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Skai Bean Queen

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Location: Myotis Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.041: Between Shadows and Light
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Interaction(s): Haven @Skai, Harper @Qia, Aurora @Melissa, Amma @Rockette
Previously: Dancing on Egghsells


Harper’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of the dancing coils. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Amma, captivated by the effortless assurance with which she commanded the crimson light. In that moment, she felt small, yet profoundly aware of the potential that lay dormant within the woman before her, waiting to be awakened.

“You’ve always been so certain,” Harper finally said, her voice a soft murmur that barely broke the stillness. “You know what you want, what you’re fighting for. And you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it back.” She hesitated here, feeling the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing against her chest. The words she wanted to say were tangled in her throat, but the intensity of the moment pushed them forward. “But what if… what if you lose yourself in the process? Unless…you believe you already have?”

Her eyes dipped briefly in contemplation, the heaviness of her thoughts pulling her gaze downward before they met those piercing blue eyes once again. However, unlike all those previous times, Harper did not feel the need to use her ability-if she even could without that excruciating pain, anyway.

“If that’s the case…then you’re wrong.” Her voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of emotion that she couldn’t quite mask. Because Harper hadn’t just seen something predatory behind those eyes that warm, sunny day on the beach. She’d seen a bit of something else, as well. Something yearning and longing.

“I think…I see someone in you who’s been hurt, yes. But also someone who’s still holding on to something…someone who’s not as lost as she thinks.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Harper?” Amma carefully closed her fist, nails against the lines of fate marked into her skin, a foretold and smothered touch of destiny inlaid through her palms as she smothered those tendrils of her power; they snuffed out on soft echoes of a droning manifest, a quaking need and yearning that called for something; she just didn’t know what it was anymore. “Should I lose myself, then mark it as another price I have to pay. More to the role I have to play here.”

She almost wanted to laugh—those inner turmoils that wrought through her heart, everything that she was spun out into leagues of dread, figments of herself that Harper was trying to glean through, similar words once spoken to her by another who looked at her and saw that mask. She agreed to be friends with some, relinquished pieces of her power unto them, and saved them. What more did they want? He spoke of creation, and he talked of mending, but what did any of that truly mean for a person hell-bent on revenge and destruction? Who’s very touch inspired nothing but death. Certain? If only she knew.

“Maybe I am lost, maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m still trapped in the dark. All I know is that I’m… trying. I want to try.” Her words are wavering, only slight, her usual confidence unspooling through the admissions that are rested on her tongue and pressing against her teeth, lips tucked into a frown until her laugh does break free, a delicate and perhaps sorrowful trill that encompasses all that she is trying to say but doesn’t know where to begin. “But I cannot forgive, and I cannot forget. Not yet.”

Harper stayed silent, absorbing all of Amma’s words. Her admissions caused the atmosphere to feel charged, a fragile connection teetering on the edge of understanding and something much darker. She could sense the turmoil within Amma, see the storm brewing behind those intense blue eyes, threatening to consume everything in its path-anything that dared to get in her way.

Her breath hitched as she felt her legs give way, forcing her to sink into the nearest chair. She took a moment longer, letting the silence stretch as she gathered her scattered thoughts.

“Maybe it’s not about forgiving or forgetting,” Harper murmured eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned her head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused. “Maybe it’s about finding the things, or the people, worth holding onto. Those things that can anchor you when the darkness becomes too overwhelming. When you may not even be able to see yourself anymore.” She paused, her thoughts momentarily drifting away from the present. A faint memory surfaced, a voice from her past playing in her mind.

Just slay your own dragons already.

Harper swallowed, only choosing then to look up again.

“Just don’t…make it one singular person or thing. Because if you lose that person….” Her voice trailed off, not even wanting to consider that happening. Not again.

“I think that person can decide for those risks too. But he- I…”

Amma is quiet, unable to finish her words; long enough, she thinks, for the night to flit on by and for Aurora and Haven to finish on her hair. It’s only with a soft sigh and a muttered admission that she offers as she moves closer to Harper, allowing her a moment to hear pieces of her heart she’s never openly admitted before. Things worth holding onto: is that what it was? What did she feel? What she found in the comforts of shadow and sleep; were these the things Harper alluded to, the calm and peace she found despite what tormented her waking world?

The letters tease away at the back of her mind. What did her mother feel when she read those?

“I’ve lost enough people in my life; I don’t intend to lose anyone ever again. Not for the promises I made, then. And the ones I have made now.”

Harper caught the slip in Amma’s words, her mind immediately racing to conclusions. Is she talking about Lorcán? The thought tugged at her, a persistent itch she couldn’t scratch. The temptation to clarify was almost unbearable, to caution the raven-haired woman that pinning everything on one person was a dangerous game to play. But who was she to offer that advice?

Harper had done the same to Sierra, clinging to her sister even if it meant dragging her down with her.

The irony was a bitter pill to swallow, and her own hypocrisy left a sour taste in her mouth. Though, before Harper could dwell on her swirling thoughts, Amma’s voice sliced through the haze with a raw confession. The brunette managed to mask her surprise, her expression softening as she turned to face her. It was there. The urge to reach out physically like she would with any of her friends. But something held her back. Probably the fact that they weren’t really friends as she barely knew Amma.

“Yeah… I get that. I really do…” Harper muttered, her voice gentle and understanding. It had to be enough. It was all she could offer.

A small, knowing smile formed at the corner of her lips. “You know what? I think we could both use another shot with all of that.”

Amma laughed, a little more relaxed, subdued, perhaps courtesy of the alcohol or some minute, mutual understanding that afforded her the moment.

“I think you're right.”

Managing to miss the pair’s conversation entirely, Aurora strolled back into the living area after completing Haven’s hair. Looking between Harper and Amma, she could sense some tension, but she had no interest in finding out what they had discussed. Knowing her friend well, it was more than likely that she had attempted to pry and get something out of the dark haired girl, but also having come to understand Amma more, it was unlikely anything resulted from it. Glancing down at her phone, she noticed what time it was.

“We should probably start putting on dresses,” She suggested to the girls, but instead of walking towards her room, she walked over to the refrigerator, pulling a cardboard box from the bottom shelf. Making her way back to the table, she placed it down on the surface and opened the top, revealing carefully packaged boutonnieres, all identical with white various flowers. “But before that, I picked these up from the Community Farm this morning. I figured everyone here probably has someone they want to give one to.”

Her laughter edged off almost entirely, her eyes glimpsing down into the box and the assortment of flowers arranged in a simplistic but elegant way with the blossoms bunched as an adornment of sorts. Amma’s expression lapsed into the finer edges of perplexity, someone to give them to; she reached forward to brush her fingers against one before she snatched her hand back and regarded her glass set off to the side. Her thoughts drifted back to that morning, and the heat that threaded through her was no longer just a byproduct of the liquid courage that thrummed through her veins.

“Definitely going to need another drink.”

Harper leaned forward, her fingers delicately brushing against the soft petals as she picked up one of the boutonnieres. It was simple, yet the gesture Aurora had made carried a profound significance. Turning it over in her hand, she felt a smile grace her lips at the corners, a warmth spreading through her chest. Her best friend had a knack for these thoughtful touches, always knowing how to make moments special. It was in these small acts that Aurora’s true depth of care and consideration always shone through.

“This is a nice touch,” Harper said, her voice imbued with genuine appreciation. Her eyes roamed the room before they landed on Amma. She noticed the flicker of emotions dancing across her teammate’s face, a silent struggle that Harper could almost feel herself. Without a second thought, she gently nudged the box towards Amma, a wordless gesture of encouragement and support.

“Whoever you give it to, they’ll appreciate it,” Harper said, her voice carrying a quiet confidence.

Amma’s lashes panned down low into an understated glare, fixated onto Harper with her features pinched momentarily, the pout of her lip pursed against her teeth before she drew her tongue against the ridge of bone and sighed, delicately reaching for one herself and twirling it amidst her fingers.

“I don't doubt it. I just,” she gestured offhandedly, almost dismissive. “Never done anything like it before. All of this.” She allowed the flowers to settle within her palm, the darling white petals against her scars that soothed the trembling that had begun through her usually confident gestures.

“We shall see.”

Aurora smiled, a genuine smile that came simply from making other people happy. It was an unmatched feeling, being able to do something that her friends inherently appreciated. Hosting the girls prior to the dance, braiding Haven’s hair, and picking up the boutonnieres; all were small ways that the redhead showed her compassion and affection. But even with the joy she felt, the redhead couldn’t help but still at Amma’s words, her raw honesty resonating deep. It was a tangible reminder that they were more alike than different, going through the same feelings and emotions as a result of tonight’s event.

“Neither have I, you know. We’re all in the same boat, you’re not alone here.” She chimed in, her eyes shining with unspoken understanding. New experiences were scary, and tonight, it seemed they all would be stepping out of their comfort zones for the first time. Clasping her hands together, Aurora inclined her head towards her bedroom, “I’m going to go get changed, feel free to get dressed in my roommate’s rooms, they won’t mind.” With that, she disappeared down the hall, gently shutting her door behind her.

“They’re beautiful, Rora.” Haven called out in the other’s direction from where she’d peeked out of the bathroom to see what they’d been discussing. She had no clue what a boutonniere was until her eyes landed on the smallest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen cradled in their hands. She figured she’d ask what kind of gift they were later. The way Harper and Amma had reacted to them, it must be some sort of grand gesture to give one away, right?

She ducked into the bathroom again and turned to her bag where it remained on the counter. Part of her wasn’t ready to leave the peace of the bathroom just yet, yearning for more of that feeling she had as her hair had been done. Her mind briefly thought about the words that had been exchanged between Amma and Aurora as she put on her jewelry. The emotions that came from it bubbled in her stomach, threatening the peace of mind she possessed until she shook the thoughts from her head.

A simple and tarnished gold necklace soon hung around her neck. Its pendant, a tiny pinecone, rested just below the notch where her collarbones met at the center. A feather pendant hung from the bracelet she spent quite some time clasping together. The effort of putting on a bracelet was reason enough for it to be a special occasion adornment. It slid down her wrist as she reached for her ears, her fingers nimbly clasping in the mid-sized golden hoops that now hung from her lobes. They were another special piece for her, but the reason wasn’t because of how impractical they were or how they could easily be torn from her ears. She looked at them in the mirror and the smile that they brought to her lips was because of the memory they summoned from within the depths of her soul. It was hazy, centered only on the golden hoops that shined from the ears of a woman with lighter hair than her own, and yet she knew who it was that wore them. She figured she looked just like her now as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, with her eyes smoked delicately and her hair done to the side. Her baby hairs curled away from the frame of her maturing face.

She wondered what her mother would think of her, with her tawny feathers and resilient character.

One of her curls drifted away from her face and back again with the soft sigh that escaped through her nose. Her head turned away from the mirror, away from the wonderings of a child still cradled by her heart, and she moved to exit the safe space that had been created within the dorm. Her hand reached for the strap of the duffle and she pulled it out of the bathroom with her.

“I’ll put my dress on in one of the rooms.” She soon said in the direction of the table as her free hand reached for the silky green that hung between the dazzling red and deep black fabric within the closet. The hanger held above her head to avoid dragging the bottom along the floor. She began her way towards one of the empty rooms with it, only stopping outside of the door to offer a few more words to the others. “I’m down to take another shot after we get dressed.”

“Oh, and aren’t the flowers a prom thing? Will someone explain that to me before we go?” She continued absentmindedly as a movie she’d seen once popped into her head, the memory distracting her as she disappeared behind the door.

Harper placed the boutonniere back in the box, her fingers lingering for a moment on the fine petals. Her mind shifted gears from the nervous excitement of the evening to the practical question posed by her winged friend. She’d always been the type to notice details, a trait honed by years of observing the world around her. Her military upbringing had instilled in her a habit of understanding the traditions and customs of different events, even those as seemingly trivial as school dances. It was a skill that had served her well, though she often found herself detached from the social rituals that fascinated others.

As she straightened up, Harper’s thoughts drifted back to her childhood. The rigid structure of her upbringing had left little room for the frivolities of teenage life, especially once she'd lost her parents. School dances, with their glittering decorations and awkward small talk, had never held much appeal for her. Yet, standing here now, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the world she had once dismissed so easily.

“They are,” Harper called out, her voice carrying through the room as she moved toward the closet where her dress hung. “The boutonniere is usually worn by the guy, and it’s meant to match the corsage that the girl wears. It’s a way of showing you’re a pair, kind of like a small symbol of being together for the night.” She reached for the dress, its silky fabric cool beneath her fingers as she carefully slid it out of the protective plastic and off the hanger. The sensation of the smooth material against her skin brought a sense of calm, grounding her in the present.

“Thanks,” the muffled words carried through the doorway Haven disappeared into.

Turning, her dress draped over her arm, Harper headed toward one of the empty rooms to change. She could hear the faint rustle of the dress as it brushed against her skin, and as she closed the door behind her, the brunette took a deep breath, savouring the brief moment of solitude before the night was set to unfold.

Amma twirls the (boutonniere, Harper called it, right) through her elegant gestures; the white is stark against her inked fingers, brushed softly over her scars as a single splotch of near-delicate purity for the symbolism it carried. The distinction of their purpose, the gift that it was, is a practice lost upon her typical graces; Amma realizes she’s never given something so mundane as a gift, her power and strength often proffered or taken and used, for all the world glimpsed and saw was the creature that carried destruction in her eternal renown and wake. Here, though, in the shared rooms of Aurora and her friends, with Harper and Haven too with their dresses in tow, it does something to Amma, that beast that usually lay betwixt heart and soul reared an eye of sheering blue and peered deep into the depths of her melancholy. The disparity of her circumstances still lingered there on the precipice of her mind, the chasm of the unknown revealing all that she desired and the questions that amalgamated betwixt the pain and rage therein. Carefully, she places the boutonniere back within the box (she recalls, once before, laying flowers somewhere else too, but they glistened red, liken to blood) and moves to retrieve her dress. Did she deserve these fine drapings of silk and refinement? No, maybe not she who thrummed away at the surface of her self made into doubt and agony, but the woman that shimmered through her facade of black and golds, the girl that would clutch white flowers within her grasp and glide across the dance floor to give to him, yes, she maybe deserved it. At least, that is what she tells herself.

With a touch of lingering elegance, Amma pulled the dress down, shed away the plastic, and gathered the pooling fabric into her hands. Next, she secured her shoes, hooking them on her index finger, before she disappeared into the only room left to change.

There was silence in the dark room that Haven had chosen. The winged woman’s mind was busy, her body tense as her gaze moved over the dorm of a stranger. An unknown friend of a friend who decorated the walls and shelves just as much as the living area beyond the door behind. They searched for any sign of life within, and only when she knew that she was truly alone her gaze rested on the window that hung on the wall opposite.

She scoffed at herself for a moment. It felt silly how her heart began to thump at the sight of it. How her mind viewed it as a source of fear instead of the freedom it used to grant her. It left a sour taste in the back of her throat that made her press her lips together and swallow.

In the room next to Haven’s, Harper held up her dress, studying its elegant lines as the light spilling through the window played off its deep, rich colour. The red fabric shimmered subtly, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive. It was a far cry from the practical, simple clothing she was used to wearing, the first thing she’d noted when she’d first seen it. This dress was a statement, bold and striking, much like the evening ahead. There was an undeniable allure to it, something that made her feel… different.

As she continued to gaze at the dress, Harper felt a flutter of excitement mixed with a twinge of anxiety. The dress demanded attention, and wearing it meant stepping out of her comfort zone. It was a strange sensation, this blend of anticipation and nervousness, like standing on the edge of a cliff and preparing to leap. There was also something about it that made her feel a bit more daring, a bit more alive. Maybe even a bit excited.

But in an “I almost want to throw up everything in my stomach” kind of way.

A similar unease simmered in Haven, though for very different reasons. A muted wave of caution and paranoia fuelled her muscles as she moved towards the window with a deliberate pace. The liquor gave her the courage to face it. She was grateful for the chance to put her mind at rest because of it as she reached its closed frame. The duffle was dropped onto the floor below the sill with a dull thump. Her freed hand reached for the handle on the bottom rail with purpose. It lingered above it for one hesitant moment, her buzzing mind grappling with the fear of what this act meant to her, and the frustration of needing to check a stranger's window.

Damn it all.

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal and tugged, and as she should have expected, the window didn’t budge. Locked windows were a comforting presence in her life these days. Much like the man she was putting on such a beautiful dress for. Her lungs pulled in the air within the room, filling themselves to capacity, and when she’d been sated on the oxygen that filled her blood she released it. Her anxiety was expelled along with the CO2 they exhaled.

She didn’t turn on the lights as she pulled her bag into the center of it. The light of the evening sun outside was enough to illuminate the room. It cast a warm glow on her skin as she gently pulled off the clothes she’d come in. They dropped to the floor at her feet one by one until she stood in her natural state save for the lacy bottoms she’d chosen to wear underneath. Her feet lifted one before the other as she soon stepped into her dress. Her balance shifted unexpectedly, wings flaring a moment as she recovered. How many shots had she taken, again?

Shaking her head, she pulled the dress up her lithe body, the green catching at her hips. She’d forgotten about the zipper. It was zipped down, enough to pull the thin straps over her shoulders, and then pulled back up to close a few inches below the feathers that adorned her back. She bent over to shove her clothes in her bag and retrieve her shoes from within. The heels were hung from her fingers by the straps, her other hand gripping the bag again as she returned to the living room where she sat on the chair she’d gotten her makeup done in. She had just begun to put the uncommon shoe choice on when she heard a door open nearby.

In the mirror, Harper caught a glimpse of herself, her dress hugging her form in a way that highlighted the elegant lines of her figure, the deep colour complementing the natural tones of her skin. She tilted her head slightly, examining the way the fabric draped and flowed all the way down to her legs, accentuating her curves with subtle grace. She almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her. The person in the mirror was still Harper, of course, but there was something undeniably different about her—something more confident, more willing to step into the unknown. A memory flickered in the back of her mind, of a time when she’d seen herself in a dress before, though the details were hazy, blurred by time and the grief that had followed.

She wondered, not for the first time, what her parents would think if they could see her now. Would they be proud of the woman she was? Of who she was becoming? Harper imagined their faces, etched with pride at first, and then concern.

She shook the thought from her head, unwilling to let it drag her back into the past where shadows of old memories lurked. Tonight was about the present, about embracing the moment with open arms and a willing heart. Harper gave herself one last look in the mirror, her eyes tracing the contours of her reflection, before turning away, the rustle of the dress following her like a whisper. Before she left the room, she was tempted only once, her hand resting on the cool, brass doorknob. A small, quiet part of her wanted to stay here, in this safe, private space where she didn’t have to face the uncertainties of the night ahead. But another part of her, the part that had agreed to go to the dance with a man she barely knew but was looking forward to seeing soon, urged her forward.

She wasn’t the same person she’d been a year ago, or even a week ago. She was stronger now, more resilient. And tonight, she was ready to prove it—to herself, if no one else.

So, with a final glance back at the room, Harper opened the door and stepped out.

In the privacy and solitude of her room, Aurora stepped into her dress, letting the chiffon fabric glide across her skin as she pulled the bodice up over her chest. The skirt swayed as she fastened the hook and eye at the back of the light blue gown before tugging the zipper, a perfect fit. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she was still overwhelmed by Tori’s selfless act of compassion, letting her borrow such a beautiful piece of her wardrobe for the night. The redhead was filled with gratitude to be here, thankful for this mundane moment of revelry amongst the backdrop of chaos the first weeks of school had wreathed.

With each accessory she adorned herself with, she felt more beautiful. Tori’s sapphire stud earrings with gems that shimmered in the light, the heart shaped pendant from her mother who she wished could see her now, and the golden ring which was gifted sat perfectly on her left ring finger. The etched licks of flame made her feel warm, brought her thoughts to him and all that he meant to her.

She’d tell him. Tonight.

Slipping on her gold heels and spritzing her rose perfume as a finishing touch, Aurora stepped out from her bedroom back into the living room, gasping as she saw Haven and Harper in their dresses.

“You both look gorgeous.” She complimented, grinning from ear to ear, “Seriously, stunning.”

Haven’s head finally turned away from the straps of her heels as she pushed herself off of her chair. She now stood at her full height, plus the two inches her shoes granted her. The angle of her feet also added definition to the toned muscles of her left leg that peeked out between the slit in her dress. She returned the wide smile that Aurora displayed, crinkles forming around her eyes as she too expressed her thoughts proudly.

“Aurora, you look like a princess!” She began before turning her eyes to Harper. “And Harps- wow, I’m so glad you went with the red. It’s breathtaking.” Her thoughts continued to spill from her lips easily, the excitement of the moment making any residual feelings she had for her brunette friend after the awkwardness of earlier disappear from her mind. “You’re also taller than me now. It feels right.”

Haven’s comment drew a soft chuckle from Harper, a sound that felt both foreign given recent events and freeing because it just felt good to laugh.

“If I trip over these heels…I’m blaming you both,” she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips. She’d originally picked up a pair of simple flats on their shopping trip, envisioning the comfort they would bring throughout the night. But the twin incredulous stares from Aurora and Haven had been enough to make her reconsider. Somewhat regretfully, Harper had put the flats back down. Not that she didn’t like the heels she’d ended up with—at least she’d had the morning to break them in, though her feet still ached slightly from the effort.

Harper turned to Aurora then, her eyes widening as she truly took in the sight of her best friend in her stunning light blue gown. She almost looked like she had stepped out of a fairy tale, much like her namesake.

“That dress is perfect on you, Ror,” Harper said, her words genuine but also intended to lift her friend’s spirits.

Amma stared at her dress, gauging the ensemble as a knight would regard their armor.

She had sworn to be devastating and refused to be anything less. As a creature of vanity and hubris, bedeviled with greed and lust, a glutton of insatiable qualms and talents and fed persistently in the allurement she embodied, she would dare reveal the scars that lined her body as tales intertwined with morbid fascination. She poured into the garment with relative ease, adjusting silk against the golden shimmer palmed to her skin, swathes of black expertly aligned against her curves, the color of obsidian silk to emphasize the flaxen hue of her skin. Waxen and beholden to a particular glow, the material clung to her torso, accentuating the lines of her figure. A daring plunge, her neckline scooped low, parting lines of silk over her breasts, and adorned in chiffon that swept out into loose and draping sleeves that fell against slender arms and exposed lithe shoulders. It was all artfully done panels of fabric that fell over her figure, cinched in places before flaring dramatically in others. At her back, she felt the most extended pieces of her hair sweep against the links of her spine, the skirt of her dress extending behind her in shimmering capes, the weight pulled at the panels over her thighs, daring to embellish the asymmetrical slit that parted over scars and skin and ink. Both legs were similarly exposed to elongate the length of her swagger with every step she made, and there, she tugged a laughably short zipper into place and angled her body to glimpse the most severe scars on her back.

With the inked work framed against her bones, she was the visual representation of the macabre and life undone, a ravishing of the most catastrophic of dames that did little to conceal her flaws and wore such with a defying ruthlessness in the daring reveals of skin. Chaos reigned true in the flutter of lashes there, her hair falling to one side as she bent at the waist and slid delicately into heels strapped around her ankles, simplistic stilettos in a velvety black that she clasped closed, dainty toes and adorned in simple polish and affording her a couple of inches.

Amma regaled herself as a queen to the court and contemplated her state of wear with silence. Previous nerves fell away into a coil of unease that flitted away on the precipice of her confidence, the dress chosen having done wonders to balm away her uncertainty. It all came away into something still unknown, the in-between that she was that spelled into the assumption of one thing: danger. Madness.

She merely laughed to herself before she gathered her discarded clothing and left the room, closing the door behind her as excited words fell upon her ears and observed each of the girls in their own armor: red, green, and blue. Primary splashes of color against the black of her selection, each framed in beauty and elegance, transformed from girls into women who dominated their respective strengths and heralded their prowess by the garments adorned to their physiques. Amma placed her clothes with her cosmetic kit, silently procuring various metals of simplistic jewelry: a few rings to adorn her scarred fingers, a bracelet of gold, and then one of silver to nestle beside it. She kept to the usual black stud in her ears, gold hoop through her septum, and opted away from a necklace, allowing the bisected moth and scar to remain seen for all the world to regard, for hiding such beneath a pendant or a string of sparkling adornment seemed dismissive of the trials and pain she had faced against the manifestation of her would-be self had she been known as Beloved. With a soft breath and a sweep through her mane of hair, she said:

"You all look beautiful. Your dates should be so lucky."

Haven’s jaw dropped a fraction as her gaze swept over the raven haired woman, quickly corrected by the wide smile that returned to her lips. Amma’s tragic beauty was outlined by the contrast of the darkest black against her scarred and pale skin. She’d never seen her look so regal.

“You look gorgeous, Amma.” She offered happily, before she gently clapped her hands together. “Let’s take one more shot before we go, if you’re up for it.”

That said, Haven returned to her drink station by the fridge. She began to pour a single into the glass she’d left there, tossing a look over her shoulder. “If you’d like one, bring your glass over. But no pressure this time.”

“You really do, Amma,” Aurora concurred, but gorgeous didn’t even cover how devastating the raven haired girl was in that dress. A lethal kind of beauty that few could match, she was certain all eyes would be on her at the dance, including his. And for that, she felt a new emotion towards Amma, one that she hadn’t felt before. Envy. The redhead grabbed her glass, another shot sounding like exactly what she needed in that moment. But as she filled it, a sound echoed through the dorm.

A knock on the door.

Looking down at her phone, 8:03pm stared back at Aurora, all signs pointing to the fact that her date had just arrived and it was time to face the music. Part of her had hoped the girls would have left by now so she didn’t have to reveal the situation to them like this, but of course things never went according to plan.

“I’ll get it,” The redhead quickly chimed before anyone else could offer, her voice a slightly higher pitch in her unease. She made her way towards the door and checked her reflection one last time in the mirror before opening it. Sure enough, standing there waiting was Chadwick Patterson, dressed in a tailored black suit that looked like it had been made specifically for him. His eyes wandered, taking in Aurora’s appearance, a roguish smirk tugging on his lips, before returning his gaze to hers.

“Wow, Aurora, you look…” He smiled, a genuine wide smile, shaking his head as if he was in disbelief of his luck, “You look amazing. Ready to go?”

“Thank you,” Aurora couldn’t help but blush, not having expected such a compliment or reaction from him. “Yeah, let me just get my bag,” Turning around, she looked at her friends sheepishly before walking to the kitchen table and grabbing her clutch. Fishing inside, she grabbed her key and handed it to Harper. “Just, uh, lock the door behind you and make sure the lights are off, I’ll clean up tomorrow.” Chad took a step into the dorm, not having expected an audience.

“Ladies,” He greeted politely with a nod towards Amma, Harper, and Haven, a debonair quality about him.

Harper took the key from Aurora, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at Chad, sizing him up in a single, practiced sweep of her gaze. His suit was impeccable, tailored to perfection, and he carried himself with a confidence that seemed to belong at a formal event. Still, there was something almost too perfect about him, a polished veneer that made her want to scratch the surface.

