[IC] Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

[Lord Wraith]

Lorcán awoke to the smell of smoke and burning. All around him, the forest was enveloped in flame, the leafy canopy above replaced by dancing flames. The sound of the ocean was lost to the crackling of timber and explosions of wood too green to be burned shattering apart from rapidly evaporating liquid.

Rothschild was nowhere to be seen, nor Luce or Alyssa. Darkness hung over every edge of the clearing as Lorcán began to feel the heat of the flames, wondering if he was the cause of this.

Beyond the curtain of trees, a chorus of that horrific sound reverberated in the distance sending chills down Lorcán’s spine, he had barely survived one with a last-minute rescue. Alone, there was no way he could fight more of them.

He looked to his arm, bracing for the wound only to find it missing. The creature made lacerations gone, not even a scar left behind to tell the tale. In fact all of his injuries felt better, his chest and back no longer stung and as Lorcán raised a hand to his face, he felt the absence of the scar given to him by Raze.

Beyond the smoke and flame, a pale light cut through the darkness and once again, Lorcán’s eyes were drawn to the majestic form of the white stag.

He ran forward, nearly tripping on the uneven ground before navigating through row upon row of trees. The stag kept ahead of him, trotting along at a pace Lorcán couldn't match but yet not fast enough to lose him entirely.

The beast exited the forest, but Lorcán couldn't follow, his path blocked by flames that continued to rise higher and higher. He was pushed back, trapped within the fire.

He watched, resigned to futility as the stag disappeared over the bright horizon.

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_{Location: The Infirmary - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University}

Take On Me #3.013: Sweet Child O'Mine

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Welcome to the Jungle

The doors of the infirmary flew open as a pair of medics wheeled a stretcher through the doors while Aiden Roth kept pace beside them. Stopping just outside the door, Alyssa and Luce looked at each other before opting to stay outside the building.

“I don’t think we should go in there, Lucille Calder.”

"Obviously, Aly," Luce replied sarcastically. "But someone needs to tell his team." She said, half-scolding, half-suggesting, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, eyes dodging Alyssa's earnest gaze.

"Lucille Calder! I was the one who told the family," Alyssa answered, "I think you should tell Blackjack - were they not your own team at one time?"

"Were indeed, Lyssa." Luce remained defiant, old avoidant patterns resurfacing. "I have to get back to my greenhouse. Last time I left it this long some freshman planted chrysanthemums in with my hydrangeas."

“Really? The garden?” Alyssa indignantly responded, “Sure, she fights a wendigo, but yeah the garden is the highlight of the day. Maybe if it had been a leshy.”

While the pair continued to bicker, they barely noticed Victoria Roth enter the infirmary before a medic came outside to gesture for both of them to follow. Ahead of them, Tori moved on a mission. Her features were pale, worry on every inch of her face as she pushed her way through the lobby before heading down the hallway towards where her husband, Aiden, stood.

Watching from behind the glass, Aiden’s jaw was clenched, his teeth practically grinding against each other as he watched the medics examine the unconscious form of his son. There were times where he felt powerless in life, and the last time was nearly in this exact spot just over twenty-one years ago.

Watching Lorcán’s chest struggle to rise up and down, Aiden turned his eyes away as Tori came up beside him and slid under his arm, placing her head against his chest. Her eyes were pulled to her son, squeezing her husband tightly while fighting back tears.

“He’s a fighter,” Aiden whispered, kissing his wife’s forehead softly before turning his gaze back to their son. “He’s got a lion inside of those lungs, our fierce little man is going to pull through whatever this is.”

“When can we see him?” Tori asked, looking up at Aiden’s blue eyes.

“They’re still trying to determine if he’s contagious. Whatever that wound is, it’s highly infected. They told me if it weren’t for his abilities, the heat in his body actively fighting it, the infection would have already spread through his entire body. It’s rapidly attacking the cells.”

“So it’s killing him.” Her voice almost broke as Tori replied, “And he’s suffering through every moment.”

“They’ve given him something for the pain and a sedative to help his body focus on healing.”

“There are times that life can be cruel, Aiden,” Tori replied, her hand reaching out to the glass as the medics worked on Lorcán. “We lost our daughter the same day that she and Lorcán were born. Now our son is just becoming a man and we stand on the cusp of losing him too.”

“We are not losing him.” Aiden’s tone was firm, but soft. “We are not losing him.”

Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days, the day itself was comparable to a week as the couple took turns rotating through a chair, watching students come and go looking for treatment for minor wounds while anxiously waiting for any news on Lorcán.

In the interim, Aiden had let both Ripley and Cassander know about Lorcán’s current state, while Cassander had informed Rory and subsequently the rest of Blackjack that Lorcán would be missing. Ripley had originally left to find Aurora but she instead found that Aurora was already with Jim who had pulled her from class after hearing about Lorcán. Returning to the infirmary with Aurora in tow, Ripley firmly planted herself down with her Aunt and Uncle while Tori made room for Aurora, welcoming her with an understanding smile.

“How did Leo get attacked again?” Ripley asked, reaching across Tori to give Aurora’s hand a squeeze.

“All we know is that he was in the North Forest, two students from Firebird brought him in, said they found him in a clearing with Rothschild and his arm was already scratched.” Aiden answered.

“Wait,” Tori interjected before raising her face from between her hands. “Why would Lorcán venture into the North Forest?“ She asked, her eyes darting from her husband to her niece. “He doesn’t surf on that side of the island.”

“Dog only knows,” Aiden replied.

“Maybe Rothschild can tell us?” Ripley suggested as her Uncle shook his head sadly.

“That dog is many things, but he can’t talk.” He answered, before suddenly looking at his wife. “We are sure he can’t talk, right?”

“At this moment, hun,” Tori’s voice was distant as she watched a medic begin to exit the room while Lorcán was left to rest on the bed. “I’m not sure of anything.”

“It was the weirdest thing, Uncle Aiden,” Ripley quickly piped back up, “I was talking to Leo on the phone and there was just this terrible noise as the call was cut. I could hear Rothschild in the background growling,” Ripley persisted, “I just feel like those girls aren’t telling you something-”

“Mr. and Mrs. Roth?” The medic interrupted, calling from the doorway as they entered the hallway.

“Can we see our son, doctor?” Tori asked, rising from her seat.

“Yes, you can go in and wait with him, we’re getting him transferred to a private room now that we’re sure he’s not contagious.” The medic answered, “Once he’s there, he’ll be allowed family and relatives during regular hours, immediate family and caretakers overnight. There will be a couple forms for you to fill out.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Aiden asked. The medic looked up at the athletic older man, a heavy exhale preceding the reply.

“It’s still too soon to answer that. This infection, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen and as far as our resources go, it’s unlike any one on this Earth has ever seen.” The medic let out another sigh, “I know it’s going to sound unprofessional, Sir, but given my experience, it’s very possible it’s not from this world.”

“While I respect that might be exciting for you, we are talking about my son’s life,” Tori snapped as the medic took a step back.

“I am so sorry, Ma’am it wasn’t my intention to sound like your son’s life wasn’t a priority.”

“Then can you cure him?” Aiden asked, “You called it an infection so can you treat it with antibiotics?”

“Not without trial and error,” The medic responded, “Without knowing what we’re trying to treat, it’s impossible to run a course of antibiotics. At this time, the infection has proven Hype-resistant, save for Lorcán’s own abilities. Right now, they are his best defense against whatever’s attacking his cells. We’re putting him on an IV drip with a healthy dose of HZEs to keep his strength up, but in the meantime, we took some samples to run tests against. But if you have any idea what he came in contact with,”

“We’re just as lost as you,”

“Then we’ll just have to hope the tests turn something up.” The medic offered a sympathetic smile.

“If you’ll all follow me, we’ll take him to his new room.”

[Qia]

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_{Location:Ursus House - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.014: Beneath the Surface

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_{Interaction(s): Calliope-@PatientBean}

Previously: No Expectations, No Pretenses

She hated it

That was the selfish and vain thought that came unbidden to her mind, a sharp pang of regret that cut through her like a knife. She immediately felt a wave of guilt for thinking it, knowing how much effort Calliope had put into helping her. The blonde had been so careful, so considerate, each snip of the scissors made with a precision that spoke of her desire to do right by Harper.

And yet, despite all of Calliope’s care and kindness, Harper couldn’t shake the feeling of loss that settled heavily in her chest. Her hair had been more than just a part of her appearance; it had been a part of her identity. It was a shield, a comfort, a constant in a life that often felt anything but. Especially since she’d lost…

And now it and they were gone. And she was left exposed to this loss, to bear it all with lowered defences.

“It looks great, Calliope. Thank you,” she said, lying through her teeth. The words felt heavy and insincere, but she couldn’t bear to let Calliope know how she truly felt. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the now even lengths for herself, and feigned a smile. “I think it’s perfect.” The words tasted bitter, but she forced them out, not wanting to hurt the other’s feelings.

She tried to find something positive, something to hold onto as she continued to stare. Maybe it would grow on her, she thought. Maybe, in time, she would come to see this new look as a symbol of her resilience, her ability to adapt and survive.

But for now, it was just another change Harper wasn’t ready for. That had been forced upon her whether she wanted it or not.

There was more that needed to be said, surely. “Harper, what’s the real reason you came to see me? Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful you trusted me enough, but there’s more going on isn’t there? I’m not one to talk. I have my own shit. And it doesn’t even have to be now. But if I learned anything from therapy it’s that bottling it all in will only cause more harm. It’s funny…seems my family taught me something. Outward appearances are important, but they hide a lot.”

Harper felt a lump form in her throat, the words Calliope spoke resonating deeply within her. She had always been good at hiding her true feelings, at putting on a brave face for the world. But here, in this quiet room with Calliope, the facade felt fragile, ready to crumble at any moment.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She hoped the question would deflect some of the attention away from her, and give her a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Harper, we all just went through an ordeal that no average person deals with. I can only speak for myself but what I saw in there rattled me so badly I am still reeling. Hell, I am currently not in class because I needed time away.” She glanced at her phone again. She was close to sending that text.

“So what I mean is why are you talking to me specifically? If it is truly about your hair, fine, but there are plenty of others, more talented whose job it is to cut hair, that could have done it. You came here to me. I would like to know why. But I also don’t want to push you before you’re ready. If it helps, I might be willing to get something off my chest in return. Friends do that.”

Harper felt a rush of conflicting emotions. She had hoped to avoid this kind of direct confrontation, but Calliope’s words were gentle, filled with genuine concern, for her. Someone who was a teammate, but might as well be a stranger. A mere acquaintance.

She looked down at her hands, fingers playing with the hem of her hoodie again, and took another breath.

“I…guess I didn’t really think it through,” Harper began, her voice trembling slightly, each word a struggle to get out. “I just needed to do something. Anything to feel like I still had some…control of things. And you…you’ve always seemed so put together. I just figured that…”
That she could borrow some of that strength for herself. She had come to Calliope not just for a haircut, but for a lifeline, a way to feel grounded when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

How selfish could she be?

Very.

Calli took a deep breath and thought about how to go about this. Harper was clearly going through a lot and she had opened herself up briefly. Enough for Calli to safely see inside. She didn’t want to make it any more painful.

“My father abused me.” Calli let the words sink in. It isn’t every day you admit to being tormented. “Growing up he had this image of what perfection looked like. He grew up poor and needed to fight for what he got. He was a first-generation Hispanic after his parents came here so he had a tough road. So when it became clear he would be a politician he…shifted. Or perhaps he was always like this but some small part of me hopes that there was a kind-hearted man back then.”

“But even still he would expect perfection everywhere. Perfect grades. Perfect posture. Perfect clothes. Perfect hair. Everything had to look perfect or else we would lose it all. And that scared him. Scared him so much that he terrorized me and my brother. It started with little comments here and there and grew. Soon my weight would be critiqued. Or my style choice. Eventually, he moved into…..physical territory. Did it in areas people wouldn’t see and scared me into never telling a soul. And anytime someone did notice something they were dealt with. When my Hyperhuman abilities manifested I was under a lot of pressure. He hates Hyperhumans. Believes them to be a scourge that needs to be eradicated. So he hid me away. Told me to never use my abilities.”

“So if I seem put together it is because I have to be. Despite me being thousands of miles away from him, I can still hear him. Worse, I can hear myself hurl insult after insult. Any semblance of control I have I use because otherwise…what’s the point?”

Harper felt another lump form in her throat, the raw honesty of Calli’s words hitting her hard. She had never imagined that Calli, who always seemed so composed, had endured such torment. The revelation was like a punch to the gut, leaving her momentarily breathless and unable to say anything at first. She had always seen Calli as the epitome of strength and grace, much like her known moniker, someone who navigated life with an ease that Harper envied. To learn that beneath that composed exterior lay a history of pain and abuse was both shocking…and immensely humbling.

Harper’s mind raced, trying to process the full weight of Calli’s confession. She thought about her own father, strict and demanding, but always loving when he needed to be less soldier and more papa. He had pushed her to be her best, but never in a way that made her feel unloved or unworthy. The contrast between their experiences was clear, and it made Harper’s heart ache for the blonde.

Everyone had their battles, she supposed then. And sometimes the strongest-looking people were the ones fighting the hardest.

The room seemed to close in around her, the silence heavy. Too heavy. Harper felt her eyes filling with tears, and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. The last thing that she wanted was for Calliope to believe she pitied her. Or found her weak. Not again.

“Calli, I’m so sorry,” Harper finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I had no idea.” The words felt inadequate, but they were all she could manage in the face of such a profound revelation. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and placed it gently on Calli’s arm. The gesture was small, but she hoped it conveyed all the support she could muster. To give freely as she did with the few friends she had.

As the seconds ticked by, Harper found herself reflecting on her own struggles. She should share one of those now, right? It would be fair. And perhaps that’s what the other woman truly wanted. The thought of opening up about her own pain was daunting, but she knew it was the right thing to do. It was a way to bridge the gap between them, to show that she trusted Calli just as much as Calli had trusted her.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, her mind urging her all the while to just say something. The words felt trapped in her throat, a jumble of emotions that she couldn’t quite untangle. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and finally spoke.

“Lately I feel like…I’m just drowning,” Harper began. “And weirdly enough…I don’t come up for air.” She paused, her eyes distant as she tried to find the right words to convey the depth of her feelings. Her fear. Her yearning. “Because they would be there. Waiting for me to surface. I can’t see them, and perhaps that’s a bit of a blessing. But I can hear them. Calling out to me to join them.”

She took a shaky breath, her chest tightening as if she wasn’t here, but back in the nightmare. “I feel like…I’m constantly fighting to stay afloat. Ever since I lost them…my parents.” She paused again, closing her eyes against the painful memories. Of seeing them in her head. Of being able to give the goodbye she never got to.

“And sometimes…sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to just…let go.” To join them. The same scenario that the simulation had tempted her with. The thought of being reunited with her parents, of escaping the pain and loneliness, was a seductive one. It whispered to her in her darkest moments, promising peace and sweet relief.

“But that would mean leaving her behind. My sister. And I can’t do that to her again.”

Calli could very well understand where Harper was coming from. Despite how awful her parents were, it seems Harper’s had cared a great deal for her. “I am sorry for your loss Harper. I can relate to hoping to let go and let the overwhelming feelings take over. It’s exhausting trying to pretend you are okay when you aren’t.”

“My brother was a light in that dark time, but even he struggled. He took a lot of the impact that was meant for me and when he came out as Trans that shattered any amount of perfection our father wanted. I haven’t spoken to him in years.” And that made Calli feel immense guilt.

Harper’s heart ached for Calli, understanding the pain of family rifts all too well. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said softly, her voice filled with genuine empathy. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Carrying all of this… weight.” She paused, her mind drifting back to her own sister, Sierra. Their memories were pretty….bittersweet. The fights, the laughter, the unspoken bond that had always been there, even in the toughest times.

“My sister and I…we actually fought a lot growing up,” Harper continued, her voice growing softer as she spoke. “But…funnily enough, there was always this unspoken understanding that always remained between us.” She reached up to twiddle with one of her hair strands, her eyes going distant as she lost herself in the memories. The familiar motion was a small comfort, a way to ground herself in the present while she navigated the past.

“She’s always been my rock,” Harper said. “The only family I have left. And if it weren’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be. She keeps me grounded, gives me a reason to keep fighting.”

Harper’s eyes met Calli’s, and she saw what she thought was a flicker of understanding there.
“Family can be so…complicated,” Harper added, her voice tinged with wistfulness. “Which is why it’s so nice that you can choose your own, as well.” The meaning of her words was not directly said, but she sincerely hoped Calliope understood them. She wanted Calli to know that Blackjack could be her family, as well. A very, very weird one, but a good one no less.

Calli had thought a lot about family. Family wasn’t always blood. It’s why she considered Banjo part of her family. And Katja. And Rory. Hell, Blackjack could be her family as she assumed that was Harper’s point. It’s part of what made her feel so guilty over what they had all been through.

“Yeah, family is complicated. Sounds like you and your sister are super close. I really should reach out to my brother. I haven’t seen my niece in years.” Calliope let out a sigh. “That’s why I am glad to have some people in my life I care about who care about me too. Banjo’s the obvious one. Did I ever tell you we originally only got together during the first night because I wanted to stick it to my father and Banjo seemed like the right person my dad would hate? Turns out he’s actually super considerate and sweet and cares about me without expecting me to be perfect.” Calli glanced at the phone again. She was glad she didn’t send that text.

Harper listened, her feelings about Banjo swirling in her mind. She had always found him a bit too carefree, his laid-back attitude often clashing with her more serious nature. It frustrated her how he seemed to breeze through life, not taking things seriously enough for her liking. Yet, she couldn’t deny that he had his moments of charm and surprising depth. There were one or two times already this week where he’d revealed a side of him she hadn’t expected, a side that was patient...and smart. She could see somewhat why Calliope cared for him so deeply.

So, what she thought about the guy overall was… complicated, to say the least.

“You should definitely reach out to your brother,” Harper said, her voice gentle but firm. “It sounds like you miss him a lot. And…I’m sure he misses you too.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Family bonds can be incredibly strong, even when they’ve been strained. Sometimes, all it takes is a small step to start mending those connections.” Like with her and Sierra. The redhead had messaged her this morning complaining about the early morning call, and Harper had responded with a small apology. Her message, however, was still left on read when last she’d checked.

Calliope nodded in agreement. She would speak to her brother. Perhaps he could visit with his family. “What started as a haircut turned into a small therapy session. Unintentional, I assure you, but still thank you, Harper. This was…much needed.” She went to her bed and picked up her phone. “You are going to rock that hair by the way. Perhaps I missed my calling? Think PRCU will let me switch to cosmetology?”

Harper laughed, the sound genuine and warm, a rare moment of lightness breaking the heavy emotions of the day. She did feel a little guilty that she couldn’t see her new style that way, but she appreciated Calliope’s effort and kindness. And, in all fairness to the blonde, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had hair this short, and only to her chin. It was a significant change, one that would take some getting used to.

“You never know! Maybe you’ve got a hidden talent there,” Harper said, her tone playful. She nibbled on her lip, a small smile working its way across her mouth. “But seriously, thank you Calli. For everything. I mean it…You didn’t have to do this, but you did. And it means a lot to me. More than I can really put into words.”

“We're a team, Harper. Hell, after everything we’ve been through already, I’d say we are family.” Calli allowed herself to finally relax. She would have to make up the classes she missed, but even that was a little bit of freedom she allowed herself. Her father would be mortified. But, quite frankly, fuck that guy.

“Before I forget, since Gil is out of commission for a bit I am going to need help with the dance. We have the bare bones set up already such as the theme, but I’ll need help coordinating it all and getting the rest of the stuff together. Would you want to help me out?”

Harper hesitated for a moment, struggling to keep the smile on her face, the image of Gil in his hospital bed flashing through her mind. The memory was vivid and painful: the sterile white sheets, the cast encasing his lower leg, and the pallor of his skin that made him look so fragile. She had been by to see him as soon as she’d been cleared, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to actually enter the room. The sight of him like that had been too much to bear. The beeping of the monitors, the antiseptic smell of the ward, and the quiet hum of activity outside his room had all felt…way too overwhelming.

Way too familiar.

Her hand went to her cheek, rubbing at the scarring there, a subconscious gesture as she fought against the memories of raining crimson and animalistic instincts. The vivid recollections of blood, the metallic scent of both of theirs filling the air. The primal urge to survive, to live. Each touch of her fingers against the rough texture of her scars brought it all back in flashes.

But she won.

With a deep steadying breath, Harper pushed the memories back into the recesses of her mind, locking them away again where they couldn’t hurt her. Her hand fell away from her cheek as she offered Calliope a small, reassuring smile, hoping to convey that she was okay. That whatever she may or may not have seen a moment ago was still in her control.

“Yeah, I’d love to help with the dance. Sounds like fun.”

---

[Rockette]

_{Location: Infirmary Wing: Solitary Confinement . Infirmary Gardens . - P.R.C.U. Campus.}

Take On Me #3.015: away.

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_{Interaction(s): &&}

Previously: reflection.

They’ve taken so much from her already - she counts it down, writes it in hated slashes across her soul, tallies everything, remembers it all. With a finger dragged through ash and blood her signature blooms bright and edged in vengeance, the looping scrawl of a harsh delicacy that spells the name given, the name chosen, and the name both lost and forsaken —

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By the fifth vial of blood taken, Amma’s voice rasps through her throat, dragged over shards of bone as she tries to reign in that quaking violence of self-preservation to keep her wrath in check. She feels the needle beneath her skin, in the crook of her arm that trembles over the cushion of a slight medical cart rolled in with her sudden guardians stationed at either wall, both equipped with powers she does not know. Still, she could feel them there by the lazily churning scarlet whorls that slither beneath her bed and clamor over her ankles, focusing more so on the one that had been broken and now was set with a simple brace strapped painfully tight against her sensitive skin. It was a peculiar situation when she had been sedated and taken from the Trial’s conclusion, her bones had already begun to mend, a medical anomaly that had her wounds setting incorrectly, which introduced the necessity of breaking her ankle once again for a healer to mend marrow, tendons, and tissue to grant her mobility.

“Why the blood draw?” A simple inquiry, her usual cadence dragged into exhaustion, psychological detriment weighing heavy on her spirit.

“Torres requested we run a panel,” her assigned nurse had been quiet and calm, her presence one typically accustomed to patients like Amma, to her she saw a young woman battered and worn, whereas many others saw a spy or a furious creature that had attempted to defy their orders since she had woken up from her sedation. Reproach alighted blue eyes framed heavily in lashes, lids surrendered over the breadth of her stare, a sort of melancholic unveiling that took her intense features and softened them into something delicate- something not quite there. She takes one more, the needle sliding out from her vein a surreal sensation that she feels down to her bones, and lets loose a shuddered breath as the nurse presses gauze to her skin and seals it with medical tape.

“There,” she stepped back, her guardians stepped in close, a whispering trepidation that coiled through the room with a spool of crimson poised over the embellished skin of her arm, linked to the scars that crossed over one another, carefully betwixt the bodies of snakes that wreathed her arms with skull laden birds in flight. “I would advise more rest, you have a therapy session scheduled later this evening, though I will reschedule them for tomorrow if you’re too tired.”

Her brow lowered, just how many more did she have to participate in to be released? It was the same inquiries over and over, questions about her mental state, questions about what happened in the simulation, questions that probed too deep into a mind chained and bound- there were so many things she could not remember. Many things she did not want to remember.

“I’d like to go outside,” Amma uttered, a restless kindling of silver banked within her stare. “You don’t need permission for that, do you?” A quiet challenge, her nurse quietly disposed of needles and plastic and gathered the vials carefully with a whistling sigh.

“...It’d be my professional medical opinion that you are allowed fresh air. Just don’t make me regret it, Ms. Cahors.” She made to wheel her medical cart out from her room, holding the door ajar to retrieve a duffel bag just outside.

“Your house representative, Ms. Clarke, retrieved some things from your room.”

Left alone, Amma carefully rummaged through what Ryan had deemed appropriate through her earlier request after she had been denied passage on the ferry. Blouses in various shades of grey and black; a couple of her sweaters of cable knit stitching; and another that was cropped to fit slightly above her navel; cut-offs, and fitted leggings; all things afforded to comfort along with a pack of her clove cigarettes tucked carefully into an adjacent pocket and a lighter to accompany it. Amma dressed carefully, every muscle taut and protesting against her movements whilst she changed, fresh bandages fitted where proper, her anxious habits traded for shredding them without her rings to adorn her fingers. She felt exposed by the scar defiling her body, the peak of the ruined flesh and moth bisected by it revealed through the drape of the pullover as it settled over her lithesome shoulders and scooped low at her front. She threaded her arachnid gestures through her mass of hair, settling the strands into a high-strung tail that displayed the lines of her neck and the unique name scrawled at her throat in black ink.

Once long nails traced over the letting, the phantom sensation of a burn coiling through the ‘I’, her index finger edging out over an ‘M’ before she stilled, settling her palm against the pulse hammering away at her throat. Amma inhales, sharp and whistling over the pout of her lip, at least the simulation hadn’t shown her them.

She knows she would not be alive if it had.

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There’s a slight commotion elsewhere whilst Amma is escorted outside, the entrance to the infirmary is temporarily warded off and it’s down another series of hallways that they take around to the gardens. Such a term is lost in the reality that it’s a few trees scattered to the edges of intersecting walkways that conjoin the myriad of medical wings through an outdoor option where patients are permitted to linger. It’s quiet, save for a few students flitting to the shade, their whispers growing hushed when they notice her. The discarding of the standard uniform is taken to well enough, by the observation she proffers with a cant of her head, raking eyes up and down until she dismisses them with a flicked wrist and settles at a stone bench given to the shadow of a dogwood tree. Her guards station themselves far enough but she is kept within their line of sight, the familiarity of such an entourage not lost upon her as she plucks a stick of clove from her pack and nestles the filter against her pout, striking her lighter with a flourish and palms the flame close to her. Embers reflect in her eyes, the hypnotizing twirl of fire warming against her scars, the igniting of the cherry, and that tantalizing spice wafting up upon her visage as she inhales sharp and heavy and exhales upon a plume of vanilla and sweet herbs.

The conclusion of her continuation to attend P.R.C.U is anti-climatic at best, she’s already requested an audience with Torres upon her return to the island, amended with her request for what personal clothing she had. Returning to those damned pyramids out amongst the sea unsettles her, but at least there she knows her purpose, at least there she can resume her preparations for joining The Foundation Force under the appellation of Tiamat. Amma recalls the first time she slid into latex and lace, delicate latches of silver, gossamer finery slid over hips and bisected through the gaping slivers that plunged low and teased at the most intricate of tattoos that curled over her midriff- the shawl that had been granted, handed over by them, a face that–

Her recollections are interrupted in such a delicate manner that Amma’s motions are stilled carefully, the telltale sensation of being watched beyond the station of her guards coiling through her bones and pinging down her spine in whispers of awareness. There, in a breathing sigh of her name –

Tiamat.

A caress against her mind, a shuddering claim that slides betwixt her ears and buzzes away at her lobe, it crawls through every sheered nerve ending and sires through her blood. Her name - her name - that breezes through her soul.

Amma.

She feels it against her back first, a sudden weight that slides up yonder her sweater, pulling away at the thread of her clothes before it crests over her shoulder. A triangle head, a slightly upturned snout, black scales rippling through dappled sunlight, a hiss that slides against the shell of her pierced ear as a viper bunches against the curve of her clavicle.

Ammar –

“Don’t,” she breathes, head tilted up, the sudden presence of a secondary serpent coiling and sliding against the juncture of her throat, forked tongue against her flesh as a trilling sound rises against the sensitive plans of her body. The dogwood sways above, a perpetual shade of darkness rising to her stare as a third snake settles across her lap, bunched over her thighs, causing her to still even her rising chest that crumbles away at the breath that stutters from her swollen mouth. Eyes of red, eyes of blue liken to her own, eyes of steelish azure, eyes of vermillion, eyes of the sky that shatter again and again, and then the soft flutterings of skull-faced moths that hover just yonder her rigid figure. Wings of ashen black and red, with smudges of demented yellow, twittering birds constructed of frail bone that perch above her crown, lost among skeletal branches that pierce the heavens.

Twisted shadows malformed in the distance, the decaying brown hue of bone smudged in black as a myriad of hellish hounds leap forward, tooth and claw poised to tear her very throat out as the serpents hiss and agitate themselves against the hideous scar rent over her heart and cinch tight around her limbs, curved fangs against her breast, a piercing flare of pain that tears through her skin, shorn to the bone – and there, she sees it, the siring of a reaper that looms over her very soul, a threaded line of scarlet stricken to her chest, invading through her being – it tugs, her spine curved inward, wound so tight she can hear and feel her bones breaking –

And then, nothing.

It stops so suddenly Amma falls to her knees, fallen away from the stone bench rigid against her spine tense with pain. Her two guards snap to attention, shuffling forward to assist where she lifts her trembling palm, brows plunged low over her glare as she commands:

“Don’t, I’m fine. Stay away from me.” A hiss writhes against her mind, her captors exchanging glances and inching closer, situating themselves at an immediate distance as Amma struggles to retain her composure, her breath heaved from her ribs that ache – everything ached. She deigns to remain sitting on the grass, comforted at the moment by the sensations against the scars laden through her gestures, nails sunk deep into the dirt, anchoring her to reality. She cannot, however, ignore the telltale awareness that she is still being watched, from beyond somewhere in the trees above where a buzzing continues to ebb and flow.

Be it in the distance yonder, or perhaps still in her mind, a screech so terrible and so haunting explodes through her waking world, a roar that demanded nothing but death and hungered for it - like nothing she has ever heard before.

[Zoldyck]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: PRCU Gym, Infirmary Gardens - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Take On Me #3.016: Mirror Mirror

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Amma @Rockette}

Previously: Brutality

It was the middle of the day and the gym had an abundance of people going about their day. It were peak hours and it showed as nearly every corner of the gym was stacked with students giving their all. Well, nearly every corner.

The ultra-dense weight section was noticeably sparsely populated, despite the abundance of students who would frequently use it. Only a handful would attempt to work out here now, and they mostly stuck to the periphery. Meanwhile, the students who didn’t have anything to gain from the ultra-dense weights made sure to give the area a wide berth.

A lone figure stood in the middle, imposing and towering as she grunted with each exertion of the great mass moved by her powerful limbs. The look in her eyes was filled with a vacant one while her body language was one of erratic rage.

It wasn’t the first time this week that Katja had appeared like this at the gym. In fact, she had been pushing herself to her limit and beyond. Ever since the trial had ended Katja had been going to the gym whenever she had time off. At first glance people wouldn’t really notice. After all, wasn’t she always going to the gym anyways?

But Katja knew that it was different now, and her regular training buddies would have most certainly noticed the difference in her training as well. If she hadn’t been avoiding them all this time, that is.

In fact, she had been avoiding everyone these last days after the trials. Blackjack, members of the Alces sports teams she was a part of, even vague acquaintances. Katja had isolated herself completely from all forms of contact. She couldn’t look any of them in the eyes, she couldn’t trust any one of them. She couldn’t even trust herself anymore.

