
“I will go get your clothes?” -He motioned to the door with a thumb. 

Just a nod and an almost imperceptible "T-thank you."

Christmas hadn't moved an inch the moment it fully dawned on him that Sander was actually going to help wash him. He didn't know what he had been expecting after Sander had entered the shower and slid the glass door shut--something like a bit of help and Sander mostly just adjusting the water? But his roommate had actually just washed him with his hands and--what was going on? and every thought beyond the basic registers of aches and fatigue simply stopped after that. It wasn't the train wreck of reactions that was waking up in the hospital after Sander had fallen asleep on him. This was just hot water stinging across his bruises and warm, soothing touches balancing it out, melting the terrible day into a comforting blank space that felt like it could be more, but he didn't know the what or how of it. Didn't know the weight and heft of it.

There was heat on his shoulders and the back of his neck, scorching him, and he blamed it on the water, because any concrete acknowledgment was more than he dared and more than he deserved. Christmas just held his breath until he felt the first touches of dizziness and exhaled, letting some of the tension go with it.

"No one wants someone as fucked up as you."
He didn't disagree, and he thought it was a twisted sort of help that he could rely on words like that to help drive away the clamoring thoughts Sander's actions had elicited.

It's okay. 

Because he was afraid.

Sander left a trail of wet footprints on the carpet as he walked over to Christmas’ duffle bag. However, looking through the mostly-empty bag only yielded a bundle of balled up dirty clothes, so he was hesitant about giving them to the blond boy. After a few moments, he moved over to his side of the room instead, searching through the pile of cardboard boxes and grabbing a few pieces of clothing. They were all too big for the healer, but it was better than nothing. Surely, Christmas didn’t want to wear dirty clothes, right? He was certain that no one did. 
 
Carrying the stack of new clothes in his arms, along with a fresh towel (his too, he just couldn’t seem to find Christmas’), Sander went back inside the bathroom, only to find Christmas still hadn’t moved from his spot in the shower. 
 
“Uh…I can’t find your clothes.” -He deposited his burden on a counter as he spoke –“Got some of mine here...if you want. Don’t worry, they are all new. Just arrived yesterday.”

His clothes, too? Christmas fidgeted in the shower, wondering if Sander was just this nice to people in general because he was going really far with "help" and it seemed completely natural to the lanky boy. Things that meant nothing were often easier to do, right? Christmas thought so, at least, and after Sander washing him he didn't think anything would get nicer--only to be surprised. He couldn't tell if he was glad Sander was naturally so kind or vaguely disappointed--about what, he wasn't admitting to. 

"Tha--thank you," he mumbled again, still not moving. He would have been fine with his old clothes, but it felt wrong to tell Sander that after his roommate had already gone through the trouble. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and Christmas wondered if he was even as high up as a beggar in this scenario.

“Do you need...” -Sander asked, raising his eyebrows –“…more help?” 

He shook his head almost instantly, too aware now how Sander's help worked. Too aware he liked it and disliked something else at the same time. Murky, that feeling again, but he tried to smooth it back down because he wasn't nice and still wanted to be.

"Thank--thank you," he repeated--what else could he possibly say? The clashing mood shifts of the day's events were taking their toll on him and Christmas couldn't fathom how he had progressed from passing out in a dumpster to Sander washing him and loaning him clothes. And in the backdrop, the bruises still rang with aches, ready to burst if he so much as bumped into a wall the wrong way. 

What in the world was going on? The sudden coalescence of thought into a single notion of something disguised as gratitude made him wish he had the power to disappear again. It was a terrible thing to admit that if he had known this was how the day would have ended, he would repeat the events of earlier the exact same way. Christmas turned away, fire rising to his shoulders and neck and he nodded again, but to the wall.

"S-sorry."

“Okay.” -Sander nodded, noting his roommate’s uncomfortable posture. Were the bruises bothering him again? –“I will…leave you to it then.” -He left soon after, closing the bathroom door quietly behind him. 

Christmas spent the next half hour struggling with the painstaking motions of fully undressing now, drying himself off, and scrubbing his underwear of the dumpster's stains. Exhaustion worked at his eyes and hands until he settled for just wringing the pair of boxers as dry as he could and wadding them up. He tucked the towel around his hips, careful to ease himself into every movement so the bruises remained at a manageable aching. Sander's toiletries went back to the sink counter before he ran a sheet of paper towel over the wet floor.

With the bathroom clean once more, Christmas hesitated again before finally throwing on Sander's clothes, too loose for him by far, but comfortable all the same.

He stumbled out of the bathroom in a charcoal gray shirt that hung limply from his shoulders, the hem of it reaching far down his thighs while the black sweatpants bagged around his ankles and dragged on the floor. The small boy in the midst of all that fabric looked better now, even if the darkening, swollen bruises on his face told a different story. Christmas blinked at the damp undergarment in his hand, nearly tripping on the sweatpants as he fumbled his way towards his duffel bag and stuffed another article of dirty clothing inside, wincing with every tiny movement.

Sander was sitting at his desk by then, damp clothes had been replaced by fresh ones. He seemed to be fully absorbed in whatever on the screen of his laptop at the moment. 

"Thank you," Christmas said from the floor, where he was crouched beside his bag that was starting to smell a bit unpleasant. A fuzzy thought about laundry facilities on the school grounds surfaced, but he was too tired to check the map. He just leaned against the foot of the bed and closed his eyes for a moment.

Sander blinked slightly and turned around, only to find the blond boy half-asleep at the foot of his bed. He stood up then and walked over, touching Christmas’ arm again. Parts of him panicked, just slightly, but he assured himself that the boy was just falling asleep. It didn’t seem like there was blood.
 
“Hey…Are you alright?”

Christmas nodded to the question, the answer reflex, regardless of the facts. He blinked at Sander's hand on his arm and tapped the knuckle again, downturned face hiding a tiny smile--one that quickly faded when several of the bruises smarted. The aches had all blended into one general presence of pain in the background of his mind and he didn't mind sleeping there until morning if it meant he could avoid just that bit of extra movement to reach the bed.

"Thank you," he murmured again, the words just as automatic as his nods. But they were real, for all that he diluted them with the frequency of usage.

Everything hurt. And it was okay, still. Not okay in that compensating lie--and a tiny spark like clapping hands over a mouth in shock was appalled he had called it a lie--but truly, truly okay. At least for now. And "for now" was how Christmas lived.

He leaned back against the bed with a half-worded "Good night" before falling asleep there.

Just sleeping…, Sander reminded himself as he made a grab for a pillow and the blanket off the blond boy’s bed. The right thing to do then was to help Christmas back on the bed, because the floor wasn’t very comfortable, but Sander didn’t want to take the risk. The blond boy seemed to have fallen asleep at this point, anyway. So he eased his roommate’s prone form down to the floor, where he had placed the pillow, then spread the blanket over Christmas. 
 
When he was all done, Sander paused for a brief moment, watching the subtle rise and fall of Christmas’ chest. Still alive. Still here. He let out a breath of relief and stood up, turning off the light before returning to his laptop. He would stay up for a little bit longer that night.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

761 posts

in 3943 days

Seen 3 yrs ago

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『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚   / /  ~𝟙𝟠𝟘𝟛

A loud bang on the door woke Sander up. He barely had time to blink the sleep out his eyes before two dark-clad figures moved into the room and toward Christmas’ bed. Startled and disoriented, he half-rolled, half-crawled out of his bed of blanket, swaying slightly as he climbed to his feet. 
 
One of the guards noticed him, and almost immediately, a rifle was aimed his way. That gave Sander pause. The cold, dead memories of smothering smoke and searing pain ignited in a burst of flash fire, forcing stiffness into his limbs, but he forced it down with a clipped exhale. Thoughts began to rearrange, and he finally managed a few words, his throat thick from disuse. 
 
“…He’s not okay.”
 
The two guards didn’t give any indication that they heard his words, but one of them did walk over to the blond boy on the floor and took a closer look. The man talked into a device mounted on his chest then, mumbled words far too soft for Sander to catch, but he picked up words that sounded like ‘class’ and ‘permission’. Meanwhile, the rifle barrel remained pointing at him, and Sander swallowed drily, his breaths suddenly coming too quick to his liking. 
 
He shouldn’t be afraid. They wouldn’t let him die. 
 
A voice answered the guard on his device, the words shrouded in static and almost unintelligible to untrained ears. Sander ended up just standing near his bed, trying not to look at the gun and looking at it anyway. Thankfully, the guard broke the silence shortly after his conversation with whoever on the other side was over. 
 
“He's excused from today’s activities. But if he doesn’t wake up by the end of the day, bring him to the hospital.”
 
The room lapsed into silence as a crack of static sounded and the voice began to speak again. The guard leaned down to his device for a few seconds, before looking up at Sander. 
 
“You're excused as well.”
 
With that said, the guards took their leave soon after, leaving Sander with his roommate once more. He pressed a clammy hand to his forehead and let out a sigh of relief, ignoring the prickling sensation on the left side of his ribs. This wasn’t the time for that kind of thoughts, so he didn’t indulge them. Instead, he walked over to check on Christmas instead. The boy was still asleep, the bruises on his roommate’s face two shades darker than yesterday. Sander didn’t actually bruise anymore, but he remembered enough to know that they would have get worse before they could get better. Slowly, he lifted the edge of the blanket and pulled it to Christmas’ chin. 
 
For most of the day, Sander remained in his suite, only left briefly at noon to gather some food for himself and Christmas. He wanted to go down to track again, but after one look at his roommate on the floor, he convinced himself to stay instead. He didn’t know what to do to help, so he figured he should wait around until Christmas woke up. 
 
So he did. Evening rolled around quietly, and Sander found himself growing tired of looking at the screen of his laptop. He stood up then, closing the lid with a soft click before looking around his room. A basket of dirty clothes was nearby, piling a bit too high for his liking. He took his mind off that for now, and looked at his stuffed duffel bags instead. With all that happened yesterday, Sander didn’t have time to properly unpack all his things yet. He should probably get to it now. 

Pain was the first sensation Christmas noticed on waking up. Plenty of it and scattered all across his face and body. Opening his eyes stung a bit in the swelling flesh around his cheeks and temples and the bruised cartilage of his nose. At least the scathing aches kept last night's memories about a shower and Sander away. He breathed out a quiet groan, still too sore and sleepy to sit up.

Sander dropped the bundle of clothes he was holding back onto his bag, head jerking toward the source of the pained noise. Was that Christmas? From where he was, Sander couldn’t notice any movement beneath the blanket. He quickly walked over, crouching down next to the blond boy to have a better look.  

Christmas heard movement, but couldn't turn to look. He had only just noticed the pillow and blanket around him, certain he hadn't dragged them off the bed yesterday. More of Sander's kindness that he'd never be able to repay and yet still wanted. The roommate in question came into view soon afterwards and Christmas blinked at the blurry edges around Sander for several seconds.

"M-mornin--" He had shifted slightly, just a natural movement that was now shooting spikes of agony into his torso and he could only gasp helplessly until they passed.

 “Hey.” -Sander couldn’t help but grin, the weight on his guts had been lifted. Christmas woke up, so he must be fine, right? The laboured gasps that followed told him otherwise though, carving worried lines back onto his brows –“Oh…You are still hurt? Do you need anything?” 
 
When most of the pain had settled back down, Christmas shook his head weakly--just once.

"I'm o-okay," he mumbled back, hoping Sander would flash that happy grin again. "Thank you."

His gaze wandered on its own in the slow fade of residual drowsiness, settling on a desk within view. A white, metallic box on the desk looked familiar and Christmas stared at it curiously, wondering where it had come from when the room had been quite empty the day before. 

Sander followed Christmas’ gaze and he caught sight of the first aid kid on his desk. He had kept it in his room since that night after the arboretum, and the guards put it in his duffel bag for him. He wasn’t sure where to put it now, in this new room. There wouldn’t be another night at the arboretum. But Christmas was hurt, despite what the blond boy had insisted. Would that box help?
 
“Do you want that?”
 
"H-huh?"

“It’s…uh” -Sander began, but gave up when he couldn’t find the right words to say. Instead, he walked over to the desk and brought the box over –“It’s for when you are hurt.” 

The iconic red cross on the box reminded Christmas that first-aid kits had painkillers in them, something he vaguely remembered from a high school PSA. There had been a long list of what a good first-aid kit was supposed to have, but he remembered most the word "painkillers," wondering if his home's first-aid kit needed to include his mother's medications, too, on top of painkillers. He blinked blankly at the box until the memories ran their course, fumbling to say two things to Sander at once.

"T-thank you," came first, followed by, "can--can you..." the words petered off when he realized he was doing exactly what Sander had trusted him not to do: taking his roommate for granted. So he tried sitting up instead to take the box, barely turning his body to the side before a sharp cry of pain immobilized him again.

Sander floundered at the sudden sound, panic and the barbed heat of frustration flared up again at his own helplessness. He didn’t quite sure what to do and Christmas still didn’t make his intentions clear, so he relied on the subtle cues instead. For now, the healer seemed to want the first aid kit.
 
“Here.” -Sander quickly pried the lid open and scooted closer, holding the box out so that Christmas could freely look at its content. 

A good ten seconds passed before the consequences of moving finally pardoned Christmas. He whispered another "Thank you" eyes looking over the different types of gauze rolled up in the box, along with gloves, tweezers, tape, and more little things he couldn't quite make out behind packages of antiseptic cream and bottles of--painkillers, there they were: an opaque bottle clearly labeled "oxycodone" to distinguish from other similar bottles in a corner of the large box. Milligrams per tablet and other dosage instructions followed the large-print name, the lettering of the finer details like pinpricks of black against the white surface of the label.

He knew that name. His mother's list of medications on a black-speckled countertop pushed its way to the front of his thoughts, with a doctor's warning about usage only if she hurt herself extensively.

His hand fumbled for the bottle, nearly dropping it as he pulled it out. A lack of strength on waking up and his careful movements prevented him from applying enough pressure to open the press-twist cap, but he held on to the bottle uselessly, looking back up at Sander as if to assure him that now he was definitely fine, plastic bottle in hand for the next unknown duration of time.

"Thank you."

“You want this?” -Sander reached out for the plastic bottle that Christmas had picked, fingers wrapping loosely around the blond boy’s grip –“I can help.” 

"I-I can...." The words afterwards disappeared into Sander's warm hand and Christmas swallowed, pressing the bottle into Sander's palm. "I--sorry."

Sander took the bottle and gave it a twist at first, before he looked at the indentation and put more pressure on his twists. The cap came loose at last, revealing numerous small white pills. He poured some of them on his palm and offered them to Christmas –“How many do you want?”

Christmas remembered the doctor's scrawled warning--the third messy line: "strong."

"One...?" he guessed, then thought to the blinding pain of simply moving and changed his mind. "T-two...maybe. Th-thank you."

“Okay.” -Sander agreed easily, pouring the remaining pills back into the bottle after taking out two of them. He kept them in his palm for a few moments, the cogs in his mind slowly turning before he realized that Christmas still need one more thing –“You have to drink these with water, right?” 

Christmas stared at the powdery tablets in Sander's hand, nodding, but he wondered if he could just swallow them dry and be done with aches for a while.

Without another word, Sander stood up and went to his desk, returning with a mug of water. He settled back into his old seat at Christmas’ side, before another thought flashed through his head –“Uh…But you can’t drink like that.” -He said, referring to the blond boy’s position. They always had those beds that could elevate his back, when he was still in the hospital and they made things so much easier. But there was no bed here.

Sander's hand around the mug and the fluttering blue of the ribbon on his wrist gave Christmas a nudge he hadn't realized he needed. Couldn't keep making Sander do everything. Couldn't keep relying on his roommate so easily he forgot the miniscule weight of his worth--at least when Sander was around he could pretend he was worth something. Didn't he want to call Sander a friend? (A part of him whispered something like "No," but that was the part that dared ask for more without regard and he tucked it back into the dark folds of his mind.)

He inhaled deeply and sat up as quickly as he could, nearly screaming from the quick, but heavy strain on every muscle in his torso. 

The sudden movement marked by the blur of golden hair twisted a knot in Sander’s stomach. His arm reached around the blond boy’s back in a reflex, the quick motion caused the mug on his other hand to splash some of its content onto the blanket.
 
“Shi--“ -Sander began, wide-eyed before he stopped himself with a clench of his jaws –“S-Sorry.” -He frowned slightly, looking at the darkened spot of wetness. 

Christmas had felt his right arm buckle from the sudden movement it hadn't been ready for, and he had already expected to hit the ground again when Sander hooked an arm around him, the motion jarring some of the bruises on his back, but saving him from far worse. He took a moment to breathe through the bursts of pain spotting dark blotches on his vision, leaning carefully against Sander's chest, dimly aware he was muttering a series of "sorry"s broken up by pained groans in the aftershock of a coward's bravado. And in the end he was still useless. Ernie's words echoed in his ears and Christmas looked down at the ground, shamed. He was quiet for several long seconds.

"I'm sorry," he concluded, because he was, for a lot of things at once, all the time.

“It’s okay. I got it.” -Sander didn’t seem to mind Christmas’ constant apologies anymore. It felt like a reflex to him these days, and he rarely paid attention to the context around them –“Water?” -He offered mug to Christmas first, before relaxing the arm around the blond boy so it wouldn’t hurt the healer.  

Green apple scents and that faint touch of cologne again, this time accompanied by the enveloping warmth of Sander's arm and body. He hoped Sander wouldn't notice the heat creeping to his shoulders and neck again. Christmas nodded at the proferred mug, taking it in both hands and curling himself slowly around it, staring into the water to stop himself from staring up at Sander.

With one hand now free, Sander reached over to the closed fist that was pressing against Christmas’ upper arm and retrieved the pills. Since both of his roommate’s hands appeared to be occupied, he held a tablet between his index finger and thumb, inching it closer to the blond boy’s lips.   

Christmas turned his head at the movement, opening his mouth to say something like "it was okay" and maybe "I can hold them," but even that small motion sparked a bit of pain across his face--the nerves on edge after sitting up so abruptly--and he relented, reflexive apologies stamping through his mind as he took the first tablet with his mouth and caught it on his tongue, ducking his head down for a sip of water.

Sander watched the process carefully, choosing the right moment to offer up the second tablet, which Christmas took in the same way, the healer subdued and tiny in the aftermath, like he had found a method to tuck himself up so he occupied as little space as possible. With both the pills gone, Sander simply took the mug of water from the blond boy’s lax grip, offering a faint smile when Christmas looked up. He placed the cup on the floor next to the first aid kit, before resuming his watch on the healer, looking for any sign of distress. His arm remained where it was, just in case his roommate was feeling unsteady again. 

Christmas sat in that half-hug silently, too many thoughts about things only he cared about--the proximity, the smell, the warmth--and too little thoughts about things he should have cared more about, but didn't--the classes, the time, the day. And behind it all a carefully guarded memory of Alvin's arm around him like this, that warmth marred with pain from different bruises on his chest. So different and yet eerily familiar, like the universe was trying to repeat the events again with its best efforts and certainly despite his.

"Sander," he finally murmured into the folds of clothes that weren't his, plucking at the loose sweatpants.

“Huh?” -Sander blinked, suddenly alerted –“Does it hurt? You want more pills?”

Christmas raised a hand to tap on Sander's, the taller boy's hand lightly wrapped around his shoulders. The uncertain touch remained this time, his index finger barely resting on the middle knuckle. He shook his head to the question, all the words and thoughts that wouldn't fit and pieces he couldn't sift through in time parting just enough for him to pick out the sum of what he was trying to express--gratitude and something more, and Sander didn't need to understand the second part. Sander probably couldn't understand.

"I...I like your smell, too." A response two days late.

“…You can use my shampoo. And other things too.” -Sander smiled at that, a tingle of something warm in his chest. But this wasn’t the fire that he was used to, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it –“I don’t mind.”

The blond boy's shoulders shook slightly, and he coughed away another soft laugh that crumbled into a low groan from the aches. After a while, he managed a "Thank you."

Christmas looked around the room without moving his head much, hunting for something to offer in return besides the equally useless Mr. Chair. His eyes fell on the wide basket heaped in laundry nearby and his nerves found a new foothold. Quite a bold one--for him.

"In, um, in a bit--for the pills," he clarified, "I can--i-if you want...the, um. The--the laundry?"

Sander leaned down to look at his roommate in the eyes, brows raised in confusion. 

Christmas blinked back, unsure what to make of the look. Maybe that was too much? "S-sorry."

“Laundry?” -Sander echoed dumbly, looking for clarification. 

"The--um--the laundry...? The school has--has rooms for, uh, doing the laundry...um...if you want."

“Oh. Room for laundry?” -Sander looked at his basket of dirty clothes –“You can go there?”

"...Y-yes? Later, um...I can cl-clean the clothes if you--if you don't mind?"

“You clean the clothes? By yourself? B-but why?”  

"To--to clean them?" Christmas was now staring at Sander, confusion mirroring his roommate's.

“But why you? Don’t they do it for you?”

"I--n-no? I can--I can do the laundry...?"