“Well, it’s good to see you dressed for the occasion, Chad,” she said, her tone casual but with a hint of amusement. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment longer, noting the way his suit accentuated his frame, before adding, “Aurora clearly has an eye for… last-minute decisions.” The irony of her words was not lost on Harper, considering how meticulously she’d planned the movie night with Aurora. But then again, she wasn’t the one arriving on someone’s arm in a suit that screamed “I planned this weeks ago”.

Meanwhile, Haven had smoothly made her way to where Aurora set her shot down the moment she heard his voice at the door, taking it into her hand as if it were her own. She quickly threw the shot back before the redhead could notice, her wings twitching with the laugh she suppressed while Harper mused behind her. Her secret mission complete, and empty shot glass still in hand, Haven turned to greet the unexpected date with a less than friendly smile.

“Don’t you look like a gentleman tonight.” She said with a gesture at his suit. Her eyebrow rose a fraction, green and gold eyes seeming to convey what she would have said if Aurora wasn’t within earshot. Hope he acts like one too.

Amma doesn’t say anything. While Harper and Haven greet him, their unspooling tension and perplexity compounded by things left unsaid and pinging away betwixt her ears, she merely stares Chadwick Patterson down. A siring of blue eyes that immediately flashed silver, for this was not the man she expected to greet them at Aurora’s door, and the way he gravitated towards locks of spun gold, a halo of innocence and promising beauty that she was, he was likened to a sensual beast prepared to pounce and devour. Another predator, a dangerous fragment that she recognized immediately for the reputation he heralded in Gulo, even she knew of him, his likeness that girls fell over and then wept for becoming cruelly enraptured by false hopes.

The glass in her hand immediately shatters. Fated wisps of scarlet sheer through the weeping lines in her palms, plinking graces of sound and glass fragments that are swept and feathered away into nothing by the swell of silver and black that oozes away from her pores. The sudden wounds in her skin immediately fed with the ambient HZEs that lance through the room, and there Amma turned her eyes towards Aurora, and though her full lips stayed sealed, the fettered emotions within those half-bidden lashes sheer into a glare. She shakes out her hand, bones cracking, fingers splayed as the slivers of crimson lined into her hand slowly fade, along with the wealth of her stare as she calmly turns and plucks one of the boutonnieres from the box and gathers her things with silent efficiency. She spared no words or explanations; she didn’t have a date for the evening, so no caller would come to collect her, and she would not be so designed to wait. Amma’s memory returned to their shared words in the ward, all the laments of love, hope, and desire that defied, no, betrayed, the reveal that Chad and not Lorcán came for Aurora’s hand.

“Have fun, girls. I’ll see you all later,” she said aloud, not sparing Chad another look before she driftedcloser to Aurora. Her head was canted, her gaze trailing down and then up in slow increments before she whispered, “Be careful.”

And then Amma left; she had a certain someone to find.

Following Amma’s small outburst, Haven held her breath as she turned to clean up what little mess they’d made on the kitchen counter. Rory would be arriving outside soon, anyway. She placed the empty glasses in the sink, her gaze hesitating on her own remaining shot. It was too tempting to take it, but even she was aware that her high tolerance had its limit. So she poured it out in the sink, a small tribute to Calli who was in the states and for Katja, who was nowhere to be found these days.

She finally took a breath as she moved to shove the near empty bottle in her duffle. “Rora, I’m gonna leave my bag in your closet. I’ll grab it from you tomorrow, if that’s alright.” She turned to offer a small smile in her direction. “Have fun tonight. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Aurora watched the reactions from her teammates, took in their expressions as they each realized that Chad was her date to the dance. Harper’s demeanor was expected, Haven’s too, but it was Amma’s visceral response that she was taken aback by. Her whispered words lingered even after she left the dorm, words of warning that the redhead didn’t comprehend. Shaking off the discomfort that quickly settled within her, she picked up one of the boutonnieres from the box along with her clutch and approached Chad with a shy smile before looking back at Haven.

“Of course, no problem,” She answered, before returning her gaze to the boy next to her. “Alright, shall we?”

“We shall.” Chad offered the redhead his arm, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it, noticing instantly how he didn’t radiate any warmth. With a nod, the two walked out of the dorm and towards the A.R.C. where the dance awaited them.

Harper watched as Aurora took Chad’s arm, the pair heading out the door toward the dance. The room felt quieter, emptier, once they were gone, leaving just her and Haven behind. Her gaze trailed from the closed door to the spot where Amma had stood. The shattered glass had vanished, but the friction that had passed between them all was still felt to a degree, a subtle undercurrent that refused to be ignored.

She let out a slow breath, leaning against the counter as her thoughts drifted. Aurora had chosen Chad, but that choice hadn’t been her first. Harper knew that all too well. There was a certain irony in how the redhead had ended up with Chad at the last minute, and it wasn’t lost on Harper that she herself had made a choice for the dance too—one that wasn’t exactly her first either, a decision that mirrored Aurora’s in its own way.

Cass wasn’t the first person who came to mind when she thought about the dance, and in some ways, he was the easier choice compared to Gil. There wasn’t the same history, the same tension that seemed to coil around her whenever she thought of her charismatic teammate. But as she stood there, leaning against the counter, she found herself not regretting it. Unlike how Aurora probably felt, Harper felt a sense of calm, a quiet acceptance that maybe, just maybe, the easier choice wasn’t such a bad one after all.

With that thought, Harper reached into the pocket of the hoodie draped over her arm and pulled out her phone. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she typed out a quick message to Cass: See you soon. The simplicity of the message seemed right. It was a promise fulfilled without the complications of the past. She hit send, feeling a flutter of anticipation in her chest.

She slipped her phone into her bra—how unlike her to not think of buying a clutch—and started toward the door, hanging her hoodie in the closet as she passed. Just as she reached for the handle, Harper paused, her hand hovering in mid-air. She turned back to Haven, who was tidying up the last remnants of the evening’s preparations, the words forming on her lips before she finally spoke.

“You coming?” the brunette asked with a half-smile, her voice breaking the stillness of the room.

“Yeah, one sec.” Haven hummed as she dried her hands on the hand towel by the sink. She reached for her duffle from the table, fishing out her flip phone from the bag as she heard the buzz of a notification from within. The duffle was then stashed in the closet before she slipped out of the dorm between Harper and the doorframe, her wings tucking into her back to avoid a group of passing students in their finery. She stood with Harper as the door was locked, sucking on her teeth before taking a short breath. “Rory’s here, so I’m gonna walk with him.” Her eyes flitted between the similar hazels in front of her. She knew Harper had her date, and even her friend in case she needed someone, but she had to make sure that Harper knew Haven cared for her despite the tension that lingered between them. After all that had happened since the school year began, she wasn’t sure she’d ever assume an event at PRCU would be peaceful again. “I hope you have a good time tonight, too. Feel free to call if you need anything.” Her smile was quick, a small effort, before she turned her wings to the brunette to make her way out of the Myotis dorm.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island
Dance Monkey #4.042: Dance, Dance
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Bleed Into Me

Loud music spilled out of the A.R.C. as the senior class arrived at the Hollywood themed affair. A red carpet had been laid out along the pathway, lined with gold posts connected by matching velour rope. Given the tumultuous start to the semester, it was appreciated not only by the student body, but the faculty as well that the night was off to a start without a single hiccup or mishap.

No one had hijacked the event, there weren’t students brawling out front. The sky was clear and full of stars without a cloud in the sky and while the entire night had been because of the Foundation’s meddling, it was just what the senior student body needed to blow off some steam and cut loose.

For once, the Foundation had presented a boon to P.R.C.U. that have an ulterior motive.

The interior of the A.R.C. had been decorated in a strong contrast of black, white and red while gold accents brought the decor to life. The students had done their best to capture the classic Hollywood aesthetic and transport the senior class from the present into the roaring twenties.

Centerpieces adorned with white decorative feathers brought the tables on either side of the dance floor to life, offering a splash of life above the dark table clothes and their blood red runners. The round tables with six seats sat between the tiled black and white marble floor and the buffet tables lined with finger foods and punch bowls. All manner of food and hors d'oeuvres dotted the white rectangular tables while several different bowls of punch were strategically placed near the end of each.

Above the dance floor, the brass railing of the mezzanine looked down, students eagerly climbing the stairs to reach the bar above where certified juniors were eagerly serving up various coolers, beers and cocktails with the additional bottle of wine.

At the far end of the dance floor stood a band, entirely made of simulated hardlight. Dressed in matching white tuxedos, their instruments shifted between songs depending on the next tune and the project musicians enthusiastically played and belted out each melody as it came.

“Congratulations, Chancellor,” Miranda complimented looking around the scene before her. “You’ve pulled on your first themed dance, hopefully one of many.”

“Oh, well as long as the students are happy, it's a bit too much commotion for me,” Jim smiled wryly, adjusting the bolo tie around his neck.

“Come,” Miranda instructed, “I think this calls for a celebratory drink, hopefully to the first of many joint ventures.”

“Eh, I’ll drink to that,” Jim relented and followed Miranda as the pair moved through the bustling crowd of students towards the balcony bar.

Looking back behind him, Jim hid a small smile.

It was nice to see things go right for once.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Melissa
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Melissa Melly Bean the Jelly Bean

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__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Myotis Dorm → Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.043: Please Please Please
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): N/A
Previously: Between Shadows and Light

The walk from the Myotis Dorm to the A.R.C. felt much longer than it normally did.

Maybe it was because Aurora was focusing intently on each of her steps, consciously making an effort not to twist an ankle or fall flat on her face in front of Chad. She was normally graceful and agile, but the last thing she needed was to start a trend of klutziness tonight. After all, she was wearing heels. Or possibly it was because she noticed each and every stare of her classmates as she held onto her date’s arm, the same shock etched in their expressions that her teammates had given when he showed up at her door.

It also could be that she was the one stalling, reducing their pace simply because she wanted to prolong the inevitable reaction from Lorcán once he found out who she was at the dance with. It seemed that all her thoughts were coming back to him, even though she knew he was likely only thinking about Amma. She needed to snap out of it, focus her attention on the boy who had actually asked her to the dance.

“By the way, this is for you,” Aurora slowed to a stop, holding up the boutonniere with a sheepish smile. “I won’t stab you with the pin, I swear.” As soon as it came out of her mouth, she mentally kicked herself for saying something so stupid. Chad’s eyebrows raised, something like realization crossing his features. Maybe he was realizing it was a mistake to ask her in the first place.

Lorcán would have laughed at her joke.

“Shoot, I knew I was forgetting something.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I didn’t get you a corsage, I’m sorry.” Not what she was expecting to hear, Aurora masked her disappointment, her heart sinking a little bit.

“It’s all good, really,” She quickly assured him as she took a step closer, expertly and nimbly attaching the boutonniere to the lapel of his jacket. “Not a big deal. Honestly, the only reason I remembered to get one is because I’ve spent the last few weeks watering the flowers at the Farm.” She downplayed the gesture, not a complete lie, but after she had seen how gorgeous the corsages had turned out, she was silently wishing she’d get to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Guess not.

Lorcán wouldn’t have forgotten to get her one.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Chad looked down at her with a playful glint in his eyes, letting his hand trail up her arm, “I can promise you that.” His touch on her skin triggered goosebumps, and not the good kind, but nonetheless the redhead nodded. She quickly created distance between them before he could notice, attempting to will them away. But he seemed to clue in to her apprehension, smirking before gingerly taking her hand and placing it back onto his bicep where it had been prior. His eyes drifted down to her arm, the bumps that had suddenly appeared there, and Aurora could have sworn she saw a flash of amusement and satisfaction in his gaze.

Be careful.

“I don’t bite, you know.” He joked cheekily, before dissolving into a coy smile, resting his other hand reassuringly over hers, “I just want us to have a good time tonight, there’s no need to be nervous.” He sweetly explained, attempting to put her a bit more at ease.

“I know,” She breathed, trying to quiet the voice in her head that had tripped the alarm. Amma was just warning her given everything going on with Lorcán, not because Chad had less than well meaning intentions. Right? “Forgive me, I just… haven’t been on a real date before,” The redhead revealed, but as soon as the words left her mouth her eyes widened, “Not that I’m trying to assume this is a date, but you’re my date to the dance and-” Aurora was rambling now, her cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink, and Chad laughed before interrupting her runaway train of thought.

“This is a date, Aurora.” He stated matter of factly and continued guiding her towards the A.R.C., the dance drawing nearer. “And you can bet I’m going to make it one to remember.”

The pair continued on their way and after a few more minutes arrived at their destination. The school had pulled out all the stops for the event, the red carpet and glamorous theming a welcome reprieve from the usual serious air of the building. The music that flowed through the venue, along with the ambient noise and energy from their classmates created a lively and fun environment. Any worries that Aurora was harboring seemed to vanish as she remembered that tonight was supposed to be an opportunity to let loose and enjoy herself.

Chad steered them towards his friends, who had claimed a table on the far side of the room. The redhead didn’t know them well, having only met them in passing or hearing of them, but they seemed friendly enough. While the group began to banter back and forth about their practice earlier that day, she stood there quietly just taking it all in, their chatter fading into static in the background. Her eyes drifted around the room hoping to spot a familiar face from Blackjack or one of her roommates, but no one came into view. Hopefully she’d find them later, she needed to find Lorcán later.

An arm came to rest around her shoulders, and Aurora returned her wandering gaze to find Chad had pulled her closer to him, even though he was still engrossed in conversation. It didn’t feel like an affectionate gesture, in fact, it felt more possessive than anything. She saw the facial expressions his friends exchanged, almost as if they were all clued into something that she was not. Or maybe was she reading into things too much? It could have been in response to something they had said while she was distracted. And maybe Chad was just trying to reassure her while his focus was diverted.

The dark haired boy looked down at her and smiled, her previous negative thoughts melting away.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Chad offered, motioning towards the bar that sat above them in the mezzanine, “What do you want?” At the offer, Aurora shook her head, a nervous laugh trilling from her lips. She could still feel the burn of the Tito’s shot that she took in her dorm at the back of her throat, and thus didn’t have much interest in having another right now.

“We had a bit to drink already when we were getting ready, I don’t think I want-”

“Oh come on, one more drink isn’t gonna hurt you. Vodka soda?” He cut her off, a certain look in his eye that the redhead couldn’t read. His friends even seemed to pause around them, listening in. Even though she wasn’t sure if she wanted another, Chad had a point, one more drink wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Besides, maybe it’d help calm her nerves.

“I, uh,” The redhead stuttered, second guessing herself before answering in his favor, “Sure, with a lime, please.”

“You got it. I’ll be back.” Clearly pleased with her sudden change of heart, the dark haired boy winked before disappearing, their classmates seeming to instantly part to let him through. His friends continued their conversation and Aurora sighed, bringing her hand up to her neck to fiddle with her necklace. While they remained engrossed in whatever topic they were discussing, she stepped away from the group, her eyes absentmindedly searching the dance floor once more.

Where was he?
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Hound55
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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"Calli! F'rchrisssake I wasn't gonna hit him!"

"Well, that's not what it looked like..." Her response prim, cold, closed off. Disappointed.

"Well it wouldn't, would it?" He held his hands out, as if his reasoning was self-evident.

"I don't get it. This isn't another of those stupid toxic masculinity macho--"

"No, no, no-- well, maybe, yes. It's one of those blurred line things. I mean... it probably factors in somewhere if you really think about it..."

She looked completely unimpressed.

"Where I grew up, I got the shit beat out of me a lot. Even when I was old enough and my powers kicked in to the point where I could have been putting kids into hospital." He tried to explain.

"And in these places where I grew up, the two easiest ways to protect yourself were to be a psychopath who throws his fists at everything... and believe me, I knew a lot of them... or have everyone believe you were a psycho who would throw his fists at everything."

"So you were pretending? Acting?"

"I would never say this to anyone else... but yeah. Truth is, I don't really like to fight. I mean, I 'can'. You don't grow up how I did without being able to at least a bit. But ever since my powers came in, I kind of lost my stomach for it, and I don't really like being around the types who actually would throw fists at anything."

"Well, what if he didn't fall for it? What if he decided he really did want to?"

"He didn't. So long as you're not stupid and overly aggressive it tends to keep you out of more fights than drags you into. Bein' around the kind of people who are up for a fight... that'll drag you into more."

"But what if HE DID, Andrew." Her exasperation palpable.

Banjo chuckled. "Then I'd better have found my interest in fighting pretty bloody quick. Nothin' will see you get your arse kicked quicker than not wanting to be in a fight you're caught in. But it wasn't gunna happen."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because, like I told you. I've been around people who are like that. And that guy... he ain't it."

"Because you hung around people like that?" She said. He spotted a trace of nervousness in her tone. The same kind of apprehension he'd often picked up on when he'd voiced his decision to be a defense attorney.

"I've KNOWN people like that." He clarified. "And it doesn't necessarily make them bad people. They just... grew up in situations which changed them that way. I wouldn't want to be that way."

"If it doesn't make them bad people, then why wouldn't you want to be like that?"

The clear pointed question skewering the issue. She'd gotten right to it. He snorted a half-laugh recognising what she'd done.

"Because once they start looking at the world like that. Defensive. Quick to violence. They become a hammer in a world of nails. Once you become the kind of person who's so beat up that you throw fists at everything... it can be hard for those people to know when to stop throwing them."

He smiled at her.

"Like I said. Doesn't make 'em bad people. But they're people who got pushed into a corner, found a means of survival for that corner, and then when they're out of that corner, that means of survival... it can lead to bad situations."

Things could get pretty bad. They'd been pretty bad for him, even if the physical scars had long since faded. But he'd never needed to be that way. He'd found another way.

* * *

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Myriad locations - PRCU
Dance Monkey #4.044: Reckless
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): Myriad NPCs. Chad provided by @Melissa
Previously: Angry And Alone - Be Good Johnny


Banjo sat in the chair with a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

Vincenzo looked on with a skeptical expression, surveying the terrain.

"Whaddaya reckon? Can anything be done?" The Butler, known to the island as 'Harry Holt' uttered.

"Leonardo... from pristine untouched marble pulled from Carrara quarries in Tuscany, could make the most beautiful sculptures you have ever seen. With this, Harry, this untouched mop. I must thank you! Vincenzo will make art, the kind of which you have never seen!"

He unfurled a barber's set, clippers, scissors of all kind and began to whistle whilst he worked.

"I guess I should be glad you didn't just tell him where my spare sheep shears are and set him loose with the handpiece." He said, wincing, as Vincenzo pulled a stray tangle with a comb, before divining that this marble certainly needed more spray.

"I told you we'd take care of you." His older keeper reminded him. "I'm more surprised that bird of yours never grabbed the shears and went after you herself. Her patience... boundless."

"I'm sure she'll love it!" The euphonious sing-song tone of their neighbour's enthusiasm brought the audience to a silence.

Banjo fell dark at the mention of Calliope.

The Butler had wrangled a handful of his neighbours over on the alumni island to come together into his home for the charitable effort of making him look halfway presentable.

Vincenzo was thrilled that his moment to shine was upon him. But it was his neighbour from the house behind, Margot, who had lent the most hours to the effort.

Not that she had any idea just how many hours she had sunk.

In a past life, Margot had been 'Margot Saunders' and that name had been up in lights on many a Hollywood marquee. She was one of the most glamorous actresses of a Hollywood era which truly worshipped the triple threat she presented as musicals took place of pride in the entertainment scene. Whispers and murmurings of how much longer she could sustain a career in the industry threatened the career and lifestyle she had grown to love, when she was given a gift from the gods. The Coronal Mass Ejection born from the darkness of the eclipse.

In the tabloids it would be reported that a newly hired makeup girl had seemed to turn back the career of the 'Nightingale' Margot Saunders. The truth she kept hidden. Her career revivified, as she returned to stage and silver screen.

For about a decade... as the genre itself fell into decline and her career became a relic inconsequential of her appearance or her age.

In fact her youthful appearance and apparent overeagerness learned from professionalism only left her the target of ridicule. An artefact of a bygone year unwilling to accept its time was over.

Because whilst Hollywood desperately wants women to remain young forever. It will still have deep skepticism of any who can.

A retirement thrust upon her and a limelight stolen from her, she had long ago picked up her not unsubstantial career earnings and looked for a place where she could have her secrets. To this island, where she had now been teaching a less than willing Australian for a few months now - before the senior dance had even been anounced. On Harry's request.

Of course she had no idea it had been a few months. The tragic irony of her hyperhuman power. Whilst it had presented her with the appearance of eternal youth, it had no impact on her mind. She had long since succombed to dementia, and her short term memory was at best spotty.

But she liked her affable, friendly neighbour who was always up for a chat. And the dance lessons had allowed her to revisit past glories - even if only between her own ears for brief moments at a time. Her long-term memory was fine, particularly regarding every minute detail of her own filmography and stagework. Her short-term memory was long gone. Margot had been told all about Calliope, even met her a few times, although the lessons remained a secret - intended to be a surprise for later. And had even been told of her returning home last time he was here. It wasn't her fault. He knew it wasn't her fault. But it all still hurt. Rolled into the big ball of pain he'd been going through since his leg forced changes upon him.

"Mate... it's al--" The Butler took an opportunity to grab a shoulder whilst Vincenzo changed his weapon of choice.

"It's fine." He grunted bluntly. "If nothin' else, she'll still get the photos out of it, eh?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, mate. I'll send her the photos."

"So, you wear the old fashioned classical tuxedo, eh? Vincenzo saw it hang as he came in. We will make this work, perfect, pristine, bellissimo!"

"You're sure it's not too short?" He winced, clumps of his hair dropping to the floor.

"Hey! Canvas! You no talk. You no know what you want. Vincenzo knows what you want."

"Canvas? I thought I was marble."

"Much-a the same. You do not have input on art. Art is being done to you. Sit there. Become beautiful."

Banjo turned his head to the Butler. "Sit here. Become beautiful. Are you kidding me?"

"Hey! You no turn your head!" With a firm finger he redirected Banjo's head to the front.

"It is for Vincenzo to have you make others turn their head. Yes?" The barber tutted as he applied the finishing touches to his work.

Banjo sighed.

"Hey! No sigh. Adds wrinkles." He murmured to the younger man, as he finished with shaping the back of his neck with a razor.

"That is true. It does add wrinkles." Margot added her own beauty tip from a bygone era.

"Now! You tell Vincenzo this is not a thing of beauty!" He gestured to the back of his head for the others to admire his work.

"Well, seein' as I'm sittin' in old mate's kitchen with a towel wrapped around me, and not in your barbershop, and there's nary a bloody mirror in sight. I'm just gonna have to take your word for it. Aren't I?" Banjo snarked.

"This is true! Mirror! He needs a mirror!" The Italian barber exclaimed.

"It looks great, mate. He's done a top job croppin' your mop, cob'." The Butler lent support.

"It looks spectacular, Vincenzo! You've done so marvellously!" Margot lent her glowing review.

"Ehh! Molte grazie! Ciao, a presto. I must go! One of Vincenzo's stories is about to start!" He rolled up his barber's tools, donned a hat and with a wave to the adults in the room bid everyone farewell.

"I can't help but notice, the bloke who cut my hair is headin' for an early exit before I can find meself a mirror..." More snark.

"Relax, mate. Like I said. Looks great. Now shower and suit. I'll see you off back down to Dundas myself."

Banjo hobbled off to the bathroom letting the towel hang off his shoulders for a quick clean before pouring himself into his suit. He let the water beat down on the back of his head and neck and run down his face, taking stray gulps that ran to his mouth before spitting it onto the floor, running a hand back and forth over his significantly lighter head to clear off loose hair.

He didn't really want to be doing this any more. All of it was for everyone else. And it was eating at him.

He was going to the dance because she'd said she still wanted to see how he'd look there. The effort she'd put into making this night work, so it wouldn't go to waste where he was concerned. But it wasn't really his scene in the first place.

Helping Zimmerman and maybe Big Steve..? As if he could. If they weren't beyond help altogether, he sure as Hell didn't know what greater wisdom he could hope to impart on anyone. Not in this field at least. He'd got beyond lucky. If you believed in luck.

And if you believed in luck he was right down the other end where that was concerned right now.

Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. He looked downright civilised now. Nudity aside.

The water stopped and he stepped to the bathmat a much neater complete mess than a few hours ago.

By the time he emerged in his tuxedo, sans tie, he saw the older pair dancing in the living room to pass the time. They uncoupled as he approached.

"Bloody Hell, kiddo! Made a new man out of you!"

Banjo did not care much for this new man at all.

"Let's get that tie done, eh?"

Banjo approached and did up his top button. His collar popped he watched once again as the older man tied the bow-tie, twitching his head back out of the way to avoid theolder man flipping his nose with the tie this time, as a smile creased across the Butler's face.

"I know, mate. It's not the same." He pulled the two sides even. "But there's worse things in this world than doin' things for others and bringing happiness to other people."

"Oh. Fuck. Off." He sighed.

"What?" The older man stopped and sized him up.

"Look. I'm fine. I'm goin' through the motions. But don't act like this is some after-school special or some learnin' experience or anything like that. It's some bullshit to get through. And I'm gettin' through it. That's all."

The Butler stepped back.

"And you're not my goddamn dad either. Acting like you've ever been teaching me any lessons in the first place, what? Just because she's around?" He pointed at Margot. "Who are you kidding, you're just a bloke who used to drive me around between schools. Where were you when I was actually AT any of them? Phantom. Ghost who bloody walks, mate. Til it was time to pick me up and drag me off somewhere again."

"Well, I'm here now. When you're at this one."

"Yeah! Because you live here. Amongst these people. And you're worried they're gonna judge you or somethin', so you've changed how you are and give a shit about being present or some shit. Which you never cared about before."

The older man looked notably hurt and just bobbed his head in sarcastic agreement with a screwface.

"Well, I guess you got me pegged, huh?"

"Mate. You're not that deep. I had you figured out years ago."

He gave a half-hearted chuckle with a sigh.

"C'mon. I said I'd take you back to Dundas. Let's--"

"Don't bother. I've got to go back to my dorm anyway. Pick up the other two. If I don't drag them out they'll probably never leave the room."

"There ya go. Ever the hero... what a martyr--"

"Not a hero. Never said I was a hero. Never even said I was a good person. I'm not trying to be. I'm just a regular bloke who wants to be left the fuck alone to live my own life. That's it."

"Whatever. Smile, you want me to snap this shot right..? Then we'll go."

"..." He glowered. Dark clouds filling his head.

He moved and stood by one of the bare walls, big grin as fake as any he'd accused Gil of having, whilst the Butler fired off some stills.

"You want to check these or--?" The older man flipped through his phone at the pictures.

"It's me in a monkeysuit... she'll be glad I made that much of an effort. Whatever reason she liked me enough outside of the thing..."

The Butler sized him up after his photos and considered what he was looking at. He grabbed the remote, flicked through and selected a golden oldie movie.

"Right-o. Margot, just gotta drop the kid off. Is it alright if you hang about and I'll see you home when I get back. We've got--"

"Ohhh 'That Girl'! Did you know that I was in this one... I remember when I first got given the script for this one and I said, 'I told you, I'd never work with that--'" The older starlet of the silver screen reminsced, taking a prime seat in front of the television.

"Ahh... she'll be right." He quietly said to the sullen younger man.