When the Trials were disabled she had still sat on that very same floor, punching down endlessly at a cruel reflection of her greatest nightmares, now turned into nothing but dust. She hadn’t noticed the Trials going offline, nor had she noticed others trying to talk to her. Her fists just continued battering down into her imagined foe, over and over and over again, as she remained blind to whatever was happening around her. The nails in the back of her head kept singing, kept urging her on to strike! Strike! Strike! They had to put a mask with tranquilizers on her in order for Katja to finally calm down and slowly become sedated.

Katja had screamed bloody murder when she finally woke up from her artificial slumber. She still believed herself to be stuck in the simulation when she was met with the clean, sterile walls of the infirmary. Only through the intervention of one of the psychics was she finally able to come to her senses before damaging too much of her room, or worse.

She had only suffered minor physical injuries and so Katja was quickly discharged. Mostly suffering bruises from more higher impact projectiles and surface cuts from bladed weapons. Nothing a couple bandages couldn’t fix. The only thing that had really required a healer had been her shoulders, an injury that had initially perplexed the medical staff as their analysis sheets from the Trials didn’t mention Katja suffering any such injuries. Still, they had done their best to patch her up regardless.

Katja moved over to the weight rack to replace another pair of plates for a heavier pair. It had been like this the entire week. Where others had gone to therapists, either voluntarily or because they were bed bound anyway, Katja had refused the offer. Instead, she had gone to the gym and racked up PR after PR. And where this would usually be something she’d be ecstatic about, now it only served to fuel her anger even more. If she was able to achieve this within the span of a mere week it meant that she always had this strength in her, that she had always been able to achieve these feats. That she had just been held back by herself. By her own weak will.

Returning back to her spot, she continued with her curls. Her long hair, dripping with sweat after the heavy exertion of God knows how many exercises, covered most of her face. This was intentional, so as to avoid having to look at herself in the mirror. Only sometimes glancing to see if her form was still in order after the additional weight. Of course, it was flawless.

She didn’t dare to look at herself though, not in great detail. As every time she did, she saw someone else. She saw the little girl, weak and crying as she was powerless to stop the injustices done to her family. She saw the monster she had refused the existence of on a fateful night, covered in the blood and gore of all those who she thought had wronged her.

But neither of those scared her the most. For there was another reflection. One that hurt the most.

Just the thought of that one brought out an involuntary growl from the towering woman. One of pain and disgust, of hurt and sadness.

Of betrayal.

It was a reflection of her, dressed in clothes she had only worn very rarely. Practical black clothes, with minor white elements here and there. All of which were covered by a large black hood.

These hadn’t been Katja’s clothes, not per se. They had been hers. They had belonged to someone referred to as the Queen of the Pit, the Lady of the Red Sands. A Sister of a House that was hidden beneath the surface. Poised to strike at its unsuspecting prey above.

It was the reflection of a zealous individual. An ideological idealist and extremist. One who had been loyal to her cause for years, waiting for a chance to prove herself. One who had put her utmost trust in her fellow Brothers and Sisters of the Hypegene. Who firmly believed that they would look out for her as she would look out for them. Who thought that, finally, she had people who would protect her.

Katja’s jaw clenched as her grip on the dumbbell tightened as she reminded herself of that look, that reflection. Even with its ultra-dense material, she could feel the object malform under the immense pressure she exerted on it.

Oh how naive she had been.

They had used her. Cast her aside as a sacrificial pawn. And for what? Katja did not know for certain, but she had a vague idea. He had hated Blackjack, he had made that obvious in many of his rants. She had been part of the “accursed ilk of O’Neill”, as he had put it. And it probably stung him that, despite her dedication to the cause of a better world for Hyperhumans, she had never made a move against her team. Even with the new arrivals, one of whom she had an express mission for, she had grown to feel kinship and bonds. Familial bonds.

Perhaps this had been the reason she had been cast aside. Herded into the Trial-shaped pen as a lamb to the slaughter. All because she had stuck to her core beliefs. That Hypes should stick together, no matter what! If they couldn’t see that then they had been the blind ones! They had been the ones led astray by a false prophet!

…She had been led astray by a false prophet.

Her vice-like grip tightened even more around the dumbbell, which finally couldn’t take it anymore and snapped in two. The heavy weights clanged to the ground on both sides. The impact echoed through the gym and for a moment all noise seemed to stop as people halted to see what had just happened in that particular corner of the gym.

A low chuckle rose from the imposing woman as her thoughts were brought back to the present and the realization set in.

She was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

Her own family had turned their back on her, choosing safety over blood. The group she had been sure would look out for her had betrayed and been willing to sacrifice her just out of petty revenge. PRCU most certainly wouldn’t forgive her, not after what had happened to Tad.

And Blackjack…

They would never forgive her if they found out. Not after the hell they had been put through earlier, despite Katja not knowing a damn thing about it. It was this realization that stung the most. It felt as if her heart was torn out of her chest and crushed right in front of her. Those she considered as close as family, they too would grow to despise her if they ever found out.

She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Never before, not even after losing her parents, had Katja been this isolated and alone.

Katja stood still for a moment, or as much as she could as her entire body was trembling with rage and sorrow, before finally picking up the broken dumbbell. As she got up, she glanced up at the mirror in front of her, her hair clearing just enough before her eyes to offer a clear picture.

And what she saw shocked her to her very core.

It was not the child she saw, not the monster, not even the hooded figure.

No, what she saw instead was… Herself. A tired, exhausted mess of black bags under vacant eyes with hollow cheeks. Her hair was a bundle of unkempt strands while her clothes were a messy bunch. She was not looking at any of the things she had seen before.

Instead, what she saw was a thing.

A sick, broken thing.

It was this shock that finally opened her eyes to how destructive she had been to herself this past week. She had always considered it a weakness to ask for help, to search for aid and to seek counsel. But now she was directly confronted with what that path would lead her to.

She had to find help, she knew that now. But where?

Katja didn’t think she had anyone left to truly entrust everything to. Maybe she could’ve gone to Harper, Calliope, Haven, Banjo or Rory before all of this had happened. She cursed herself for not coming clean during the breakfast right before the Trial. Now it was too late. She was sure they would shun her, hate her for the rest of her life.

She knew she didn’t deserve their friendship or kindness. She had always been genuine to them, to all of Blackjack, in her feelings towards them. But still, she had not been truthful about who she really was. Sometimes it would shine through, true. But she had worn a mask all this time. She had deceived them, even if she did truly love all of them.

And that might have been her worst act.

Still, she knew she had to do something, find some help.

And as she thought of it, there was really only one place she could find it. At those therapists she had been so adamant about avoiding all this time. Perhaps, she thought, if she had gone to them five years ago instead of accepting that black letter, none of this would’ve happened.

---

Despite her urgency for help, Katja had been delaying her arrival to the medical area for as long as was humanly possible. Making sure to take the longest possible route from her starting point and taking all the possible detours. Despite a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes, sporting a black band t-shirt and cargo pants, she still looked worse for wear. The exhaustion was clearly readable on her face and the unkempt look was still clearly visible, despite the clean clothes.

The final diversion towards the infirmary led her through the gardens. A supposed oasis of peace and tranquility. Katja had never really understood why gardens were supposed to have a soothing effect before, but as she slowly made her way through it, she realized that she was growing a newfound appreciation for it.

The serenity brought by the lovely garden was quickly shattered though, as Katja laid her eyes on someone who made her heart beat into overdrive and adrenaline rush through her veins. And a phantom pain throbbing in her shoulders.

On the ground, next to a stone bench, laid an exceptionally pale girl with hair as dark as the void. A girl who had been in Katja’s thoughts for months, but who had been in the back of her mind for the past week, as she had struggled with other matters entirely. Seeing her now though, right here, brought all those thoughts back. As well as all the feelings she had felt both before and after that night before the Trials.

Katja wanted to turn around and run away as fast as she could. Out of all the people of Blackjack, PRCU or anywhere in the world, Amma was the one she wanted to face the least right now. She didn’t want the confrontation of malice and hate and sorrow. She didn’t want to experience that pain again. She didn’t want any of that.

And yet, she didn’t turn around.

Instead, Katja carefully walked forward, one cautious step before the other, as she could not tear her eyes away from the girl, her teammate, as she was clearly struggling and in pain. Katja recalled her thoughts and feelings at the start of the Trial, as she saw Amma in a way she had never seen her before. She couldn’t even imagine what hell she had gone through at the Trial.

At the end of the day, she was a victim of circumstance too.

Several more guarded steps later, Katja had reached the downed girl, eclipsing the last few rays of sunshine that pierced through the dogwood’s canopy.

“Hey Am-ma.” Katja said with a strained voice, quickly correcting herself as she remembered what was said to her the last time she called the girl in front of her Am. She cleared her throat with a soft cough before gingerly extending a hand.

“I know you probably don’t want it…” The tall blonde said to Amma as she cast her eyes down, avoiding eye contact with those pained blue orbs of the raven-haired girl before continuing. “But I figured I’d offer my help anyway.”

[webboysurf]

| A Few Days Earlier |

Rory waved goodnight to Lorcán, turning off the TV mid rewatch of whatever schlocky action film he could find to turn his brain off to. He stretched and rose to his feet from the communal couch, wandering into his room in just an old pair of shorts. He had left the window open, as he promised, and had shoved most of his sporting equipment under his bed and most of his dirty clothes onto the closet floor. He sat down on his bed before laying down, his legs and feet dangling off the side as the top of his head pressed against the wall. He did his best not to think too much, but as per usual failed even that simple task.

A day ago, his biggest worries were if any of his crushes liked him back. Now, his biggest worry was that he'd be attending several funerals in a week with one of his closest friends being affiliated with the murders. And here he was, alive and well. Groomed was the word Jim had used to describe Rory's experience. It was an apt description. Hyperion’s Children wanted him in their ranks… certainly just because he was the closest they would get to the power of Hyperion. Of course, Jim wanted to use him too. And who knew what the Foundation would have planned for him.

If they made Amma a Dragon, what would they make him?

He sighed loudly, looking up to the ceiling as he listened closely for the familiar sound of beating wings.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Outside the window, he heard them. Gusts of air billowed into the room as wings beat downwards on their approach from above. Her feet were first to land on the windowsill, clad in well-worn sneakers. Tanned fingers wrapped around the casing, gripping tightly as she nimbly swung her legs inwards to rest her thighs on the sill. Her legs were bare beyond the brown cotton bike shorts she wore. Feathers rustled together, the sound louder than usual due to their rough and patchy state, as she tucked her wings in behind her.

Her head leaned down and into the window, revealing her wet mess of hair from the shower she’d taken not long ago. As she laid eyes on Rory’s relaxed form she bore a small, apologetic smile. Her eyes glanced over his unscarred skin quickly. She needed to make sure that he really had been healed earlier in the day.

“I, uh… I fell asleep in a tree.” She leaned further into the window as she pulled herself inside. Her feet touched the ground at the same moment her wings followed her in through the window. She clutched the backpack strap where it hung on her shoulder as she stood to her full height, her eyes glancing over the room. It was the first time she’d seen it from the inside. Much like her room, it looked lived in. Rory had filled it with himself, even if the floors looked suspiciously cleaner than the last time she’d spotted it from the living room. She wondered where his sports equipment had been stowed before she turned to him.

Her shirt was a relic from her rogue days. An oversized tee with the words Rocky Mountain Summer Camp of ‘95 written in white over the dark green color. The neckline was stretched a bit, but otherwise there were no indications that it was as old as it told anyone who read it. The backpack she unslung from her shoulder, holding it by the sewn-on strap that indicated it had broken multiple times, was a faded dark blue with patches of multiple state parks sewn into the fabric haphazardly. She looked down at it, her hesitation obvious as she chewed on her bottom lip, before she stepped over to Rory and held it towards him. Her eyes met his again, wings shifting behind her to rest at a comfortable place on her back.

“It’s a… peace offering.” Her gaze was anxious, but determined. She hoped that he would understand its meaning, and that he would accept it for what it meant for the both of them. She’d debated telling him to throw it away for her, like she had planned to in that desperate moment, but she couldn’t bear to part with it. “Could you hold onto it for me? Until after graduation?”

Rory raised an eyebrow, shooting her a quizzical expression while sitting up on the edge of the bed. He reached for the strap, taking the backpack from her. It was light, seemingly empty. Was he supposed to open it and look inside? Something told him it wasn't that kind of peace offering.

The realization was sudden as he had set the bag down near the foot of the bed. The fake Mei had been right. A whirl of emotions enveloped him as he recoiled from the bag. He looked back to Haven, his brow furrowed as it took him a moment to put the pieces together. She had packed a bag, ready to leave at any moment. But she was bringing it here. For him to hold on to. Until graduation.

He gave a small nod in acknowledgement, nodding towards the bed next to him. He didn't have the words to express his emotions, but gave her a soft and weary smile. ”I'll keep it safe.”

Haven watched with apprehension as Rory simply set the bag down. He didn’t realize what it was. He didn’t remember what the simulation told him. She’d been fretting over it since it was mentioned to him, and he hadn’t paid it any more mind.

Yet it was obvious when he connected the dots. The way that he moved himself away from it so hastily had the muscles of her shoulders tensing. The look he gave her twisted her heart and left her stomach weightless. It felt like a rejection, and yet he still invited her to sit beside him. She hadn’t expected it to go this way at all. It could have been a fight. He could have been relieved. This, somehow, felt like she had already broken his heart.

Her own heart was heavy in her chest as she moved to the bed, her eyes flitting between the bag and the empty space beside Rory. She slowly pulled off her shoes before she climbed on top of the comforter. Her body turned to face him, legs criss-crossing as she took a moment to breathe and adjust her wings behind her. She wrung her hands together in her lap before she gathered the courage to speak.

“I don’t want to run away anymore. I thought this would prove it to you, that… that I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t mean to cause you any pain.” She tilted her head to the side so she could see the emotions on his face. She wished he would say something. Even if it was to send her away. “I’m sorry.”

Rory shook his head softly at Haven's words, a pained frown replacing his usual smile. He reached a hand over to slip into hers in her lap, giving a gentle squeeze as he met her gaze. ”You don't… I wasn't trying to…” He paused, his tongue rubbing his cheek as he tried to parse out how to respond. This wasn't how he wanted this to go. Empathy was the route, hopefully that would work.

”I get it. Why you would want to run. Especially since we hadn't…” He let the pause hang, filling in the gap. All the words he had felt too strong this early or too crude to describe the night they shared. But that wasn't the most important thing at that moment. ”I appreciate the offering. I just… with everything that happened, I kind of assumed it was a lie. Or hoped it was a lie. I'm used to getting left behind. This-” He motioned towards the bag with his free hand, his other hand giving another gentle squeeze to Haven's hand with the other. ”It… scared me a little, is all.”

“Rory, you’re… You’re one of the reasons I want to stay.” She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers where they intertwined. His openness had her yearning to be closer to him. To comfort his fears as it would comfort her own. She moved herself closer, until her knees brushed against his thigh and hip. She looked into his clear blues, searching for the words that would bear her heart to him without moving too quickly. “I haven’t felt this way before… about anyone. I don’t want to let this go.”

Rory gave Haven a soft smile as she got closer, moving the hand that was in her lap to support him as he leaned back slightly to make sure he could maintain eye contact with Haven comfortably. ”I know… Haven, I know. I trust you.” His smile darkened for a moment, as he began to process his own words.

Haven… it couldn't be Haven. Not after what she went through. Not with everything they shared. He had to trust her. Especially if there was no one else he could trust. He tapped his thumbs on the sheets as he weighed his options.

It wasn't fair to bring her into this. But she was clever. She'd find out he was up to something regardless.

”Look, Haven… Jim asked me to help out with the investigation into what happened at the Trials. He…” Rory paused, his eyes turning towards the opposite wall as he weighed his options. His eyes landed on a group photo of Blackjack sitting on his shelf: a posed picture from the end of the last semester. Tad had taken it for them.

Rory's fingers clutched at the sheets, knuckles white as he closed his eyes. If Tad was right… someone on the team had been responsible for all of this.

”He doesn't know who could be involved. Wants me to fill in for Tad while he recovers, and sit in on some meetings. I just… need to figure out if I can handle something like that.” Rory shook his head slightly, small tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He hated having to do it this way… but he couldn't let down Thaddeus when he finally needed Blackjack for a change.

The relief Haven felt as he admitted his trust lifted the weight off of her heart. Those three words, she realized, meant more to her than the others that had been on her mind. So when he pulled his hand away from her, she didn’t notice how he also pulled his emotions away with him.

She listened to him speak, her head tilting to the right as his words gathered in her mind. So this was what Jim was speaking of earlier. It seemed to weigh on Rory’s mind; enough that his stress was showing physically. Her own heart saddened as she thought of Tad as he lied in critical care. She couldn’t imagine how Jessica was feeling now.

Her fingers twitched in her lap, wanting to reach out to him, but something about his last words had her holding back. She couldn’t tell if he was talking about the investigation, or if he was talking about their newly budding feelings for each other. She didn’t want it to be the latter, and yet the tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes suggested it.

She heard the room beside Rory’s become quiet. Lorcán and Aurora seemed to have fallen asleep by now. She’d noticed her friend’s voice earlier, but she’d been too distracted to mention Lorcán had a visitor in the other room. The silence gave her a moment to think so that her heart didn’t immediately assume the worst.

“They didn’t… catch all of them?” She started slowly, her mind still too sluggish from the day to fully comprehend what he was saying. The implication that whoever had been behind the attack still remained free had her wanting to support Rory, or Jim and Tad, in any way she could.

“I think you should do whatever you can to help Jim… and I’m glad that he feels like he can rely on you to fill in while Tad recovers.” She offered him a small smile, even as a sad feeling kept the dimples in her cheeks from appearing with it. “I’m here if you need help. With anything.”

Of course she was too clever for him. Haven knew a little too much as it was then, and talking about the investigation further… Rory knew it was a ticking time bomb. But the thing he had been too numb and jaded to realize was the subtle undertones of fear. It was concerning that at least one member of Hyperion’s Children was walking free, and was close to them. Rory felt his heart-rate rise, if only for a moment, as the gravity of a traitor in their midst was finally settling in.

For now… the only thing he could do that would be honest was to offer comfort.

Rory offered a small nod of thanks, leaning his body over towards her. He lifted his arms up to hold Haven’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze as he locked eyes with her. ”No one is messing with you on my watch, Wings.” His face was serious, even if his tone was a touch more playful. He accentuated the point by leaning ever closer, planting a soft kiss on her forehead and wrapping her in a light hug. ”If I get in over my head, I’ll let you know.”

Rory’s promise, paired with her favorite nickname he’d given her, had her heart fluttering. She was relieved to know that he still had her back even if he was going to be distracted with his own path. She could already see the distance in his gaze as he looked at her, and it seemed like she’d need to gather all of the patience and courage she had to hold her feelings in until they were both ready to admit them.

The kiss to her forehead soothed her if only for a fleeting moment. Her eyes closed as he pulled her into the hug. She knew he’d do all he could to keep her safe. Even if it meant putting his own feelings on the sidelines until he saw fit to acknowledge them.

Yet as she thought of the promise he’d just made, the words of a certain red haired Foundation transfer crashed into her peaceful state like a bird into a clean window. She reluctantly withdrew from the hug, even though she desperately craved to be held and comforted further. What she was about to say was best said face to face. It would only add more to his mental load, but she wanted to make sure he understood her. Her hands wrapped around one of his, her eyes as cloudy as a stormy day.

“I think I have more to worry about than Hyperion’s children, Rory.” Her voice was low, as if she feared they were listening in. She looked down at their hands, her thumb tracing his knuckles. Pieces of her drying hair fell around her face to shroud the contours of her round cheeks. “Before the trial… Alyssa told me that some of the Foundation students just went missing over time. Like they just disappeared. Students like me, who-”

Her breath hitched as she found it hard to utter the words

“- Who they call sub-class.” She still couldn't look him in the eyes. It was hard to also put this burden on his shoulders, but he needed to know about it. Just in case... “If I disappear too… I want you to know that I didn’t run away. That they might have something to do with it.”

Of all the things Rory felt, seething rage was the most pronounced at Haven's warning. Sorrow and concern were also present… but the adrenaline of the day paved a road for anger to be most pronounced. Part of him wanted to get up and find Torres that instant, and fight his way through all the Foundation Force to get to her. His nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened. His voice, too, was low. But his tone was more vicious than fearful. ”They would be making a royal mistake if they tried that here, Haven.”

He paused, taking a breath before just shaking his head and trying to let the anger dissipate. He traced a thumb along the back of her hand, treasuring the feeling of connection. The awful feelings seeped down into his chest, his shoulders slumping a little under invisible weight. ”This year isn't starting how I wanted it to.”

The tone of voice immediately gave Haven the courage to look into his eyes. Her eyes cast upwards, chills running down her spine and through her wings to the tip of her primaries as she saw the subtle rage within his expression. She was surprised that he felt so passionately about it, considering the power that the Foundation had over them. Compared to it and its people in power, she felt like a sparrow in a world of vultures.

Rory on the other hand, with his ability allowing him to even the playing field so easily with will alone, stood a chance against it. She didn’t expect him to do it in her name, and yet knowing that he’d threaten such an organization just for her filled her heart to the brim.

Reality seeped in sooner than she would have liked, and she found her wings and shoulders slumping as he did the same. Would there be anything left of her to save by the time he found her?

“At least we have each other… and the team. I don’t think I’d be able to do it without you.” She meant it with her entire soul and body. Her thumb rest over his, stilling his movements momentarily. “Do you want to just… lay together until we sleep? I just want to be close to you.”

Rory nodded quietly. He didn't have the energy or desire for anything more than that... and barely had the energy for words at this point. He stretched himself out, lying down next to Haven and settling himself in.

The only thing he wanted, in that moment, was to stop feeling alone.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Canis Dormitory, P.R.C.U. Campus - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Take on Me #3.017: The Lying Man

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Haven - @Skai, Jim O'Neil - @Lord Wraith}

Previously: Dragon

After all this time, and Rory Tyler still couldn't quite get the knot in his tie neat. It was a little crooked, and was pulled a bit too tight. He somehow had a way of screwing up even a simple Four-in-Hand knot. But, given he had finally gotten the length right on the third attempt, he'd settle for it. Rory looked himself over in the mirror: he had opted for the school uniform, minus the blazer. He had heard the mumblings about the dress code, the announcements, and even he could tell this had something to do with the recent "audit" by the Foundation. It was a small rebellion, if it could be called that, to stick with the dress code as much as possible. Of course, he kept his sleeves rolled up on his shirt: he needed a bit of comfort, after all.

Rory looked about the room, sighing as he tossed a hastily discarded set of boxers into a pop-up mesh hamper near the door. It was overflowing, a combination of mostly his clothes... though he recognized a shirt or two of hers mixed in. In better circumstances, he would be overflowing with emotions he wouldn't even be able to name. But in this moment, he just felt a little cold. Haven had gone back to her dorm to change and get ready. His small room somehow felt large without her presence hogging up the bed.

Rory closed the window to his room, grabbed his backpack, and a water bottle, and began his hike across campus. Classes didn't start for a bit, but he had a pit stop to make on the way.

---

Rory took a deep sigh as he stood in front of the Administration Building. He felt an impending dread rising into his throat as he approached. He had been here a number of times, mostly to help out his Aunt. But here, he couldn't help but feel like he was betraying his friends. At the same time, he knew this was the only way he could protect them.

So, he took the plunge.

Rory knew his way to Jim's office well, giving a small nod to any faculty and staff he passed. He had his usual bright smile plastered on his face like a shield... or a mask.

He gave a couple quick knocks at Jim's office door. "O'Neil... it's Rory. I'm here about the, uh-" Rory stretched out the pause, trying to find some clever cover story. Drawing a blank, he settled for vague. "The thing."

"Enter." Jim replied waiting for the door to open before beckoning Rory to take a seat in front of his desk. Looking over his reading glasses at Rory while the young man took a seat, Jim put down the pen held in his mechanical hand. While most of the school had switched to digital technology, there was still something about the feel and smell of ink on paper that Jim preferred.

"I suppose y'all have made a decision then?" He asked, leaning back in the tall leather chair he occupied.

"I did." Rory sat down in the chair, his hands resting on his knees as his thumbs tapped nervously to a rhythm neither of them could hear. "I don't like it. I don't want to do this. I don't even know if I believe one of us could side with Hyperion after the shit he did to us. But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't check this out. I'm willing to take the lead on this... and fill in for Tad." While his hands betrayed his nervous demeanor, the rest of his body sat straight in his chair. His voice was unwavering.

Of course, something bugged him. "Did Tad explain why he thought someone in Blackjack might have been involved with Hyperion's Children?"

"He didn't have time," Jim replied, "Unfortunately by the time I was aware of what Thaddeus was looking into, he was already in the state in which he remains," The older man took a long pause. "House Orcinus, the Hyperion's Children cell that was operating here on Pacific Royal, had a code phrase for greeting each other. 'The winds are blowing', which would then be responded by someone in the know with 'But the surface is still.' What we do know at this time, is before he was injured, Thaddeus was testing the validity of that passphrase."

"Ms. Rivers has tried to look into his mind and his memories to see where he had heard it, but all we've been able to confirm was that it was during the construction of the Trial and with Robert Arkwright present. Unfortunately, the identity of the Blackjack member is skewed in Thaddeus' mind currently," Jim continued to explain, "Robert Arkwright is in the wind as it currently stands, so I'm 'fraid that's where the trail goes cold. It would appear that Michael Tableau at least had the foresight to keep members' identities hidden from one another. Interrogation of those apprehended also hasn't turned up any leads. Which is why we need y'all, they clearly thought they could make an ally of y'all." Jim stifled a chuckle.

"Cahors I'd get, y'all however, I know y'all Rory. Y'all are good people, not the kind Hyperion typically targeted. The only thing I can think of is they wanted y'all for your abilities, a sort of figurehead to usher in as the new Hyperion."

"Right... so our best lead is a ghost in the breeze..." Rory sighed, his face grave as he folded his arms and furrowed his brow. The fact that Jim also had a feeling that Orcinus was trying to recruit him and make him a figurehead sent chills down his spine. The thought had crossed his mind in the simulation: his "tests" seemed geared for a particular outcome. Compared to what Haven went through, and what little he had heard of the others... he had gotten off easy. After all, Amma had seemed properly broken when she-

"Wait... they were trying to win me over in the simulation. Were we able to record footage or data on what everyone went through in the simulation? Were the techs monitoring us the whole time?" Rory leaned forward in his seat, hands gripping the arm rests tightly as he dialed in fully.

"Yeah, the entire simulation was monitored, we cut the broadcast to the campus but we have it." Jim replied, "Techs have signed a confidentiality agreement, but I can get y'all access if there's something y'all think would be helpful. I warn ye, a lot of it is hard on the stomach. Y'all may want someone with you before watching Miss Barnes' experiences."

Rory gave a nod, his knuckles white on the armchair, before he released his grip and sat with his back to the chair. "Yeah... I don't even know if it'll turn anything up. It's just a theory... a rough idea."

Rory took a deep breath, before finally approaching the more dreaded subject. "As for filling in for Tad... what do you need from me, coach?"

"In essence it's an administrative role, y'all are adults now so there's a lot of less of corralling the team. You'd be responsible for managing morale, ensuring everyone is staying atop of their school work and that their needs are met. Essentially y'll would be acting as their agent of success. If this was a freshman class, y'all be in charge of making sure they were fed and had their naps but Blackjack is on the verge of being kicked out of the nest." Jim explained, "Thaddeus was looking forward to a hands-off year. They're old enough now that y'all shouldn't have to worry about keeping them alive. On task and focused, well y'all know them even better than I do." Jim offered a knowing but sympathetic smile.

Rory let go a small sigh of relief. Administrative work wasn't too bad. Boosting morale would take more out of him emotionally than nor al, but it was doable. "Keep everyone on track... I can do that." He slowly rose to his feet, giving Jim a playful two finger salute. "Roger that, chief... I'll give it my best."

"I know y'all will make me proud," Jim replied, beckoning Rory goodbye, "Don't let me take anymore of y'all time. Y'all know where to find me if you need anything."

Rory gave a nod as he left, a cold feeling in his chest. Going into this year, he finally felt like he understood and belonged somewhere. He felt like he had a family that cared for him and that he could be honest and open with. Now, he just had to find someone else like him.

He had to find a liar.

[Skai]

Three Days Ago...

Haven was reluctant to leave Rory’s side on the field, and yet as her eyes turned towards the open sky she felt the yearning in her heart take control. She wanted to fly until her wings gave out. She needed to suspend herself in the air above campus to give her mind some space. Even if she still wore her bloody suit, and even if she was exhausted, she was going to do what the universe had intended for her and soar.

Yet she wasn’t comfortable taking off with the chaos of the site before her. She needed to find a clearing where she could test her wings alone. Her eyes searched for a break in the site’s layout. It was close to the Minotaurs, but it would do for an escape route. Her steps, light and purposeful, carried her towards that spot. Her mind was on the clearing and on the eventual freeing feeling of the wind in her feathers, paying no mind to those around her not out of ignorance but out of the need to be free of this place.

Banjo sat on the tray of the Minotaur with Calliope. She had two towels wrapped around her shoulders, with a third around her leg. Every time they’d tried to give him one, he’d given it to her. At this point, even he could tell she wouldn’t need another, but he didn’t want anything from anyone. Not at this point. His right foot tapping aimlessly, nervously, until he realised what he was doing and stopped himself.

His left leg still felt like it held it. The ice sword, its phantom pain, in deep enough to support its own weight. Even if it couldn’t be seen.

Everyone he saw looked a mess, which frustrated him even more. He felt he had it. Wrestled control. And then his overconfidence… Stupid. He saw through it twice. He divined reality from the simulation, and it hadn’t been a fluke.

Most of his team looked far more disturbed by the experience than he did. His leg ached and it was preventable, and it marked him as a fool.

And then he saw someone he thought he’d never see again.

Moving away from the throng of people, the rushing aid, and busying support, she almost looked like a construct of a dream.

Which wasn’t the best time for that kind of appearance.

He caught sight of her familiar face as it turned back to check on a teammate, through her plume, before continuing to the clearing. She fluffed her wings once, and it became obvious what her intent was once she would hit the clearing.

His right heel hit the mud first as he dropped from the tray. Staggering through the mass of overly helpful humanity. Getting increasingly frustrated he shoved away someone with a blanket who assured him he needed medical attention. He needed to get where he was going. He needed a final answer that this wasn’t still part of what he’d been going through. Another hardlight torment, through the mists of a plausible rescue intermission.

She had to be real. She had to be alive and here. Or he at least had to know. Before she took to the skies and left that question unanswered.

She began to stagger herself, her gait shifting in a familiar way, as she began to build a little momentum for takeoff.