“Oh.” -Sander blinked into the gray of his own shirt, loose on Christmas’ much smaller frame, his mind slowly working through the new information. It must be because Christmas was more people than him. Nothing like him, really. And he was glad for that –“Okay.” 

A small sigh of relief from the healer and Christmas sat in Sander's hold for a while longer, feeling the pains across his body lessen so gradually he barely noticed when they were mostly gone, reduced to minor inconveniences by the miracle of modern medicine. It would have been nice if his power could do that for him, he thought.

When he felt numb enough to move without much discomfort, he looked up at Sander, still patiently sitting near him even though he had never needed to worry about a speck of dust named Christmas Halvost to begin with. Had never needed to bring him a Vita in a lonely hospital.

"I'll go, um, I'll go get the laundry, then?" he asked after a while, not keen on moving from that warm place in Sander's arms, but he did want to do something for his roommate.

A moment of silence, then Sander finally spoke, his gaze tentatively and careful, almost like he was asking for permission –“…Can I come with?”

Christmas nodded, eyes trailing across the length of ribbon on Sander's wrist in front of him. 

"I...um..." he reached for the ribbon, resting fingers on it like grasping for resolve, "I like when you're near."

Another sliver of that strange warmth settled in Sander’s chest again. He shifted his shoulders slightly, unused to its feather-light presence. But it clung, so he let it be –“Okay. I will be near.” -He nodded, tapping a finger against Christmas’ arm –“Up?” 

Another nod, the majority of his newfound bravery spent for the morn--oh, it was evening. The lack of light through the window finally registered for Christmas and his eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall. 1803. Training didn't end until 1830, if he remembered that right. Did he sleep until Saturday?

Sander took that nod as a permission, so he shifted a little, moving onto his knees beside Christmas. His hand on Christmas’ arm moved down to the blond boy’s waist, while he lifted the other arm and draped it over his shoulders –“Does it hurt?” -A slight pressure against the healer’s ribs came after the question.

A mild, weakened sensation on movement and Christmas shook his head to the question, blinking away his eyes' fixation on the hand around his waist. "Th-thank you." 

With a quick heave of breath, Sander rose to his feet, lifting the blond boy up with him. He lowered his shoulder then, letting Christmas’ arm down, but his hand hovered around the small of the blond boy’s back, waiting.  

Christmas made a mental note to take more of the medication in a few hours, because moving without feeling the aches was blissful. He threw the strap of his duffel bag over a shoulder, then tested some small steps for significant pain before breathing out in relief and walking over to Sander's basket. His nerves were still processing something, but it was so muted he hardly cared that he probably shouldn't be moving much. The large basket piled high with Sander's clothes was almost too heavy and Christmas got a firm grip on it before lifting with both hands, glancing at the window again.

"...Was I...did I sleep long?"

“Yeah.” -Sander threw on a jacket and went to grab his ID card from the desk as he spoke. He turned back to Christmas then, watching the blond boy carrying his basket. Something didn’t sit right, so he went over, tapping one finger on the basket –“Can I help?” -He had to ask, because Christmas seemed to know what he was doing and he didn’t want to interfere with an activity that was so people. But he wanted to help. 

"Um..." Christmas blinked at the basket, then at Sander. He did need to check the maps again for the laundry rooms. It wasn't something he had paid too much attention to before. "D-do you want to carry it?" He looked at Sander's finger on the basket.

Sander nodded, and the blond boy handed over his basket easily. Its weight was negligible for him, so he just held it aloft, waiting for Christmas to lead the way. 

A quick check of the creased papers in the duffel bag reminded him that the wide basement hallway connecting the dorm buildings to each other and to the registrar's office housed the many laundry rooms on campus, with easy access from both the office building and the dorms for convenience. He fished his ID card out of the dirty clothes in his bag and grabbed his phone from the desk for a timer, just in case he couldn't be around to wait on the clothes to finish. The phone's lock screen displayed time and day, and Christmas breathed a small sigh of relief that he had only slept until Friday and that some miracle had let him sleep until then. He decided not to question why, grateful enough for that. He held the papers in hand, heading out the door first and holding it open for Sander, the dynamic of leading disorienting for him, but it was just the laundry so he shoved the uncomfortable feeling aside for now.

The hallway was spacious and lined with neat rooms of washers and dryers, four of each machine per room, a tall wooden cabinet of laundry essentials, and some cushioned benches for those who preferred to wait on site. Several other students were heading to and fro with dirty or freshly clean loads of laundry, and most spared Christmas's swollen, bruised face and baggy clothes a curious glance, though the sight of injured mages was common enough around East that no one made any comments. He found an empty room and noted the number on the wall--014--before holding the door for Sander, who entered first.

A bit of panic hit when he remembered--finally after all the distracting moments of earlier--that they didn't have detergent or fabric softener, but a hopeful check of the cabinet provided relief. Generic detergents, softeners, and scented dryer sheets filled the shelves inside the cabinet and Christmas picked out several bottles and a box, placing them on the bench while he separated the white clothes from everything else. He loaded those into a different, windowed washer and provided the necessary amounts of laundry cleaning solutions to both machines before fiddling through some of the settings until he found the "heavy stains" indicator on the digital display, tapping that on each washer and hitting "Start."

Sander watched curiously from his spot on the nearby bench, his gaze flicking between the machines and Christmas, but he made no move to approach the blond boy. It felt foreign here; his presence almost intrusive in this place of mundane chores and people. So he sat still, focusing on the soft whirling of the machines rather than the turmoils of his thoughts.

Christmas sat down on the bench beside Sander to wait on the cycles to finish, trying not to feel too elated that Sander would be near. Like a promise. He fiddled with his phone instead, deliberately avoiding his messages and contacts list in favor of the internet. It occurred to him then that he had never seen Sander use a phone in the past few days, and he wondered if Sander either didn't have one or didn't use it enough to matter. Either way, he was vaguely disappointed and afraid to completely admit why in his mind.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@banjoanjo@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕃𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕪 ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟘𝟙𝟜   / /  ~𝟙𝟠𝟜𝟘

In one hand, a repurposed Brewski Box containing multiple plastic cylindrical containers, all of them plain white and cleanly labelled. In the other, a reusable shopping bag holding the clothing that was to be laundered, pre-sorted, of course. Ernie walked down the hallway with a slight spring in his step. Finally, something to look forward to after the emotional mess the week had been. The hours it took to clean his clothes would be a welcome mental break from everything, some well spent time with an empty mind as he plugged into his earphones and watched the machine cycles freshen his whites.

The jaunty tune he was whistling cut off abruptly as he entered Laundry Room 014. Sander the Berserker. Sitting right next to him was the kid he'd dragged through hell on Thursday, who was now staring at him in sheer, trembling fear. With the vicious bruising staining Christmas' face, it looked like he'd only just come back. Guilt flared in Ernie's expression, but the sentiment was largely overshadowed by the terror he felt from seeing them beside each other. Violent consequences and scenarios raced through his head before he was able to squash them down. Ernie breathed. He needed to play this cool. Play it right. He'd messed with wimps like Christmas before and if he'd learnt anything from that, it was that their fear would keep him from the harm's way of any strongarmed do-gooders who could find out about the ordeals. Ernie mustered a light smile to accompany a wave of his hand.

"Hey, it's Sander!" he called out. He didn't acknowledge Christmas' presence with much besides a polite nod and a "Hi there." Only a wide-eyed stare and shaking grip on a phone answered him, a brief flash of surprise across the bruised face when Ernie said Sander's name.

At the mention of his name, Sander tore his gaze from the spinning machines to look up at the familiar face –“Oh. Hello.” -He offered a smile in greeting –“How are you?”

The silence beside him prompted Sander to look though, and he found his roommate with a frozen expression, seemingly uncomfortable. He gave the boy a tentative tap on his upper arm, along with a question –“You’re okay?” 

Christmas nodded stiffly before looking away from Ernie, eyes on the ground instead while his hands clutched the phone meaninglessly, just something to hold instead of visibly shivering. Was Ernie a friend of Sander's...? He was immeasurably grateful for the medication now, because he could already feel his stomach trying to twist itself into knots at the sight of the black-haired mage.

"Feeling fine as ever!" Ernie eyed the beaten boy for a split second before turning to do his own laundry. The worst part was that it wasn't a lie. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so at ease. His nights, his quiet moments doing chores, all of them were so peaceful after that day in the alley. And he owed it all to Christmas. It was times like these, when he saw the aftermath of his weakness, that he wished the guilt was more torturous than the voices. But those wishes were always hushed by the relief of his sated mind.

"How 'bout you? Laundry's the best part of the week, right?"

“You’re doing the laundry too?” -Sander blinked, looking at Ernie’s X mark briefly. He had seen Aberrations on his way here, too. So it was just...him? Something heavy tugged at his chest, but he shrugged it off.  

"Every three days, buddy!" Ernie replied cheerily. His laundry load was considerably lighter than that of the other two because of the frequency of the routine. He uncapped a few of the bottles he had brought along with him, measuring doses with ease before loading his clothing into the machine. The whole process was done at an impressive speed, finished in under a minute. The long-haired boy did the same with the rest of his clothes in a second machine. He whirled around, realising his mistake too late.

Crud, why didn't he just take it slowly and stall for time? Now he had to spend an hour in the same room with Sander and Christmas. The suggestion to leave the room and come back later flickered in his mind before he shook it out. Would that be too unnatural? Could he afford to have his clothes stolen again? Were the kids at East like the depraved klepto asshats at West? Numerous possible courses of action popped up too, before Ernie realised something. Christmas was still a wimp. He wouldn't even dream of ratting Ernie out in front of Ernie. So the perpetrator smiled again, and sat by the pair. On Sander's side, for fear of spooking Christmas even more. Even through all the selfish relief, Ernie knew that he needed to draw the line in public situations. Despite that, Christmas still flinched as Ernie sat down nearby.

Should he act normal? Start conversation? Knowing Sander's track record with small talk, it seemed harmless enough.

"Are you gonna visit the bar again soon? I wanna practice some more drinks with my favourite customer!"

“Drink?” -The memories of sweet liquor and hazy conversation rushed back to meet Sander, and he couldn’t hold back a smile at the pleasant warmth. He talked too much though, that night. Thankfully, Christmas didn’t seem to mind, but he would prefer not to have a repeated episode –“Oh yeah, I would love to. Maybe later? I’m a bit busy this week.”

A blue ribbon and his trust in Sander were the only things holding Christmas in place at the moment, because Ernie was around and if Sander wanted to go back early, he'd be left alone with nothing to stop Ernie from repeating Thursday in a laundry room. He wanted to stay near Sander and he wanted to run far away from Ernie, the conflict between the two thoughts forcing him as still as possible, and the laundry couldn't be done fast enough.

A strange game of connect-the-dots played in his mind, pulling together absurd scenarios from a drunken Wednesday night to the sudden attack on Thursday, to their encounter now. But he trusted Sander, he did. So he just sat still and hoped Ernie would leave him alone.

" 'f course! Hit me up next time you come, yeah?" Ernie continued the conversation mindlessly, his thoughts too occupied on other matters. Christmas hadn't said a word since Ernie had arrived. Was that a good or bad thing? Was the kid going to burst the second it was just the two of them again? Ernie leant forward in his seat to peer past Sander.

"You should come too," he suggested gently. Perhaps he could pour his way onto Christmas' good side? It was a strategy worth playing out, hopefully.

The phone shook violently in Christmas's hands as he looked at Ernie, the voice like the invitation into the alley. He should have just gone to the bus stop, but it was too late to regret that now, and he didn't want to--he didn't want to, he repeated in his mind--be rude to someone who was Sander's friend. Just that it was getting a bit hard for him to breathe and he wasn't sure if he could answer Ernie between the blur in his ears and the uncomfortable coiling of his stomach.

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and he looked back down with a defeated nod. He thought he could smell the garbage from the alley again, but told himself it had to be from the lingering smell of the dirty clothes.

Sander followed Ernie’s gaze to Christmas, and he noticed the shaking hands. Worry nibbled at his thoughts, because he knew that Christmas always said he was okay, even when he was not. But he wasn’t sure what to do here. There was no pill. No blanket and no pillow. So he did the only logical thing he could think of: he threw an arm around the blond boy’s shoulders to steady him. Because that had worked before.

Christmas's gaze flicked to Sander for a second and then back to the ground. The arm around him again was a welcome surprise; warm and it meant Sander wasn't going to leave soon. His right hand reached for the ribbon on Sander's left wrist, hooked around his upper arm. He rested the palsied fingers there, trying to think about something that wasn't Ernie and a cold alleyway filled with trash and a rotting sandwich.

Ernie's eyes widened at the sudden PDA. Sander and Christmas were much closer than he'd hoped. The comforting arm draped over the shoulder, the ribbon. The ribbon. It was something important between them. Which meant they were important to each other. Whether or not their friendship went into... that area didn't matter. Unless they told him to his face, Ernie probably wouldn't have been able to tell anyway. If Sander ever found out about the alley, the consequences could be much worse than what Ernie was anticipating. Unease sunk to the bottom of the bully's stomach and he fell silent. There was no point in dragging out the conversation, not when it came to either Sander or Christmas. With a sigh, Ernie leant back into his seat and pulled up a podcast on his phone. The earphones and sounds of an eclectic title theme drowned the noises of machinery out. They were reassuring, once. But all things tended to get stale after too many years.

When Ernie seemed distracted by his phone, Christmas dared a glance at the mage, his own phone now set aside on the bench in favor of Sander's wrist. Remembering that he had reluctantly agreed--by way of inadvertent nod--to join Sander and Ernie at a bar later, Christmas bit his lower lip for a moment. He tugged Sander's wrist lightly, shivers quelled somewhat by the weight of the arm. As much as he didn't want to be anywhere with Ernie, if--if Sander was there...

"I--" he checked that Ernie seemed to be preoccupied with the phone before swallowing and mumbling into his legs (though he tried to direct it a little towards Sander's legs), "I...I've never had...a-alcohol. S-sorry."

“It tastes good.” -Sander leaned down slightly, once again watching Christmas’ expression. The blond boy seemed to have calm down though, so whatever Sander was doing, it worked. A small smile stretched his lips at that realization –“Trust me.” 

"I do."

Sander simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to the machines. He watched the cycles turn endlessly, until a final beep sounded and they came to halt. Sander frowned slightly then, seemingly surprised at he looked over to Christmas, as if waiting for an explanation. 

"O-oh, um, the wash is...." He darted a glance at Ernie before slowly edging forward on the bench, preferring to just stay under Sander's arm, but knowing he had to get up and move things. "Th-the wash is done." His roommate nodded and the warm limb across his shoulders lifted, leaving Christmas with that subtle disappointment again, but he stood up and started carrying the heaps of clothes from the two washers to two dryers on the opposite wall, the loads composed mostly of Sander's clothes. 

Ernie raised an eyebrow at the massive heaps the small boy was transporting to and fro on his own. He turned to Sander.

"You guys have a lotta clothes. Did you wear all of them during the week?"

“Uh. Yeah.” -Sander shrugged, giving Ernie a look that almost asked You don’t?. 

"Okay then." Ernie held back some remarks about waste but decided that it would be a better idea to avoid insulting the guy who beat down Supergirl.

Several scented dryer sheets and some tiny beeps later, two of the dryers were whirling as well and Christmas walked back to his seat, nerves settling a smidge more when it seemed Ernie wasn't making any moves to...shove him into a washing machine or something. He sat back down beside Sander, missing the arm around him more than he would admit.

Like a worker ant, Ernie thought blankly. There seemed to be no end to it. Christmas seemed to manage it fine on his own though, despite the extent of his injuries. Despite what Ernie had done. He cringed slightly. As Christmas rested on the bench again, Ernie decided he needed to do something, or whatever remained of his conscience would drive him fucking nuts.

"Do you guys need help taking all that back to your dorm? It seems like a lot for one trip between you guys."

“I can manage.” -Sander raised an eyebrow at Ernie, considered the offer briefly. He was fine by himself, but Christmas was still hurt. Maybe it was better this way –“But if it’s no bother…” 

The panic rose up again for Christmas as Ernie offered to help them carry the clothes to the suite, but Sander had already accepted so he looked back at the ground, hands on the hem of the overly large shirt as he tried not to think too much about Ernie knowing where to find him.

"Sounds good to me! Lemme do my own stuff first and I'll help you guys out."

“Okay.” -Sander went back to watching the spinning dryer, though he occasionally snuck a glance in Christmas’ direction, just to make sure the shaking bouts had passed completely. 

When the dryers signalled completion with an extended beep, Christmas hesitated before moving to retrieve the clothes, suddenly wishing the cycle had taken longer, or maybe the machine could have broken down. Anything to avoid bringing Ernie back to the suite. He piled the clothes into the large basket again, the small mountain of Sander's outfits nearly reaching midthigh now that the heat had fluffed the fabric. His own clothes he picked out in the process, shoving them carelessly into his duffel bag.

"You should probably take the lighter one," Ernie offered eagerly and taking the large basket before Christmas could try hauling all the clothes again. This was easy, right? Laundry was one of his specialties so he knew what he could do to be as useful as possible. His own machines started beeping and Ernie began loading his clothes into the dryers, leaving the large basket near him as he worked.

Sander chose that moment to walk over as well, tapping his roommate’s upper arm again –“Can I help?” -He gestured at the duffle bag this time, since Ernie had already taken his basket.

He wanted to say something to Ernie taking the basket of clothes, but Christmas tensed instead and looked at Sander, not sure what he wanted his roommate to do, and knowing he'd never ask it of Sander anyway. He just edged away from Ernie and nodded to Sander's question, slipping the bag off his shoulder and letting his roommate take it--something to do while he tried to avoid thinking about the alley. He fidgeted as he waited for Ernie, counting the panels of wood on the floor.

Sander slung the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder, mirroring what the blond boy had done moments ago.

Ernie's dryers beeped a few minutes later. He tossed his clothes back into his canvas bag and hefted the whole lot.

"Alright, ready to go now!"

With that done, Sander turned and began the walk back to the suite, but not before sparing a glance at Christmas and Ernie to make sure they were both coming.

Christmas fumbled in the large pockets of his borrowed sweatpants for the ID card, swiping it across the suite door's card reader and pushing the door inward. He stood aside to let Sander and Ernie through first, keeping his eyes on the floor in the meantime. 

A sharp inhale when he realized, groping around in the pockets of the sweatpants, that he had forgotten his phone in the laundry room. But it gave him an excuse to leave and maybe Ernie would be gone by the time he returned, so Christmas pulled at the loose shirt anxiously, waiting until Sander and Ernie had set everything on the ground before looking back down the hallway.

"F-forgot my, um, my phone," he announced feebly, stepping back from the door's threshold to leave.

Sander just finished dropping the duffle bag off at the foot of Christmas’ bed when the blond boy announced his intention to go back for the phone. It didn’t take much consideration on Sander’s part for him to offer again, walking back toward the door before Christmas could leave –“Can I help with that too?”

Christmas hesitated, before answering, "Y-you don't have to..."

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” -Sander smiled, hoping to reassure –“I’ll be quick.” 

It dawned on the small boy then--belatedly, considering the Thursday shower--that he had a hard time refusing Sander (even--especially--mentally). And he was aware it would only get worse.

But the smile caught him and he nodded anyway, staring down at the ground afterwards and remaining outside the door, having learned at least a little bit from the garbage in the alley.

Oh, he and Christmas were going to be left alone. This was Ernie's chance. The Aberration eased past Christmas to put the basket of laundry on one of the room's desks before waving Sander goodbye.

Take your time, he mentally urged the lanky boy.

"Christmas, come here," he said aloud. Baby steps. "Show me where to put your stuff."

Sander's long strides had already taken him down the hallway and Christmas was left with only Ernie calling him inside. He gripped his--Sander's--shirt tighter, afraid to step inside, but afraid to completely disobey and run. He knew how these things worked, even if Alvin had never been quite that violent. One way or another, between going in and staying away, it was a bad decision.

Ernie frowned at Christmas' obvious hesitance. This was going to be really hard. He needed to push some more.

"Hey, I'm not gonna... hurt you now. I just want to do laundry."

Scared eyes followed Sander's back as he turned the corner and Christmas thought he might still be able to catch up if he ran. But he couldn't be--couldn't be rude to Ernie because Sander might not like it. Because they drank together, right? So he had to--

Christmas swallowed and stared back at the other boy, trembling again.

He looked at his bag at the foot of the bed, then back to Ernie, hoping he could give Ernie as little to do as possible.

"F-fine--it's fine there..." he said, voice quavering. "Th-thank you."

"It's no problem. I know it doesn't even start to make up for..." Ernie clicked his tongue. Being genuinely remorseful shouldn't be such an impossible task. When did he let it get this far? "For everything that happened. I'm sorry. For real. I want to-- need to-- make it right."

He didn't know if he believed it, but the words were out of his mouth automatically, stumbling over themselves like usual.

"It-it's o-okay."

Yeah, right. Ernie began unloading the basket and separating the pile into pants and shirts. He noticed that all of the items were Sander's size. Jesus, this emo had a lot of clothing. He glanced at Christmas' own bag, seeing the significantly smaller volume of clothing there. So that was what he was shopping for on that day. Maybe Ernie shouldn't have used them as a dumpster blanket.