"I told you, I'll find my own way."

"And I told you I'd take you. And if I weren't a man of my word, we wouldn't be here."

Hard to argue that logic, however he felt.

"Besides, the ferries aren't as frequent this time of night, and my boat's quicker. Gotta get right 'round the other side of the island, remember?"

"Are you kidding me? I just got in this suit, I'm in no shape for it, and now you're gonna expect me--" The younger man had visions of having to launch his boat, barefoot and with his pants rolled up his legs.

"Relax. I got myself pier-space for the occasion. It's docked. I just don't usually."

Here it comes. Some stupid half-baked sentiment.

"Always figured launching the boat was part and parcel of the whole experience."

The two walked down towards the docks, where they could see the large fishing boat was indeed moored.

"What's with you, anyway? Somethin's... not right."

"I'm just pissed off."

"Nah. That's not it."

"What do you me--"

"I've seen you pissed off. Over the years, I've seen all ninety-nine flavours of you. I've seen 'pissed off', I've seen 'sullen', I've seen 'cheeky bastard', 'despondant', 'crying ugly tears'... that one's fun..." He mimicked the crying of a small boy complete with gasps and sniffing. "I-- I-- I-- jus-- I..." Then the rakish grin once again returned to his face just as quickly. "I've seen 'contemptuous', 'contemplative', very briefly I once saw 'content'. That one scared the shit out of me..."

"But this is something different." The grin left and was replaced with something else. A look of genuine concern. "Something new."

"I'm--" He hesitated. Unsure how to parse exactly what was happening. He'd thought about it, how could he not. But never given it enough consideration to properly convey it to other people. It had been hard enough talking to Calliope.

"It sounds pissweak. But this leg. It's just completely changed how I've had to live and I'm not dealing with it. I'm pissed off all the time now. All the time. Believe it or not, I actually spoke to one of the shrinks here it's been bothering me so bad..."

"Shit..." The older man muttered. Knowing full well how unlikely it was for him to ever do anything like that.

"...I just. I feel like I'm in a box. I can't do anything that I want to do. I'm scared to stretch out and do anything, because... There's all these rules I've got to follow or my leg won't heal properly. If after all this time, my leg doesn't heal right and I knew I could have done more--"

"This is you..?" The older man asked. Before following almost incredulously. "You ARE in a box."

"Hey! Nobody puts me in a box!" Re-ignited by the thought of a force to push against.

"And yet... it sounds like you're in one, kiddo. So who put you in there?"

He didn't like the sound of that. But more unarguable truth, regardless how he felt.

"I-- guess I put myself in it?"

They reached the boat and the older man gave a shrug as if to say 'Well, what are you going to do about it?', before jumping aboard and heading for the wheelbridge. The younger man straddled the boat and pier by the rope, ready to cast off once the older man started the engine, considering his next action.

The engine turned over and he untied the boat and pushed off with a weak leg. He went into the interior and up the ladder, before joining the older man on the wheelbridge.

"It's not you. This. The way you've been. It's a shit colour for you."

"Well, yeah. But what am I supposed to do?

"It sounds very much to me like you're not livin'."

"I'm not! But how would I deal with that? If I'm the reason that I walk with a limp for the rest of my life?"

"I don't know if I should tell you this, because when you are healthy and right, that's not exactly the best for the people around you either... but--"

The older man sighed.

"What?"

"You're thinkin' about this all wrong."

The younger man screwed up his face skeptically.

"At the end of the day. Your leg's either going to be right, or it isn't. Right?"

"Yeah..?"

"Yeah. So you could do all the right things and at the end of it, it could still not heal right. Yeah?"

"Well, yeah. But at least I'd know that it wasn't because of me. Wasn't because I'd done anything dumb."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I was talking to someone who cared about doing dumb things and making dumb mistakes."

"Not the same thing. Not mistakes. Sure, I may get myself tossed out of some schools because they can't take a joke, but its not like I didn't know they were going to do it when I was planning on--"

"Never known someone who puts more thought into doing dumb things than you do."

"Exactly."

"So what part of your plan had you getting hurled across--"

"Alright, alright..."

"--by one of the world's most wanted hyperhuman terrorists, no less. What part of your plan was that again?"

"I said 'alright', already."

"Face it, kiddo. You make dumb mistakes just like everybody else. Even if you choose not to look at it like this. What you need to be doing is find a sustainable middle. Do what you can to help the healing process, but don't stop living. Because if how you were back there is anything to go by, you're probably making life miserable for the people around you."

"Hey! She--!" He exploded.

"Not talkin' about her, mate. She had a genuine family drama, by the looks. There's other people on these islands too. Speakin' of..."

He pulled his phone out and fired off a text message.

"What?" He called out over a particularly loud wave.

"Just told those pair of roommates you have to not wait up and meet you there."

"--but yeah. Sustainable middle. Because what you're doing now. It isn't. And however your leg turns out tomorrow... well, there's gonna be a day after that. So how are you gonna be then?"

Banjo thought about it. However his leg turned out he didn't want to be how he was now. He knew that much. But surely he wouldn't be. The rules would all be lifted. He could--

No. It didn't sit right. The old man was right. Even with everything gone back to how it was, HE would know what happened. He would know that he could be changed, broken, from something as stupid as a threat to one leg.

This was unacceptable.

The old man spoke up as if he could read his thoughts.

"I'll tell ya, I suspect there's a handfull of Principals and teachers where, if they knew you could be broken and gotten to stick to the rules with something as simple as this, they'd have broken your leg long ago." He chuckled.

"You're not bloody wrong..." He mumbled to himself. Ever unwilling to concede a point.

"From you? Shit, I'll take it..." The old man said with a laugh, before throttling up as the boat skimmed across the waves, curling around Dundas Island's coastline.




Banjo hobbled across the campus at an irregular pace for him. He was known to take his time between classes, with a reputation for being late to all of them.

Anyone who saw him would likely have suspected he was up to something. After all, he seldom had any other reason to rush anywhere. Least of all because anybody was waiting for him and expecting him. This evening was somehow different.

Or they would have, if they hadn't seen something which would seem even more irregular.

Walking across the quad towards the A.R.C arm in arm were Aurora and-- not Lorcán. What was his name? Shit-- he knew it. Some dumbarse name like Tyler or Tayler or Ch--

Chad. That was it. Water polo jock. From Chadwick and his merry numbnuts band of dickweeds.

He was familiar with them from an afterparty for an intramural hyperball event. Banjo wasn't particularly impressed with how they talked. And if he were honest, Chadwick didn't seem particularly impressed by anything about Banjo either.

But 'Raw..?

He'd given her advice in regards to Lorcan the night before the Trials...

...and now this. Whatever happened after his brilliant advice it hadn't worked, that was for damn sure.

Well, that didn't bode well for his abilities to impart any brilliant wisdom on Zimmerman.

Don't. That shade of sorry for yourself, its a bad colour on you.

Without wasting another thought on them as they entered the A.R.C, he limped onwards towards the night's venue and the two familiar faces milling around outside; one stoic, the other pacing.

"There you are, man! We've been freaking out--!

"I've been fine."

"--people have been going in already, my Mom sent me this suit, and I don't even know how to tie a bow-tie... and everything's--"

"Stop." Banjo hobbled onwards, approaching the smaller man. "Here." His fingers slapped his own palm as he gestured for the tie.

Alex's eyes raised, as he handed it over. Banjo popped the smaller man's collar and perfectly duplicated the process the Butler had performed less than an hour ago, leaving two perfectly balanced equal sides slid to the centre.

"Is-- is it okay?"

Big Steve nodded to him.

"What? You think I'd give you a bum steer?"

The pair of bookish roommates shared unspoken looks between them.

"Don't answer that..." He snapped, but he needn't have worried, they were still trying to figure out what he'd just said. "Your parents gonna expect some Happy Snaps? C'mon. Let's get in there..."




Limping inside, he waited a few seconds to watch as the first of the pair prepared to get photos to send home on the red carpet, before moving on and hobbling off inside without them.

Virtual band, elaborately decorated tables, the perfectly selected furnishings in their classy red, white, black and gold. The way the students had come together to complement the style.

He sighed.

It was perfect. It was everything she was hoping the trials would have been. And she wasn't here to see it.

He looked back to see if Zimmerman and Big Steve had managed to pass the cameras and make their 'Grand Entrance' yet, but it was still taking them some time. The 'paparazzi' snapping red carpet shots hadn't exactly made them a priority, so it was taking some time.

Almost on instinct he began his ascent up the stairs to the mezzanine and the bar. His hand on the cool gold railing. His pace slow, as he took in the sights and sounds. The music, the ambient sound of students enjoying the night. The sights, the sounds...

He needed a goddamn beer. Never before had he needed a goddamn beer like right now.

And then he saw Chad minus dickweeds making haste for the bar, cutting through.

He knew exactly why he was so eager. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. A voice inside tried to push back what he remembered overhearing from that night.

Don't. Just don't.

His lopsided legs kept taking him to the bar though.

Just get a beer. You need a beer. Leave it.

Chad minus dickweeds was at the bar now. Less than three metres ahead.

Don't... Don't say anything. You don't need to get involve--

"Hey. Noticed you're over there with 'R--'" he pulled himself up from using his overly familiar nickname for her, as he stepped to the bar. "Mitchell."

Leaning up against the bar, Chad slowly turned his head to face the accent that just assumed he could casually start up a conversation with him. The dark haired boy didn’t stoop to associate with lesser types who didn’t belong in his world, but he was bored waiting for his drink, so, he cleared his throat.

“And?” He questioned, brow furrowed, “What’s it to you?”

Banjo was well familiar with the disdain. He had his own reputation and had never done anything but lean into it, after all. So it wasn't foreign at all, the cadence, as if he was addressing something unfortunate that he'd stepped in.

"Just--"

God he hated injecting himself into people's bullshit like this. Don't-- Goddamit. You're already doing it...

"I don't know what's happened here. She's free to make her own decisions. But I know her-- she's had enough people passing through her life and leaving her..."

Ugh. The earnest words felt distasteful coming from him, so he changed gears. Grew colder.

"She's on my team. If I have to deal with a lot of tears after tonight. I'm not gonna be very happy."

Chad couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the attempt was laughable at best. Did this guy really think a few words would intimidate him? From the school’s laughing stock, at that.

“Listen, Bongo, mind your own fucking business and go run back to that little girlfriend of yours.” He paused, pretending to think for a moment, “Oh that’s right, you can’t, cause she’s gone and forgot to take you with her. Pity.” He caught the eye of the bartender, raising his eyebrows and smirking, the two clearly familiar with one another, “Whiskey, neat, and a vodka soda. Both doubles, make them strong.” He ordered before looking back at Banjo.

In his pocket, the hand that wasn't on the bar, curled into a fist. His mouth flattened to a single tight crease. He was out of shape; on one leg. He hadn't juiced in as long as he could remember, and he was looking at someone who was equally matched even if he had.

The growl from his gut wanted to cold-cock him here and now. Drop him with a cheapshot before he even knew what happened. He'd get back up in seconds. Without juicing, he wouldn't have enough in the punch. He'd be back up and would beat the shit out of him before he could take enough in.

A big part of him didn't care. A big part of him wanted him to know he didn't give a shit how big an arse kicking he took for the opportunity to drop him cold and see the look on his face.

But HE'D know. He'd know he could get to him with what... some softball shit-talking?

Fuck right off with that...

Besides, he didn't KNOW that he was right about him in the first place. He could have just been eager to get them drinks and get back to his date. Not bloody likely... sure. But he couldn't know for sure just yet. It was all just prejudicial because he knew the man.

The fist in his pocket uncurled.

“Do yourself a favor and just quit while you’re ahead.”

Banjo chuckled, a lifeless guttural growl that never met the eyes, and suggested he hadn't 'been ahead' for quite some time.

"You're right. She's not here. So I guess I've got way too much free time on my hands, eh?"

Banjo turned and ordered his own vodka soda from the barkeep.

"Like I said though, bird's free to make her own decisions. Just see that they are her own decisions, eh?"

The bartender brought the drinks over and as they each reached across, he knocked the second of Chad's drinks all over his wrist.

"Ah shit. Doesn't matter. Just remembered I shouldn't be drinking anyway, what with the leg and all. Take mine." He quickly offered.

Another chuckle, this time with a spark of something more. The corner of his lips curled into a shit-eating grin.

As the drink spilled all over the arm of his suit, Chad swore, shaking the liquid off as best he could. He seethed, glaring at Banjo, before snapping at the bartender and wordlessly pointing at the empty glass. Instead of arguing or imparting more choice words on the blonde boy, he simply ignored him, giving him the coldest shoulder he could manage. He wasn’t worth his breath anyway.

Within seconds a new drink was placed in front of him, and Chad didn’t waste any time grabbing the two beverages and walking away. But not before tipping Banjo’s drink in the process, proceeding to get it all over the bottom of his jacket and the top of his pants.

Banjo turned back to the bartender and ordered a 'virgin screwdriver'.

The junior at the bar blinked twice.

"You mean--"

"Yup."

Zimmerman rushed up, with Big Steve lumbering somewhere behind.

"Are you alright? We just saw--" Alex pointed at Chad as he stormed away through the throng of students. "Do you need to get changed?"

The full glass slid to the bar behind him.

"What? Nah, it's vodka. It's clean. And what it does leave the soda will pick it up."

He sipped from his glass of orange juice, a wry grin on his face. Happier that he'd had his suspicions confirmed than that he'd come away from the altercation dry.

Bloody eager to get that one 'strong', eh? Too bloody eager.

"Nah, I'm fine fellas. Looks like I'm keepin' an eye out for more than just you two tonight though, gents."
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island
Dance Monkey #4.045: All By Yourself
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Interaction(s): @Hound55 - Andrew Olyphant
Previously: Dancing's Not a Crime

Beelining for the bar the second he had entered the A.R.C., Cassander checked his phone for messages, seeing one from Harper before double checking to make sure he hadn’t heard from Lorcán. His cousin was better at the ‘cutesy’ stuff, even if he couldn’t, as Cass’ sister would say ‘COM-MUN-I-CATE’.

A drink was exactly what he needed to calm his nerves, signaling the student behind the bar for a beer as he leaned over the rail and took a long swing from the bottle he was handed. It wasn’t anything top shelf, but it had alcohol and that’s exactly what he needed to get through the night.

His palms were sweaty and clammy. He had no idea why he was so honestly nervous, it had been easier to talk to Harper before there was any pressure on. Now he felt like he had to be something he wasn’t, he had to be ‘sweet’ and ‘kind’ when honestly he’d rather banter with the girl. That’s what had made him feel sparks the first time. Now he was just worried about obligations that probably didn’t exist.

It was just a dance, not a marriage proposal.

Aurora had been kind enough to send a corsage for Harper to Cass’ dorm. He had followed her instructions on the note to a tee. The small package carefully and firmly gripped in his other hand while he twirled the bottle around, slowly removing the label before a pair of familiar voices drew his attention from the vessel in front of him.

Cassander turned to watch the scene between Banjo and Chad unfold. He really didn’t understand where Banjo of all people got off intervening on Aurora’s behalf, Cass had never gotten the impression the pair shared any sort of camaraderie, and he knew full well that Lorcán didn’t exactly share the ‘warm fuzzies’ for ‘Benny’. Invested in the outcome, Cass took another sip from his drink, waiting until the latter between Banjo and Chad had walked away before making himself known with a loud, slow clap.

“Great job, Didgeri-Drew, I bet Patterson’s really going to go home and think about his life choices now.” Cassander took a swig from the bottle in front of him before tipping it in the direction that Chad had left in. “You were so close to making a point too, until you had to go and spill the drink. Couldn’t help yourself could you, you might have even helped someone, but no, that’s not what you actually do is it.”

Taking a step closer, the broader young man leaned on the bar rail before taking another, slow, savoured sip in front of Banjo.

“"I know your special lady friend has been gone for about all of five minutes, and when the loneliness strikes, you really got find someone to cure it. But really? Moving onto Aurora of all people?” Cass rolled his eyes, Lorcán apparently had terrible timing for deciding to realize his feelings for Aurora. Seemed every guy on campus wanted the redhead these days.

“Now before you spill my drink on me, I just thought you should know I'm here with Harper,” Cass confessed sarcastically, “Do you have a big brother lecture for me or is it just Rora you're attached to? No don't say anything, I frankly don't want to hear you speak anyways,”

Pushing off from the bar, Cassander stood up, placing the empty bottle down on the barrail before stepping away, pausing as he shot a last remark back at Banjo.

“Maybe if you play your cards right, Rory will fumble with Haven and you can take a shot there.” He snarked before his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Presuming any of these women can get past the smell."

Moving through the crowd, Cassander scanned above the sea of students for the familiar flowing locks and fiery eyes that belonged to exactly one student. To no one’s surprise, he found them talking to Aurora before her ‘charming’ date re-injected himself to the conversation and whisked her away before any second thoughts could set in.

Walking up behind Lorcán, Cass watched his younger cousin’s hand curl into a fist while he stared after Aurora as Chad hurriedly escorted her away. Clearing his throat, Cass took another sip before finally speaking.

“What a perfect asshole.”
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Rockette
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Rockette 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

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Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island
Dance Monkey #4.046: i looked the future in the eyes, it's mine.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): -
Previously: between shadows and light.

The world was often beholden to the impression and influence that was Amma Cahors.

It melded into a massive construct of red, donned in touches of silver and banked with deep obsidian that gleamed with ashen remains; it swelled therein with potential, need, and a yearning for omnipotence. An almighty being that raged with appetence, hunger, a void that demanded to be sated, a glutton for the sweltering energy that permeated the air with every sharp rap of her heels onto the pavement, every swish of silk with a trailing skirt that fanned around the golden sheen of her thighs; a cape of shadow, of night eternal, woven through with a smattering of promise and intention. Alone but all-encompassing in every swagger, a near march into a field of unknown where the moon fell upon her, mocked her in all that resplendent silver, highlighted those scars, and delicately flashed at the white pinned temporarily to her dress until she would pin it onto another. There was a particular whorl of energy that linked through her gestures, herself so in tune with the wiles of the world that suspended itself from the emotional coil that flexed betwixt flesh and bone, spun through in leagues of damning red that sluggishly crawled over her skin, down her legs, sparking to life with each step made.

Amma had stopped by her dorm one final time to drop off her things; the letters were still left there, her old uniform haunting the space on her bed, and the usual grace of her room malformed by the lingering emotes of anguish represented in the shattered tiles and scarlet lances. Another time, though, to acknowledge the disparity of her past and the lies it was built of, she would find her answers eventually (the fog of her memories be damned), but the night had beckoned, and so she had taken the letters, her uniform next, and hid them away.

What was and had been and thus came to be: a concept of circumstance that may have taken life away from her, but she would take it back without forgiveness and without regret. And it started here.

The Alexandria Foundation had its dances, of course. Stories she had heard about with many nights of revelry that celebrated assorted achievements of impending graduation that she had not been privy to. As she admitted to the girls, it was all lost upon her, for she had been taken, locked, down into the dark often during these times, more so in the last few years (what she can remember); jollification traded for sheering agony and screams for the hated prick of burning liquid that fled through veins. The oozing black that fell from eyes of glowing blue, the tears of hate and blood and death she wore as a child, a teenager, an adult.

Just a girl.

Throngs of seniors led the way to the A.R.C, some paired, some in groups, a few that lingered there with familiar glances that fled her way almost instantly, each panning eye that swept over her embellished physique for all she revealed, and she relished in it. Amma smiled, a slumberous and vulpine simper that broke across her usual glaring facade, a carefully softened curl of her full lips that she had added to with a final swipe of rouge onto her pout. She blended it out into a soft bloom of a rose-like color, the warmth of the ruby undertones taken to her usual pale lip color, just that final touch she needed. Here, she was more than the terrifying transfer student, more than the brutally angry representative of wrath, and more than the in-between and the unknown. She was Amma. Her name that is not her name scoured through the night, ruthless in abandon, a fixation onto the minds of others as she carved that path through the glow of the night.

A senior from Myotis stopped her and asked her if she had a date. Amma denied it– claimed she didn’t need one.
Another senior from Gulo paused to ask her for a dance later. She laughed.
Another from the house of Lynx claimed to have seen her the previous night and bravely asked her to save him a spot on the dancefloor. Amma smiled and simply said, “It’s not your room I was in last night, was it?”

Was it the subtle seduction of an evening of promise that found courage through the gatherings of people here, a myriad of colors before her eyes as she wove herself into the student body with relative ease. A contortionist aptitude that allowed her lithe figure to sweep through as admiration dawned upon her glances at the bold decor with those daring reds, darling golds, and contrasting blacks; looking further in was a herald back to a time of rapid fashion, the ornamentation a uniqueness she appreciated even if such could be likened to a near gaudy affair. Amma marked the velvet rope and stanchions that made up the entryway, complete with a red carpet; was this what it meant for the glamorous of Hollywood? She glanced over her shoulder; the exaggeration and elaborateness swept up many. Noted by the height of their laughter, eagerness compounded through their steps whilst she lingered there, scanning the crowd perhaps though she would deny the flutter of her lashes as she studied the space around her.

Amma subtly ran her fingers through her mane of hair, shaking the waves back and exposing her slender shoulders. She was prepared to enter the A.R.C. alone if not for the familiar voice that suddenly called to her, causing her to turn and offer her profile for the interesting eyes that trailed down her figure.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Qia
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Qia A Little Weasel

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_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.047: Crushed Petals
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Interaction(s): Emily-(No longer insignificant)
Previously: Between Shadows and Light


The cool night breeze teased the edges of Harper’s dress, each gust sending a shiver of anticipation through her. With every step, the soft fabric shifted, heightening her excitement. The fitted bodice hugged her frame, accentuating her curves in a way that felt both empowering and surreal, as if she were walking in a dream. The gown's rich red hue shimmered under the moonlight, casting a warm glow against her skin, making her feel like the dress had been crafted just for her. Each stride set the ruffled layers of the mermaid-style skirt fluttering around her legs, creating the illusion that she was gliding effortlessly down the pathway—a vision of elegance and grace.

In her hand, Harper held the small boutonniere meant for Cass, its delicate white bloom starkly contrasting her dress's deep red. She glanced down at the flower nestled in her palm, its soft petals like a fragile promise she wasn’t entirely sure how to keep. It felt like a symbol of something more—something unspoken, but undeniably significant. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as her thoughts drifted to the evening ahead, the uncertainty of what would come weighing on her mind. She wondered how Cass would react when she finally handed it to him.

Was it all, perhaps, a bit too much for them?

Harper’s fingers tightened around the boutonniere as her mind raced with what-ifs. Would Cass make a joke to ease her obvious anxiety, or would he be sincere, understanding the depth of the gesture? She wasn’t sure if he was the kind of person to read her so well and respond in just the right way. Even she didn’t know what reaction she was hoping for—torn between wanting to laugh off the nervousness and craving a moment of genuine connection. The only thing Harper knew without a doubt was that everything had felt so much easier before the trials, before her world had been turned upside down. When her biggest worries, though not trivial, weren’t as all-consuming.

She wondered if Cass felt the same, if he too longed for the days when things were simpler. Did he miss the times when she was just a girl keeping him company around a campfire, their voices mingling with the crackling flames? Back then, the only expectation was whether she could truly keep up with him on the dancefloor, their worries as fleeting as the night itself. Harper glanced down at the flower, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

This wasn’t her at all—this feeling of being boxed in by other people’s assumptions of her. Harper had always prided herself on being free-spirited within the boundaries of her disciplined nature, unbound by the constraints others tried to impose. Yet here she was, holding a symbol of something she wasn’t sure she believed in—a fragile bloom that seemed to mock her independence. It felt like a betrayal of who she was, a concession to the pressures that had been slowly mounting around her.

As Harper walked down the dimly lit pathway, the fluttering of her skirt and the soft breeze were her only companions. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the figure approaching from the opposite direction. It wasn’t until they were almost side by side that the person’s presence registered, the faint shuffle of shoes on the pavement catching her attention. The sound was like a ripple in a still pond, breaking through the surface of her reverie.

Attempt #2: Work in Progress

“Harper Baxter?”

The voice was familiar, but not enough to place instantly. Harper slowed her pace and glanced up, blinking in mild confusion as she took in the girl standing before her. Tall, with strawberry blonde hair and sharp features softened by a pair of glasses, the girl’s curious eyes seemed to scan her, causing the brunette to rub at her arms self-consciously. The scrutiny made her feel exposed, as if the girl could see right through her. Harper searched her mind, trying to recall the face, but the details of when they might have met felt annoyingly vague, like a name on the tip of her tongue.

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Harper replied, her tone polite but uncertain. She tried to muster a smile, but it felt forced, not quite reaching her eyes. The girl gave a smile in response, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes either, a guardedness lingering in her expression. There was something about her, a hint of wariness that Harper couldn’t quite decipher, making her feel even more uneasy. It made her wonder what the girl saw when she looked at her, what judgments or assumptions were being made behind those curious eyes.

“You don’t remember what I look like, either?” the tall girl asked, her head shaking in what appeared like disbelief. Harper frowned, feeling a flicker of unease at the girl’s question. The way she said it, as if Harper should have known her immediately, gnawed at her, creating a knot of anxiety in her chest. She pursed her lips, her finger coming to tap on her chin as she searched her memory.

“A...melia?” she attempted,sudden recognition causing her eyes to widen and a blush to work its way up her neck. “Wait no, Emily! That’s it.” Emily’s brows arched somewhat, her surprise evident, and Harper felt a small surge of triumph at getting it right.

“Yeah, you got it,” Emily said, but there was a pause, a mix of emotions crossing her face—relief, perhaps, but something else lingered, something Harper couldn’t quite place until she spoke again. The blonde crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Guess I didn’t make much of an impression both times, huh?”

Harper winced at the comment, the slight sting of guilt tightening in her stomach like a vice. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly replied, her voice softer now, more sincere. “I’ve just been… distracted.” The words felt inadequate, a flimsy excuse for the way she had been back then.

Emily’s expression didn’t fully soften, but the guarded edge dulled a little, a small concession that Harper clung to. “Yeah, I guess we all have our stuff going on sometimes,” Emily replied, her tone carrying a hint of understanding, though it was clear the hurt was still there. There was a brief, awkward silence after this. Harper glanced away, feeling the cool breeze lift a few strands of her hair, wondering how to salvage the conversation. She hated moments like this—where past mistakes loomed, forcing her to confront things she’d rather leave behind. It had happened too many times this year already, each instance a reminder of how much she had lost and how far she still had to go.

“Look, Emily,” Harper finally said, meeting her gaze again. “I know I wasn’t exactly fair to you back then. I said some things that were… harsh. And I’m sorry for that.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I just—” she hesitated, the memories of her past struggles flooding back, “I was in a bad place.” She hadn’t yet grown close to anyone, which left a more guarded, more difficult-to-approach version of herself. With no real friends to lean on, Harper had relied on her sharp edges, her biting words, to protect herself.

Emily, unfortunately, had just been one of the ones in the line of fire.

Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of old hurt crossing her face. “Yeah, I remember all that shit,” she said, her voice quieter now, but laced with a bitterness Harper couldn’t ignore. “It wasn’t just what you said, though. It was how… distant you were. Like, none of us even mattered.”