”OI!!” He called out, hoping to get her attention. If this were the simulation he felt sure she’d ignore him. It would be too late. Or she wouldn't be here. Forever programmed to inevitably be a hair too late.

But she stopped and her head turned.

He slipped through another few people, ripping his arm through and staggered into the open space. He took another few staggered steps and dropped his weight onto her shoulders, wrapping her in a tight embrace. His own shoulders trembled as it became clear this reality held to tighter scrutiny. She was alive. She was real. They were out.

This wasn’t just a false tale where he’d saved the girl and found himself another layer deeper into an unwaking nightmare. He’d done it and he was out. His shoulders trembled as he hugged her silently. He realised breaking the clinch whilst still holding his form was going to be increasingly difficult, so he pulled back tears with a heavy sniff whilst he still held her close enough that nobody could see, and created separation, patting her shoulders down to straighten her back up after his embarrassing display.

Banjo’s call had stopped Haven in her tracks. His tone was off, not as plucky as his usual call sounded. When she looked at him, the expression on his face looked just as concerning as it was odd. It felt like he was seeing her, and yet he didn’t believe it. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by a horrible limp in his left leg. His suit was bloody, and yet she didn’t see the injury present.

Haven’s head tilted back as he neared her to keep his eyes in her vision, still unaware of his intentions. Her lips had parted just when it seemed he wasn’t going to stop his advance, but the words never left her lips. She forgot what she was going to say the moment he embraced her.

It was Banjo, and yet her body still reacted with fear towards the touch. Her plucky friend, a brother with no blood relation between them, and she still felt like a caged bird in his arms. Her body was tense, arms slack at her sides. Her wings had flared behind her. Her cheek pressed into his chest as he enveloped her. She wanted to tell him to get off, but the sudden feeling of his shoulders shaking around hers stopped her.

Was he… was he going to cry?

Her arms slowly moved as her heart twisted. She’d never seen or heard Banjo cry before. Never thought that he had a sad bone in him. It was heartbreaking. She intended to return the embrace, her arms grazing against his back, but he broke it with the saddest sniff she’d ever heard.

Her own sadness, mixed with the confusion she felt towards his display, beheld his tear-pricked eyes as she looked up at him once more.

“What happened in there?” She asked as she rest her hand on the arm that patted her shoulder. What could make such a sparky soul break the moment he saw her?

”Ahhhhhhhhhh shit.” He warbled. Stretching it out to keep any hitches from his throat. Eyebrows firmly raised, as his irises worked overtime as sponges to keep moisture from flowing down his cheek.

”Just… relieved.” Which was true. The tears he held back weren’t from sadness or trauma. Pure relief. ”Good ta be alive and alla that.”

He bottled his own issues up. It’s not like these people didn’t have enough on their plates already after that. No need to bog them down with his as well. No biggie, I just saw you get quartered up like Friday night’s roast chook… carry on aboutcha day.

”Take it you’re takin’ off, eh?” He gestured to the skies with a tilt of his head and a smirk.

Haven’s head tilted to the side as her hand fell back to rest by her hip. She nodded slowly. A fleeting thought passed, whether to acknowledge the tears or to let him hold them back. It didn’t last long.

“Are you gonna be ok?” She asked softly. She couldn’t stand to leave him like this. It felt like he’d sought her out for a reason, and she wasn’t about to ignore it. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?” She’d sacrifice her time in the sky for him if it meant those tears wouldn’t fall. He was acting so out of character that it worried her.

”Nah. What? I’m fine. Just checkin’ in.” He smiled.

”Go about ya ‘Bye, Bye Birdie’ business.”

Haven’s brows furrowed with concern until she decided that he would have said something if he needed comfort. The bird pun managed to bring a halfhearted smile to her lips, either way. She fluffed her wings out behind her and shook her head. “I’ll be up there for a while, so don’t trip and expect help getting back up, Jo.”
She didn’t wait for his reply. The open air was calling her name, and she could no longer refuse it. She turned away from him, her first few steps away from him cautious and well-practiced. Until she regained trust in her healed wings and leapt into the air.

Banjo watched as she took to the sky, and turned to position herself so that she held herself aloft, leaning into a stiff breeze. She soared over the cliffs, and then plunged out of sight.

_{Interaction: Banjo, @Hound55}

---

_{Location: PRCU - Dundas Island}

Take on Me: #3.018 The Mind is a Restless Bird

---

_{Interaction(s): Rory, @webboysurf, Aurora @Melissa, Calliope @PatientBean}

Previously: Eggs in One Basket

Haven's thumb gently tapped a restless rhythm against her opposite elbow. Her wings were drawn tight, even if the room around her was empty. The stares on the short walk over had been enough to elicit paranoia and irritation, starting her first day back in classes off roughly. She stood waiting at Pacific Royal's version of Royal Mail Canada, hoping that her deliveries today were sparse and easy to complete. She dreaded sitting in class. If she could get some airtime between community service and her first, she was sure that she could handle the 60 minute lecture without becoming a loon.

Her relief must have been written across her face as Ms. Walters, a kind and patient woman, approached her with one medium-sized package and a few envelopes. Ms. Walter's smile made it obvious that she knew Haven was in no mood for her civic duty today. "Have a great first day, sweetie."

Haven would have usually been bantering with the woman the moment she walked in the door. They had a fun repertoire going with each other, mostly comments about Haven's quickness with her job or what sort of mischief Haven had been up to on her weekends. This time, they both were aware that there had been no fun stories to tell about her trip to the plateau. Well... except for, "Good luck with tall, dark and handsome. I'm sure you'll have fun at the dance coming up." The woman had a cheeky edge to her grin this time as she pushed the stack of mail towards her.

Haven's cheeks flushed, the woman's comment softening the muscles in her body and producing a coy smile at the corners of her lips. There had been one update from her weekend that she couldn't keep from her older friend. She unfolded her arms and approached the counter that separated them, her hands reaching for the stack. "Thanks, Betty. I'll see you tomorrow." The woman only nodded, her grin wide as she turned back to her sorting.

Haven placed the package under her arm and the envelopes into her satchel as she made her way out of the office, that coy smile lasting a moment longer until she passed through the threshold. The dance... she'd completely forgotten about it. She wasn't even sure she wanted to go, and if she did, would she be going with Rory? Had he even thought about it, either?

The event hadn't mattered much to her before the trial. It had only crossed her mind then because Mei had asked Rory... and then they'd confessed their feelings to each other. After he agreed to go with Mei. Yet now Mei was gone, probably as happy as a lark considering she missed out on Blackjack's collective nightmare.

^{"You were today's worm and tomorrow she’ll fly away the second things get hard. Haven already has her bags packed in case she doesn't like how things go with the Foundation. Four years here means nothing to her, she’s always had one wing out the door, ready to run.”}

The words struck her suddenly. Her body flinched, her steps faltering as she'd made it onto the walkway. Her breath came out as a whoosh of air. She'd forgotten what the simulation had said since she'd given Rory her bag. Yet now as she thought of Mei the stolen secret returned to mind. She took a moment to let her heart settle within her chest, her eyes searching around her in case anyone had witnessed her moment. Recovered, Haven continued towards her usual launchpad of grass nearby when a thought suddenly revealed the irony of the resurfaced memory.

After all the simulated Mei had said about her to frighten Rory, it was Mei that ran away. Mei had gone with the wind the moment things were hard for her. Now, even after being targeted by Hyperion's leftover followers and with the threat of The Foundation overhead, Haven wasn't going to follow in Mei's footsteps. The thought comforted the little part of her heart that had been doubting herself since her secret had been revealed. She was here to stay, to fight for her happiness. She wouldn't turn tail the moment things were hard again.

Maybe she could allow herself some grace by letting loose at the dance. She loved going to parties, so what difference was there between the two? Clueless, Haven stood at the edge of the grassy clearing pressing her lips together as she wondered what she would need to attend it. She'd heard from other students that it was themed Hollywood glam, whatever that meant. The only exposure to Hollywood Haven had ever gotten was through Gil, or through the classic movies left at the cabins in the states. Without the required dress uniform, Haven figured she'd need a gown similar to the rich women in said movies. She definitely didn't have one of those hanging in her closet. At most, her own dresses were causal and comfortable, besides the one sundress she owned. Besides the dress, Haven figured she could do something nice with her hair. Hell, she could even put on makeup for the first time in forever.

It all felt so silly, thinking that she could relax again in a crowd or dress up nice. She pushed her hair back from her face and released a slow breath. She had no idea what she was doing anymore. With Rory, it was an exhilarating leap of faith into the unknown. With anything else, Haven felt directionless. The only places she felt like she belonged was in the forest, in the sky, or in Rory's room. Had the trial really shaken her values, or was the last four years here just a means to an end?

That restless feeling began to gather in her chest again.

Haven broke into a light jog, her wings extending out beside her, and she took off into the sky. Up in the air, with the wind gently running its invisible fingers through her golden locks and feathers, Haven felt her body relax. She angled herself to the right, making a swing for her first mail delivery destination. If there was one thing Haven was certain of, it's that the people she'd grown close to had been one of the only reasons she remained at the school.

They were her tether to society. Her family borne by love, trust, and anything but blood. The trial may have shaken her faith in civilization, but it hadn't shaken her heart. That was what she could hold onto, to keep herself from drifting into a state of confusion.

---

The deliveries had gone by quickly, as she'd expected. She found herself sitting in her favorite tree with ten minutes to spare until she'd need to head back to campus. One knee was tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around it as she gazed over the cliff and out to sea. Her other leg dangled over the side of the wide branch that seemed perfectly made just for her to perch on. Her sneakered foot gently rocked back and forth, her body at ease as the sound of the waves and wind crashed into the rock below her.

She sat ten meters off of the ground, suspended from reality in a large red cedar's branch. It had the perfect nook settled against the trunk where Haven could curl up and rest without worry. Ten feet directly out from the tree's base, fir and leaf litter ended just before the rock of the mountain sat exposed and dropped off at about a 100 meter drop to the waters of the Pacific below. No path carved through the island lead anywhere close to it, and if anyone tried to find her there, they'd have to hike for about forty minutes before they'd come close. The cliff sat on the west tip of the island, where Zayas Island could be seen resting within the waters to the left.

She'd been to this spot countless times since she'd discovered it her freshman year. It was her one place on the island that no one else knew of, besides mentioning it briefly to Rory. A smile tugged at one corner of her lip as she remembered how he asked her what it was like to sleep in a tree. She tried her best to explain it, but she'd been comfortable with bark against her skin since she was young. Instead, she told him to try it with her one night to get the full experience.

A gentle buzz sounded from her satchel where it hung on the branch. Her reminder to get to class. A sigh escaped her lungs, grieving her peaceful moment as if she hadn't had enough of the view and the forest around her. She stood straight on the branch as she gathered her satchel over her neck and shoulder. Her feet rest on the edge, her balance perfect against the breeze that ruffled her feathers. It passed through the empty space in her primaries where the trial had taken it's largest prize. She frowned, mourning it's loss for a brief moment, before launching herself into the air. She beat her wings until she reached the cliffs edge. The updraft from below caught her and took her with it. Up and up she went, her wings still as she allowed nature to give her a boost, and when the last of the wind kissed her feathers goodbye she moved them, turning herself towards campus.

---

Just as Haven had been dreading stepping into her first lecture room of the day, she was surprised to see her professor waiting for her at the door. "Professor? I'm not late, am I?"

"No, no, Miss Barnes. I was, uh... told to let you know that one of your teammates, Lorcán Roth, is in the infirmary following a bizarre illness that inflicted him this morning. You may be excused from class today, if you'd like to check in with his family."

Haven's heart dropped, her lips parting as she found herself at a momentary loss for words. What kind of illness was bizarre? What harm would it do to him if she was being excused to visit? It sounded like he was on his death bed in the professor's tone of voice. "Uh... thank you. I think I'll go." She managed before turning to head straight back out of the building. Her worry and concern was evident in her hurried pace. She immediately pulled her phone from her bag and flipped it open. Her fingers began to swiftly type into it as two people immediately came to mind.

"Lorcan's in the infirmary? I'll be there soon. go on in without me if you get there first. I'm sure he'll be ok Rory"

Wings

"Are you ok, Ror? Are the Roth's ok? I just heard about Lorcan. I'll be there as soon as I can

Haven

With the most important texts sent, Haven tucked the phone into her bag as she made it out of the academic wing. She launched herself from the edge of the steps, ignorant of the gasps that followed her outburst as her worry blocked any unwanted attention from her mind. She soared over the intake house, and then over the administration building, and landed at the front of the infirmary within a minute.

Her unwavering steps carried her towards the glass doors of the entrance as her wings tucked in behind her. She had every intention to pass through them, hoping to be with Aurora or Rory as they waited for the news, until she caught sight of the white walls through the panes of the windows. Her body seized, refusing to take her any closer as she stopped just a few meters from the doors. Her heart yearned to go inside, and yet the memories that flashed through her head froze her muscles in place.

She tore her eyes away from the infirmary. She looked down at the brick under her feet, at her dirty sneakers, trying to free her mind of the images that terrorized her. Her eyes turned upwards, towards the top of the building and to the sky. She found temporary comfort there in the blue above. She wasn't in the trial. No one was going to strap her down to a table. She was free. The sky was there and waiting for her if she needed it. She was alive.

Her racing heart slowed, and her breath shook as she released it from her lungs. Her hands trembled as she wrung them at her sides. She wasn't going to make it inside. As desperately as she wanted to be with her team as they waited, she was going to have to let them know she'd support the Roth's from out here.

Steps sounded from behind her and Haven flinched. Her body willed itself to the left, out of the way of their path as they made their way by her and through the doors so casually. She envied them for their peace of mind; for their ability to withstand those sterile halls without thinking of pain and terror.

She staggered her way over to a tree nearby, to get away from the path, and placed her hand against it. The bark was warm from the morning light, rough against her calloused hands, and it provided another place to ground her. It was familiar, a natural feeling against her skin. She took a deep breath through her nose, picking up hints of the earthy scent the young oak provided.

This is real. I'm okay.

Her therapist was going to love this.

Haven turned herself around to sit at the base of the tree. Her wings stretched out beside her for comfort. Leaning back, Haven felt the welcoming sensation of bark against her feathers. Her worry for Lorcán settled in her gut next to the disappointment that plagued her now. She was too afraid to go inside. She couldn't be with Aurora or Lorcán's family while they fretted over their beloved's life.

Her hand searched for her phone again, and she sent another message to Rory in case he was already inside.

"I'm under a tree out front. I'll wait here for any news."

Wings

She couldn't tell him why she was outside. Not when they should be worried about their friend and not about her pain.

With a sigh, Haven rest the phone in her lap. She wanted it close, in case any of her messages caught their attention.

Steps approached from the right again, their footsteps soft clicks against the brick. Another person that would find it easy to go inside, no doubt. Haven looked at the grass in front of her and wondered how long it would take for it to be easy again. Her foot began to tap a restless rhythm against the ground as she waited for an update.

...

Calli came around the corner carrying a small bouquet of flowers. She didn't know if Lorcan would appreciate it or would even be able to accept it, but she thought she should show up with something. Despite her conversation with Harper she still felt guilty. A quick visit to see Lorc followed by checking in on Banjo.

As she got closer to the hospital Calliope's gaze landed on a familiar pair of wings. Haven appeared...upset? Calli had not known Haven to be as worried as she looked, though given recent events it's no surprise. Calli strode forward and as she got near, called out. "Haven? Are you okay?"

---

[Melissa]

^{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Academic Quadrangle → Infirmary - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.019: All Falls Down

^{_{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): There are a ton of characters in here and they’re all played by @Lord Wraith}

Previously: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

After dropping Ripley off in the East Wing of the Quadrangle, Aurora continued on to her own class in the West Wing, keeping her head down and remaining focused on just getting through the day.

The redhead liked school, in fact, she was good at it. She applied herself, had a good work ethic that lended itself well to studying and test taking. By no means was she an overachiever, but she’d maintained an impressive grade point average since arriving at PRCU, especially considering she didn’t attend a traditional school until getting placed in the foster system. Before then, her mother taught her what she could, and the rest, Aurora read in whatever books she could get her hands on.

Walking into the assigned classroom, she took her seat in the back next to the window. Normally, she preferred to sit somewhere in the middle, at least somewhat towards the front, but today, she was attempting to remain inconspicuous. Aurora had been looking forward to the subject matter of this course, the Psychology of Language, but wasn’t exactly thrilled about the faculty. It was taught by the Dean of the Language & Linguistics department, Dr. Theron Demetrios, who didn’t exactly have the best reviews. Although he was a respected professor, demeanor wise he was often cited as aloof and cold. What also didn’t help was that he was notoriously a harsh grader.

The seats quickly filled in with other students from her major as well as the Language department, and shortly thereafter Dr. Demetrios entered the room, placing his briefcase on the desk at the front. He didn’t waste any time and started his lecture, beginning with describing the overall course structure, but Aurora tuned him out almost instantly. She thought she could do this, that getting back to normalcy and a schedule would be good for her, but that notion was quickly proving to be false.

“Ms. Mitchell,” Dr. Demetrios’ voice calling her name broke through the static in her ears, “Although the University may no longer have a dress code in place, I’d advise you to lower your hood while in my class, it’s disrespectful.”

All eyes darted in her direction, her peers turning around in their chairs and craning their necks to see what the fuss was about and Aurora froze. Hesitantly, she removed the hood of her sweatshirt, ruffling her copper hair in the process, putting her injuries from the trial on full display. Dr. Demetrios’ eyes went wide, realizing his error after putting two and two together. But it was too late to take it back, so he swallowed his tongue and simply continued going through the syllabus.

About fifteen minutes in, an unexpected knock on the door interrupted class.

“Theron,” Jim O’Neil’s voice echoed through the classroom before he stepped through the door frame. “Could y’all step outside with me for a moment.” A hush fell over the room, followed by an ‘Ooh’ muttered in a chorus as the class wrongly assumed Jim had been called to speak to Demetrios about his treatment of Aurora.

After what felt like the longest agonizing minutes of her life, Aurora looked up to see her teacher re-enter the classroom.

“Ms. Mitchell, if you could please gather your belongings and step outside, the Chancellor needs to have a word with you.”

Her thoughts raced, and Aurora prepared to go on the defensive, but hesitated as she saw nothing but sympathy and compassion on Jim’s face when she emerged into the hallway.

“It’d be best if we walk and talk,” He stated, extending a hand towards Aurora, “I can carry that for y’all if you’d like?” He offered before steering Aurora towards the infirmary.

“There's no easy way to say this Miss Mitchell, but young Mr. Roth was attacked and found unconscious in the Northern Forest. He’s been transported to the infirmary and is receiving care while under the watchful eyes of his parents, but they and I both felt it was important y’all were not only notified but brought to see him right away.”

Aurora instantly felt like the wind had been knocked out of her lungs.

Mr. Roth was attacked

It was almost as if she’d been punched in the gut, Jim’s words causing a visceral reaction.

Found unconscious

She sputtered, stuttered, trying to find any words at all. “W-What? What do you mean he was attacked?” The redhead stopped dead in her tracks, her face paling. As her brain worked overtime to decipher the other things Jim had said while she still attempted to process the news, she began to spiral. “He’s going to be okay right?” She searched Jim’s eyes and could tell that there was more he wasn’t telling her yet, could see how bad things must have been to warrant this kind of response.

“Right?”

“Miss Mitchell, it’s in both of our best interests not to lie to y’all and currently they don't know what attacked, let alone what has rendered him unconscious. He’s quarantined for the time being along with those who brought him in. But we don't have a lot of answers at the moment.” Jim replied, “I assure you, he’s getting the best care we can provide and if there was better care anywhere in the world I’d be calling in every favour I had to to get it to him.”

He straightened the Stetson upon his head.

“I do solemnly hope he’ll pull through this, but that's not a question I am able to answer at this time.”

Aurora’s mind was going a mile a minute, her pulse beginning to race faster with each word Jim spoke to her. The more he described, the worse it got, and nothing the Chancellor was saying lessened her panic.

She had to get to Lorcán. She needed to see him.

The redhead closed her eyes and willed herself to move, sensing outward for that familiar tug and pull that would bring her where she wanted to go. But everything was noise, her thoughts steeped in pure anxiety and fear, and her head still recovering from the concussion. She attempted to teleport, but reappeared only a few feet in front of Jim, gasping for air as if she was caught underneath a rip current.

“I need to go, I have to-”

Jim gently gripped Aurora by the arm, steadying the girl as he did so before helping to support her.

“Last thing Mr. Roth needs is for y’all to over exert yourself and end up in a bed a whole wing away from him. So why don't we forget the powers, and walk together.” Jim suggested firmly,

“Briskly, I might add.”

“‘Rora!” A voice called before a petite brunette started running towards the copper-haired girl, “Come quickly! It’s Leo, he’s-” Ripley froze upon seeing Jim.

“Ah, Miss Jones,” He smiled softly, “I was bringing Miss Mitchell to your Auntie and Uncle. Could y’all do me the favour and escort her the rest of the way? Prompt like.” Jim asked Ripley, “I need to go and have a word with the infirmary and ensure we’re all on the same page that visitors, outside of Miss Mitchell here, aren’t allowed due to the nature of your cousin’s case.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Ripley saluted smartly before grabbing Aurora’s hand, “We need to hurry! Leo has to wake up if you’re there!”

The pair rushed to the infirmary, and if Ripley hadn’t been tugging her along, Aurora would surely have drifted out to sea. The younger girl talked nearly the whole way, but the older of the two couldn’t hear over the loud ringing in her ears. How could this have happened? The Northern Forest? Lorcán never ventured to that side of the Island… at least he never had before.

Bright white hallways greeted them as they entered the medical wing and Aurora winced, the fluorescents reminiscent of where Blackjack had found themselves the other day. A metallic taste hit her tongue and it was only then she realized she had been gnawing at the inside of her cheek anxiously. Ripley pulled her towards a row of chairs where Lorcan’s mother and father were seated.

Still in a state of shock, Aurora heard the words leave her mouth before realizing she was saying them. “Mr. and Mrs. Roth, I-” She exhaled audibly, eyes darting around, searching, “Where is he?”

“He’s quarantined right now,” Victoria answered, placing an immaculately manicured hand on Aurora’s. “But you can see him through the glass on the other side of the hallway, and please Aurora, call me Tori.”

“And Aiden will be just fine for me,” Lorcán’s father replied, gesturing with an open arm for Aurora to follow. “Here, we can take a look over here.” He prompted.

The redhead peered through the window.

Lorcán lay motionless yet chaos swarmed around him. Medics circled like hawks, examining the gruesome wound on his arm and administering aid. His chest fought to rise and fall, and Aurora almost could hear the heaving breaths he struggled to take through the glass. Bile rose in the back of her throat as she fought off the immediate nausea that came over her, growing lightheaded at the sight of him in such distress. Dampness hit her cheeks, and it took her a minute to realize a few stray tears had fallen.

She sucked in a breath, quickly wiping her eyes on the sleeve of the sweatshirt she wore - Lorcán’s sweatshirt. It still smelled like him even amongst the antiseptic that coated the halls of the infirmary, citrus and smoke flooding her senses. The redhead tore her gaze away from him, looking back at Tori and Aiden and taking in their solemn expressions.

“Come, sweetheart,” Tori beckoned, “Sit here with Ripley and I.”

Aurora’s feet moved back towards the chairs, even though she felt completely and utterly numb, taking a seat beside Lorcán’s mother. Ripley’s hand reached out and met hers, and she vaguely felt pressure as the younger girl gripped her palm.

“How did Leo get attacked again?”

“All we know is that he was in the North Forest, two students from Firebird brought him in, said they found him in a clearing with Rothschild and his arm was already scratched.” Aiden explained, the wheels beginning to turn in Aurora’s head as she thought about who possibly could have been the ones to find him.

“Wait,” Tori interjected, raising her face from between her hands. “Why would Lorcán venture into the North Forest?“ She asked, her eyes darting between them, “He doesn’t surf on that side of the island.”

The redhead shook her head, in agreement with the older woman, finding her voice once more. “No, he doesn’t, and as far as I know he never has.”

As Aiden, Tori, and Ripley discussed, Aurora racked her brain for anything she could think of that could explain why he’d been there.

“It was the weirdest thing, Uncle Aiden,” Ripley piped up, “I was talking to Leo on the phone and there was just this terrible noise as the call was cut. I could hear Rothschild in the background growling,” Ripley persisted, “I just feel like those girls aren’t telling you something-”

“Mr. and Mrs. Roth?” The medic interrupted, entering the hallway from the room where they were tending to Lorcán.

“Can we see our son, doctor?” Tori rose from her seat, Aurora’s eyes not leaving the woman’s frame.

“Yes, you can go in and wait with him, we’re getting him transferred to a private room now that we’re sure he’s not contagious.” The medic answered, “Once he’s there, he’ll be allowed family and relatives during regular hours, immediate family and caretakers overnight”

“Is he going to be alright?” Aiden asked.

The medic looked up at Lorcán’s father, a heavy exhale preceding the reply, which Aurora could only assume meant that this wasn’t going to be good news.

“It’s still too soon to answer that. This infection, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen and as far as our resources go, it’s unlike any one on this Earth has ever seen.” The medic let out another sigh, “I know it’s going to sound unprofessional, Sir, but given my experience, it’s very possible it’s not from this world.”

The redhead’s baby blue eyes went wide.

Not from this world? How was that even possible?

She couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation that the medic had with Tori and Aiden for her heartbeat began to pound in her ears, a buzzing sound overtaking everything. Jim had said Lorcán was getting the best care possible, but if they didn’t even know what was wrong with him…

There was a very slim chance that he was walking out of here.

“Then we’ll just have to hope the tests turn something up.” The medic offered a sympathetic smile. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll take him to his new room.”

Lorcán’s parents quickly disappeared down the hallway and into the room where the boy was being held, and with them gone, Aurora found herself going back and thinking through everything that had been discussed. She was still wrapping her head around it all, but a comment that the younger girl said previously stuck out to her, and Aurora looked at Ripley, eyebrows raised. “Wait, when did you talk to him on the phone? Before or after you saw me?”

“Right after,” Ripley smirked, breaking her gaze away from the hall her Aunt and Uncle had gone down. “I told him to take the board wax out of his water logged ears and listen to me or he’d end up watching you dance with someone else.” She smiled sadly, “But the call dropped and then this happened,” She sniffled.

“Do you think he got hurt because I distracted him?”

“Oh, Ripley,” The redhead knelt down to the petite brunette’s level, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. “No, honey. This isn’t your fault.” She reassured, looking into her sad blue-green eyes. With Cass not present yet, and Lorcán’s parents having been whisked away, Aurora swallowed her own grief to step in and take care of the younger girl. But even as she consoled Ripley, her thoughts drifted.

I just want to take you by the hand and disappear into the sunset, we could go our own way.

She should have listened to him.

Not sure what I would have done if anything had happened to you.

What was she going to do?

Guiding Ripley back to the chairs, she sat down next to the girl and placed her arm around her. “Don’t worry, he’s getting the best care possible. They’re going to take good care of him.”

“I always dreamed of coming here,” Ripley admitted, “Almost gave up hope before my powers came in. But it would kill me to not be here right now, even if it’s for something so awful.” She smiled, a small smirk forming in the corner of her mouth.

“Someone has to help keep you distracted.”

Aurora feigned deep thought for a moment before smiling back. If there was anything she knew could distract the younger girl, it was getting her talking about…

“Well, I’d just love to hear more about this conversation you and Lorcán had.” She tapped her nose playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. “Either that, or more dress ideas. What’d you call it? A revenge fit?”

“You gotta get something that puts the girls front and center,” She said pushing up against her own chest before looking down with a small sigh, “Well you know what I mean, I’m sure mine will show up eventually,”

A small tap on an adjacent wall caught their attention as Cass didn't wait to be invited to the conversation.

“That was gross,” He smirked at his adoptive sister. “I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing that sentence.”

Aurora winked at Ripley before standing up, her facial expression instantly falling as soon as her back was turned, making eye contact with Cass. They exchanged knowing glances, both completely understanding of the gravity of the situation.

“Tori and Aiden just went back to see him.” She informed the blonde boy upon his arrival, nodding in the direction they left. “They don’t know what it is, couldn’t really give much of an update.”

“Well, all of Blackjack knows now,” Cass stated taking a seat, “How’s he holding up, Rip?”

“He’s out cold, sedated I think, but they found him unconscious. The wound looks bad, Cass, real bad.”

“And still no leads on what caused it?” He asked.

“Nope, none, zilch.” Ripley replied, shaking her head, “You don't think whatever did it is still out there do you?”

“Honestly, it might be worth grabbing Uncle Aiden and Rothschild to take a look,” Cass mused, his eyes watching Lorcán on the other side of the glass as they prepared to move him.

The redhead looked between the two siblings and figured it’d be best if she offered them some space. After all, they were Lorcán’s family, and as close as she and him were, she still wasn’t blood. “Why don’t I give you guys a few minutes.” She brushed a strand of copper hair behind her ear before looking at Ripley, forcing a smile. “I’m just going to go and get some air.”

Cass stood, extending his arms while motioning for Ripley to join, the siblings embraced Aurora before releasing her.

“We'll call if there’s a change in his condition, otherwise we'll see you when you get back.” Ripley smiled.

The older girl managed a sad smile and ruffled the younger girl’s hair before placing her hand on Cass’ shoulder reassuringly. She simply nodded, no further words needing to be exchanged, before making her way over to the room that Tori and Aiden had disappeared into to be with their son. She stood in the door frame for a few long moments, her eyes memorizing Lorcán’s form as he lay there amongst the tubes and the wires.

He looked so helpless. And it killed her.

Timidly, she knocked, not wanting to bother his parents as they oversaw the medics treating Lorcán, but she didn’t want them to think she just upped and left, or even worse, couldn’t handle being there in their darkest hour. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” She took a step inside, managing to tear her eyes away from the boy in the hospital bed to meet their gaze. “I’m stepping out for a second, do either of you need anything?”

“I’ll be back though, I promise.” She indicated, but quickly followed up, not wanting to assume, “If that’s okay, of course. For me to be here with you all.”

“Of course that’s okay, sweetheart,” Tori reassured Aurora, “You can be here as much as you’d like to, Lorcán would want that.”

The redhead nodded, grateful, before exiting back to the hallway. Her legs moved before her brain could catch up, not even caring which direction she was walking in. Her breathing started to hitch, each inhale and exhale growing shallower than the last, eyes searching for some place of refuge. She found herself approaching an enclosed stairwell, and didn’t hesitate to open the door and let it slam behind her. As soon as she was alone, she let her tears fall freely, leaning back onto the wall and sliding down until she was seated on the landing.

Sobs racked the redhead’s body as she sat there, her hands shaking as she brought them to cradle her face. She shouldn’t have left the other morning, shouldn’t have run from the man who she knew would do anything for her, she should have stayed. For all she knew that could have been the last time he would hold her, and that terrified her even more than the feelings she had harbored for him for so long.