"It's not supposed to be okay! You know what happened. You're supposed to hate me, or get angry, or--"

Tell someone? Ernie didn't have that big of a death wish.

"--or just say no! Make me feel like shit. That's how I'm supposed to feel. Make me do all your chores for a month or something! How can you just say it's okay?"

He didn't know how to respond to all of that, and he understood it simply as messing up again, on something he didn't really know how to fix (or did he?). Ernie's tirade didn't fall on deaf ears, but something stirred like black silt disturbed--a shadow of a thought somewhere in the back of his mind and Christmas ducked his head, terrified.

"I'm--I'm s-sorry," he whispered.

"That's exactly the problem here," Ernie sighed, "You're not supposed to be sorry for things you didn't screw up. Whatever, do the Arbiter suites at East have ironing kits?" He held up a pair of wrinkled jeans, curling his lips in disdain. "Denim doesn't deserve to look like this."

Christmas blinked at the floor, waiting for the panic to settle as Ernie continued talking. He took long breaths, one hand running to his head where the ribbon usually was before he remembered and the hand returned to the hem of the borrowed shirt. He didn't understand. He had screwed up, and that was why the alley had happened and why Ernie was yelling at him now, but then he wasn't supposed to be sorry because he hadn't screwed up? He barely caught Ernie's question, and shook his head without looking up.

"Right. Gimme a sec, I'll be back soon."

Ernie ran off back to his room, leaving Christmas alone in the dorm. The blond boy didn't move from his spot at the door, uncertainty locking him in place while he stared at the piles of clothes Ernie had sorted. The Aberration returned with another canvas bag, this time containing a small mat and an iron. The piles of freshly dried clothes began shrinking within minutes, as they shifted from the ironing mat to another folded pile on the bed.

"Christmas, can I do yours when I'm done with these?" Ernie asked. He was grasping at straws now.

"I-It's oka--um. I can do--can iron them." He watched Ernie work quietly, still keeping his distance at the door, though the noise in his head had settled in the interim and he was able to take in the neat folds of pants and shirts. He had never folded clothes that neatly--like perfect rectangles, pressed flat with an extra swipe of the iron. His eyes followed Ernie's hands, all rapid movement and practiced ease and his mind thought back to backhands and punches with a rolling shudder down his spine.

He wasn't sure how to feel about Ernie ironing the clothes now, the large pile that would have taken him some 20 odd minutes to fold diminishing at record speed. More things he couldn't do right enough, so he stared at the floor in front of Ernie's seat.

"Th-thank you," he repeated.

"No problem, buddy."

A 'thank you'. Ernie's hands moved with more vigor as he sped through his own pile. That was progress, right? Anything besides the standard, stuttered apology must mean something. His lips curved upwards and he completed his ironing in a flash.

"Your turn?" Ernie shifted away from the mat to allow Christmas room to use the ironing kit, moving his latest pile to the side with him, "I'm just gonna order these a bit."

He stared at the empty seat for a moment, like it was a trap, but the color-sorted rectangles of fabric nearby weren't crumpled wax paper wrappers and dirty plastic bags in the alley, and the smell of fresh laundry was so far removed from the stench of garbage. He didn't iron his own clothes often--he didn't go anywhere or do anything that needed professionalism, after all--but he had learned to when Alvin told him to, and while he would never be as skilled at it as Ernie, he could manage at a slower pace.

"R-Really?" he asked, the question hooking back in his mind to Ernie's earlier promise about not hurting him--though he realized too late as he said it that it was coming out long after the right moment.

The Aberration nodded quickly. "I bet no one else has their own ironing kit here, so just use mine's. I need to put my stuff back but I'll be back soon. Shout if you need anything, yeah?"

Seeing as he wouldn't get much of a reply besides a silent nod, Ernie left for his dorm once more. Things were finally looking up. Just a bit more work and his safety would be secured!

That last thought made Ernie slow in his steps. Even after all this, he was only thinking of himself. Safety? For that brief period between the alley and Christmas' next beating? Because the existence of a next time was as solid as the concrete he was walking on. At least he could find the decency to feel a slight bit sorry about it while he was still lucid. Did he even care about the kid? No, Ernie was almost definitely doing it for himself. But what did it matter? Whatever his intentions were, the results would be the same. Christmas would feel a tiny bit better and Ernie's hide would be saved. That was all it came to.

He opened the door to his room, relieved that his mind still registered it as just a room rather than a haven from everything outside. Moments like these needed to be savoured. The items were quickly stashed into their assigned closet sections and Ernie made his way to the other boy's dorm once more.

The Arbiter was still working at his ironing when Ernie returned, looking up and freezing like Ernie had caught him doing something suspicious. The long-haired boy eyed him for a moment before looking around for the bathroom. When he emerged, a handtowel soaked in cold water and wrung free of drips was offered to Christmas.

"For your face," Ernie pointed to his own, "It helps."

Christmas looked at the towel for a while, eyes searching over every inch of it and body tensing like he expected Ernie to suddenly slap it into his face the moment he tried to take it. When that didn't happen, he reached for it slowly, taking it from Ernie's hands and looking back up with a careful gaze.

"...Thank you." The medication was still well in effect, but to him the small gesture was as kind as the alley had been cruel and Christmas pressed the towel to his face, balancing the moments on a scale he still hadn't realized was skewed and finding them even. 

The towel's chill was pleasant on his face and it was easy to believe in that instead of a rotting sandwich, green and black with mold.

With a pleased smile, Ernie went and pulled a seat out from the other desk in the dorm. Christmas looked like he was going to take a while and he wasn't gonna wait around standing the entire time. After a moment's silence, Ernie spoke again.

"I knew a guy. Owen. Whenever he got back from a big fight, he'd just take whatever he found in the fridge and put it on his face to help with the bruising. One time, he ended up taking out the tub of Cookies and Cream and ate it while he rested it on the bruise. His friend, Anna, was so mad when she saw the empty tub that she throttled him and made him use a steak for his second bruise instead!"

Ernie laughed at the fond memory, hoping that Christmas would find it as funny as he did.

Christmas blinked at the sudden story, watching as Ernie gesticulated and enunciated the events with an excited smile. A laugh punctuated the story's end and Christmas's expression only transitioned from blank to puzzled, though his mouth mimicked a small, empty smile in response. It was hard to tell with the swelling, and some part of him was aware of that, so Christmas added a quick nod to the reaction, hoping Ernie's mood would stay there.

He didn't know what to make of the story--pain and violence casual on Ernie's tongue and bright in his eyes, a story told with words while Sander spoke in crimson irises shining against the darkness. The Death and Taxes thing he had found on the little invitation slip Tuesday after the flag football game--now a chatroom, apparently--had covered something about the X-marked mages, but he hadn't been reading very carefully in the haze of recovering from thoughts about Sander falling asleep on him the night prior. 

The prominent cross on Ernie's neck drew his attention as the thought passed through (followed by the sudden question of why Sander was taking so long to return), and Christmas looked at it briefly before his eyes darted back to the ironing board.

The lack of a substantial reaction marked another failure on Ernie's end. He scratched his head, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Guess you needed to be there," he muttered.

Would all this be enough? Would his conscience be cleared by the end of this visit? The tension in his body whenever he saw Sander? There were still too many blank spots. He needed to be sure.

"Do you hate me, Christmas?" Ernie asked tentatively, before remembering what kind of person he was asking with that loaded question. Christmas was looking back up at him now, eyes wide. He backtracked quickly, adding, "I-It's totally okay if you do! I wouldn't like me too."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I just want to make things right," he admitted, "Just want to be nicer-- better-- than what I was that day. If... if you don't wanna answer, I'll get it."

Something in the fear across Christmas's face broke at the admission of wanting "to be nicer" and he looked away for a moment, remembering punches to the face and kicks to the torso. Remembering red eyes on the battlefield and teeth against his wrist.

"...I don't...I don't hate you," he said quietly, the notion familiar and a stranger all at once. "I, um--it-it's okay." He couldn't define exactly what was "okay," but Christmas thought it was the bulk of it all, where he wasn't much of anything and so someone else's want to be superseded his, in whatever way defined them. The towel was growing warm now, losing much of its initial chill and he folded it over, finding a new cold spot.

"Here, lemme take that for you," Ernie held his hand out for the towel.

Christmas nearly flinched at the extended hand, but handed over his towel quietly.

The taller boy felt the warmth in the cloth as he took it. He walked over and opened the fridge, raising an eyebrow at the amount of red in the container before neatly placing the used towel at the back behind all the bottles of tomato juice. He took note of a strange canister in the midst of the more common drinks inhabiting the fridge but decided to pay it little mind. Medicine for one of them, probably. Ernie fetched another soaked handtowel from the bathroom and handed it to Christmas, who took some time taking this one from his hands, too, followed with that barely audible "Thank you."

"If it stops being cold again, just toss it into the fridge. I'd probably try to get some actual icepacks later too. Or ice cream, if you wanna snack while you rest," Ernie chuckled through the last comment.

Sander was taking a strange while to come back. The laundry room they used was only a few minutes walk, tops. Ah well, this alone time was good for the both of them. Ernie could feel another awkward silence settle in the room.

"What do you know about Stigmas?"

In his surprise at Ernie calmly invading Sander's personal belongings, Christmas nearly missed the question. He chalked it up to Ernie knowing Sander better, and tried to recall what he had read on the chatroom's information page. But he really couldn't remember anything because reading the page had been his failed attempt to stop thinking about a lot of things that were beyond his control.

"N-nothing--sor-sorry," he finally mumbled.

"Right, they don't have Subnatural Studies at East," Ernie laughed bitterly, "So stupid, right? How are we meant to handle ourselves if we don't even know what to handle?"

He pondered for a moment, searching for a concise way to sum up his point.

"We, Aberrations," he began, gesturing at his X-mark, "need 'destruction' to make our Stigmas behave. Otherwise we go nuts and do bad stuff, like when Zoe melted part of Gregory's face in the games. Or like... Thursday. Do you get it so far?"

Christmas swallowed, thinking back to a forest and starving eyes. Was that the same? He nodded anyway, the mention of a "Zoe" melting someone's face not ringing any bells--and he didn't think he minded that.

"But the thing is, 'destruction' is weird. Smashing windows and throwing bricks at people generally does the trick. But sometimes, for a few Abes, there are other things, little things, that can make it better. I knew someone who liked it when she started the fight then let it go on so she could beat the guy and sate her Stigma that way."

Ernie breathed. He knew he could say it. He knew Christmas wouldn't have the guts to tell anyone. Maybe he wouldn't even get it. That wouldn't be a tragedy. Ernie just needed to make sure that his motives were clear. Only then could he hope that Christmas would understand.

"My Stigma works best on people. I can smash all the windows I want, but if I ever want to be truly... clear, right even, I have to do stuff to people. Always bad stuff."

Bad stuff, and the two words were like "not nice" all over again. Two small words that meant far more than the sounds could hold. Far more than just an alley and a coward who was left behind in a dumpster. And "always" reminded him that Ernie had said something on Thursday. A "next time." He blanched at the realization.

"...N-next time...?" he repeated in a horrified whisper, the new towel against his face once again reaching the point of damp warmth. He didn't move it this time, staring at Ernie.

Alarm flashed through Ernie's eyes as he realised the implications of Christmas' words.

"I don't want to!" he snapped upright, rising from the chair to his feet. Christmas backed away, towel dropping to the ground and hands scraping the carpet as he cowered at the foot of the nearby bed. Strange, Ernie's cry had escaped before he had processed it, "There isn't supposed to be a 'next time'. Not like what happened..."

Ernie sat back down after seeing that he'd scared Christmas again.

"I want to be nicer than that. That's what I want."

'Than that'. Now that was fucking low bar he'd set. In the end, even through the weakness-induced violence that ran through his mind, Ernie knew himself too well. There was no way he could prevent a 'next time'. He was hopeless.

Several quiet seconds stretched into silent minutes as Christmas breathed slowly through the panic, the mounting terror thankfully not hitting a critical point. He wanted Sander to come back already, but there was no one here to help. He wasn't sure if he would have asked it of Sander, regardless.

His mind eventually took in the words, though they held little weight with the knowledge that Ernie would almost certainly repeat Thursday, no matter how much he claimed to want otherwise. The Aberration hadn't denied it.

Christmas shook his head, to a thought that wanted to settle like a disease and he didn't know how to fight it off on his own. What else could he do? What else was he worth? Doors locked from the outside and Alvin's harsh shoves against table edges and even his power was--everything kept wanting to collapse into pain. Even now, his face would be aching were it not for the medication.

He thought it was unfair, really. A lot of it. And he knew he didn't have any right when so many others were dead or worse off, but the feeling persisted. This was what he was worth. And since it was all he was, he'd have to take it. A revision to what he had told Sander before.

Thoughts like plagues and the bottle of oxycodone beside the first aid kit beckoned, its white, plastic lid loosely angled on its mouth. "For prolonged pain only" the doctor's messy letters looped on his mother's long prescription sheet, crumpled from when she had balled it up with an empty smile and thrown it away.

"...N-next time," he whispered, his voice hoarse and dry from the slow breaths and now muddled by quiet sobs, "c-can I bring...?" His trembling finger hovered in the bottle's direction.

Ernie wanted to laugh it all off. Exude confidence and give Christmas a comforting pat on the shoulder and reassure the boy that Ernie wouldn't harm him ever again. But how was he supposed to make Christmas believe that when Ernie didn't even believe it himself? The Aberration nodded in a choking silence.

"Anything you want," he managed to mumble. Ernie grabbed the bottle and placed it closer to the ironing mat, as if it was the only thing that could stop Christmas from crying before Sander returned. Then he picked the towel off the floor and opened the fridge door to swap the two. Yet another cool towel was held out for the Arbiter.

Christmas took this one after a much longer pause, and when he had it in hand, he only looked at it for some time before wiping his eyes and holding the towel there, burying his face in the white cloth. A broken "Thank you" muffled by towel and tears followed several seconds later, but he didn't move the cloth away.

At least Christmas was still talking to him. Ernie eyed the boy worriedly. He'd never learnt what to do with people crying. Anything he'd say would probably only make things worse.

"How 'bout you take a break?" Ernie suggested, pulling the ironing mat towards him to finish the remaining articles of clothing.

The towel slid down Christmas's face, the healer's eyes red with tears, but no more noticeable than the rest of the bruising on his face. He looked to Ernie already settled back behind the portable ironing board, wanting to explain he could do it himself and wanting to explain more that what he was worth? Wasn't worth the trouble. But now cold gripped his limbs and his fingers reached for the bottle of tablets nearby instead, clutching it with both hands. No prayers or hopes needed here.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@Baklava
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕃𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕪 ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟘𝟙𝟜   / /  ~𝟚𝟘𝟘𝟘

30 minutes? Callan frowned, thinking as she took a step back from the washer, now filled with her clothes. That would be enough time, wouldn't it? Not too concerned about anyone stealing her soggy clothes, Callan turned to leave, reaching for the knob just as the door to Laundry Room 014 swung open. Her face lit up with recognition.

"Oh, hey Sander," she smiled, retracting her hand.

“Hey.” -Sander was once again met by a familiar face in the laundry room. Unlike before, he recovered faster, pulling his lips into a smile –“Callan. Good evening. You are here to do the laundry too?” 

As he spoke, his eyes swept around the room and quickly caught sight of the phone lying forgotten on the nearby bench. With a few short steps, Sander moved over to retrieve it. 

"Yep," Callan sighed, glancing back at the machines as Sander walked by. Her mom used to do the laundry. She briefly considered cracking a joke about that, but wasn't sure if Sander would find it funny. 

"Oh, is that your phone?" she asked with half a laugh. 

“This? No.” -Sander shook his head slightly, slipping the phone into the pocket of his jeans –“It’s Christmas’.”

"Oh, ok," she nodded. Her expression suddenly changed, like a light bulb going off. "Hey-- do you have a pen or something? I need to get your number."

“My number?” -Sander looked confused –“What number?”

Oh, god. "Your... phone number?" she asked, looking almost just as confused, "So I can text you when we wanna set up our next fight."

“Oh.” -Sander said, realization set in –“I don’t have a phone, actually. You can just come over if you…uh…need to talk.” 

She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. It almost sounded like he'd never had a phone before, but that couldn't be true, could it? "Didn't you request one?" she asked. Maybe he accidently broke it... unlikely as it seemed. She didn't want to walk all the way to his suite everytime she had a question. 

“No.”

"Wha?" her head tilted further to the side, lips curling into an incredulous smile, "Seriously? You need a phone, man...." 

“I don’t need a phone.” -Sander shrugged, but he humored her -"Why?" 

Callan folded her arms, thinking for a moment. "Well," she pointed at the phone in Sander's pocket, "What if Christmas needed to call you? For an emergency or something?"

“Uh…” -A brief moment of silence passed as Sander processed the scenario in his head –“He can…uh…I will find him.”

She couldn't help but roll her eyes and chuckle. "I'm about to head over to the registrar's office and request a new phone. I accidently broke mine. Wanna come?" 

“Thanks, but…” -Sander frowned slightly, glancing at the exit –“I should probably get back to Christmas soon.”

"We'll be quick-- it's just right upstairs," she smiled reassuringly. Really don't want to hunt him down every time I have a question, she thought again to herself. Maybe her reasons were selfish, but having a phone would benefit Sander, too. It was a win-win. "C'mon-- please?"

Sander looked torn, his eyes flickered between the door and Callan’s pleading face. On one hand, he didn’t want to make Christmas wait, but on the other, Callan was asking for such a small thing. Eventually, he caved, letting out a suppressed sigh –“Alright. Let’s go.”

Callan felt a pang of guilt, watching Sander ultimately cave in to her request. She smiled anyway as she led the way out into the hall. "It's over this way," she gestured towards the stairs, moving to walk next to him. 

"Neither of you were in class today. Is everything alright?" she queried. It was the least she could do. Hopefully Christmas wouldn't mind her borrowing Sander for this-- ultimately he'd probably be happy she'd convinced his boyfriend to get a phone though, right? So they can keep in touch. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” -Sander answered, the words came out a hairbreadth faster than he would have liked. Because it might be a lie, but he would like to believe otherwise –“Everything is fine.” 

She side-eyed him doubtfully. If everything was fine, why weren't they in class? But she wasn't quite comfortable enough with Sander to keep pressing for now. "Uh, how's your new dorm?" she asked, scrambling for a casual topic. 

“It’s great. Very…quiet.” 

"Oh, that's good," she nodded, slipping her hands into her pockets where she rediscovered the paper with Christmas's phone number-- scrawled in his teeny tiny handwriting. She tore at the fringe, amassing a small pile of tiny paper shreds in her pocket as they ascended the stairs. 

A moment of silence followed. 

"You guys gonna be in class on Monday?"

“It’s compulsory, isn’t it?” -Sander glanced at the piece of paper in Callan’s hand, but he didn’t ask after it –“Did we miss anything today?”

"Nothing important," she blinked up at him, still tearing away at the paper. Compulsory? What was he--

"Oh," her hands paused and she chuckled, slightly embarrassed and caught off guard by the sudden observation. "I dunno, I just-- like to-- hang on," she stopped walking and ripped the last three pieces off of the paper's fringe, pulling the bits from her pocket and grouping them into her cupped palm. She brought her hand up to her face and paused, glancing at Sander. This was stupid... oh, well. She blew into her palm and the tiny bits of paper scattered into the air in front of them, spinning and catching the light as they descended. 

“That’s…” -That gave Sander a slight pause, the gears in his head came to a halt as he wasn't sure what to make of the display, but he forced a smile for Callan regardless –“…very nice.”

Girl, he thinks you're mentally challenged. Callan glanced off to the side somewhere and forced a short laugh, "Yeah... uh...." She cleared her throat, brushing a stray paper piece off of her finger. "I guess." She started walking again. 

Sander followed suit, whatever comment he might have never reached his lips. 

The two of them emerged from the door at the far end of a hallway leading towards the front lobby of the registrar's office, a stately affair reminiscent of high-end banks, where desk clerks sat behind bulletproof glass with sliding partitions for handing back paperwork and packages. 

Callan led the way to the first booth she laid eyes on at a brisk pace, desperate to escape the awkward and looming silence she'd managed to create with her childish trick. It had been a little out of place. The girls on her team used to do it to annoy each other-- blowing flurries of paper bits into each other's hair. It was stupid. 

"Hey," Callan offered the woman behind the booth a casual wave as they approached. 

The matronly lady with graying, wavy hair nodded at the two of them.

"One at a time, please."

"You're going to ask for a new phone?" -Sander stepped back, motioning Callan to go first.

"Yeah," Cal glanced at Sander before stepping forward, "We both need phones actually. As soon as possible."

The woman looked between the two of them.

"ID?"

Sander frowned slightly, but he took out his ID and offered it to the woman regardless. It was just a phone, after all. A small thing. He would just stick it somewhere in his desk later, most likely. Callan followed suit.

The woman checked the IDs, eyebrows raising in surprise at something on the screen before she handed the cards back.

"If you need phones now..." she turned around, pulling a ring of keys from below her desk and opening one of the many lockers on the wall behind her, withdrawing several phones and bringing them back to the glass panel. "We have several from discarded or voided requests--if you're not worried about the personal effects."