Harper winced inwardly. She had been distant, she knew that now. Detached from everyone around her, she had half-ignored their attempts to connect, pushing through any work given to her as if it were a solo effort. People had just been faces in the background to her, names she hadn’t bothered to remember because, in her mind, they weren’t relevant in the big picture. She had convinced herself that she didn’t need anyone’s help or friendship, accepting Aurora’s only begrudgingly at the time.

Emily crossed her arms. “So, what? Now that things are better, you’re suddenly all friendly?”

Another silence stretched between them, Harper unsure of how to answer the other’s question. She glanced down at the boutonniere still clutched in her hand, its petals now slightly crumpled from her earlier grip. The once pristine bloom now looked as frazzled as she felt—an unintended casualty of her restless thoughts. She loosened her fingers around it, hoping to salvage what was left.

“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Harper said eventually, her voice steadier now, more resolved. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And that I’m trying to change. Be…better.”

Emily’s gaze stayed on Harper, her posture still closed off, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Harper waited all the while, unsure of what else to say, her heart pounding in the silence. She didn’t expect a full reconciliation, but she had hoped for something—a sign that her apology had landed somewhere other than the void between them.

Emily finally sighed, shaking her head, the movement slow and deliberate. “People don’t change overnight, Baxter,” she muttered, her tone neither forgiving nor harsh, but somewhere in between. Harper nodded, the full weight of those words settling somewhere in her heart like a heavy stone.

“I know.”

For a brief moment, Emily just looked at her, as if debating whether to say more. Her eyes searched Harper’s face, perhaps looking for signs of sincerity or change. Then, without another word, she shifted on her heels and continued down the path, her shoes clicking softly against the pavement. As she passed by, she glanced back over her shoulder and offered a tiny, almost dismissive compliment. “Well…at least the dress is nice.” Her tone was neutral, devoid of the warmth Harper might have hoped for. It wasn’t forgiveness, not by a long shot. But maybe it wasn’t a full rejection either.

As Emily walked past, Harper stood still, her fingers brushing the now-wilted edges of the boutonniere. Then, her heels clicked softly against the pavement as she resumed her walk, the soft hum of music and distant chatter drifting through the air as she neared the A.R.C.




Jesus Calliope…if only you were here to see your hard work pay off.

The red carpeted pathway before her was flanked by gold posts and velour ropes, creating an illusion of grandeur that sent a wave of nervousness through her. The opulence of the scene felt almost surreal, the simplicity she’d grown accustomed to over the years not present in the slightest. The rich colors and textures seemed to mock her, reminding her of how far she had come and how much she had changed. Taking out her phone, Harper snapped a quick photo of the scene, the flash momentarily illuminating the lavish surroundings. She attached it to a message to the blonde in her thoughts, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed: You’re greatly appreciated and sincerely missed. I hope things are going better on your end with your family…and your brother.

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen. ​​Calliope had been a source of strength and comfort during one of the darkest periods of her life. Perhaps that was why Harper was not surprised to realize just how much she missed her friend, the absence more profound than she could have ever expressed. She pressed send, watching as the message disappeared into the ether, a silent prayer that Calliope would feel her gratitude and longing wherever she was.

As Harper prepared to enter the venue, something made her pause in her movement, an involuntary smile sweeping across her lips at the sight before her. It was three figures, each one seeming to embody a different emotion in the sea of celebrants, creating a tableau that captured her attention. While one of the boys wore an expression that hinted at a weariness with the evening’s festivities, his slouched posture and tired eyes betraying his fatigue, the enthusiasm from the other two was contagious even from afar. The female of the group twirled and danced around with a lightness that suggested not even gravity could hold her down, her cream silk gown shimmering as she moved, catching the light in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Her face lit up with a playful expression that, for whatever reason, brought Haven to mind, her last words coming back to her about just enjoying the night.

Because that’s what was most important, right? Just enjoying the evening as much as these three seemed to be.

With a deep breath, Harper straightened her posture, shaking off the heaviness that had found its way on her shoulders. She looked down at the boutonniere she was holding for Cass, its slightly crumpled state the only evidence of the war of conflicting emotions within her. Her fingers traced the delicate edges of the flower, the weight of her feelings slowly dissipating as she looked around at the vibrant energy of the dance floor, the music and laughter creating a lively backdrop. Harper navigated through the bustling crowd towards a quieter corner of the room, seeking a moment of familiar solitude.

The elegant, Hollywood-themed décor framed the space, with centerpieces adorned with white feathers casting a soft glow over the tables. She found a secluded table near the edge of the dance floor, partially obscured by the shadows of the towering centerpieces. The dim lighting and the soft hum of conversation created a cocoon of privacy, allowing her a brief respite from the festivities. Gently, she placed the boutonniere on the table, arranging it with care, as if setting down a piece of her heart.

Stepping back, Harper gave it a final, contemplative glance before turning and walking back into the heart of the celebration, fully intending on finding her date for the evening.

Except this time with different motivations.


No expectations. No pretenses.


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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Canis Dorms - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.048: The Boys Are Back in Town
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Interaction(s): Gil Galahad - @Roman, Rory Tyler - @webboysurfIndirectly
Previously: Dancing's Not a Crime

Re-emerging from his room, Lorcán made his way towards the fridge, fishing himself out an orange soda. He opened with a loud ‘hiss’ before turning his attention to Gil. Rory had yet to appear leaving just the two other young men to entertain themselves.

“So like, I assume the plan is to totally procrastinate as long as possible and then get dressed at the last minute?” Lorcán asked rhetorically with a wry grin before taking another slurp of his drink. “In which case dude, you play?” He asked, gesturing with his chin towards the gaming console set up on the common room TV.

“I think we’ve got that one racing game, probably some sort of fighter?” Lorcán noted before his eyes wandered to the plastic instruments in the corner beside the television stand. “Of course, there’s always time to rock.”

The wavy-haired young man put his drink down on a coaster on the nearby coffee table, picking up a pair of plastic guitars before pushing the drums out in front of the TV. Scorch marks from Cass’ explosive hints marred the faux drum skins from a night that went on too long last June.

“It’s pretty simple, bro, just pattern recognition to familiar music,” Lorcán explained quickly, “You got a band in mind you’d want to play?” He asked again, making eye contact with Gil before tossing him the guitar.

“If not, s’all choka, we can just hit random and roll with it.”

Rory emerged from his room, lingering in the doorway as he finished styling his hair. He was half-dressed, smart slacks on and a white tank clearly meant to serve as an undershirt. His hair was parted carefully with gel, which he wiped off his fingers with a spare towel that he tossed back into his room. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to both men, as a smile widened on his lips.

“Getting the band back together?” His tone was jovial as he approached, eyeing the instruments and equipment for a moment before his eyes turned back toward the others. “I could use the distraction, man.”

“Get this in ya first of all,” Gil said, slinging the strap of the hastily-caught guitar over his head before pulling a beer can off the plastic ring and tossing it to Rory with one hand, finishing off his open one with the other. He pulled off two more, opening one and proffering the other to Lorcán, hoping to replace the orange soda with something a bit more loosening, teetotal or not. “Not much of a musician, but I’ve got a sense of rhythm at least. More than your two left feet, anyway.”

Rory caught the can of beer, eyeing it briefly before cracking it open and taking a sip. His body recoiled from the taste at first, but that slightly warm sensation was what he needed. He gave Gil a nod before continuing to drink.

“I’m just not a landlubber, like you, matey,” Lorcán replied, taking the beer can but setting it aside disinterested and unopened before running his hands up and down the imitated instrument.

“But these hands, these hands are skilled instruments of rhythm. Once my fingers find a beat, they’ll chase it crescendo to climax.” He turned back to Rory, “Did you want an axe, or are you feeling more your inner siren? Maybe the drums?” The molten-eyed Canis asked, offering the guitar to Rory for the other young man to make his choice.

A soft knock on the door interrupted the three boys as Lorcán looked between Gil and Rory to see if either were expecting someone. With a shared shrug, the three looked back to the door before Lorcán opened it to find a junior classman holding a large, brown paper bag.

“Uh, hi,” He said, extending the bag towards Lorcán, “I have a gift from Rory for a Larkin and an Aurora?” The junior fumbled his words, the accent on Lorcán’s name completely sending him for a loop as he guessed the pronunciation. “No wait, sorry, Larkin and Rory from Aurora.”

“Lady Dude sent food?” Lorcán asked eagerly, looking into the bag only to see two cardboard boxes, their plastic windows revealing flowers inside.

“They-” He stammered, slightly dumbfounded, “They’re corsages, please don’t eat them” The junior replied, holding the bag out again. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to tip me,” He joked as Lorcán raised an eyebrow.

“Bruh, what? Why would I have to tip?” The senior replied with a confused look, “Is that like, some kind of sex joke, bro?”

“I, uh, no,” The junior responded, awkwardly shifting his feet before suddenly walking away rapidly. With a shrug, Lorcán closed the door and pulled a note out of the bag. He gave it a quick read before flashing it to Rory.

“Lady Dude sent over a corsage for you to give to Haven, there’s two in there though, Gil do you have a date? I totally don’t need it.” Lorcán blew a few loose strands of hair out his face.

“Not food, but somehow needs to be in the fridge,” He mockingly bemoaned before jumping over the back of the couch. His foot caught and caused him to miss the seat and land on the floor in front of it with a small groan before he finished his thought.

“Ow,” He lamented, “This tubular wolf is totally going it alone tonight,”

His cheeks briefly flushed before he waggled a finger at Rory and Gil.

“Nope, I heard it, don’t say it.”

Rory raised an eyebrow, looking between the two as he finished his beer and shook his head.

“I will make sure to thank her later, man. It's a shame Borealis didn't want to go to the dance with anyone. Would have been a good opportunity to finally get everything out in the open.”

Lorcán barely registered Rory’s comment before Rory turned his gaze to Gil, holding his hand up and motioning for another beer.

“Of course, Gil has a date. Can always take himself to the dance.”

Gil raised an eyebrow at Rory’s jest; he was still uncomfortable with himself, and through that fear, his clones. He pushed another beer into Rory’s waiting hand, but held firm onto the can for a few seconds, locking his gaze with Rory’s and, in a low voice, muttered: “I’m taking a break from them for a while,” before letting go.

He took another pull from his own and then pulled a glass bottle from the plastic bag he’d dumped by the door. A dark brown liquid sloshed inside, and there was a ribbon wrapped around the neck, with a plastic stick-on bow jammed onto the cork. The tackiness of the adornments belied the expense of the spirit; this bottle had been a gift from Artie at the wrap party of Gil’s last Crestwood Hollow scenes, but it had sat unopened and untouched until this very evening. You could still make out the agent’s hurried-print handwriting in sharpie down the glass on the rear of the bottle, some stock platitude Gil had never bothered to read.

“Where d’you keep your shot glasses, Lorc?” Gil asked off-hand, putting the bottle down in plain view before moving to the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and rifling through crockery and silverware. “And I’m stag tonight as well. All the better to release some tension, I think. Only one person to worry about, and if that person is me, then I don’t have to worry very much at all.”

“I’m not sure we have any, bro” Lorcán called to Gil, “Might be like some in the freezer, I totally think Hoadley used to like shoot chilled shots of vodka.”

Beside Lorcán, Rory winced before looking away from Gil as he cracked open another beer. After everything, of course, Gil would be wary of duplicates.

“Right, I guess I wouldn't either if…” Rory didn't finish the thought. His eyes widened as he mumbled before he simply shook his head. It was best they didn't know he saw everything. It didn't make him feel any less guilty though. He had to steer the conversation away. “Hey, I'm just glad you two are back, you had me worried. Now that you guys are better, we can get some guy time in again. I'll even save you bros a dance tonight.”

“Bros,” Lorcán suddenly interjected, “My new lease on life has inspired me to be honest about a couple of things, and I have to tell both of you.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I totally loathe being called ‘Lorc’, what even is that?” Lorcán exclaimed before continuing, “A French orc? Robert in a fancy hat? C’mon, dudes, Lor or Lorcán, no more of this Lorc junk.” He let the request hang in the air for a moment, taking a long sip of his orange soda before turning to Rory.

“So you and Haven, dude, have you DTR’d? Are your like sleepovers going to be a pretty regular thing?”

Rory grinned as he took a sip of his beer. “Yeah… she's been staying over since the Trials. I think we agreed to make things official. We talked about it after we got her back.” Rory paused, a painful knot forming in his chest as his thoughts returned to the sub-basement. He filled the silence with another sip of beer, trying to focus his thoughts on anything other than the wide-eyed stares of the corpses he saw. Lor’s mention of a new lease on life stirred something in his mind.

“What about Rora, Lor? If you want to be honest about anything, it might be time to tell her.” Rory turned his gaze towards Gil, silently pleading for a little support. Gil nodded in sync.

“I think I finally understand ‘honesty is the best policy’. I can imagine we’ve all had some…perspective, recently.”

Gil moved to the fridge, cracking open the freezer door and rummaging around the drawers to find the fabled shot glasses. He didn’t have to look long; Lorcán obviously had a better handle on his roommates than Gil had on his own. There was a set of four nestled amongst the ice in the bottom drawer; Gil fished one out, and held it in his palm for a few focused moments, ignoring the chilled pain of the frosty glass against his skin.

He put it back in the drawer and stepped away, picking up the bottle and tearing off the bow and ribbon before pulling the cork out of the neck. With one hand holding the bottle by the body, the other shimmered as it produced one, then two, then a third identical frosted shot glass, lined up neatly one after the other.

“Perfectly chilled and saves the clean-up.” He said, pouring out three shooters from the bottle. He picked one up and held it aloft, pushing the other two towards Rory and Lorcán.

“Not sure what to toast to. Everyone being out of the infirmary? Honesty? Having a good night without any life-threatening sabotage and or abductions?”

“At this point, it almost sounds boring for everything to go as planned,” Lorcán replied with a wry smile.

“To going with the flow, wherever the tides lead,” He cheered, raising his can of orange soda towards Gil’s shot. The shot poured for Lorcán sat unacknowledged, he wasn’t sure if Gil was being ignorant of the fact that Lorcán didn’t drink, and didn’t want to drink or if Gil was purposefully trying to put some sort of pressure on, try and loosen Lorcán up for his ‘confession’ time.

Part of Lorcán was relieved that Gil had ignored Rory’s plea, allowing Lorcán to escape any sort of heart-to-heart. The guys weren’t the ones he needed or wanted to do that with.

Neither Gil nor Rory seemed like they were in the headspace for unbiased opinions either.

Rory lifted the shot, holding it aloft as he flashed a smile to his friends, nodding as Lorcán ignored the one poured out for him. He paused as he eyed the drink, before levelling his gaze back to his friends. “To Blackjack.” He knocked the shot back, his eyes watering a little as he automatically grunted in response to the slight burn. He shook his head wildly, letting out a slight whoop. He reached for the shot left for Lorcán and knocked that back to, before clapping his hands together.

“I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a Hell of a night, boys!”
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University Campus
Dance Monkey #4.049: Time to Dance
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): Amma Cahors - @Rockette, Aurora Mitchell - @Melissa
Previously: The Boys Are Back in Town

Entering his room, Lorcán picked up the suit bag that had been hung on the back of his door, clearly dropped off while he was out. While his Mom had originally only promised a tie, upon further digging into his father’s wardrobe, the pair had found something even better for tonight. A piece of paper was affixed to the bag and Lorcán quickly reached out, picking up the attached note. A smile crossed his face as he read his Mom’s cursive.

Finished the alterations, it’ll still look somewhat retro, but I think that fits the theme.

Pulling the zipper down, the baby blue jacket was the first thing that caught Lorcán’s eyes. Matching pants and a bowtie were hung inside while the ruffled shirt that should have stayed in the eighties was gone, replaced by a modern dress shirt with French cuffs. His mom had done a fantastic job tailoring the jacket and pants from their longer and looser ‘retro’ fit to a contemporary aesthetic complete with a peaked lapel.

The colour was downright radical, but Tori had insisted it was the right choice. She didn’t elaborate any further than that to her son, but Lorcán had learned years ago to trust Tori Roth; she had never led him or anyone else wrong.

Stripping down, Lorcán applied a fresh layer of deodorant before adding cologne to the mix. Pulling out a pair of boxers and socks, he quickly put on his base layers before finally dressing himself in the suit.

Emerging from the room, he looked for the other two while admiring himself one more time in the mirror. It was a bit bright for his taste, but Lorcán had to admit the tailor fit was perfect and there was no denying that he looked good.

Even if it was a bit stifling compared to his usual attire.

Leaving the dorms behind, Lorcán made his jaunt across campus, his mind racing as the nerves set in. A familiar figure stood in front of the A.R.C. as Lorcán approached, drawn towards the raven-coloured hair and luminescent tone of her skin.

"Hey you," Lorcán said, approaching Amma as she looked at the spectacle of the A.R.C., "Brah, this is kooky, I'm almost nervous to go in," He offered a small smile, his eyes fighting not to wander the length of her figure. Memories of dreams he shouldn't have had flashing back, sensations travelling his body that he fought to forget. It wasn't real, and it wasn't fair to Amma.

"Flying solo tonight, Black Betty?"

Amma peered through heavy lashes slanted over her eyes, a near slumberous look that bespoke of ease and mild temperament, a sort of subdued and calm exterior that was usually a severe and striking impression of a waspish person. Yet here, she was without qualms and hummed delicately in answer before she looked away and studied embellishments of feathers, jewels, and shimmering capes of crimson and obsidian speckled in delicate lines of gold.

"No one asked me officially, so yes, I'm flying solo, as you say. Though, a few have already asked me to dance." Amma laughed and waved her fingers in a dismissive gesture. "A dare, I think, to approach and talk to the scary dog of House Gulo."

“Anyone who’d compare you to a dog needs their eyes checked, brah,” Lorcán replied in almost a hushed tone. “You look absolutely radiant by the way,” He added, perking up. “I’m a lone wolf tonight, hoping to get a dance with Aurora, but otherwise content to just have fun.”

He looked at Amma again, pausing before opening his mouth. He hesitated a second time before finally speaking.

“I haven’t said thank you yet,” He started, “You were the one who saved my life, after that thing attacked me. I uh, remember feeling you, feeling you move in me. It stayed with me for a bit, I had some interesting dreams after,” His voice trailed off before he caught himself.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Lorcán finally spat out, “It means a lot knowing you have my back. I can’t imagine the last year without you.” He added, rubbing that tattoo sleeve hidden beneath the pale blue tuxedo jacket sheepishly.

“I know we’re not like super close or anything, but what I have gotten to know about you, I like. I hope I’m not wrong in saying we’re friends, Amma?” Lorcán offered, moving in to hug Amma the same way Aiden had hug her only a mere two nights ago.

“Still can’t believe you don’t have a date though,” He muttered again, “Surprised you didn’t ask someone yourself.”

Everything in Amma immediately tenses up, every muscle shored into place and her skin immediately wrent through with a tremor as that sense of encompassing awareness swept through her entire frame. As it always was with Lorcán, as was the coiling manifest of red and silver the pulsated over her heart in a medley of fated strings that tugged once, twice, nearly three times as he moved in to hug her. She hesitated, but allowed his arms to envelop her whilst hers hung at her sides, hands flexing before Amma finally slid her hands up his back and held there, returning his hug and later, his words.

"I felt you in the Trials too. I felt you call out to me. Just like in the hospital, with death near." She leaned back, head tilted up and to the side.

"I- Well. You're welcome. I had to.. try. Something. This last year has shown me. A lot." She sighed, unable to admit she cared for him aloud. "Friends though, perhaps." Amma doesn't know why, but the label seems disjointed, askew, not quite fitting but still appropriately placed.

Amma carefully moved out of his embrace, fingers lingering against the broad planes of his back beneath his suit jacket, unable to deny what she felt there as her hands began to shake again. "It's not in my nature to ask for anything. But I know someone will find me out on the dance floor. If not, I'll definitely find him."

“I rarely understand what you’re saying, brah,” Lorcán smiled, “But I love to hear you speak,” He added, Amma’s French accent still entirely notable to his ears, melodic upon the way her tongue danced along her annunciations and syntax.

He extended an arm to her.

“Least I can do is like walk you in, strength in numbers and all that, better to face it together than alone. Then maybe he can find you.” Lorcán added with a playful wink.

"Tu es du genre à parler," Amma laughed. "Anytime you want to trade accents and funny words, you know where to find me." She easily slid her hand to the crook of his arm, opposite fingers brushing over his jacket before resting there, the shaking finally coming to pass as she took his offered gesture.

"Oh, he will. I told him so already. It's just a matter of who finds who first."

And so Lorcán Roth escorted Amma Cahors into the A.R.C. Eyes fell onto them almost immediately, the stark contrast of the pair near alarming; her mane of black hair, pale skin, the tattoos and the ebony silk of her dress offset against the blue of his jacket and tan skin, molten eyes and sandy hair so different from her own impression. Clearly, by the looks exchanged, this was not the expected entrance and Amma lifted her head just a little higher, the immediate influence she heralded felt through the space with a delicate smirk woven over her features.

Beside Amma, the ever oblivious Lorcán looked around the room filled with his peers, his eyes blind to their staring while looking through the crowd. He was only looking for one person, the girl who made his heart skip a beat, the girl he had spent seven years lying through omission of his true feelings.

Tonight that ended.

Spotting loose curls of crimson spilling over freckled shoulders above a sweetheart neckline of baby blue chiffon, Lorcán removed his arm from around Amma’s and gave her a quick bow.

“I’m afraid this is where we part ways for the time being,” He smiled, “For what it’s worth, I hope he finds you first.” He added and then he was off, moving through the crowd before tripping on a classmate and stumbling forward, catching himself right in front of Aurora.

A wry smile crossed his face as Lorcán saw his suit beside her dress for the first time and realized why his mother had insisted on this colour.

Tori Roth never steered anyone wrong.

"Aurora, you look-" Lorcán swallowed, his eyes having a very hard time not wandering. "You look," He was finding words very hard.

"Wow, just wow,”

Some odd minutes passed and Aurora continued to find herself standing alone on the edge of the dancefloor, Chad still occupied getting their drinks. His friends hadn’t batted an eye as she drifted away from their group whilst she waited, couldn’t have cared less that she chose not to listen in on their riveting discussion of the last game they played. It was akin to watching paint dry, hearing them drone on and on about a sport she knew next to nothing about. So she embraced the solitude, simply observing her classmates around her.

Which is why she should have seen Lorcán approaching, should have seen how he bobbed and weaved with purpose across the room towards her.

But she hadn’t.

It was unexpected that he had sought her out first, caught her by surprise that he appeared so suddenly before her. Aurora’s heart seemed to sing as he spoke, complimenting her. He was here, talking to her, living, breathing; it felt surreal. She blushed almost instantly, and she smiled widely, the most genuine expression she’d given so far that night.

“Thank you,” The redhead managed to reply, taking in his appearance while she did so. He looked really good in his suit, a departure from his usual beachy attire, but as her gaze drifted she couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t wearing a boutonniere. Had Amma not given him the one she got for her? Regardless, she exhaled, just reveling in this moment, resisting the urge to pull him in and hold him close to her. “How are you feeling?”

“Definitely better, Lady Dude” Lorcán replied eagerly, still taken aback by just how beautiful Aurora looked tonight. “Wow,” He muttered again, his ember-like eyes not leaving her. They blinked at her quickly, like a camera taking a picture before Lorcán gave his head a small shake and continued.

“Had to go and see Dr. Rivers, but she helped sort some things out, sorry I took so long to reach out, brah. My phone was like dead and I tried to find you after you left, but I was too slow.” He paused for a second before explaining.

“Kelcey told me you already had a date, so I didn’t want to ask and make things awkward plus I remembered on the beach you said you didn’t want to go with anyone so I definitely didn’t want to push,” He offered a warm, sincere smile, but his voice still trailed off, his eyes staring longingly towards Aurora’s lips.

Lorcán Roth loves Aurora Mitchell.

Shut up and kiss the girl.

“Plus this lone wolf is good to run solo at least for another night,” He scoffed with a soft, forced chuckle, clearly compensating for his own bad joke.

My oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy.

“I’m looking forward to our dance later, and I definitely want to have that chat, but maybe a night you don’t have a date. I have so much I want to tell you.”

Aurora’s mind was sent reeling, her pulse quickening with each additional reveal that left Lorcán’s mouth. He’d tried to find her after he woke up. He hadn’t texted her because his phone was dead. He’d wanted to ask her to the dance, but hadn’t because of what happened on the beach.

He didn’t have a date tonight.

It was information overload, her head riddled with so many more questions. But mostly, she felt like an idiot for having jumped to conclusions without hearing him out. Harper had been right, completely and totally right. She shouldn’t have left that hospital room so quickly, she’d let her emotions drive her actions.

“Wait,” Her eyebrows raised, attempting to process everything he had just said, “Are you saying that-”

“There you are,” Chad interrupted, strolling right into the middle of their conversation without a care in the world. He maneuvered himself beside Aurora, handing her the glass in his hand, “I’m assuming it’s going to be on the stronger side, one of my teammates was behind the bar, so,” He shrugged, before finally acknowledging Lorcán.

“Roth,” The dark haired boy stated by way of greeting, a smug look on his face, “Good to see you, heard we almost lost you.”

“Rora prefers seltzers, bro” Lorcán replied, the back of his neck bristling as he realized that Chad ‘The Deflower’ Patterson was Aurora’s date. Looking to Aurora, Lorcán immediately saw her discomfort before his eyes looked back at Chad. He took a long hard look at the other young man, but all he saw was Lance and Ryan again. “But maybe I’m not aware of her type,”

His chest was inflated, as Lorcán stood tall. His hands tensed, ready for a fight as he sized himself up against Chad. He trusted Aurora, but that didn’t mean that same trust didn’t extend to Chad especially as he tried to ply the redhead with more alcohol.

All the promises that Lorcán had made to himself to not ruin Aurora’s date were momentarily forgotten before he forced himself to relax. Aurora wasn’t going to go into the forest or off to Chad’s dorm after this, and the girls of Blackjack, let alone himself or Cass, weren’t going to let Chad leave with a drunken Aurora.

He had to trust his friends and his team.

“Why don’t I take that drink and bring a new one for Aurora?” Lorcán offered, softening his tone.

Aurora winced as she watched the interaction between the two unfold, noticing the shift in Lorcán’s demeanour almost immediately. For someone normally so laid back and go with the flow, it was quite easy to tell when he was tense, at least it was for her. The redhead had been prepared for him to be upset when he found out who her date was, possibly even a little annoyed, but what she had not expected was for him to square up against Chad, and challenge him. If she hadn’t been in the middle of things, both figuratively and literally, she would have found it attractive.

Chad, however, didn’t even bat an eye at his attempt, unbothered by his comments and his fiery glare. With Aurora’s gaze focused on Lorcán, Chad simply smirked at him, baiting him further, an unspoken dare to act. But as soon as her blue eyes were directed back, his expression shifted into something more friendly and neutral.