Gasping for air, she reached into her pocket and grabbed her cellphone, sliding her thumb to unlock the screen and pressing the contact she sought. The phone rang once, twice, before a voice answered on the other side.

“Harps? I need you, please.”

No pain worse than than losing someone you love.

[Qia]

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Infirmary - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.020: By the Lives That Wove the Web

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Gil-@Roman}

Previously: Beneath the Surface

Harper's fingers trembled slightly as she reached out, her knuckles barely grazing the wood of the hospital door. She did her best not to inhale the scent of the hallway, the antiseptic tang mixed with the faint, lingering odour of illness. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a harsh, sterile glow that made everything feel too bright, too exposed. The distant sound of a monitor beeping and the occasional murmur of voices from other rooms only added to the oppressive atmosphere.

Or perhaps it was all in her imagination. The tension she felt.

How long had she been standing there? Must have been long enough, given the strange looks she was starting to get from the passing ward staff. Nurses and doctors moved with purpose, their footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor, but every now and then, one would glance her way, curiosity or concern flickering in their eyes.

Harper could feel the sweat starting to form on her palms now, each bead of moisture making her grip on the doorframe slick and uncertain. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, the air catching in her throat as if she were trying to breathe through a straw. The memories threatened to overwhelm her again, vivid and unrelenting. Her fingernails curved into her wrists, the sharp sting of pain a desperate attempt to anchor herself in the present, to push through the fog of fear and stay grounded.

Because she had to see him this time. There was no more pushing this off. She had avoided it for too long, letting her fear dictate her actions. She couldn’t let it win. Not now. Not when she’d promised that she would try, so far doing a piss poor job of being his friend in her opinion.

With a final, shaky breath, Harper forced herself to focus on the sensation of her nails digging into her skin, the pain sharp and real. It was enough to pull her back from the brink, grounding her in the present moment. She could feel the sting intensify with each press of her nails, a reminder that she was here, now, and not back in the trials. Where the cold, catatonic body of her sister had laid in a room much like the one she was about to enter into.

Everything was fine.

Her knuckles moved against the door with one soft tap, hesitant and almost imperceptible. The sound barely registered in the quiet hallway, swallowed by the ambient noise of her surroundings. Harper hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest, before summoning the courage to knock again, this time harder. The second tap was firmer, more resolute, and the third was a definitive knock that echoed slightly in the corridor.

She cleared her throat, the sound rough and dry, as if she hadn’t spoken in hours despite her earlier conversation with Calliope. Her mouth felt parched, her tongue heavy. She swallowed hard, trying to muster the strength to speak, to call out to him.

“Gil?” Harper finally managed. The name felt foreign on her tongue, as if she hadn’t said it in a long time. “It’s me…Harper.”

Gil rolled over in his bed. He’d thought Lorcán’s regular visits, and Calliope’s drop-in, were awkward enough to perhaps move them to dissuade others from repeating their behaviour; part of him thought to stay silent, shut his eyes, pretend he was sleeping. How on earth was he supposed to face Harper right now, of all people? He felt the expectations settling upon him already, felt himself reaching reflexively for the right mask. Slip into the right skin, plaster a smile over his face.

He shuddered.

“It’s open.” He finally said, and watched as the door opened gently, Harper stepping into the room. He noticed her hair first, the scratches and bruises second, and the anxious, haunted micro-expressions last. He wondered if she felt the same phantoms of presumption upon her shoulders as he did his. She didn’t say anything at first; the two stood, laid, in close proximity, but worlds apart. You could cut the tension with a knife. Gil did just that.

“I like the new haircut.” He said, his tone even, matter-of-fact.

Her eyes, which had been avoiding Gil’s, now took in the sight of him fully. The bruises that marred his face, the bandages wrapped around his arms and torso, and the dark circles under his eyes told a story of pain and suffering that words couldn’t capture. He looked so brittle, so unlike the Gil she knew. The sight of him like this made her heart clench with guilt and sorrow.

But mostly just guilt.

Harper gave a small, strained smile, her fingers twisting together nervously. “Is it nice?” she asked in response to his compliment. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the sterile white walls, the harsh fluorescent lights, and the array of medical equipment that surrounded Gil’s bed. Anything but the eyes of the actual person she was speaking to. “I don’t really think I like it very much.”

Harper's fingers continued to twist and fidget as she took a seat near his bed. The chair felt cold and unwelcoming, its metal frame pressing into her back. The room felt too bright, too clinical, and the beeping of the machines seemed to grow louder with each passing second. She could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her, remorse gnawing at her insides. The sight of Gil, so vulnerable and battered, only intensified her feelings of helplessness and regret.

This was a mistake. But one that was too late to take back.

“How… how are you feeling?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. She immediately cringed once the words were out, realising how inadequate they sounded. Terrible question. “Actually… don’t answer that,” she added quickly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her fingers tugged at the fabric of her hoodie, twisting and pulling it down over her wrists, hiding more evidence of her own struggles.

“I’m sorry,” Harper blurted out then, her voice cracking. “I know I didn’t directly cause this…but I could have prevented it. Maybe. If I’d been paying better attention.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, each one laced with shame and regret. She finally looked at him, hazel eyes meeting blue for the first time.

Gil watched Harper muddle clumsily over every movement, gesture, chosen word. It was…unnerving. She had previously been so disciplined, so in control - similar to Calliope but the nuance was different, restraint born from willpower and her own decision, rather than Calliope’s externally-set standards and expectations, carried with her unwillingly. He watched her eyes - those shrewd, acute eyes - pore over his body, inspecting every injury. He felt vulnerable, and turned his body away.

“Calliope asked the same thing. Reflexive, I imagine. Got to maintain the niceties. I feel shit - but I think so does everyone.”

She tumbled over her words when they came, another apology, another confession. Gil sighed frustratedly, uninterested in anyone’s prostration before him.
“Calliope did that, too. Is there anyone else out there waiting to confess their guilt as well?” He craned his neck toward the door, pretending to search for further sinners. He enjoyed the theatre of it, in a spiteful way, even aware he was effectively rejecting Harper’s contrition; but what use did he have for misplaced remorse? It wouldn’t heal his broken bones or mend his skin; wouldn’t alleviate his foggy head, or rediscover his long-mislaid sense of ‘self’, whatever that was. Would it even help Harper - or any other would-be confessor - to burden themselves so needlessly? There might be catharsis in self-flagellation, but there was no redemption.

“The saboteurs were found out. I heard the leader even painted himself across the room when they caught him. What could you have done about it? Maybe Pallyx and Mei knew more than they let on; maybe they just got lucky…it doesn’t matter. We were snared in a trap. All we can do now is live with the consequences.”

“I…” Harper began, blinking rapidly. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment, making it nearly impossible to articulate her thoughts. She could hear the frustration in Gil’s voice, a sharp edge that cut through the air between them. On some level, she understood his anger. They had all endured so much, and the weight of their collective trauma was a heavy, suffocating presence that loomed over them all now.

But the way he dismissed her apology as just another meaningless gesture? That was something her brain was struggling to process. It felt like a punch to the gut, leaving her reeling.

Because he’d never spoken to her that way before. Not in any of the moments they’d shared.

Harper had always been a little awkward around Gil. Despite her disciplined nature, she often fumbled for words or second-guessed her actions when he was near. Her usually steady hands would tremble slightly, and her mind, typically sharp and decisive, would become a jumble of half-formed thoughts and hesitant phrases. There was just something about him that unsettled her, something in the way his eyes seemed to see right through her, peeling back the layers of her carefully constructed facade. It made her feel exposed, and vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to.

But she’d liked it. Very much so.

She’d always believed that he accepted her, and saw past the stern exterior she presented to the world. While others might whisper behind her back, calling her a hard-ass or worse, Gil seemed to understand her. He’d never once flinched at her intensity, never recoiled from her sharp edges. That acceptance and understanding meant more to her than she could ever put into words. It was a silent affirmation that she wasn’t alone, that someone saw her for who she truly was and still chose to stay.

Which was why his current demeanour was so jarring. The warmth in his eyes had turned cold, his usual easy smile replaced by a tight-lipped frown. The distance between them, once filled with unspoken understanding, now felt like an insurmountable chasm.

“I’m not-” she began again, her voice trembling as she struggled to find the right words. “I wasn’t apologizing because of some…because of some script. Some automatic response. I just…” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the images that his words had conjured. Blood painting the floor. Blood painting her face.

“I just care about you.”

Gil relented. He’d been cruel, intentionally so, but now struggled to justify the point of it against Harper’s crumbling face and shuddering words. He just didn’t want anyone thinking they owed him anything, apologising for something they played no part in. Well-intentioned or not, it all felt so…fake. Gil had had enough of that feeling, and wasn’t about to tolerate it in others, either.
“I…I appreciate that.” He said, softening his voice. “I just can’t face a parade of people apologising to me for something they didn’t do. Something they suffered in just as much as I did. What’s the point? Doesn’t do me any good. Doesn’t do you any good. Assuming guilt, apportioning blame - we’ll just implode. And then it really will have been for nothing.”

Harper blinked, her mind suddenly alight with a realisation that struck her like a bolt of lightning. Thanks to his words, it was as if a fog had lifted, revealing a truth she had overlooked for far too long. She could almost hear Calliope’s voice again, clear and unwavering, echoing in her mind. The memory was vivid, transporting her back to that moment when the blonde had shared her wisdom with a sincerity that Harper had failed to fully grasp at the time. But now…now she felt like she understood them.

The brunette took a deep breath, her fingers finally stilling as she gathered her thoughts. She looked at Gil, her eyes reflecting her usual determination, but there was something more—an unspoken vulnerability that shimmered just beneath the surface. It was a rare glimpse into her inner world, one that she seldom allowed others to see. But if authenticity was what he wanted, despite her fears, she knew she had to give it. His reaction was uncertain, yes, a moment suspended in time where he could either accept or reject this part of her.

But she no longer cared. Because it no longer mattered.

Or, better yet, maybe that was all that had ever mattered.

“I think I…got scared? Maybe…” she began, her voice steady but soft. “Not just for what happened, but for not being there for you right afterward.” She paused, her gaze dropping to her hands. Her fingers traced the faint scars on her arms, the ones hidden beneath her sleeves. The ones given to her by the thing that had looked like her sister but could never be. The memories of that encounter were still raw, the pain and confusion etched into her skin and mind. She had survived, but the scars were a constant reminder of the battle she had fought, that she was still fighting, both physically and mentally.

She took another deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle between them. The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was a shared space of understanding, a moment where the past and present intertwined. Harper’s eyes met Gil’s once more, and she saw a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, perhaps, or empathy. She wasn’t quite sure. But it was enough.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” she continued, her voice gaining strength. “I just needed you to know. To understand why I couldn’t be there. Why I had to face my own demons first…even still.” Her fingers stilled on her scars, and she let her hands fall to her sides. “I’m here now, though. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She reached out first this time, her hand coming to rest on his, squeezing it lightly.

“Not unless…you want me gone.”

“Unless you’re harbouring a darker secret than I think you’re capable of, Baxter, you don’t need forgiveness. Not from me, not from the rest of Blackjack, not from PRCU. We - everyone - got separated. It was deliberate, and targeted, and vindictive, and from what I’ve seen, we’ve all fared as poorly as each other. I understand why I was alone - just as I understand why Calliope was, or Banjo, or you. Because someone wanted to hurt us.”

He looked at his hand, Harper’s laid across it, observing her delicate fingers and tracing his gaze up her arm back to her face, once again full of the self-possessed determination and familiar earnestness. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return.
“And I’d say they did a damn fine job of it, too.” He said, attempting a jocular tone as he gestured to his bandaged rib and cast leg, but there was an underpinning of something more troubling. Gil’s clipped words didn’t indicate a willingness to talk about it, though.
“I’m just waiting to be discharged, whenever that happens, and then like the rest of the team I’ll work on…picking up the pieces. Until then, if there’s anyone else in that corridor waiting to come tell me how sorry they are, they can all go visit the chapel instead.”

He smiled, trying to remember their last conversation, held under different circumstances, with a different essence about it. Two different people, two different lifetimes ago.
“I really do like your hair.” He said again, giving Harper’s hand another squeeze before letting go.

Harper’s lips curved into a gentle smile, her cheeks warming with a rosy hue that she couldn’t quite suppress. She glanced down, only looking back up once she was sure her heart had stopped racing. “Thanks, Gil,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of shyness. “I did it for me… but I’m glad you like it too.”

As for his talk about forgiveness, another realisation struck her: Gil had left out one crucial person—herself. Could she truly forgive herself for what she had done? Could she truly gather the scattered fragments of her being and piece them back together, forming a new, whole version of herself, no matter how different it might look by the end?

A strange sense of clarity washed over her, and she fished for her phone in her pocket, taking it out. “Actually…could you excuse me for a moment? I think I need to call someone.” Harper asked, her eyes reflecting a sincere apology. She had promised she wouldn’t leave, but this was who she was at her core—loyal to a fault, yet fiercely independent. She always resisted the urge to lean on others, even her best friend, for support, no matter what she was going through. But maybe, just maybe, that was something she needed to change.

“Of course. I’m worn out, and I think they kick people out soon anyway. I’ll see you when I’m officially back on campus.”

Harper nodded, her eyes softening as she gave him one of her warm smiles. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, so with a final, reassuring squeeze of his arm, she turned to leave, her steps light but purposeful. Just before she reached the door, she paused and looked back, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Rest up, soldier,” she said with a small, teasing smile, her voice carrying a hint of warmth and affection. The words felt a bit awkward on her tongue, and she could feel a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, but it was worth it to see the faint smile that tugged at his lips in response.

[Melissa]

The corridor outside was unexpectedly busy, with nurses and doctors moving briskly and the murmur of hushed conversations filling the air. Harper paid it no mind as she walked aimlessly, her hand hovering over a name in her contacts, her thumb hesitating just above the screen. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to summon the courage to make the call, to take that first step at reaching out as she had with Gil.

Just as she was about to make the call, she bumped into someone, her phone nearly slipping from her grasp. Startled, Harper looked up and saw Cass standing before her, his presence causing her heart to skip a beat. She quickly steadied herself, clutching her phone tightly. The joke she had been about to make immediately died on her lips as she took in his expression—grim and tense.

The older boy looked up, his green eyes studying Harper with a look of confusion before they lit up with familiarity.

“Hey, Baxter!” Cass called over the din of the infirmary, making several quick strides towards her, “If you’re here to see Lorcán they’ve got him quarantined right now, I just texted Tyler, surprised you got here so fast.”

He looked at her again, his eyes intently studying the new haircut noting how it brought out her cheekbones. He hadn’t noticed just how slender of a jawline she had when the long hair had shielded either side of her face.

But that wasn’t exactly a priority right now.

“Uh sorry about the trial,” Cass deflected, “Must have really sucked being trapped in there, can’t imagine having my worst fears plugged into a machine that can bring them to life.”

Harper nodded, her mind too busy racing with questions about Lorcán. She glanced down at the phone in her hand, the screen still displaying the name there: Aurora. She knew she’d wanted to- no, needed to- get into contact with her. But now, it seemed, it would be for entirely different reasons. Her eyes flicked back to Cass, her expression one of concern.

“Yeah, it was intense. And I was visiting a friend,” Harper managed, trying to brush off the reminder of her own experience. It wasn’t important now. “What do you mean they have him quarantined? What the hell happened?” Her voice was edged with unease, her eyes searching Cass’s face for answers.

“No one seems to know,” Cass replied looking down the hallway he had come from. “Couple of my teammates found him out in the Northern peninsula, nasty scratch on his arm. Medics all say it’s already severely infected, they’ve got both him and the two girls quarantined until they can rule out that it’s contagious.”

He turned back to Harper.

“Heard one of them commenting on the smell too, apparently it reeks, like a tomb.”

Harper’s breath caught in her throat. The image of Lorcán, injured and isolated, filled her mind. “Infected? Like a tomb?” she repeated, disbelief and dread mingling in her words. What did any of that even mean? “So, what are they doing for him now, other than making sure whatever it is doesn’t spread? And what can we do from out here?” Her voice wavered, the helplessness she felt seeping into her tone. She already knew the answer to that latter question. What could she even do for her friend from here? She was no doctor, yet. Not even close.

She swallowed, hesitant but needing to know.

“Does…does she know yet?”

“She?” Cass took a second before realizing Harper meant Aurora, “If she doesn’t already, she soon will. Uncle Aiden sent Ripley to get her and they’ve made sure the infirmary has her down as a caretaker so she can be here at all hours if,” He paused, “Once, he clears quarantine.”

He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles while stifling a small reflexive flare in his palm.

“Other than that, all we can do is wait and hope the medics can do something, don’t much care for feeling this powerless. Just takes me back to a darker time in my life,” Cass replied, “But uh, if you weren’t here for Lorcán then I won’t keep you,” He stated, his eyes wandering upwards in the opposite direction.

Harper’s concern deepened, not just for Lorcán but for Cass as well. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he tried to mask his feelings with a brave face. “Cass, I—” she began, reaching out to him, but he cut her off, his tone shifting to something more resigned.

“I uh, imagine Gil will be happy to see you,” The words were bitter on his tongue, but Cass managed to spit them out while doing his best to control his disappointment.

His words were tinged with an edge Harper couldn’t quite place. She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Cass, I came here to see Gil, sure, but do you really think that’s important to me right now?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm. She reached out, touching his arm lightly. “Besides, I’ve already seen Gil, and he’s exhausted. Right now, what I want to know is how you’re doing. Lorcán’s your family too…I can’t imagine any of this is easy for you.”

“Frankly,” Cass started,“I don't know how I am.” He replied, “None of it has sunk in, I don't know enough about the situation to know to be worried. He could sit up any second, fall out of bed flat on his face and still want to grab his board and go surf.” Cass changed his posture, mimicking Lorcán’s laid-back slouch as he slapped his feet along the tiled floor to imitate the flip flops.

“Sup, Paddlepuss, nice wipe-out on those mushburgers.” He said, using the nickname Lorcán had given Harper when she became a lifeguard.

“I just wish I had the full story, I can't help but feel someone is missing something.”

Harper groaned and rolled her eyes, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. “Ugh, not that nickname. It’s not my fault I’m not crazy enough to go out there against those waves. I have some sense of self-preservation, unlike him.” She could picture her sweet but absolutely crazy friend now, charging into the surf with the recklessness she knew him for, his laughter carried away by the wind. Despite her grumbling, there was a hint of admiration in her tone.

Her smile, however, faded slightly as she considered Cass’s last comment. Why had Lorcán been on the Northern peninsula at all, especially after everything they had just gone through with the trials? Was this incident related to that somehow, or had Lorcán stumbled upon something-or someone- that posed a new threat?

A shadow of concern crossed Harper’s face as she pondered the possibilities. The trials had been gruelling, testing their limits in the face of their fears. So, the thought of Lorcán facing yet another challenge unsettled her. Her mind raced with questions and scenarios, each more troubling than the last. Had he discovered something that could jeopardize their hard-won peace, or was he simply unable to stay away from danger? The uncertainty gnawed at her, making it hard to shake the feeling that something significant was unfolding where he was found.

“I wish I knew more, too,” Harper said, her voice tinged with frustration. She hated sitting by and waiting for answers, the same drive that she had with Haven during their investigation simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

But look how well that had turned out.

“Rippers is going to start blowing up my phone if I don't get back, but uh,” Cass paused, “It’s not really a priority but I’m looking forward,” He hesitated again.

“I’ll pick you up Friday, I’m still taking you to the dance so wear something nice, or don’t, I don't care,” He forced a chuckle, hiding his excitement as he tried to ensure their date was still on for the dance.

Harper’s disappointment softened as she looked at Cass, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She appreciated his effort to lighten the mood, even if he seemed to be struggling to find the right words given the situation.

“I’ll try to look my best, as always,” she replied, her voice carrying a hint of the playfulness she’d felt that night before the trials.

Harper watched him turn the corner, the hand she’d raised in a wave goodbye slowly dropping. Her smile lingered for a moment longer before fading, replaced by a more serious expression. Her eyes drifted back to the phone in her hand, the screen still displaying the name of her friend who was in God knows what kind of mental state.

How should she even begin to approach this problem? The question echoed in her mind, bringing with it the same sense of helplessness as before. She wanted to be there for Aurora, to offer support and comfort, but she didn’t even know where to start. The thought of reaching out and saying the wrong thing made her hesitate, her fingers once again hovering over the screen, unsure of what to do next.

As if the heavens had decided for her, her phone buzzed in her hand, Aurora’s name lighting up the screen with an incoming call. Harper sucked in a sharp breath, her heart leaping into her throat. She stared at the screen for a moment, her mind blank, before her hands moved on their own, answering the call on the third ring.

“Harps? I need you, please.”

Aurora’s voice was shaky, the recognition of it causing Harper’s grip on her phone to tighten, her own emotions swirling within her.

“I’m here, Aurora. And I know,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart racing. She began to move, her feet carrying her in a direction—any direction—just to avoid standing still. The weight of her emotions threatened to pull her down, to make her sink into the floor if she stood still any longer. “I’ll figure out a way to see you, alright? Just keep taking deep breaths. We’ll get through this together but…” She glanced around, her eyes darting from one indistinguishable landmark to another.

Where was she going?

^{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Infirmary - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.021: Daylight

^{_{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Cassander @Lord Wraith}

Previously: All Falls Down & By the Lives That Wove the Web

Aurora kept her knees hugged to her chest, back flush against the wall, while Harper’s comforting voice flowed through the phone. Her tears continued to fall, but more so now since she was relieved that the girl had answered her call as quickly as she did, especially given how she replied to her plea.

“You’re- you’re here?” The redhead sputtered in between heaving breaths, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. The mere thought that her friend was close soothed her, and at her response, she sat up a bit straighter. Looking around for any markers or indications of the location she was sitting in, the girl’s baby blues landed on a placard affixed next to the door she had entered through. “I’m in Stairwell B. On the 2nd floor.”

“C-can you come find me?”

Harper’s heart clenched at the sound of Aurora’s distress. She gripped her phone tighter, her voice unwavering despite the turmoil she felt. “I’m already on my way, ” she reassured, her footsteps echoing through the sterile hospital corridors. “Just hang in there, okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harper moved with purpose, her mind mapping out the quickest route to Stairwell B. Her eyes flicked to the signs overhead, her pace quickening with each step. She pushed through a set of heavy double doors, the bustling sounds of the hospital fading as her focus narrowed to one goal: finding Aurora.

The sight of the stairwell sign brought a surge of determination. Harper took the stairs two at a time, her breaths coming in short, determined bursts. She reached the second floor, her eyes immediately spotting Aurora’s familiar red hair, the girl huddled against the wall, looking small and vulnerable.

Without hesitation, Harper rushed to her friend, dropping to her knees and enveloping Aurora in a tight, protective hug. “Aurora,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re not alone.” She held her friend close, feeling Aurora’s sobs against her chest, offering silent comfort through her embrace.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, the redhead letting all of the fear and helplessness she had felt building finally bubble over. It was cathartic to let it all out. She’d tried her best to keep it together in front of Lorcán’s parents, in front of Cass, and especially in front of Ripley, but if she had learnt anything from her years on campus, it was that she didn’t always need to be the strong one. Life had dealt her a shitty hand, and yes, the majority of the time she still tended to muscle through things on her own, but she had people to lean on now, and it meant everything to her to be supported.

Aurora’s tears began to subside, her gasping breaths and hiccups starting to lessen, and she found herself able to form sentences once more. “I need him to be okay, Harper, I can’t lose him.” She whimpered, another choking sob following her words. “They don’t know what’s wrong with him,” The girl moved to look at Harper through her overflowing eyes, “I’m so scared.”

Harper’s eyes, so stoic and guarded since the trials, softened with deep empathy as she held Aurora tighter, feeling the tremors, every ounce of her friend’s anguish, against her own chest. She could feel Aurora’s fear and pain as if it were her own, and it made her hold on even tighter as if her embrace could shield Aurora from all the hurt. If she could completely absorb some of it, and take on just a little more, she would do it in a heartbeat.

Because Aurora didn’t deserve this. Not one bit.

And Lorcán, ever so loyal and brave, definitely did not deserve to be in this state. Her mind flashed back to the memory of him snapping her out of her misery when she’d been stuck in her own mind, lost in a sea of despair. She remembered the way his voice had cut through the fog, grounding her, pulling her back to reality with the firmness of not just a leader, but a friend.

Harper had yet to pay him back for any of it, and the thought gnawed at her every being.

He needed to pull through. He just had to.

“I know,” Harper whispered to Aurora. “I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared.” Her words were gentle, each one carefully chosen to offer comfort and reassurance.

With a tender touch, Harper gently brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Aurora’s tear-streaked face. Her fingers moved lightly, almost reverently, as if she were handling something fragile and precious. Her precious friend. She wanted Aurora to feel her presence, to know that she was truly there for her.

“But you’re not alone in this,” she continued, her voice filled with unwavering conviction. She leaned in slightly, her eyes locking onto Aurora’s, ensuring that her friend could see the sincerity in her gaze. “I’m here for you. So is the team. We’re all here for you, and we’re going to get through this together. Whatever happens.”

“We’ll find out what’s wrong,” Harper continued, her voice filled with quiet determination. She squeezed Aurora’s shoulder gently, her touch firm yet comforting. “And Lorcán is sure to receive the best care possible. You’re not going to lose him, Aurora. I…I promise.”

The redhead continued to calm down as the company of one of her closest friends soothed her, her breathing returning to a normal pace, eyes slowly drying out. She swallowed, throat strained, and although her heartbeat remained elevated, it wasn’t racing as it previously had been. For as long as she’d known her, between her actions and her words, Harper always made Aurora feel safe. It was a quality the girl never overlooked, always appreciated, especially in this moment.

Her tremors quieted, and she leaned back from Harper’s embrace, resting her body against the wall once more. Reaching up with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she wiped at her face to cleanse herself of the tear stains and mucus that came with such an emotional break. “You can’t promise something like that Harper,” Aurora knew her friend meant well with the statement, but the logical side of her brain understood there was no way of ensuring such a thing. “They said the infection wasn’t like anything they’d ever seen, even went so far as to say it wasn’t of this Earth. How are they supposed to care for him when they don’t understand what they’re dealing with?”

She sighed, but it came out more like a wheezing, and the girl coughed to clear out whatever remained. “He’s everything to me, Harps, and there’s a very real chance he’s not going to make it through this.”

“I don’t want to live in a world without him in it.”

Harper immediately felt a pang of regret for her impulsive words. The promise she had made was indeed fragile, fraught with the unknown, and she knew it. Still, she wanted to be the rock Aurora needed, just as her sister had been for her all those years ago. She reached out, gently squeezing Aurora’s hand, hoping to convey some measure of comfort through her touch.

“I know,” Harper said softly. “I know I can’t promise that, and I’m sorry that I did.” Her eyes met Aurora’s, blinking away the tears that had begun to form. “I just…I want to give you hope, even if it’s just a little bit.”

Aurora nodded, understanding completely that her friend only had good intentions which drove her choice of words, and had she not experienced such loss in her life before, she wouldn’t have commented on it. But the redhead was no stranger to grief, her mind instantly flicking back to the Trial and the illusion that her teammates were exiting without her. The numerous foster placements she bounced from, a suitcase that always remained packed. Her mother dropping her off in the pitch black of night and leaving her behind.

This situation may have been different from the rest, it was not of Lorcán’s own volition that he found himself at risk of departing too soon. But to Aurora, the cycle continued, no matter the means in which it occurred. The story changed, but the premise was always the same.

“No one ever stays,” She spoke out loud, more tears brimming. “And I am so tired.”

“I thought if I kept him at arm's length, if I managed to keep my feelings at bay, then I wouldn’t get hurt or disappointed when I lost him like everyone else.” She started talking and couldn’t stop, years of yearning and unresolved tension coming to a head, tears overflowing from her eyes once more even though she was under the impression she had nothing left to cry. She’d been stewing over this for days, since the night they shared in the tent, since staying over after the Trial, things finally having come into focus for her.

“But the way I feel about Lorcán is consuming, Harper, and he might die before I ever get the chance to tell him.”

Harper leaned in closer, her eyes never leaving Aurora’s face. Each word that fell from Aurora’s lips seemed to echo around them, resonating with a feeling of sorrow that Harper could almost touch. The years of buried emotions and unspoken fears were now laid bare, and Harper felt the full weight of her friend’s anguish pressing down on her own heart. Her fingers intertwined more firmly with Aurora’s, a silent vow of unwavering support and presence. As always, for her.

She had already suspected the depth of Aurora’s feelings, but hearing them articulated with such raw honesty was a revelation. The name Lorcán hung between them, heavy with unspoken history and emotion. Harper’s thoughts raced, piecing together the fragments of Aurora’s confessions, understanding now the profound impact Lorcán had on her friend’s life. An impact so big that…if the other was to lose him.

She did not, could not, dwell on that thought.

Instead, Harper’s voice was gentle but firm as she spoke, her eyes searching Aurora’s for any sign of reassurance. “I know it feels like the world is falling apart right now,” she began, her tone filled with a quiet strength. “And I can’t imagine how scared you must be. But you have to hold on to hope. Lorcán is strong, and he’s fighting with everything he has right now. Just trust in that.”

Harper’s voice softened, filled with a tender urgency. “And when Lorcán wakes up,” she said, her eyes still locked onto Aurora’s, “you’ll have the chance to tell him everything.” She could see the flicker of hope mingling with fear in Aurora’s gaze. “He needs to hear it, Aurora. He needs to know how much he means to you. You’ve carried these feelings for so long, It’s time to let them out, to share them with him. He deserves to know, and you deserve to be heard.”

Even amongst the agony she felt, to voice her deepest thoughts out loud felt freeing. Her heart was just a bit lighter having confided in Harper the secret she’d scarcely thought she’d tell and it allowed her at least some control in a moment where she previously had none. Aurora sniffled, she didn’t even want to think about how pitiful she looked right now. She gripped onto her friend’s hand tightly as she spoke, anchoring her in the present.

“He may be a fighter, but we have no clue what he’s up against.” The image of Lorcán lying in his hospital bed was at the forefront of her mind. “You didn’t see him Harps, but he looks awful. It’s bad.” She candidly stated.

The redhead took a shaky breath, “I-I slept over at his dorm the other night because I didn’t want to be alone, and he was telling me how much the Trial scared him because he thought he was going to lose me. He said everything that he went through in there was to get me back, that he didn’t know what he’d do if anything had happened to me.” She was an open book in that moment, not caring about her previous reservations, spewing words like a broken fountain much like the tears that still threatened to fall from her eyes. “I should have told him then, why didn’t I tell him then? I missed my chance.”

She hung her head shamefully, “And then in the morning, god Harps, I woke up in his arms and it felt so right, but you know what I did? I left. I teleported out of there so fast that I threw up when I got home.” Her exhale was heavy, as she continued to carry the weight of her actions. “It was so real at that moment, and it terrified me.”

“Rora… it’s okay to be scared,” Harper replied softly, her voice filled with understanding. “Love is… it’s huge, and it’s overwhelming. I can’t say I’ve felt it the way you do…but I understand fear. I understand how it can make you run, even when all you want is to stay.”