The woman slid the glass panel's smaller partition aside, pushing the selection of phones through before closing the glass aperture. The phones were various brands--all latest models. Several had custom decals on the back: skulls, stars, fat cartoon cats, but particularly eye-catching was a baby blue phone studded with flawless diamonds in a floral pattern. A gaudy request, and somehow left behind.

"Heh," Callan surveyed the selection of phones, mentally kicking herself for not asking for a cooler phone when she had the chance. She would've just crushed it anyway, but still. She deftly picked up the blue phone, flashing its back at Sander and completely unaware of the diamond's authenticity. "Hey, how about this one?" she laughed, "It matches your eyes."

“Um…Sure.” -Sander just offered up a half-smile, holding out his hand –“Thanks.” 

Callan blinked at him, slowly holding out the phone. "Oh," her smiled faded briefly, "I was kidding, but if you like it, sure." Her own choice was an easy one. She slid the phone with stars towards the lady behind the glass. "I'll take this one," she smiled. 

The woman nodded, ignoring the phone Callan had pushed back to her and retrieving the rejected phones instead, typing rapidly into the computer. "The cellular plans have already been activated for those phones, by the way. They were recent requests, but their owners...well.... Anything else I can do for you?"

“That will be all for me.” 

"Nah, we're good. Thanks." She slid the phone off the counter and started fiddling with it as she turned away, stopping near the door to spare a look at Sander. "We should exchange numbers real quick," she said. 

“Okay.” -Sander nodded and began to fiddle with his new phone. It had been years since he last used one, but he remembered the basics –“So, your number?”

"919-453-3460," Callan read off. She quickly added Christmas's number to her contacts, before handing the paper over to Sander. 

"Here's Christmas's number," she smiled knowingly.

Sander quickly entered the number and added it to his Contant list before the string of number faded from his mind. When Callan offered him the piece of paper, he gave her a puzzled look, but decided not to ask and repeated the same process with Christmas’ number. 
 
“Alright. Done.” -He looked up from the phone, then flipped it around, as if looking for something –“So where’s my number?”

"Ha," Callan held her hand out, "Here." 

Sander handed over his phone, watching curiously. Tilting the phone towards him as she worked, Callan gingerly tapped the screen, delving into the settings until his number was displayed. "There ya go. Just like that. Easy." 

She copied his number into her phone, pausing once she'd finished. "You'll keep this on you, right?" she asked, still clutching his phone.

“Yeah. I will…try.” -Sander answered easily, though it was more to appease Callan than anything. He wasn’t making a promise here. Looking at the number on display, he furrowed his brows, trying to memorize it, just in case someone asked again –“So can we go now? I really should get back to Christmas.” -He looked up after a brief moment, an apologetic smile on his lips.   

"Yeah," she handed over his phone, a little sketpical about whether or not he would actually 'try' for some reason. But she'd done about as much as she could do at this point. Hopefully he'd use it. At least Christmas seemed to appreciate the idea of always keeping one's phone close by. Worse comes to worse, she could probably reach Sander that way-- what with them seeming to spend so much time together and all. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she let Sander lead the way out the door. "Sorry for bothering you with this," she shrugged, "You seem pretty worried about Christmas, though. Are you sure everything's fine?"

“It’s fine.” -Sander slipped the phone into his other pocket as he walked –“I just don’t want to make him wait.” 

"Oh," she smiled. She thought she understood, but probably not. She was quiet for a moment, carefully choosing her next question amidst a sea of unrelated thoughts. "How's that going, by the way?" A small smile tugged at her lips. Marcus came to mind for some reason. 

“What’s…going?” 

"You and Christmas!" Her aquamarine hair bounced as she descended the stairs before him. She glanced at Sander over her shoulder, her smiled widening, "Are you guys totally in love now or what?"

“Uh…?” -The question caught him completely off guard, leaving Sander wide-eyed and stunned. He stared at Callan, his feet froze mid step. Her words were suddenly foreign, and he had to ask for clarification, but all he could manage was a short –“What?” 

"What?" Callan stared back, her smile shrinking as she noticed he'd stopped. 

“I--What do you mean…by that?”

She turned to face him, feeling her cheeks start to catch fire. Uh oh. "Uh... I just... I didn't mean-- I-- well, he-- I thought..," she was getting nowhere fast. 

Callan took a quick breath to regain her footing, which preferably wouldn't be in her mouth this time.

"Aren't... aren't you guys dating?"

“We…” -Sander began, but he cut himself off. He didn’t trust his churning mind to voice anything intelligent at this moment, especially when there were just so many thoughts swirling and clashing, many of which he had kept buried for years. So he asked. He had to, because he didn’t trust his own answers –“…Is that what we are doing?”  

"Uh." What?? His answer was so confusing! He was asking her? Why didn't he know the answer to that? It wasn't her place to say, right? She thought she'd seen Christmas ask Sander to be his boyfriend. She thought she'd seen Sander agree to that. But... then again, she didn't have a whole lot of personal experience with this sort of thing. Just stuff her teammates used to rant about and stuff she's seen in movies and TV shows. With more questions than answers, she settled on another question, leaning up against the railing on the stairs as she spoke. Several students passed by with bags and hampers of clothes, but the wide stairwell gave them plenty of room to move around the two.

"Is that what you want to be doing?" she asked cautiously, her eyebrows knit together with concern while her face still burned with regret for ever having brought it up.

More thoughts and half-thoughts forming, fighting to stop and go. Sander diverted his gaze now, staring at a random spot on the wall, while his arm gripped the hand rail. He didn’t want to think about this, but he did, anyway. And if he remembered anything right, it was that ‘dating’ meant something like ‘happiness’. Not the same thing, but close. It wasn’t a thing he was sure he could have. Not even sure he deserved it. 
 
But what about Christmas? What about him? 
 
“Do you think…he would like it?” -He looked back at Callan, blue eyes suddenly solemn.  

Whoa. Callan returned his gaze, eyes wide and attentive. His question was so sincere... and somehow sad. She thought she understood now. Or, at least, she hoped she did. She thought back to Tuesday night and the scene she accidently stumbled upon the first time she tried to get Sander's number. To her, the pair had seemed quite at peace together. Lying there next to each other on the little twin sized bed. But with how terribly wrong her observations about Christmas and Sander had been up until now, she didn't want to risk another assumption. 

"I dunno," she replied with an apologetic smile, wishing she had a better answer for the poor guy, "Maybe? Maybe... you should ask him?" 

Sander racked a hand through his hair, the gesture loose and thoughtless when he was far too occupied in another corner of his mind. He wanted to think more on this, whatever it was. But Christmas was waiting for the phone, so he latched onto that excuse eventually, eager to just shove that jumble of thoughts and feelings back somewhere deep in his head. He would think more on that. Later. Because it felt far too heavy right now, and he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be sure. 
 
“Thanks.” -He forced out the word, then covered up the rest with a faint smile –“We should head back.”   

With an unsure smile and a nod, Callan continued down the steps into the hall, parting ways when they finally came to the laundry room. "See ya later," she waved. 

"Good luck..," she muttered thoughtfully to his retreating back. She shattered her own musings with an incredulous laugh, shaking her head as she disappeared into the laundry room to wait out the rest of her spin cycle alone.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk@banjoanjo@January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚   / /  ~𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘

Sander was anxious to get back to the suite, despite the undercurrent of thoughts buzzing in the back of his mind. They all came back to a small boy with a head of blond hair and loops of cornflower blue though, so he couldn’t rightly call them ‘unpleasant’. Still, those thoughts nagged, and he really could do without them. The strange sparks of heat flickered within the space of his chest, floating like embers, and if he had to make a comparison, he would say that they felt almost like…hope. But what was he hoping for? To ask Christmas the questions that Callan suggested? He would, if that could make the blond boy feel better. 
 
But he wasn’t really sure what the questions were. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. 
 
So he figured he would wait. Maybe someday he could bring himself to really think about it. Maybe then, he could figure it out. For now though, waiting sounded good. 
 
“Sorry about the wait.” -Sander walked inside his shared suite, letting the door click close behind. To his surprise, Ernie was still there, casually ironing clothes on one side of the room. He blinked at that sight, but didn’t follow up with a question. His gaze went to the blond boy instead. 
 
“I got your…” -He moved closer, only to notice his roommate’s strange position at the foot of the bed, hands wrapped around the bottle of pills from before. The last word fell out of his mouth limply as he crouched down next to Christmas –“…phone?”  

Christmas's relief spilled into a burst of quick inhales and exhales when the door opened and Sander was behind it. He nodded, eyes on the ribbon and being here when past and future pains tempted his mind elsewhere. He should have been more worried about why Sander had taken so long--what if something had happened?--but he was just focused on Sander being back.

"Thank--" A small sniffle interrupted. "Th-thank you."

“Does it hurt?” -Sander’s gaze dropped to the bottle of pills, and he touched Christmas’ hands tentatively –“Do you need more pills?”

Sander's hand was stable heat again and Christmas bit the side of his tongue with enough pressure to stop himself from speaking for several seconds. He didn't trust tears and bruises to say anything right. When the surge of relief had passed, leaving a trail of gratitude and hesitant, unnamed emotions in its wake, Christmas watched the loose-lidded bottle a moment more, the decision already made for him. He just held back out of habit.

The warm hand across his was a refuge, and he would hold to something just for now instead of something next time. 

"Not...not yet," he finally answered, shifting one of his hands on the bottle so it rested on Sander's knuckles now. "...Thank you."

 “Okay.” -Sander wasn’t very convinced, given how puffy Christmas’ eyes looked. But that could just be the bruises –“Do you want rest then? On the bed this time?”

Christmas glanced at Ernie, now done with the last of the clothes, everything folded into perfect rectangles again. His fingers on Sander's knuckles trembled.

"Here--here's fine. Th-thank you."

"Looks like my work here is done," Ernie announced as he shuffled the most recently ironed articles into a pile. Sander didn't seem to suspect anything thankfully, but Ernie was eager to get out of Dodge as quickly as he could. He stood from his seat, intending to make a polite exit, "I should probably go. Plenty of other chores to do back at Building B! Do you guys need anything else before I go?"

A jerking shake of the head from Christmas was the only response on that end.

“Uh. I don’t think so.” -Sander glanced at Christmas, then over his shoulder at Ernie –“Thanks for…that.” -His gaze dropped to the neatly folded pile of clothes, wondering why Ernie would go so far to help. He didn’t really follow up on that line of thoughts though.  

Oh, thank god. Ernie did a mental sigh of relief as he got the "a-okay" to leave this deathtrap of a room. Perhaps 'deathtrap' was a bit of an exaggeration. It didn't seem like Christmas was going to rat him out anytime soon, considering how weirdly okay he was with a 'next time'. A pang of guilt slapped him over the head as he recalled what happened moments earlier. Urgh, what else could he do to ease the situation? Ernie ran through a mental list.

"Uh, ice packs. Make sure you get some from the hospital. They're a lot more reliable than ice cream tubs or cold towels. If you guys need help with laundry again just hit me up and..."

He hadn't gotten their numbers yet. Ernie whipped his phone out, the standard USARILN Samsung model with a sticker of a cartoonish cowboy on the back.

"Can I get your numbers?"

The floor seemed to hold Christmas's attention vividly before he finally turned to Sander with a questioning, fearful stare.

Sander took out his newly acquired phone then, and did what Callan had shown him so that his number was on display again –“Yours, too?” -He asked, holding up Christmas’ phone. 

Question answered, Christmas just nodded, returning his gaze to the ground.

"Ooh, stylish," Ernie whistled as he saw Sander's phone. The two numbers were entered as Ernie continued, "If you guys are heading to the bar or if you just have another major load like today, text me, yeah? Actually," he took another look at the pile of Sander's clothes, then at Christmas. One more piece of goodwill for the road, "how about you guys keep that kit? The idiots at East forgot to include free irons for whatever reason and going to town just for nicely pressed clothes is a total pain. That's actually one of my spares and, seeing as this is gonna be a regular thing, you'll probably need it more than me."

Bruised and battered, now helped--both by the same person--Christmas was having a hard time comprehending the extent to which Ernie was being kind. And the promise of a "next time" loomed over the moment like a pitch-black monster, one that felt familiar and strange at the same time. And it handed him a thought that was bolder than he could have managed on his own. The bottle of tablets was warm between his hands now and Christmas bit his lower lip, realization forming on the aftertrail of a feeling that terrified him and loaned him a bit of jagged strength all the same. A speck of that monster's dust.

"It's for you." He blinked as he said it, surprise followed by the recognition that he had been played for a fool yet again, in a different way than the idiot he had been in the alley. He told himself he deserved it, because it was true. And yet. And yet. A hand clapped over his mouth quietly and Christmas shook his head, other hand tightening on the bottle. "S-sorry. I'm sorry." His eyes looked towards the ironing set instead and saw the finality of "next time" in every line. He left his thoughts there, a choking heat blocking out the "Thank you" he knew he was supposed to voice.

Sander looked between Ernie and his roommate, brows slightly furrowed in confusion –“Thank you.” -He decided to give Ernie a smile instead, giving up on chasing pointless trains of thoughts –“Feel free to ask whenever you need anything.” 

Another 'sorry'. Mission failed. Ernie struggled to keep his smile up despite the indicator of his lack of progress. With a casual wave, Ernie stepped out.

"See you guys in class!"

He didn't bother sticking around for a response.

When Ernie's footsteps had faded into the distance, Christmas put the pills down and crawled to the ironing set, packing it carefully into Ernie's canvas bag and setting that aside at the foot of a nearby desk. Small tremors ran through his hands as he moved his folded clothes to his closet and by the time he turned back around for Sander's clothes, he was visibly shaking. It felt like the furnace of hornets again, but he didn't want this. He also didn't want another Thursday in the alley. The conflict was dizzying and he braced an arm against Sander's bed, a tall pile of folded jeans in his arms tipping as he reeled.

Sander watched as the blond boy moved around the room. Once again, he wanted to help, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. So he just moved over to Christmas’ desk and left the phone he had just retrieved there. Then he noticed the healer’s shaky movement. Frowning, he moved toward his roommate with brisk steps, approaching just in time to throw an arm around Christmas’ shoulders, pulling the shorter boy flush against his body. 
 
“How about some rest?” -He offered again, voice thick with worry –“You are not okay.”

The arm was warm against his shoulders again and Christmas thought back--for a split second--to disapproving tones and mannequin smiles, before the heat of Sander's body banished the memories again and chased away the murky, lurking feeling he was so afraid of. He leaned into that safety, mindlessly stacking the pants back up.

"S-sorry," he mumbled, eyes on the jeans that had lost Ernie's folded precision. Of course it was his fault.

“What for?” -Sander sighed, once again at a loss.

For nothing in the moment and everything in-between. Sander and his warm kindness, above and beyond what Christmas felt he deserved, but he welcomed the affectionate mannerisms all the same, like taking advantage of something Sander wasn't even aware of. Sorry for that. Sorry for the pants that were now a little lopsided, and the stack that was no longer straight. Sorry for not having the words to explain and not having the nerve to find them. He turned his face into Sander's torso, taking that comfort in and letting the trembling lessen slowly.

"A lot of things," he finally whispered, eyes on the bands of blue around Sander's wrist.

“Don’t have to be.” -Sander nudged at Christmas, hand pressing slightly against the blond boy’s upper arm. He still had no idea what Christmas was referring to, but he figured it wouldn’t matter. Not to him, at least –“I don’t mind.” 

Christmas believed it, even if he was sure Sander didn't quite understand. Sander didn't need to. New pains loomed on the horizon, a promise of "next time" as real as his belief in Sander. But the medication would fix that. So it was okay. 

There was no medication, however, for the heat on his shoulders and neck that came with every one of Sander's tactile gestures. Christmas lifted the stack of jeans again, looking at the closet space closest to Sander's bed. He stayed where he was, though, under that gentle arm.

He was cheating, he knew this. Because Sander wouldn't understand. It was because Sander wouldn't understand that he had the nerve. And before "next time" came and crashed down around him once more (and again and again until his words had all been taken away), he wanted to say something selfish while the stormy emotions hadn't yet settled--while he could still steal some of that brazen strength that had stirred ever so slightly. This time--unlike his thoughts about Kusari, unlike his realization of Ernie--he wasn't surprised.

"Sander," he mumbled into the gray shirt, closing his eyes briefly and remembering the indiscernible figure in his dream of fields and swings. The ribbon on that vaporous wrist that he hadn't realized was his.

Enough "next time"s and Christmas wasn't sure his "okay" lies would keep working. Wasn't sure he'd be able to find this place again. So he would swindle Sander a bit here. And he would've been lying if he apologized for this. Sander wouldn't mind, right? He believed it.

"Yeah?"

"I like you." Wednesday's words, and he had no doubt Sander would just recognize them with Wednesday's perception. And that was okay.

A huff of laughter escaped Sander’s lips, rustling a few strands of Christmas’ hair –“I like you too.” -He nudged at his roommate’s arm again, while his other hand reached up to tap at Christmas’ fingers on the stack of jeans –“Rest now? Please. I can take that.”

A small nod, and Christmas handed the clothes over without protest. He didn't feel that greedy disappointment, though. It was enough to say those words skewed. Slanted, and it meant too little for the gratitude and the something else trailing behind it, but he just needed this much. Sander's laugh echoed in his ears and he let it.

Sander accepted the jeans easily and left to sort them into his wardrobe, leaving the blond boy to crawl into the bed on his own. He watched though, until Christmas finished collecting the blanket and pillow at the foot of his bed and settled down on the mattress. As the healer’s form finally grew lax, Sander went back to his desk and turned on his laptop, fingers scratching idly at the fabric of his shirt, where a curious heat grew.

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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by RedDusk

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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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RedDusk

Likes cheese and slacking

761 posts

in 3943 days

Seen 3 yrs ago

Bio

『𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕤』 『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』

with special guest appearance by Lizzy!

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤   / /  ~𝟙𝟛𝟘𝟘
Collab with @Chasers115 @Snagglepuss89 @RedDusk @January and @banjoanjo

It was a fairly chilly Saturday afternoon as Marcus strolled across campus. He'd been strolling around the grounds significantly more this week - partly due to the added freetime he had, and partly due to the hectic week he'd already had. Between the date with Emma and the heart attack that Callan had given him, the therapeutic walk through the school was a welcome diversion. He'd considered bringing his lunch out to eat it in the privacy of a wide-open field, but decided against it. Right now, he had a belly full of food and a hand full of drink, and he was pretty content with life.

He'd explored the campus pretty well in the last couple days - right now he was hanging out around the security outpost and the cafe, watching the canopy of trees above him shift and sway in the wind. He'd already been up on the north side, having scouted out the big water tower in that area. Plus, the exploration had given him a chance to stop by the registrar's office and drop off another requisition sheet; a couple of necessities that the first outing had taught hm would be useful.

- A pistol, ammo, and a holster.
- A knife crowbar and some sort of strap for it.
- A smile!

In the week since he first got dragged to this place, a bunch of monsters got dangerously close to the school. The way he figured it; knowing all the best locations around the place offered him a bonus if the beasts ever actually made it. Hell, if he managed to map out the vents, his USARLIN survival map would basically be complete.

He shivered slightly as the cool wind blew across his face. He was never a fan of the cold, preferring the hot months of the summer. He wrapped his hoodie around himself a little tighter, zipping the front up the whole way. He still hadn't reaplced the tattered thing, despite the ruined sleeve that marred it. He kind of liked it though - it was a story, like some metaphor or something. The torn boy with the torn jacket - he scoffed a little bit at the joke, sipping his drink in contemplation.

He stopped his walk and brought the drink down from his lips as something strolled across his current path. It was a shape the Marcus immediately recognized, but not for any good reason. A dog, probably a stray, sniffing along the trail ahead of him. As if he didn't have enough trouble with Siena's little mutt, he had to worry about strays around the campus too. He quelled the inkling of fear that snatched at his chest with the knowledge that it hadn't noticed him, and that he was just going to turn around and go the other way, angrily muttering the whole way.

His heart skipped a beat as the dog turned to him, ears perked up. A Shepherd by the look of it - decently sized, but much thinner than he would have expected. His breath had started to quicken as he backed away, both hands up as if to surrender to the mutt. The nervous swell of heat and familiar numbness of fear started to bloom as the dog crouched low and growled - a hunting position.

The eyes.

By the time the dog barked and started running towards him, Marcus had abandoned all attempts to remain calm and started to flee. He turned around and started running, hoping silently that the dog would just get disinterested and wander off, and he'd just take the long path back home.

Experts recommend that, when faced with a wild dog, you do not run - running triggers their instinct to chase and attack things. Unfortunately for Marcus, he'd never talked to a dog expert; though this tidbit of information would certainly explain the hot pursuit of the dog, and the quickly shrinking gap between them.

He needed to escape. He had to get out of there before anything could go wrong. Before anything like last time could happen again. The familiar sound of static filled his ears as he focused on his destination. He was going to get the hell out and dash forward, and then crawl into bed and curse the world. There was something different about this jump though; the static seemed warbled, drawn out much longer than usual, and he wasn't jumping. The weight of the cuff around his ankle reminded him of his restrictions - the inevitable delay that followed his attempts to use his power.