“That won’t be necessary,” The dark-haired boy replied affably, moving his arm to rest around Aurora’s shoulder, knowing exactly what he was doing, “If she wants a different drink, I’ll gladly get her one, but I just got what she asked for,” He looked down at Aurora with a smile, “Right?”

The redhead tensed within Chad’s grasp, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture, the prior information which Lorcán revealed still replaying in her mind. In that moment, she knew she made a mistake accepting Chad’s invitation, but these were the consequences of her own actions, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she didn’t follow through. So, even though the boy she loved stood in front of her, she had to ride this wave. Aurora exhaled, attempting to ease the tension, and nodded.

“Yeah,” The redhead agreed, recognizing that she hadn’t spoken up about what she really wanted to drink when he had asked. She’d had the opportunity but didn’t take it. “Yeah, he did.” She looked to Lorcán apologetically.

Lorcán looked sadly at Aurora. He didn’t know what had happened to make her accept a date with Chad, but he did know the timid woman in front of him was not his Lady Dude. This was not the behaviour of his best friend, this entire dynamic made his stomach turn. Aurora was a private person, but she trusted and confided in Lorcán. Watching the scene unfold before him only brought to mind the stories that Aurora had told him of her mother and stepfather.

It hurt him to see her just going along with Chad, Aurora wasn’t a pushover, and she certainly wasn’t her mother.

“Choka, well like enjoy your night I guess,” Lorcán stated, extending a hand towards Chad while the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, a cruel smirk that looked almost foreign on his face creeping across his mouth.

“Say hi to Lance for me,” He added, still holding his hand out. “Did the skin grafts ever take?” Lorcán asked, intending to twist the knife. His memory was clear on the happenings of the event, but the Pattersons were still without answers, even now, years later. He had to assume that Chad must have made the connection to Lorcán’s abilities a while ago.

“Hate to see someone’s future just get burned like that.”

Chad’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared.

“Watch yourself, Roth.” He spoke through grit teeth, leaving the boy’s hand hanging in the air as he directed his attention to Aurora, “Come on, let’s go.” He began to guide her back to where his friends were still chatting, but not before she glanced back at Lorcán over her shoulder.

“I’ll find you later,” She promised him, silently mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ as Chad pulled her away. The sinking sensation in her stomach remained, and she took a sip of her overly strong drink to try and numb the feeling.

Lorcán’s eyes didn’t leave the pair as they disappeared into the crowd. He curled his hand into a fist before shoving it into his pants pocket.

He needed to find Cass.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

Member Seen 8 hrs ago

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University Campus
Dance Monkey #4.050: Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Time to Dance

“What a perfect asshole.”

Words seemed to falter for Lorcá who spun around quickly at Cass’ words before coming face to face with his cousin. A slow nod of disbelief agreed with the words as they hung between the pair for a few seconds. Lorcán was livid, he couldn’t believe that of everyone on campus, Aurora was here with Chad the Deflowerer.

“That’s who she’s here with? Chadwick Patterson? Chad!? He’s a total kook, a junkyard dog, a grom!” Lorcán ranted as Cass smirked,

“And worst of all, a Gulo.”

“True dat, Wolf Pack for life,” The pair exchanged a perfectly choreographed fist bump before looking back across the room. Cassander steadied a hand on Lorcán’s shoulder, giving his younger cousin a reassuring squeeze before playfully twisting the knife.

“She looks good,” Cass remarked, nodding towards Aurora as Chad led her away from Lorcán and the rest of Blackjack. “Like real good. Damn, you messed up, Lor,” The older of the pair added with a smirk.

Thanks, cuz,” Lorcán replied wryly. “I still don’t know how I like, managed to make such a total gonk of myself.”

"Dude, you called her Amma." Cass replied with a shrug. “Girls tend to take it pretty hard when you call them the wrong name. Especially after staying at your bedside for like a week.” He teased the young man.

"No, I didn't!" Lorcán protested, a hand massaging his forehead before he looked towards Aurora again. A longing sigh escaped from his lips before Cass broke the silence.

"We don’t speak groan," Cass replied, "From Aurora’s perspective, she came to you after you recovered, you touched her hand and said, and I quote. 'Amma' with the biggest smile on your face."

"Amma totally healed me, I was like trying to tell 'Rora." Lorcán let out an exasperated sigh. "She was supposed to be here with me. I was as high as a kite, should have just like kept my trap shut and squeezed her hand."

Cass smirked.

"I believe you, cuz. Don't worry, I'll fix this for you." Suddenly Cassander paused, turning back to Lorcán before speaking again, “You know you still owe me for that vinyl you got ‘Rora like a year ago,”

“What do you mean ‘owe you’?”

“Money, man, money! You never paid me back.” Cass replied, turning towards Lorcán only to be greeted by a blank stare. “Right, flower child doesn't ‘get’ money.”

“I just don't understand how the world like runs on it. Seems like a total barrier for most people.”

“Hard to argue that statement,” The blonde man remarked with a wink before taking off his blazer, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. "Make sure Harper sees this for me, will you?”

“Hey,” Lorcán grabbed Cass by the shoulder, “Did you notice if Lady Dude has a corsage?”

“I did, and she doesn’t,” Cass replied matter of factly. “Why?”

“Choka,” Lorcán smiled, “While you make a scene, I’m going to enlist our favourite matchmaker’s help.” He explained, waving his phone before calling Ripley. Cass smirked before saluting and disappearing into the crowd before giving chase to Chad and Aurora.

“If you and Aurora aren’t-” Ripley answered, immediately tearing into Lorcán who quickly tried to speak over his younger cousin.

“I need a favour,”

“And I need you and Aurora to communicate, so unless your favour helps with tha-” Ripley continued before Lorcán interrupted her again.

“Can you go to the greenhouse and pick up a corsage and uh, the man’s corsage?”

“A boutonniere?” Ripley replied, Lorcán could audibly hear the smirk in her voice.

“Yeah that, brah.” Lorcán replied eagerly, nodding his head while plugging his other ear as he moved towards the entrance of the A.R.C.

“Got a flower in mind?” Ripley asked, her tone softening.

“Blue roses if possible.” Lorcán replied, “She’s wearing a blue dress, roses are her favourite and if I like recall correctly they mean something about-”

“Unrequited love,” Ripley sang into the otherside of the line. “Bold choice, I support it.” She replied, the sound of her hastily exiting her dorm was clear as day through the phone. “Stay near the entrance of the A.R.C., I’ll be there soon!”

“You’re the best!” Lorcán remarked only to be met by a snarky scoff.

“And don’t you forget it.” With a click, the line went dead as Lorcán found himself exactly back to the place he had left Amma. He smiled, turning around to look back over the event, only for a sudden twinge of panic to set in.

He had left Cassander to his own devices.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Rockette
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Rockette 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

Member Seen 0-24 hrs ago

Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island
Dance Monkey #4.051: burgundy.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): -
Previously: i looked the future in the eyes, it's mine.

With Lorcán’s departure, Amma followed after him with her eyes, watching then as he approached Aurora, the following conversation muted to her ears with the music thrumming up and over her, creating a subtle vibration through her gestures as she peered through her lashes and swept her gaze elsewhere. They’d figure it out, one way or another, if such were meant to be through the destinies of the world and the hearts woven through the fabric of fantastical reality. If maybe their souls were bound, or perhaps something more substantial flitted through those damned strings that too wove through hands scarred through the lines of fate nestled within her palms. Amma wonders then how her mother felt, for memory served of sad eyes and smiles of blue, a blue that reminded her of her own impression but sparkling with life – a hue of christening innocence she found in Aurora’s gaze. A tone of azure in Katja’s uncertainty and heartache, a darkened shade of steel, and a lost glimmer in Gil’s gaze that sheered through her barriers and burned for all the woe he witnessed in her and for the mistrust and anger banked hard into Rory’s glare whenever he looked at her—a lost and forlorn knight in regret for not slaying the dragon.

Or would those threads weave Lorcán back to her side, where a label clung precariously to an established edge of friendship, a similar fixation that Amma had given to the likes of Katja and Haven, each rung of familiarity classified with mutual understanding, one held on a promise and another held on pain and rage, for that faceless unknown that cantered through her nightmares on heated words of damnation and redemption. Darling names and classifications of an imperfect reality, where the dreary and ragged cape of her waking world was nailed as a flimsy barrier against the machinations of her many names. The one here, though (Amma, she tells herself, no whisper of Tiamat through her mind, and no hastily stricken name that compounded her with fear for the power lain within), she admired the tables, their centerpieces of fluttering white feathers, the deeply jeweled red of their runners and ran black nails against gold speckled curtains before she palmed glistening and polished brass and ascended towards the mezzanine with the whisper of silk at her back. Where did Gil mesh with all those threads? She pondered: no label to mark, no claim to stake, just a delicate pin of tiny white flowers that she plucked at, head tilted in distraction before she dropped her hand and twirled a lock of black hair.

From up high, Amma could see all, and it was a peculiar sensation to be as she was, who she was, looking down onto the students of P.R.C.U, to be one of them and yet not, no matter how often Jim stated otherwise to her peculiar enrollment. With the letters now revealing Jonas’ knowledge of her, the things seen (what was coming, she had to ponder on, what did he see but could not tell those closest to him) and her father too, both characters vying for that power and potential unspooling from her flesh and bound to the thrum of energy that coated every living thing. To be manipulated, to be destroyed, to be created as something entirely new and unthought. A clipped nail of black pressed down into the brass railing where a crackling thread of scarlet bloomed and wrought through the alloy and then down before her eyes widened, immediately severing the link of ruination before it spread further. So easily undone but carefully contained, or was it? Could it be her placated emotions and the heat of alcohol through her that tempered those ambient HZEs that hearkened to her influence, or was it something within, something not easily explained, that sluiced beneath pallid skin and lighted blue eyes with the power of command and allurement in every step she took? The letters answered nothing, but perhaps it settled something therein to know that maybe someone saw her, saw her for all that she had done and would do, and tried to stop it from happening.

To be seen was to be heard, even if her screams sheared betwixt heart and soul and never left her aching lungs. Even if her life could have been different, was it worth lamenting over when the path of vengeance wavered before her as a mountainous climb adorned in the pits of a netherworld unseen?

Amma inhaled, soft breath churned out in a sigh before she turned and approached the bar where the student standing behind the makeshift well tensed and met her eyes with flickering unease.

Ah, yes, there it is.

“What can I…”

“Red wine, if you have it. Cab, or a Pinot.”

He held up a bottle, the label undiscernible, and she waved her hand with a slight smile. She didn’t expect much, but the idea of partaking in more liquor didn’t sit well with what she had already indulged in. Delicate fingers curled over the stem, her wrist rotating to churn the rather heavy pour of a burgundy liquid that gave sweet notes of fermented berries and chocolate that she sipped on; her eyes fell back to the railing as the projected band easily swept into another song and the student body with it. She hummed softly, lured by notes that fell betwixt her ears, a note that delicately wed to the purring graces of her cadence, lips parted around another sip of her drink, her gaze flickering to and fro, back and then forth, constantly shifting as she studied the dance floor and felt the draw to intermingle with those gathered there. There was no obligation or promise that withheld her at the spot she claimed on the railing, one hand delicately perched whilst the other curled fingers against the globe of her glass and held it so. Would it matter if she danced with others? What stalled her steps and had her deny those earlier who had inquired? What was she waiting for?

Who.

A subtle whisper proclaimed as a minute voice within that inspired a soft laugh and a dimming of her eyes, peering over the rim of her glass as she took another drink and ran her tongue over the pout of her lip at the droplet lingering there.

With a concealed smirk and a cunning spark that lighted her eyes, Amma left her spot at the railing and once more dipped into the crowd around the bar, disappearing entirely from sight.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Skai
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Skai Bean Queen

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Location: Outside Myotis Dormitory to ARC Center - PRCU
Dance Monkey #4.052: If You Wanna Be My Plover

Interaction(s): Rory, Boyfriend @Webboysurf
Previously: Wing Life Away


The white petals were carefully clutched between her hands, resting on the green cell that provided a flat surface for them to rest upon. She was making sure to be mindful of the delicate flower as she took the least crowded way out of the Myotis dorm. The halls were busy, full of chatter about the night's plans and the occasional passerby who paid no mind to how close they came to her as they continued their way in blissful ignorance of her aversion to their touch.

The accessory had come close to being left behind. The message she’d received earlier had been from Rory; a quick announcement that he’d arrived outside that made her heart flutter in anticipation. Her excitement had almost made her miss Harper’s call from behind her, who had thankfully gone back to retrieve their dates’ flowers for them. Haven had to admit that she wouldn’t have thought about the boutonniere at all thanks to her . At least not until she saw the others’ mysterious, well one of them was now not so mysterious, dates with the petals pinned wherever they were meant to go. She was thinking that Rory would know where to place it as she stepped out of the dorm, and then suddenly she wasn’t thinking about anything at all.

Her gaze lifted from the petals to see her date waiting for her at the end of the stairs, and her heels halted their descent as she took in the sight of him. His frame was outlined by the light of the setting sun, its hues bringing out the brown tones in his dark hair. The grey dress shirt hugged every outline of his toned torso and arms and emphasized how his waist narrowed at his pantline, where she knew his muscles cut a subtle curve into his hips. His tie was almost a perfect green match, and the gold stripes across it made him look clean and perfectly cut in his dress clothes. It wasn’t the dress uniform she was so used to seeing him wear. It was so much better, and seeing him dressed up this way for her warmed her cheeks and the place below her stomach. She was grinning from ear to ear when her eyes finally met his blues. She always liked the way their color became more complex when he wore grey.

Rory didn’t exactly know what to do with his hands when he was waiting, especially as one was occupied with the plastic box containing the corsage. He alternated between shoving his free hand in his pocket, tapping his thigh, snapping, and pretending to scroll his phone. He had settled on just checking his hair in a nearby window when he heard a set of heel clicks move down the stairs. His eyes drifted upwards, and he felt his mouth go dry with a set of nerves he didn’t realize he still had. A dumb grin spread across his lips, as his eyes didn’t know where to focus. They settled on tracing her outline from her heels to her eyes. When they met, he forgot to breathe for a moment.

Her excitement was clear in the way she moved towards him now. Her hands parted to gesture at her dress and makeup in all its glory. Her wings spread out beside her to display themselves at a gentle angle. Feet slowing as she neared him to twirl herself around and give him a good look at how the silky dress revealed the feathery patch between her wings and hugged the curves of her hips.

Her arms then lowered as she made that last step to stand before him, now faced with an unusual feeling of butterflies in her stomach that made her smile turn soft. The phone and flower was shifted into her left hand before her right reached up to affectionately smooth his tie and collar. Her gaze flicked up from the gold and green and grey to meet his stunning blues once more.

“Hey, Rory.” She said, her eyes shining in the light of the setting sun.

“Hey, Dove.” Rory almost instinctively reached his free hand to Haven’s waist, his fingertips gently tracing the fabric as he let her work. He held the corsage awkwardly to the side, forgetting about it entirely as he tried his hardest to not lose himself to his more base impulses. “You look…” His mind desperately struggled for an adjective to sum up his thoughts. All the ones he had felt like too little. He had to say something, and a friend’s comment on honesty flashed in his mind. The words then tumbled from his mouth. “I don’t think I have a good enough word. I’m sorry.”

Haven couldn’t deny the way his touch sent shivers up her side. Her hand came to rest on his chest as her body unconsciously drifted nearer to him in response. It all felt so natural, this closeness between them. The pull of attraction and something she was certain of and yet unsure if she wanted to put words to just yet.

Her smile widened as Rory complimented her in his own charming way. Yet she couldn’t allow him to apologize for being speechless, and she couldn’t hold herself back from giving him one kiss before their date began either. She stood on her tiptoes, still needing to reach for him despite the extra height, and gently pressed her lips to his. She kept it light and quick, otherwise she was sure she’d suggest they skip the dance entirely.

“No need to apologize for that, handsome.” She lilted as she slowly and reluctantly pulled herself off of him. She wanted to stay in this moment forever, to bottle this feeling up and drink from it until her days ended, but she was sure that there were better moments ahead of them. Maybe their first dance, or their first night alone somewhere under the stars one day.

Her hand lifted to reveal the small arrangement in her hand and she cleared her throat of any lingering urges to kiss him again as she held it up for him to see. “Rora gave us all one. I’ve only seen it in a movie before, really. High school didn’t happen for me.” Despite her lack of knowledge, her smile was anything but embarrassed as she asked, “Where do I put it?”

“Oh, right.” He waved his own plastic box around a little as he nervously cleared his throat. His head swam a little, caught up in the rush of endorphins and blood flow to everywhere except his brain. He had to focus himself for a moment, the alcohol only further hindering his ability to think incredibly clearly. When his brain finally registered the question in its entirety, he nodded. His hand lingered on the small of her back for a moment, before he slid it up the side of her dress and to her arms, tracing her skin until his hand found hers. “I… think it goes here.” He moved her hand to the lapel of his suit. “You just pin it there… over the heart.” He kept his gaze focused on her fingers, trying not to get lost in her hazel eyes or tender lips again.

Her eyelids fluttered, a slight flush creeping up her neck while his hand traveled across her skin, and yet she kept her composure as she brought her other hand over to undo the pin on the back of the boutonniere. It took her a try or two until it was secured, and when she finally figured out the best way to place it she paused for a moment to adjust the lapel back into place. Her heart was already beating faster in his presence. It was starting to feel like they were dangerously close to being even more late to the dance just from these gestures alone.

Her eyes drifted to the plastic box held in his hand. Within it, similar white petals sat atop a circle of white lace. She decided to move on from his own flower to distract from the way their breathing had both changed into a craving that only oxygen could sate at the moment. “What’s mine called, again?”

Rory’s eyes followed her shift in gaze towards his box. He moved his hands to open the box, removing the small arrangement. “This… I think L-” He paused briefly, catching himself. “Hot Shot called it a corsage, I think.” His eyes scanned around, eyeing a trash can near the door. He knocked one hand back and tossed the box towards the can. It bounced off the rim on its way in, which elicited a small frown on his lips. He shook his head, trying to wave off the slight intoxication. He used his newly free hand to hold Haven’s as he slipped the corsage over her wrist. “I’m pretty sure this is how people wore these at Prom.” He smiled at the sight of the matching flowers, before his gaze turned to Haven’s face. “This is kind of new to me, though.”

Haven’s mind miraculously caught onto some train of thought. Even after her cheeks had warmed as he placed the corsage onto her wrist and her heart felt full. She tilted her head to the side, hands taking both of his into hers. Her curiosity was evident in her expression as she asked both questions at the same time. “You didn’t go to prom? And did you use your powers earlier?”

Rory sighed, shaking his head playfully. “I can’t get anything by you… wasn’t my powers. Had a couple drinks with Gil before this.” He bit his lip before continuing, trying to focus his thoughts and attention. “Prom didn’t… It was around when my parents…” He felt his voice catch in his throat. He brushed a hand over his tie, taking a deep breath. “It was around the pandemic.” That was the best response he could muster. “I’d… prefer to talk about that another night.”

She was caught between surprise and amusement, at first, as Rory admitted to having a few drinks. She’d seen him drunk off his powers, so it wasn’t like this behaviour was new, but the playful side to her wanted to tease him about his liquor tolerance or make a joke out of having his first drink in a while without her. The tease was right on the edge of her lips with her smile, until it slipped from her tongue as he answered her first question, and the flush in her cheeks turned into something completely different.

She’d known his parents passed away, but she never knew the reason why.

You really ask too many questions.

Her eyes glanced between his, at a loss for words as she debated apologizing to him or to follow his wish and move on from the topic, but none of it felt right. She felt like she’d known him for so long, and yet she was realizing that there were still things about him that she didn’t know. Things about herself that he didn’t know, either. So it wasn’t a mistake that she was asking questions about him, but… maybe she should turn the direction of the questions towards something fun.

They both deserved a fun night after what they’d gone through in the past week.

“Okay,” She began softly, offering him a small smile that she hoped would make up for it. Still, she couldn’t just move on from it like he hadn’t said anything at all. Her arms moved to wrap around his torso, embracing him into a tight hug to express what she couldn’t say in words, and she mumbled into his chest.

“Let’s go let loose, yeah? I think we deserve a night to relax.”

Rory nodded, moving his hands to wrap around Haven’s shoulders and give a soft squeeze. He was surprised they had managed to go an entire minute into their date before he soured the mood. He smiled softly at her suggestion, though, and rested his chin on the crown of her head as they embraced. “That sounds nice.” He pulled away from the hug, and held out his elbow in her direction. “I think you deserve more than just a night, Wings.”

“Well, I’ll take as many as I can get.” She mused as she snuck her arm through his elbow to wrap her hand around his bicep, squeezing the firm muscle beneath the material with a soft smile. Her other hand occupied itself by brushing away a stray curl from her face, then slipping her phone into Rory’s pocket, before finally coming to rest itself on his forearm.

“But tonight will do for now.” She said as the pair began walking together, glancing up at him with a coy quirk to her smile. “I can’t wait to share a drink with you, but we should probably get something to eat first.” She continued, effortlessly transitioning back into her excited state as she considered what they should do once they arrived. “Oh, and we have to dance! I’ve seen your moves before, so I know you’ll keep up with me.”

“Why would we go to a dance and not dance?” His voice regained that slight amusement once again as he walked slowly, making sure to keep steady as they walked arm in arm.“I can probably do one more drink tonight. I don't want to be wasted for this.” Rory tilted his head slightly, his eyes admiring Haven's figure as they walked. He had half a mind to refer to her appearance as angelic, but a small voice in the back of his head knew better. Though, not all his thoughts were so pure. “I have every intention of keeping up with you tonight.” He winked, wiggling his eyebrows at the innuendo.

Haven giggled softly as a small flush returned to her neck. “Oh yeah?” Her thumb began drawing lazy circles on his bicep, while her eyes swooped down as she checked him out herself, resting on his lips for long enough to make him question if she had the intention to kiss him again. She sucked on her bottom lip for a second as her own impure thoughts ran through her mind, before she met his eyes and wiggled her own eyebrows to match his playfulness. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Rory felt his cheeks get a little hot, as they always did when Haven flirted back. He moved his own free hand to cradle hers as she traced over his arm.The warmth that spread through his chest felt unique compared to the sensation of the alcohol earlier in the evening.

As they walked, his thoughts drifted. Even though her presence had become a fixture in his life already over the course of a week, she was still an enigma. He knew scraps of her past and what she had been through, but it felt like he didn't even know the basics. He looked to the ground, trying to process a decent question. “So, besides going to the National Parks down in the States after graduation… what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?”

Satisfied with Rory’s reaction, Haven grinned as she turned her head forwards to survey the students lined up outside of the ARC. She took a breath, mulling over her thoughts for a moment as she wondered how to answer.

“I didn’t have a clue when I started here, but… Now I know that I want to help kids like us. Specifically those who have no family to take care of them. If I join social services with HELP, or any agency that will take me really, I want to be there for those kids so they don’t get into trouble or get put into unsafe homes.”

Rory stopped in his tracks, a soft smile turned towards Haven. He reached up to her face, cradling her cheek in his hand, before leaning over to kiss her. He didn't pay any attention to the other students in line who glanced in their direction, all of his focus remained on that spot where their lips touched. When he pulled away, he wiped his thumb over his own mouth to remove a bit of smeared lipstick. “Couldn't help myself, I'm sorry.”

When Haven pulled back, the pink of her cheeks was not a result of lust but because of the warmth that blossomed in her chest with Rory’s tender gestures. It was that unspoken feeling, that one little word that she was holding back because her heart had not settled yet. It left her dazed and wanting more. Made the man in front of her the only one she could focus on despite the crowd. Her eyelids fluttered as she looked up at him, a glowing smile growing as she took his hand into her own.

“You can do that anytime, Rory. No apology needed.”

The line ahead began to move, and while Haven didn’t want to leave this moment behind she knew it would have to happen eventually. She was still smiling as she stepped forwards. Her hand gently pulled him with her.

“You want to be a therapist, right? Like your aunt?”

Rory nodded, following Haven as they inched forward. “It's what I'm trying to go for… but I'm torn.” He swayed his head from side to side, trying to figure out how to word it. “Helping people figure out their powers and how to handle them is something I'm kind of uniquely qualified to help with. But I'm worried I won't really get to make a choice with what I do.” His voice lost a bit of its luster as he continued, his expression gradually dropping. “HELP is always going to be watching my every move, and I know there are people there who want me to follow my dad's footsteps. If the Foundation had their way, I'm sure I'd be another one of their costumed heroes. And then the rest of the world probably wants to see me locked in a cage so I can't do what Hyperion did.”

Haven’s smile melted into a frown as he spoke. She considered the weight put onto his shoulders and squeezed his hand, a silent offering of support.

Rory shook his head. Haven's touch grounded him enough to shake out of the spiral. “But yeah… I want to kind of do the same thing you were saying. Kids going through what we are going through have a lot of pressure put on them at a young age. They need people who understand what they are going through and can help them come to terms with it.” He smiled softly, turning his gaze back to Haven. “And I guess it means if it lined up right, we would kind of be working together.”

“I think you should do whatever feels right for you, Rory. No matter what pressure they may put on you, or whatever fear there might be because of your ability.” Her tone began serious, but now it shifted into something playful. “Although I’d love to work with you, so I think you should definitely consider my opinion.” She finished her statement with an enthusiastic nod and a wide smile.

Rory rubbed his tongue along his inner cheek as he attempted to give her a stern glare, but her smile was too infectious. He rolled his eyes instead as he grinned. “Yeah yeah… I mean, I'm not opposed to an option where we can wake up and go to work together.” The thought filled him with a bit more glee than he knew what to do with, settling to squeeze Haven's hand as his attention shifted to the moving line.

Haven’s flush grew with his stern glare, finding herself oddly attracted to it. She turned her attention to the line when he did, a goofy, lovestruck look on her face as she thought about waking up to those eyes every day.

“Would you want that even if we don’t work together? Like…” She looked upwards at the darkening sky as she thought about how to word it. “Maybe if we work in different places we can find a place in between to call home.”

With a cocky grin, Rory tried to sound shocked. “It's our first date and you're already planning for us to move in together?” He chuckled to himself as he gave her a hand a couple squeezes. “I would like that, though. It would save us the trouble of sorting out the laundry or having to decide whose place we are staying at.” He cleared his throat after speaking, as he tried to keep his mind on the practical. It was too early for certain words and thoughts.

Haven’s smile turned playfully sheepish, giving Rory a shrug. She brought his hand up to her lips and placed a soft peck on the back of it. “I can’t imagine spending a night without you again, to be honest.” Her lips pressed together for a moment as she was briefly reminded of her awkward moment in the morning. “If you think Lorcán ever wants a break from us, we can always stay at my place. My roommates are pretty chill.”

“I don't think he minds… he seemed happy for us earlier.” Rory smiled, though it shifted into a cocky smirk as a thought ran through his head. “What, the night in the tent was that good?”

She was surprised to hear that the roommate in question didn’t mind, but she was distracted from that train of thought as soon as she turned back to Rory. She was just in time to catch that one of a kind smirk that made her insides heat. His next words had her gasp softly for air, and her hand rose up to hide the warmth on her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed, but maybe a little shy about how she wanted to phrase her next quip. So she stood on her toes to murmur into his ear with a tone both sultry and playful, “It was one of the best I’ve had.”