Harper’s mind flashed back to the countless moments when fear had gripped her heart. She remembered, in particular, the look in her sister’s eyes when she’d discovered Harper’s abilities. She had always thought it was hatred, but now, thinking back to their previous conversation in the motel, she realized it might have been fear. Fear of losing Harper, fear of what could happen to her. Her sister had loved her, and that love had been wrapped in fear.

But she also knew that love, no matter what form it took, was worth fighting for. That she knew for a fact. Love was a powerful force, capable of overcoming even the deepest fears. And it was probably the best thing, really the only thing, that Aurora could hold onto at this moment.

“Fear is a part of love…or at least I think they’re two sides of the same coin,” Harper continued. “I’ve been afraid too. Afraid of losing the people I love, afraid of what might happen if they knew the real me. But I’ve learned that the love we have for each other is stronger than that fear. And it’s worth facing whatever comes our way.”

The redhead slipped back into old habits for a moment, the four-letter word Harper used causing her to recoil and prepare herself to backpedal. But for once, Aurora stopped and embraced the discomfort.

Because she did love Lorcán.

What originally started as friendship had blossomed into something much more profound over the years she had known him. It was why she felt safe in his presence, the reason she trusted him inherently, the meaning behind her actions. Not just because they were best friends, but because she loved him.

The feeling had been there all along, even when she hadn’t realized what it was.

And it was that which made this situation all the more dire, the cause of her reacting in such a visceral way. The boy that she loved was in critical condition, fighting for his life down the hall, and she was at risk of losing him.

Aurora looked into Harper’s eyes and saw the recognition there, a gentle affirmation of what she was voicing and a wordless support of her current emotions. Her friend was compassionate and loyal, and it was moments like this that she was thankful she came into her life. The redhead's tears slowed and subsided as she beheld the gravity of her words.

As scared as this feeling made her, and as daunting as that four-letter word was, Lorcán was worth it. He always had been, and always would be.

“If he wakes up- when he wakes up, I’ll tell him.” Aurora declared, wiping the moisture from her cheeks.

Harper smiled, a warm, encouraging smile that lit up her face. “Good,” she said, her single word carrying a world of support and confidence.

The redhead managed a sad smile back, but the weight of her current situation dragged it down quickly, her expression morphing into something neutral once more. “Thank you,” She cleared her throat, “For being here for me.” Aurora understood that right now they were all going through it - between this and the implications from the Trial - and it meant everything that Harper had still shown up for her in her moment of need.

She looked up to the door and let out a deep sigh, “I should get back, I don’t want them to notice I’m gone for too long.” Bracing herself on the railing, she stood up and extended a hand down to Harper to help her to her feet. “I know you guys aren’t allowed to visit him, so I’ll try to keep everyone updated.”

Harper clasped Aurora’s hand, rising to her feet. “Thanks. And if you need anything, anything at all, just call me, okay?” Harper’s voice was steady, but the slight quiver in her tone betrayed her worry. “Even if it’s just to talk.”

Aurora nodded before pulling her friend in for another hug, squeezing tightly.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Harps.”

[Lord Wraith]

From the boughs above the flames, a raven watched Lorcán with intense curiosity, hopping from branch to branch while the young man ran about the shadowy woods, tripping over exposed roots and scrambling away from the flames that seemed to block every exit from the dense overgrowth.

Smoke and flame filled the air as shadows belonging to his attacker were cast by the flickering source of light. The horrific screams and groans echoed through the thick rows of trunks as Lorcán tried to put distance from himself and the sound only to seemingly be swarmed on another side.

A pack, and they were hunting him.

Panic began to set in as his powers seemingly were tapped and unresponsive. He could produce even the smallest gout of flame to defend himself. Putting two fingers to his lips, he blew a sharp whistle. A deafening silence came in response, before another scream drew closer. Sweat dotted Lorcán’s forehead before he tried again, the sharp noise whistling through the trees.

But again, Rothschild did not come.

He patted his pockets, frantically feeling for his phone but came up empty. He had it in his hand to talk to Ripley. Then he was attacked, but wasn’t he rescued? Why was he still here?

Why did they leave him behind?

A feral scream put Lorcán on the move again. The black bird watched, turning its head seemingly in amusement as the young man scurried to and fro, finding the dark forest to be a maze that always seemed to lead back to the same clearing he had awoken in.

After what felt like hours, Lorcán slumped to his knees. His body felt weak, like he had been fighting all day. The sweltering heat of the fire was unbearable, even for him as he sat there, sweat pouring out of every pore.

It was beginning to feel like there was no escape from this place. His own personal hell, a penance for his actions during the Trial. After all, he had killed his best friend twice, abandoned his teammates to find Aurora and never once thought about helping Amma despite accepting her aid in his own time of trouble.

“I’ll be back though, I promise.”

“Aurora?” Lorcán yelled, his own voice echoing back to him.

“Aurora!” He repeated, louder this time, “Aurora, I’m here! Follow my voice Lady Dude, don’t leave me!”

“Please! Don’t leave me.”

But nothing came in reply, the crackle of fire filled the air, dulling the screams of the creatures lurking among the haunting trees. A cry of anguish filled the night sky as Lorcán jumped to his feet, tortured noises ringing out on all sides prompting him to cover his ears as tears began to stream down his face.

Admitting defeat, Lorcán looked to the smoke-filled sky and embraced the encroaching darkness.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Northern Forest - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Take On Me #3.022: Right Next Door to Hell

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Sweet Child O'Mine

While Cassander had fully been ready to hike the island, Aiden had instead opted for a pair of horses as the two men rode out from campus towards the North West peninsula. The former H.I.T. agent turned teacher had even managed to borrow some body armour for both himself and Cassander lest whatever had attacked his son was still lurking in the forest.

“Hopefully your year is off to a better start than Lorcán’s,” Aiden smiled, attempting a joke to break the tension while the pair rode dressed for a battle that Aiden hoped didn’t come. He wasn’t a fan of dragging his nephew into a fight, especially a fight where he didn’t know what they’d be up against.

“Vanessa and Calvin are having a hard time adjusting to both you and the Ripper Snipper being out of the house.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re enjoying the chance to be empty nesters.” Cass replied, “Between raising you, taking on foster kids like me and then their own daughter, it’s not like your sister ever got to truly enjoy just time with her and Calvin.”

“Sometimes I forget just how seasoned you are,” Aiden replied, “When you’re not unloading snark. Did you know that Aurora has you in her phone as Sassy Cassy?”

“Unfortunately,” Cass deadpanned, “Yes.”

“What do you think of Aurora?” Aiden asked,

“For me or…?” Cass replied knowingly as Aiden shot him a look that confirmed he was asking for Lorcán before Cass continued.

“He’d be so lucky, she’s smart, funny, she’s a redhead,” Cass replied, “She’s basically part of the family and they’ve been inseparable since I’ve been here. Rippers took a quick liking to her as well.”

“Hard to argue with any of that, Aurora was Lorcán’s first real friend before he was assigned to his Collegiate Team and subsequently Canis.” Aiden agreed. “Tori seems particularly fond of her as well, but Tori has always wanted a daughter,“

“As far as crushes go, Lorcán could have picked far worse, bonus in that she seems to reciprocate if her worry is anything to go off of,” Cass added as Aiden nodded before speaking again.

“And what do you think of Amma?”

“Elvira?” Cass allowed himself a small smirk, “I take it you heard about the ‘incident’ at the trial.” He asked before Aiden gave a knowing nod.

“The Queen of Darkness herself is pretty easy on the eyes if you’re into the alternative look. I still don’t believe she’s not a vampire though.” Cass quipped, “But I don’t know, she’s not exactly citizen of the year, she’s a very different person from Aurora.” He cleared his throat before urging his horse forward and riding alongside Aiden.

“Though, word of advice Uncle Aiden,” Cass stated, “You can’t really pick Lorcán’s girlfriend for him. Even if one of them turned out to be the most toxic relationship in the world, you can’t shelter him from everything. I know he’s the world to you and Aunt Tori and seeing him hurt is akin to cutting your own arm off. But he’s going to spread his wings, and one day you’ll have to let the phoenix take flight.”

“Thinking about him having a future is helping me cope with the fact he’s fighting for his life,” Aiden explained, “But, I know you’re right,” He replied, “Doesn’t make it any easier to let go, let alone hear sage wisdom from my twenty-four year old nephew.”

“Hey,” Cass replied, raising a hand in mock defensiveness, “I’m being raised by the same woman who raised you.”

“Explains the familiar know-it-all attitude,” Aiden teased, “My sister is a wonderful woman, sage beyond her years.” He added, “But if you ever tell her I said that, they won’t even find the ashes of your body.”

“Your secret dies with me,”

“Speaking of secrets,” Aiden had a mischievous glint in the corner of his blue eyes, “The grapevine also says you asked Harper Baxter to the Senior Formal,”

“I asked a girl to a dance, it’s not a big deal.” Cass replied, “Better than going stag or third wheeling with RJ and Alyssa,”

“Don’t you typically run away from romance?”

“No,” Cass replied, “I’m just not interested,”

“So what makes Harper so special then?” Aiden pried as Cass rolled his eyes.

“I dunno, I wouldn’t say she’s special. She was just easy to talk to and she didn’t find me immediately repulsive.” Cass muttered, suddenly finding his face a little warm. “Hard to get a date when everyone thinks you’re Banjo at first glance.”

“Hah,” Aiden laughed, “I can imagine that’s quite the obstacle to overcome.”

“That blowhard is still telling people he stood up to Hyperion,” Cass shook his head, as Aiden shot him a look.

“So you like Harper then?” He asked, “Have you talked to her since the trial? I imagine she’s pretty shaken up like the rest of them.”

“I didn’t say that,” Cass retorted, “And not really, I talked to her yesterday about Lorcán, asked her a bit about how she was doing. She had a new haircut, that was a surprise.”

“A good one?”

“Stop fishing!” Cass had to mind his tone, he knew Aiden didn’t mean any harm and that his Uncle was mostly trying to keep his mind off his dying son, but he certainly didn’t expect to be cross-examined about asking Harper to the dance.

“Everyone knows she likes Gil anyways, I’ll probably never see her after the dance.”

“Not with that attitude,” Aiden replied, “Sure the dance can just be a one-off, or it can be a beginning. A crush isn’t a relationship even if one has made it one in their head. If anything it could just be blinders, she didn’t even know you were an option prior to the weekend after all.”

“Now who’s being all sage,” Cass grumbled before settling further into his saddle.

The rest of the ride was fairly uneventful with both men bearing grim expressions between the rest of their attempts at casual conversation. With a day already passed, whatever attacked Lorcán could have easily moved on. But if it was still on the island, then it was a threat to them all. Ahead of the two mounted men, Rothschild ran along the ground, his nose actively sniffing out the path he and his boy had taken the day before.

“Where did you ever get Rothschild anyways?” Cass asked, watching the border collie streak by before he slowed atop a hill waiting for the two men on horseback to crest before speeding off ahead in the distance.

The dog was considered to be owned by the Roths, but Aiden knew that no one truly owned Rothschild. He was an anomaly, even in the world of Hyperhumans, a dog with abilities that could rival Aiden’s own and many others. Most people believed it was an in-joke that Rothschild had abilities, fewer still had seen them in action. The prevailing rumour was that he was Hyperhuman trapped as a dog. That rumour only just barely kept ahead of the idea that Hyperion was turned into a dog form and kept on campus as a cruel joke by Jim.

“Rothschild came to us,” Aiden replied, “Showed up one day after Lorcán had an incident and was most in need of a friend. Before Aurora showed up, Rothschild was the closest thing Lorcán had to a friend.”

“But,” Cass started, his tone hesitant, “He is just a dog right?”

“I can assure you, he’s not a person.” Aiden replied, “I had him tested and he doesn’t have human DNA nor does he possess any presence of HZEs.”

“So the rumours?” Cass asked, “Are just rumours? But I thought he actually could, y’know?”

“I’ve seen enough things in my time to know I haven’t seen everything,” Aiden replied, “That dog has been one of the best things in my son’s life and I’m not about to call it into question.”

“Hey look!” Cass called, interrupting Aiden's thoughts as the pair pulled up on the trail overlooking the beach.

“His board is still there,” Footprints clearly made by Lorcán’s signature flip flops hadn’t been erased yet by neither rain nor wind.

“We’ll need to remember to grab any of his things that were left behind on the way back,” Aiden replied before clicking his heels to ease his horse up the slope towards the thicker brush.

“I imagine our ability to go by horseback ends up here,” He shouted back to Cass, “This side of the island is underdeveloped due to the proximity to the Black Site.” Aiden explained while dismounting. Hitching the horse to a nearby tree, he watched as Cass did the same before the two men followed the trail of trodden grass and broken branches. Cass felt unnerved walking through this part of the island. Upon entering the thicket, there was a notable drop in temperature, the thick canopy overhead blocking the island sun and leaving the forest floor soft and damp.

But it was the hives decorating the higher branches that unnerved Cassander the most as the insects hovered about, angrily buzzing as if telling both men to leave immediately. A few of the more agitated ones flew down, threatening to sting Cass before seemingly losing interest in their threat, realizing it wasn’t worth their life.

It still left Cassander feeling itchy all over, as he remembered the pain of his first bee sting. Thankfully he was given a reprieve as he followed his uncle into a clearing. The smell of burnt wood was masked by a powerfully putrid odour.

“Scorch marks,” Cass gestured, barely keeping himself from gagging as they entered the clearing. “Though these don't all look like Lorcán's,”

“No,” Aiden replied, “No, they don’t,” His distracted eyes wandered to where the ground was disturbed and turned over. Moss and leaves were raked away from the center of the clearing, a glyph or rune laid out with salt outlined a large pile of ash from which came an alarming odour that Aiden had only experienced during an investigation at a crematorium.

Numerous footprints told a story different from the one he had been fed as Aiden knelt down and examined the tracks left behind. Three distinct sets of prints, excluding Rothschild’s, none just stumbled upon this scene. All had participated in a fight.

A growl from Rothschild suddenly broke the silence.

“You need to leave.” The cocking of a shotgun further caught the attention of both Cassander and Aiden as they turned around to come face to face with a woman dressed in a leather jacket, a hood covering her dark hair while the strange looking shotgun with an axe blade on it was steadily held pointed in their direction.

“It’s not safe here.” The woman looked to be barely older than Cassander, but something about her eyes made Aiden feel she had lived several lifetimes. Rothschild continued to stay low, the hackles on his back raised like a dorsal fin, his lip quivering with the low rumbled in his throat.

“Is this your doing?” Aiden asked, gesturing with his head towards the strange rune beneath the pile of ash while his hands were held up disarmingly in front of him.

“Does that answer matter when I’m holding a shotgun to you?” The woman retorted, “These woods aren’t safe for the likes of you,” She gestured back to the direction the two men had come from. “I’m trying to do you a favour, you need to leave.”

“If it’s a favour, I’d think you’d be willing to explain.”

The light above the clearing suddenly started to diminish as a cloud of buzzing insects began to form, blotting out the sun entirely.

“I tried to warn you,” The woman snapped through gritted teeth, spinning around to put her back to the two men as she levelled the gun towards the cloud, her ears listening intently while her eyes scanned the woods on all sides. Rothschild let out a yelp, backing up as his eyes began to glow while looking towards the blackening sky.

“And now,” The woman whispered towards Aiden,

“She comes.”

[webboysurf]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Academic Quad, P.R.C.U. Campus - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Take on Me #3.023: Everything'll be alright, alright

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Blackjack, Haven - @Skai, Aurora - @Melissa}

Previously: The Lying Man

It was a less than comfortable experience for Rory as the same strict rules that had once felt constricting were now eased. Though, maybe it was just seeing everyone run around in normal clothes during the school day reminded him of high school. As he walked towards the Academic Quad, he quickly scrolled through his phone. He still had a number of messages from classmates and teammates wishing him and the rest of Blackjack well that he had to work his way through responding. More people to lie to, just what he needed. He copy and pasted the same response, something simple about how he was fine and thanking them for their support. He couldn't even remember, and was acting more on auto-pilot than anything.

At least, until Rory's phone lit up with a text from Cassander Charon, another member of the Wolfpack. Cassander shared a house with both Rory and his cousin Lorcán in addition to a fondness for Hyperball. While he would describe Cassander as a friend, they didn't exactly communicate regularly so the message was unexpected.

>Hey, something happened to Lorcán, they've got him in the infirmary and under quarantine until further notice. Wanted to give you a heads up since I hear you're leading Blackjack now, just so you don't think he's skipping out on anything. Parents are with him, but they're not letting visitors in.<

From: Cassie

Rory nearly dropped his phone, fumbling it into the nearby grass as he panicked. His body, instinctively, froze up. He wanted to rush to his roommate's side to check in and make sure that he was ok. He wanted to ask a million questions. Part of him suspected this had something to do with Hyperion's Children... but a cooler mind prevailed. This had to be something different. If it was connected, Jim would keep him updated. If it wasn't connected... well, then that was another egg to toss in his overflowing basket.

As he began to type out a message into the Blackjack group chat, he saw a text from Haven pop up. He finished out his message to the others first, tapping send before switching over.

>Lorcán is in the infirmary under quarantine. I'm concerned like the rest of you, but we can't see him yet. I know it's tough, but make sure you go to your classes if you can. We'll organize trips to see him when he's medically cleared.<

>Calli, let Banjo know.<

To: Oops all Wilds (Team Blackjack)

>Lorcan's in the infirmary? I'll be there soon. go on in without me if you get there first. I'm sure he'll be ok Rory<

From: Wings

Rory swore under his breath as he caught a glimpse of the time. He jogged to class while typing out a response to Haven, nearly barreling through some first years in the process. He managed to hit send as he stumbled into class, getting an irritated look from the professor as he nodded an apology and made it to his seat.

>Quarantined. No visitors. Heading to class. U should 2.<

To: Wings

As he pulled out a notebook to take notes, he felt a small pit form in his stomach. Having to text the group like that, especially after everything they had been through, was more emotionally taxing than he had realized. A horrible realization, one he had logically reached before but had not felt quite yet, dawned on him.

He was the new Tad.

But even now, Rory had bigger priorities. The one thing he knew above anything else, was that there was at least one member of Blackjack who wouldn't have listened to his request when it came to Lorcán. They were practically inseparable, and not even Jim O'Neil himself could stop her if he wanted to. Rory slipped his phone out of his pocket, holding it in his lap as he shot off a quick text to Aurora.

>Keep me posted on Hot Shot. And let me know if you need anything after class.<

To: Red

He sighed as he tapped send and slipped the phone back into his pocket. His eyes turned back up towards the whiteboard, desperately trying to focus on Lacanian Psychoanalysis. But all he could think about was if Lorcán was ok.

Or, even worse... how would he feel if Lorcán turned out to be the traitor?

[Skai]

---

_{Location: Infirmary -> Academic Quad - PRCU}

Take On Me #3.024: Unbirdening Troubles

---

_{Interaction(s): Calliope @PatientBean}

Previously: The Mind is a Restless Bird

"Haven? Are you okay?"

Haven’s foot stilled in the grass. She’d been expecting a text and not a voice. Her head turned, her anxious eyes resting on Calliope and the small bundle of flowers in the blonde’s hands. It was both a relief to see one of her teammates, and also the opposite. “Hey, Calli.” She attempted a half-smile, to cover up the fear that dwelled in her stomach, but it fell as quickly as she’d put it up. There was no use hiding her problems if they were this present and interrupting. She sighed softly, her eyes returning to the grass in front of her. Her lips curved downwards into a frown.

“It’s too similar to the trial.” She began in the hopes that Calli would understand her honesty. “I’m worried about Lorc, and I want to be there for the Roths and Ror and Rory, but I can’t make it past the doors.”

She’d always had the courage to face her fears, but she was finding it hard to remember what it felt like to brush them off her shoulders as easily as she used to. All of her fears had been placed in front of her, and as a group they had unraveled her soul.

“Go on in. I don’t want to hold you up, and they need all the love they can get in there.” She looked back to Calli then with a better attempt at a smile. “I’ll be alright waiting here.”

Calli looked around, unsure how to proceed. Was Haven trying to get rid of her so she could be alone or was this an instance where she wanted someone to talk to? ”If it helps, I doubt they would have let you in anywhere near him. I planned on dropping these off at the front desk so they could give it to him before I went to see Banjo and head to class.” Still, Haven was probably reeling from the Trials. If she was like Harper, or even Calli herself, she would need someone to talk to.

”Hey, want to walk to the quad together? After I drop these off?” Hopefully the girl accepted, but Calli didn’t want to push the issue.

Haven blinked as she realized Calli was right. She had no experience with visitation rules, and she just assumed that anyone would be able to see Lorcán. It made sense that she would have been turned away.

So… she was just expected to go on with her day? Did they expect the same from Rory too? Or Aurora? How could anyone focus when another teammate was hurt again?

“Yeah… that would be nice.” She said, unsure of how to act. “I can wait here until you’re done.”

Calli smiled and went inside. At the front desk she spoke to the receptionist and informed them that she had some flowers for Lorcán. Once that was done Calli made her way back outside. They would hopefully hear word about Lorcán soon and that he would be all right. She could only imagine how Aurora was feeling.

She made her way back to Haven. ”All right. Shall we?” Calli asked, allowing Haven to lead the way. Calli had to admit she was growing more concerned.

Haven stood from her spot as Calli approached, giving her a small nod. She clutched the strap of her bag as she began to walk and glanced over Calli’s way. She was never one for small talk, so she said the only thing that came to mind at present.

“How’ve you been since… y’know.”

Haven was getting straight into it. ”About as well as can be expected. Which is to say not great.” She hadn’t spoken to most of the others after the Trials so she was unaware of what they all had dealt with. ”Still processing a lot of it. How about you?” If Haven was struggling to be inside of a hospital due to what occurred Calli could only imagine what horrors she saw and experienced.

Calli’s words brought an empathetic wince to Haven’s lips, but Haven knew not to expect her to say things were going well anyways. “I’m okay when I’m with Rory, but I feel like I’m always on edge without him.” She pressed her lips together, debating telling Calli more or keeping it simple. She settled for inbetween. “I haven’t felt this way since I started here. I’m glad to have Rory to keep me grounded.”

“How’s… Banjo doing?”

Calli expected this once Haven brought up Rory. How to go about this? Harper helped her process some stuff, but a lot of it still needed to be resolved and to do so she would have to talk to Banjo and more often than not lately they…didn’t talk. Or if they did it was the simple greetings and ‘I love you’s’ which were nice. But Calli could tell something was up with Banjo and if he couldn’t talk to her about it, how was she to talk to him?

”He’s…good. Dealing with his injury as only he can which is by not listening to the medical professionals and being his usual goofball self.” The words, despite their playful look, didn’t quite match Calli’s tone. ”I’m glad you have Rory. It’s nice to have someone be there for you when you need them and accept you.”

A soft smile spread across Haven’s lips as she listened to the subtle complaint. She wasn’t surprised that Banjo was finding it hard to follow directions. If anything, she was glad to hear Banjo was back to being Banjo. She looked over at her blonde companion with that same soft smile.

“I’m grateful for him, really. Neither of us have ever had someone we can be as open with, so… it’s nice to have someone I can trust and who trusts me back.”

“We didn’t leave the dorm much until today, just for a run or for food. It felt great.”

Calli felt equal measures of happiness and concern. She was happy to hear Haven and Rory so happy together. Being there for each other and just spending the day next to them, not worrying about anything.
It wouldn’t last.

Not that it was a bad thing. Far from it. Relationships require those moments where you disagree with your partner and talk about it. Worked it out and came out stronger for it. She and Banjo have had a few of those moments. At the time they seemed bad. Torture. But afterward, they made up and grew stronger. It was why she was so hurt he was keeping her at arm’s length and vice versa. But she didn’t want to rain on Haven’s parade, especially with news about Lorcán and what they all dealt with in the Trials.

”That must have been nice. I remember days like that. I enjoyed them more especially being away from my family. Just being by myself without obligations.” Calli remembered she needed to contact her brother. ”I haven’t spoken to Rory since…well not for a while now. How is he handling all of this?”

Haven looked at the path ahead of them, noticing they were reaching the administration building now. “He’s… shaken, I think. We haven’t really spoken about what we went through in there.” Images flashed through her mind, of being dragged away from Rory in that burning room. She couldn’t imagine what he went through after they separated, but she knew it was eating away at him slowly. “Jim’s asked him to cover for Tad, and I know it put a weight on his shoulders on top of whatever else he has stacked up. I’m being patient while he sorts through it all, and I made it clear he can tell me anything when he’s ready.”

“Has… Banjo mentioned anything to you yet? He found me after the trial– and I’ve been worried about him since but I haven’t found the courage to ask him about it.”

”No, he hasn’t. It’s frustrating. He’s clearly hurting and won’t tell me about it. I told him what I went through. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” Admitting that stung, but if Banjo found it easier to speak to someone other than her about it then she would be happy. Eventually.

Or not at all.

Why was he being so frustrating about it?

She could hear the hurt in Calliope’s voice. With Rory, his silence didn’t feel frustrating, but maybe that was something that would eventually change as time went on. Was that how relationships worked or was it a flaw within Banjo and Calli’s partnership?

“He didn’t really want to tell me, though. Even after he hugged me, and it really seemed like he was going to cry, he didn’t tell me what happened.” She chewed on her bottom lip, until the pieces suddenly put themselves together. ”You don’t think… he thought I died, do you? I was told you were all going to, but I never saw anything but myself.”

Her breath hitched as her lifeless moss and timber eyes flashed before her. “But Aurora shut the door…” She whispered to herself. Had some of their teammates been shown her lifeless body too? Or worse, the bodies of the rest of Blackjack. Her eyes flitted between the bricks in front of her as she thought. Rory hadn’t seen it, right? She couldn’t imagine the pain that it would have caused her to see his lifeless body instead of her own. She would have surely lost her mind.

Calli bit her tongue before she said something she might regret. Then she continued. ”I don’t know. I only know what I went through and that was enough for me. I know everyone went through their own hell so it’s possible he saw your death. Possibly he saw others’ as well. But he won’t talk about it and I am caught at a crossroads of wanting to talk it through with him and not pushing him before he’s ready. I already push him enough as it is.”

That thought at the back of her head. That inner voice. She could still hear it.

Haven could only respond with a slow nod, her mind still caught between those lifeless eyes and wondering what Rory or Banjo went through. She glanced over Calli’s way, her heart twisting momentarily. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Calli let out a small laugh. ”I’m supposed to be helping you. You were the one who couldn’t face going into a hospital. I think the team needs to address it overall. Not necessarily hash it out and unload all that happened, but come together for something. I know the dance is coming up, and I put work into that, but I don’t know if we are in a dancing mood right now. And the school expects us to move on and go to class as normal and train and spar. It’s messed up. Someone hurt us and I don’t plan to let them continue.”

Haven was surprised to hear Calli’s laugh. Yet her small joke had a point. She tried not to show how disappointed she felt for allowing her memories to control her body. The dance, on the other hand, was something Haven wanted to ask Calli about the moment the blonde mentioned it.

“I was thinking, actually… that the dance sounds like fun. I want to wear a nice dress and do my hair. I want to dance with Rory, and maybe drink a bit.”

She looked over at Calli, giving her a small yet encouraging smile. “I don’t think your work should go to waste… and I’d love it if you helped me find a dress on the mainland for it. I don’t know a thing about Hollywood glam.” Her shoulders and wings shrugged behind her.

Calli smiled warmly. Despite her reluctance to even think about the dance, she was still excited. After all she and Gil put some good work into it and now Harper would be helping. But that still left the need for a dress. And shoes. And hair. And make-up. And accessories. ”Attractive thing like you, I bet you know all about glam. But I can definitely help. Maybe some of the others want to come also? We can make it a girl’s trip? I need a new dress as it stands anyway. Something to make Banjo’s jaw drop to the floor the entire night.” Calli actually felt better talking about this. She hoped Haven felt the same.

Haven let out a small giggle, her hand coming to cover her grin for a moment. “I think any dress would have Rory drooling.” She smiled over Calli’s way letting her hand fall back to her bag. “I’d love a girls day…. I just hope Harper and Aurora are up for it.”

“Aurora may not want to leave Lorc’s side…”

Calli pondered that. She would probably be in the same situation if it was Banjo so she was not one to judge. ”Probably not, but she can’t just…stick around waiting. Who knows how long it will be, though I am confident Lorc will pull through. A shopping day may be just what she needs to turn off her thoughts for a moment. And just imagine how wowed Lorc will be seeing Aurora in a beautiful dress.”

“I think some time together would help all of us.” She wasn’t sure how well she’d be doing without Rory’s comforting presence over the last few days. Isolation was something she’d grown used to a long time ago, but she remembered those countless lonely nights. They felt so far away now. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to be alone again.

“Will you start a group text for us? My phone isn’t that great.”

Calli nearly took her phone out, but thought better of it. ”Yeah, I’ll set one up later. Maybe after a day or two. Pretty sure Aurora doesn’t need that at this moment.” Calli looked around, noticing they were nearing their destination. ”Just remember Haven, you are your own person. It’s easy to get lost in the bliss of a new relationship. Be there for each other. Lean on each other. Support each other. But remember to keep being you.” She had to learn that the hard way.

Haven winced as she realized Calli was right. She was thinking too far ahead, desperate to have something to look forward to that she had already forgotten about the situation their amber eyed teammate was in.

She noticed the academic quad in front of them now. Again dreading the thought of sitting in class. It was like they expected them to pretend nothing had happened over the weekend, and that nothing was happening now. This was another curse of society. She didn’t feel like she had time to be sitting in class when her mind was such a mess, but she was expected to. She needed to go, as much as she wanted to disappear into the woods again. Without this degree, she was starting to wonder if she could skirt by on her own means again.

Calli’s next words dragged her out of her mind, her eyes instantly seeking the blonde’s hazels. Their eyes were similar, except for the presence of blue mixed in with the other tones. She nodded to acknowledge the advice, even as it was still sinking in. Was she losing herself to her love? She couldn’t tell. And if anything, Haven felt like she was lost without it. Perhaps it was a package deal that Haven just wasn’t aware of yet.

“Thanks, Calli… I’m glad you found me outside the infirmary.” She offered a small smile, one dimple present on her cheek. “I feel a little better now.”

A buzz from her phone interrupted their moment. Her attention was immediately drawn to her bag, where she pulled out her phone quickly before flipping it open. Her eyes scanned the text message from “Abs <3”, her lips turning downwards into a small frown.

“Lorcán’s in quarantine. No visitors.” She turned her worried eyes towards Calliope. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

Calli took out her phone to see the same message. She wasn’t surprised, but at least it was confirmed. ”He’s made out of strong stuff. I am sure he’ll be fine. Plus he’s got his family and Blackjack behind him.”

Calli would have to grab Banjo before the day was over to let him know about Lorcán. ”Going to class is going to feel weird with everything going on, but some type of normalcy is needed. Life continues even when tragedy hits.”