Finally, the familiar vertigo struck him. The ground shifted on him, but the delay had thrown him off a bit. When the sensation passed and the ground returned to him, he faltered and hit the asphalt. The boy barely had enough time to turn over and fearfully scoot backwards before the dog was on him. A quick, panicked boot to the head elicited a yelp from the animal, and Marcus scrabbled back even further. With a pained shake, the dog regained its composure and was on him again.

This time, when Marcus attempted to kick, his attack was not as successful. The dog found its mark; a powerful bite easily piercing the thin denim of his pants, and found root in the skin and muscle of his lower leg, just above the ankle. Marcus cried out in pain, trying to deliver a few more kicks to the dog's head, everyblow he made forcing the dog's teeth to tear his leg further.

The teeth.

Even as he struggled to free himself, pain and blinding fear clouding his mind, Marcus was acutely aware of something. Normally after he jumped - there was some sensation of emptiness; like something he always had on him was very briefly missing. Now, however, he didn't feel the same sensation. He had jumped, but he still felt as if it was there, ready to be used.

Another kick to the head, and the dog released hold. Marcus spent no time in examining his ruined calf, instead drawing upon the power that he felt remained. Static again, a slight delay as the dog moved in to attack again, and the sense of vertigo. He somehow managed to jump again - trying in vain to leap to his feet before his leg collapsed underneath him. When the jump ended, he had only managed to pitifully crawl a few feet, a few drops of crimson marring the asphalt between himself and the beast.

The sensation of emptiness had returned, indicating that he was out of options. Marcus slowly scrabbled backwards, his pantleg slowly turning red, his face streaming down tears of both pain and fear, and him only feebly managing to let out a quick shout. 

Meanwhile...

Home was a wonderful place for any creature who had become accustomed to it. There were dangers of course, like any other place in nature. Although the Upright were annoyingly fickle in how they treated Wanderers like Lizzy. Some were liable to pet you, others strike you, unlike in the wild where if you encountered a species they were likely to act like any of their kind. It was part of the reason so many creatures feared them- unpredictability was not something commonplace in nature.

Still, while Home was overflowing with Uprights, it was not an altogether bad place to live. There was security from the Awakened, who hunted all indiscriminately and for now had replaced the Upright's position on the food chain. And for those Wanderers who chose to let themselves become Bound, they often led a content existence. Some might even say a better existence, although many like Lizzy were unconvinced. There was an appeal to freedom that not even companionship and an easy life could replace. Besides, for those Wanderers who had their wits about them, the most important commodity was ever available to be supplied by the fickle Uprights: Food. 

It was for this commodity that Lizzy now- as ever- hunted. There was no food to be had at her den, not so long as her partner was where she couldn't follow. It had never made sense to Lizzy what the uprights would or would not allow, but at least she wasn't confined to her den without a meal like many of the Bound would be. Still, she couldn't argue the advantages of her situation, gaining some of the benefits that the Bound experience with her partner. She certainly weighed more than when Home was her den. For those Wanderers who thought they owned Home and all of its food, such an increase in size was a nice deterrent.  Not that mere Wanderers could strike fear into Lizzy after staring down the Awakened with her partner. Perhaps some of his own apparent fearlessness had rubbed off on her- but that was too close to making her Bound to consider.

It was almost when she had returned to the den from her daily hunt when the hairs on Lizzy's back began to stand up- A feeling she had no intention to ignore. Briefly her tongue wet her nose to better catch the smells around her, and she lifted her muzzle to the sky and sniffed. Her brain quickly sorted through the assault of hundreds of scents before signalling out two: One was Sharpjaw, a Wanderer she had not met in some time. The other was one she had caught on one of the Uprights in her den before, but was otherwise unfamiliar with it. Knowing Sharpjaw's temperament it wasn't hard to puzzle out the reason her hair was standing up and in a rush she took off in the direction of the smells. 

The two came into sight just as the Upright defied nature, and smell of blood added itself to the air. Not hesitating, and with Sharpjaw's attention fully fixed on his prey, Lizzy threw herself onto the other Wanderer. The two had fought before, and she was fully intent on avoiding his namesake. Using the weight she had gained over the past few months to her advantage, Lizzy kept her jaws tight around his neck, forcing his face into the ground while he attempted to turn around and scratch at her stomach. Perhaps with a Wanderer she was less familiar with Lizzy would aim to kill- but for now she simply held him fast and waited. If she knew one thing about Sharpjaw it was that he was quick to fight, and quick to run. A coward at his core.

And she was soon proven right. Unable to gain an advantage, and aware of who he was fighting and that his life wasn't in danger, the other Wanderer eventually settled, and whined in submission. It was only then that Lizzy finally let go and back off, placing herself between the Upright and Sharpjaw, flashing her teeth in warning. They stared at each other for some moments, then her adversary lowered his head and scampered off towards Home to scavenge for an easier meal that night.

Satisfied, Lizzy then turned to the Upright that had filled the air with the smell of his blood and approached, tail beginning to wag at the prospect of earning some food from him for his rescue. She deserved at least that after all, not to mention a scratch behind the ears in thanks. With this in mind, Lizzy sat in front of him and waited, head cocked to the side in anticipation.

Lunch had been quiet--calm, even, despite the turmoil of the week and bruises that Sander hadn't been privy to. Christmas had taken the painkillers that morning and once again before lunch so the blond boy was at least functional, even if he still seemed slightly uncomfortable with movement.

But it was Christmas who had been the one to take a walk after lunch, lost in thought. Sander had simply followed, and this time Christmas hadn't protested. Simply nodded and fell into step beside his taller roommate. They had wandered in companionable silence for some time, following the sidewalk and heading in one general, but aimless direction, content with company and uncertain paths.

Sander’s steps halted when a familiar scent crept up on his sense. It was subtle at first, normal, then suddenly intensified. Not dangerously so, but it was still worrisome. In the distance, he thought he heard shouting. 

“I think--uh…hang on.” -He turned to Christmas, the words halfway out of his mouth when he cut them off, jerking his head toward the now-closer shout. That didn’t sound good. And it was someone he was vaguely familiar with. Scattered memories from the flag football game came back to him, and he remembered the head of chestnut hair, brown eyes that looked at him from behind wounds old and new. From the scent alone, he could tell that the scarred boy was bleeding. 

“I’ll be back.” -Sander offered his roommate a quick assurance, receiving a wide-eyed nod in response before turning and heading off the path they were taking. A few quick strides into the direction of the scent, and the blood mage found Marcus. Who definitely looked like he could use some help.

But Sander wasn’t sure he should be the one to give it. His mind blanked, initially; desires and confusion with its whats and whys colliding in the space of his head, before Sander snapped himself out of the daze. He backed up a few steps, the movement hasty but deliberate. Because he was still afraid of what his instincts would do. However, before he could do much, one of the two furry assailants ran off, while the other one assumed an idle position.

Marcus scrabbled backwards, taking the sudden distraction as an opportunity to try and pick himself off the ground. With his panic and his injury however, all he could manage to do was feebly inch his way backwards away from the fight that was taking place in front of him. The scenario didn't appear to be any better for him - there were now two dogs in his path, and he'd undoubtedly be left injured and alone with the stronger of the two. His leg had started to throb, and he was vaguely aware of the uncomfortable warmth that was running down over his ankle.

When all was send and done - the black and white dog having scared off the Shepherd - Marcus stopped his escape. It sat in front of him, head turned slightly and tail wagging, waiting for something. He looked the animal in the eyes, trying to gauge the intent of the creature from gaze alone.

Nothing. It wasn't angry. It wasn't hungry. It just wanted to kill.

This one was different. Even the Shepherd had been different. There had been motive at least; hunger or territorial instincts. They were both things he could recognize - and this one seemed to be looking back at him expectantly. His pockets were empty, and his drink had been thrown in his initial panic - all he could do now was hold his hand up in a 'stay' position and continue to scoot away.

"G-good dog." Macus said in a shaky voice. His breaths were heavy, and his eyes still welled a few droplets down his cheeks as the blood pounded in his ears.

Sander moved closer, motivated by his desire to help, but his steps were hesitant as he didn’t know how. So he just hovered a few steps behind the dog, gaze flitting between Marcus and the creature’s turned back. This one wore a collar though, which meant it…wasn’t a stray?

Slowly the tail stopped wagging as the Upright continued to move backwards, away from Lizzy. The fear was evident, although she had done nothing to harm him. They were, however, always unpredictable in how they acted. Still, surely he had something to offer her.

Licking her nose once more, she took another sniff of the air with closed eyes, hunting for anything that smelled like their delicious food. She had, of course, caught notice of the drink, although their beverages were wholly unappealing to her. Other than that though the only scent she could make out was that of the Upright himself- and his blood. With a snort of derision to voice her displeasure, Lizzy closed her eyes and stuck her nose in the air, turning away from the food-lacking Upright and trotting off towards her den once more. Leaving him in his pathetic state.

With the dog trotting off, Marcus allowed himself a deep breath. He was safe - he had figured himself to at least be about to get mauled. Some part of him sincerely hoped the cuff would pick something up before one of the newest 'weapons' they had could get killed by a stray animal. He wiped his hands over his eyes, taking a few moments to regain his composure. Plan of attack; he needed a plan here. If he couldn't walk, then it was going to be a long hopping session over to the infirmary. 

A figure to the side caught his eye. Sander- not exactly his first choice for assistance at this current moment, but beggers really couldn't be choosers. Especially not when they were bleeding profusely from the ankle.

"Sander. Come give me a hand over here..." he said, extending his arm to the aberration.

Sander stood his ground, despite the request. He didn’t dare to move at that moment, not when warm blood was pooling just a short distance away and the scent had definitely got worse –“Uh…H-Hang on. Maybe you should wait for…” -The frantic beats of his heart thudded loudly in his ears, and Sander swallowed drily –“…help.” -He craned his neck around to look for someone, eyes on anywhere but the bleeding Marcus. 

Christmas had watched from a safe distance as Sander approached someone on the ground several meters away. The person was definitely familiar, but he couldn't place a name to the face despite seeing that scarred visage in class before and on the monitors from Monday. More importantly, an angry dog was charging at the downed, injured student. He had taken a half-step backwards when yet another, larger dog barreled into the former, the two canines tussling on the grass before the emaciated one seemed to surrender and turned tail, dashing off towards the arboretum.

He had never seen strays fighting that close before, or at least, one stray. The other dog had a collar. And he didn't want to think the violence (that didn't threaten him) was as fascinating as it was terrifying, especially since the small rush of adrenaline he felt from the scene's proximity still hammered in his ears and jittered his pulse.

A reflexive breath slowly in and out like he could calm his nerves that way, and his eyes trailed after the second dog as it peered curiously at the the student on the ground before trotting away. Distant footsteps heralded a guard approaching close enough to assess the situation, but when nothing seemed to warrant an emergency on school grounds, the soldier responded to someone on his phone, looked up again at the three boys, and caught Christmas's wide eyes with a quick nod and point towards the injured student. The man paused again to make sure everything remained all right, then left as briskly as he had come.

Christmas pulled on the sleeve of jacket as he waited for his body to stop trembling enough that he could manage to heal without slicing himself more than necessary. Fredric's folded knife was in his right pocket, weight like an anchor while he stared at the student bleeding from the ankle. He thought he'd maybe heard a name or something in class without paying attention (Mark?), but finding out could come later. Or not at all, he decided as he walked slowly towards the scene. He didn't really mind not knowing the name of a fellow classmate, and that was callous--

"S-sorry," he finally mumbled to Mark (?) as he reached the two of them, keeping himself partially behind Sander.

Marcus sighed loudly, arm still extended, glaring at Sander. He really wasn't in the mood for this. Not now. Not as he was crumpled over and bleeding on the ground. He said nothing, glaring at Sander with still-glassy eyes, but fueled with more anger than pain. Of course the kid wouldn't help him - why would he have put any faith at all in 'Took His Clothes' Sander?

His eyes shifted to the second person standing there; a small kid that he definitely recognized, but had no recollection of his name. The kid mumbled something, but Marcus couldn't quite figure out what it was from his position on the ground. That really wasn't the thing he was concerned about at this moment, though.

"Hey, can you come give me a hand over here?" he said, extending his arm to the new guy.

"U-um..." Christmas glanced at the injured leg, then the prominent scarring on the student's face before looking back at the hand. He bit his lower lip and didn't move at first, but after several seconds had passed the healer stepped out slowly from behind Sander and grabbed the extended arm with both of his, pulling upward. "Sor-sorry," he mumbled again for mistakes left unsaid.

"You're fine," Marcus said, using the leverage to hoist himself up. "Unless you can control dogs or something, in which case, I'll be a little upset." he spoke through slightly clenched teeth as he hopped to his full height, with his injured leg awkwardly held just above the ground. He tried to put some weight on it, just to see how bad it actually was, but that was a fruitless endeavor. Thank god the denim was there, because he wasn't sure how much of his newly-acquired wound he wanted to see.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to help an injured, down-on-his-luck, boy over to the infirmary?" He said, leaning slightly on the student. His eyes glossed over him - the kid was a white streak like himself, but that really didn't mean much to him. Slight bruising, but that was to be expected at this school, with the amount of things they had to go through.

As the blond boy moved to help Marcus, Sander only crossed his arms and watched, guilt in his features. This was something he couldn’t help with. Probably could never help with. Better for everyone if he just stayed out of the way, so he did, breaths slow and shallow, even with his ability switched off. And he kept the damn power surpressed, leaning on it with the force of his resolve and frustration combined. 

"I--um--h-healer," Christmas tried explaining, letting go and fumbling in his pocket to grab the knife. He still considered it Fredric's knife, but with every use it seemed to become more and more his. What he made of that, he still wasn't too sure. The light cuts on his left hand had since healed, and the bandage was no longer there, but he could still find the red lines to cut across again, like a template for appropriate self-harm. It was one thing he had always been good at as a child: cutting on the lines. Coloring and gluing was a mess, but the little cars and animals he snipped out of sheets with dotted lines were always perfect. He remembered being proud of that. He couldn't remember when he had stopped feeling proud.

As soon as Christmas stammered out that he was a healer, everything clicked. That's where he recognized him from! This was the kid who stabbed himself in the arm right after he had walked into the observation room! The kid with the magical healing blood that he'd seen Lily drinking from like a water fountain. That kind of healing seemed like it took its toll on the kid though - having to slice yourself open anytime someone needed a quick pick-me-up?

Still, the benefits of an instant heal...who knew how long he would have normally been recovering from something like this. He debated over it in his mind; the poor kid had probably been through a lot already, he didn't imagine that a tool like 'instant healing' was wasted under Zhang's roof. The cost was too much, he finally decided on.

"I'll be fine..." Marcus said, a forced grin and a slight shrug following his words. "Little bit of Neosporin and a bandage...I'll be right as rain!" He teetered slowly as he said this, trying to keep his balance on one leg.

“You’re sure?” -Sander chose that moment to speak up, his nose scrunched up slightly as if there was something unpleasant in the air –“I’m not—well, you’re bleeding a lot.” 

Marcus looked down at this pantleg again, frowning slightly. Sander was right...he was bleeding a fair amount. The white-hot throbbing of his ankle was another point in the 'instant healing' column.

"I mean...they can probably..." he said slowly. His argument had effectively been neutered when Sander spoke up. Still, he didn't want to outright ask Christmas to slice himself open for someone else's wellbeing. It seemed selfish, in a way...but maybe he was projecting.

"Oh...o-okay," Christmas nodded, eyeing again the bleeding ankle but not protesting the student's insistence. He left his hand in his pocket and looked to Sander in case his roommate had anything more to say.

Sander frowned at the thought of Christmas getting hurt again. So soon, when his previous wounds had barely scabbed over. But he didn’t interfere, only taking one step backward and glancing off into the distance. He wanted to help. He really did. If the scent were weaker…

“Christmas…Can you…uh…just a little?” -Sander turned to the blond boy then, tapping the back of his left hand with fingers from his right one, indicating the spot. It wasn't fair; he could just keep the scent surpressed for as long as he could, but it had the tendency to get away from him. He was still too afraid, even when it was such a small thing. 

Blue eyes looked up at Sander, then flicked to the hands showing where to cut. The gaze eventually fell to the grass, settling into vague confusion, like the boy couldn't decide if he enjoyed (was proud of) the need for his power or if he still couldn't bear the weight of even small things.

"C-can, but--um..." Christmas looked back at Marcus. At least he had decided he wouldn't be making the choice for anyone else.

Marcus avoided the healer's eyes for a moment, almost as if he was ashamed of the injury he'd taken. He still didn't want to outright ask, but it would certainly make his life a lot easier. He paused, trying to find the nicest way to ask. "Yeah...I guess it would be better..." he said, having to force the words out of his mouth.

Christmas stared at the grass like it was a puzzle again, but he withdrew the knife from his pocket and carefully unfolded the blade. It still wasn't much easier than Monday, to decide he was going to cut himself, but he took a shuddering breath and pressed the knife edge against the thin remnant of injury on the back of his left wrist, slitting it open with a sharp exhale and set jaw. The pain was dulled from the small, white tablets he had taken earlier, but a bit of the sting still sliced through the easy haze of oxycodone. 

As usual, he never had the nerve to make any deep cuts and the situation luckily didn't call for it, so the spun-glass mist shimmered from the wound, pulling out blood at a glacial pace to spread through the air. With the injured student in front of him, the power didn't need much more than several slow seconds to wrap around the small group, still trying to spread further as the skin on Marcus's ankle sewed itself together slowly and the blood lost was restored at much the same rate.

Roughly a minute and a half later (and with the mist spreading a bit further than the necessary distance), there was no trace of the injury left aside from the short streaks of blood flecking the grass and staining the student's torn hem. 

Sander’s body was tensed, even after the mist had faded away, taking with it the heady scent of coffee that he could never get enough of. That cut was on him, even when it wasn’t, because he still couldn’t stand a little spilled blood, despite everything the ocean threw at him all those years. Ridiculous. Without a word, Sander walked over to Christmas, reaching for the left sleeve of the blond boy’s shirt and began rolling it up, movements brisk and light. Christmas looked up briefly, but returned his gaze to the ground without saying anything, having grown a bit more used to Sander's method of concern over the past week, especially after Thursday. He fumbled with the knife in his right hand, instead, managing to click the blade back into the folded configuration after a bit of one-handed struggling while pressing the blunt side against his thigh. The small weight of decisions that were slowly but surely becoming easier to make settled back into his pocket soon afterwards.

Once the sleeve was folded up to the blond boy’s elbow, Sander took the hem of his shirt and dabbed at the wound gingerly, frowning as small spots of red stained the gray fabric. He could take this, at least. Just have to focus. Keep the scent off his mind.

“…careful with the…stains.” -Sander said, voice breathy and eyes glued to Christmas’ golden locks instead –“Sorry.” -He mumbled after a short pause, eyes flitting briefly to Marcus, the apologize was partly for the scarred boy as well. 

Marcus stood stock-still as the glassy mist wrapped around him, a slight metallic scent in the air. The throbbing in his leg had stopped, and he gingerly rested his foot on the ground, leaning on in slightly to ensure it had healed completely. Once again, he was impressed with the boy's ability, but he still felt terrible for asking him to literally cut himself. He didn't like putting people at harm for him - no matter how small. Sander's concern seemed...odd, but it certainly wasn't something he was going to mention.

"Thanks..." he said, shooting an apologetic look at Christmas, before standing up straight and sticking his hand out. "I don't think I ever got your name. I'm Marcus, but 'Over There', 'Hey Stop', and 'Chew Toy' work too!" he added, humor slowly returning to his words.

"Um. C-Christmas," the healer replied, staring at Marcus's hand a moment before reaching out tentatively with his own. It was a handshake like any other, but he had paused at the memory of an alleyway and a dumpster in the face of a new hand. The moment passed and he looked at the large scars across Marcus's face. "You're--you're okay?"

"Like new!" Marcus said, rotating his ankle. His gaze passed over the kid's face again - the slight bruising that stood out against the flat skin tone. "I could ask you the same thing; looks like you've had a rough time yourself!" he said, looking over to Sander. He'd seen some of the things the guy could do...especially when he was 'berserking'. If this kid hung out with him very often, then bruises wouldn't surprise him.

Sander only returned the scarred boy’s gaze, not sure what to make of the look.

"Huh?" Christmas turned to look at Sander, too, because Marcus had, for some reason. Was he asking Sander?

"The..." Marcus said, circling his finger at his own face, trying to point out the discoloration in the most tactful way he could. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was probably a bad thing to bring up. He didn't try to bring up poor choices in conversation, it just seemed to happen to him a lot. Came with being the loudmouth, he supposed.

It took the healer a second to remember that the bruising on his face was still prominent (something a morning glance in a mirror had definitely confirmed), despite two days of recovery. He had forgotten about that between violent dogs, a bleeding ankle, magical healing, and the medicated bliss of opiates. The realization that Marcus was asking about the injuries tapped on that familiar reflex.

"I-I'm okay."