Rory paused, frozen in place as his mind processed that comment. Her words sent shivers down his spine, and a deeper part again yearned to fast forward past the dance. He remained a bit stunned as he met her gaze. “Oh, I, uh… that was new for me, so I didn't really know…” The words got lost in his throat as he scanned her face for confirmation she wasn't lying. He didn't exactly feel embarrassed, more surprised than anything. “I know you're a good kisser, but I didn't have anything to compare most of that night to.”

It was starting to dawn on Haven when handsome said it was new for him. Her brows going from a place of rest to halfway up her forehead as soon as it sunk in. Her jaw dropped and all she could think to say was, “So when you did that one move… did it just come naturally?”

Rory averted his gaze, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I guess… I kind of just did whatever and stuck with it if you made noise.” Rory caught the gaze of a couple of fellow seniors in front of them, and finally felt a full blush on his cheeks.

Haven quickly turned her head to find who Rory had seen with narrowed eyes. “Please ignore them.” She said, only looking back once the eavesdroppers turned their attention elsewhere. She did lower her voice when she spoke next. Mostly to ensure no one else would turn their heads again as she took both his hands and leaned in close to him. “I didn’t lose mine until the end of freshman year. It’s no biggie that you waited.”

“I’m honored to have been your first, Rory.” Her smile was sincere, and yet her eyes shined with a mischievous glint. “I’ll make tonight extra special since I couldn’t that night.”

Rory swallowed hard as he adjusted his collar. “Well damn… I would have told you sooner.”

Haven simply smiled wider before she turned her body away from him to look ahead without another word. As inappropriate as the topic may have been, she was delighted to know this little fact about him. It made her feel special that she was the one he lost it to; like he truly trusted her. Enough to give away that piece of himself to her even if he wasn’t sure how it would turn out between them after. It made her stomach flutter thinking about it.

It was soon obvious that the line they stood in was for a Hollywood-esque photo opportunity. She could see the flash of the camera up ahead, the various groups or couples posing like the actors had done in the old movies too. It looked like they really were going to get their prom experience in one go. Her hand squeezed Rory’s as she nodded in the camera's direction. “They’re doing pictures. Do you want one?” She looked over her wing at him with the hopes he said yes.

“Of course, Wings. Gotta add it to the wall.” He smiled as he let her guide her over, his hand holding hers tightly as they moved up in the line and through the crowd. His eyes remained focused on the back of her head, with the occasional scan of the crowd. He knew Jim had to have upped their security… but after everything, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. He had thought they were safe before. His grip tightened on Haven's hand instinctively.

Haven happily squeezed his hand back as she placed them in the smaller line for the photos. She turned to face him, smiling as she adjusted his tie and lapel while they waited. “Let’s do one side by side, and then one silly one with you behind me like they do in the movies.” She mused, as if she could already picture their photos on his wall of friends and family.

They were called before Rory could agree or protest, and Haven beamed as she walked with him onto the spot along the red carpet where the photos were being taken. She wrapped an arm around his like before, her hand clutching his bicep while her free hand showed off the corsage by resting on the curve of her waist. A picture of young love as they both smiled for the camera, followed by an adoring gaze between them as she turned her head to look up at him with a quiet giggle when the flashes became too much for her eyes.

They shuffled down to the next spot where cameras waited, much like a movie premiere, and this time Haven let her wings tuck in a little as she rested her back against his chest. Her hand pulled his tie over her shoulder and held it there, and she playfully smirked at the camera as Rory made a silly face to go with the pose, his hands coming to rest on her hips. The intimate position paired with the goofiness that came with the pose’s implication summed up their relationship quite well.

Haven’s eyes were nearly blinded by the time they moved off of the red carpet. Rory guided her through the entrance to the ballroom, each of them grinning like idiots after she caught herself mid trip on his arm. The few glances from the crowd milling nearby, most likely assuming they were already wasted, went unnoticed between them. Her eyes recovered from the flash blindness, leaving her face to face with her handsome date. The temptation to kiss him again lingered on her tongue for a moment, her breath hitching in her throat mid-giggle, but she decided to blurt her first thought instead.

“I don’t know how Gil does that,” Haven breathed, standing upright once more. Her head turned, eyes blinking a few times to adjust to the lighting within the makeshift ballroom as she took in the grand decorations and well-dressed seniors around her. “I can see why he likes this though.”

The couple stood together for a few moments, Rory patiently waiting as Haven took in the sight before them. Until she squeezed his arm and flashed him a glowing smile as he looked down at her.

“Shall we?”
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Roman
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Roman Grumpy Toad / King of Dirt

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G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

Location: Augmented Reality Center - P.R.C.U. Campus
Dance Monkey #4.053: If You Are What You Say You Are

Interaction(s): N/A


The suit still fit.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised - it wasn't like he'd let himself go in the years between now and the last time he'd wore it - but nonetheless he stood in front of the mirror in mild disbelief, the purple jacket and pants conforming nicely to his figure and pairing with the lavender shirt he wore beneath. The bow-tie, a semi-casual and slightly-floppy silk mauve number, was the aperitif to a suit that looked far more joyful than Gil felt; he was well-aware of the theme he had cooked up with the now-absent Calliope for the formal, and at the time of conception, returning one of his actual red carpet looks had felt like the perfect compliment to the motif of the evening. Now, though, he stood across from his reflection wearing a reminder of a life he'd discarded this very afternoon, preparing to revisit a version of him he was very consciously trying to leave behind, if only as a lighthearted facsimile.

The beers and the shooters burned in his belly and he swayed slightly on his feet. Food would be needed in short order, but for now he just tippled from a flask secreted in his inside pocket, swishing the warmth around his mouth in an effort to stop grinding his teeth. He was nervous, he realized, but couldn't quite pinpoint why; he'd done plenty of functions like this before, galas with far more pomp and circumstance to them than a simple school dance. Even casting aside public events from his pre-academy history, he'd surmounted far more troubling calamities in the last fortnight than tonight's ball. And yet there was a part of him that almost longed for the raining of hard-light blows upon his body over the social navigation that would be required of him this evening.

Well, expected of him, at least. Perhaps that was what vexed him in this moment; the weight of expectation. The gulf between what the student body anticipated, and what he was prepared to deliver.

He shook his head, scattering the thoughts to the wind as best he could. No time for it now; Lorcán and Rory had already headed out, urged on by his own faltering words assuring them he'd be right behind. They'd hesitated, and for that Gil was appreciative, both boys aware this was out of character for the Gil they knew, that he should be leading the charge, not floundering in the dorm, desperately trying to conjure the wherewithal to step outside and face the dance. But that was the Gil they knew, past tense. What of this Gil? This nervous, agitated Gil, who would just as soon wrap himself in a plush duvet nestled in the corner of his bedroom, with naught but the gifted bottle and his phone for company, as he would stride out into the night with swagger in his hips and a smile across his face?

Do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. Just reach for the door, pull it open, and cross the threshold; once you're out, you're out, and there's no going back in. One foot in front of the other, and you won't even realize you've made the decision before you're there.

It took some more convincing, and another pull from the flask, but Gil did eventually make the leap.



The theme had come together spectacularly; in a way, Gil's crushing and sincere regret at the choice of concept was its own glowing recognition of its success. Everywhere he looked, the ARC was adorned in an extravaganza of Hollywood glitz and glam. The red carpet had been a particularly rocky entrance to an event Gil was already struggling with, far too eerily similar in its recreation to the paparazzi assault he'd faced many a time over his career, but even that was a backhanded compliment to how completely everything had come together. Would that Calliope were here to appreciate her hard work, because Gil certainly wasn't able to.

All about him was commotion; those lingering or taking a breather outside as he'd arrived had recognized him, of course they had, as equal parts student peer and campus celebrity. Some had pointed, some had the dignity to only dart their eyes back and forth, but the whispers had circulated nonetheless, about evening visitors, about nights in the infirmary. Jokes had been made that this must all seem very banal compared to Gil's career before PRCU, jokes that were met first with wan smiles and then withering stares. Banal was not the adjective in play: Gil preferred 'disconcertingly surreal'.

Bar. That was Gil's first thought, although food followed closely behind. Canapes littered the hall, again dressed up in keeping with the LA glitterati that pervaded (by resented design) the evening, and Gil mineswept trays and plates as he weaved through the thronging crowd toward the wall of booze on the other side of the arena. Fistfuls of cooked dough and seafood were mashed into his mouth, morsels admittedly delicious but barely chewed, less appetizers for the buffet and more belly-fodder for soaking up booze. Gil was in no way a lightweight; from a young age he'd been a prodigious drinker, especially for his otherwise-average stature, and that was under no threat this evening. He just needed to pad out his stats, so to speak. Tonight, he was going to get breathtakingly drunk.

He was attended to quickly, perhaps the first element of the night he was genuinely pleased about without any bittersweet complications, and he took a pause to consider what he actually wanted. A soda water, first of all, something to clear the pallet and maybe top-up from the flask if needs must - certainly no more beer, as the cans he'd polished off with Rory's help still sat gassy and bloating in his stomach. No, he needed something cleaner, smoother, something he could nurse while he got his bearings and ate some proper food before diving deeper into his self-imposed debauchery. The cocktail of the evening was, of course, the martini, and a menu on the bar listed several needless variations on them, but Gil would be damned if he was going to lean into the theme any more than he already had, inadvertently or otherwise. No, in times like these, he returned to his mother's favorite, brought in tumblers to the beach on sunny days, a mix undoubtedly quaint and bordering on tame, but nostalgic, a drink that tasted unequivocally of home, at least when a good cup of tea was out of reach, as it often was this side of the Atlantic.

One Elderflower Collins later, Gil was armed with a plate, sampling the buffet, scanning the crowd for his teammates.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by webboysurf
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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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Location: ARC Center - PRCU
Dance Monkey #4.054: When Disco Plays Our Loon

Interaction(s): Haven, Girlfriend @Skai
Previously: If You Wanna Be My Plover


“What’s your favorite food?”

Haven passed over the twin snack she’d swiped from a passing tray. Her eyes were lit with the delight of holding such a small and meticulously crafted appetizer. Its tiny garnish only added to the fun of their food being served on a silver platter. She wasted no time in passing her own between her lips as they continued their way towards the buffet tables. Her eyes crinkled at the edges as each flavor hit her taste buds, looking to Rory so that she could see his own reaction as she savored each chew.

He tossed the appetizer into his mouth and began chewing almost immediately, giving his fingers a quick lick afterwards. His eyes scanned the dance floor, trying to make a note of his teammates in the crowd. He spoke through his last chews. “Hmmm… I mean, Poutine is a nice guilty pleasure. But I found a good recipe for a Buffalo chicken dip last year that is fairly low in calories.”Rory turned his gaze back to Haven, a soft smile on his lips as he noticed she had been watching him. “What about you, Dove?”

“I could eat a burger anytime, anyplace, but buffalo chicken dip is definitely up there.” She couldn’t deny the way her stomach started growling at the mention of it. “And honestly, anything to do with fries is amazing.”

She tucked in close to Rory as they passed between two groups of students milling nearby, her eyes taking a moment to follow where Rory’s had passed over earlier. If she noticed anyone from Blackjack within the crowd she didn’t mention it. She wanted to turn off that part of her brain that wanted to keep an eye on everything around her tonight. To allow herself to relax by minding what was right next to her instead. Her eyes moved to the buffet table as they approached, a smile growing at the sight of the spread before them.

“My stomach is telling me to fill a plate… or two.”

Rory grinned, eyeing up the spread himself. “Yeah, I haven't eaten much today… but I also don't want to get too full before we dance.” He tilted his head from side to side as he observed each platter and tray, doing calculations in his head. He gently lifted a hand up towards the small of Haven’s back as they walked, barely conscious of the move until the imperceptible jolt of energy that came from touching her. His fingers hovered for a moment, before his palm pressed against the fabric of her dress. His heart beat a tiny bit faster as he shared a glance with others nearby.“Besides… I've got some snacks back at the dorm if we're still hungry after.”

Haven turned her head to him, leaning into his touch as her eyes wandered over his face. The corners of her lips curled before she spoke in a hushed tone. “We’ll need them after we’re through with each other.” There was a mischievous spark to her eyes as she looked into his, and then she left him fumbling for a response as she turned to reach for a plate. “We’ll load up a plate and share, then we won’t get full before we hit the floor.”

Shock flashed through Rory's eyes, but his smile never wavered. Within a mere moment, he retorted with his own smirk. His eyes clearly drifted towards her hips as he spoke. “One plate works… I'm leaving room for something I want to taste later.” He turned his attention to the buffet table, the tiniest growl from his stomach reminding him to grab something filling.

Haven’s knees went weak in response, her dress suddenly feeling like too much fabric between her skin and his hand. His smooth words made her want to drag him to the bathroom to see what exactly he wanted to taste, but she pushed the indecent urge out of her mind by grabbing the closest tongs to them.

“What would you like to taste now?” She glanced at him with flushed cheeks and a grin before she turned her full attention to the table before them. They moved down it together, his hand a distracting presence against her back as she filled the plate with options both agreed to share. At the end of the table they paused so that Rory could fill two cups with punch. The space where his hand had been a moment ago felt naked as she stood with their plate held in both hands. Her eyes moved to the tables nearby and she was glad to find that some of the chairs were backless to accommodate any students with special needs like her own.

“Lead the way, hot stuff.”

Rory grinned, carving a path through their classmates while taking small sips of the punch. He sought out a mostly empty table, setting down the drinks before pulling one of the backless seats out for Haven to sit. He made a show of presenting it with his hands, before taking a seat himself and resting an elbow on the table. He closed his eyes and swayed gently to the music. "What kind of music do you like to dance to, and what kind of music do you like to listen to? Cause while I like to dance to EDM and classic pop, Katja got me into hard rock and metal for when I work out. But that isn't, like, dance music, you know?”

“Katja introduced me to hard rock and metal, too. Though I only listen to it when I’m lifting weights.” Haven smiled softly at the memory as she settled into her seat, although for a moment she worried where the blonde had been for the past two weeks. Something had been off about Katja since the trials. Her wings shifted behind her, as if releasing her worry through the action of tucking them closer to her back. She took another bite of the pork she’d put on their plate, thinking further on her music taste as she chewed. It would be better to answer his question, anyways.

“I could dance to anything, really.” She said after a minute, smiling at him as she noticed how he moved with the music. "But if I had to choose something to listen to while I’m flying or resting, I’d probably listen to indie or R&B. Something soft and peaceful, but nothing sad.”

Rory nodded as he continued to sway, watching Haven briefly as she ate. He observed the decorations, a slight unease felt at the thought of the scenery shifting before him. He half-expected this all to be another trick of the shared Hell they had experienced. His body tensed as that anxiety planted itself deep in his gut.

That anxiety was not lost as Haven spoke. His smile remained as she answered his question. It felt so… weird, to be asking such basic questions after everything. His eyes shifted to Haven's wings, and his mind swelled on the protests he had encountered on his way into the island at the start of the semester. The statement left his lips before he even realized he had voiced it, almost like a whisper to himself. “I miss when things were norm-.” He flinched as soon as the words left his mouth, cutting himself off and shaking his head. “Sorry, I just… I don't know, I just…” He hesitated, a question probing at the front of his mind. He grabbed at the closest thing on their shared plate he could. “Nevermind.”

Haven’s brows rose as her curiosity and concern grew with Rory’s hesitant words. Her fork hung between her plate and open lips as Rory’s flinch stopped her mid-bite. Her mouth slowly closed as she set the fork down. Should she pry? Should they continue onto a different topic to avoid any unpleasantness?

“Rory…” She began as her body shifted to face him. She reached out her hand to rest it on his knee, her body leaning in as she placed her whole focus on what he might say next. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Her eyes flitted between his, her next words resting hesitantly on the tip of her tongue for only a moment before she continued. “When you say normal… Do you mean like before the trial?”

Rory sighed, leaning back in his chair to shrink away from her slightly. He placed a hand absent mindedly on hers, as his eyes shifted to look out towards the crowd. “No… I meant like, before PRCU. Before Hyperion. Before…” He paused, closing his eyes as he thought to form his words. “If you could snap your fingers and wake up without the hype gene, would you?”

She blinked. The question caught her off guard. It hit her in the chest, and then settled into the bottom of her stomach amongst the liquor and what little food she’d had so far. “I… haven’t thought about that since I was in the girls' home.”

Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. Her hand shifted from holding his thigh, turning itself to slide her fingers through his. She ran her thumb over his, a subconscious instinct to soothe him and herself through the action. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it held the weight of the question between them like a wall that Haven was currently trying to lower. Her lips twisted, the memory of her teen years threatening to sober her up with heartache.

“When my wings began to grow, I hated them.” She admitted quietly, her eyes looking to their intertwined hands for further comfort. “I hid them, wrapped them to my back so no one would see them until they ached… But I can’t imagine my life without them now. I feel so free when I’m in the air. Like my life on the ground is a weight on my shoulders, and my wings allow me to free myself of it.”

Her smile was small and sad, until she took a breath and squeezed his hand. She looked into his eyes, a steadfast light shining through the gold and green despite her solemn expression. “They’re a part of me. I just wish that other people wouldn’t look at them and see the hype gene instead of who I am. Things would be a lot easier that way.”

Rory squeezed Haven's hand back, leaning a little closer. He looked to her wings as they spoke, nodding along. When she finished, he smiled softly, but his eyes still mirrored that faint sadness. “I understand what you mean. It's how a lot of us view it. And I find all parts of you beautiful, Haven. But…” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes locked on their hands as he softly circled the back of her hand with his thumb. “I don't view it as part of me. It hasn't done me any favors. All the Hype-Gene has done for me is hurt everyone around me. Disease, violence, kidnapping… it's not normal. Not out there, and not in the same way.”

He noticed how a particular word affected Haven. How it made a muscle in her neck tick as her wings gathered closer to her back, her grip on his hand tightening ever so little as she was reminded of what she’d gone through. That light in her eyes dimmed as her gaze fell to their hands once more.

Rory squeezed Haven's hand back, sighing as he refocused. His eyes turned back to their hands. “I watched what everyone went through in the Trials… and the hype-gene has really only destroyed a lot of our lives.”

“Maybe I'd view it as a part of me if my power was mine. But I'm just a mirror. And not a good one. Most of the time I'm just as normal as anyone, and the only time anyone had interest in my powers it's to use them. So if you asked me a month ago if I'd get rid of my powers, I would have said yes in a heartbeat.” Rory paused, finally choosing to try and maintain eye contact with Haven. This was a heavier conversation than he had wanted to have, but a part of him was content with this kind of vulnerability.

“After the past couple weeks… I don't know if I would. It still doesn't quite feel like part of me, and it feels like a curse. But it is also the only thing that gives me some kind of control on what's happening around us.” He moved a hand up towards Haven’s cheek slowly, his thumb tracing her cheek bone.

Haven gratefully tilted her head towards his touch as she allowed his words to distract her mind from what had been triggered within. She closed her eyes for a moment as she found comfort in the motions, her chest rising and falling with a soothing breath. When her eyes opened again, she looked into his blues with a soft, yet determined gaze.

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind. You’ve done so many great things with and without your ability already.” She reached for his hand, taking it into her own as she moved it to rest against the skin on her chest. At the place where her heart beat a gentle rhythm inside. “I’m here because of you, Rory. You pulled everyone together to make it happen, and I will always be grateful for that. Whether you used your ability to do it or not.”

“I realized a long time ago that the only thing I can control is my heart. My actions. Good things happen, and terrible things do too, things I wish I could have changed or prevented, but when there’s nothing I could do or could have done I remind myself that I don’t want it to change me. I don’t let it.” She figured she was rambling now, and that sometimes her heart made terrible decisions too, but she didn’t let it stop her lips from moving. “I hope you don’t let what’s happened change you, Rory. I don’t think my feelings for you would change if it did, really, but-” Was this what word vomit felt like? “I just hope you stay the kind and caring man I’ve known. The one who always puts his best in even if it looks like he’s going to lose the game. Hype gene and all.”

Rory felt awful for the momentary excitement he felt as Haven moved his hand. But as she continued speaking, Rory's soft smile grew warmer. When she finished, he responded by leaning in closer. His kiss was soft, tender, and genuine in a way that words often weren't for him. He let the kiss linger, before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. “We're both going to change and grow, Dove. But I will do my best to be me, as long as you do your best to be you.”

Haven’s smile was wide as she pressed her forehead into his. She responded with a nod, her thoughts already fluttering away in the wind as his kiss left her dazed and warm inside. The touch of his skin against her chest shifted from a comforting pressure into something intimate and cherished. A physical lifeline between their hearts. She tilted her chin for another kiss, feeling her knees graze against his. Her wings relaxed behind her again. The heat of his hand slowly spread across her skin, traveling to her neck and further down to the pit of her stomach. Her own hand skimmed down his wrist until it rested on the edge of his sleeve.

She broke the kiss when the heat became unbearable. Her body leaned away from him with a sheepish grin on her face, the hand on his wrist gently moving his own away from her chest. “That’s just… It’s hard to stop when it’s that perfect.”

Rory grinned as his heart raced and his breathing had become a bit shallow. His cheeks were bright red, only partially due to the embarrassment as Haven had moved his hand. He fought the urge to close the distance again, settling to lean back and rest his hand on Haven's own knee as he composed himself. “Yeah, it's pretty hard.” He grabbed for the cup of punch taking a greedy sip. He wiped away the lingering droplets with his thumb as he continued.“Something tells me we aren't going to make it through the whole dance.” His playful smirk returned, as he reached for a small slider on the plate.

“Definitely not.” She giggled, still catching her breath as she reached for her own cup. She downed the entire thing, and traded the empty cup for the second slider on their plate. “I know a better way we can make the night last, though.” She murmured before taking a bite. She chewed slowly, smiling at him as she let the words linger between them. It was only when she was down to the last bite that she quelled his anticipation. “We just need the right song to begin with.”

Rory rolled his eyes playfully, downing his slider before standing up. He held a hand out towards Haven. “Only one way to find out.”

Haven happily discarded the last bite onto the plate. Her now free hand reached for his. She let him pull her to her feet, her heart already beating faster with excitement as he guided her towards the dance floor. Within the last few feet she couldn’t contain herself any longer, and she playfully took the lead as she pulled him the rest of the way. Her wings shifted between being tucked and untucked as they moved through the crowd until they found themselves at the center.

Rory gave Haven a little space as he let the music wash over them. His movements started a little stiff as he got started, but her smile egged him on. They let the world around them dissipate as their dance became more about making the other laugh and smile than being smooth and choreographed.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Melissa
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Melissa Melly Bean the Jelly Bean

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__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.055: guilty conscience
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): N/A
Previously: Time to Dance

Chad’s arm wrapped around Aurora’s shoulders felt heavy, but the weight of her own actions bore heavier. The further that they walked from where Lorcán stood, the more guilty she felt, her best friend’s words reverberating in her head on a loop. He’d so willingly provided answers to the questions she hadn’t been nearly bold enough to ask, and instead she had hastily made her own assessment about the entire situation.

It begged the question, what else had she misconstrued?

Well for starters, that night in the tent before the trial he’d been talking about her. He’d fallen asleep trying to ask her to the dance. He had only just confirmed his intentions but the answer had been right there all along, clear as day. Their powers intermingled and he had said how right it had felt, he’d even assured her that Amma was just a friend - and yet, she’d doubted herself. Chalked it up to him being overwhelmed with everything that had happened that day with the school losing accreditation.

The following evening in his dorm room, he’d said everything he did during the trial was to get her back, and he didn’t know what he would have done if anything had happened to her.

Someone you love.

Was it possible that he felt the same way? Everything was starting to click.

Even so, she didn’t have an answer as to why he had asked for Amma when he woke up. What had she said or done that caused her to be the first person he wanted to see, and thus set off this chain of unfortunate events? She racked her brain for a logical explanation-

“Earth to Aurora,”

Chad shook her shoulder gently and Aurora blinked rapidly, snapping out of the trance she’d found herself in. “Damn, am I boring you that much?” He asked playfully.

“No, no not at all,” She quickly recovered, swallowing and offering him a smile, although it was much smaller than the one she’d given Lorcán only a few minutes prior. “I’m sorry, I just zoned out for a second.” The girl stated apologetically. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but inside she was beside herself.

“Guess I need to keep you a bit more stimulated then.” He winked, and where Aurora should have continued to burn, she instantly went cold. The action itself would have made the majority of girls on campus weak in the knees, but in that moment the redhead was immune to it, even a bit repulsed by it.

She should be here with Lorcán.

The pair rejoined Chad’s group of friends and Aurora tried to remain present as they conversed. She knew she’d only cause more issues for herself if she bailed on her date and went off to find the person she truly wanted to spend the evening with. So, she smiled politely and listened, pretending she had an ounce of interest in water polo. The discussion droned on, and the redhead thought she had gained the ability to turn invisible until one of Chad’s friends directed his attention to her.

“So like, you can teleport anywhere, right?” He asked, a dopey looking grin on his face. “Say you wanted to teleport to - I don’t know - the Gulo Dorms. You could do that right?He snickered, and the redhead raised her eyebrows.

“I mean, no, it doesn't really work like that.” Aurora responded, warily, “It either has to be in my field of vision or I’ve had to have been there before.” She shook her head with a small laugh, trying to diffuse the situation, “It’s not like I can just show up somewhere I’ve never been.”

“Well that’ll change after tonight…” He said under his breath, nudging the boy to his right with his elbow accompanied by a small smirk. Did she hear him right? What kind of assumption was he trying to make?

“Okay, I think that’s enough from you,” Chad scolded, and yet there was something else laced in his tone and expression that she couldn’t quite discern. He took the drink from Aurora’s grasp and placed it down on a table before grabbing her hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I think I owe my date a dance.”

Before she could protest, the dark haired boy led her out onto the dancefloor just as the band switched to a slow romantic tune. Finding a spot amongst their peers, he pulled her closer using the hand holding hers and placed the other on the smallest point of her waist, the two beginning to sway to the music. Aurora’s gaze wandered around the room, attempting to spot that familiar head of light brown sun bleached hair.

She should have been dancing with him.

“I may be a jock, but I’m not stupid, you know.” Chad commented bluntly, causing Aurora’s sapphire eyes to instantly go wide as she returned her focus forward.

“Oh, no, I was just-” She tried to cover for herself, and he chuckled at how quick the redhead was to react, interrupting her almost immediately before she could come up with a fabricated explanation.

“What I’m trying to say is that I know who you’re looking for.” He leaned in towards her, “Normally, I’d be offended, but I get it.”

Aurora tilted her head, her facial expression contorting into one of confusion.

“...you do?” She questioned, surprised.

“Absolutely.” A devious smirk popped onto Chad’s lips.

“I’m all for making Roth jealous.”
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Qia
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Qia A Little Weasel

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_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.056: Running in Heels
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): Lorcán @Lord Wraith
Previously: Crushed Petals


Harper moved carefully through the crowd, her eyes sweeping over the room in search of Cass. All the while, she did her best to avoid tripping over people’s feet, including her own, cursing herself for not packing extra shoes. Her heels, though elegant, were far from practical, and each misstep felt like a reminder of her own anxiety—about tonight, about everything. The fabric of her dress swirled lightly around her legs as she maneuvered through the throng of students, trying to appear a lot more graceful than she felt.