Again, Calliope was proving to be a wise and comforting voice. Haven took a slow breath as she let Calli’s words wrap themselves around her anxious heart like a blanket. She could make it through the day if she kept them in mind.

“I just hope they go by quickly.” She said with a halfhearted smile. “I hope everything goes well with Banjo… let me know if I need to knock some sense into him.”

She held up a fist in front of her as she started backing towards the health science wing, shaking it halfheartedly. “Seriously.” She said before turning around to continue on her way, her patchy wings tucking into her back as she prepared to enter the building.

[Lord Wraith]

“Death has touched you before.” The baritone voice caught Lorcán off-guard, prompting the young man to spin around. He felt like he had been wandering these burning woods for weeks, the darkness closing on every side, just beyond the fire.

Despite the fire raging on all sides, Lorcán felt cold. His thoughts lucid, unfocused. His eyes were getting heavy, no doubt the smoke affecting him as his chest tightened, and his breathing felt strained. His eyes burned from sobbing and his nose felt congested as he tried to compose himself.

“I mean you no harm.” The voice said again, Lorcán’s sunset-hued eyes darting back and forth through flame and shadow before realizing it was the raven on the bough above his head who spoke.

“I am here to offer comfort, and eventually, guidance.”

“I must be going out of my mind to be talking to a bird.”

“If this form doesn’t comfort you,” The Raven replied, flying to the ground before standing, blue eyes met Lorcán’s own as hair the colour of a starless night fell from the woman’s head, covering a pale shapely form.

“Then perhaps this one will,” She smiled, the baritone replaced with a melodic tone.

“Whoa,” Lorcán took a step back, “Nah brah, that form isn’t exactly one of comfort.” He replied, his eyes attempting not to wander along the hair that was just barely covering her modesty.

“Then how about this?” The Raven asked, her body shrinking a few inches, the hair turning from black to copper. Leggings appeared over her lower half while the top was covered in a baggy sweatshirt. She was younger than Lorcán now.

“You look like-”

"Your guiding light." The Raven replied, holding out her hand, “Come, I want to show you something.”

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Northern Forest - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Take On Me #3.025: Live and Let Die

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Right Next Door to Hell

The insect humanoid paused, looking at the interlopers, her wings beating rapidly into a barely registrable blur. Sharp hairs and jagged pieces of chitin protruded from the exo-skeleton that covered whatever humanity was left underneath.

She had appeared from within the trees, a drowning sound of buzzing wings nearly rendered all other noises inaudible as she hovered whilst circling the three trespassers. Her body shape was human, but that’s about where the similarities ended as it was buried beneath a grotesque exterior.

Her compound eyes looked from Cass with disinterest to Aiden, as a faint familiarity washed over her face before being displaced by apathy. The filthy four-legged mammal was of no concern to her, but upon turning to the female, the insectoid’s mandibles vibrated aggressively. The female threatened her sovereignty and couldn’t bear another laying claim to her throne.

This was her territory, she was the Queen. And the Queen had entertained enough trespassers for one week and now more had come to her forest. First was the monster from the other world and then the students. Now more from the school had come, one that she remembered but she did not.

But she could not abide a threat, especially not a direct one. The female interloper had already attacked her once. It had been an underhanded assault, an insult not easily forgiven and the Queen was not in a forgiving mood.

Forgiveness was a human emotion and they had made it very clear, she was no longer human. She turned back to the graying male, hovering closer, prompting him to take a step back, an arm outstretched, protecting his young.

Finally, a human action she could at least begrudgingly respect.

It was in taking a step back that Aiden's eyes were drawn upwards once again to the numerous hives that dotted the branches above. Only then did the older male begin to connect the dots. This was not a chance encounter, this was her colony.

He had heard of the Hornet, the Swarm Queen when he was an agent. One of the first incarcerees of the Black Site, the Hornet had been a special case and left to build her colony outside the prison complex. But with the Black Site gone, and the island compromised it had sent the Queen elsewhere.

And now they were on her land.

“This is a person,” Aiden hissed towards the woman with a shotgun. “I cannot allow you to kill her.”

“Do you want to live and let it die?” The woman snapped back, “Or would you rather that the other way around.”

“She was displaced by actions beyond her control,”

“And that’s exactly why she needs to be put down.” The woman snapped back, “Boy, talk some sense into your old man.”

At the tone of her voice, the Queen turned her hostility fully on to the woman in front of her. Fingertips tipped with razor sharp barbs curled and uncurled eagerly.

And then the entire world went white.

“Run!” Cass yelled, shielding his eyes from his own flashbang before grabbing Aiden’s arm and pulling him towards the treeline. Moving through the brush, the sound of the shotgun discharging echoed behind them. A haunting howl from Rothschild filled the forest before the dog was suddenly between the two men while they moved.

“That woman is going to get herself killed,” Aiden yelled over the snapping of brush beneath their feet, “You keep going, I have to go back.”

At his words, Rothschild seemed to bark in protest before Cassander spoke up.

“I’m not going back there and telling Aunt Tori you played hero and left me to be the messenger,” He replied,“I’m coming too.”

A low growl filled the air as Rothschild stood in their path. Aiden looked down at the dog before moving to step over him. Rothschild planted himself firmly in the older man’s way again, repeating this several times before Aiden pushed past the dog and ran back to the clearing.

Breaking free of the treeline, Aiden found the ground beneath his feet suddenly transitioned from the soft forest floor to a distinct crunch. Looking down, he realized the ground was littered with the carcasses of the numerous insects from earlier. The axe blade of the strange hybrid weapon was lodged into a nearby tree and the woman’s body lay on the ground, seemingly unmoving as Aiden tentatively approached.

“Is she…dead?” Cassander asked, as Aiden paused, listening for the Swarm Queen to return. The forest was silent, void of any of its previous noises. Rothschild’s footprints broke the silence as the dog happily trotted across the field of dead bugs.

Approaching the woman, Rothschild sat beside her before nudging the woman with his wet nose. He gave her a lick that ran the entire length of her face before she suddenly gasped and sat up. Cassander watched the scene unfold, surprised when the woman’s hood fell off, her long wavy, brunette hair spilling out while her green eyes met Cassander’s own emerald ones.

“You two are morons.” The woman replied standing before dusting herself off. Walking straight past Aiden, she gripped her weapon with one hand and easily removed it from the tree trunk before collapsing it into a holster.

“What did you do with her?” Aiden asked, his eyes scanning for a body.

“I sent her somewhere she can truly be free,” The woman responded, “Your island should be safe until another Conjunction now, both her and the wendigo are dealt with.”

“The wendigo?” Aiden asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Hype,” The woman replied again, “Just know you and your students are safe.”

“What happens if a wendigo had already attacked a student?” Aiden asked, “My son was attacked by something in these woods. He’s suffering right now and they have no idea how to help him. What would that kind of injury look like?”

“Never heard of that happening, especially to a Hyperhuman.” She replied, her tone softening to the older man’s plea. “But the injury would look like decaying flesh, and it’d have an awful smell. You could slow the spread with a salve of crushed chrysanthemums, maybe amputation as a last resort. Wendigos are tricky creatures, typically they seek to devour the Überseele in an effort to both feed and multiply.”

“We grow chrysanthemums in the greenhouse,” Aiden said, turning to Cass, “We need to hurry back.”

“How’d you even find this place?” Cassander asked the woman, “You’re clearly not a Hype.”

“It wasn’t hard,” She smirked, “Nice trick back there,” The brunette said, lifting her chin towards Cassander, “Stupid, but nice work.”

Rothschild barked seemingly in agreement.

“Surprised the dog likes you so much, he doesn’t take to strangers.”

“He’s not a dog.” The woman responded looking at Cass with an expression that he couldn’t help but feel insulted by. “Go help your friend,”

“Can’t you stay and help,” Cass asked, “We don’t even know your name.”

“Ellara,” She responded, “See you around.”

Ellara winked before a glyph on her collarbone began to glow and she vanished from sight.

“Pick up your jaw,” Aiden patted Cassander on the back, “We have to see if this helps Lorcán.”

[PatientBean]

Trigger Warning: Attempted Sexual Assault

The doorbell rang for the second time. The young man at it looked as presentable as a teenage boy could. He wore a dark gray button-down shirt tucked into matching slacks and black loafers. He looked like he was dressed for prom, but prom was months away. He held a bouquet of pink roses. He shifted from one foot to the next, either nervous or in need to use the bathroom. Soon the door opened and Senator Garcia and his wife stood there. While the Senator eyed the young man from head to toe, his wife, at least, had kinder eyes. Though something was hidden behind them.

"You must be Jonathan. Please, come in." The senator moved out of the way while his wife took three steps back, almost like she decided never to be near him if she could not help it. Jonathan moved inside tentatively.

"Calliope should be down in a minute. Can I get you anything?" the Senator's wife asked. Jonathan shook his head. "No ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." The senator looked almost proud. He tapped his foot as a sign of growing impatience. Soon, though, they heard some movement upstairs. Calliope moved around the corner. She was dressed in a pink dress the same shade as the roses. After all, this whole thing was planned to the finest detail. She moved down the stairs with some hesitancy that could be masked to indicate direction and desire, as if to say 'look at me'. Once she was down Jonathan strode forward and handed her the roses. "You look beautiful, Calliope." Calliope smiled softly and accepted the flowers. She smelled them and allowed the scent to linger, remembering this moment. "Why don't I take those and put them in a vase so you both can be on your way? her mother asked, taking the flowers before Calli could accept or refuse. "Now you both have a good time. Don't stay out too late. I expect her back at 10 sharp." The senator directed this to Jonathan. No indication to Calliope about what she should do, though that lecture was given when this 'date' was planned weeks ago.

Jonathan grabbed her hand and Calli fought off the urge to flinch. Go with the flow. "I'll have her back by then, sir. You have my word." The senator smiled and followed them outside before they went to Jonathan's car. She got into the passenger seat and glanced over to her parents. Her father's gaze never left hers but her mother held a hand to her heart. A proud moment? Or the beginning of a prayer? Calli could not be sure.

---

The evening wasn't terrible. They went to a Mexican restaurant and enjoyed their meal. Calli ignored the subtle comments Jonathan made regarding the staff, the jokes about how they must have recently crossed the border or how the waitress reminded him of his family's maid. After all, she had to swallow it down if she wanted to get out of this quickly. Be the perfect date. Smile, laugh at his jokes, compliment him. Do not act intelligent so that he may not question his own and feel bad. She shows interest in his hobbies but do not brag about her own. She had been on a few dates before with boys set up by her father in the hopes of landing something in the future. She had always done her due diligence but the relationship never lasted beyond a second or third date, usually at the boy's insistence. She expected her father to be mad or upset, but he wasn't. Instead, he told her he 'got what he wanted' and left it at that.

Once dinner was done and paid for (with no tip though Calli slid a $20 bill to make up for it) she followed him outside. Jonathan suggested a walk in the nearby park before going to get ice cream. Calli nodded her approval and began to walk but was slowed down when he reached for and grabbed her hand. She looked at him and smiled warmly despite the ice she felt in her veins. Soon they walked hand-in-hand. Few people were milling about. "Beautiful night." Jonathan commented matter-of-factly. Calliope looked around. "Yes, it is. I love this ti-" Calli's thought was interrupted as Jonathan leaned over and began to kiss her. Calli's eyes widened in shock as she felt his tongue enter her mouth. She quickly pushed him back. He gave her an incredulous look before leaning over again. She raised her hand and slapped him audibly. He lifted his hand to his growing redder cheek. Time stood still.

Calli should have run. She should have ran back to the restaurant and told them to call the police, even though she knew little would be done. She should have done something other than stand there, waiting.

Jonathan lowered his hand. "I thought we were getting along." His tone suggested calmness, which did not match his body language. Calliope wanted to assure him that they did, but she didn't feel comfortable with intimacy on a first date. Instead, before words could be stated, she felt herself thrown back on the grass as Jonathan landed on top of her, pinning her down. His grip on her wrists fastened her in place and he was too strong to be budged. "Do you not get it, bitch? Do you not know who my family is? I get what I want!" Calli opened her mouth to scream but he quickly backhanded her across the face. "If you say one word I will kill you." Calli looked around, hoping someone nearby saw this, but even if they did, what could they do? Jonathan's family had power and prestige. Power her own family wanted.

"Now, you are going to be good and accept this." Calli struggled, moved. She closed her eyes and pictured her anywhere else. She wanted to scream and yell. She wanted to hurt him. Stop him by any means necessary. She wanted nothing more than to see him hurt.

A scream in the darkness. She felt something warm spread across her face as she opened her eyes. Jonathan had gotten off of her and fell backwards as he gripped his arm. He looked at it and then at her with a mix of fear and anger. Fear won out, it seemed. "You're a freak! You're one of those freaks!" He stood up as more blood soaked through his shirt. Calli sat up and noticed the growing ice field around her. Shrapnel pieces of icy glass poked out of the ground, all firing straight lines around her. Jonathan must have gotten poked and stabbed. The ice slowly evaporated around her as she stood up. Jonathan was backing away. "Wait until my father hears about this!" he nearly screamed before running off into the night, leaving her there. Alone.

---

Calliope walked home. She was well past 10 o'clock. But she moved up her driveway to the front door. She took out her key and unlocked it, stepping foot into the cool front room. She shut the door and locked it. No reason to hide her entrance. She knew her father would be ready.

Sure enough, he sat in his chair in the adjoining living room. He had his phone in his hand and a cigar in the other. She moved toward him and he held a hand up to stop her. "I received a call from Mr. Ellis. Jonathan's father. He informed me his son came home bloodied and injured. So badly was he hurt he had to be rushed to the hospital. Mr. Ellis tells me Jonathan said you injured him for no reason. Attacked him in the open." He looked up at her.

She twisted one hand in the other, feeling the pressure rise. What answer would be satisfactory? Before she could speak, he followed up his response. "I expect he tried to do something to you and you acted in self-defense. I explained as such to Mr. Ellis. I also informed him that should he with to pursue anything legally that he would be ground to dirt with all I have on him and that it would be better for all parties involved to forget this evening happened."

Calli stood there, stunned. Her father had...defended her?

Calli's father stood now, setting his cigar down and putting his phone away. He took a few steps forward. Calli looked up into his eyes and before she could speak, felt the sting across her own cheek as he raised his hand and slapped her, nearly sending her to the ground.

"I told you to hide it! I told you to never show it to anyone! Do you know what I have to do to shield this from getting out? No, of course you don't. A simple date nearly killed a boy because of what a freak you are!"

Calli felt tears sting her eyes as she fought hard against them. She stood up straight again, but dared not face him.

"Next time? Let him." he said, finally, before turning and heading upstairs to his bedroom to get a night's sleep, leaving his daughter battered, broken, and confused.

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_{Location: Southern Plateau, Dundas Island - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #3.026: The Sum Of All Things

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_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: Deep Breathing

"As lawyers, one of your jobs is to interpret the law. Laws are ever-changing. Rulings get overturned when new laws are brought forth. However, your role is to use those skills to have the law work for you. Classic cases such as Roe v. Wade in the United States can set things up that last eons, but a pitfall many lawyers make is assuming the case you try will be as groundbreaking. And no, it will not be like Elle Woods single-handedly overturning a trial because you know about hair care."

The classroom chuckled as the professor went on. Calliope sat in the back row, paying some attention but finding herself getting distracted. Recent conversations were clearing things up, but she was still worried. Guilt-ridden. And expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment wasn't helping her with sleep.

And that voice in her head. It seemed to get louder.

Her mind was racing to the others. Lorc was in the hospital and it was unknown how he was fairing. Gil was still in the hospital even though it seemed like he would be getting out soon. Their conversation was...dry. She didn't expect him to bounce back easily after everything but the way he interacted with her...there was no heart. Haven was dealing with her own struggles, thankfully having Rory around was helping, but even then Rory was now placed in a situation that was sure to add stress. Harper was going through something also. Aurora was with Lorc. Katja was....who knows where. And Amma. Girl was absent and Calli didn't like it. Amma was never warm or welcoming, but the fact someone had started the whole Trial thing made her question it. Still, she didn't think Amma was involved. She remembered seeing her once they got out. Calli didn't get the sense Amma was hiding that, though it was clear she was hiding something.

"Let's put an example. Can I get a volunteer?"

Calli snapped back to attention, wondering what was being done now. The professor glanced around the room. After a spell, she sighed. "All right, I'll choose. Let's see..." She scanned the class as her eyes rested on Calli. "Yes, Miss de León. Let's say you have a client who is charged with the sexual assault of a woman. What are some of the roadblocks you would face in providing a defense for the client?"

Calli looked around briefly, wondering how the topic got to this point. But she didn't want to make it apparent she was not paying attention. "Well, one would be in wondering if he committed the act or not."

The professor raised her hand to stop Calli. "You assume the client is male?"

"I suppose I did, but most sexual assaults perpetuated against women are from cisgender men."

"True, but would your defense be different if the client, the one accused, was a woman who assaulted another woman?"

"No, the act itself is heinous if it was committed, but I would do my due diligence and provide the best defense possible."

"So what other roadblocks could there be?"

"There's...history."

"History?"

Did the professor know? Is that why she chose her? "I was the victim of sexual assault in my past. So there's a potential block there if I felt in any way my client was guilty."

The professor nodded, though Calli couldn't gauge if they knew or not. "Do you feel you would be able to defend the client or would you need to pass it off to someone else?"

"That would largely depend on the circumstances."

"In what way?"

"Given that sexual assault can be connected to anxiety and trauma it is not out of the realm of possibility that some things might trigger a lawyer, whether it was myself or not. I would hope I am able to identify within myself how much I am able to handle, but I would use my best judgement and pass it off if I felt I could not do my job to my full potential."

"We often do not get that luxury though, Miss de León. Often you will have clients coming to you, whether through criminal or civil law, who you may find some connection to or may hate or judge. How does one get over that?"

Calli felt her breath hitch a bit, remembering events of her past. The professor continued. "I mean, what if a client came in who was charged with abusing his daughter? Could you handle that?"

The class turned to look at her as she felt every eye scan her. Judgement. She took a deep, labored breath. "I...believe I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

The slam of the desk reverberated around the room, causing some in the room to jump. Calli's hand hurt after she slammed her fist against the desk in front of her. She took a few more deep breaths. "I would hate every minute of it. I would take several showers to wipe the grime I felt working with him. I would ensure I take proper care of myself when home and engage in self-care. I would speak to a therapist if need be. But I would do my damn job." She looked up, glaring daggers at the professor, sure that they knew exactly what they were doing. "Does that answer your question, professor?"

The professor adjusted their tie. "This is why you check yourself when taking on cases. There will be ones with detrimental impacts on you. Thank you, Miss de León."

Calli sat back down, nursing her hand. She took a few more deep breaths. She would need to make an appointment soon.

And she damn well needed to talk to Banjo.

[Rockette]

_{Location: Infirmary Gardens . - P.R.C.U. Campus.}

Take On Me #3.027: aqua regia.

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_{Interaction(s): katja. - @Zoldyck}

Previously: away & mirror, mirror.

She felt her before she saw her.

Her sphere of influence and perception is magnified, from every rustle and prick of grass impaled and torn by her nails, every scar of her usually graceful gestures pulsating with the vice she maintained to the earth below. It was anchoring her to this reality, as shadows oozed and spread through the fringes of her vision, her glare burdened by shapes of devilish creatures and profiles of malice that clicked and hummed with cruel grins wreathed in jagged bone. Awareness sires through her limbs as electric impulses of red dance through her pores, flashes of power gilded to every flicker of muscle as Amma lanced her gaze from the proffered hand she witnessed in her most recent nightmares, often beheld of blood and a broken heart, and ticked every passing glance through her lashes bidden on high in the first dawning touches of apprehension not befitting to her usual disposition. She cannot help with the way her eyes flicker, brightening just so in recognition, framed in glistening silver as she pins that intensity upon her shoulders- shoulders she had maimed, shoulders she had touched and broken and made bleed. The manifestation of her chaotic maladies that had impaled through imposing musculature and rent apart flesh and nearly bone. The hand before her was now bathed in red sorrow, the illusion of crimson pooling over the delicate motion hoisted above her crown where she was helpless against the rightful vengeance that would see to her demise.

Amma’s entire body goes rigid, a slight tension that corded through her lithesome shoulders that curled inward, pressing herself flush against the stone bench that ground against her aching back. Her lashes pan down low with a sliver of teeth edged onto the pout of her lip, liken to a feral animal retreating in on itself, her guards take one step, recognizing the signals almost immediately until she speaks.

“I’m fine.” She claims once more, louder enough for them to hear, and shifts her body enough to reach back, palm braced against stone, the entire length of her arm at such a disadvantage as she attempts to lift herself- the prideful of the fallen given here, as she rejoins on a whisper.

“I don’t need help. I don’t need anyone.”

Katja took in a deep, shaky breath as she could feel that horribly beautiful power of Amma. Her shoulders, despite supposedly being treated for any pain, started intensely throbbing as she was reminded of the painful sensation of being touched by that crimson lightning. Her hand twitched slightly as all of it came back to her. Though it only lasted for a split second, to Katja it felt like she was experiencing that night in the tent all over again: The confusion, the anger, the confrontation, the pain and the promise. All of it played out in front of her again.

Seeing Amma on the ground in that almost bestial pose of hers almost made Katja wish she would lash out at her again. At least then it would be over. All the pain, all the doubt, all the sorrow. The loneliness. Scattered with the wind as she was turned into dust by that incredible malicious energy.

But then she heard Amma utter those words. Words that echoed her very own when Harper and Rory had offered their help to her right before the Trials. Words that she now deeply regretted as she now understood how they must have felt when she told them off, much like Amma was doing to her right now. Despite everything, it pained Katja to see the pale girl like this. It was only a little over a week ago when they had both enjoyed their time on the beach. Where she could still embrace Amma and, despite the other’s rejections of the concept, treat her as a friend. She wanted that back. She would do anything to have that back.

But Katja knew that, if it were even possible, that would take time. She knew that she couldn’t force things through. One glance at her current state was enough argument against that course of action.

So instead she swallowed and spoke with trembling hands.

“I know.” Katja uttered meekly as she took a step back and slowly pulled her hand away after the rejection, needing no reminder of what would happen if she insisted on helping Amma. “Just felt like I should offer you the option regardless.” Her voice grew softer as her confidence seemed to wane by the second until finally only a barely audible whisper escaped from under her breath.

“To show that I care.”

“Hah! That’s laughable,” a bitterly seeded trill spooled from her lips, slithering through her gritted teeth as her arm strained to withhold her weight, every nerve wailing in pain, every muscle locked tight and taut and incredibly worn. She could feel the trio of serpents still clamored over her skin, writhing and coiling, bunched and feathering those forked tongues at the horrid scar she suddenly felt obligated to conceal. Her fingers clutched at the slope of her sweater, the sin of vanity wrought through her being as she laughed.

“I forget, teammates and all that. Blackjack is drenched in it.”

Though she hesitated, for just a second, her opposite gesture relinquished its hold at her breast and clung to the stone bench, hoisting herself up as best she was physically able. She shook her head once, twice, a terrible buzzing lancing through her lobe, stricken upon her thoughts and woes, and clung to every quivering muscle that refused to obey.

“Dammit!” Her legs gave out and slid out from beneath her, one arm spread aloft where her fingers clutched and dragged against the stone, and the other spearing her nails into the dirt where grass gave way to her self-inflicted wrath and pity. Amma cursed, head canted down low where a hardly interceptable nod followed, her critical gaze aglow in frigid blue oblique through her sweeping lashes and fringe of black hair.

Katja ignored the jibe towards Blackjack. Amma had made herself very clear about her feelings towards the team, so it didn’t come as a surprise to Katja to hear the derision in her voice. Instead, she looked on in subdued silence at Amma as she tried to hoist herself back up on the stone bench. Seeing her fail, Katja had to repress her instinctual urges to rush in to catch the other girl before she hit the ground. An urge betrayed by the flaring of her nostrils and a slight twitch of the tall girl’s fingers.

She wanted to look away, to spare at least some of the pride of the injured girl. But right as Katja was about to shift her gaze, she caught the blue eyed stare of Amma. Those eyes that had mocked her so cruelly mere days ago. Those very same eyes that had, if only for a fraction of a second, shown remorse at the harm she had done to her. Now however, there was a different look in those eyes, one that Katja couldn’t quite place. And with it came a barely noticeable nod of acquiescence.

The first step Katja took towards the downed girl was clearly a hesitant one, as she wasn’t quite sure she interpreted Amma’s nod correctly. With no reprisal forthcoming, the second step became more confident, while the third was a full on stride that was enough for her to cover whatever distance had been between the two girls. Squatting down, Katja put one arm under Amma’s legs while using her other arm to support the girl’s back. She locked eyes for just a moment, as if to ask whether the raven haired girl was ready. As no objections were uttered, Katja perceived this as her go signal.

“One, two…” The large South African said before she easily rose back to her full height, the slim shape of Amma in her arms. Katja didn’t activate her powers for the task, as the effort didn’t require it and she was afraid that she might accidentally injure Amma more by a reflexive action due to being exposed again to the pale girl’s HZEs.

“You still okay Am-” Katja interrupted herself as she looked down at Amma cradled in her arms, an embarrassed blush wasting no time to appear on the blonde’s cheeks. Looking away, Katja hastily, but gently, put Amma down on the stone bench before taking another step back to create some respective distance between the two again.

She can’t help it, she doesn’t want to, but Amma is reminded of another instance when someone picked her up in such a similar fashion- a time so distanced from now, another world, another girl that took kindness and melded it into something more, and a boy that just wanted to show her what fun actually was. There was no comparison to be had, the two vastly different, but she was human; of limited means perhaps; a multifaceted creature of cruelty and malice, but a human nonetheless that clasped her palm briefly over Katja’s shoulder- and promptly took it away.

It lasts for maybe a second, a small glimpse into the soul within, but Amma is uncertain if what she feels is what many would compare to the emotion of guilt.

“Always am.” She utters, the bench utterly frigid against her gestures, she could not explain why she felt so entirely weak, her body spent and drained, all the rest she had accrued in the last few days did little to assuage the exhaustion of her mortal frailties. HZEs were restored instantly, the world once more at her beck and call and ebb and flow, so why did she feel so frail? Amma lifted one scarred palm up to her inspection, fingers splayed and arched as she slowly curled each nail against her scars, tacking to each line smothered with the whorls of heart and fate. She lifted such up to the filtered dapples of sunlight through the dogwood tree, attempting to decipher why her body felt weighted, liken to a stone within a pit of darkness.

Her penetrating glare falls upon Katja once more, finding it within herself to inquire, a mutter of gratitude failing to find itself betwixt them.

“Why are you even here?”

Katja cast her eyes down the moment she felt Amma’s piercing stare at her, like a schoolgirl caught by their teacher doing something they shouldn’t. The brief flush in her cheeks almost immediately disappeared, as the sense of embarrassment evaporated in an instant. Being replaced by anxiety, a feeling she had grown very accustomed to over these last few days.

“I came here because I…” She paused once, clicking her tongue in frustration as she couldn’t seem to utter the last few words. “Because I…”She said a second time, softer than before. “I…” Katja said meekly now, before finally clearing her throat and trying again after taking a deep breath to regain her composure. When next she spoke, it was with more volume and confidence, as was more befitting of her. “Because I need help.”

She nodded over in the direction of the infirmary, obstructed by well maintained brushes, trees and flowerbeds, but looming in the distance all the same. “I wanted to schedule an appointment, or maybe have a walk-in therapy session if that were possible. I’ve never really gone to any of the therapists here, even if it was mandatory. They’re not really sending people after you if you don’t go, and I always found that the gym was a better place to deal with my issues than by talking to someone.”

“But this time, that just didn’t seem to help.” She looked up, her ice blue eyes meeting the cerulean of Amma’s gaze. A melancholic smile curled up her lips as she continued. “So I figured I’d try this out for once. See if they can help me deal with whatever it is I’m struggling with. To deal with the loneliness.” Katja lowered herself down to sit on her haunches, a shaky breath ushering in a short pause.
“To deal with the pain.”

It was then, with her focus being on the word pain, that Katja noticed that the pulsing in her shoulders was gone for the first time since she laid her eyes on Amma. She reached out with one hand to the one that Amma had only briefly grasped. But apparently, that gesture had been enough to soothe the hurting feeling. She clutched her shoulder firmly, whether for confirmation or as a sign of appreciation she did not know, but clutch it she did. And as she did, she imagined that some of the cloudiness in her eyes dissipated, as she could have sworn that her picture of Amma became clearer in front of her.

“They just ask a lot of questions,” she states, a matter of fact, unleashing her gaze and casting them heavenward, a breeze teasing through the branches above and the longest strands of black curled against her nape and spine. “Loneliness and pain go hand in hand, side by side. I think.”

Pain was an eternal friend, pain was familiar, pain made one aware of life and gave meaning to it- to existence. The agony of the living could hardly be spared for the woe of the dead, and if her desire of life to live everything to the fullest capacity, to be as unforgiving and sown deep with that ambition, meant to be burned by agony for eternity- then so be it. Loneliness, however, was more of the unknown, for she did not understand the discrepancy of its meaning and defilement, betwixt those who wanted to be alone and those who could not harbor that monochromatic shade of personal ailment.

“Sometimes,” Amma breathed a sigh, unable to still the confession that whisked away in a whisper. “It is better to be alone.”

Katja cast her eyes down as she let Amma’s words sink in. She had to admit that there was a grain of truth in them. Afterall, she wouldn’t have felt this sense of betrayal if she had just stuck on her own and never signed up with Orcinus to begin with. She balled her fists at the thought of being so easily sacrificed, but mostly because she realized that she was not blameless in this respect either. If her now former allegiance came to light Katja was sure that all in Blackjack would be hurt the same way Katja was hurt now. If she had continued being alone, none of this would have been a concern.

“Perhaps you are right.” Katja said as she wrapped her arms around her legs before resting her chin on her knees. She remained quiet for a moment, staring out to nowhere in particular as Katja seemed lost in thought. “Perhaps,” She admitted softly, almost inaudible to all but her. “It is better to be alone.”

Yet as those words left her lips, Katja could feel the small girl she had once been scream out in rejection of this line of thinking. She was reminded of how dark the world seemed when she had been alone, shunned and persecuted by a world that didn’t understand her, or any of her kind. And then she recalled how happy she became when first entering PRCU, being accepted for who she was rather than being judged for what she was. How overjoyed she was when someone called her a friend for the first time. And how grateful she was to know that she had them in her corner.

“On the other hand,” Her eyes flicked back up towards Amma, the sadness from earlier giving way to a more uplifting gaze. “Sometimes it helps to be able to air your heart to someone who truly listens.” An embarrassed half smile cautiously curled up on her lips as her eyes remained locked on Amma, making sure that the implication would be obvious to the other girl.

“Because sometimes, it’s nice to know that someone has your back, no matter what.”