Looming over Christmas’ shoulder, Sander frowned, clearly disagreeing with that statement. 

Between Christmas's rushed insistence that he was fine, and Sander's looming, Marcus had enough information to make his own judgement. The healing blood was something that hadn't even crossed his mind until he thought about it - something that was probably irresistible to what basically amounted to a vampire.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the pair. He wasn't normally the one to push the issue, but he hated bullies. Right now, he was torn between both of those prospects. He maintained the upbeat attitude though, but combined with a healthy amount of skepticism.

"You sure? Looks kinda rough, and this is coming from the guy that just got attacked by a dog!"

Christmas just nodded. "I'm--I'm okay."

“We…should probably go back to get you a bandage?” -Sander suggested, putting a hand on Christmas’ shoulder as he did. Christmas seemed to freeze briefly at the gesture, shoulders tensing in response, but the sudden agitation passed soon enough and the blond boy took a small breath in the aftermath. Sander's gaze remained on the scarred boy though, eyes flickered toward the bloodied pantleg before dashing right back up  –“Marcus is fine now, right?”

"Oh yeah, I'm fine now." Marcus said, crossing his arms. "Thanks to Christmas, at least. Good thing he was here to help me with that raging beast." he said, emphasizing his words carefully. "It's a shame though; there might be other dangers on this campus, waiting to hurt people to satisfy their hunger." he said, making it a blatant point to catch Sander's eyes.

The conversation's turn was unusual--even for the situation--and Christmas just stared at Marcus, uncertain how to respond to the comment. Raging beast? (T-the dogs?) Other dangers on the campus? Did Marcus mean the other students--maybe Ernie or an Aberration? But it seemed strange to bring up general danger now all of a sudden. Was this some kind of hidden warning about the Director, maybe? The abruptly cryptic words so carefully enunciated brought to mind dramatic VN stories. Not that he was sure applying video game logic to reality was ever a wise choice, but the comment was just so strangely delivered he had little basis to fall back to other than that. 

The words hit close to home for Sander, because he knew hunger, and it showed. The hand on Christmas’ shoulder grew lax all of the sudden, and Sander let it fall uselessly to his side while a wide-eyed look passed through his features –“I-I didn’t hurt anyone here.” -The words came out too fast, and Sander could only swallow drily in their aftermath as if he could take them back. Because that wasn’t the truth, and he knew it –“…I didn’t mean it.” -He clarified, still holding Marcus’ gaze, but he could already feel the urge to break eye contact rising.   

"Mmmhmm" Marcus hummed angrily. He wanted to blow up, to shout at Sander until he either retreated or punched him. To defend the poor kid who tagged close behind. He wanted to show what happened to people when they picked on the little guys - but he didn't have that kind of power. He didn't have the strength that Callan had, and he didn't quite have the temper that Max had - unafraid to speak her mind in situations like this. Still, he wasn't going to idly stand by, especially after the kid had healed him twice now.

"Maybe you should control yourself then." he said flatly. "Try and keep from beating the hell out of our healers, alright? Do you remember that part from the flag-whatever? The big lesson we were supposed to learn there? 'Protect your healer'? That part?" he said, nodding towards Christmas.

"H-huh?" All attempts at trying to process the previous comment smashed into a mental wall as Marcus laid out the accusation. Christmas stared at his newest acquaintance now with a new version of confusion, reworked from previous bewilderment to include a sizable quantity of horror, too. "Wha--what?"

“I…didn’t beat any…healer?” -Sander furrowed his brow, turning to look at Christmas. The thought of him hurting the blond boy scared him far more than he could take, so he really didn’t want to think about it. He had been getting better. He would like to believe that. 

Now Marcus was starting to get angry. It was as if he'd done nothing wrong, again. He ignored Christmas's reaction, full steam into berating Sander.

"Look at him, Sander. Are you telling me that you aren't the one that did this?" he said, uncrossing his arms and gesturing dramatically at the healer. "I've seen what you do. Who you are. Do you really expect me to believe you when you say you had nothing to do with this?" he said, voice rising in anger.

Wait, wait, what? The misunderstanding finally clicked for Christmas and his mouth fell open at the severity of it. Marcus thought Sander had beaten him up. He blinked rapidly, eyes jumping across random spots in his field of vision as he tried to think of how that had come about. He hadn't said anything strange had he? Why did Marcus think Sander--no, it wasn't--Sander wasn't an alley and the cold. Wasn't the stench of garbage and reminders of worthlessness. Just--

"Not--no--w-wasn't Sander," he tried to say, the words coming out in short bursts of breaths as the small panic rose to his throat. It scared him--far more than it should have--that someone thought Sander had done it. His roommate was too removed from that moment, and it felt wrong to even consider Sander as a suspect. A part of him thought he could see where Marcus was coming from, but it was quickly drowned out in the growing clamor of his thoughts.

“…wasn’t me.” -Sander blurted out, echoing Christmas’ words. The blond boy’s distress suddenly became apparent again, and Sander forced his hand onto that spot on his roommate’s shoulder again to a surprised inhale and several fearful blinks, the touch as smoothing as he could make it –“I’d never…” -He began, but knew enough to cut himself off there and then. That felt oddly like a promise. One he didn’t know he could keep or not. Better to keep those words to himself. 

Marcus stepped back for a moment, as if the words had physically punched him. He was sure that Sander was one of the few people who'd lose control like that, but to hear Christmas say that he wasn't...All of the anger that was in his bones evaporated immediately, as his head whirled to disassemble the scenario he was so sure he'd put together.

"It...wasn't.." he stammered, a mixture of confusion and regret coursing through his brain. He'd gone and done it again - jammed his foot so far into his own mouth. A misunderstanding, his own perception of Sander, and huge mistake on his part. Life was so much easier back when he was the shy, quiet one.

"Then...who-?" Marcus said, regaining his bearings.

A flash of panic across Christmas's face and he took a fraction of a step closer into the curve of Sander's arm now that colder memories of warning touches on his shoulder had faded much more quickly than they used to. "N-not Sander," he said again, fear rounding out his eyes.

Marcus asked the question that Sander had been avoiding for days, and now that his thoughts had been brought back to the topic, Sander, too, wanted to know –“Christmas.” -He began, leaning down to look at the blond boy –“I…want to know. Can you tell me?” 

Panic in his ears and it was running along his heartbeat, but Christmas didn't want to lie to Sander. Still, he was trying not to involve his roommate in the half-baked deal he and Ernie had agreed on without explicitly stating the terms, because a bottle of pills could fix that, so it was okay. "Next time" clung to his thoughts like tendrils and Christmas didn't want it--not at all--but what could he do? It was all he was good for and a part of him begged on folded knees and clasped hands to disagree, but he couldn't bring himself to follow that. Not...not yet. Right?

"Have--have the p-pills," he replied, trying to insist on the stopgap measure like it was a permanent solution. There was a decision here, and he didn't want the full burden of choosing. Never did. This, especially, was all on him.

“Shouldn’t have to.” -Sander lowered his voice, taping a few fingers on the blond boy’s shoulder –“I can help. Please?”

Breathing was a conscious effort now because it scared him to acknowledge there was a problem. Scared him to let anyone know something was wrong because that, too, felt inherently wrong. It was a choice between Ernie's complex situation, the subsequent compensation--both sincere and insincere all at once--and Sander, the roommate who showered kindness without thinking and whose own problems came to light after Ernie's explanation on Friday.

But Sander was insisting, in that small, but firm way of his and Christmas suddenly wished the entire conversation hadn't happened, because he didn't want this for Sander. Didn't want to tell anyone that he was okay with being the punching bag because he thought asking for more was something reserved for those whose net worth wasn't lower than garbage.

So he clutched the bottom of his jacket for several silent seconds, looking between Marcus and Sander and trying not to let the din in his mind convince him to leave and hide in better, fictional thoughts.

"D-didn't--he didn't mean it," Christmas whispered, parroting the words from earlier and unsure if that was exactly how a Stigma worked but he at least understood the lack of choice in the matter. Ernie...Ernie couldn't help it, right? So it wasn't--it was okay.

"He?"

"D-didn't mean it. So it's--it's okay...?"

“No. It’s not okay…because it’s you.” -Sander sighed, but he was patient, still –“Can you tell me who it was?”

Again, the insistence and it almost hurt to try and convince himself to refuse it mentally. He couldn't keep this up, because every time he wouldn't answer properly, he knew Sander wasn't happy with it. And that mattered a lot more than he would admit.

But what kind of decision was this? He was afraid, and on a surface level had been justifying his reticence with a desire to keep Sander from dealing with the problems of a coward who had already solved it (right?) with 15 milligram white tablets and reluctant resignation.

He knew it went deeper than that. Hold worthlessness close to his heart and maybe he could find a suitable excuse to stop trying and give up. The thought sparked something like indignation, but without the force of will behind it, and Christmas's eyes drifted to the ribbon on Sander's wrist, pulling back bits of reason towards a small haven in the storm. Try, try, try, because he hadn't left home and hell behind to repeat it all here, even if pain couldn't get enough of him, one way or another.

A week ago--and it only struck him then in full force how much could change in just a few days--he would have chosen himself and all the twists and trappings that let him remain the same. Had already made that choice in the room of monitors, with Lily and help he was too afraid to receive.

Now, he wanted to think, despite how wrong it seemed to let help in, that there was more to him than garbage and rotting sandwiches. He had already decided to be more than just fear, but did he dare to keep totaling up the bits of himself that amounted to someone better?

"Can I?" he asked quietly.

"I'm here."

And Christmas wanted to be there, too.

He glanced at Marcus, but even the presence of a stranger didn't stymie that lurking sensation that pushed the name from his lips with a thought that felt like finally, finally, finally. He remembered being young and stamping his feet, wanting something he couldn't recall, the scrap of memory winging in on the same undercurrent of emotion. Some kind of turbulent satisfaction that was the disturbed depths stirring again, but as wrong as that felt, it was also vindicating in a way even panic couldn't dull.

The feeling culled his weaknesses and justifications down to the simplest answer.

"Ernie."

Marcus stood to the side, watching the entire scene unfold. Clearly there was more to this pair than he'd originally thought, and even Sander's gentle persuasion caused Marcus to rethink some things. Perhaps he'd just seen Sander at his worst, and had made some unfair judgements about him. Still, the revelation of the abuser left him in an uncomfortable situation; how exactly was he supposed to react? It was a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts; one that left him a little unsure of where to go now. He certainly wasn't going to press Christmas about the situation any more.

But the change in the antagonistic party meant that Marcus owed Sander an apology, at least. "Sorry, Sander...I guess I misunderstood." he said, rubbing his own temples. It was a short and curt apology, one that still contained some bitterness, but was genuine nonetheless.

Ernie, huh? It made sense; the attack on Allison seemed to take a new light with this information. Still, he hid it well - Marcus had thought of them as two sides of a coin when they first talked. Apparently, Marcus didn't know that coin as well as he'd thought.

Sander was silent as the words sank in, and frankly, he was horrified. And angry. Because he should’ve noticed. For all the cheery words and the small favours, Ernie shared his mark. The same thing. He should’ve known. Rage darkened his thoughts, and unknowingly, the touch on Christmas’ shoulder grew firm, earning him a quick look and a slight tremble from the boy. He noticed that soon enough, and with a quick breath, he relaxed his grip. 

“It’s alright.” -Sander forced a smile for Marcus, the gesture wasn’t very convincing with the traces of a frown still lingered on his brows –“Can’t blame you.”

“I just…” -He inhaled sharply, reigning in angry words and the urge to slam his fists into something warm and soft and undeniably human. Between the blinding rage and the bitter defeat in the face of his own ignorance, Sander fell back to the latter. Safer –“…I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

"Hey, can't be expected to know everything." Marcus said, trying to reassure Sander. "Not unless you're the second coming of Foresight or something!" he joked. There really wasn't much to be done here anymore - he highly doubted that Zhang would allow them to go on a manhunt for Ernie, and he still hadn't sorted out his feelings himself.

"You sure you're gonna be okay, Christmas?" Marcus said, trying to sound more tender than his conversation with Sander.

He still had the pills, so Christmas nodded. The brazen bit of emotion that had flared up for a moment was simmering down now and all the worries were shuffling back into place, especially since someone he hardly knew was getting wrapped up in it, too.

"Didn't mean it, I-I think," he offered the words again, thinking lack of choice was placating enough.

“Then maybe he should be more careful.” -Sander mumbled, rage hardened the line of his jaws –“Maybe he shouldn’t be near you.” -Hypocrisy, coming from him. But he was selfish and he was angry, and his restraint wasn’t as good as he thought.

"But I...t-the pills," Christmas responded, eyes fearfully regarding the tension in Sander's face and shoulders. "...It's...okay."

"Dude, I'm not exactly the best source here, but there have got to be better ways of getting your meds if you need them. Don't let yourself get reduced to a kickboxing dummy!" Marcus said, the energy returning to his voice. It was time for a pep talk, and fortunately, that was his area of expertise.

"And Sander, you're not going to do much good drooling on the floor because Zhang tazed you. Just remember the game; protect your healer, and don't give him away." Marcus said, turning to look at him. 

“Don’t have to take them. Don’t have to hurt, in the first place.” -Sander shook his head slightly, looking at the fading bruises on Christmas’ face –“I can…help. I want to.” -He offered, knowing full well this wasn’t another lunch or another shower. He knew what awaited: empty chambers and far-away scents, a nothingness clawed at his chest with every breath, and the knowledge that this was where he belonged hung heavy. 

But it would be worth it. Because despite everything, Christmas stayed. And there was precious little he wouldn’t do for that small mercy. 

“I’m not really good at protecting. You were there.” -Sander returned the eye contact, once again forcing a polite smile for the scarred boy.  

The solution Sander had offered in regards to Kusari that Tuesday evening suddenly sounded like the words behind his offer to "help" now with Ernie. Christmas caught his roommate's decorated wrist in both of his hands, clutching at the myriads of thoughts he was trying to put into words, because it was too much. Sander always offered too much, and Christmas was only just realizing that the generosity went both ways, on both extremes. 

His mouth opened and closed wordlessly several times, before stray thoughts about red eyes and recklessness sparked a small ember in the ashes of his more selfish wants.

"How...how would you help?" he asked slowly, because he needed to be sure.

“I can try to make sure that Ernie won’t be near you…would that be enough?” -Sander looked at the ribbon around his wrist –“Or you’d like me to…” -He pressed his lips into a thin line, the soft shade of blue reminding him of the promise to try. Indulging that part of himself would be losing. But if Christmas wanted. She had wanted that from him. But he had also decided that Christmas wasn’t the same. And he trusted the blond boy –“…make him go away?”  

"No." The denial was firm, and surprised Christmas with exactly how much he did not want that. That gave him a foothold to repeat the word he rarely used so seriously. "No."

Red eyes and recklessness and solutions that were too much. Too far.

"More than--" It felt presumptuous to say it. For him to say it. "You're more than that."

And that selfish arrogance where he thought he could say what he wanted. Don't you dare.

Marcus felt a little out of place in the situation. He'd become relatively certain he'd pieced together all the puzzles here. Which, if he was right, was way different than what he thought was going on at first. Nearly the opposite, as a matter of fact. Still, Sander was letting his emotions take control of him again, and Marcus cleared his throat.

"Don't mean to interrupt here, but how exactly would you even plan on doing that? We have classes together. We sit in the same room. And even if you managed to get close enough to 'make him go away', what's your plan from there?" Marcus said. He started counting off on his fingers, coming up with possible actions. "Get shot to death? Get electrocuted? Maybe have Prism come down and turn you into a puddle?"

"What makes you think Zhang has any tolerance for that?" Marcus said, crossing his arms again.

Christmas turned to Marcus, relief and gratitude on his face for the many things he couldn't say himself because he didn't have the presence of mind to put all those worries into clean, clear words. He managed a barely audible "Thank you," in response.

“Just solitary confinement, before. If I overstep. Then…” -Sander kept the faint smile when he spoke to Marcus, but from the way he worked his jaws while choosing the words, it was clear he wasn’t comfortable –“…reconditioning. Might be different here, but it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“What else can I do?” -The question was genuine, yet tentative. Sander looked between Christmas and Marcus, waiting.

I mind. Christmas's hands tightened on Sander's wrist and his breaths came in shallow.

He didn't want to pay Ernie back--or maybe he did, but it wasn't clear enough to act on. He didn't want Sander to make Ernie "go away" just as he didn't want Sander to do the same for Kusari. He didn't need anything like that. It was just--did he have the nerve to voice? Not just ask. Not just quietly half-word a request. 

Demand.

Did he dare?

"Sander. While I admire you're wanting to help, that's a terrible idea." Marcus said. He never thought he'd be on the side of inaction, but this was a different situation altogether. "I doubt there's any reconditioning going on here. Remember when we first arrived? Kusari slipped her cuff, a scared guard merely pointed his gun at us, and Zhang shot him without hesitation."

"What exactly makes you feel so sure that you'd be different? If you threaten whatever weird project they've got us in - you're going to end up as meat. Doesn't matter what, or who, you are. And I doubt Christmas here would fare any better if you were lying in the dirt." Marcus said, trying to get Sander to focus. 

He was ending up being the bad guy a lot today, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Some people, like Angel, just needed a quick chat and a few jokes. Some people like Sander needed a hard talking to. He was happy to provide both, normally. In this case, having just been angry for something that didn't happen, it felt weird to pull the angry-talk card again.

Again with the fears that had been too much for him to put into words and Christmas held onto Sander's wrist like it could stop his roommate from doing something they'd all regret. He wanted to thank Marcus again, but there was a buzzing heat rising to his ears and it was hard to focus on anything other than how careless Sander wanted to be. He didn't like it--any of it. Not Ernie beating him up, not a promise of "next time," not Sander's retaliation. None of it. And he especially didn't want to feel this rising panic and something else at the thought that Sander wasn't concerned about solitary confinement or whatever "reconditioning" meant.

“They won’t kill me. Probably. But I won’t let Ernie do…this again.” -Sander directed a distressed look at the blond boy –“I have to do something.”

"Oh. Good. Probably." Marcus said, literally facepalming. "Glad we sorted that one out, team. Probably won't die." He was done. Speechless. There was nothing more he could say to Sander. The logic was infallable. A perfect plan, by his calculations.

He shot a pained look at Christmas. Hopefully he was better at talking sense into Sander's thick skull, because Marcus was about ready to give up.

Christmas was still staring at the length of blue ribbon wrapped around Sander's wrist, mouth drawn in a thin line as he tried to hold on to different thoughts. It was Monday with Lily again, but something was different, because this wasn't about him and his selfish fears--not completely.

And Sander was probably not going to get killed. 

A trickle of a laugh wound its way into a cough and he glanced at Marcus briefly before looking back down at the ribbon, wanting just a little bit of that clarity where he could voice everything that scared him.

"Don't--I don't want--not that," he tried instead, hands shaking on Sander's wrist as his knuckles whitened. Please listen.

“Then what do you want? I have to do something.” -Sander frowned, desperation in his voice. It was simple, to him. He had asked Christmas to stay. Now it was his job to make sure the blond boy wanted to stay with him. It couldn’t happen without effort on his part. Without sacrifice. And he really didn’t mind that –“Tell me. I’ll do it. I promise.”

"Don't have--don't have to," the healer insisted. "Just--stay near. Th-that's enough." It was, it was. So please listen.

“But I stayed…It wasn’t enough. You still got hurt. Please, let me do something right. I want to.”

"It's enough." Doing something right. He knew that feeling, but it was wrong here.

The same and not the same as refusing Lily's help. He was trying to refuse the mistake Sander wanted to make--for Sander's sake? Maybe. But it was really for me. He didn't know where the audacity came from--maybe he stole some from Marcus because Marcus could say everything so easily, so clearly--but it was there, black as pitch and heated to boiling, offering him so many words on the tip of his tongue and it scared him so much.

Sander simply gave his roommate a puzzled look afterward, brows still furrowed and lips still slightly parted, as if he still had something to say. But the ‘enough’ had a sense of finality in it, one he had heard enough time to recognize. So Sander gave, shoulders slumping slightly as the tension bled out of them.

“…alright. If that’s what you want.”

Christmas heaved a shaking sigh of relief, the thundering of his own pulse in his ears still loud, but gradually fading into an aftermath of tremors and slowing breaths.

He felt he owed the courage to Marcus. And he knew it didn't make sense outside the space of his mind, but he was grateful all the same.

"Th-thank--thank you," he finally stammered out at the other student, because Marcus had stopped Sander from going away.

Marcus stood nearby, watching the relationship blossom. Normally, he felt like he would have been completely out of place and snuck away somewhere in the first conversation, but he felt like Sander's insistence wouldn't have happened if he wasn't there. In a roundabout way, he'd be at fault if Sander got killed, and he seemed important enough to the kid that just fixed his leg that he didn't want that to happen.

"Happy to help!" Marcus said, flashing a grin at Christmas. He honestly hadn't done much but unsuccessfully try to talk some sense into Sander, but he felt like he'd had some effect on the whole scene. Wishful thinking? Maybe; but everything had turned out okay, so there was nothing wrong with a little bit of self-back-patting.