Glancing up at the mezzanine for a brief moment, her sharp gaze landed on Amma, who stood like a sentinel above the crowd. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulder like a waterfall, glossy and dark against the dim lighting from above, making her stand out as she always seemed to. From up high, Harper imagined Amma could see everything, taking it all in with that same inscrutable expression she often wore. It was as if she existed in the scene but was distanced from it, like the moon casting its serene gaze over the night while Harper, in comparison, was the sun—brilliant, vibrant, and ever-present in the midst of it all.

Though their eyes didn’t meet, the raven-haired figure exuded a commanding and untouchable presence, as though she existed in another world entirely. Poised but distant, she was part of the crowd yet somehow apart from it, her thoughts likely drifting far beyond the dance floor. Harper wondered what might be occupying her mind. Amma’s stillness was intriguing, as if she carried a weight larger than any of them could comprehend—a secret burden that remained elusive.

Well…not so secret anymore. And yet, Harper wouldn’t be surprised if there were still layers she remained unaware of.

For a moment, the brunette felt the temptation to go to her, to close the distance between them and ask what she was thinking or perhaps just share another quiet moment away from everything. The urge was almost palpable, a magnetic pull that made her heart skip, protesting against the opposing movement of her feet as they carried her away from the stairs. But something held her back, a nagging sense that Amma might not be so easily reached tonight—not in the way Harper would want. The invisible barrier between them felt thicker than usual, a wall of unshared thoughts and unspoken words.

Instead, Harper let the idea pass, swallowing it like so many other unsaid things between the two of them. Maybe it was better this way, she reasoned. Amma had her own world to navigate, just like she did, and maybe tonight wasn’t the night to cross those lines. There were already too many tangled threads to deal with, too many emotions waiting to unravel at the wrong touch.

She dropped her gaze and slipped along the edge of the dance floor, weaving through the thinning crowd. The music thumped in her ears, the bass vibrating through her chest, but Harper only half-listened. She hummed along to it despite not recognizing the tune being played, her mind elsewhere. Cass wasn’t likely to be lost in the thick of things—for whatever reason, she just didn’t get that impression from him. He was probably somewhere on the periphery, just like her, keeping out of the frenzy at the center.
If that was true, they’d have that in common at least—this shared tendency to avoid the spotlight while keeping a careful distance from everyone else. Maybe it was time to figure out where exactly he’d slipped off to, and maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late to salvage something from the evening so far.

As she moved along the edge of the dance floor, Harper’s gaze fell upon a familiar figure standing near the periphery. It was Lorcán, his presence unmistakable even from a distance. He stood slightly apart from the main throng of dancers, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he were waiting for something—or someone—specific.

A small wave of relief washed over her. At least she wouldn’t have to search far for someone she knew. Harper adjusted her path, weaving through the remaining clusters of people with a renewed sense of purpose. Each step felt lighter, her earlier hesitation melting away as she neared him. It wasn’t until she was almost upon him that she remembered the last time she had seen Lorcán. It had been during the trials, when his quick thinking had snapped her out of her own suffocating thoughts. She could still feel the pressure in her chest from that moment when the heaviness of it all had threatened to crush her—just before Lorcán had been the one to steady her.

And then he’d been the one to fall in the end.

A picture of him lying in the hospital bed, pale and unmoving, flashed through her mind, giving her pause. It was still surreal to think that he’d nearly died—after everything they’d gone through, that part had never quite settled in. But this was Lorcán. He was alive. Standing there, looking like he had already conquered half the night with that effortless air of confidence he carried.

She had nothing to be nervous about.

As she drew closer, the sound of the crowd seemed to fade. The edge of the dance floor provided some reprieve from the noise, and now that she was standing just a few feet away, Harper let herself take in the full sight of him. His outfit, all sharp lines and baby-blue tailoring, was a striking contrast to the chaotic energy around them. Somehow, even after everything that had happened, Lorcán had the ability to make the world seem calmer. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Damn, Lorcán. Are you here to dance or just to make the rest of us look underdressed?” Harper teased. It felt good to joke, to ease into something she was used to—even if it was just for now. The sandy-haired young man spun around, a slight look of surprise crossing his face. Harper watched his eyes trace her figure, a confused look on his face until recognition finally set in.

Lorcán's cheeks burned for a quick sudden, flushing as red as Harper's dress before he spoke.

“Thanks, Paddlepuss, you look good too,” He replied, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “I barely recognized you all gussied up, you just missed Cass,” He added.

Harper wasn’t used to being looked at like that—not by him or anyone, really. If they had before, she’d been too wrapped up in her own world to notice. But now, standing there in a red dress far outside her usual comfort zone, the way he looked at her felt… different. His gaze was intense, almost as if he were seeing her for the first time, making her acutely aware of every inch of fabric clinging to her skin. That’s when she remembered the haircut, courtesy of one Calliope. She imagined she seemed almost like an entirely different person.

Mirroring Lorcán’s reaction with a sheepish smile of her own, Harper allowed a small pout to replace it at the mention of Cass’s departure.

“Oh, really?” she said, crossing her arms in a gesture that was half defensive, half playful. “Did he say where he was going?” As the words left her mouth, a twinge of apprehension settled in. She wondered if Cass had been looking for her—if he’d been searching for some sign of her in the crowd. The thought made her shift slightly, her eyes darting around the dance floor as if she might spot him in the sea of faces. She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check, as she fixed her gaze on Lorcán again.

The taller boy shifted under her gaze, his burning eyes not oblivious to the way she was looking at him and a sheepish smirk remained plastered on his lips as Lorcán puffed his chest a little suddenly feeling very confident in the baby blue suit he wore.

“It's Cass,” Lorcán answered wryly, “He's totally off to pick a fight, though his last words were to ensure you like saw, so I guess I'm doing my part here.” His eyes gave Harper another once over. It had only been a few weeks seeing everyone without uniforms, but now seeing Harper dressed to the nines, it made Lorcán feel like he was truly seeing her for the first time.

“Shame you weren't put in Canis, red is your colour, brah,” He added playfully while admiring the fit of her dress again.

Harper blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his compliment. The unexpected praise made her cheeks warm, a sensation she wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with. Then, at the mention of what Cass was up to, a flicker of irritation crossed her face—just a flash—before she masked it behind a tight-lipped smirk. Cass was off picking a fight. Of course, he was. More than likely, he had his reasons. She told herself that, repeated it like a mantra. Cass wasn’t careless. He didn’t give her that impression, at least. Still, the news stung, a sharp pinprick to the evening she’d imagined. She had hoped for something… different. Something that reflected this new version of herself, standing here in a dress she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing a few months ago.

No expectations, remember? she reminded herself, trying to quell the disappointment bubbling up. But even as she tried to shake it off, a bit of it remained, stubborn and insistent, buried beneath the surface. Just once—just this one night, she had wanted things to go her way. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present moment, on Lorcán standing before her with his calm, reassuring presence. Maybe the night wasn’t lost yet; maybe it just needed a different kind of beginning.

"Thanks for the heads-up," Harper said, trying to keep things casual. “And the compliment. You clean up pretty well yourself.” The words came out easily, but her mind had already shifted. Cass. Wildcard. It was always the wildcards. Reluctantly, she knew she’d go after him—because of course, she would. “Which way?” she asked.

His eyes went wide as a plate of sliders went by, immediately distracting Lorcán from the matter at hand. The girl in the red dress was quickly forgotten as the smell of beef and melted cheese tempted Lorcán away. Pausing, he gestured in the other direction before speaking.

“I think he headed that way,” The molten-eyed boy responded, “Can you take this?” He asked gesturing to Cass' blazer hanging off his arm.

“He left it with me, but it's probably better with you.”

Harper blinked at the sudden shift in Lorcán’s attention, the distraction from Cass’s whereabouts catching her off guard. She followed his gaze to the plate of sliders, the corner of her lips twitching in amusement. Typical Lorcán, always finding the silver lining—or in this case, the snack. Still, his ability to move on so easily while she was still tangled up in the night’s events was endearing in a weird way. Taking the jacket, Harper felt the fabric between her fingers, heavier than expected. There was something about holding onto Cass’s blazer, something symbolic in a way that made her stomach flip. Like she was holding onto a piece of him while he was off doing who-knew-what.

She sighed softly, and with a final thanks, Harper turned her attention back to the crowd. The thought of chasing after Cass felt like a familiar song playing in the background of her mind—she knew the rhythm, the beats, the inevitable pull of his unpredictability. But something in her hesitated. Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the weight of the jacket in her hand, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run after someone again. It was always the wildcards that caught her, drew her in—just like Cass was doing now, even without trying.

But tonight? Maybe tonight was the night she let herself breathe.

She straightened her posture, tossing one more look over her shoulder at Lorcán before setting off. This time, Harper wasn’t sure if she’d follow Cass’s trail. Maybe she’d take her time, wander the edges a bit longer, and figure out where she really wanted to go. The night was still young, and for once, she felt like she had the freedom to truly choose her own path.


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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Melissa
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Melissa Melly Bean the Jelly Bean

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__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.057: Look What You Made Me Do
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): N/A
Previously: guilty conscience

Making Lorcán jealous was the exact opposite of what Aurora was trying to do. In fact, she prayed that he wasn’t watching them dance right now - the last thing she needed was to make things worse than they already were, but clearly Chad had other ideas. What had transpired between the two in order to cause such hostility? She had never seen them interact in the past, she didn’t even think that they knew each other, so her curiosity was instantly piqued.

“Who knew you’d be so eager.” The redhead stated as they continued to sway, pretending to go along with the act. The words stung as they left her lips, but she wasn’t about to reveal to him the reason she was really looking for Lorcán. “What is it that you’re getting out of this?” She watched as the dark haired boy’s expression darkened at the question.

“Let’s just say he hurt someone very close to me. I’d take any opportunity to get back at him for what he did.” His intonation was low, a warning, and Aurora knew better than to push the issue further. But she found it hard to believe that Lorcán actually harmed someone, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a person, on purpose. There must have been a piece of the puzzle missing. Chad’s eyes lightened again, and he smirked before spinning her outwards and then pulling her in, her back now pressed against his chest. His breath was warm on her ear as he leaned in to speak, “More importantly though, I could never say no to a beautiful girl like you.”

Oh?

She turned back to face him and continued to sway, one slow song morphing into the next, but noticed his gaze was out into the distance still. Aurora followed his line of sight, which led to his friends who stood in the same spot they had left them in. One of them nodded their head towards the exit before mimicking having a drink and the entire group began to migrate to the front of the A.R.C. She glanced back at the dark haired boy only to find his eyes were now locked on her, a devious smile playing on his lips.

“What do you say we get out of here?” He stopped moving his legs, planting them firmly before his arm snaked around her midsection towards the small of her back, “Head to the speakeasy, have a few more drinks…” His hand came to rest on her lower hip, “Go and have some real fun.”

The redhead tensed, her cheeks flushing almost instantly as his thumb stroked along the fabric of her dress. He’d just had his hand on her waist while they were dancing, but this felt more deliberate, more intentional. That combined with his previous comment led her to believe that the vibe was definitely shifting between them in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

“I, uh… I don’t think…” She stammered, clearly wary of the sudden change in dynamic and unsure of what to say in response. Chad’s smile turned into a playful smirk, a flirtatious glint in his eye.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” He commented, another compliment based on her appearance, raising his eyebrows, “This dance is lame anyway, and besides…” His hand slowly slid lower as he leaned in towards her ear, speaking barely above a whisper.

“I’ve been dying to find out what’s under this dress.”

The alarm bells in her head sounded loudly and this time, she listened to them. Aurora immediately tried to take a step away from Chad and create some distance, but he quickly moved his hand back up to her waist and pulled her into him.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, Aurora. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.” He insisted. She was quick to shake her head, confused on how he’d come to such a conclusion when she hadn’t intentionally given him any indication of interest. She knew a lot of girls liked Chad in that way, but she had eyes for someone else.

“You’ve got the wrong idea, I don’t want-” The redhead tried to explain, attempting to maneuver out of his grasp, but the dark haired boy tightened his hold, effectively keeping her from going anywhere.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” He assured, his voice sickeningly sweet even with what he was insinuating, making bile rise up in the back of Aurora’s throat. Her eyes searched around the dance floor, desperately looking for a friendly face. She hoped one of her friends was near and could see she needed assistance; in an ideal scenario, Harper would have been watching from across the room with her keen eye or Haven would have been eavesdropping from afar. But with all the commotion, she likely was lost in the shuffle.

“No, Chad, I’m not interested,” She formed the words successfully, but her voice still wobbled in her panic, something that the dark haired boy latched onto and ran with.

“Come on, baby, you know you want to.” He wasn’t relenting, choosing to ignore her blatant refusal and her heart sank. How more obvious could she be?

His hand slid lower, cupping her backside. He squeezed, and her breath caught in her throat.

“We can take things slow,”

How could she have been so stupid. His words and actions had been questionable this whole time and yet she had chosen to sweep things under the rug, believing she was reading into it all too much. That denial had led her to this moment. Amma’s words repeated in her mind and she finally understood what the raven vixen was warning her about, who she was warning her about. Chad had asked her to the dance for one reason, and one reason only, but she had been so consumed in her woe over Lorcán that she hadn’t seen the warning signs.

She knew guys like Chad. They didn’t get rejected often, so when they did, they didn’t take it well. Or rather, they didn’t accept the rejection at all, and she was not about to let him pressure her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. Aurora may have been her mother’s daughter, but she was definitely not her mother.

Enough was enough.

Her face turned bright red, not in embarrassment or flattery, but in anger.

Don’t touch me, and don’t call me baby.”

This time, she didn’t hesitate as she slapped Chad across the face.

The deafening sound of skin hitting skin seemed to ricochet even with the music playing loudly in the background. Releasing his grip, the boy reached up and cradled his face before looking back at her, eyes gone dark and alight with rage. Aurora took the opportunity to step back, separating herself from him.

“What the hell, Mitchell!” He spat, his facial expression contorting into one of shock for the action taken.

“I said no, Chad.” Aurora stated firmly, standing her ground. People around them were starting to notice the altercation, and seeing this, Chad grabbed the redhead’s arm, his fingers digging into her fair skin.

“Teleport us out of here before you make more of a scene than you already have.”

“The lady said no,” A voice roared, “Let me express that in a language you’re familiar with.”

Cass was a blur of motion, his fist connecting with Chad’s jaw, stunning the taller boy and causing him to release her. A follow-up strike to Chad's chest exploded with a concussive blast that sent him sliding back across the floor.

Lorcán pushed through the dumbfounded crowd, appearing beside Aurora and reassuringly grasping her hand while his free hand crackled with energy. He took a step in front of her and stared Chad down.

“If you ever touch her again, you’ll lose the hand.” Lorcán spat, his fiery eyes prepared to burn a hole through him.

It all happened so fast, Aurora barely had enough time to react before Cass came out swinging, but as Lorcán grabbed her hand, angling himself between her and Chad, all of the panic she felt instantly vanished. The pair had practically appeared out of nowhere, but she wasn’t about to question how they had come to her aid so quickly.

Relieved, the redhead squeezed the hand that held hers.

“You’re going to regret that, Charon,” Chad seethed, scrambling to his feet while clutching his chest. He looked down at Cass with the few inches he had to his advantage. “I should have taught you a lesson the first time.” He snarled, referencing their altercation from the day prior before looking over the blonde’s shoulder to where Lorcán stood. The dark haired boy saw red.

“So now you want to play the hero? That’s rich.” Chad scoffed, “You and I both know you’re far from innocent.” No one else would understand the reference, but he knew it’d cut deep nonetheless. He shook his head, “But you can have her, Roth, she’s a fucking tease anyway.”

Lorcán’s empty hand clenched into a fist at Chad’s words. He’d heard the term before but didn’t quite understand how Aurora was a tease. If anything, Lorcán knew it was Chad forcing a debt on the young woman she had no obligation to pay.

“No, she’s my friend, she doesn’t owe me anything,” Lorcán replied, standing his ground, “And she doesn’t owe a junkyard dog like you a moment more of her time.” He paused before addressing Chad again. His experiences with Miranda earlier that day flooding back, the memory of his confrontation with Lance and Ryan, the actuality of that situation. A cool head began to prevail as he tried to reason with Chad.

“Lance’s memories were altered, along with your parents’ and yours.” He explained, “I didn’t harm your brother, but he hurt someone and consequences found him.”

“Apparently a familiar trait,” Cass snarked.

“For tonight, these are your consequences,” Lorcán continued, “Unless Aurora says otherwise,” He turned to look at her, waiting to see if the girl he loved had anything to add.

The redhead met Lorcán’s molten gaze, fully knowing he’d unleash the fire he’d been keeping at bay if she said the word, and only then. Because at the end of the day, even though her best friend would always have her back, he knew that she was capable of fighting her own battles. And she definitely wasn’t done here. With a nod and another squeeze, she let go of his hand.

In an instant, she teleported directly in front of Chad and sent her knee straight into his groin.

He howled, doubling over in agony, not having had enough time or awareness to protect himself. The students around them seemed to grimace or wince in response, but Aurora’s focus remained pinned on the dark haired boy, her sapphire eyes abnormally icy.

“You so much as say a word to me ever again and I will teleport you off of the Southern Plateau.” Aurora threatened, brow furrowed.

Chad managed to lift his head after a moment, his face still contorted in pain, and glared at the redhead.

“You little-” He began but stopped himself, noticing just how many people were now watching them. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to retaliate, but if there was anything the boy cared about, it was his reputation. He looked between the three of them, from Cass, to Lorcán, and back to Aurora, staring her down. “This isn’t over, Mitchell.” He spoke through gritted teeth low enough for only her to hear before hobbling off, their classmates parting like the sea and creating a clear path for him to depart the A.R.C.

“You want to get some air?” Lorcán offered, taking a hold of Aurora’s hand again, “Feels like a good time for ice cream,” He smiled, turning to take her other hand as well, giving them both a small squeeze.

The redhead exhaled as she felt the familiar warmth of Lorcán’s skin, not realizing she had been holding her breath. Everyone else in the background seemed to fade away, her focus only on the boy standing in front of her, and she nodded in response, a small smile reappearing on her face.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

“Well, I’m not needed here,” Cass stated dryly, “I suppose I should find my date and apologize for my tardiness.”

“So long as you’re not here,” Lorcán replied with a smirk of his own, his eyes never once leaving Aurora’s, “But thanks, you’ve always got my back,”

“Always will,” Cass replied, loosening his tie before pushing into the crowd and leaving the pair alone for some much-needed communication.

Without another word, Aurora teleported herself and Lorcán out of the A.R.C.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Skai
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Skai Bean Queen

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Location: ARC Center - PRCU
Dance Monkey #4.058: Those Eyes

Interaction(s): Rory, Boyfriend @Webboysurf
Previously: When Disco Plays Our Loon


She laughed happily as the song faded out, her eyes alight with the joy that came with letting loose to the music. For a moment she’d felt untethered to reality. Truly enjoying the present without a care in the world. It helped that Rory was there with her too. His goofy moves, like mimicking an egyptian walking or wiggling his shoulders and head like a snake, made it easy for her to also move her body unencumbered by the crowd of students around them. Her wings had danced with her, creating a radius behind her that left her grateful it hadn’t been invaded by an unknowing dancer nearby.

She hadn’t felt so free to move them around strangers in a while.

The first slow song of the night changed the mood in an instant, as the single students left the dance floor and the couples began to dance at an intimate distance. Haven would have usually taken this chance to get another drink, or use the bathroom, but tonight was different.

She looked into Rory’s eyes and her heart fluttered in her chest. Her smile softened. She stepped closer to him, her wings tucking into her back to make space for the other couples that gathered around them. The romantic music, paired with the way he was looking at her, brought a pink hue to her cheeks. She felt anticipation crawling along her skin as she waited for him to make the first move for her.

Rory smiled warmly, closing the already short distance with Haven as the music slowed. He noticed Haven's slight blush, and matched it with his own. He moved his left hand to Haven's waist, using it to pull her in close. His right hand grabbed for her left, swaying back and forth with her as the song began. “You, uh… you know what we do here?”

Haven tucked in closer to him as her smile grew. Her head tilted back a fraction to look between his blues, and she giggled softly as she answered. “We leave a bit of space between us, so we don’t forget that we’re in public.” Yet she inched ever closer to him.

Rory nodded, looking down into Haven's eyes. That was a mistake. His heart fluttered, and his clothes felt far too tight and restrictive. She looked at him like no one ever had, and he couldn't put into words how precisely he felt when he looked into those hazel eyes. He was pulled in close by the sheer magnetism of her gaze. “What, afraid someone is going to get jealous of us? Or is it just that hard to keep your hands off me?” Rory smirked, and his left hand moved to cover the small of her back. The second he felt his head move down towards her, he averted his gaze and straightened up.

His joke had only offered a moment of relief, until his hand moved from her waist. She’d felt her own chin tipping higher as his head moved closer, the pressure on the small of her back subtly pushing her closer to him, until she too moved her head back to its resting position as they both tried their best to be civil. She was eye level with his collar. The green and gold tie looked even more dashing below his adam's apple, and it made her smile as she thought of how she would remove it later that night.

“Your tie really suits you, you know.” She murmured softly, although she didn’t question where he’d gotten it from. It seemed like something you’d get from a father, like his own had worn it before. Instead she turned her head to the side, and rested her cheek against his chest as she finally allowed herself to lean into his body. She breathed in his signature cucumber body wash and cologne, only able to smell him when she was this close, and even picked up the faint traces of what he must have been drinking with Gil.

“When did you have your first drink? Were you young?”

Rory shook his head. “Uh… no. My first drink was with Jim, when he called me to his office to chew me out a few days ago. Buttered me up with Bourbon before he went in on how I was handling things.”He rested his own chin on the crown of her head as they slowly swayed to the music. “I've seen how people get when they drink, and never found it super appealing before.” A dumb grin formed on his lips. “Besides, I make a fool enough of myself when I'm sober.”

“I can’t believe Jim took your drinking virginity.” Haven teased with feigned jealousy. Though she was sure he could feel her goofy grin on his chest.

Rory rolled his eyes. His voice was reduced to a whisper as he lowered his mouth to her ear “One wasn't enough for you?” He knew full well what playing with fire felt like, but he did it anyways. He accentuated his point by moving his hand slightly, tracing a single finger along her lower spine. He then gingerly returned his hand to its former position.

Every inch of her body shivered, the movement eliciting a small gasp as the feathers on the top of her wings ruffled. Her lips twisted into a small scowl. “I’m fine with PDA, Rory Tyler, but that was a foul play.”

Rory leaned back, looking down at Haven's scowl. He blushed, moving his hand back to her waist. “Sorry, sorry… I was just trying to make you flustered for once.” He watched some of the other couples dance around them as he kept swaying with her. “I kind of don't know what to do when you flirt back most of the time.” He nervously smiled as he tried to meet her green and gold gaze.

“I think you do just fine.” She retorted, and yet her smile returned. Her hand fell from his back to push his own towards that small place again. A subtle way to let him know she liked it resting there. “You’ve been the first to fluster me, and even though I push through it and make you blush more, it always catches me off guard.”

Her hand returned to his back, and she gazed into his eyes for a few beats as she simply enjoyed this moment with him. “I like this feeling, falling for you.” Her cheeks heated, yet she just smiled wider as the subtle confession seemed to fill her heart to the brim.

A soothing comfort blossomed from his chest and spread to every extremity. His breath caught in his throat as he confirmed the truth in her shimmering woodland stare. The world seemed to melt away into nothingness, their presence the only thing that mattered. He held Haven close as they just absorbed the moment. “Is that what this is?”

Haven nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she realized that he was feeling the same way. “I think so.” She murmured.

The pair continued to sway together, the dance feeling much more real and intimate than it had before. Blue stared into hazel and it seemed like they were the only ones in the world just for a little while.

When the song eventually ended, the tempo returning to a fast and fun pace, Haven tilted her head back to look at him. “Should we dance more, or have that last drink?”

Rory shrugged, tilting his head from side to side as he thought. “Might be good to get the drink now, since I don't think we'll have time to if the right song comes on.” He shrugged again, keeping a hold of Haven's hand as he spoke loudly over the music. “What do you think?”

She laughed softly at the loudness of his voice. He’d forgotten that she could still hear him over the music. “Have a drink with me, Rory. I have a feeling the song won’t matter the next time we come to the dance floor.” She winked at him, her mind already thinking about that next dance, before she gently tugged his hand along.

She led the way until they made it out of the dancing crowd and slowed to walk beside him. Her eyes were on their path ahead, trailing up the stairs and to the bar. She looked towards him for a moment as she considered his tolerance levels. “Are you comfortable having another? I don’t want to accidentally get you drunk.”

Rory simply nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd and decorations again. “This is the one instance my powers actually help. I'm used to the feeling, and alcohol is nothing compared to what I usually feel." He gave Haven's hand a soft squeeze as he followed.

“Oh.” Haven began, smiling as they started to climb the stairs together. “I should have thought about that.”

“I think one more will be the perfect amount for me.”

Rory smiled, desperately trying his best to not focus on Haven's swaying hips as they trudged up the stairs. “I'll let you pick my drink tonight, Dove.” He didn't feel like elaborating that he didn't really know what to order or what was good. No need to make the moment feel less special.

“Hmmm, what shall we have, then?” Haven hummed softly. Her eyes looked over the assortment of bottles behind the bar as she snuck into an open spot, her hand letting go of his as she leaned forwards to rest her elbows on the bartop. She sucked on her bottom lip for a moment as her mind focused on what type of drink she wanted to get them. She wanted something simple, something that would keep her happy buzz going but wouldn’t put her over the edge.

“Should we get something sweet or something classic?”

Rory saddled up next to Haven, resting his back against the bar so he could maintain a view over the dance itself. He gave a nod to some of the other seniors ordering drinks of their own. “Classic feels like the vibe.” He looked back to Haven, making a show of scanning her from head to toe. “Sweet comes later.”

The way his blue eyes lazily traveled over her body made her head go fuzzy and her dress feel tighter than before. She could still feel the phantom sensation of his finger tracing her spine, a sensitive spot on her body that he was definitely aware of now. She wondered if he would remember that later.

His charm was so distracting that by the time the barkeep stopped in front of her she had already forgotten what she wanted to order.

“What can I get for you?”

Haven turned her head and stared at the blonde for a second or two as her brain registered why she was at the bar to begin with. She blinked as she regained her composure. “Oh, uh… two old fashioneds, please. Extra cherries.”

The barkeep couldn’t help but grin. “Coming right up, angel.”

Rory raised an eyebrow at that, looking surprised for a moment. He glanced at Haven, before simply shaking his head while smiling. He couldn't blame the guy. Though Rory did scoot a little closer to Haven, his eyes fixed on a commotion on the dance floor.

Haven had raised her own eyebrows, squinting her eyes at the barkeeps back as she wished he hadn’t called her that. Yet the moment didn’t last long, because the sound of skin smacking skin reached her ears over the music playing down below and the familiar voice that followed it alerted her to the situation.