In that moment, she is reminded of Haven, those eyes of moss and bark that had sparked in defiance to her truth, that had refused to to submit to her glare and refused to believe that the world was as hopeless and lost as Amma knew it to be. Her lips curled into a delicate smile there, a sort of spun mirth that was suspended in disbelief at the toils of friendship given here, to the same words that had been spoken in stubborn whispers:

Don’t you want someone to have your back?

Haven and Aurora had refused to leave her behind but did one such act of kindness and understanding equate to the forgiveness of life undone and cruel and forsaken? Did that allow her heart to yawn forth on the hinges of yearning and want of kinship, despite all she had done, despite all that she had yet to do? Amma’s expression hardened with a glacier mask of porcelain donned over the dejected glimpse of her inner thoughts, the creature suspended betwixt a cage of bone uncoiling from rest and reared forth the crown of blood and hate that she clung to all the more.

“No matter what. Does that account for what I did to you? Does that account for what I did to-” Her voice drops away, face contorted at the lapse of sound that came out in a wince, the buzzing betwixt her ears returning tenfold.

“Where does the line of Teammates truly end, where does it begin, tell me, Katja. How far does it really go? How much can it withstand?”

“No matter what, to me, means no matter what.” Katja said with a shrug before glancing over at the shoulder Amma had touched earlier. “Fights happen, and with some of us the effects are just more violent than with others.” She gently rubbed a hand over the same spot before forming her hand into a fist and giving two knocks on the wound. “That doesn’t mean we can’t move past that.” A smile formed on her lips, the first one since before the trials. Katja just uttered the words she herself needed to hear the most. If the people in Blackjack were truly her friends, which she thought they were, they would eventually find it in their hearts to forgive her for breaking their trust.

“Afterall,” She said softly, almost in a mumbling way. “That’s what friends are for.”

Katja looked up from her shoulder to meet Amma’s harsh stare with a soft gaze of her own before she clearly proclaimed. “Not Teammates. Friends.”

Katja quickly raised both of her hands before Amma could interject, ushering her to pause any sort of retort with a calming gesture.

“I know what you think about friends. Trust me, I am very well aware of your stance on that.” Her lips curved into a rueful grin before continuing. “And I am by no means trying to force you to accept all of us, or even just one of us, as your buddies or mates. Not at all.” Katja shook her head wildly from side to side before pausing and taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m just saying that, even if you don’t like to think of others as friends, I would like to be the next best thing to you. Just like with Rory, Haven or Harper, I will do whatever I can to help you through whatever hardships you may face. But only if you let me.” Katja bites down on her lower lip as she finally averts her eyes from those fierce orbs of Amma’s. Still seated on the ground, her shoulders slumped slightly as only a weak muttering escaped her lips, for she realized she might have pushed too far again like last time. “And, more importantly, only if you’d want me to.”

Amma scoffs: “Is there some kind of script you guys pull that from? Haven said something similar before -”

“Well, before.”

It was such a strange feeling, fleeting and barely there, but peculiar all the same: how Katja was able to express herself, how Haven was able to convey her defiance in the face of the damned, how Aurora’s emotions were so easily and carelessly illustrated with that hopeless desperation of life and love. How even individuals like Lorcán were able to glimpse beyond the beast and find the girl within that yearned to love and be loved in return. Amma’s gaze fell away, lashes swept low liken to a moth’s wing upon her cheeks that fanned and narrowed, thoughts unbound. She barely discussed the Trials endured, even with her therapist, unable to speak aloud of The Beloved she encountered, the likeness of happiness and the witness of those delicate arms embraced and linked to broad shoulders, the lips of bitten red and blossoms of a rose that swelled with the euphoric grin and bliss and completion known by the heart to be whole. She could not acknowledge the needles that had penetrated beneath her skin over and over, the numerous injections she had been forced to live through, the last decade rent asunder through her being to break her again and again.

“You are far too forgiving, Katja.” Wisdom flitted to her voice, clinging to her whispers, something aged and lost. “I asked for someone to kill me, and he refused, for all that I have yet to do. For all that I am meant for, the role I have to play.” Slowly, her head cants to one side, rolling her neck with a cascade of black spilling over her shoulder. The intensity of her stare pierced deep, shattering through the glacier barriers that had once brimmed with life, hope, and affection that she had broken.

“If I asked you to kill me, as my friend, would you? That’s what friends are for, right? To help those in need.”

“That’s what you just said.”

Katja’s expression noticeably changed as Amma spoke. Her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes narrowed, her smile waned while her shoulders stiffened and her back straightened. The reply caught her off guard. She had expected the scoff, perhaps even a lashing out like last time. What she didn’t expect was this question Amma queried at the end.

Running a hand through her long blonde locks, Katja remained quiet for a moment as she mulled over her answer. She took one more deep breath before finally looking back up again, meeting that fierce gaze with a determined one of her own. “It depends, I guess.”

“I would try to talk you out of it at first, because that is what friends are for too. For giving you their advice, even if you don’t want it.” Katja replied with a smirk, a melancholic sight more than a reassuring one, which disappeared again as soon as it came. Her voice, for the first time today, seemed unshakable and resolute. Her entire being radiated a serious determination. As if she was resolved to go through with whatever she was going to answer, no matter what. So, with her eyes locked to the cerulean gaze of Amma, Katja replied with full, unwavering sincerity. “But, if that doesn’t work, if you are truly adamant about it, then I guess dying by the caring hand of a friend is the way I would want to go too.”

“So, if you really wanted me to, then yes. Yes, I would." A smile, a thing of sorrow, formed on her lips as she kept looking into Amma’s eyes. “And, if that day eventually comes, I would expect my friends to do the same for me.”

“I just-”

I can’t stop it.

Remember the rewards given.
The lives you took.
The lives you take.

Her lashes fluttered closed on a trembling sigh, something akin to relief spreading thin through her body, a release of tension subtly dispelling from her shoulders. Many faces flit on through her mind, names branded there, similar to the one branded onto her neck. Amma slowly palms the pulse at her throat gone quiet and still, her nail scraping slowly over the ‘I’ - and ‘M’ and then pauses, looping through the rest of the raised ink until her tracing stills across to her nape where she clasps her fingers to roll her neck. Her stare begins anew with the sudden silence, opening to lock with Katja’s determination.

“Then I guess this makes us friends.”

Hearing Amma utter those words, Katja felt her entire body relax, punctuated with one long, drawn out breath. The tension that she had felt all this time seemed to dissipate entirely, melting away like snow in the sun. The expression in her eyes, locked with those of Amma, remained determined. Yet there was a hint of softness now in them, a sense of joy radiating through her gaze. One that was also mirrored by her smile which noticeably grew broader, almost running from ear to ear. Despite the promise made, one with severe implications, Katja’s entire demeanor seemed to have shifted, the fog which had covered her eyes ever since the Trials, ever since that night in the tent, seemed to be lifting away. For a brief moment the sun pierced the clouds of Katja’s mind.

“I guess we are…” The tall girl said as she stood back up to her full height, towering over all those currently going about their day in the garden. After taking a moment to stretch herself out, Katja took a small step towards Amma, eyes still locked on those of the other girl. “And you have no idea how much you saying that means to me.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I would really like to give you an embrace right now, Am.” She defaulted back to Am without even realizing. Signifying the return of confidence within her when dealing with the Raven haired girl. “But I guess that would be pushing it?” Katja said with a grin as she looked down at Amma, rubbing the back of her neck in a slightly embarrassed fashion.

“Don’t push your luck, Katja.” She rejoined on a soft laugh, accompanied by a shake of her head, disbelief coloring her mutterings, the easy acceptance and joy that she exemplified by the mutual agreement despite the severity of their drawn promise. Amma carefully rises to her feet, her guards moving in close, though without as much concern by the trudging of their steps with a loose smile softening her often intense features.

“I’ll see you around, friend.” Amma steps around her, arms crossed and gaze dropped and as she moves to be escorted out from the gardens, she pauses long enough to brush her hand over Katja’s shoulder, a soft and delicate clasp that illustrates the closest to an apology that Amma can give her before she leaves. The buzzing follows her, as do the shadows and the soft hissing that she now feels upon every prick of her spine, the weight of a serpent unseen coiling over her shoulders.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

[Roman]

G I L G A L A H A D // A M M A C A H O R S
G I L G A L A H A D // A M M A C A H O R S

_{Location: Infirmary Wing - P.R.C.U. Campus}

Take On Me #3.028: Won't Be A Thing To Become

---

_{Interaction(s): @Rockette//Amma}

The infirmary under the hushed whispers of the night was an entirely different circumstance for the individuals burdened by sleeplessness, for those who could find little comfort under the guidance of dreams, and for those pursued eternally by nightmarish qualms and shades that wailed and moaned unto their waking world. Too often did eclipses of shadow and darkness cling to the chasm of her heart and soul, wed to the edges of her deeply seeded malice and hate, her anger spun on high and vengeance often illustrated in her eyes from a void of encompassing cyan. Her earlier conversation with Katja spooled through her over and over, exposing a figment of the soul they all were adhered to and bound with, and for the first time in perhaps forever – or a long time rather, if she bothered with the self-reflection – quiet uncertainty compounded her steps and bid Amma to traverse through the hospital wing. A few steps back, appropriate in the distance and respectful to her musings, only one guard shadowed her midnight wonderings, her behavior as of late given to a lax courtesy. She did not bother to inquire about it, her therapy sessions earlier in the evening probing her thoughts and concerns about her teammates, a term she still refused to recognize even after the conclusion of the Trials, and when simply asked why, Amma had declined to answer.

The reality was far more complicated, one she was not ready for.

But, upon the summon of Blackjack’s likeness to her contemplations, she recalled another who was bound to the confines of the hospital like she was. A memory surfaced of those traded words she had heard from other nurses - broken, bleeding, dying. However, in her continued evaluations, Amma had also heard that he had pulled through miraculously and that many of the team had visited him. Her solitary confinement had denied any visitors – not that she would have any, and Amma was just fine with that – but had also denied her permission to visit him on her whims. She paused, head canted, and tried to confirm where he might be located, recollecting back to the jumbled mess of whispers that often carried through the medical staff even when they thought no one was listening. Amma turned left, taking another right at the end of the hall and here her guard spoke:

“Visiting hours are long past, Ms. Cahors.”

“And?” She lanced back, carelessly. “What’s your point? Would you rather wander around this place for another hour or two?” She went further down the medical hall before his door loomed before her, the name she mulled over once, twice before she muttered: “Gilbert, huh.” Amma’s palm ghosted over the door, but then, barely heard and perhaps hushed, were sounds familiar to her on any given night when peaceful rest submitted itself to the darkness within.

“Ms. Cahors –”

Amma spared her guard little acknowledgment before she permitted herself into his room and promptly shut the door at her back, her eyes suspended on Gil lost in the throes of a nightmare. She should have turned about and left, she should have continued her midnight trek and left him to the turmoils of his demons. There was no obligation to be had, one shared smoke did not guarantee the finer dressing of friendship, nor did it permit her to the suggestive confines of his room bathed in leagues of moonlight and shadow.

But, did she care?
No.

Amma does not know what compels her steps otherwise, but she is beholden to his figure all the same, similarly bound in gauze and wrappings and plaster, the machines quieted and disengaged from his person in his restless sleep. She knows what demons lance and canter through her own hellish world, the sorts of cruelty her own mind is capable of, and the memories therein that commit to her agony. Amma can only imagine what ailments he concealed beneath that facade of a fallen star. She does not know what benefit will spin from it, with her palm poised, not quite touching, but hovering still over his arm before she clasps down- her scars aflame with her intention.

“Gil.”

---

In Gil’s dream, he hobbled barefoot on a mangled ankle, in wet grass between rows of himself, carbon copies that had haunted him since he’d been pulled out of the Trial. At first, it was a slow walk, methodical, careful, only as his injury would allow, but as the way lengthened and escape became less and less clear, his pace quickened, ferried by burgeoning panic and a growing sense of threat, esoteric but very much present. As he gathered his footsteps, so too did the volumes of copies gather around him, and no longer were they static; they began to paw, step, reach out wistful arms that at first were easily brushed off but soon became insistent, urgent in their seizing. The rows became a thronging mass of groping hands and battered flesh, and Gil was running now, breakneck, crashing through limbs and bodies until finally breaching the phalanx and tumbling, tumbling, not wet grass but clinical linoleum and fluorescent lighting giving way beneath him. Hands reached after him; a few limp bodies even toppled over the edge themselves; but otherwise, the copies had been fled from.

When he landed, Gil was dazed and disoriented, his aching body protesting anew and his bones lighting a fresh fire at the base of his leg. He laid on the ground, cold and in pain and alone, for a very long while.

There was…dripping. Faint and distant but ever-so-steady, a constant tapping, something thick and viscous. Gil raised his head, a sluggish, heavy movement made with considerable effort. Off in the distance were pinprick lights flickering in an unfelt breeze.

With every twitch and motion feeling like he bore Atlas’ weight upon his shoulders, Gil pulled himself to all fours, then a knee, then two knees; he knelt for a while, prostrated before the unknown, catching his breath. Then - breaking through the heavens themselves - he stood, and began to walk once more, following the wisps in the dark, chasing the steady drip-drip.

He came up on them quickly, and the flickering lights revealed themselves to be candles, held by further figures, though not of Gil - he recognised these uniforms, these coifs and curls of hair, the armbands and accents. These were PRCU students, and by the dim candlelight he could see that these were Blackjack; each positioned around him, holding their own dancing flame. Lorcán next to Rory next to Haven next to Harper; from Harper to Calliope, then Banjo and Katja and finally Amma. They bowed their heads over their candles, eyes closed, at peace or in stasis or asleep, impossible to tell. The dripping continued, and Gil saw now small pools of wax at each set of feet, collecting from where they fell from the melting stalk, gently flowing over interlaced fingers.

He limped closer, unsure what to do or even who to approach first, if he should approach any of them at all; but as he crept closer he noticed something wrong with their skin. The light didn’t quite hit it right; the luster was off, glistening in a way it shouldn’t. They were still, as well, too still - he’d thought the tremble in the candle’s flames were from their muted breaths but close-up there was no rise and fall of the chest, no inhale-exhale shoulders. They weren’t breathing at all.

He poked Lorcán’s cheek. It was soft, pliable, and when he pulled his finger away the dent remained.

Wax.

He moved around the circle, inspecting each face, prodding arms, hands, foreheads. One after the other, just a wax recreation.

A drip fell from the tip of Amma’s nose as he came to the end of the row. Her…face was melting. Gil looked around. Everyone’s faces were melting. The features softened and began to run, liquefying and spilling to the floor. The rendered wax faces collected with the splashed candle wax and it all began to run together, combining into a greater and greater pool.

Amma’s face was last, slipping from her skull through Gil’s fingers as he desperately tried to mold it back to its half-remembered shape. He turned, watching her features flow into the reservoir of wax that now lay at his feet.

All at once, there was a dull roar; the wax shifted and flowed, forming a crude, vaguely-human facsimile of a face. The mouth opened; the roar got louder, and louder, a cacophony that shook Gil to his bones; and then, just as he was about to slip into the abyssal gullet before him, Amma’s faceless figure seized his arm, and he woke up.

---

“Gil.”

Gil woke sharply, his arm turning beneath Amma’s grip to seize his own claw upon her skin, feeling unconsciously the ridges of it beneath his fingertips, gently brushing across raised ink and old scars alike.
“You’re going to eat me alive.” He hissed.

And then a fog seemed to clear from his eyes, and he looked Amma in the face properly, letting go of her arm and sitting back.
“Amma?” He said, reconciling his lingering dream with her actual presence. The room was dark, moonlight drifting in through the window and fluorescent bulbs from the hallway pushing an eerie, antiseptic glow through the crack in the door, illuminating Amma’s face - Amma’s mercifully present, solid face - in profile. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sleep that threatened to claw him back down into dreams of wax maws. “It’s late. Or early. Can’t sleep? Or refusing to?”

Her response was instantaneous, a bloom of red unfurling through the night, bidden around her arm where he had seized her with a vice-like grip that spindled through her skin alive now in a shiver that coiled up through her shoulder. Full mouth peeled back in a hiss, teeth against her pout, little words to be spared for the statement that lanced betwixt her ears and nestled there, refusing to budge. An unfurling swell of hunger, perhaps, suddenly planted within her chest, eerily sluicing between her ribs before settling just beneath her pounding heart.

“All of the above.” She whispered, not quite prepared to acknowledge that before shuffling back, gaze flickering down where a chair had been dragged up to his bedside. She decided it looked entirely uncomfortable and made a vague gesture towards the foot of his bed before she settled herself upon the edge, scooting closer to leave one leg swinging over the side and its opposite to bend at the knee where she nestled her hands upon the seat of her lap.

“Not easy to sleep when you’re in solitary. Small windows and all that, suffocating room. At least they don’t cuff me to the bed anymore.” Amma made a curious pass over, noting some of the accommodations before she allowed her blue eyes to fall upon the steelish azure of his gaze still suspended in the grit of sleep.

“From the noises, I take it you’re unable to sleep well, either.”

Gil shuffled, carefully moving his cast leg to make space for Amma’s lithe frame.
“Bad dreams. Night terrors. Can’t…can’t seem to shake the trial. The doctors say it’s to be expected. Doesn’t make it any easier.” He explained in clipped bites, guarding himself. Amma had arrived at PRCU, joined the team, already burdened by her own demons; he doubted the Trial had been any kinder to her than it had to him, and he couldn’t foresee sharing those troubles to be fruitful.
“Solitary and handcuffs…?” He asked, though near-immediately regretted it; it didn’t paint a good picture of her circumstances, which in turn lead to unconscious speculation. The Foundation environment in the simulation felt too obvious - but the what if lingered all the same. And the names whispered to her down dark corridors…

Gil shook his head a fraction.
“Never mind.” He said, wilfully dismissing conspiratorial thoughts. “How are you faring?”

“How do you think?” Came her equally clipped reply, biting words that hissed over the pout of her lip with a dismissal flick of her bandaged wrist. Amma could not contain the bristling of her intonations that rejoined to his equally sharp vowels, a consequence of what he too endured during the aforementioned Trials. She imagined he was not keen to confess what exactly lay hidden within his own terrors, but witnessing this version Gil, unbound and yet guarded, willed a crawling smile to punctuate her cheeks.

“I’d ask the same,” she muttered and made a pointed glance down his entire physique, landing upon his cast leg before her lashes swept back up to meet his glare. “But, frankly, you look like you went through Hell and back.”

“So, I’d imagine not any better than I.”

He watched Amma sweep her eyes up and down his bruised body with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. He felt vulnerable again, like he had when Harper had surveyed him, but this felt more…knife’s-edge. The smile creeping across her face did little to assuage his fears or his temptations.
”That…splinter group, that orchestrated the whole damn thing. Either the university needs to reconsider how much access those implants get…or someone had one hell of a line on the worst corners of my head.”
He sighed, dancing around the subject as he had for the last several days and last several visitors. Why? After everything, after his very foundations had been rooted out and torn asunder - why carry on, and with Amma, of all people? She, who perhaps had the least use for - the least interest in- any of the Gils he had pretended to be, of anyone he’d ever known?

Give it up.

“They showed me something I think I always knew and always was running from. And now…I don’t know who I am. I’m not sure I know what I am. So I just lie here, self-pitying, figuring out if I ever had a face behind all my masks.”
He smiled thinly, nonchalant, a weight lifted. His tone was genial, blasé almost, understating the gravity of his words. Gil sat up, shifting in the bed to swing his legs carefully over the edge and sit at Amma’s side, facing the other way, left shoulder to left shoulder.
“So I have bad dreams.” He said with a shrug, summarizing.

“No one here to feed you the lines,” comes her soft reply, words pulling around her full mouth, a sort of harmonizing hum of acknowledgment, head tilted upon the breath of her words and lashes panned low, studying his adjacent profile. “The part cast for you fell apart, so now you’re left without a role.”

Amma knows, as she knows many things, the weight of doubt of what one was and who they were meant to be, a chasm of eternity yielded itself to her heart, the decrepit look within bound in scarlet twine and shadows of death, her many names slithering through the gloom on feral undertones.

“Picking up pieces of a mask, one by one. Seems we all wear one, in the end, from birth, and unto the end.” Delicate gestures carve through her mane of black hair, shaking out the heavy curls, her twitching fingers compounded by the anxiety that fuels her fidgeting as silence stretches between them, feathered by her soft sighs.

“But- aren’t you tired of running?” A wistful smile there with a small breath of a laugh that punctuated her inquiry. “The world is dark and it is afraid. Does not mean we have to be.” Amma smooths her arms back, leaning her weight into her scarred palms, her stare fixated upon the shadows wreathed in the silver moonlight along the ceiling, a glare of defiance and seeded rage piercing up through the dark.

“I know.” A simple confession, no more, no less, the understanding and similarities lain bare from her whispers.

“You do, don’t you?” Gil mused, the realization of true empathy lain before him an epiphany in the dark. “The Foundation have their own marker for you, even in…” he trailed off. ‘Even in the simulation’, though he needn’t finish the words, and suspected Amma wouldn’t want him to regardless. He held her ferocious gaze for a long while, tightrope-walking along the tension in the air, enjoying the potential of the moment. “I am tired, but you’re right. I don’t have to be afraid. I’ve a year left. Enough time to get my head right. Enough time to figure out which me I want to be.”

He looked at the empty spot where the mirror had hung, yet to be replaced. There were still coffee-stains on the wall, just above the skirting board, where the mop had missed. In the corner was a tiny fragment of ceramic, the white reflecting just enough light to be faintly visible.
“But until then…I need to be the only me. I can’t face myself. Not for a while.” He said quietly, admitting a cowardice that had taken root deep in his bones.

He shook himself free of his wallowing fear, and looked to Amma again.
“And you? Still set to wreak your vengeance for the selves you wished not to be? Or defining yourself for yourself after revelation, like me?”

“Of course.” Amma breathes, finality laced through her whisper, conviction burdened there for the revenge she sought after. Even if she acknowledged that she did not belong here, it did not deter her from the path she had chosen, the trail of blood, and the willing solitary with it. “I may not know who or what I am either, but I’ll face myself until that day, all for the role I’m meant for.”

Amma holds his stare, the weight of his confessions reflecting her own woes, those fears she refused to acknowledge, the shadows that whispered to her even now that pulled a deep, shuddering breath from her chest, her scar aching and prompting her to smooth her fingers against it in what was now becoming a habit. The intensity of his glare lanced through her, a subtle tension fluttering betwixt her ribs, her next whispers quieted and firm.

“They took everything from me, I will get it all back. My name. My body. Soul. Everything.”

“Hm.” Gil sounded, an impartial acknowledgement. He watched Amma run her hand across her chest, drawing soft gestures over marred ink, and had a sudden yearning to trace his own fingers over the same wax-paper skin. He considered, for a moment, how he might have approached this before - which Gil he might have slipped into, what silver-tongued remarks he might have made. He could feel them on the fringes, waiting to be stepped into; instead, he made a conscious choice. He chose to be honest.

“Maybe some masks fit too well to ever be taken off. But I wonder if, in being the Foundation’s destruction, you’re playing into their hands. I know about the nature of your abilities; I know that what they did to you - the ghastly, abyssal things they must have done to you, to bring forth what you are now - deserve a reckoning; I know that you feel alone, and wrathful, and you’re uninterested in companionship or belonging. But maybe - despite what you are - you could create something else.”

Carefully, gingerly, he moved his hand closer to where hers rested on the bedsheets. He did not put it on her, nor proffer it; but where both hands were now, fingertips brushed against each other, threatening to interlock but for a few scant millimeters.

“Mend, instead of sunder.”

His words, every enunciation, every punctuating challenge, every sliver of acknowledgment of what she has always known- it all compiles to a singular construct of something sharp and intentional and punctures through her denials of fate and want of vengeance. It pierces deep and bleeds out some of the red and the fury, a singular wisp of scarlet unbound to loop around her throat just as her trembling hand comes to rest there, her pulse meeting her scars.

He knows. He knows. Heknowsheknows.

Awareness threads down her opposite gesture, the brush of his fingers there where hers arched, splayed, unbidden by her thoughts and reacting to something unnamed as she brushed the pads of her fingers against his own. Such simplicity with a wealth of unwanted emotions inspired her touch until she suddenly stills- these were the hands of destruction, the hands of a monster, hands that had done and taken so many.

You. Destroy. Everything.
“I don’t know how.” Laughter falls from her full mouth drawn into a simper, unable to be silenced or quelled as she acknowledges the truth of his observations, to give up the hate and the pain, to allow her soul and heart to mend- they are concepts foreign to the beast that howls and bays within, longing to spool through her entire frame in a slight tremble. Did she actually mend her friendship with Katja earlier that day? Did she really mend the chasm between her and Haven? Aurora? The void betwixt her and Lorcán- whatever that was? The boundary she violated then when she had clawed at Rory.

Amma’s stare snaps down to their hands laid upon the bedsheets, unable to withdraw her fingers, now wary and aware of his gaze she suddenly feels exposed to for all that she is and for all that she could be. For all that she was meant to do. If only it were easy to cast aside all that she had endured, but she was a creature of pain, the advocate for the depraved, and somewhere deep within, Amma knew a part of her always would be.

“Maybe I don’t even want to. It’s all I know. All that I deserve.” Amma confesses.

“The things they did, I wanted it. I said yes. I just didn’t know the actual price.” Her nails inch and brush against his fingers once more. “The role... I have to play.”

Gil breathes unsteadily and swallows Amma’s perfume in the process. He takes a leap - minute and yet monumental - and pushes his hand forward, enmeshing his fingers with hers entirely.

“An uninformed decision is no decision at all.” Gil says. “You accepted the script before you even read it. The only part you need play is the one you write for yourself.”

Something heavy renders her speechless where a familiar spindling of hunger sluices through her body, the kernel beneath her heart sprouting- more like breaking and split down the seams as Amma’s chest rose and fell on a sharp gasp. Quiet and perhaps unheeded, but nonetheless given as from her opposite shoulder electric coils of scarlet twine and mesh over her skin, looping through the night in tempting wreathes of power bidden by her emotions. Silver edges bleed out into black as her power slides down, and down, and before they can latch onto Gil in the same manner their fingers were intertwined, Amma pulled back.

“I should- go. Yes.” Nervous flutters of her lashes follow her words as she slides off from the bed, uncertainty once more falling into her steps as she grants him a final glance before making her way to leave.

Gil’s hand lingers as Amma’s slips from it, just as she slips from the edge of the bed and steps towards the door. The moment is electric but it is fleeting, and as Gil remembers cutting a conversation over two twinned cloves short from the same sense of trepidation and unspooling, everything left in him goes towards this:
“Don’t. It’s been hard to sleep alone. I think you’ve been the same. Maybe a shared nightmare will be easier to bear.”

At the mention of sleep, exhaustion pulls away at her motions, Amma slowly pausing to consider, hand poised to exit his room in a similar fashion from when she entered. She does not know what bids her to turn and regard him entirely, but whatever she witnesses there coaxes a small, quiet sigh that droops her shoulders and lids, finding the strength to return to his side, neither a nod nor a whisper of acceptance to be spared. Amma easily slides back onto his bed and lies back down, carefully studying him still before she slowly closes her eyes and adjusts her body to lie on her side, facing the dark without a word.

Gil dares not whisper gratitude or indeed anything at all, as if to speak would break the spell - but he is grateful, as Amma’s lithe frame returns to lie beside him and pushes out a long, low breath that carries with it all the fatigue of the last few days, and perhaps further beyond; and with no further word, the two slip into a deep slumber, and Gil does not dream.

[Lord Wraith]

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: San Francisco - California, United States of America}

Take On Me #3.029: After Coffee

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Brand New Numb

Dawn’s first light peeked through the hastily drawn curtains as the early rays warmed the espresso-hued skin that had escaped from under the silk sheets. The snoring of her companion roused the woman to consciousness, prompting her to stand as long curls bounced along either side of her head, dancing above her bare back. As she stood, she draped a robe that had been eagerly discarded on the floor several hours before, over her shapely form. Quietly walking to the window, the woman opened the sliding door and moved to the balcony, overlooking the bustling city below from the hotel’s penthouse. The Golden Gate Bridge in the distance caught her attention before, stern dark eyes studied the streets below.

Triton’s body had been found no more than ten blocks from here, posed on a wall upside down, a nail through each outstretched hand. A third nail through both his feet while the body had bled out overtop of his severed head. Across the walls of the apartment, ‘No More False Gods’ had been repeatedly scrawled in the late Foundation Force Member’s own blood. Several hands had contributed to the vandalization, though all wore gloves and no DNA evidence had been found at the scene. Forensics showed countermeasures had been taken and the lips and mouth of Triton’s head had been treated with sulfuric acid post-mortem.

The welcoming aroma of a fresh Italian roast drew Torres' attention away from the San Francisco Skyline as she turned to see her companion still in all his glory holding out a steaming mug towards her.

“Please tell me you at least put a robe on before teleporting to Florence and getting this,”

“I promised never to lie to you, Teresa,” Adrián Alveraz replied with a wink and a twitch of his mustache. “Besides, what's the worst the tabloids are going to do? Call me the Day-Stripper?”

“Admittedly, I’d rather handle that P.R. nightmare over the death of one of our top agents.” Torres replied, taking a sip of the hot liquid. The richness of the flavour was unlike anything the hotel would have supplied, let alone the local baristas. She could feel her mind waking up from the haze of the previous evening. The religious imagery used in Triton’s death was a sticking point for her. There were many groups that would see Hyperhumans burn, but the list of those capable of this was much smaller. Taking another sip of the hot beverage in her hand, she was reminded of the Latino man standing eagerly nearby.

“You of course realize last night was purely transactional? I had one too many glasses of wine and had an itch to scratch. You were the first post I could find.”

“You make it sound so romantic, Señora,” Adrián replied, “I was mourning a friend, you offered a form of comfort, it’s fine. Tonight I can find comfort elsewhere. Plenty of women would kill for a mustache ride from the incorrigible Daytripper.”

“Poor choice of words,”

“They could have been better, Si,” Adrián smiled sadly.

“Can you at least put a robe on?” Torres asked, looking at Adrián as he stood proudly in front of her.

“I was hoping we could perhaps go back inside,” He replied with a smile.

“Get dressed,” Torres retorted, “The moment is gone, the wine is empty and there’s work to do.”

“Your loss,” Daytripper smiled before heading inside, pausing at the door as he put his assets on display one last time before heading inside.

“You really are incorrigible.” Torres almost allowed herself to smile before the vibration of her cellphone within the robe caught her attention and she quietly unlocked the device before holding it to her ear. “Go ahead,”

“There’s chatter about another abduction, they’re likely to strike within the next twenty-four hours. When will you be back?” The gravel-like voice of the Fist asked from the other end of the line.

“I can’t say, I’ve asked Maya to cover in my absence and I have Erin here with me in San Francisco.” Torres replied, “What happened to Triton, I think it ties into the H.E.L.P. agents that were murdered. Someone is sending a message, and it’s only the start of something bigger.”