Christmas would have returned the infectious grin, but he ended up pretending to scratch his nose instead, looking back to Sander after his expression settled back into a pensive neutral.

There was something he wanted to say, but it was hard to find the right words. Always had been, even on paper and high school essays he barely passed with C's and C minuses. He glanced again at Marcus, eyes tracking the raised, darkened skin cutting across the other boy's face, and the nick at the corner of his grinning mouth. Stronger than him by far. Marcus could spare some of that fortitude, couldn't he? Just enough of the words for Christmas to borrow.

"...S-shot to death. Electrocuted. Soli--solitary confinement. Recon--reconditioning," he repeated the words and the worries, eyes jumping from Marcus's face to Sander's. Clear words that weren't his, but a grin through the scars had cleared a bit of the flotsam away: the messes that covered up better words and thoughts that would fit his failing courage. Christmas took a few breaths, steeling himself to just a fraction of what Marcus had accomplished. He just needed that much to make the quiet, hypocritical demand to Sander.

"I wish--I wish you'd care about yourself."

Sander was silent in the aftermath of the sudden request, brows scrunched together as if he was having trouble understanding the words. He might as well have. Because for years, this was the first time he had heard such a request. His recklessness was justified; he wasn’t the same thing as many other mages. The magic changed him. Changed his body. He was like Kusari, in some ways, except for him, the monster stayed under his skin. He didn’t care so much about himself, simply because he didn’t have to. It was redundant, when he could pretty much heal up from anything. One of the small mercies (or?) he was granted.

But Christmas had asked. Such a strange thing to ask, but he’d do it. Was it the same thing he asked the blond boy, just a few days ago? Was this what he must give in exchange? Equivalence? When he distilled the sentences down to just words like that, it was easier to understand. And he didn’t have to think too much about what was behind the request. Taking care of himself. Sure. He could do that.

“Alright. If that’s what you want.” -Sander nodded again, same words with the same meanings. He didn’t have too many of them, anyway –“You’d do the same, right?”

"...I'd...w-want to, yeah."

“You believe me right? I’ll do it. I promise.” -Sander smiled, pushing his blue-wrapped wrist into the warmth of Christmas’ hands –“Promise me too?”

Somehow, that was harder to promise than making a demand Christmas couldn't manage for himself.

He stared at the wrist now clasped between his hands, wondering if he had the nerve after all he had used up on borrowed strength and stolen words. But he wanted to. He did.

"Pr--promise." And "next time" promised, too, but it didn't crush him this time. If he was lucky (or brave), it wouldn't have to hold his fears hostage either.

"Alright you two, this is all sweet and stuff, but there's still a problem here. A 'recently-transferred-table-leg-wielding' problem to be specific." Marcus said. Sure, they were making promises and feelings and yadda yadda, puke. Things that wouldn't exactly help the next time that Ernie needed a training dummy or something.

"Christmas; if you want Sander to not splatter people, then you need to meet him halfway and make sure you don't voluntarily put yourself in a position where Sander needs to splatter people. This...thing of yours needs to be able to hold up on both sides." he added, guesturing between the two as he spoke.

Marcus was right, but Christmas didn't have a single solution to it. If Ernie didn't beat him up, someone else would take it, right? He'd like to think he didn't care enough, but he also didn't want to be the indirect reason someone else passed out in a dumpster bin.

But what came out of his mouth was an instinctive reaction instead.

"Th-thing?"

Whoops. Was it not a thing? Was he making terrible judgements again? He made a mental note to think for a few seconds before he opened his mouth from now on - a note that would certainly be discarded mere moments after creation.

"This...uh...little trust pact of yours." Marcus said, quickly scrambling to cover his bases.

He hadn't (dared) put a name to it, and that was as good a label as anything else, so Christmas just blinked at Marcus for a moment, deciding he wouldn't question what his friendly classmate thought. "Trust pact." It was a part of it, definitely.

"U-um...y-yeah. ...Thank--thank you?"

Sander mulled over Marcus’ words, though to be honest, the scarred boy didn’t suggest much of a solution. Was there even a solution for this? He wouldn’t know. Didn’t know anything beyond what he had offered. That wasn’t very…appropriate for someone who would like to believe he wasn’t the same thing, but old habits died hard, and he knew his were still alive and well, despite everything he had promised.

But he was trying. Fumbling through to it all, but he was trying.

“Maybe…I can ask Ernie? I will just ask him to stay away. Is that alright?”

"I mean. You can try, but I don't exactly see you as the diplomatic kind of person, here." Marcus said, smirking a little bit. Let the rampaging nude-beast try talking for a change - that'd probably be a huge success. "What if, and stay with me here because this is a complex plan, Christmas just avoided him?" Marcus said. His voice was probably more full of contempt that usual, but he was still trying to imagine Sander calmly talking to Ernie.

"I mean, as long as you just stay away from him, he can't beat on you. Simple as that!"

"But didn't you say we have class together and everything?"

"He's not exactly gonna punch Christmas in the middle of class, now is he? I mean outside of classes, man." Marcus said, shaking his head softly.

“That’s it?” -Sander raised an eyebrow, still skeptical about this…method –“But…Ernie can still find…you.” -He turned to the blond boy then, hesitant. Ernie had seemed reasonable on that night at the bar. Maybe it was the Stigma? –“I can ask him to…not find you? I’ll just ask him…uh…nicely?”

"Uh..." Christmas mimicked the sound, at a loss for words. He certainly didn't have a better solution, and maybe if they tried both things? "M-maybe?"

He looked over to Marcus, guilt pooling at the bottom of his stomach for having involved not only Sander, but another classmate. And Marcus was helping...or trying to help. It was still a lot more than he had expected when the other student could have simply left them alone. Not bothered asking about the bruises. Not bothered caring.

"Sorry," he mumbled in Marcus's general direction, eyes on the bloody pant leg. "For...for the trouble."

"Listen kid," Marcus said, voice straight but still warm. "A couple minutes ago I was trying to figure out how long it would take to literally hop over to the infirmary. If I can help you with your bully problem, then I'd consider that a fair trade!. He sighed for a second, thinking.

"I'd play it like this: Avoid Ernie and don't cash it on whatever your pill deal is, if he tries to hunt you down, then you have Sander ask nicely. You don't want to start with direct confrontation, in case he retaliates." Marcus said. Bullies were a force he was familiar with, but pretty much every teenager was in some form or another - the difference was in dealing with them.

"Th-thank you," Christmas replied, not confident in the plan, but grateful. That was about as effective a strategy as they could get, he figured. He looked back at Sander, pulling on the taller boy's wrist between his hands. "It's--it's okay, right?"

“Yeah.” -Sander seemed satisfied enough with whatever plan they had come up with. Because really, any plan was better than no plan, and even when he could offer violence so easily, he didn’t really want to resort to it at all. Not when there was an alternative –“I’ll find Ernie later.” -He casted his mind back to that night at the bar, remembering the sweet scent of cocoa liqueur and irish cream.   

"Alright, well that's settled. I guess." Marcus said, shooting an exasperated look at Sander. He thought for a moment, trying to think of other possible plans. One stood out to him, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the chestnut phone he'd been given.

"You've both got phones, right? Wanna give me your numbers, so you can at least have one extra person as backup if Ernie rears his ugly head?" Marcus said, navigating the menus.

Wordlessly, Sander retrieved the diamond-studded phone from his pocket and fumbled with it for a few moments, getting his number onto the display. Once that done, he offered it toward Marcus.

Christmas spared the strangely opulent phone another glance, still not quite used to the ritzy device. Tearing his eyes away from the brilliant jewels on the phone chassis, he pulled out his much simpler, black phone and offered Marcus the contact information as well, inadvertently staring at the scars again before immediately looking back down with a quiet "S-sorry."

Marcus gave Sander a double-take as he pulled out the girliest phone he'd ever seen, stifling a small laugh. He took the phone from Sander, looking over the number and copying it down, before adding his own number and handing it back. He repeated the process with Christmas, giving him a confused look when he apologized, but not saying anything.

"There we go! All connected!" he said, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Thank you.” -Sander smiled, slipping the phone back into his pocket –“I suppose…we’ll see you around?”

"Thank you," Christmas repeated, putting his own device away as well. He stared at Marcus's shoes for a second, before breathing in and continuing, finding it easier in the moment to speak after trying to follow Marcus's pace before. And he wanted to help in return, too, because a "thank you" wasn't enough for the help Marcus had offered, for the words he had provided.

"Can--you can call for, um, h-help, t-too. If--if you get, um, get hurt again."

Sander frowned at that offer, but he didn’t say anything. Christmas’ choice. He tried to subvert that choice once, in the security room. That didn’t turn out well. So he wouldn’t make that mistake again –“Alright. Let’s go.” -With a final nod to the scarred boy, Sander turned and walked off, Christmas following with a small wave back at Marcus.

And that left Marcus by himself. He shook his head, still trying to piece together the afternoon. "What a day..." he said to himself, sighing and looking at the overcast sky.

From behind the cafe pillar that served as his hiding place, Ernie sank to his feet. Ah, he was totally fucked, wasn't he?

All he'd wanted was a snack from the cafe. What he got instead was a front row seat to a Looney Tune-esque chase out in the field, courtesy of Marcus and a psycho dog. Then Christmas and Sander arrived. Then everything went wrong. Ernie had ducked behind the bushes and heard everything.

He had it coming. He should've seen it coming. God, what was he even going to do? Ernie couldn't blame the kid for ratting him out like this. He only had himself to blame. If he'd just shown some goddamn restraint and kept it all below the shoul-- FUCK.

Ernie bashed his chest with a fist. Even now, he didn't have the guts to face it. It was all Ernie's fault. So why did he keep finding reasons to say that it wasn't?

Because he was a coward. Because the consequences would be too much for him.

He shivered. Sander wanted to kill him. That psychopath spoke about it as if he were discussing dinner plans. He'd already planned to do it and he'd already come to terms with the punishments that would follow. Ernie wasn't ready for that. Despite all the shittiness he brought to the world, there was still some scrawny animal in him that held on to dear life. God, he wasn't ready to die yet.

Ernie rose to his feet slowly, unsteadily. He needed to leave. Find a place to hide. Find someone to help. The guards wouldn't do shit for him here. The Aberration gazed around for any signs of the Berserker, only to find that Marcus was still there. Fuck, that guy probably hated him now. But he was the only person who knew the situation. Ernie had no other choice.

He composed himself. Reined in the erratic breaths. Willed his hands to stop shaking. Then he strolled forward, as if he was merely stumbling across a friend in the park and not bartering with a guy he barely knew for his own life.

"Sounds like I'm in trouble, huh," Ernie said a bit too casually, walking up behind Marcus.

Marcus wasn't even fazed. Of course Ernie had heard all of that. He sighed to himself again, wondering if it was even worth the effort to turn around. Hopefully this conversation was about to go smoothly - he'd just had Christmas heal him, and he'd hate to call him so soon.

"Only if you play your cards wrong." Marcus said. He turned to look at Ernie, arms crossed and gaze very much unimpressed. "I'd say we came to a pretty peaceful plan just now. Maybe just stay away from Sander and Christmas for a little bit while they simmer down." he added, the tone of his voice making it very clear that this was more than just a suggestion.

"Right, cos the insane bastard who chomped on a supergirl and barrelled through a freaking wall is gonna 'simmer down'," Ernie retorted. Geez, why was he even talking to Marcus? Was he looking for help? Like Chestnut here was gonna do anything for him after what he'd learnt. The sides were clear in this situation. Ernie wanted to cry, but it only came out as awkward, choked laughter, "He's going to fucking kill me, Marcus."

"Hopefully not." Marcus mused. "I tried to be as charismatic as possible when I was telling him how terrible of an idea that was. Hell, Christmas might be your saving grace here, ironically - keep Sander from getting killed trying to end you." 

He still wasn't sure what to think of this situation, and he certainly hadn't been prepared to face the grey morality this soon. He'd thought that Sander was a complete monster - but it turned out to be a little more complicated than that, and now he was faced with the same circumstances with Ernie.

"Keep your head down - walk the other direction if you see Sander, and you'll probably be fine. That's about the best advice I can give you, here."

"The best advice a guy with zoom-speed powers is giving me. Gotcha. Do you think Sander's the kind of guy to let something like this go so easily? You saw what was going on between him and Christmas. And..." Ernie resisted the urge to scratch at the X on his throat, tugging at his shirt instead. He grimaced, "When you've got the option-- the power-- to make something go your way, Aberrations generally take it. No matter how long it takes. This isn't the kind of thing that'll get resolved after a week of doing nothing. All he has to do is wait til I let my guard down. The school guards won't do shit about it either. They didn't do anything when the precious healer got hurt, that's for sure."

Ernie finished the last statement with obvious bitterness. He'd spoken from experience. A waiting game that spanned years. A crossfire that had ruined him and everyone he knew.

Aberration. He recognized the word from that mysterious card that he'd followed. The violent ones. The ones who picked 'incorrectly'. He'd read about the other side - their 'stigmas' and such. It was probably the reason he was so uncertain about Sander, and now about Ernie.

"Listen, I can't pretend like I know what you're going through, or sit here and tell you exactly how to resolve this situation. Right now, you're pretty fucked, yeah." Marcus shrugged at the statement; it certainly wasn't his problem - but he just had to try and smooth things out with everybody. It would have been way easier to just turn around and leave, but that just wasn't him.

"I didn't think Sander was the type of guy to let things go. Course, I didn't think you were the type of guy to bludgeon someone's face in or beat the shit out of someone else. I've been surprised a lot this week, in all honesty. I'd suggest apologizing, but I honestly don't know if that would help." He paused here, thinking again. "You've got the mark in common - he'd understand better than I would at least. Maybe that'd be enough. If you put yourself in a position where Sander's bearing down on you of course."

"You goofed. Time to own up, buddy."

Understanding. Would that really be all it took? It made an eerie amount of sense to Ernie. Maybe just thinking it all through was all he needed. Sander of all people would get how hard it was to maintain control. Marcus would never be able to know what it took to live as an Aberration, but Ernie would be an idiot to dismiss it just because it came from a white-mark. 

The corner of Ernie's mouth twitched upwards at the last 'buddy'. Was it a coincidence or did this guy just really want to rub it in? He seemed cocky enough to do it, from the little time Ernie'd spent in his company. Even in this mood Ernie could respect that strange humour. This, all of it, was exactly what he needed to hear.

"Well. I didn't think you'd be such a sensible asshole either," Ernie smiled ruefully, "But I guess you're right."

He wanted to say more. Maybe about how it wasn't all about control that day, but weakness. Maybe about stupid school things, stuff normal teens stressed about instead of genuinely fearing for their lives.

Maybe about how, in some universe where Ernie wasn't a total sack of shit and none of them had to worry about monsters and doombringers, he hoped that they would be friends.

But he didn't. He wasn't going to spiel all that to someone who knew what he really was. He wasn't going to embarrass himself like that. So he settled for whatever he could.

"Thanks. That's... yeah, you said it well. Thanks... buddy."

Urgh. On second thought, he'd embarrassed himself already, letting Marcus see his fear. It was... necessary, and it had given him one of the answers he needed. But it was still uncomfortable as hell. Marcus wasn't the kind of person he felt comfortable spilling all this out to. He was an Arbiter. But he was there and Ernie heard what he needed to hear. Ernie didn't want Marcus having this sort of emotional dirt on him.

Time to switch gears.

"Sooo. Killer campus dogs. Are there a lot of those here?"

Marcus chuckled a bit at the 'sensible asshole' statement. It was a title he was fine having - with everything that was going on in this place, someone had to be the calm, level headed one.

"God I hope not. We've got enough problems without there being packs of dogs tearing us apart." He looked anxiously over hs shoulder, back the way that the first dog had run off. "And I didn't do so hot against one, so I'm really hoping I can just go back to my dorm and forget that happened."

Ernie racked his brains. Marcus deserved some help for hearing him out, no matter how little it was. "Can't say I've got any solid advice for dog problems besides spraying yourself down with vinegar everytime you leave your room. Maybe you should invest in a police baton. Or pepper spray."

"Vinegar? Is that a thing that works, or are you just pulling my leg so I'll show up at class smelling like a science fair project?" Marcus shook his head here, his posture loosening up a but and a grin cracking its way across his face.

"I think the dog already did a decent job of pulling your leg," Ernie wisecracked back, "Nothing wrong with smelling like bathroom cleaner. I think oranges and chili work with dogs too, if you'd rather smell like an exotic dessert."

"Eeeeh." Marcus said, shaking his hand to denote unsureness. "Biting. Ripping. Tearing. Basically everything but pulling - it didn't quite get to that point. And I'll have you know..." he paused here to strike a slight pose, "...I always smell like an exotic dessert."

"Is this the part where I go up and sniff you to make sure? Cos I don't think either of us would like that."

"No. Absolutely not. Right now I probably only smell like blood and fear. Which is not as good as exotic desserts, I believe.

"Oh yeah," Ernie glanced at Marc's bloodied pants, his mouth forming an instinctual frown, "Yeah, you should get yourself cleaned up. If you need help with clearing those stains, I could lend you some stuff. It's actually kinda my specialty."

Ernie said that last statement with a bit too much pride for a 16-year-old boy.

"Nah, I'll probably just throw it in the wash and see if it's salvagable. If not - I'm sure I've still got money on that card they gave us. Plus, you should probably get out of here just in case Sander decides to come back." He said, jerking a thumb back towards the direction the other pair had walked off in.

At the mention of just throwing it in the wash, Ernie's expression turned from mild worry to outright disapproval. Before he could call Marcus out on his awful laundry habits, the Arbiter raised a fairly good point.

"Sander doesn't have some kinda hunting sense, does he?" the Aberration blanched. "Shit, I should go then."

"I'm...not sure? Maybe?" Marcus said. He tried thinking back to the Flag Fight, back to how Sander had pointed the healer out. Had he literally sniffed him out, or was that just another benefit of his power? The ability to randomly find people? Marcus shrugged, giving Ernie a noise of uncertainty.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later," Ernie turned to leave in some direction that wasn't the way Marcus pointed out. He'd probably need to take a few detours to get back to his dorm, "Sorry for... stuff. And thanks again. I'll see you in class?"

"Hopefully. Unless I get eaten by another dog on the way back to the room!" With that Marcus turned around and started walking, giving Ernie a small wave before he left. It had been a long day, hell; a long week even. Maybe he'd just chill out for the rest of the day. Somewhere safe and warm where he could just relax.

"Exotic dessert, buddy! Keep it up!"

Ernie began his journey back to Building B with a genuine smile, reflecting on the conversation. It was...really nice just to have a normal conversation for once. Just meandering talk that wasn't about Stigmas or eye-stabbings or control. Stuff normal high-schoolers did. It'd barely been seven months since he'd gotten captured by the USARILN system and enrolled into the magic high school. He had to admit that he'd hoped for less magic and more high school at first, but eventually he had to face the fact that he'd never be just a normal kid like his classmates.

But Marcus. Cal, Siena and, hell, even Emma. They made him feel like he could try to pretend. He could worry about stupid things like clothes and schoolwork instead of the turmoil in his mind. Pretending was fine. It was good. It wouldn't last, he knew that. But it was close enough to the real thing or at least, what he thought was the real thing. 

So he'd keep going. Until he inevitably drove them all away.

『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /  @banjoanjo@RedDusk @January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚   / /  ~𝟚𝟛𝟘𝟘

Sander pulled on his hoodie, fingers fumbling to get the zippers aligned. The weight of the decision was still heavy on his shoulders, and he felt like he was chafing. The Stigma was thrumming behind each and every one of his thought. What if his control slipped? What if he hurt Ernie? What if he killed Ernie, and they came for him? Should he fight back, to keep himself from getting hurt? But wouldn’t that make him the same thing? 
 
Sander groaned, pressing nails into his palms until pain took the edge off his thoughts. It was just a talk. He could at least do this. Before his Stigma could goad him into backing out, he left the bedroom and headed toward the door as fast as he could. However, the blond boy’s prone form on the sofa caught his eyes, and he faltered. He could just leave without saying anything…but it felt wrong. Christmas deserved to know. Just…not the details. So he made a detour for the sofa.
 
“Hey.” -Sander said, once he was standing right next to his roommate –“I’m leaving for a little bit, alright?”   

Christmas had been dozing off dinner and another drink of water and painkillers, but at Sander's announcement that he was leaving again he blinked himself awake and sat up. "You're...leaving?" he mumbled back, still half-asleep.

“Yeah, just for a bit.” -Sander tried to smile –“Just to…talk.”

"T-to Marcus?" His thoughts somehow strayed automatically to the conversation at noon, wondering if Sander was going to keep discussing it with that student and the corner-cut grin.

“Uh. No. To Ernie.”

"Huh?" But it had barely been six or seven hours since. He thought Marcus had meant for them to try and steer clear of Ernie for a while. "Al-already?"

“Yeah. I…will be back soon.” -Sander placed a hand on Christmas’ shoulder, gently ushering the blond boy back down. There was a sharp inhale from the healer and brief tension in the shoulder, but that settled soon afterwards.–“Go back to sleep, alright?