“Ooh, Rora just smacked her date.” She said as her body straightened, turning itself so that her ears could listen into the conflict down below. “If you know Chad you’ll understand why.” She moved to take a step away from the bar, fully intending to jump over the railing if her copper haired friend needed the help, but her steps faltered as Cassander Charon’s voice joined the fray. She grinned as she settled up beside Rory once again.

“And now Lorcán’s cousin has given him a reason to leave her alone.” Her tone was cheery as she began to explain what she was hearing to her boyfriend. She adjusted her wings behind her so that she could lean against the bar like Rory. Her body fully relaxed now that it seemed she no longer had anything to worry about tonight.

Rory raised an eyebrow, his face clearly washed in utter confusion. “Wait… Rora had a date? And it was Chad?” He shook his head, trying to shoo away the frustration boiling in his stomach. “She told Lorcán she didn't want to go with anyone and rejected me when she thought I was asking her… but she said yes to fucking Chad?” He looked to Haven for some semblance of an explanation with furrowed brows.

The winged woman pressed her lips together, nodding her head in agreement. “I know. It took me by surprise when he picked her up earlier.” Her eyes moved back to the railing, where she could hear the tense words being spoken between the Gulo prick and Lorcán, who she heard arrive shortly after the first fist was thrown.

“I mean, she had every right to say yes to someone else since Lorcán didn’t ask her. It’s a shame it had to be someone like Chad instead of a decent guy, and I wasn’t about to tell her about his history with him standing at the doorway.”

She gently bumped her elbow against his arm, offering him a small smile. “Lorcán is with her now though. I think it’s all okay.”

Rory sighed, shaking his head again. “He didn't ask her because she said she didn't want to go with anyone.” He took a breath, trying to let out the growing tension in his shoulders. He leaned over and bumped Haven with his arm. “But as long as they've got each other now, they'll be ok.” He let himself smile a little as he looked back to his own date.

Haven smiled and tilted her head to the side as she remembered that day on the beach. She played with the end of her braid for a second as words formed on her lips, before the sound of glass being set against wood caught her attention. She turned around, in time for the barkeep to clear his throat and slide their drinks forward.

“For the angel-”

“Don’t call me that.” Haven gently snapped as she picked up their drinks. She forgot to thank the blonde, somehow. She turned to Rory and took a breath as she smiled at him instead. “Come on, my handsome boyfriend. It’s time to really let loose now.”

Rory couldn't help but let a cocky grin grow. Any lingering doubts his anxiety could have cooked up about their relationship were dispelled. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't show off. He looped his arm around Haven's waist, plucking one of the drinks with his free hand. While his arm guided Haven away from the bar, Rory lingered a moment longer as he made eye contact with the bartender. “Can't wait, Dove.”
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Rockette
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Rockette 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

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Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Dundas Island
Dance Monkey #4.059: dance macabre.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): gil. - @Roman
Previously: burgundy.

Through the crowd, she had ventured, lost to the time and sway of light and music as she observed, gazed, studied, and wore a delicate smile wreathed with intent and purpose, a secret baited on sweet breath, a vixen-esque facade afforded for the evening and carefully molded into place. That pale face oft heralded with swathes of pain and rage as the forsaken beast lulled into something more before delicate whispers rose and fell on her ears as webbed temptations to stir her ire. Her name was harshly uttered, her likeness described coming from the Lynx House, another whispering tale of the Trials, of her guarded room in the infirmary. Of a forest rendezvous and a curiously destroyed tent.

Someone had seen her pick her way down the cliffs that night.

What did she do? What had she done? And the eternal inquiry that marred her shadow for an entire year: why was she here?

Blackjack may have slowly begun to trust her (though, doubtful, for there was no mistaking the utterance of Tiamat in the Trials and specific individuals that would likely never refer to her as comrade or friend), but did that stabilize foundations for the entire campus to forgive and forget where she had come from? Perhaps not the only Foundation transfer, but the most infamous in every path she carved with waves of scarlet power at her beck and call. A sower and reaper of destruction shrouded in mystery as a cowl of demented forgeries in the name of her mother, her father, and Jonas.

She breathed—sharp, quick—and felt her power stir, liken as a serpentine creature bound to flesh and the cage of bone therein. Those vipers hissed to life in wreathes of black shadow and weighted over her shoulders as three, a manifested trio with eyes of blue that lashed forked tongues at her quickening pulse as more whispers crested as waves frothed and raging and crashing against the banked edges of her fortified will that shored as obsidian walls inlaid with red.

The music cycles from one genre to the next, requests made, some adhered to, some not, ignored for the already predetermined programming to keep them committed to a time that fell back to the immersion of pinnacle socialization and finance. Deep bass vibrated throughout, felt down to the marrow, whilst harmonizing pitches of brass instruments rose and fell, a cadence that inspired many attempts to keep in time with the rapid beat that permeated each melody as it was given. Bodies enmeshed and arms entwined, a wedding of flesh and heat that helplessly raked through the space barely left for naught between couples and groups that amalgamated on the dance floor: awkward pairs, friends in some, one that dipped a girl low in the brightest of garish pinks that clung to every crevice of her body, bodice adorned in glittering sequins. Another of two women that spun out and into one another, a dress of white and one of silver in reflecting silk and chiffon lace that coiled down slender arms locked into an embrace. Little ceremony spared for the blissfully unaware couple lost to the shadowed corner where a crimson drape hung precariously over the heated swagger of lips and tongues, curiously compared to the laughter flung out far and wide from those encouraged by the interchanging music, still beside their claimed tables.

And then it tapers off into the quaint allure of a slow melody, twinkling chimes, and violin strings that lament love and loss and heartache, the romantics that sway under dimmed lighting burning hot as globes that flickered to amber fluorescence that painted everyone and everything in golden lamplight. Her embellishment turned dark and luring; resplendent hues palmed over waxen skin and the silk of her dress rippling with every sway; a void, the obsidian likeness that plumed through the crowd as a raven’s wing, feathers of the gloom in every step as she meandered, at ease and alone.

Amma had sought peace at the brass railing once more, gazing from up high, sipping delicately on red wine that she swirled through the seat of her glass once and then twice; legs of burgundy clung to the curve of translucence before she drained it down to the last drop. A pleasant sensation of warmth took residence through her limbs, whorls of heat that swept low in her belly as she breathed in and out, a soft sigh over the pout of her lip as she raked a delicate hand through her mane of hair and absently strolled back to the bar to order another, the bottle already procured and poured graciously with a smile as her currency of gratitude that left the student stumbling and mute, mouth agape— the Queen of Darkness, as some muttered, was not entirely without charm. Or, better yet, another coined moniker from the rather ardent Cassander (oh yes, she heard him once before; such an abrasive figure, a chaffing and relentless man that bore fang and claw in primitive stature.) Elvira, she thinks he once alluded to her as, and perches her full mouth on her glass and drinks, welcoming the tannins on her tongue. Acid pools away through her mouth before plummeting to the incredible ease she feels spooling through nerves and blood, limbs graciously relaxed before emptiness churns away at her stomach, waiting to be plied with food rather than drink. Butler passed hors d'oeuvres consisting of minor delicacies of seafood and non; cheeses garnished with basil, tomatoes on top of a toasted bread someone named a crostini, quaint tartlets with mushrooms, and some sweet treats cupped in flaky pastry bread called filo and topped with mint that she popped past painted lips, tasting berries and dolloped cream.

The whispers followed her there, too, poised and held aloft as whips she decided to smother with another pull of her drink. Her gaze flickered over the rim of her glass and compelled her audience to quiet and hush, trading their whispers with another name she knew well, some gesturing off-handedly as a familiar sensation washed over her. When someone approached her, the circumference she commanded writhed with it, the world and serpents adorned with her prowess arising to the silent challenge thrown there, so few that dared to brave the sphere of influence adhered to her form. Lids panned low, and lashes fanned against her cheeks as she leaned back, her spine against the railing and her leg bent, her sharp heel rising against the swell of her calf before it snapped back down with a flicker of red.

It was the same man from before, with a smile that betrayed the wealth of his eyes, which matched the grey of his suit in tones of monochromatic refinement. He stopped, a relatively meager crowd at his back as if lambs were being led to the slaughter.

“So it’s true then, you did sleep with Gil last night.”

Amma laughed, drank, and mulled an answer with a long draw of silence.

“...So, what they say about Lorcán and you must be true then—left a teammate to do all the work while you and he ran off together in the woods.”

“And, what’s it to any of you?”

“I’m just saying that a lot of things changed when you showed up. People talk, you know, see things. Hear things. Some of my friends left when your Foundation showed up–here for just a year-- and then they came knocking on the door, and now you’re sneaking around the dorms.”

Amma scoffed, eyes cast away, disinterested as she tipped her head back, her neck on display, and the name etched in her flesh stretched taut, emphasizing the harsh lines marked to her throat as a brand of memorabilia. Eyes traced black lines and more, marking the ‘I,’ the ‘M,’ and then the secondary ‘M’ inked there, curling over the fourth letter as her throat bobbed with enticing finesse. She nearly drained the rest of her drink before she passed it off to him and smiled, teeth perched on the pout of her lip darkened by the wine she imbibed; her tongue passed over, dipping to the corner of her mouth before she said with a voice fringed in biting tones that lanced betwixt them on tendrils of scarlet infamy:

“Your barking exhausts me. Hold this for me, yeah?”

She descends from the mezzanine with a hand brushing through glossy midnight tresses, a subtle perfume left at the sharp rap of her heels—reminded then of how people saw her.

She tells herself, as she always has, that she does not care.
She tells herself that over and over and over again.

On the dance floor, she hears raised voices, privy to the commotion by the immediate recognition that follows with her eyes drawn to baby blues and golden spun hair – and she saw everything. While Cassander was all deliberate aggression and wanton rage, Lorcán was not, a balm of sorts that maybe one would assume to his rather vehement cousin, but Amma curiously wondered why he held back. Why another rose as a champion to defend Aurora’s honor, and whilst she could very well hold her own (she had stood up to her, after all, her previous warning aside), it was still a peculiar notion to contemplate as she observed, watching the pair before they winked entirely out of existence.

And that was that.

The music resumed with ceremonial glamor, edging into a rather soothing comparison to what had just occurred, inspiring a twirling sensation through her spine. However, even such melodies could not snuff out the whispers that, too, followed her here. Soft mutterings of Blackjack’s disreputable distinction: of course, it’s something about them; it wouldn’t be an event without something happening with Jim’s favored team leading the scandal. Amma glided across the dance floor at that, a path that parted mindlessly around her, a barrier created as the plucking strings of bass swept through her, quickly accompanied by the electric droning of a guitar that she stepped in time with, eyes drawing entirely over dancing pairs, searching through the crowd that rushed to resume their swaying twirls and shuffling steps.

That’s when she finally found Gil, a plate in one hand and a drink in the other, and there she stood, eyes fixated on the spot he claimed, his stare peering through the crowd, presumably in search of their teammates. Amma only spared him a flickering glare, the blue of her eyes sparkling under dimmed bulbs, words spoken earlier igniting through the swell of her thoughts that sweltered under the vibrating timbre that suddenly commanded the space betwixt her ears. With the droning words came a swirling cape of scarlet that fled down the length of her body, seductive amplifications of her powers unbidden that slid down the skirts of her dress and onto the dance floor, firing to life as a blooming cosmos of the world that was held upon the mercy of her passionate desires. She stepped back and forward; every move instantly met with a pulse of power that skittered along the velvet lines of her heels. Edged in donning lights of silver, those summoned wisps vibrated and wreathed through her gestures as Amma spun, finding a random person to clutch, a hand that pulled her back, and a body that shimmered with obsidian shadows the more her power fixated onto the toiling HZEs felt through every breath she took.

Within and without.

Her powers swirled entirely through those around her, playful and mindless crimson plumes that rose and fell, some igniting above and showering the dance floor in glittering sparks of interchanging ruby hues that plummeted as falling stars. All the while, she felt an inevitable pull to the edge of the dance floor as she danced, a devastating illustration that was Amma Cahors and the magnetism she commanded, set beside the fear of the unknown that was she. A darling smile adorned her face, one body and onto the next that she danced with, compelled by a song felt and seen and heard through every daring twirl and dip of her body, flashes of tattoos and ink lined in skittering coils of red to emphasize the netherworld marked onto her.

And then, finally, she came to the edge, spun out as a whorl of black and white with a smattering of gold, her heel snapping dangerously close to where Gil stood, finalized by the twirl of red and silver along her legs. Her breath came quick, heated, and exhilarated, fanning softly from her full lips until she plucked at the white pinned to her dress, glancing down and then up, studying the purple suit he had selected for the night and was drawn closer; the delicate flowers in her hand suddenly ignited by the red wealth of her powers.

“Hey there, casanova.” She breathes. "I'd ask you for a dance, but looks like you have your hands full."

There and then not, Amma’s remaining smile the only offer as she was tugged back immediately onto the dance floor, a line of red instantly squirming its way through the bodies that closed Gil off to her piercing stare, drawn to the place he stood before it suddenly vanished on a wisp of red, shaped curiously like a petal, and fell with the chiming bell of her laughter.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Nemaisare
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Nemaisare

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Location: Formal Homecoming - A.R.C., Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.060: With the Lights Down Low

Interaction(s): Cleo Boyd @spicykvnt, and Immanuel Blaylock @Festive
Previously: Don’t Stare Into the Sun

Rolled out red carpet faced like the true gauntlet it was—or wasn’t—via the simple expedience of not walking on it, Lucas led his friends past the first hurdle of an entryway crowded with excitement and nerves and hearts beating fast for so many reasons, whispers and whistles and the subtler sigh of cloth brushing cloth of their arms linked together, only to fall into the mirrored world of glass and doors, swaying with each weight swinging on its hinges, smiles and lights strobing together, too distracted by celebration to brace himself with any certainty of which way he was walking until the one gentleman in their little group held the side door open and steady and Cleo dragged him through.

Then, he followed dazedly behind. Thoughts all puzzle-pieced together and sliding past each point like the well-made machine he was standing in, on, under… Only vaguely keeping track of the rolling, repetitive motion on two wrists nearby as he took in the view. The change was tangible.The atmosphere drawing in each caught breath from the door to the dance floor. He wasn’t the only one appreciating the work put into making this night special. The music was cacophony, too many songs settled into the bones of the building to figure out which one was playing until he caught the same one from the silk and satin (and wool and velvet and lace and crepe) nearby. A muffled round between ears and fabric.

But the lights were dim, almost gentle compared to the black walls and their red drapes, practically glowing… Dance floor front and center, with twin staircases accentuating the mezzanine backdrop, the seating areas caught his eye for a moment, with the fountains of feathers on every table like sprays of light, but he didn’t have time to wonder where they might sit themselves or what food was on offer, having stalled entirely with his eyes on a large black box blending into the wall with a curtain of its own strung across a door and a very big sign with one very big word above it.

Photos.

Lips moving as he mouthed that word to himself, brain suddenly buzzing with one very clear thought, he turned back to Immanuel and Cleo with a grin and a squeak as he caught the words before they tumbled out too loud, one hand covering his mouth and the other pointing at the photo booth. They had to. If they’d come to the dance, they needed a record. He needed it. He wanted it, too. Clasping his hands together as pleadingly as he could.

Lucas’s excitement hit her immediately in the chest. It was pop rocks in your mouth, and the pool of squeezed lime that sits on top of the guacamole for the brightest bite of the dip. Cleo’s eyes widened with it, and she bit down on her lip as the music wrapped itself around her, a trance beat with happiness folded into every chord and note. The rhythm had her swaying immediately in time, her hips, shoulders and head moving as she smiled. It was still easy to note that she was keeping it contained, but that it wouldn’t take too much more to set her whirling into the centre of the room. “Another photo for the wall, aye?” she asked with her usual dreamy smile - eyes torn between looking at the booth itself, and at people arriving in their formal attire.

”Eyes on the prize, all right, yeah. It’s picture perfect, okay?”

Cleo twirled again, before drawing a finger to her lips, her attention dancing between Lucas and Manny. “Ye know, the queue’s a wee bit long. What say I go get the drinks for our table, hmm? By’t time I’m back, it’ll be our go.” She was already shimmying away. “Two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I promise.” She began in the direction of the bar, shoulders swaying, almost as if the music had a hold of her. She heard it, felt it, and had to move with it.

Through the tumultuous force of noises that pervaded every single facet of his ears, Immanuel caught the rising squeak of Lucas’ voice, a sharp piercing noise that stabbed his temporal lobe over the drowning music that he oh so tried to shut out and kill within his mind. His eardrums through background chatter picked up the sound wave vibrations of hearts picking up in rate with the advent of Lucas’s idea. Immanuel could not deny the infectiousness of the excitement in which his teammates held, if only he could hold a single coherent string of thought beneath the blanket of hell's greatest disturbance that marched upon his ears as if it was the day of reckoning and his mind stood as ground zero. He couldn’t much hear the utterances that spouted from the mouths of neither Cleo nor Lucas, as much his concentration stood stalwart even there were limits to what the man could do, while yes he could lower it all down a level manageable by his mind in this state, he could not overextend his focus to clearly pick up the words that were spoken into the air. His ears sat like an old radio whose antenna finagled in a manner perfectly to receive the signal of a station one desperately yearned to embrace within their ears but was curbed by static that could not be fixed without losing the connection to the channel. He could pick out bits and words here and there but in the overarching experience that was it; all static.

From his lips, Immanuel read what Lucas was saying. Photos? God, Immanuel could feel the growing migraine on the horizon threatening to run rampant behind his eyes, and those flashing light he caught out of the corner of his periphery wasn’t going to solve but any of the problems he held in this moment, but fuck it, he had to make sure this night was great. No. The best. And he wasn’t going to call it off after only a few minutes into the party simply because of the threat of a little bit of pain. ”Gotta make this shit last, right!?” Immanuel placed his hand upon the shoulder of Lucas giving both of the two a head shake in agreement as his eyes floated between them. ”That sounds good to me Cleo, make sure to get me the strongest thing they got over there would’ya?” The smile he wore upon his face stood bright even through the noise, while his tone was low he hoped Cleo could tell what he had said, while as a scream screeched straight into his ear drum to himself he knew to others that most times it sounded slightly above a whisper. And that drink? God knew he would need it.

Glancing over at the hand on his shoulder, Lucas gave his friend a small, crooked smile before trying to answer a question, if not the question. ”What? Strongest shit they got, yeah… no… uhhh… I like the bubbles?” He ended on a confusedly hopeful note and a shrug, leaving the choice up to Cleo since she knew what he liked anyway.

”We’ll go hold the line for ya.” Immanuel uttered, his tone increased slightly to make sure Cleo heard his voice clearly this time but at the cost wince as he turned back to face the line. It was long, that was certain, packed with the many chattering voices in uncertain to even sultry tones and the bumping hearts of those alongside their dates. As the two took their spots upon the tail end of the line, Immanuel looked to his side over at his friend. Immanuel’s hands moved like second nature from his side to his ears coming outward in a motion that then transitioned to a sign performed at his chest. Too much noise. After the brief pause he continued, his hands moving in a pattern, flowing the sentence through the signs he presented with his hands like an artist making a brush stroke across an easel. Still trying to get my bearings, this is a lot.

Lucas was already eyeing Immanuel sideways when his friend started signing and guiltily jerked his head just enough to continue eyeing him more directly while still being able to see the photo booth, though he was no less worried in his excitement by the careful way he was standing. And his attention quickly shifted more firmly to his friend’s face and, more particularly, his hands. Hands in motion had easily begun catching his attention when voices lost themselves between the walls in his head, gestures and charades and all the little details of the thoughts behind the faces that frowned or smiled or stared before moving lips loosed echoes and tangents like torrents dragged him far from easy conversation. But learning the words they could shape beside the rise of an eyebrow or the purse of lips had become a lifeline in and of itself when he’d first arrived and found himself thrust back into the world of the present and stuck with strangers he’d never met both in and out of the walls. He’d gotten better at standing against the current since then, but now he knew ASL, too, and he still liked watching hands.

When Manny had finished, he stretched his arms wide as he nodded his agreement and grimaced through his own quick apology, signing back in sudden bursts and hanging stillness while he found his thoughts, a staccato rhythm at odds with his usual continuous rush or slow deliberation. A loooot, yes…. Sorry, I made it louder… Want to turn off your ears?

He pointed at the pocket which he knew without looking housed the limiter Immanuel carried on him, eyebrows raised. Can you even hear the music? Everyone on the team had learned at least a little ASL over the years, and Lucas thought perhaps a little too highly of Immanuel’s lip reading skills, so it wouldn’t hinder their conversation much if he did. Besides, if he couldn’t hear the music, then why bother giving himself a headache?

Most of what I am hearing is the music. Immanuel’s hands continued flowing before him with the same efficiency as before, a steady stream of symbols likely not understood by those surrounding the pair was exchanged in this stuffy air they stood within.

Noise isn’t music. But music was noise if it filled in all the empty spaces in your head you wanted to keep empty. Lucas frowned as he pointedly expressed his opinion. Of course, he couldn’t know what his friend was hearing, maybe all it was was loud, but loud hurt, too. And Manny didn’t look like he was enjoying any of it. He didn’t have to enjoy it, really, but he didn’t have to endure just so he and Cleo could.

I… His hands paused, his mind racking behind the cacophony that pervaded his ears to find the words to sign in a sea of words from others he could not quite decipher, a billion of voices all spoke at once yet he could not find his within this moment. It’s… more complicated. Last resort. I’ll be alright, you don’t have to worry. His smile stood unwavering to Lucas in the face of all in which dared utter a sound in the air, into his ears. In a swift motion, he patted the side of the pocket within which the tool sat, the was no motive behind the action, more a cruel reminder of a piece of technology that bound him at some points, a piece that he attempted to wane away from but was sucked back into its grasp like a toxic lover’s calling under the cover of the night.

...Ok.

As the line they stood within became shorter the two shuffled into the new position they now occupied, looking down the row of bodies that stood packed together as if they were bound to each other’s side he could not tell how much longer it would take to get to the front. Do you think the others even remember what today is? I know some had it marked on their calendar for quite a bit, but, do you think they remembered? At least we don’t have to deal with Whitney’s drunk bullshit… Once again his eyes could no longer stay still, as his hands signed the last symbol to Lucas his eyes tracked those beyond the line. He watched as all types of people engaged in the debauchery of the night. A night of but pleasure incarnate and what his eyes could not lay witness to his ears did, it was one to be remembered in the minds of all those who attended if not with the slight tint of somber his own mind would hold to the night. In a way though, sometimes I miss it.

Grinning maybe a little too widely as he settled a hand on Immanuel’s shoulder and patted it slowly, feeling warm fingers tweaking the fabric flat and squeezing beneath his own, a breathy, wordless satisfaction voiced somewhere in the back of a throat, Lucas leaned back and raised his eyebrows. You? You miss Whitney? She’d been loud and proud and fun. There was a lot of presence to miss. His grin faded into a crooked corner of his lips as he nodded, subdued. Me too… Her absence was more noticeable now, in the rush of new and old where he had to go digging to hear her laughingly ask if he’d ever wear a kilt the traditional way. They were all farther away here. Long gone…

Ok, wait. I can’t circle back to… circle circle circle circle circle circle back to remember what ... today is—ok! Lucas left his finger circling absently as he worked back through his own memories to the actual question and could only shrug rather helplessly once he had. No regrets if they forget… Well… Fewer regrets, anyway, probably. Steve and… Darla, no? She has her family for bigger worries. And Steve hadn’t seemed to care one way or the other about the dance. Though whether he’d remember or forget the date… he didn’t know.

I wouldn’t put too much faith in Steve, I love him but I don’t think he put too much thought into what day of the week it was most times… A weary smile cast across his face as the line picked up, in almost a blink the two stood firmly near the front of the colossal line in which they had first entered. Immanuel turned his head away from the flashing lights to his side lest he make his migraine feel any worse than it had. Almost our turn.

Perhaps it was closer to four shakes, but Cleo returned, a crease over her brows as she'd waded through the filling room, inadvertently brushing shoulders with partygoers, picking up their vibes as she did. In the thick of it, there was a sunny radiance, but partway back, a seed of rage planted into her as she watched a boy tear past, after the sound of physical confrontation. Rage and embarrassment, transferred and left sitting in her. A shallow red pool, rippling across the surface. “This is what I didnae want…” she muttered to herself, a “tsk” sound after she placed the drinks down. She had to get back to Manny and Lucas.

She made a beeline toward them, shimmying their way as they crossed to the front of the line at last - she was right on time. The silence between them meant they were speaking without words, and Cleo, in her own way, did the same. She took in a deep, grounding breath as she reappeared at their side; the feelings between them were nostalgic, slightly humoured, and there was a softness to the energy. Despite the blaring music and heat of emotions… Between Manny and Lucas, she felt a calm, warm morning with something sweet and light in hand. A dazzling teal colour. “Yeaaah…” she sighed out dreamily. “Steve would have loved this.”

”That man loved just everything.” The words uttered out of Immanuel's mouth as he made space for Cleo among the sea of people, his hands down away from his chest to curb the almost unconscious nature to sign the words he spoke forth. ”Now, where's that drink?” His hands slither over to Cleo's, bringing the glass into his own grasp and taking a sip of whatever the concoction was.

“Cle—oh… Lucas started with a grinning glance her way as he heard them all in the quiet of her dress only a half hour earlier, before he remembered himself and let his greeting peter out to a calmer quiet, though his smile didn’t fade half as quickly. He nodded instead, satisfied to see her coming back right on time when Manny’s observation had started him worrying. Almost their turn didn’t sit well when he couldn’t see far in the low light and the crowd. Wasn’t used to looking for Cleo in cream, either. Maybe he’d missed her… But she was here now and he slung an arm around her shoulders with glad enthusiasm while giving Manny the next best one-armed hug he could manage, steering them both towards the booth as almost became their turn. “All right, okay, smile for the camera isn’t everything. Let’s put on a show for Steve’d love this smiles and funny faces, okay? Say cheese!”

”I don’t think I have any other kind of face.” Cleo said with a slight laugh, ducking first into the booth, remnants of secret attraction lingering in the small space like a perfume. Whoever the last two people were, one of them had feelings that the other did not. She almost frowned in response to it, until she saw the countdown timer on the screen practically playing them off before they had all squeezed in. Her first face, she decided with the urgency of the countdown, was going to be “chipmunk”.

Immanuel followed in turn after her, his hands clutched tightly around the glass in his hand. ”I'm as ready as I'll ever be!” A smile formed across his face as he settled into the booth. Maybe one of them should make a photo book one day.

It was a tight, harried squeeze of elbows and knees and fitting in together trying not to jostle. He’d said funny faces but all he managed was smiling so wide his face hurt as he caught sight of Cleo’s puffed up cheeks and tried to give Manny bunny ears just before the first flash. The world was bright and loud and blinding even in a little box, but surrounded by giggles and laughs and the warmth of two friends still around, Lucas didn’t care.

And at last, Team Eclipse had reached its totality, the last petering moment of their time in the sky.



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