“Nakamura gave me this mission, until told otherwise, I’ll be chasing Daedalus. You and I both know if we have any chance of success, the experiments must be stopped, permanently.”

“Understood,” Torres replied, “Until the Ears and Eyes report in, there’s no need for a Fist. In the meantime, I’ve assigned Arms to watch over each member of the Force. There’s no doubt they’re each being targeted.”

“Torres,” The First replied, “One more thing, something on this campus is interfering with my abilities, Daedalus knows I’m here.”

“Then exercise extreme caution, the Foundation can’t afford to lose you.”

“Understood,” The final word was barely audible before the click of the call ending as Torres looked towards the bridge one last time, a knot forming in her stomach.

If the Fist was compromised, more would suffer.

[Skai]

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Strigidae Dorms - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take on Me #3.030: Let’s Perch for a While

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Harper @Qia}

Previously: Unbirdening Troubles

A gentle knock rapped against the wooden door of the Strigidae dorm. The sound breaking the silence within the room was like a hesitant question. Would the dweller answer? Did it frighten her? Haven stood as close as she could get to it, otherwise she would risk a passing student coming too close.

Her foot tapped a subtle, restless beat against the linoleum. Her hands fidgeted together at the strap around her shoulder. She wasn’t impatient. She’d wait as long as Harper needed to take to get to the door, if only she would answer.

Rory’s window was shut when Haven had passed by it earlier. She’d taken to her dorm for a shower. In desperate need of something to do while she debated letting Rory know what she had planned. She figured she would tell him about it later when he made it to his dorm. Yet as she was getting dressed into more comfortable evening clothes, she realized that she didn’t want to do it alone.

Her plan had been pieced together as she’d sat in class, the topic in her upper-level course covering familial bonds. It had her thinking of her ties to her team, and of other ties that had been long severed. Bonds that had been used against her in the trial, and subsequently left her reeling in their wake.

What she would do with the information she wanted to gather, Haven had no clue. It was heart-wrenching enough to see their name again, let alone think of searching that name in Google to see what might pop up. She couldn’t imagine being alone as she did, so she thought of the person who had recently reminded her of her long-lost familial bond.

Harper felt like a sister to her, especially now after the brunette had carried her to safety. If Rory wasn’t available to sit with her, Haven was comfortable reaching out to her Blackjack sister instead. The only thing that held her back was that she hadn’t seen Harper since that day… and she couldn’t help but feel guilty that she hadn’t reached out sooner.

So, here was her olive branch.

Harper, sitting cross-legged on her bed, had a textbook filled with dense text and diagrams open in her lap. Her gaze was unfocused, however, drifting past the pages, her mind wandering far from the academic content she had missed that morning. It was too busy, too preoccupied, with replaying the day’s events so far, a strange feeling, one that she had not felt in some time, swirling around inside her all the while.

The room was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages as she absentmindedly flipped through the textbook. The sunlight streaming through the window cast a warm glow on the bed, but Harper barely noticed. Her fingers, instead, traced the edge of the page, her thoughts a tangled mess of what-ifs and maybes. She glanced at her phone, half-expecting a message that never came, then sighed and looked away.

Were things really okay like this? Her not having opened up to Aurora about the way she’d been feeling lately? Her eyes lifted to stare at the wall, her mind replaying snippets of conversations and moments that seemed so distant now. The textbook lay forgotten in her lap, the sole and silent witness to her inner turmoil.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Harps.”

Her thumb came up to hover near her mouth.

Unless you’re harbouring a darker secret than I think you’re capable of, Baxter, you don’t need forgiveness.

Her mouth opened, her teeth resting on the tough skin there.

“Yeah, I’d love to help with the dance. Sounds like fun.”

She bit down. Not hard enough to break the skin. But enough so that she could feel something. Remind herself that she was there.

When the gentle knock rapped against her door, Harper’s head reluctantly turned, her eyes staring at the wooden barrier between her and her visitor, her body tense but her expression blank. The knock was soft, almost hesitant, as if the person on the other side was unsure whether to intrude.

What now? Who else required her comfort? To take from her without giving anything in return? It was a bitter thought, she knew, and perhaps she had herself to blame for the emotional toll she was carrying. Still….

Harper exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible in the quiet room, unfolding her legs and planting them on the floor. She stood up slowly, her movements deliberate, as if trying to delay the inevitable. Each step felt heavy, her feet dragging slightly as she crossed the room to the door. Her hand came to rest on the doorknob, the metal cool against her palm. She took one last moment to brace herself, her eyes closing briefly as she drew in a deep breath. The silence of the room seemed to press in on her, amplifying the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. And then, with a final, resigned sigh, she turned the knob and opened the door, coming face to face with her baby-faced, golden-haired mirror image.

“Oh hey,” was her simple greeting, her mouth automatically starting to plaster a small smile on her face before she stopped it. It faltered, her lips settling into a neutral line as she took in the sight of her good friend, doing her best to ignore the obvious injuries that marred her features. Everyone was injured. Everyone had their burdens to handle. And for once, Harper was too exhausted to forbid her face from showing that she was one of them.

Haven had heard every breath, every reluctant movement, as the room’s occupant had made her way to the door. She hadn’t expected a quick answer, not with anyone from the team still hurt from the trial. Yet as she heard the first click of the handle turning, Haven felt worry settle in her stomach like a rock. She had never felt so… nervous to be approaching someone she knew so well. It almost felt like they were strangers, yet they were still connected through their shared trauma.

The door opened, revealing Harper’s attempt at her usual smile. Haven had always been aware that it was a mask, a quality she didn’t dismiss or dislike, but it was painfully obvious now that it had been a facade. She felt a rush of panic try to take hold of her, until it lost its grip the moment Haven quickly glanced over Harper’s newest features. Faded scars, that word still emblazoned upon her cheek, and a fresh haircut. The subtle exhaustion in Harper’s eyes and the way her shoulders sagged twisted Haven’s heart.

The trial had changed them both. The openness in her friend’s expressions was as refreshing as it was concerning.

“Harper… I’m so sorry I haven’t come sooner.” She murmured softly, if only to keep any nosey bodies in the halls or the neighboring rooms from listening in. Her hands twitched at her strap. She wanted to reach out to her friend, but they hadn’t touched since it had been necessary to move. She hadn’t been touched by anyone but Rory since, and she wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with it yet. Even if it was someone she truly cared for.

“Can I come in?”

Harper’s eyes flickered with a tumultuous blend of emotions as she gazed at Haven, not responding to her right away. Her instinct right then and there was to retreat, to shield her own fragile state from further strain. Yet, there was something about the sight of her friend, the softness of her voice, that tugged at her heart.

The brunette’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a sigh.

“It’s… it’s okay, Haven,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “You can come in.”

Harper stepped aside, allowing Haven to enter the room. As the other woman walked past, she felt a sharp pang of disappointment pierce through her. She had hoped for a brief moment to gather her own thoughts, to maybe even reach out for help herself, this time with full honesty rather than half-hearted truths. But now, as she watched Haven’s weary figure, she realized that, once again, she had to be the strong one. Because there was no way she could do it. Lean on her friend who was also barely standing on her own.

“I was just… trying to catch up on some reading,” Harper said then, gesturing vaguely to the textbook on her bed. “But I guess that can wait.” She closed the door behind Haven, the click of the latch sounding final. Turning to face Haven, her eyes searched her friend’s face for clues. Anything that she could use to ease her burden.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “You look like you’ve got something heavy on your mind.”

Haven stopped short of the bed as she entered. She was relieved to be out of the hallway and in a place where she felt like her wings could relax. Her eyes scanned over the textbook on the bed, its contents seeming gibberish to her. “Well, there’s a lot going on up that tree.” She mused softly, before turning to look at her teammate. “I want to know how you are, first.”

Her eyes were soft as they looked into Harper’s. Her emotions present in the green and golds, concern and hope that her friend would open up to her. What Haven missed the most about her long lost sister was the openness they had with each other. She had it with Rory, sure, and she didn’t take that for granted for a moment. Yet after Harper found her in the trial, and gave her the spirit to escape on her own two feet with the brave brunette’s help, Haven wondered if they could be the same way. If she didn’t find the answers she would be looking for in her past, she was hoping to find something new in her present.

“Have you been sleeping?”

The concern and hope in Haven’s eyes were almost too much for Harper to bear. She felt an overwhelming urge to retreat, to hide her own pain behind a mask of indifference. But Haven’s sincerity, the genuine worry etched into her features, made it impossible for Harper to completely turn away. She could see the silent plea for support in the other’s gaze, and it tugged at her heartstrings, making her own struggles feel insignificant in comparison. She felt it—her mind, her heart, slipping back into its usual habit of self-sacrifice.

“Sleeping?” Harper echoed, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Not really. Nightmares, you know? They don’t exactly make for restful nights.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she glanced away, unable to meet Haven’s eyes, fearing that her friend might see the depth of her strife. The true depth.

“But that’s not important. You came here for a reason, so what is it?” Harper asked, attempting to shift the focus back on Haven. She decided then that she wasn’t yet ready to delve into her own struggles. Not like this, with their associated disgruntlement.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she added after a bit of silence, her tone gentle but insistent.

Haven took a slow breath, her eyes shifting momentarily to avoid showing the subtle disappointment within them. She knew Harper was struggling. She knew it was hard for her teammate to share her inner pain. Her pain was important, though Haven wasn’t going to push her about it. She didn’t feel rejected by the change in topic. It just made her realize that she would just have to be patient until Harper decided to fully open up to her, if she ever chose to. She was beginning to see why Calliope was feeling frustrated.

The next topic, though, wasn’t an easy one to discuss either.

“In the trial,” she paused, her mind trying to focus on the important memories and not on the horrors she’d endured, “My past was used against me like a game. It reminded me of an old friend, and… while it was a twisted version of her, I realized there was truth behind it.”

She slowly released the breath she’d been holding, her hand gripping the strap as she gathered the courage to speak about her past.

“She was the closest friend I’ve ever had before coming here, and I never said goodbye.” Her heart twisted, trying to filter her real memories of Anabel from the simulations. “I think… I want to find her. To see if she’s doing okay.”

Her hands began to fidget with the strap on her bag. “I need to look at my files, to see if they mention the girl's home we stayed at. I just- I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

Her eyes were apologetic as she looked into Harper’s tired gaze. “Could you sit with me, while I look it up?”

---

[Qia]

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Strigidae Dorms - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take on Me #3.031: Wing to Wing

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Haven (hey gurl heyyyyy)@Skai}

Previously: Let’s Perch for a While

Harper’s heart ached as she listened to Haven’s story. She could see the pain and uncertainty in her friend’s eyes, and it mirrored her own in so many ways. Despite her own exhaustion, she couldn’t turn Haven away. Not now.

“Of course, Haven,” Harper said softly, her voice steady despite the weariness that clung to her. “I’ll sit with you. We’ll look it up together.”

She gestured to the bed, inviting Haven to sit down. As Haven settled in, Harper moved the textbook aside, making space for her laptop.

“We can probably try the admin’s office in a little while,” she said, her voice thoughtful as she considered their options. “But first, maybe we can find something about her or the school online with what you can remember.” Harper’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type, while her gaze remained fixed on Haven, mustering a reassuring smile.

Haven took a breath as she adjusted her legs underneath her. She looked at Harper, finding it hard to speak the name of the girl's home, but she found assurance in Harper’s expression. She was glad that she was doing this with someone who cared.

“I was at a girls' home called Elk Mountain. It was in Michigan, but I don’t remember where really. I think the full name was just Elk Mountain Home for Girls.”

She moved to set her bag down on the floor beside her as Harper typed away. Her heart was already twisting as she turned back, her eyes searching the screen for anything that looked familiar. She couldn’t believe that she was hoping to find it there, instead of burying it deep within her soul once more.

“Her name was Anabel. I don’t remember her last name.”

Harper’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed “Elk Mountain Home for Girls Michigan” into the search bar. The screen filled with results, and she quickly scanned through them, looking for anything that might be relevant.

“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” she said, clicking on a link that seemed promising. “There’s a mention of Elk Mountain Academy, but it looks like it’s a residential treatment center for troubled girls.” She clicked on an image showing the place-

And stared at it for a moment, blinking and leaning closer as if it would help her take in what she was looking at. The building in the image was a large, old-fashioned brick structure with ivy creeping up its walls. Tall windows lined the front, and a neatly manicured lawn stretched out before it, dotted with a few benches and trees. Her brow furrowed slightly as she read the caption:

“For girls, lost and found, who need a safe and supportive environment to heal and grow.”

“Is…this it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. There was something strange about the place, but what it was exactly remained elusive.

Haven’s heart leapt into her throat as the images displayed on the screen. She knew that ivy all too well. The lawn that was better fed and cared for than the occupants within the home. It looked almost the same as the night she’d left it. As for the home’s motto, it seemed foreign and heartless. She’d never thought of it as a safe or supportive space. Not even before she met Anabel, or had grown the wings that now ruffled subtly on her back.

“Are there… pictures of the inside? I need to make sure.”

Harper’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she nodded. “I’m sure we can find some interior photos,” she said. Surely the place had scheduled tours for those wishing to adopt, which, if they were lucky enough, would also mean the website would have a section dedicated to displaying how things looked on the inside for prospective parents.

Bingo, she thought, a smirk playing on her lips as she clicked the section at the top labelled Gallery. As the page loaded, a series of photos appeared, showing various rooms inside the home. Harper’s eyes scanned the images, her earlier apprehension fading away. Maybe it had been nothing?

“So, anything?” she asked Haven, glancing over at her friend with a hopeful expression.

The photos inside looked nothing like Haven remembered. She leaned forward, gold and green eyes searching the images for any resemblance. She found the similarities in the architecture, and in the spaces that remained. “It… looks different. But I see how the walls are the same shape. And the rooms are as big as they used to be, but they changed the paint and floors.”

“They just made it look nicer.”

Although her voice never wavered, Haven felt the familiar sensations of anguish as she remembered how the rooms used to look. How the halls used to feel as she walked through them. That ever-present sensation that she was doing something wrong, just by existing. She leaned away from the screen as she pulled air into her lungs. When she spoke, her voice was low and haunted, but confident.

“That’s it. So… is there any way we can look up who might have stayed there?”

“We can try,” Harper said, her eyes betraying a flicker of doubt. “There might be some records or alumni lists online. If not, we could contact the institution directly.”

She resumed typing, her fingers moving with a determined precision. “Let’s see if we can find anything here first,” she murmured, more to herself than to Haven. The screen filled with search results, and Harper clicked through them methodically, her brow furrowing slightly with each click.

As they continued their search, the room grew quieter, the soft tapping of keys, Haven’s breathing, and the rapid thumping of Harper’s heart being the only sounds. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy at Haven’s ability to confront her past, to seek out answers despite the very real possibility that they might not find anything on her old friend. How could the other woman deal with it all? Wasn’t it painful? Tiring?

“Here,” Harper said, pointing to a link that seemed promising. “This looks like a forum for former residents. Maybe someone there can help.”

Haven found herself watching Harper work as much as she watched the screen pass through link after search after link. She was grateful for Harper. Not only because she’d chosen to help, but also because she had a wealth of knowledge. Haven had felt disappointment gathering in her chest after the first few useless links, while Harper just kept on going.

She looked over her freshly cut locks, the new length adding new depth to the brunette’s face. Her eyes traced the heart-shaped face and the small nose. With Harper’s hair this short, she realized something that floated away on a breeze the moment her teammate found a promising link.

Eagle eyes scanned the page quickly. Her hopeful fingers reached out to the laptop, taking over the touchpad to scroll on her own. “Do you think she’d see it if I made a post? I’m not seeing her name.” Anabel could have changed it, for all she knew. Her old friend might have wanted a new name to go with her fresh start, if she’d been adopted. Haven could only hope that had been the case.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Harper said. “Even if she changed her name, someone might recognize the details you share.” She leaned back slightly, giving Haven space to type. As she did, her hand instinctively moved to the scar on her cheek, her fingers tracing the lines there.

“People remember best the strong memories,” Harper muttered faintly, her eyes distant for a moment. “The ones that leave a mark… whether they’re good or bad.”

Haven had already begun to figure out how to create an account, her eyes scanning each word to make sure she did it correctly. Her fingers hesitated as she heard Harper. She could see her touching that horrible word on her cheek in her peripherals. Haven turned her head towards the brunette, her eyes sad and soft. “I don’t want to pressure you, but… You know I’m here for you, right? You can tell me anything.”

She let silence hang for a moment, making sure Harper understood her words. “I’m just a text away if you need anything.” She reached for Harper’s free hand, like she’d reached for her that day the brunette had helped her, and she squeezed it gently.

Her eyes turned back to the screen so that Harper wouldn’t have to answer if she didn’t want to. Her hands occupied themselves with creating a profile, and then moved onto her post. She was at a loss for words, her fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment. What could she say to grab Anabel’s attention? What memory, good or bad, could make it obvious that she was looking for her? Haven chewed on her bottom lip as she scoured her memories.

Harper felt the warmth of Haven’s hand, the gentle squeeze grounding her in what was occurring. She looked at the other woman, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears while her heart swelled.

“Thank you, Haven,” Harper replied, glancing down at her hands and wrapping her fingers around Haven’s before reluctantly letting them go. Her lips curved into a small, fragile smile, a silent acknowledgment of the support she desperately needed but still found so hard to accept.

The last thing the brunette wanted was for any of this to change. Haven’s admiration of her was something she cherished deeply. She clung to it like a lifeline, her beacon of light in her darkest moment. The thought of losing it over something that happened, and something that almost did, was immensely unbearable. Her chest tightened at the mere possibility, a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. She couldn’t bear the idea of Haven looking at her differently, of the warmth in her friend’s eyes turning to disappointment or pity.

Or revulsion.

She watched as the other woman turned back to the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, her hesitation clear as day. Harper could see the uncertainty in Haven’s eyes, the way her brows furrowed slightly as she searched for the right words. It was a small comfort, knowing that Haven was struggling too, that she wasn’t alone in her confusion and fear.

Perhaps…perhaps she could share what was bothering her. But at the right time.

“Maybe start with something specific,” Harper suggested gently, her voice encouraging. “A memory that only the two of you would share. Something that would stand out to her, even if she doesn’t recognize your name right away.”

Haven’s brow furrowed deeper as her lips pursed, but she nodded in agreement. She didn’t think about how Anabel may not recognize her name. She hated to admit it, but she was also worried one of the other girls would see the message too. The cruelty that could come of it would only harm her further. She didn’t know how much more of their bullying she could take after the trial had subjected her to it again.

She tucked the stray hairs around her face into the space behind her ear, before her hands returned to the keyboard with determination as she began to type:

A,
You found me under my bed when we first met. I drew the stars on the bottom of the frame. I hid there when I was lonely, and you hid there when you were scared. We hid there together when we stole jello cups from the kitchen.

I couldn’t say goodbye and I’m sorry. I hope you learned to spread your wings like me.

H

Haven’s fingers lingered over the keys as she ran over the lines of text multiple times. There was a bittersweet feeling in her stomach. A painful nostalgia, but she found herself only missing the person and not the place. In a way, just leaving the message on the forum felt like the best closure she was going to get. If Anabel saw the message, it was up to her to reach out.

“ The other girls there… they were the reason I left.” Haven murmured softly, her eyes reading the message for the fifth time. “I don’t want them to know it’s me, so… do you think this is enough for Anabel?” She turned her eyes to Harper, her worry present in the line between her brows.

Harper reached out, gently placing a hand on Haven’s shoulder, her fingers lightly brushing the wings there. She could feel the tension in Haven’s muscles, the unspoken fears that lay just beneath the surface. “I think it’s perfect,” she said honestly. An encouraging smile flitted across her lips, a brief moment of warmth before it faded. She removed her hand, her teeth coming to dance across her lip as she gathered her thoughts.

Now. Now was the time.

“What…Is that what the simulation showed for you? Those girls…?”

Haven’s breath hitched, her eyes flitting to the screen as she saw the images of the trial flashing before her instead of her message in a bottle. She hit the enter button, watching as her second olive branch of the day was carried through electrical pulses into the openness of the internet.

“It… showed me what might happen, what’s already happened, and what could have been.” She turned her gaze back to Harper now, her forest eyes haunted. “When I lived at Elk Mountain, I grew my wings. Anabel was the only one who didn’t think I was a...”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes were drawn to the scarred letters on Harper’s cheek, and then she immediately cast them downwards as the memories haunted the both of them.

“A freak?” Harper eventually finished for her, her voice trembling slightly as she forced the word out. The sound of it made her flinch, her body recoiling as if the word were still being physically carved into her skin. A considerable silence followed, the air thick with pain ready to be released through spoken word.

Harper could still see it, the mocking glint in those eyes, sharp and cutting like the blade that was used to mar her. She could still hear the cruel laughter echoing in her ears like a haunting melody. It was as if the room itself had absorbed the taunts, replaying them over and over in a relentless loop now that she was ready to express her truth.

“I got the scar on my cheek from my person…among other things,” she continued, her jaw tightening as she spoke. Her hands reached up to tug at the zip of her hoodie, pulling it down and throwing it aside unceremoniously, revealing the jagged lines etched into her arms.

“Except the funny thing was…she did think I was a freak.” Harper’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, her eyes darkening as she looked away, unable to meet Haven’s gaze. She could feel the old wounds reopening, the memories flooding back with a vengeance. She wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the sudden chill that seemed to seep into her very bones.

“I needed to survive. But more so than anything, I wanted to wipe that ugly fucking smirk from her face.”

When Harper flinched because of the word, Haven only felt the muscles in her back tighten as she pulled her wings in closer. She moved her eyes from the screen to register Harper’s reaction to it, shamefully curious about how her friend had come to be called the name. It was obvious that it still stung the brunette to think of it. Where Haven had grown used to it many years ago and gathered strength to ignore it when she could.

Haven’s gaze followed the horrible lines down Harper’s arms with pained recognition. The simulation had surely done its job well in the remaining scars on both the flesh and the mind. She wanted to embrace Harper, to comfort her as the short-haired woman processed the lingering pain, but her own pain kept her still. Haven could only listen while Harper continued to unleash the horrors that she’d been subjected to.

A melancholic smile spread across her tanned features as she heard Harper’s fury hidden beneath the shaking in her voice. “I couldn’t even fight back…” She started, a subtle pride shining in her eyes as she looked over at her companion. “I’m proud of you for defending yourself, even if it haunts you that you harmed a simulated version of your bully.”

“I like to think that those girls took their own anger at the world, and their situation, and used it against me. Like I was an easy out for them to act as cruelly as they did. Yet they… they gave me the courage to find my own way. To break free of what society wanted from me.”

“Maybe yours felt the same way, even if the simulation made her seem cruel. And now you can use it to give you strength, too.”

Harper felt a wave of emotion wash over her as she listened to Haven’s words. The pride in Haven’s voice, the understanding in her eyes—it was almost too much to stomach. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. How often was she going to be brought to tears this week? The room seemed to blur around her regardless, the only clear thing being Haven’s face, filled with compassion and unwavering support.

She’d been a fool. Of course, Haven of all people would be able to understand her. She had spent all this time building walls around herself, convinced that no one could truly grasp the depth of her pain, of what she’d been through, of what she’d been forced to do.

But Haven—Haven had always been different.

She drank it, practically drowned herself, in that truth, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind saying But you haven’t told her everything .

Because for now, it was enough. To be understood for who she was right now.

Harper’s arms reached out instinctively, pulling the other woman into a tight hug. She was careful to steer clear of Haven’s wings, not wanting to crush them under the weight of her arms and emotions.

“Society doesn’t deserve you. You’re too good for it,” Harper murmured, her voice thick with sincerity and admiration. She buried her face in Haven’s shoulder, the warmth of the hug seeping into her very soul.

Haven’s heart felt like it was being squeezed by empathy as she realized Harper was holding back tears. It distracted her mind from the memories that usually seized her body. So as Harper pulled her into the hug, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t shake as arms held her tightly. This was Harper, the closest thing she had to a family now besides Rory and her team. She found herself welcoming the embrace. Her arms cautiously wrapped around Harper’s back before securing themselves in a tight hug.

She felt tears pricking at her eyes as Harper spoke those loving words. She’d never heard them before. It was a strange type of comfort, being told that she was too good for anything. Especially after years of being convinced that she had to conform to the rules of people both human and hype.

“Uhm,” she began softly, tears spilling out and down her cheeks. “Thanks, Harps.”

“That means a lot.”

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them filled with unsaid understanding and mutual support. Finally, Harper pulled back slightly, just enough to look into Haven’s eyes. Eyes, she realized, that were much like her own, down to the colour.

“You’re welcome, Haven,” she replied, rubbing the remnants of tears from her face. The traces of her earlier emotions lingered, but there was a newfound clarity in her eyes now. “Is that all you wanted to do?”

Haven sniffed, her tears beginning to fall less and less from her eyes. She hesitated a moment, a small feeling of yearning passing through her before she decided not to pursue it. She’d thought about searching for her mother, too. She just wanted a glimpse of her face. Yet she wasn’t sure how much more heartache she could take in one day.

“Yeah, I… I’m good. Thank you. For everything.” She smiled, a small but grateful gesture. “I’ll check it from the school computers to see if she replies, and I’ll let you know if she does.”

Harper nodded, her own emotions still raw but tempered by the connection they had just shared. “Take your time,” she said encouragingly. “And remember, I’m here for you, no matter how this turns out.”

---

[Melissa]

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_{Location: Myotis House - Pacific Royal Campus}

Take On Me #3.032: Something in the Orange

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_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: Daylight

It started like it always did.

The small ranch house at the end of the cul-de-sac, beige stucco exterior and red clay tile roofing baking in the dry desert heat. Peony and rose perfume which greeted her as she turned the knob, familiar walnut cabinets and a taupe tile floor underneath her bare feet. The loud open and close of the front door behind her which sent her into a panic as she raced to her childhood bedroom.

But when she opened her bedroom door, she didn’t see the bland blue walls or the glow-in-the-dark stars.

Instead, she was greeted by a sterile hallway and bright white overheads. They illuminated the area in cold washes of light, casting towering shadows that danced down the pathways as they stalked their prey. She could hear screams, her teammates, as they encountered the darkest of their fears. But Aurora couldn’t go to them, no, her feet moved of their own accord down the hall and towards a solitary room where figures without faces stood surrounding a hospital bed. A man and a woman, together, holding each other for comfort. A smaller girl and an older boy, his arm protectively wrapped around her shoulder.

And lying there between them all was Lorcán.

She could see him clear as day, everything else became blurred in the background as she beheld his eerily still form. Every slope and curve of his body, every line of his tattoos, every mark and mole and scar she knew him to have, she could see it all. His monitors beeped around her, echoing sadness and grief off of the empty walls and into the vast expanse beyond. Aurora tried to talk, tried to speak, but it was as though her voice had been taken from her, chords ripped from her throat.

She reached for him, but before she could touch him, be with him, let him know everything that she believed to be true and everything that they could be, the incessant sound ceased and went monotonous as he flatlined.

Instantly, forces began to pull her back, hands grabbing her arms and covering her mouth as they tried to tear her from that room, take her away from her love, her whole world. She fought to remain by his side, attempted to resist the powers that be and tried to make her way back towards him. Warm tears slid from her eyes down her face as she lost her footing and the salty ocean waves took her away. And just when he began to fade, she found her voice.

And Aurora screamed.
______________________________

“Rora!”

The girl’s eyes flew open and she bolted upright, her hands trembling as they fisted her bedsheets. Her cheeks felt damp and her breath came out in quick pants as she woke from her nightmare, shaking like a leaf in the wind and her throat dry and strained. She blinked rapidly, and as her vision cleared and her surroundings became apparent once more, she looked into the worried brown eyes of her roommate Kelcey, who stood beside her bed.

“Shh, you’re okay, it’s okay.” The brown haired girl tried to soothe, reaching out her hand to touch her comfortingly. But Aurora tensed and dodged her gesture, still wrapped up in the throes of her mind and fearful of whatever else approached her. “It was just a dream, Ror, just a dream.”

Two pairs of racing footsteps could be heard on the hardwood in the common area as her other roommates appeared in the open doorway, a blonde with green eyes and a curly haired girl with skin like caramel both shared worried expressions.

“What happened, what’s wrong?” The blonde, Leah, fretted, running into the girl’s bedroom absolutely panicked, eyes wide and holding a heavy looking textbook. Maddy followed, her exaggerated breathing indicating her fear and alarm as she also approached the bed.

“We heard you scream!”

Aurora swallowed and cleared her throat, preparing to articulate what had happened, but still overwhelmed and overcome with emotion, she could only manage to dissolve into tears. Her roommates looked at each other, sorrowful, and were able to piece together that it had been a nightmare that caused her loud cry. Maddy sat down on the edge of her bed gingerly so as not to startle her, Leah moved to sit in the girl’s desk chair, and Kelcey reached out her hand once more, the redhead not shying away from her grasp this time as she rubbed circles on her back.

“I’m sorry,” She finally breathed, the words coming out between gasps for air. The curly haired girl shook her head profusely as Aurora finally used her voice to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“No, Aurora, it’s okay,” Maddy interrupted to put her at ease, scooting closer to her friend. “We just got scared, is all. You’re okay, everything is fine.”

Kelcey sighed, looking at the redhead with sympathy in her gaze. “We know you’re going through a lot right now, and you never have to apologize to us.” She pulled her friend into her arms and held the redhead as she continued to cry, the anguish she felt from the nightmare still so real and palpable.

Maddy looked to Leah, seeing the book she was holding, and she raised an eyebrow. “And just what were you planning to do with that?” She asked incredulously, and all the blonde could do was shrug in response.

“I don’t know!” She replied, “Aurora could have been in danger, I grabbed the first thing I saw that was throwable.”

“Sure, like a textbook would have saved her.”

“It was better than nothing!”

Kelcey coughed intentionally, which caused the two girls to cease their small disagreement and she returned her gaze to her friend, who’s quiet cries began to slow and ebb away. “Everything is okay, you’re okay.” The brunette reassured again, the repetition of the same statement between them bringing Aurora back to reality. “Let’s go and make a cup of tea, try and relax a little bit.” She looked to Leah, who quickly stood up from the chair and hurried to their kitchen to turn on the kettle.

The redhead sniffled and nodded, taking a breath before moving to stand, following her roommates into their shared common area. They all proceeded to pile onto the couch and wait for the water to boil, turning on one of their favorite obnoxious reality shows in the meantime to help take the redhead’s mind off of the turmoil that rampaged in her mind. When the tea was ready and brewed they sat and drank.

They didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry as to what Aurora’s nightmare had been about. Kelcey, Leah, and Maddy just sat there with their friend, cups of tea in their hands as they added ridiculous commentary to the silly dating show they always enjoyed watching together. They sat there for as long as it took to finish the pot, as long as it took for the redhead to grow calm and tired once more.

Her roommates didn’t go back to sleep until she did, and when Aurora finally closed her eyes, they took turns checking in on her throughout the night until morning.