"Talk...j-just to talk?" Christmas replied after several seconds, laying back down but still watching Sander warily.

 “Just to talk.” -Sander confirmed, the touch on Christmas’ shoulder lingered for a few moments, before he straightened himself up –“Won’t be long.”
 
The blond boy nodded, but watched Sander until the door closed.

A knock on his dorm door roused Ernie from a night of online browsing. That was strange. He'd only given Angelique his dorm room number. If she needed something she could've just texted him.

He opened the door and immediately stiffened as he saw Sander standing in front of him. He should've guessed it would happen so soon.

"Hi," he said, revealing no emotion. They both knew what he was here for, "Do you want to come in?"

“Hello, Ernie.” -Sander lifted the corners of his lips into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes –“Sure.” -He accepted the invitation easily, walking inside the room right when Ernie moved out of his way. He remained standing right in the middle of the small dorm room, shoulders stiff and fingers just a little bit too restless, but nothing else betrayed the simmering rage beneath.  

"How 'bout you sit down and we can talk?" Ernie gestured to his desk chair, taking a seat on his bed himself. His heart started pounding as he saw Sander's smile. Completely lifeless.

“I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.” -Sander turned slightly so he was looking straight at the other Aberration. He waited politely until Ernie had completely settled into his seat, and then some, before continuing –“So…I came over to ask you something. Is that alright?” 

Why couldn't his fucking heart stay still? Ernie gripped the bedsheets, feeling his hands start to sweat too. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"It's about Christmas isn't it. What I... did."

Something darkened in Sander’s blue eyes, but he kept the pleasant façade up as best as he could. Christmas already asked him to. He was better than this. Even when there was a part of him (Stigma?) that kept telling how he was probably making a mistake, Sander ignored it and pressed on –“Please stay away from Christmas from now on.” -He paused, exhaling slowly –“Please don’t come near our suite again.”
 
“…I’d know if you do.” -A pensive look passed over his features, and Sander added after another moment of silence. It wasn’t a threat, but a warning. A promise.
 
Too calm. Sander was beyond the shallow, obnoxious anger that the bastards at Reno had always flaunted. There really was no hope in here, huh. Ernie nodded silently. Another potential friend lost.

"I know. I'll..." 'Try' wouldn't be good enough. Just 'try' would have Sander rip him to shreds. And to be honest, Ernie didn't even know if 'try' was what he'd be doing. He hoped that the fear churning in him right now would give him enough incentive to leave that shit alone, "I will. I... lost control. I won't touch Christmas again. It won't fix things but I'm sorry."

That was all he could say.

Sander’s gaze flickered down to the black X on Ernie’s throat when the other Aberration mentioned ‘control’. He, of all people, knew what it was like to lose control. It felt wrong then, to ask Ernie to stay away, when he himself should do the same. Because he was just as bad. If not worse. 

“Was it the Stigma?” -The memories of sweet drinks and hazy glow nagged at him, prompting Sander to soften his voice. Because despite everything, he didn’t want to hurt Ernie. Didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even when the universe didn’t give him that choice something, or he himself couldn’t see them, Sander didn’t want to pick the easy way out. He had changed. He had got better. 

The long-haired boy looked up at Sander, hopeless resignation in his eyes. God, what a stupid question. Ernie thought back to Marcus' advice. Understanding. It wasn't forgiveness that he was looking for, nor was it what he needed.

"It's always the Stigma, isn't it? You'd think that after so many times there'd be a better reason. Something that wasn't so senseless and stupid. But there isn't. There's no excuse for what I did to him. To everyone else."

“Ground Zero?”

"Doesn't work for me. Not completely. It needs to be... people. Feelings."

Sander furrowed his brows –“So you need…people? There are people in GZ?” -They were fake, and they smelled wrong, metallic and prickly but screams all sounded the same and their flesh gave just as easily. Sander couldn’t understand his fellow Aberration’s predicament. 

Ernie stood, his voice rising with the motion.

"Feelings, Sander! I need to know them. What they like and don't like. What makes them cry..."

Ernie felt the shame rise in him. It sounded so filthy out loud. But it was what he'd been doing.

"I need to talk to them. Then I need to watch them fall apart."

Sander was quiet for a few moments, blue eyes watching Ernie carefully. This was new, for him, at least. Then again, he hadn’t met that many Aberrations before. Or many people, for that matter –“I see…”

But he knew the strength of the Stigma, and he knew it was strong enough to overcome all the words that Ernie had promised. He couldn’t let Christmas get hurt again. So he had to make this choice. Wrong or no. He had to. It was selfish and it was disgusting, but he clamped down the Stigma-fueled thoughts and got the words out.

“…can you find someone else then, please? Someone who is…not Christmas?” 

Disbelief. Ernie stared back, realising the helplessness of his situation. Sander wasn't going to help. Sander wasn't going to fix everything that was wrong with his horrifying strength. 

The long-haired boy clawed at his X-mark.

Oh god, was that what he'd been hoping for all along? For someone like Liam, like Owen, to come and fix everything again? That pathetic reliance made Ernie want to drop dead. It was just going to go on, over and over until the guards finally found the sense to shoot him dead. Sander's roundabout selfishness had condemned him to that cycle he'd been trying to escape ever since he set foot on USARILN grounds. It was all just so fucking cruel.

Ernie wanted to cry again. Sander wasn't going to tell him he was wrong. He wasn't going to stop him, or pay Ernie back with everything he deserved. Because somewhere too deep to actually make a difference, that was what Ernie had wanted all along, wasn't it? But he was too much of a fucking coward to admit it and Sander didn't care. He wouldn't have been able to take it anyway. Worthless, every single one of them. But even through all that horrid realisation, Ernie found some twisted solace in Sander's words. Because really...

"You're..." Ernie smiled widely, that same smile he'd shown Christmas. 

Right before everything started crashing.

"You're really terrible too."

Sander’s face fell, defeated, but he didn’t look away –“…I have to…” -Not really, no, but he was scrambling to align Christmas’ wishes and his own, so nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. He was regressing back into that pattern again: selfish and childish and terrible, like Ernie had pointed out. But he wanted Christmas’ constant presence more that he feared himself. He had gone without that human warmth for so long; he didn’t know what he would without it now that he was given a taste. 
 
He would do anything to keep that warmth to himself.  
 
Bad choices after bad choices. He was going to regret this.
 
But he would still do anything. 
 
“I would do anything.” -And he repeated the words out loud, just to be sure. 

"Yeah. I got it."

Ernie shook his head. What a load of shit. All of this. Both of them.

"I won't touch him. I won't go near you two."

Fucking garbage. He looked to the door.

"Could you leave now? I think we talked everything that needed to be talked."

“Sorry. But I have to make sure.” -Sander followed the gaze, the message went through crystal clear. Without another word, he moved toward the door. However, just as he opened it, a thought flashed through his head and he paused at the threshold –“…I don’t want to hurt you, Ernie.” Don’t let me.

Anger carved Ernie's expression. So getting hurt by Sander was still a possibility. And the other Aberration didn't even have the balls to follow through with that loaded threat. Ernie thought back to their first conversation at the bar. 'Shouldn't' enjoy it. But he would. If he went near those two again, the last thing he'd ever see would be that bloodthirsty smile Sander had flashed during that brutal game on Monday. So Ernie could do nothing but parrot empty words and empty promises.

"I don't want to hurt anyone like that again."

But he would.

"Someone like Christmas never deserved it and I never should have done it."

Why did it matter who deserved it or not? All he needed to know is if they would fight back. If he would be able to beat them down over and over again.

"I'm staying away. So get out of my room, Sander."

“Good luck.” -Quiet words were thrown over his shoulder, and with that, Sander left.

『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』 『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   @RedDusk @January
𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚   / /  ~𝟚��𝟘𝟘

The door to his suite closed behind him, and Sander spent a few moments leaning back against it, pressing fingers into his forehead, chasing away the stray thoughts elicited by his Stigma. He was doing the right thing. Not good. Terrible, in fact, but the right thing. Christmas would be safe now, when there was no longer a Stigma-driven Ernie to hound his steps. And Sander wouldn’t have to become the same thing he was before. 
 
So everything was alright. 
 
Except for whoever that was going to be affected by his bad choice. 
 
He frowned, letting the hands fall to his sides. As long as Christmas was with him, that would be worth it. This was different from before. Different reasons. Different circumstances. The same thing, but different. So it was alright. He had changed for the better. Human, now. Closer to people, and further away from whatever he was. 

Not.

Sander clamped down on whatever emotions that were bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, and stalked over to the sofa, where he knew the blond boy was.  

Christmas was sitting up, phone in his hands when it seemed like Sander had been gone just long enough to worry. His roommate didn't look good coming back, not with his hand against his forehead and a harsh set to his shoulders.

"You're--you're okay?" he asked as Sander approached.

Sander didn’t say anything at first, simply moving closer before kneeling down to the floor, leaning his upper body against the sofa so he would be right next to Christmas. He kept his eyes glued to the blond boy’s torso, though for once, the scent of coffee didn’t flood his sense. 
 
“Hey.” -He began, ignoring the question in favour of asking one of his own –“Can I…hold your hand?” 

"Y-yeah...?" Christmas set his phone aside, reaching out tentatively with his hand. Normally he would be happy about this, but Sander didn't seem all right. "T-the talk?"

Sander clasped the smaller hand in both of his larger ones, and he looked at it, before leaning down to press his forehead against that offered warmth. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, he was trying to be. And that had to be worth something right? How he tried didn’t matter. Right? 
 
“It’s fine. Ernie won’t go near you again.” -He exhaled softly to get the cracks out of his voice first, before answering his roommate. 

Relief came at the heels of guilt, because he had involved Sander in this and now nothing seemed all right. "I'm--I'm sorry." Christmas felt that heat against his hands and bit back another apology. "Wh-what happened?"

Another question Sander didn’t want to answer. Couldn’t. Still couldn’t. Because telling Christmas then felt like a mistake, and he thought he had made enough mistakes to last a lifetime. So he asked for something else, instead. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he didn’t. 
 
“You’d forgive me, right?” 

What had he done? Christmas was afraid of a question like that, and afraid of what needed forgiving. So he ran through the fears and thoughts, finding where his own limits lay. He would forgive a lot of things if Sander wasn't that monster on the screens. And even then, he wondered if he hadn't already forgiven that, too, with every encounter in front of red eyes and teeth. But there was something more than that, beyond just pretending like the problems of a blood mage weren't his to grasp.

He decided he would forgive a lot now and worry a lot later.

"Y-yeah." His other hand reached for Sander's as well. "You're okay?"

Sander still didn’t answer the question, instead just heaved quiet breaths against the sofa and hid his face in Christmas’ hands. It was pointless, asking for forgiveness like this, when he couldn’t even confess what he did. So he cheated a little, and just let himself indulge in that swindled warmth just a little bit more. 
 
“I’m fine.” -He finally said, voice barely above a whisper –“I kept my promise.”

Christmas moved a bit closer, afraid of the worst scenarios, like guards would come in and take Sander away. Or gun him down. His hands tightened against Sander's.

"Ernie is...h-he agreed?"

“Yeah.” -Sander shifted slightly, lifting himself up and breathing the answer into the palm of Christmas’ hand. Still just the smell of skin, and not coffee. Still safe –“Won’t bother you anymore.” 

"But..." It was stupid to worry about it, because Ernie had probably been doing this for however long he had his power, but Christmas couldn't forget the certainty of "next time." It had been a guarantee. Who had Ernie hurt before? How many? How many more? But to say he was completely satisfied with the solution felt like Christmas had shoved the problem over first to Sander and Marcus, then to someone entirely unknown. And it was even worse when Sander seemed so upset.

"...he promised a next time."

“He won’t bother you anymore.” -Sander simply repeated the empty assurance. 

"...D-did he hurt you?" Christmas looked to the folded knife on the coffee table. "I can--I can heal?"

“No. He didn’t.” -Sander blinked, alarmed –“I kept my promise. Really.”

"But he...has to? H-he said so."

"There are other ways."

"Other ways...?" That wasn't what Ernie had said on Friday. It wasn't. And if it wasn't Christmas surrounded by garbage, and it wasn't Sander hurt in his place, then...who?

"Other ways."

"...Other...people?"

Sander suddenly grew very still. His grip on Christmas’ hands tightened. 

"S-Sander?"

"I have to." -Sander frowned, still refused to look up. He knew full well how much Christmas wanted to be nice, and this...went against. But he couldn't help it. This was the only solution he could think of -" I can't let you get hurt. Ever." 

"Sorry."

It didn't make sense to Christmas, what Sander was apologizing for, but it also didn't make sense why Sander was so adamant on not letting him get hurt. He was supposed to be hurt. His power demanded it, and even though his roommate could take blood without hurting him, Sander had asked before, too, with red eyes and teeth on the battlefield. In the forest. So what was just one more thing? Ernie now, and Friday had taught him the certainty of it. Stigmas and Aberrations and everything they had no choices in. 

"But--but why?"

“B-Because…” -Sander fumbled, finding his justification. He paused to think, before finally lifted his head and looked into his roommate’s blue eyes –“…you are important. To me.”

It was Christmas's turn to freeze, and his eyes tried to look elsewhere as if answers could be found in the carpet or the walls, but his gaze continued returning to Sander and he couldn't hide the panic on his face.

"But Ernie...E-Ernie said it wouldn't be as--as bad next...next time. And he...I asked--asked to bring the pills, t-too."

“I told him to find other…ways.” -Sander sighed. It was the security room again, where he ripped the choice away from Christmas just to satisfy his selfish wants –“Doesn’t have to be you.”
 
“I’m sorry. Are you…upset?” 

Christmas's breaths were coming in faster to the pace of his quickened heartbeats, but he didn't know if he was upset or simply afraid. "I...I would've...been--been okay...?" He held onto Sander's hands desperately. "T-the pills can fix it."

Wordlessly, Sander reached up with one hand, fingers brushing the edge of a fading bruise on Christmas’ face. The pills couldn't fix everything.

At the touch, Christmas's panic twisted into something worse, because he was relieved it wouldn't be him anymore and he also knew it had to be someone under Ernie's feet. But what scared him most was how much his thoughts kept circling back to those words. Important to Sander. That should have made him happy enough to cry, but the words had come from one problem solved and another one made.

It was horrible of him to think that as long as Sander wasn't going away--as long as guards wouldn't make his roommate disappear--everything else was relatively acceptable.

"I'm scared."

“Hey, it’s alright.” -The touch lingered as Sander let fingers ghost along the curve of Christmas’ jaws, mapping the lines there. So he would remember. It was important that he remembered –“I’m scared too.”

"W-why?" Christmas breathed in quickly at the light touch, his hands gripping even harder.

“Because I don’t know what to do…if you…get too hurt.” -The hand fell away at last, and Sander’s gaze followed it downward –“I don’t want to find out.”
 
“Can I…make a wish too?” 

"Wha-what?"

"Don't get hurt?" -Sander grimaced, because asking for this was wrong and selfish and he would regret this later. But that was for later. He had the now –“Please.”

"M-my power..."

"Only for your power."

Christmas pulled Sander's hand closer, watching the ribbon shift with the movement. "...What about...th-the other person? If--if someone else...and Ernie..." 

He wanted to be nice. But maybe it was time to really admit he wasn't. He was so selfish it made his worth null and void. That's why he thought he deserved everything that came his way, whether he liked it or not.

“That’s…Don’t think about it.” -Sander frowned, once again faced with the consequences of his bad choices –“I…As long as it isn’t you.”

"Sander...I'm...not--not worth this."

“You are. To me.” 

"I'm not nice." Christmas pulled Sander's hand towards him again, clutching it against his chest. A prayer, but for who he'd be hard pressed to define. "Do you--do you believe that?"

“Doesn’t matter to me if you aren’t.” -The beating heart beneath his hand called to the Craving, but Sander held it back. And he still didn’t smell coffee- “I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.” 

"If...if it was the--the other way around. I think--I...I might have done the same." His hands shook around Sander's, and Christmas watched his roommate's expression with wide eyes. "I'm scared that I'm--I'm not nice and I'll never be."

“It’s fine.” -Sander leaned in closer, placing his free hand on top of the blond boy’s trembling ones –“I’m here. Staying here.” 

"I'm sorry. For--for...a lot." Christmas hunched over the clasped hands slightly, like he was trying to hold on to more. "I'm always selfish like this." And it was easy to say. Easy to admit. Because Sander was staying. Even though they were both going about this the wrong way and Ernie would find someone else to hurt. "Always just...thinking about me. Not--not nice. I'm sorry."

He brought Sander's hand closer to his mouth, a reflexive attempt to hide away what he was ashamed of saying. "That's why-- why it's always okay. Because I'm not nice."

“Don’t have to be sorry around me. I’d never blame you.” -Sander let out a breathy laugh, his fingers reached out to brush against the blond boy’s face –“I think…everyone is not nice in their own way. Doesn’t have to be you. I don’t want it to be you.”

"I don't want it to be--to be you, either. Don't--don't want you to get hurt. Just--really selfish and--want you near." Christmas didn't know if it was okay to think like that. It seemed wrong. But Sander had fixed something for him, at the cost of someone else and it terrified him that for all he wanted to genuinely care about someone else--He. Just. Didn't. Not enough to matter. Any attempt to worry about a potential them without regards to himself would ring astoundingly false.

It was for his own guilt, and he understood a bit of Ernie's motivation from Friday.

"If I...find that person, I-I'll heal them?"

“…Yeah.” -A breath of resignation, then Sander nodded –“It’s your power. Your choice.”

"...Okay. I...yeah. I'll--th-thank you," he stumbled through the words, because everything else he tried to say wasn't all there, but "thank you"s were reflex enough that he didn't need to put the words together as carefully--or carelessly.

"Thank you too. For...being here." -Sander smiled, or at least he tried to, because in the end, he still didn't tell Christmas everything. Maybe the blond boy would leave, if he ever found down. Maybe he wouldn't. But Sander didn't think too much about that, because he wanted to keep himself right in the here, and not whatever dark place his mind would take him. 

"I'm--I shouldn't have forc--m-made it your problem. I'm sorry." Christmas slid off the sofa, tucking himself into a spot beside Sander on the floor. He remained quiet a moment longer, hands still wrapped around Sander's and holding that ribboned promise against his pounding heart for ransom.

Sander was kind, and it was because Christmas was "important." The word rang in that echo chamber of his mind now, but instead of receding in volume it seemed to swell until the shallow thoughts of people he didn't care about taking blows that should rightfully have been meant for him couldn't stem the satisfaction of being important, even when the revelation came at the cost of someone else.

All he cared about, truly, in that moment was himself. Himself in relation to Sander. Himself in relation to Ernie. Himself in relation to the entire world.

Christmas wondered, as memories of home and his personal hell crashed through the rising crescendo of "important," if he had spent his entire life just caring about himself.

Was it just more of that same selfishness that compelled him to care about Sander and the warmth between his hands?

"I'm sorry," he apologized again, because it was all he could do. There was nothing else he could help. Not his emotions, not his regrets, not his mistakes. And not that growing insistence that he wanted Sander to always be near, always be--

"I'm so sorry."

“Don’t have to be.” -Sander murmured, again, because Christmas didn’t seem to believe him. But he supposed he didn’t mind repeating. So he said it one more time for good measure, louder this time, just in case the blond boy missed it, while his left hand moved in a soothing pattern above Christmas's frantic heart–“You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Smaller hands pressed down on Sander's left hand, the touch shaking, but there. 

"I don't know what--what else to be. If--if not sorry."

"Be happy. I want to make you happy."

Hopes and guilts tore at each other in Christmas's downturned expression. A corner of a smile, but his eyes were straining to open wider as panic creased his brow.

"If you...if you're h-here. I--I'll try."

He took quiet breaths after that promise, mouth opening and closing hesitantly. A squeeze of Sander's hand finally leveraged the words.

"You--I want you to be happy, too."

Sander was happy once. He remembered those hot summer days, back when he could still get dizzy from carbonated sweetness and the warmth between his fingers was something other than blood. 
 
But he had lost those days, somewhere between the distant thunders of gunfire and vinyl floor surrounded by white walls. And he wasn’t supposed to get them back. They were long gone. Burnt to ashes by the fire in his ribcage and scattered somewhere he couldn’t reach. Funny. Being happy was such a small thing. Easy. He knew how. Yet, he couldn’t do it. He promised he would do anything, but not this. 
 
Sander smiled a little bit at his own hypocrisy, head lowered slightly so the blond boy wouldn’t notice. He was silent for a few minutes afterward, letting the rhythm of Christmas’ heart distract him instead. 
 
“I woke you, didn’t I?” -He spoke up later, glancing at his roommate tentatively –“Want to go back to sleep?” 

"I-I'll stay up a bit. Not, um, not sleepy."

“Alright.” -Sander nodded, slowly rising to his feet. The movement tugged on Christmas’ hold around his left wrist, and the boy let go. Already, Sander had missed the warmth –“I’ll…use the shower, yeah?” -After a nod of confirmation from the blond boy, Sander headed into their shared bedroom to retrieve his clothes, then went straight into the bathroom afterward. 
 
Maybe a hot shower would clear his head.

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